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

The moment the blade sinks in, he’s already moving, ripping it out and throwing it end-over-end through the air at the creeping soldier who’s decided I’m the better target.

The man sees it at the last second and starts to duck, but it still slices open his cheek. He roars in pain as blood sprays on Tamara’s white couch.

Artem moves towards me to intervene, but his path is blocked by the second soldier, who lunges at him.

The last thing I see is Artem being thrown against a thin wooden console table before rough hands latch onto my shoulders and I’m being lifted into the air.

That’s when I remind myself that I have a weapon in hand.

I’m not defenseless.

I can protect my fucking self.

Kicking into survival mode, I bring the blade down blindly. It makes sickening, squelching contact, and a moment later, the masked soldier cries out in shock and pain.

He drops me like a hot rock. I land on my hands and knees. The pain of the fall radiates through my joints.

I try to scramble to my feet, but before I can get far, the man’s hand grabs my left ankle and he pulls so hard that I’m getting a face full of carpet again.

I try and kick him off me, but he’s fighting hard, even as blood spurts from the puncture wound in his thigh.

“Come here, you fucking bitch,” he snarls. The whites of his eyes are huge and terrifying.

I can hear the commotion of another fight in the room next to this one, and I hope that Artem has the upper hand now, but I can’t be sure and I have to get away from the attacker still attached to my leg.

All the while, I can feel a strange pulsing in my stomach.

As though my body’s trying to remind me that it’s not just me I’m fighting for.

I twist around so that I’m on my back against the floor and kick as hard as I can. My foot careens into his face and he recoils backwards with a pained grunt, giving me enough time to get to my feet.

But in the chaos, I’ve lost track of the knife. It’s definitely not in my hand anymore.

I search the floor desperately. I don’t have long. Without the knife, I’m screwed.

“I will fucking kill you,” he growls at me. “Come here.”

“In your fucking dreams,” I say. I’m shocked at how confident I sound.

He tries to lunge for me again but the wound in his leg stops him short and he clatters to the ground.

I run around the couch, my eyes darting between my attacker and the floor.

Where the fuck is that knife?

I see it glinting by the door that leads to the balcony and I jump towards it.

“Stop!”

The fury in the soldier’s voice forces me to a standstill.

When I look up, he has his gun out and pointed at me.

“I’m not playing this fucking game anymore,” he hisses. “You take another step and I’ll shoot.”

“Will your boss be happy about that?” I ask.

I honestly don’t know if Artem’s uncle will care either way, but these men broke in here today with the intention of taking me captive.

If the end goal was to kill me, I was fairly certain I’d be dead by now.

“He’ll deal with it,” my attacker spits. “What’s one more dead whore?”

I cringe at his words, disgusted and terrified in equal measure. Then I hear the cock of a second gun.

My eyes dart to the entrance of the room. Relief floods through me when I see Artem standing there, his eyes honed on the masked man opposite me.

“Move the fuck away from her right now,” Artem commands.

Blood spatters the front of his shirt and there’s a spray of it that’s landed across his face in a Picasso-like flourish.

“Is that you, Mischa?” Artem asks, his tone conversational.

“It’s not personal, Artem.”

“Like fuck it isn’t,” my husband hisses. “You chose the wrong side.”

The soldier breathes shallowly. “Your uncle is a powerful man.”

“No, my uncle is a traitorous motherfucker,” Artem fires back. “My father was the powerful man.”

“And look where that got him,” Mischa retorts. “Dead.”

I expect Artem to explode at that, but he remains stationary, totally calm.

“I am my father’s son, Mischa. Remember that when the life is draining from your body.”

“Today is not the day I die.”

Artem laughs, dark and cold. “There was a reason I told you to stay away from casinos, old friend,” he says. “You were never good at gambling. Now put the gun down.”

“You first.”

Artem narrows his eyes and I recognize that his patience is drawing to its edge. Mischa seems to sense that, too, because he darts towards me suddenly and before I can react, he has his arm around my neck and he’s using me as a human shield.

I stare at Artem, whose expression has turned to thunder. His lips curl up over his teeth like a wild beast.

“I was going to give you a quick death,” Artem says.

Mischa laughs scornfully. “Now maybe I’ll give your woman a quick death instead.”

We both realize at the same time that that was the wrong fucking thing to say.

I jab my elbow into Mischa’s thick torso. The unexpected pain causes him to drop his gun.

At the exact same time, Artem explodes forward with vengeance written on his face.

Seeing him coming, Mischa pushes me to the ground. The man’s gun hits the floor at an angle and it fires.

The bullet careens across the air and hits the window overlooking the balcony. Glass shatters around me. I put my hands over my head to shield myself from the falling debris.

When I look up, I see Artem and Mischa on the floor, both men struggling to get the upper hand. Punches exchanged. The meaty thwack of fists meeting faces.

I stumble to my feet, trying to get my brain to stop panicking. The gun is just a few yards away. I scramble for it, but just before I’m close enough to reach, Artem’s boot comes