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

“Okay.”

“About that handkerchief you keep with you…”

I stare at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. She joins in and the tenseness of the previous moment breaks.

“Is that the first thing you thought about when you woke up in a strange motel room?” I ask.

“Maybe,” she says with a mischievous smile. “It just took me by surprise.”

“So when you have to sneeze…?”

I roll my eyes. “I use tissues,” I reply. “I’m not a fucking Neanderthal. The handkerchief is just an old habit.”

Truthfully, it started years ago because of Marisha, but I still kept up the practice for her. Call it a tribute of sorts.

“Right. Old habit.”

“Besides, you never know when you might need to impress a beautiful woman,” I add.

Esme grins wider. “It worked.”

I press a kiss to her forehead. She moves closer and settles her head down against my chest.

“Artem,” she whispers after a few easy quiet minutes have passed, “what are we gonna do?”

“Hey,” I say. “Look at me.”

She lifts her head off my chest and gazes at me with trusting eyes.

“For now, we’re safe,” I tell her. “The rest, we’ll figure out in the morning, okay?”

She nods slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

She settles back against my chest and I wrap my arms around her. It takes only a few minutes until she’s falling back into sleep.

It takes me a little longer, but when my eyelids finally shut, I don’t stir until the morning comes.

55

Esme

It’s still dark outside when I wake up the next morning. I sit up in bed and let the covers fall away from my naked body.

I reach out instinctively for Artem but my hands find only the soft emptiness of the mattress.

I look around the room for him.

But I’m alone.

With my heartbeat ratcheting upwards, I get off the bed and rifle through the bag at the foot of the bed for clothes. I have no choice other than to pull on the one pair of panties I have, but at least there are other fresh clothes in the bag.

I find a pair of drawstring shorts and a grey t-shirt that’s soft and comfortable. My hands are shaking as I pull them on.

Crazy thoughts are running through my head. Did Artem leave me here alone? Did he get snatched in the middle of the night somehow?

I’ve just pulled on the t-shirt when the door clicks open and I turn to see Artem walking into the room. I let out a deep breath, feeling stupid, and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

He looks like a dream in a simple white t-shirt. Those fucking arms.

Last night’s sex is still top of my mind for me. Not to mention all the confusing feelings that always come with Artem’s presence.

But it’s easy to forget about those things when he smiles gently. That mob boss mask I saw at the funeral is gone now. “Don Kovalyov” has left the building.

Standing in front of me is just… Artem.

“I brought coffee,” he says, offering me the Styrofoam cup in his right hand.

The smell of fresh coffee makes my stomach lurch with longing. I accept it gratefully.

“Thanks,” I say before taking a sip.

It tastes more like the Styrofoam it came in than the rich goodness I was used to drinking at breakfasts in Artem’s penthouse.

“This is coffee?”

He chuckles. “I’d call it more of a coffee-like substance. We can stop at a diner on our way out of L.A. if it’s not good enough for your highness.”

I grumble, but I don’t have much of a choice. “Where exactly are we going?” I ask him.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Artem says with a sigh. He sinks into the armchair shoved in one corner of the dingy motel room. “We can’t stay anywhere close to Los Angeles. Budimir will be searching for us all along the West Coast. We need to put some real distance between us and them.”

My mind pings with an idea, but I’m not sure Artem’s going to be too happy about it.

I decide to suggest it anyway.

“What about Mexico?”

“Mexico?” he repeats, his brow knotting together.

A small part of me is craving a familiar landscape, some place surrounded by mountains and trees.

Not to mention, it’s the perfect hideaway.

“I know a place,” I tell him. “A secluded little hunting lunge in the mountains. Up near a peak called Picacho del Diablo.”

“Devil’s Peak,” Artem translates.

“Uh-huh,” I nod. “It’s virtually abandoned up there. It’s the perfect place for us to lay low for a while.”

Artem thinks it over for a moment, before turning to me with a curious expression on his face. “How do you know about it?” he asks.

I had hoped he wouldn’t ask me that question, but I’m not about to shy away from it now that he has.

“Cesar used to go there sometimes. When he needed to get away from it all.”

My brother’s name—and all the baggage that comes with it—fills the space between us and the silence grows weary and itchy with heat.

Then Artem nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I repeat. “As in, yes?”

“I don’t have any better ideas. A mountain lodge in a different country checks all the boxes for now.”

“Right. Great. We’ll be there by tonight then, I think. It’s like a three-hour drive at most.”

He shakes his head.

“No?” I say. “Why not?”

“We can’t risk taking the straight route. We’ll have to take the long way.”

“Which is?”

“Backroads only. Stop often. Double back when we can. Zig zag all the way down to the border.”

I swallow. “That sounds awful.”

He laughs. “We’ll be stuck together for a while. Got a problem with that?”

“Several,” I retort, but I’m smiling.

“File them with Human Resources then,” he says. He points towards the trash can in the corner of the room. “The suggestions box is right there.”

I promptly chuck a pillow at his head.

“We can make it to Joshua Tree by tonight,” Artem says. “Then make our way to Devil’s Peak from there. We’ll be surrounded by mountains tomorrow.”

I nod and push myself off the bed as Artem picks