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

The brawling men tumble into me before I can get out of the way. Combined, it’s like being hit with a wrecking ball.

I hit the floor with an oof. My skull cracks back against the hardwood. I see stars.

Another crash sounds through the air. I’m aware of screams and running footsteps coming from the apartments around us.

It takes a moment for my vision to clear, but when it does, I turn my head and see something shining just out of reach.

The knife.

It’s still slick with the blood from Mischa’s leg. I pick the dagger up with shaking hands just as Artem rams Misha into the television. It hits the floor, explodes.

Mischa snarls something in Russian, but Artem doesn’t bother to respond.

Then Artem makes a mistake that turns the fight against him.

He looks for me, checking to make sure I’m all right, but that one second of distraction costs him.

Misha punches him in the face and sends him stumbling to the ground. Before Artem can get his bearings, Misha jumps on top of him.

The snacks I ate earlier rise in a wave of nausea.

Move, Esme. Do something before it’s too late.

My feet move forward and it feels as though I’m watching myself from a distance.

I raise my hand high. Then I plunge the knife into Mischa’s side, just above his hip.

He stops mid-punch as his body goes limp. He turns his neck to the side and catches sight of me.

He’s stunned. As if, despite everything, he didn’t really think I could do it.

He thought I was weak.

That’s what makes me draw the blade out of him, cock it back, and stab in one more time.

This one goes right in his chest. Unlike the first time, the blade doesn’t go in smoothly. I have to push. I have to put some force into it, but I manage with a little effort.

And once I’ve started, I can’t stop. I keep stabbing him.

Even as his blood sprays across my face.

Even when he stops struggling.

Even when the life has long since left his body.

I realize suddenly that my throat is raw and I’m screaming, “I’m not weak, motherfucker! I’m not weak!”

Only Artem’s voice jolts me back to reality.

“Esme.”

I stop. I stare at my hand, suspended in mid-air, the blade of my knife dripping with blood that looks too red and thick to be real.

“It’s okay now,” he says gently. His hand reaches for mine.

He plucks the blade from my clenched fingers and throws it to the side. His hands come around my shoulders and he pivots me around to face him.

He looks so unbelievable calm that for a moment I wonder if I’ve dreamed the entire nightmarish fight.

But then my eyes zero in on the blood dripping from his face and clothes. I look down at my own hands that is splattered with the same ruby red.

It doesn’t feel real. None of it.

“Come on, Esme,” Artem says softly, as he pulls me through the destroyed living room. “It’s time to go.”

He pulls me to my feet and loops an arm around my waist to keep me up. I feel nauseous again, but I hold it down as we make our way over the dead bodies of the soldiers and out of the apartment.

We get to the corner of the hallway and turn towards the elevator lobby.

And then we both freeze in our tracks.

A fifth Bratva soldier stands in front of the elevator doors. This one is dressed like all the others, but he has removed his face mask to reveal heavy-set features, dark, bushy hair, and unsettlingly light eyes.

And he’s got a gun held against Tamara’s head.

52

Esme

My cousin’s face is screwed up in terror, her eyes wide, panicked, and brimming with tears. She’s mumbling under her breath, begging for her life, her eyes darting between Artem and me.

The soldier keeps her body in front of his. His arm is clenched around her neck, while his sweaty hands grip and regrip the gun pressed to her temple.

“Leonid,” Artem says, making sure to position himself right in front of me. “I’m not surprised.”

The man’s face contorts into an ugly sneer. “Take one more step and I’ll blow her fucking brains out.”

“No!” I cry at the same time that Tamara lets out an anguished shriek, more tears flying down her cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up,” Leonid huffs, tightening his grip on Tamara’s forearm.

She trembles, crying unintelligibly, her face paler and more desperate than I’ve ever seen it.

I still can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that she sold me out. But even that doesn’t make me enjoy the sight of her like this.

“I mean it,” Leonid says. “I will kill this bitch if you try anything.”

Artem is quiet for a second. Then he shrugs. “Kill her.”

Tamara whimpers at his words. I reach for Artem’s arm in horror, but he pushes me back roughly.

“Let us walk out of here,” Artem counters, “and I’ll let you live.”

“You’re in no position to bargain,” Leonid snarls.

“Oh, I’m not bargaining,” Artem replies. “I’m walking out of this building either way. You on the other hand have two options. Resist and die or move aside and live.”

“Cocky bas—”

Before he can finish the insult, Artem is in motion.

He hurls the dagger that I used to kill Misha.

It flies through the air and hits Leonid right between the eyes. He drops to the ground instantly, taking Tamara down with him.

Her screams penetrate the air, but Artem drops to his knees and slams his palm over her mouth.

“Enough. That’s enough, you’re all right.”

Tamara starts sobbing uncontrollably as I run over and kneel down beside her. I can see the dagger protruding out of the dead man’s forehead.

But I don’t look any closer.

I don’t want the nightmares.

“Tamara,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Tamara…”

I don’t know what else to say apart from that. The idea of comforting her now feels strange and unnatural somehow.

Probably because I can’t seem to reconcile the cousin I knew and loved with the woman who ratted