Page 24 of Nemesis

He’s going to react.

“Alright. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

That’s the last thing he says before storming over to the far side of the room and smacking his knuckles against the door. The harsh sound bounces against the walls.

“She knows nothing. Her father and I agreed to keep her in the dark,” I try again, taking a careful step back. If he wants evidence, I’ll give him evidence.

The door flies open before he can respond, five more men flooding into the room.

I search each of their large forms as they move through the door, marking their weaknesses. The one on the left favors his right fist, already adorned with steel rings designed to do the breaking. Overcompensating for something, perhaps. The two in the middle have sneers already twisting their lips. Cocky.

I’m an excellent fighter, but they already managed to overtake me once. Then again, I suppose that had more to do with the barrel pressed into a certain woman’s cheek. The whole thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

“What? Too intimidated by my reputation?” I wrap my fingers around the chipped metal, leaning up against the bars. “Think your methods won’t stand up?”

“I have no issue starting with you, Morozov,” the leader snaps. “After all, I’m much more excited to see you torn to pieces than your lovely counterpart.”

Relief settles my thumping chest.

Briefly, anyway.

Because then he goes and runs his mouth again.

“But don’t think I won’t do what I must to get my answers, Annika.” He clicks his tongue. “I have every intention of keeping you in relatively good shape for the sale, but that only applies to your purity. Everything else is fair game.”

A sharp gasp echoes through the space. I risk a glance.

Her concerned gaze hits me like a fucking bulldozer. If she’s an excellent liar, she’s an even better manipulator, because when I look at the fear twisting her pretty face, something in me begs to do anything it takes to make it go away. This is so obviously a trap.

Unfortunately, all rationality leaves me as I take a step closer to the little liar. Heavy footsteps approach the bars.

“Don’t react,” I squat down to whisper in her ear. “And don’t say a word.”

“What? No. No!” She gasps, crawling to her feet and fastening her hand to the stained fabric of my button-down. “You are not leaving me in here! Vasiliy!”

I stare down at her small hand clenched around the fabric, suspicion warring with genuine regret.

“Such dramatics,” our captor quips from outside the cell wall, but I can’t get myself to look away from the bright green gaze that pleads up to me in silent anguish. For some reason, peeling her hand free is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. The cage door groans. With a deep sigh, I loosen her fingers. Pull each free from the fabric.

Their approach is quick.

One kicks out my legs as the others move in, securing my arms on either side. I allow them. Then I’m being dragged through the metal door towards the lone chair sitting in the center of the room.

I know the chair well.

I used one just like it a few days ago when I interrogated Solokov’s guy, not to mention I’ve been taken many times by much more formidable enemies. But this time, it’s harder than usual to fall into that quiet space in my mind.

This time, there isn’t a single thing I won’t disclose or lie about to keep Octavia out of the metal seat.

If she is manipulating me, then I will dole out her punishment myself.

It doesn’t seem to matter how hard I press my fingers into my ears. Nothing blocks out the horrifying squelches that rip into the air. They keep coming, rhythmic and random, sharp and long. The bite of copper seeps into my nostrils.

I’ve never been a squeamish person. I’ve bled through my pointe shoes more times than I can count, and I’ve had pretty much every injury in the book. During my first year at the studio, my roommate slipped shards of glass into my pointe shoes as part of some moronic hazing ritual. I stitched up the gashes myself beneath the soft light of my desk lamp, using the same thread I used for my ribbons. I was even able to hold in the tears.

This is nothing like any of those times.

Slice.