Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2) by Nicole Fox (e book free reading .txt) 📕

Cillian looks like shit. There’s a nasty gash in his arm and an appalling lack of color in his face. If he loses much more blood, no amount of medical attention will save him.

“Leave him out of this,” I call out, even though I know that bargaining was pointless now.

“Leave him out of this?” Budimir says in amusement. “He’s a part of this, just as much as you. I assume this is the loyalty that you hold in such high regard?”

Budimir raises his gun again.

This time, he’s pointing it at Cillian.

My best friend glances up at me and I can see the apology written all over his face.

He knew that intervening would mean his death.

And he attacked anyway.

“Here’s another lesson, my dear nephew,” Budimir continues as I stand there, frozen in place, with the butt of a gun pressed to the back of my head. “Loyalty and stupidity aren’t so far apart. These men that surround you were smart enough to recognize power when they saw it. That is why they answer to me.”

Then he turns his gaze to Cillian, who is now chalk-white and weakening by the second.

“Where’s the girl?” he asks.

“What girl?” Cillian asks, so convincingly even I almost believe him for a moment.

“Artem’s fucking wife,” Budimir snarls.

“She abandoned him the first chance she got,” Cillian replies. “We haven’t seen her since the clinic.”

Cillian, you fucking legend. I will forever be in your debt.

“Well, then,” Budimir sighs, “you’re of no more use to me.”

He cocks the gun and fires.

Once.

Twice.

Three bullets emptied into my best friend’s chest.

I roar wordlessly at the top of my lungs. It’s a primal, haunting sound, ripped straight out of my soul.

I don’t even realize I’m moving forward towards Cillian until something hard and blunt clocks me at the back of my head.

I drop to the ground, soft dirt squishing between my fingers as I stare at the body that’s just dropped limp at Budimir’s feet.

“Cillian,” I whisper. “Fuck… Cillian…”

I try to keep crawling forward, but I’m hit again, right on my spine. I fall flat against the fallen leaves. They scratch at my face and I suck in my breath as their rotting smell fills my nostrils.

Cillian…

I hear footsteps moving closer. Someone puts a boot toe under my ribs and rolls me over. Every motion is agony.

As I peer up, I catch a glimpse of the crescent moon hanging over me, just before it’s blocked out by Budimir’s face.

“You see, Artem?” Budimir lectures. “You see how much more satisfying it is to be patient? Now, I get to walk away and you get to lie here in the dirt where you belong. You get to lie here with your dead friend and bleed out slowly while you go over all your mistakes.”

He spits on my face. Cocks his gun one more time and unloads it into my stomach.

Then he turns and pads away.

The forest slowly empties. Silence takes over once more.

My head spins with memories, past and present, but none of them feel real. None of them feel like they belong to me anymore.

I see a tan woman with haunting hazel eyes, a mangled body and a bloody baby in her arms.

I see an old man with heavy brows and a wizened sorrow on his face.

And last of all, I see a blonde Irishman, with a smile on his lips and an apology in his too-blue eyes.

7

Esme

There’s a moment when everything feels like it’s going in slow motion.

As though my only coping mechanism is to compound everything down into milliseconds so that I don’t have to deal with the inevitable threat walking towards me.

I’m going to drag you to Artem and he can watch as my seed slips out of you.

The man’s words hang in the crisp mountain air.

They’re too ugly for my little paradise. Too filthy. Too cruel.

His face is contorted with lust and anger and a desire to inflict pain. He licks his lips slowly and for the first time, I truly understand what it means to have your skin crawl.

Nausea bubbles up inside me like a volcano, but I tamp it down and try to focus.

I bring my hand up. He sees the gun in my violently shaking hand.

His eyes go wide.

Before I either give into the urge to puke or lose my only opportunity at this, I pull the trigger.

It’s harder than I think it will be. Or maybe I’m just weak and afraid.

The force of the recoil sends me stumbling backwards, but I manage to keep my feet.

He bellows and jumps to the side. A piece of tree bark behind him splinters on impact.

I missed.

A foot or more wide.

“You fucking bitch!” he growls, his jaw clenched with anger.

Then he makes a run in my direction.

I raise the gun again, but I’m too slow. He’s on me.

His body crashes into mine. Drives the wind from my lungs as we land in a tangled heap in the dirt. When my hand comes swinging down, it hits a rock embedded in the forest floor.

The gun goes clattering from my grasp.

I don’t have time even to scream, because he’s swatting my thrashing limbs aside as he struggles for control. I put up a fight—as best as I can.

But I never had a chance.

He tucks each of my wrists beneath his knees as he straddles me. Two quick slaps across the face knock me silly. I taste blood.

“You’re going to pay for that, you cunt,” he snarls.

“No… no, please…”

“Yeah, that’s right. Beg me to let you go. It won’t help, but I’ll let you beg me anyway.”

My head is pounding with the weight of my fear as he spreads my legs with one of his knees. He releases one of my hands so that he can fumble with my clothes.

I bring it up hard, slapping him clean across the face. My nails tear skin, leaving streaks of glistening blood on his cheek.

He recovers almost instantly and slaps me back just as hard.

My eyes un-focus for a moment. All I can see is blinding