My immediate instinct is to run after Artem. To grab him, pull him to me, and away from danger.
I don’t know what to do. His rifle is propped up at the door. Artem had explained how it worked, but I didn’t want to practice. Not if I didn’t have to.
I hear motion outside. And then men’s voices.
“Fuck!” Artem’s voice carries through the night towards me.
I gasp.
Before I know what I’m doing, I run out the door and onto the porch steps. I’m ready for the worst. Ready for anything.
Except, apparently, what’s actually waiting for me.
Artem has his arms around a man who’s almost as tall as he is. For one crazy second, I think they’re wrestling.
Then they release one another, and I see the smiles on both their faces.
The blonde man turns and I realize who it is.
“Cillian!” I exclaim.
“Hello, Esme,” he says, raising his hand and giving me a wave. “I didn’t want to tell you I was coming in case my phone was being tapped. I didn’t want any of Budimir’s stooges on my tail. Sorry to crash your mountain hideaway. Cool spot, though.”
I laugh out loud in pure joy. Artem looks like he feels the same way I do. He’s beaming from ear to ear.
“Come on in! Are you hungry?”
“I could eat a literal cow.”
Laughing again, I hurry inside to pull out some cold cuts and bread. It’s late, but suddenly I’m just as hungry as the two men are.
They follow me into the cabin. I can hear them catch up as I get out plates and set the table for our midnight dinner.
I’m distracted, so I keep making stupid mistakes and spilling things and making messes that I then have to clean up, but neither Artem nor Cillian seems to notice.
I try and catch snippets of their conversation, but their voices are low. I’m not sure if that’s intentional or not.
“… how bad is it…”
“…trafficking women and young girls… across the borders… spies everywhere…”
“… yes, they have… a couple of million… dead…”
Whatever I hear doesn’t make me feel any better. I tune them out.
Once the table is ready, I move forward and sit beside Artem on the couch. The conversation tapers off instantly.
But Cillian covers it well as he turns to me with a friendly smile that instantly puts me at ease.
“Esme, you’re absolutely glowing,” he says, before his smile turns mischievous. “Of course, that could just be the afterglow of sex.”
I smack him on the shoulder, but when I reach up and touch my face, I realize my lips are swollen from Artem’s kisses.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say, then I stand and retreat to the bedroom to change into something better than one of Artem’s ragged t-shirts and splash some cold water on my face.
I come back out a few minutes later feeling more composed. But I stop at the edge of the hallway and listen when I hear Cillian saying my name.
“… you look so fucking happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. Am I right in guessing this has everything to do with Esme?”
I hold my breath for Artem’s answer.
“I feel like I’m under her fucking spell, Cillian,” Artem replies. “This girl… It was meant to be a political marriage, but it’s turned into a real one.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Cillian agrees. “The two of you look like a fucking picture-perfect couple.”
“There’s no such thing,” Artem says carefully. My heart quivers nervously at that.
Unwilling to eavesdrop any longer—especially after what happened last time I did that—I step out towards them.
“How about dinner, boys?” I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible.
They nod and join me at the table.
I really do like Cillian. This is the first time I’ve spent any real time with him and I find him to be light-hearted, funny and sincere. I can see why Artem and he are so close.
He also loves making fun of his best friend, which gets a laugh out of me every time.
But I also pick up on other things. Things they are not discussing in front of me.
In fact, there’s a lot they leave unsaid. A history that doesn’t include me. Cillian was a part of his life when Marisha was.
It’s not quite jealousy that I feel, but it’s something close.
Still, it’s easy to ignore all that as we eat and laugh. The dinner conversation is light, and Cillian tells me a few stories about Artem over the years.
He’s careful to stay away from anything directly connected to the Bratva, but I can feel the history of their lives in the cartel on the fringes of every story he tells.
Once we’ve finished eating, Artem stands. “I’m going to go check my perimeter again, make sure it’s secure.”
“Paranoid much?” Cillian teases.
“Can never be too careful,” Artem shoots back. “Are you coming with me?”
I expect Cillian to tag along, but he doesn’t. “Actually, I’ve had a long journey. I’ll leave the grunt work to you.”
Artem smiles and nods before grabbing his rifle and heading out. “I won’t be more than an hour or so,” he says. “You two play nice.”
Once he’s gone, I turn to Cillian, who’s watching me unabashedly. I shift in my seat self-consciously, but he doesn’t lower his gaze.
“How are you?” he asks.
It’s a more intimate question that I’d been expecting. The way he holds my gaze just makes it more so.
“I’m good,” I reply immediately, without giving my answer any real thought.
“You wanna try that again?” he asks with a roguish grin.
I sigh. “It’s been bliss up here,” I admit. “We’ve been living in a little bubble and… and…”
“I just broke your bubble,” he guesses.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “The bubble broke before you got here.”
He cocks his head to the side curiously.
I instantly regret letting that slip. I realize that that’s Cillian’s superpower. He makes you feel comfortable, he makes you feel like you’re friends—and then you find yourself opening up about things that you really
