Page 171 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Marginally,” I acknowledge just as her phone pings again.

She ignores it and sits on the bed next to me. “There wasn’t much, but this should hold you over until I can order some real food.”

The tray is filled with crackers, cheese, and grapes. There’s also two full glasses, one with orange juice and another with water.

I grab the water first and down it within seconds. Then I reach for the crackers and cheese as my stomach churns desperately.

“Sorry,” I tell her. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Tamara laughs distractedly as her phone pings twice more. She pulls it out and checks the screen, but she doesn’t respond. She just sets the phone aside and looks back at me.

“So…”

Before she finish her sentence, her phone pings for a fourth time and she sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Do you need to get that?” I ask, wondering why she’s being cagey with her phone.

Tamara is usually an open book, which is why it’s obvious when she tries to hide things.

“No,” Tamara says with a wave of her hand. “I’ll get to it later. Just another boy who’s obsessed with me. Nothing new.”

I smile. That is definitely nothing new.

“Seriously, if you need to take it, I can wait,” I assure her.

“No, no,” she says. “This is more important. Now, are you ready to talk, chica?”

I swallow crackers and cheese and take a sip of the orange juice.

“You’re not going to believe me if I do.”

She grins wickedly. “Try me.”

48

Esme

I tell Tamara everything. From the assault and subsequent hookup in The Siren bathroom when she was passed out in the stall to the attack on my family compound.

The only thing I leave out is the fact that I’m pregnant.

For some reason, I cling to that information, guarding it like a precious stone. I know I can trust Tamara, so I’m not sure why I hesitate, but I have so much else to tell that I don’t dwell on it.

By the time I’m done, I feel like I’ve been talking for as long as I can remember.

“Artem brought me back to L.A.,” I continue. “And then… well, he married me.”

“Hewhat?” Tamara asks. Her eyes go wide, but not just with surprise. There’s another emotion in there, too—something I can’t put my finger on.

“It was a marriage of… convenience, so to speak,” I explain, trying to pretend like that admission doesn’t hurt me deeply. Like that little spark of hope I’d been nurturing never existed.

“Did he force himself on you?” Tamara asks. “Because so help me God, if he did, I will slice his cojones…”

I start to fumble for an answer, but before I can, Tamara’s phone pings again.

Honestly, I’m glad for the distraction. I really don’t want to get into the weeds of my relationship with Artem. It is—was, I correct mentally—too complicated, too confused, too filled with betrayal and regret for me to wade through by myself, let alone share it with someone else.

“Sorry,” Tamara says, picking her phone up again. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

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