Page 168 of Nemesis

Probably because the tears are still wet on my cheeks, but my eyes have dried.

Faster than either can react, I shift my weight and extend one leg, tripping the guy on my left as my hands find the other’s ankle and pull. Both lose balance, falling to the floor as I rise.

“Behave yourself,” my grandfather warns, shuffling a step back towards the last guard at the door. I glance over to the display of guns on the wall, equidistant between him and me. He does the same, lips opening to reveal a sliver of white teeth.

We both move at once, charging towards that foolish row of weapons trussed up on the wall. One of the soldiers on the ground makes a grab for my ankle, but his hand never makes contact, because Kirill snaps forward, looping his chain around the guy’s neck. I don’t look back, not as I race to the display and pull one of the guns into my grip just before Popov arrives. He swings for my head, but the move leaves him open. My hook cracks against bone. He falls back to the stone, clutching his chin. Blood leaks out between his fingers.

The third soldier is no longer standing at the door by the time I look up.

“Look out!” Kirill cries from the floor, his chains still occupied with the guy’s throat.

Sure enough, the other two rush me from the back of the room.

But my finger has already slid into the trigger.

The kickback is consumed by my bicep like an old friend. All those hours I spent at the shooting range pay off in a single second. Not one shot goes wide. Each bullet burrows into flesh with a beautiful spray of red. A masterpiece.

“Stop this, Annika!” Popov demands, climbing to his feet.

I toss the gun from my grip as I turn, and even the circumstances can’t hinder the smile that slowly stretches my face. Guns are easy. Vengeance should be intricate. I lick my lips, tasting the splattering of blood there.

The man shifts back, attention bouncing between my eyes. I step closer, one hand reaching into my bun. Vasiliy’s gifted blade pin pulls free, leaving my long hair to tumble down my back.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. Stop this at once!”

Hurt…me?

I tilt my head, taking another step. His gaze turns wild, flickering throughout the room. The weapons wall he won’t be able to reach in time. His soldier’s final gasp of air beneath Kirill’s chains. The gun sitting abandoned in a puddle of blood at my feet.

My mother thought she wasn’t strong enough to kill him.

But she was wrong.

She made me.

He makes a dive to run around me for the gun below. I lunge, my pin arcing through the air. The sharp end drags deep across his cheeks, and he shrieks in pain.

I fake him out, taking him to the ground with a leg maneuver when he dodges the hit. Though we go down hard, the impact doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

“Stop! A-Annika, stop thi…” He trails off, eyes widening when I lift the blade to the soft folds on his throat.

My tongue clicks. “Not quite,” I drawl, leaning closer. “My name is Octavia.”

With a bit of pressure and a gentle drag, his throat slices open beneath my blade.

My fist slams against the door.

Again.

Again.

My knuckles bleed, but the sturdy metal doesn’t give way in the slightest. Prone bodies fill the hall, marking my pathway with splatters of red. The distant explosions have died down, and the rampant gunfire has fallen to a gentle scattering like the end of a storm. From my earpiece, I know Ivan’s team has successfully infiltrated the compound. By all accounts but one, we are winning this battle.

And none of that matters if I can’t get into this door.

With a few steps back, I run forward and throw every last bit of force at the shiny metal. It doesn’t move. Not even a rattle. I didn’t think anything could be worse than clutching the bars and watching them slice her in that chair, but at least I could see her twitching limbs and that delirious grin. At least I could be sure that her heart was still beating.

Pop.