Page 50 of Nemesis

It didn’t escape me that, no matter how many times that asshole called her Annika Siderov, she rarely asked me what the last name meant. At first, I’d assumed it was because she was hiding something. Now, I wonder if some part of her resisted the concept on a deeper level.

The room is so damn bright, my head pulses from the shock to my senses.

She’s here. She’s okay.

I have to recite the words in my mind over and over to calm the raging torrent in my gut. I take advantage of the shocked silence, pulling up the small bandaged limb that was dripping blood the last time I saw her. Those screams…

I’ll never forget it.

You wouldn’t last a day in that chair. Weren’t those my words from our first day in the cage? Something hateful crawls between my ribs, settling around my heart like a judgmental vise.

Trapped behind bars, helpless to do anything but witness that asshole hurt her using some of my own techniques, I felt like I was fucking drowning. Each piece of metal flashes in my memory, lodged under perfect nails, coated in red. My chest still aches from how hard my heart smacked into my ribcage as they chained her to that chair.

When Siderov’s men stormed the room, bullets flying free around her tied, limp body, I screamed louder than I ever had before.

My arms press her tighter to my ribs, as though I can absorb her body into mine and keep her safe inside me. The sentiment makes no sense, especially since she’s apparently an heir to one of the most powerful Bratvas in America. She probably doesn’t even need my protection anymore. I’m no good at it, anyway.

I’m good at killing, not defending.

I couldn’t even protect my little sister adequately before getting shipped out of the country. Of course, Octavia doesn’t need me anymore.

One of her arms threads up beneath mine, reaching to pet my arm. The soft gesture settles some of my rising panic, returning my focus to the revelation at hand.

If looks could kill, her new dad’s gaze would’ve burnt me to a crisp pile of ashes minutes ago. I’ve never seen Siderov in person before, but he has the same look that infects every man in our business. Vengeance wrapped in a sleek suit. Hand instinctively hanging near his belted gun, ready to grip the trigger at the flip of a coin. It’s uncanny how similar his cool, green gaze is to the one worn by the woman in my arms. The only difference is that his eyes don’t inspire me to smack face-first into a cloudy puddle of city water just so she doesn’t have to dampen her shoes.

“I don’t have a father.”

The room’s temperature plummets, and Siderov visibly flinches back. I almost snort out loud. My girl just made a renowned Bratva boss flinch with a single, muttered sentence.

No, Vasiliy, the voice in my head immediately corrects. Not your girl.

Siderov shakes his head, seeming to collect himself before responding. “I’m so sorry, Octavia, truly. It’s a long story, but I’ve been looking for years. We’d lost hope…”

I’ve never heard a made man plead before. My chin perks up as I take in the scene with growing interest. Hovering a few steps away, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek, dark pants, Siderov doesn’t seem like a volatile cocktail of aggression waiting to explode. I don’t place too much stock in exteriors, though. His daughter looked small and delicate enough to pass out from a single cut, and look how wrong I was with that assessment.

I edge a step backward, tugging along the girl nestled in my arms. The bed hits the back of my knees. We’re cornered.

“What do you mean, looking for me? I haven’t so much as moved boroughs since I was dropped off in a Manhattan orphanage at a few months old!”

Good point, zlaya. Flay his ass.

I dive back into her soft, wine hair, subtly marking the exit points in my mind in case things go south. One of the soldiers, a brawny blond stationed in front of the window, narrows his eyes my way. Unfortunately, that might be our fastest way out.

I could take him.

“I didn’t know you were in New York! We’ve been looking all over the world since you were taken—can we have this talk in private?” Siderov cuts off, leveling me a withering glare like I just took a piss in his Cheerios.

“Oh, hell no. I’m not leaving her for a second, old man,” I burst out.

“Excuse me?” Octavia shouts at the same time in shocked outrage.

“Oh, leave them, brother. They’re clearly a packaged deal,” says a guy hovering by the door with a smirk.

“I will do no such thing, Alex! He’s practically wrapped around my daughter like a fucking koala!” Siderov throws up his arms.

“Tough shit, father of the year,” I mutter, earning an even deadlier look.

“Wait. I have an uncle, too?”