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

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Then we head out of the motel room and downstairs to the lot where the cars are parked. I realize that I haven’t seen Cillian since yesterday.

“Where’s Cillian?” I ask, stopping at the foot of the stairs when I realize that I don’t see the white hatchback in the lot.

“He left late last night while you were sleeping,” Artem tells me. “The black car’s ours.”

He leads me to a black sedan that manages to be both boring and sensible, which is probably the exact reason why he picked it in the first place. He throws our one bag into the back seat and we get into the car.

“Where’d you pick up this one?” I ask.

“A few miles out from here, while I was on the coffee run this morning,” he replies without hesitation or apology.

Guilt rakes at my conscience, but I suppress the feeling. Stealing cars is one of my lesser crimes in any case. If I start feeling guilty about every single one of my sins, I won’t make it through the day.

A flash of unwelcome memory flits through my head. The image of a masked man whose eyes are fixed on me just before the light goes out from behind them.

I remember how hard I pushed that knife into him. The memory makes me shudder.

“Esme?”

I flinch at Artem’s voice.

His eyebrows rise at my reaction. “Something wrong?” he asks.

“No,” I say quickly. “Nothing.”

He keeps his eyes on me a moment longer before he pulls out of the motel and we start the drive out of the city.

We drive for about half an hour, mostly quiet. Anytime things get a little too bustling, he veers off into narrow little by-roads that seem to go on forever.

After a while, we stop in front of a secluded diner situated off the beaten track. Artem parks the car in the gravel lot and we walk inside together.

The interior of the diner is old school, neon and chrome and fluorescent everywhere. Barstools line the breakfast counter and little booths dot the outer rim of the restaurant. A few folks sit, nursing cups of coffee or stacks of pancakes. Hardly anyone looks up as we enter.

Artem and I find a booth away from the windows and sit down to the smell of bacon and eggs. Almost immediately after we’ve sat down, a waitress appears between us with a bright smile.

“Hey, guys,” she says—Midge, according to her nametag. “What can I get for ya today?”

She looks a young fifty, with curling blonde hair that’s only just starting to get grey at the roots. Her eyes slide right over me but they really pop when they land on Artem.

It’s amazing—and extremely annoying—how he seems to appeal to so many different women.

“Esme?” Artem says.

“Um… I’ll have the pancakes,” I say, choosing spontaneously. “And a coffee, please.”

“I’ll have the bacon and eggs on toast,” Artem tells her. “A coffee for me as well.”

She scratches our orders down on her pads and then hustles away. Artem and I sink into an easy silence as we look around at the rural folks enjoying their breakfasts.

In no time at all, Midge is back with a tray balanced on her shoulder.

“Here you go, lovebirds,” she says. “Breakfast is served.”

She sets down our plates and our coffees and heads back to the counter. I use my fork to cut out a sliver of pancake, dredge it through syrup and butter, then pop it into my mouth.

Is it the best pancake I’ve ever had?

No.

But does it taste like the chef really poured all his love and effort into it?

Also no.

Still, I’m starving, so no complaints from me. I take the whole thing down in record time, hardly taking even a second to breathe between bites.

When I finally reach my limit, I look up to find that Artem is watching me with a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“Nothing,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Just admiring.”

I frown to cover the blush rising to my cheeks. “Admiring what, exactly?” I ask. “A pregnant woman scarfing down her weight in pancakes?”

Artem nods. “Something like that. It’s always nice to see a beautiful woman who also appreciates food.”

“I take it you haven’t been around many of those women.” I ask.

“Only once,” he replies. “A long time ago.”

Something about his tone prevents me from asking more. And before I can obsess about it too much, Midge appears between us again, her smile aimed at Artem.

“How’s everything, guys?”

“Great,” Artem answers without even looking at her. She hovers anyway, still keeping her attention focused on him.

She throws me a cursory smile every now and again, but it’s more out of politeness than anything else.

“Well, is there anything else I can help you with today, handsome?” she continues. Her voice is irritatingly chipper.

“Nothing,” I interrupt curtly with a tight smile. “Just some peace and quiet while we enjoy our breakfast.”

Her eyebrows rise just a tad, but she keeps the smile on her face as she walks away. I spear another piece of pancake and pop it into my mouth, trying to ignore the fact that Artem is staring at me.

“What?” I demand, when he doesn’t stop.

“Was there a reason she annoyed you?” he asks.

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m sitting at this booth, too,” I respond. “She was only talking to you.”

“That’s not true.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you wouldn’t notice something like that. Typical.”

“What’s typical?”

“You get the attention all the time, so of course you don’t notice it.”

“I wasn’t aware this was a common occurrence,” he says.

“There was that slutty air hostess on the plane when we flew to Hawaii,” I say before I can stop myself.

Artem’s eyebrows rise. I know he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“What made her slutty?” he ask, with barely-concealed amusement. His laughter is pissing me off, truth be told.

“The fact that she was basically offering herself up to a married man,” I