Page 89 of Gilded Cage (Kovalyov Bratva 1)

23

Artem

“Well, Doc?” Cillian quips. “Will I live?”

Dr. Sokolov is on call for the Bratva twenty-four-seven. He’s a second-generation Russian immigrant who’s pushing sixty and trying to turn back the clock.

His blonde highlights catch the unnaturally bright lights of the medical room that’s been built into the back of his sprawling Beverly Hills home. He’s been in the Bratva’s employ for almost two decades now.

Judging solely by the pricey furniture we saw on the way in here, it’s going pretty well for him.

“You’ll live,” Sokolov says mildly. “I just need to put in a few stitches.”

“Gently, please,” Cillian says.

“Don’t be a bitch,” I scold him.

Sokolov grabs his head and pushes it front facing. “No moving. No talking, either.”

I catch Cillian’s eye from where I’m sitting in a nearby armchair. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“I had to drink for you and me both since you were being a baby tonight,” he retorts. “Can’t feel a thing.”

“Ah, the beauty of youth and alcohol,” Sokolov chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean you up and finish the stitches. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour or so.”

“You don’t need to stay,” Cillian tells me. “Contrary to what you might think, I don’t actually need you to hold my hand.”

“I’m not convinced,” I smirk.

Cillian flips me off. “For real. I’m good. Fuck outta here.”

Grinning, I grab my jacket. “Okay then. Call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing.”

“If you insist, Pops,” Cillian replies, with that shit-eating smile of his.

“So much for the hooker in a sexy nurse costume I was gonna send over to your place as a get-well-soon present.” I get up and make for the door. “Make sure those stitches hurt when you put them in, Doc!”

I call a Bratva car to pick me up and drive me back to the apartment.

Esme’s probably asleep by now. I tell myself that my need to check on her is purely business, nothing more.

But I don’t even sound convincing. Not even to myself.

When the elevator doors open to my penthouse, I notice the lights are still on in the sitting room.

I move forward and turn the corner. The room kind of melts into the background as my eyes focus on the woman lounging on the sofa with her legs kicked up.

She straightens up a little when she sees me and flips her dark locks for effect.

“There you are,” she says, with a raspy familiarity that doesn’t immediately register. “I’ve been waiting all night.”

I stare at her, confused by what I’m seeing. Esme stands slowly, a wicked little twinkle in her eye as she gives me a smile that makes my cock twitch.

It would have been completely hard by now…

If it weren’t for the fact that she’s wearing the ugliest lingerie I’ve ever seen in my life.

As though she knows what’s running through my head, she fingers the frilly fabric that ends just below her pussy and gives me an elaborate twirl.

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