Page 190 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

An old woman doubles over to protect her dog.

A young man presses his girlfriend up against a wall to keep her safe from the wild bullets.

So many innocent people brushing up against this sick, twisted world of ours. Getting stained by it. Hurt by it.

None of them will ever be the same.

My mind takes snapshots of the chaos we’re causing as we run, but I can’t process anything more. I have to save the rest of my energy. I need to convince myself that my lungs aren’t going to give out on me a few seconds from now.

Suddenly, a dull blue Toyota careens around the bend, taking a turn so sharp that for a moment, I think it’s going to tip over.

But the car veers back into place with a metallic thump. It screeches to a halt right in front of Artem and me right as we were about to race across the street.

It’s all over. Oh, God, it’s all over.

We’re trapped.

But before the panic can truly set in, I see the driver lean across the car’s center console to push open the passenger door.

I catch a glimpse of shaggy blonde hair and ocean blue eyes.

“Get in!” he yells at us

I hesitate, mind too slow to process this unexpected turn. But Artem pulls open the door to the back seat and tosses me inside.

The door slams. The engine revs. It all happens so fast that for one fear-stricken moment I think Artem has been left behind.

But when I look back up, I see him sitting in the passenger seat, next to the blonde man who appeared out of nowhere to save our asses.

Cillian. His name is Cillian.

Then I collapse against the back seat, put my hands on my stomach, and close my eyes. It’s not quite relief that I feel as the car flies through the streets of LA.

But it’s close.

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Artem

I look at my wild-eyed best friend, who’s grinning like this is all fun and games.

“You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?” I ask soberly.

His grin ticks one notch wider. “Story of my life. I’m always saving your ass.”

Nothing worse than having your own words thrown back in your face.

We both burst out laughing.

In the back, Esme is baffled.

But what is there else to do besides laugh?

Reality settles back in quickly as I take stock of the situation. We’re well and truly fucked.

We’re together, though. At least we’re all together.

Two miles in, we ditch the Toyota for a meek white hatchback that’s parked between two suburban neighborhoods.

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