Gilded Cage: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 1) Nicole Fox (people reading books TXT) 📖

But she is thrashing around wildly in her bed, still screaming at the top of her lungs, her face locked up in fear.

Her eyes are closed, though.

She’s having night terrors, I realize, as I click the safety on my gun and set it down on a table by the door.

I move forward. Esme continues to writhe on bed as if she’s possessed.

She’s wearing a soft cotton slip that’s drenched with sweat. Her hands scrabble to grip at the sheets.

“No!” she screams. “Please… no, no…”

When I touch her, she bolts upright and starts fighting against me as though I’m her attacker. I grip her tightly, trying to get her to stop thrashing around.

“Esme,” I say calmly. “Esme, calm down. You’re having a nightmare. It’s just a nightmare.”

“No, please… let me go.”

“Esme!”

Her eyes fly open and find mine, but I can see by the glassiness in her gaze that she’s still not fully awake or fully aware.

“I’m scared,” she gasps, looking right at me.

“I know,” I tell her. “But you don’t have to be. I’m here.”

She squints. “I know you,” she mumbles. “I… Do I know you?”

She’s not herself at the moment, so I don’t try and explain anything to her. I just pull her to me.

She comes willingly. Her arms go around my neck and she presses into me like a child seeking comfort.

“Esme, vse budet horosho,” I whisper into her ear. “Ya zdes. Ya zdes. Ya zdes.”

Everything is going to be okay.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.

She burrows in deeper against my neck. I savor the feel of her in my arms like this. It’s foreign but it feels right.

She’s still shivering, so I lie down, taking her with me and then I bring the sheet up and over to cover us. She curls gratefully into my embrace.

Her screams quiet to infrequent whimpers, and then to the soft in-and-out of sleep breathing.

I stay perfectly still for a long time. I don’t want to leave her.

And then she turns around in my arms so that her face is only an inch from mine. Her head rests against my arm and one hand falls over my chest.

Only then does she finally settle for real.

Tangled up in the sheets with our legs entwined, this infuriating girl cradled in my arms—it is the most intimate I’ve been with a woman in years.

I feel so fucking exposed.

I’ve already given Esme too much power by letting her inside my head. And yet, it crosses my mind that power in a relationship seems suddenly overrated.

That’s the most fucked-up part of all of it.

She’s making me question everything.

I need to clear my head.

I need to get control of this goddamn situation.

Or else, I’m going to come undone.

I can already feel it happening.

33

Esme The Next Morning

I wake up feeling strange.

I had nightmares last night. I was panicked. Scared.

I remember feeling so desperately alone that I felt as though I was drowning in it.

And then… it had just stopped. Like someone had pulled me out of those dark waters.

Was that real? Was any of it?

I glance around the room, but nothing seems different.

I look at the bed, but the chaotic spread of the sheets doesn’t give me any clues.

As I sit up however, Artem’s scent floods my senses. Instinctively, I stop, close my eyes, and breathe it in.

That is definitely his scent—musky, woodsy. All raw sex appeal and quiet strength.

I wrack my brain for snippets of memory that can give me a better idea of what exactly had happened last night, but I keep drawing blanks.

It’s all just messed up. Fuzzy.

I get out of bed and stretch. My hands fall impulsively onto my belly.

I can feel my body changing slowly and I know it’s only a matter of time before I start showing. I’m extremely lucky that I’ve managed to conceal my pregnancy for this long.

But I’m running out of time.

I walk to the window and stare out at the ocean, hoping for answers to magically appear. My eyes land on the lone figure sitting on the beach with his back to me.

Artem.

A sudden thought catches me off guard.

He deserves to know I’m carrying his baby.

The plan was never to tell Artem, but somewhere along the way, that has obviously changed.

He means… something.

I wish I knew what.

My heart stumbles a little as I realize how familiar he has become to me. He’s more than just the stranger who taken me on the bathroom counter of a club. More than just the man who killed my father and destroyed my home.

He’s no longer just a hero from a twisted, sinful fantasy.

Nor is he the villain from a nightmare.

He’s both.

He’s neither.

He’s everything.

He’s nothing.

I force my eyes away from him and head into the bathroom to shower. When I step out, I change into a light floral dress before making my way downstairs.

The house is empty and I find myself longing for company. Which is why I start walking along the beach, straight to where Artem is sitting.

He’s in the same position, eyes trained on the horizon. Either he doesn’t notice me coming or he doesn’t care. Whichever it is, he doesn’t look up until I’m close.

I sit down next to him, keeping a modest foot between us. The sand is cool between my toes.

Artem acknowledges my presence with a sigh and nothing else.

“You’ve been out here a long time,” I say eventually, admiring the blue-green hues of the ocean.

“You’ve been keeping track?”

I turn my gaze to his face, marveling at the classical beauty of his profile. His dark eyes look elsewhere, filled with secrets that don’t include me.

That’s when I notice the bottle sitting next to him. Alcohol of some kind, and judging by how much of it is empty, he’s consumed a lot of it.

But he doesn’t seem drunk. He’s as steady and frigid as ever.

And every bit as frustrating.

“Artem?”

He turns to me, his eyes grazing over my features, before slipping away again.

“Yeah?”

“Were you with me last night?”

“Why? Did you dream about me?”

“Artem.”

Nothing. A long, drawn-out silence. I