Page 72 of Nemesis

Back at the studio, when someone threatened you, all you had to worry about was losing your paycheck or crushed glass being slipped into your toe shoes. Unfortunately, two weeks in this world is long enough to know that a threat from one of these syndicate members always precedes a disproportionate escalation of violence. Like clockwork, two of my cousins reach back, thumbing guns tucked under their belts.

But I’m a quick study. I beat them all to the punch.

I’ve already dug out the gun Vasiliy tucked into my waistband at the beginning of the flight. The safety switches off in a careful motion I learned an hour earlier, the resulting click a siren’s song to every man on the tarmac.

The wall of bodies flips, opening me back up to the rest of the crowd. My cousins’ faces are frozen in different shades of surprise as their gazes ping-pong between my stern face and the loaded gun resting loose in my grip.

“If you touch him, you will die,” I say simply, allowing my thumb to scrape against the looped trigger. “Which would be a shame, because I’d really like to learn your names.”

“Jesus, Pa, where’d you pick her up from, the CIA?” one of my cousins barks with a sharp laugh, not at all taken aback by my hanging threat.

“It seems that my daughter has grown attached to a rather irritating stray,” Dad cuts in, still boasting that pleased smile.

“Russian?” Another asks with suspicion.

“Vasiliy Morozov. Pleased to meet you,” Vas says with a deadly smile that only escalates the situation, and a tone insinuating that he is very much not pleased to meet them. My eyes roll back. Unfortunately, it’s not his expression that seems to drive their aggression, but his name.

“Morozov,” one of my cousins mutters, folding his arms into his chest. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”

“All good things, I hope.”

“Not necessarily.” My cousin steps forward. “They call you the Beast of Moscow, which I suppose is saying something, given your fucked-up family.” He sniffs, lifting his chin. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

Vasiliy chuckles darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

“Here I come, shitweasel. Better start smoke signaling your uncle to come save the day.”

The blur of movement goes by so fast, I don’t even manage to get a single word out before the impact. Vasiliy tackles my cousin like a damn linebacker, both bodies dropping to the tarmac before my next breath. I can’t tell who’s winning as they trade punches and struggle to stay on top. He was just shot! If he gets hurt again…

I glance around for help, but everyone looks content to let the fight play out on the concrete below. Fuck this.

Bang.

My shot grazes the tarmac with a loud explosion. The sound sends every man here reaching for their guns.

“Vasiliy,” I growl, straining to reach him. “Come here.”

He moves immediately, but doesn’t take his eyes off my cousin as he pushes to his feet and returns to my side. I can sense everyone’s attention heating my neck. Somehow, I feel just as small as I did when all I had were their backs.

“Aw. Seems like our cousin’s got a nice leash on you, Morozov.”

“Correct,” he says simply. “It’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

“Stop.” I step toward my cousins, who are still hovering on the grey tarmac like they’re preparing to pounce. The one with the lightest hair wears a feral grin that I can’t quite read. “If Vasiliy goes, I go.” The ultimatum leaves my lips before I can even think it through. “We’ll leave if you’d like us to⁠—”

“You’re not leaving, Octavia,” Dad interrupts with a finalizing tone.

I turn my back, addressing my cousins instead. “This is your family. You have every right to make us leave, but having me without him is not an option.”

I can feel all of their demeanors shift with the mandate. I don’t meet their gazes, determined to keep pumping icy resolve into my voice. I can barely stomach the thought of having all of these people ripped away from me before I can even process them as family.

I’d do it, though. I meant every word. That’s all that matters.

“No chance, cuz. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get rid of us now,” the tallest man concedes. My throat slackens.

“If the mutt means that much to you—” Another starts.

“Kirill,” the first scolds, whacking his brother in the side of the head.