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

that leads to a little private balcony overlooking the pool.

Cillian pulls the covers of the bed away on one side to reveal clean white sheets underneath. I set Esme down gingerly on the edge that’s closest to the window and straighten up again.

When I turn around, Cillian is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“You don’t exactly blend in,” Cillian points out. “Big fuckin’ oaf.”

“Does the blood stand out a little?” I ask sarcastically.

Cillian rolls his eyes but chuckles lightly under his breath. “I’m gonna go and get you two some clothes,” he says. “We passed a twenty-four-hour department store about a mile or two back. I shouldn’t be long.”

I nod gratefully. Cillian leaves, pulling the door shut quietly on his way out.

I walk into the bathroom, which is so small that I have difficulty maneuvering. But I find two small hand towels under the sink and an empty toothbrush holder that I fill with water before walking back into the room.

I peel away Esme’s clothes, one by one. The pants come off first, and then her white blouse. I leave her panties on, but I remove her bra and place it on the bedside table next to the night lamp.

Then I dip the first towel into the water and start massaging her body as gently as possible. She stirs a little when I put pressure on the dried blood caked around her arms, but she settles back into sleep when I pull away.

She’s as beautiful and as tempting as ever, but I tamp down the desire. Need to try and focus.

Once I’ve managed to get all the blood off her, I bring the covers back over her, shielding her body from view.

She looks much more comfortable now, or maybe that’s just what I want to believe. I throw the blood-stained towels straight into the bathroom trash, along with Esme’s clothes.

Then, leaving the door wide open so I’d know when Cillian comes back, I strip down and get in the shower. The water is cold but I welcome it.

I need the icy bite to wash this fucking day off me.

I stand there for ten minutes before I finally turn off the flow. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out just as Cillian comes in through the front door.

“Spare me the gun show,” he says with an obnoxious eye waggle at my bare chest. “I’ve seen the tats before and I’m not impressed.”

“Shut up and give me the clothes, wise ass.”

He tosses a plastic bag of clothes to me. I step back into the bathroom and shrug into a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt.

“There’s stuff in there for Esme, too,” he calls from the main room. “I was just guessing on sizes and shit.”

“Should be fine.” I smell fresh bread and my stomach churns with hunger. “You brought food?”

“Meatball subs,” Cillian replies. “And beer.”

“I fucking love you.”

“Wow, you must really be hungry.”

“Starving.”

I step out of the bathroom and reach for the bag with the subs, but Cillian pulls them out of my reach with a grin.

“You wanna say you love me again? I’d like to record it.”

“Fuck off,” I laugh. “Let’s sit on the balcony and eat these. She needs the rest.”

Nodding, Cillian heads straight for the balcony. I lag behind to fish out a navy-blue t-shirt with a round neckline. Then I walk over to Esme and pull back the covers long enough to slip the t-shirt on her.

She mumbles in her sleep before turning on her side, a sigh emanating from her slightly parted lips.

My hand reaches out before I can stop it and my fingers trail over her perfect lips. I let myself stare at her for another minute before tearing myself away.

I head out to the balcony where Cillian is waiting for me. It’s only big enough to accommodate the two fold-out chairs and the tiny round table that sits between them.

“I don’t bite,” Cillian says, patting the empty seat. “Much.”

“That’s the lamest dad joke I’ve ever heard.”

“How long ‘til you start cracking those?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m too hungry for that conversation, man. Give me the motherfucking sub.”

Laughing, he hands me my sandwich and a cold beer. I take a long swig, realizing that it’s been days since my last drink, and even longer since my last drinking binge.

That’s a little unnerving.

I set the bottle down and reach for the sub. The first huge bite is heaven-sent. The second is pure crack cocaine.

“Fuck,” I say, looking down at the sub. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Might be the last thing you ever will eat if you keep taking bites like a goddamn horse.”

“Good point,” I mumble, taking another generous mouthful.

We sit in silence for a while, eating and drinking until the subs disappear and our beers come down to the outdoor temperature.

I look down at the pool, which has long since been empty. The water looks calm and still, like a glowing blue mirror.

“I should leave soon,” Cillian says after some time has passed.

I turn to him. “You can sleep at the foot of the bed. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“No, man,” he replies without laughing, shaking his head. “I mean, leave this motel. We shouldn’t be travelling together at all.”

“Fuck that. We stick together.”

“We’ve both got targets on our backs, Artem,” he replies. “So does Esme. There’s no fucking way staying together is the right thing to do, and you know that, too.”

I sigh. I do know that.

Cillian claps a hand on my shoulder. As chummy as ever, as if this was all a fun field trip instead of what it is—fucking betrayal.

“We’ll get some snazzy flip phones,” he says breezily, “so you can call me whenever you need a good laugh.”

“Can’t fucking wait,” I grumble.

“That’s the spirit. Mr. Optimism, Artem Kovalyov, ladies and gents.”

He’s laughing, but his eyes are sad. He knows what’s at stake. There’s a very real chance that, if things go badly, we’re close to the end. Splitting up could mean we’ll never