Page 76 of Nemesis

“Get. OFF.”

I squeeze her closer. “See, isn’t this fun? Imagine how much more enjoyable it’d be in your pretty, new boxing gloves?”

“I’m not messing around, Vas.” Her voice lowers in a quieter fury. “Get out of my room.”

“Our room,” I tease, positioning more of my weight on the mattress.

“My room,” she corrects, glare boring into me. “My mansion compound thingy. My crazy criminal family. In fact, what are you even still doing here?”

My heart squeezes, but I don’t show the discomfort as I offer a cheeky grin. “Business.”

“Business? With whom?”

Your father, technically. And with my conscience, as well as whatever traitorous part of my body decided you were something we can’t live without.

“I killed someone, Vasiliy. Several someones.” Her gaze flicks down to the bedtable, hiding from my face. “I know that means nothing to you people, but it meant something to me.”

“It’s okay for it to mean something,” I say gently. “And you get as much time as you need to decide what that meaning is for you. But you can’t decide like this.” I lean down, brushing my fingers over her cheek. “And I can’t keep watching you fade further and further away from the other side of the bed. You’re dimming.”

Her lashes flutter shut, tickling my fingers. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are. And you’re also going to spend one hour each day boxing with me. You asked me to train you, remember?”

She releases a snort, deflating into my arms. I already miss her fight.

“Let’s go.”

“No thanks.” Her tone is flat. Final.

“What are you going to do instead? Stare at the bedtable and let the bad thoughts overrun the good ones?”

She laughs coolly, tapping her skull. “What are the good ones supposed to look like right now, Vasiliy? Because as far as I’m concerned, everything I built—everything that mattered—is gone.”

I don’t know what to say to that. That life she lived in New York is gone. Her quiet anonymity and controlled days are a thing of the past, and there’s nothing I can add to make that any less true. It fucking hurts when she’s upset. It hurts me. I’ve never felt like that before. With everything I watched her fight through, seeing her so defeated is a knife to the gut.

“One hour. That’s all I’m asking for.” I brace my hands on the mattress, leaning forward. “Afterward, you can get right back in bed. I’ll even tuck you in myself.”

“I said no thanks.”

“Octavia,” I exhale. “Please.”

Yeah. Apparently, I’m not above begging.

The soft words, lowered to a tone most people could never fathom leaving my lips, seem to get her interest.

“Why?” She flips over, gaze wild as it bounces down to the items on the bed and back up to me. “Why the sudden need to box?”

“Maybe I have an instinct for knowing when someone needs something to hit,” I answer with a crooked smile.

Tense minutes pass as we stare at each other, daring the other to fold. Her red hair is wild from the pillow, eyes dotted in dark circles from her tossing and turning every night. Even in such disarray, she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

“Just an hour?”

Relief floods my lungs. “Just an hour.”

He braids my hair.

I’m not sure why I allow it after the way he strong-armed me out of bed. Maybe because I haven’t allowed him to touch me in a number of days, despite how close he sleeps to my side of the mattress. His touch is a dangerous thing. It can bring on a maelstrom of emotions with the slightest graze, and it’s hard enough to clamp down on the carnage inside my head.