Page 200 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

“Artem,” she whispers after a few easy quiet minutes have passed, “what are we gonna do?”

“Hey,” I say. “Look at me.”

She lifts her head off my chest and gazes at me with trusting eyes.

“For now, we’re safe,” I tell her. “The rest, we’ll figure out in the morning, okay?”

She nods slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

She settles back against my chest and I wrap my arms around her. It takes only a few minutes until she’s falling back into sleep.

It takes me a little longer, but when my eyelids finally shut, I don’t stir until the morning comes.

55

Esme

It’s still dark outside when I wake up the next morning. I sit up in bed and let the covers fall away from my naked body.

I reach out instinctively for Artem but my hands find only the soft emptiness of the mattress.

I look around the room for him.

But I’m alone.

With my heartbeat ratcheting upwards, I get off the bed and rifle through the bag at the foot of the bed for clothes. I have no choice other than to pull on the one pair of panties I have, but at least there are other fresh clothes in the bag.

I find a pair of drawstring shorts and a grey t-shirt that’s soft and comfortable. My hands are shaking as I pull them on.

Crazy thoughts are running through my head. Did Artem leave me here alone? Did he get snatched in the middle of the night somehow?

I’ve just pulled on the t-shirt when the door clicks open and I turn to see Artem walking into the room. I let out a deep breath, feeling stupid, and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He looks like a dream in a simple white t-shirt. Those fucking arms.

Last night’s sex is still top of my mind for me. Not to mention all the confusing feelings that always come with Artem’s presence.

But it’s easy to forget about those things when he smiles gently. That mob boss mask I saw at the funeral is gone now. “Don Kovalyov”has left the building.

Standing in front of me is just… Artem.

“I brought coffee,” he says, offering me the Styrofoam cup in his right hand.

The smell of fresh coffee makes my stomach lurch with longing. I accept it gratefully.

“Thanks,” I say before taking a sip.

It tastes more like the Styrofoam it came in than the rich goodness I was used to drinking at breakfasts in Artem’s penthouse.

“This is coffee?”

He chuckles. “I’d call it more of a coffee-like substance. We can stop at a diner on our way out of L.A. if it’s not good enough for your highness.”

I grumble, but I don’t have much of a choice. “Where exactly are we going?” I ask him.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Artem says with a sigh. He sinks into the armchair shoved in one corner of the dingy motel room. “We can’t stay anywhere close to Los Angeles. Budimir will be searching for us all along the West Coast. We need to put some real distance between us and them.”

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