Page 17 of Nemesis

That’s when I start to remember.

The donor performance.

Storming out of the cocktail party.

The annoyingly beautiful Russian man who followed me down the street.

Each piece of the puzzle weaves back into place with shocking speed, leaving me reeling through dry breaths. My fingers fly to the curve of my cheek, as though the gun that dented my flesh left some kind of residue. Bile taunts each breath.

When my eyes finally start to adjust, I don’t know what to make of the lines that jut across my field of vision. The stripes extend from floor to ceiling. Wall to wall. My neck strains from how violently I scour the dim room.

Oh God.

My head releases a punishing throb.

Is this…a cage?

Each beat of my heart vibrates against the shell of my ear.

My fingers scrunch on the floor, and a grainy layer of filth rubs off onto my palms. Shadows twist in from the walls, causing the room to feel even smaller than it seemed a few minutes ago.

You must know that nothing good happens when a girl wakes up in a cage.

“Shut up,” I hiss to myself, shaking the thought free before I start to spiral. My hands brush the cool metal as I shuffle closer on my knees. There has to be a door somewhere in here, right? Be logical. They had to get me in here somehow. If I could just figure out how long I’ve been knocked out, maybe I could figure out where I…

A low groan cuts through my panic, echoing from the darkest corner.

My jaw clamps shut.

The silence turns static in my ears as I wait for another sound. My heart races so fast, I’m sure it’ll burst from my chest with a gush of red. A rat, maybe. Or the metal bars are settling.

Cages don’t groan. People do.

My logical side is an asshole. I could pretend I didn’t hear a thing. I could play dead. I could lie down in the shadows as still as possible and hope for the best…

And provide whatever made that sound the perfect opportunity to get the jump on me. It could be another victim, I suppose. But it could also be something far worse.

I have to know. I need to lay eyes on the looming shadow and determine what level of threat it poses.

And remove that threat before it’s too late.

One palm slides forward, dirt and something oily digging into the pads of my fingers. I crawl on all fours, as slow and silent as I can manage. My shoulders and legs are bare from the ridiculous party dress, and I can’t stop the shiver that brushes over my skin. On my next shift, something causes me to hesitate.

Because the shadows start to solidify—long limbs, massive chest, lulled head. A man’s body, and a rather big one, at that. One I don’t think I could win against on equal, mutually conscious ground. A man who could wake up and overpower me at any moment.

It’s almost as if someone sliced open my skull and dug out every fear I’ve taken care to conceal in the shadows of my psyche. I force myself to close the distance between us, ignoring the way my hands shake against the ground. My fingers brush soft cloth. I trail up the fabric, barely touching the figure. Each breath comes faster than the last, blowing through the air with so much force I worry he’ll wake from the sound.

Don’t wake, don’t wake, don’t wake.

Something hard and metallic meets my flesh. Yes. I make quick work of the belt, unlooping the leather as gently as I can. It comes free with a tug, slipping through the loops and into my hand. I freeze, waiting to see if the jolt woke him.

He doesn’t move.

A shaky breath leaves my lips as I crawl up the man’s body, settling on his chest with one knee on either side.

A memory sparks before my eyes. Before I can shove it down, hot, sticky summer air swarms my cool skin. Everyone in the room was stripped down to their underwear, cots creaking as they tossed and turned on top of their sheets.

I would say the fluttering woke me—except I never really got to sleep. There’s nothing like a New York summer in the foster home to make a soul long for the cold dead of winter.