Page 121 of Nemesis

We start moving again, one step at a time. The distance between floors has never felt so large. Elbows dig into my ribs on either side. The Siderov compound is not supposed to be silent. There are far too many moving bodies and independent objectives. It’s more of an outpost than a house.

I’ve shifted towards the front of the group when I smell it. Blood. Gunpowder.

Dmitri pushes me back down without turning. I wait anxiously as he takes one step up, and then another…

Pop.

His head snaps back.

I gasp, lurching to avoid his falling form. No one tries to catch him. When he finally lands on the steps, there’s a red dot in the middle of his temple that blooms like a drop of ink. His eyes gaze up at mine, unseeing.

Movement rustles. A masked man appears at the top of the steps, face covered in a black balaclava just like the attackers at the safehouse. His gun lifts. My skin goes cold.

Shots crack through the air, and arms tug me sideways.

“Free up a path! Go! Move!” Dad’s voice thunders beneath the gunfire. The masked man drops, but I can see more shadows slipping around the corner to send shots at our group.

We need to get out of this staircase.

I can’t think. Everyone is pressed too close. I follow in a daze as we gain ground. The landing is now clear, but outside the door to the third-floor hall, so many forms move that it’s hard to count them all.

Dad stays close. Probably because my guards are nowhere to be found.

That’s not exactly true.

I look back at the steps, taking in the blond hair splayed across the stone. He looked so large in that fighting ring. So unbreakable.

Suddenly, three masked men step out from the wall they’re using as shelter, advancing into the door to the service staircase. Shots bloom. Before I can duck, Dad slams me against the stone, covering my body with his. We both grunt from the impact, but he manages to turn and send out a collection of level shots. The men cry out and collapse to the floor.

“You okay?” he chokes out, patting down my arms and torso.

I nod. There are more of them. They hide in the hall, bending around the corner just long enough to fire into our stairwell and duck away. Dmitri isn’t the only one on the floor. Our group has dwindled, and I punish myself by counting. Eight. There are eight of us left.

Labored breaths meet my ear, and I can’t even tell if they belong to me.

“Pakhan,” one of ours says from behind. “I think they…”

He never finishes the warning. The crackle of bullets cut him off. To my horror, they don’t come from the direction of the third-floor hall.

“Shit,” Dad hisses, turning and directing orders to our shrinking group.

We’re surrounded.

The realization settles with a cool terror.

I glance up while Dad’s turned.

Just in time to stare down the barrel of a gun. I raise my own on instinct and squeeze the trigger. It’s a small miracle I manage my shot before he sends his. The man jerks back, dead on impact.

“We’ll take the hall,” Dad says with a shaky breath. “You guys watch the steps. They’re trying to box us in.”

I nod, turning to the dark curve we ascended from. I don’t allow myself to count our survivors again. I don’t need to. Our count is dwindling. We are losing…

Not helpful, Octavia.

Movement bursts into the steps, and I fire.

Dad keeps shooting behind me. The air turns smoky, and groans fill the space between bullets. Blood splatters against my cheek, and I break my no more counting rule.