Page 170 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Hey,” she says soothingly. “Hey, chica, it’s okay.”

My whole body convulses while I cling to her. “No, it’s not… It’s never going to be okay again.”

I lean against the only family I have left, desperate for the warmth and comfort of someone familiar. She sinks to the floor with me and holds me until my sobs subside.

Only then does she pulls away, though she keeps both hands on my shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” I hiccup.

Tamara’s eyes are conflicted as she looks me over. It’s like she’s trying to figure out how tonotbreak me.

It makes me realize that I hadn’t been thinking clearly when I’d decided to come to her apartment.

I’ve endangered Tamara now by coming here.

The blade edge of clarity cuts through my fog and my stomach twists in knots.

“I should leave,” I start to stammer. I try to struggle to my feet.

“What are you talking about?” Tamara asks, with a frown.

“I need to leave, Tamara. There are men looking for me. Bad men.” I’m stumbling over my words as I move back towards the door.

Tamara grabs my arm and pulls me to a stop. “Esme, you have no shoes on.”

I look down at my bare feet, covered in layers of dirt and grime and oozing cuts that I haven’t had the luxury of noticing until now.

“It’s not safe for me here.”

“You can’t leave!”

Startled, I look at her with raised eyebrows and she gives me a quick smile.

“Don’t take this the wrong way honey,” Tamara says. “But you look like hell.”

A burst of laughter escapes from my lips. Tamara’s smile irons out a little. “Come on… let’s get you a nice, hot shower. Afterwards, when you’re ready, we can talk.”

“Okay,” I say in a small voice. I don’t have much willpower left to argue.

I let myself be led to the bathroom, where Tamara helps me out of my clothes and into the tub. She puts on some music and places a fresh towel on the railing next to the tub.

“I’ll go see what I have in the fridge for you,” she says as she backs out of the bathroom.

I sit in the tub and soak for fifteen glorious minutes until I’ve washed off the anxiety and sweat of the last several hours.

Bit by bit, my muscles unclench. And when I empty the tub and watch the dirt of the last few days whisk away down the drain, it feels like I’m letting some of the fear go with it.

It takes the edge away, but it’s nowhere near a cure-all.

I may be clean now, but I’m far from safe.

Reluctantly, I get out of the tub and towel myself off. When I walk back into Tamara’s bedroom, I find a fresh pair of jeans and a white silk blouse laid out on the bed for me.

I dress and comb out my hair, vaguely aware of Tamara’s voice coming from the kitchen. She’s on the phone, but her tone is hushed, so I have no idea who she’s talking to.

She hangs up, picks up a small tray, and walks around the kitchen island towards the room. I duck back inside and wait for her on the bed.

“Hey, you,” she says, as she enters. “Feel better?”

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