Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) by Nicole Fox (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📕

the street, looking up at a massive billboard of a scarlet-lipped model in black lace lingerie.

I shouldn’t stop. I should keep moving. Artem could be anywhere.

But I’m just so, so tired.

The billboard model stares at me seductively, her lips parted ever so slightly.

She makes me feel… unsettled.

Probably because she’s completely and utterly dead in the eyes. It scares me how much I relate to that expression.

“I have to get indoors,” I mumble up to her. As if this 2D bimbo gives a shit about me, or about anyone. “Somewhere safe and hidden, so he doesn’t find me.” My stomach rumbles again. “Preferably somewhere with food.”

She doesn’t even blink.

With a sigh, I let my gaze fall from the billboard to a coffee shop nestled across the street.

There’s a couple sitting at one of the outdoor tables. They lean in towards each other, foreheads pressed together and dreamy smiles on their faces, oblivious to everything around them.

A fat piece of cake sits between them on the table.

Red velvet, unless my eyes deceive me. The things I would do for a single bite…

Out of nowhere, a prickly sense of unease skims over my body. That “someone’s watching me and they don’t have good intentions” spidey sense that every woman in public knows all too well.

My first thought is laced with panic.

It’s Artem.

He’s found me.

I whirl around one hundred and eighty degrees.

Sure enough, there’s a man behind me.

Tall. Broad. Dark-haired and—

Wait, no. His hair is too shaggy and the wrong shade of dark. And Artem Kovalyov would never be caught dead in a pinstripe suit that faded and old.

But I don’t let my guard down just yet.

The man’s weathered face is kindly, but just because he doesn’t look the part doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

“Here you go, hon,” he says, stretching his hand out towards me.

I flinch back, wondering who he works for, already planning which direction I’ll dive if he tries to grab me.

That’s when I notice the five-dollar bill in his outstretched hand.

I look up at his face and realize he’s giving me a sympathetic smile.

He thinks I’m homeless.

I’m so shocked by this realization that I actually reach up and take the money.

“Thank you,” I whisper automatically, not sure why the gesture touches me as much as it does.

“Go get yourself a nice warm meal, dear,” he tells me. Then he walks away.

A bubble of laughter rises to my lips. I must look like a real pile of flaming garbage if kind older men are out here dispensing cash to wretches like me.

I bury my hand in my hands as the laughter takes me over. It’s the kind of laughter that only comes to those who have nothing left to lose. Desperate, heaving laughter.

I let it run through me like a storm. When it’s gone, I look up at the coffee shop again. Maybe I’ll go get a piece of that cake with this five bucks.

The remnants of the laughing tears stain my eyes.

So when I first see him, it’s too blurred, too much of a fragmented mosaic to seem real.

But then I wipe the tears away and it all resolves into perfect clarity.

There he is.

No false alarm. No mistaking the man.

I’d recognize those dark eyes in a room full of shadow.

The taint of furious betrayal lingers in the lines of Artem’s mouth. He’s standing on the opposite side of the street in a dark coat that acts as camouflage. Even from here, I think I can see blood on his hands.

What has he done to find me? Who has he hurt to track me down?

And what will he do when he closes the final distance?

The traffic on the road is light. It’s not going to take much for him to cross.

That means I have to go—right fucking now.

I dart up from the bench, still clutching my five-dollar bill, and run down the street without looking back.

My legs still feel drugged and heavy, but the adrenaline is loosening them up considerably.

The cold pavement slaps at the soles of my feet but I don’t let that stop me, either.

I don’t slow down.

I don’t look back.

I just run.

I turn the corner, sprint down an alleyway, and find myself on a broader street with grotesque-looking signs outside its shops.

A left turn leads me into another alleyway, this one narrower than the last. I run down it, realizing that I’ve made a huge mistake by veering away from the crowds of the busier L.A. roads.

Another turn.

Dead-end.

I stare in disbelief at the brick wall at the end of the trash-filled alley. I can barely breathe. Panic squeezes my lungs, but I don’t have the option of stopping here.

I turn, stumble…

And that’s when I run right into Artem’s broad chest.

I bounce off, but he grabs me before I fall to the concrete. His hand locks around my wrist so tight that it nearly cuts off my circulation, but I still struggle to get free, as useless as that effort is.

“Let me go,” I spit, trying to summon up every last lick of bravery I still possess.

Artem tows me towards him until my face is only inches away from his. His eyes burn with an urgency I don’t quite understand.

He doesn’t look angry so much as… determined.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands. “It’s me.”

“You?” I hiss. “You are nothing but a murderer. A liar and a murderer.”

He looks down at me with something like confusion. “You know what my world requires of me,” he says softly. “I never lied to you about that.”

I shake my head, all the while trying to pull my hand out of his grasp. He shakes his head in frustration as his eyes flash dangerously.

“Fucking hell, Esme!” he yells, pulling me back behind a dumpster so that we’re out of sight of passing cars and foot traffic. “Calm the fuck down. You’re disoriented and confused, but I don’t have time to explain anything to you now. We have to get out of the city.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I scowl. “But not with you.”

“Goddammit,”