Page 192 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

Her face is more or less clean of blood, but there are dried smatters of it on her hands, as well as large swirling stains on her clothes. I’m sure I look just as bad, if not worse.

Thankfully, it’s dark, so no one’s going to see the state that either one of us are in.

Cillian arrives a few minutes later. I open the back door and lift Esme out. I expect her to wake up, at least stir a little, but she doesn’t.

If her breathing wasn’t even and consistent, I would have checked to make sure she was okay.

Cillian leads the way to the staircase at the corner of the building. I follow him up, cradling Esme in my arms.

Our room is the fourth one down. Cillian opens it for me.

The room is predictably mundane and small, but the bed is at least a queen. The covers have an unnecessarily bright, floral pattern with stains I’m not interested in exploring further. Directly opposite to the entrance door is another one that leads to a little private balcony overlooking the pool.

Cillian pulls the covers of the bed away on one side to reveal clean white sheets underneath. I set Esme down gingerly on the edge that’s closest to the window and straighten up again.

When I turn around, Cillian is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“You don’t exactly blend in,” Cillian points out. “Big fuckin’ oaf.”

“Does the blood stand out a little?” I ask sarcastically.

Cillian rolls his eyes but chuckles lightly under his breath. “I’m gonna go and get you two some clothes,” he says. “We passed a twenty-four-hour department store about a mile or two back. I shouldn’t be long.”

I nod gratefully. Cillian leaves, pulling the door shut quietly on his way out.

I walk into the bathroom, which is so small that I have difficulty maneuvering. But I find two small hand towels under the sink and an empty toothbrush holder that I fill with water before walking back into the room.

I peel away Esme’s clothes, one by one. The pants come off first, and then her white blouse. I leave her panties on, but I remove her bra and place it on the bedside table next to the night lamp.

Then I dip the first towel into the water and start massaging her body as gently as possible. She stirs a little when I put pressure on the dried blood caked around her arms, but she settles back into sleep when I pull away.

She’s as beautiful and as tempting as ever, but I tamp down the desire. Need to try and focus.

Once I’ve managed to get all the blood off her, I bring the covers back over her, shielding her body from view.

She looks much more comfortable now, or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. I throw the blood-stained towels straight into the bathroom trash, along with Esme’s clothes.

Then, leaving the door wide open so I’d know when Cillian comes back, I strip down and get in the shower. The water is cold but I welcome it.

I need the icy bite to wash this fucking day off me.

I stand there for ten minutes before I finally turn off the flow. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out just as Cillian comes in through the front door.

“Spare me the gun show,” he says with an obnoxious eye waggle at my bare chest. “I’ve seen the tats before and I’m not impressed.”

“Shut up and give me the clothes, wise ass.”

He tosses a plastic bag of clothes to me. I step back into the bathroom and shrug into a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt.

“There’s stuff in there for Esme, too,” he calls from the main room. “I was just guessing on sizes and shit.”

“Should be fine.” I smell fresh bread and my stomach churns with hunger. “You brought food?”

“Meatball subs,” Cillian replies. “And beer.”

“I fucking love you.”

---