Page 161 of Nemesis

Iam a realist.

Or at least, I used to be.

Octavia Siderov ruined my twenty-seven-year streak of cynicism with a single hair flip and a careless thrust of her middle finger.

My legs haven’t quit jittering ever since I shut her car door and watched her drive off. Even now, my knees knock into Alex’s on the other side of the van as I shift. I know she’s in charge. I know she’s brilliant and strong and a beast with close combat. I trained her myself, after all. I’ve watched her lull massive men into a haze of superiority with her unassuming size and gorgeous features, only to flip them onto their backs the second their guard drops.

She is every bit the leader her blood demands.

And yet, for some illogical reason, I can’t stop hearing echoes of Marta’s voice from all those years ago. When she read me fairytales as a boy, I remember her words becoming so deep and vibrant while narrating the characters that it felt like she could channel any power. She was a force larger than life. Brighter than the shadows that grow like mold in the Morozov compound.

And all it took was a single, well-placed bullet to snuff out her existence.

I jump from the hand that lands on my rattling knee.

“She’ll be okay.” Alex is still bathed in so much pain, it’s difficult to look him in the eye and not feel the aftershocks. “It’s already seven-thirty. You’ll be inside in no time.”

I nod, pretending his words help. It doesn’t matter that she’s only been inside for fifteen minutes. She shouldn’t be in danger. Period. I should’ve come up with a better plan. I should’ve demanded that she stay out of harm’s way…

Except I fell in love with the woman who leads her troops into war, not the one who wants to be locked away. We’ve already survived the cage. We’ve weathered so much shit in the past few months that it’s a miracle we’re still fighting.

I rub my eyes.

“I’m a failure, as well,” Alex whispers, only loud enough for me to hear. His boys are piled into the other side of the van, picking Ivan’s mind about the attack strategies as we wait.

“A failure?”

He nods, gaze drifting to the blacked-out window. “As a father, a brother, a husband…” he pauses, shaking his head. “And now as an uncle, too. I’ve traded my niece for my son.”

“Kirill does not need your anguish.” Bracing my hands on my knees, I lean even closer. The weapons stored throughout my pants dig into my flesh. “He needs Octavia’s rage.”

Alex looks back at me, then dips his chin in a solemn nod.

“So we’ll mobilize at eight,” Nik says, pulling me back to their low discussion.

“And Vasiliy will slip inside,” Ivan says with a nod. “I’ll lead team one through the back, you’ll lead team two in the front. For the first fifteen minutes, the objective is not victory. Our job is to be loud as hell.”

“We deploy the grenades first, then,” Ben says. “I’ve already informed our contacts in the local PD not to mobilize for explosions in our area. The last thing we need is to factor cops into the mix.”

“We should source our grenades through Solokov more often,” Nik quips. “You guys are cheap as fuck.”

“That’s because I got them, you moron,” Ivan picks at his nails. “Employee fucking discount. Don’t get used to it.”

I look down at my watch, willing the hands to turn faster.

Was it really only a handful of months ago when a vengeful goddess crawled through the darkness and asked me for a trade?

I was such a fool back then. Three drops.

The scale was never supposed to straighten out. I want ownership over every last cell in her body. I want to be the victim of her dry sarcasm and the source of her mood-altering laughs. My entire existence spins around the axis of Octavia Siderov, and the longer she spends in that fucking compound, the further my fibers fray.

Come on, moya zlaya.

Survive a few more minutes, and then I’ll lead the reckoning you deserve.

When my watch’s hand finally drags towards the eight, I’ve finished my weapons check three times over, hands ghosting over every blade, gun, and bullet on my body. Everything is accounted for, but it still feels like something’s missing.

Metal groans as I slide the van door open and step into the inky night. Bodies slip out behind me, following suit. The sun has fallen into the distant trees, and the evening birds are chirping their final calls.