Page 51 of Nemesis

The soft voice below me is so delicate and endearing that all of us seem taken aback. Some of the growing tension dissipates.

She’s still wearing the same dress as before, and it’s covering way too little for the amount of wandering eyes in the room. They can’t all be related to her. My arms shift up, covering her breasts as she twists to face the grinning man at the door. Her hair is still woven into the princess braid, despite the knotted pieces and tangled ends, and the length of it brushes my fingers in the softest caress.

“Da, kroshka,” the man who must be her uncle confirms happily. “Plus an aunt and four cousins. They’re all assholes, and they’re going to love you.”

He seems less trigger-happy than the other men, but I’ve met enough killers to know when one’s lingering close by. He just hides it better than the rest.

Octavia doesn’t respond as she takes in the new information. I glance around again, sorting through all the players holding down the room. They wrapped her wounds, I reason, brushing my hand mindlessly over her bandaged cheek. They’re not going to eliminate her on the spot. No, there’s a bigger plan at play.

“That’s enough for one day, I think,” Siderov says carefully, face angled towards his daughter.

“The fuck that’s enough!” Octavia explodes, hair whipping across my face as she twists her head. “I’d say we’ve just barely scraped the top of the shit bucket.”

I take my time to truly enjoy the widening eyes of every made man in the room. No matter which country you’re in, women in the Bratva are all generally expected to act a certain way. Quiet. Demure. Submissive. The psychotic firecracker I’m currently squeezing between my arms like my own personal teddy bear doesn’t have a single one of those qualities. It’s equal parts amusing and concerning, given our current situation.

“Well, she certainly has a way with words, brother,” her uncle laughs from the doorway.

“Indeed,” he responds, the edge of his lips tilting up. “Alright, love. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But we also need to ask a few questions of our own about the men who took you. You up for that?”

“Okay,” she says with a decisive nod. Even that is fucking adorable.

“Wonderful. In the meantime,” he says, turning his gaze onto me. “Surely we can locate a shower for the boy. His insufferable reek is burning my eyes.”

I lift a brow at the Bratva titan.

Must have missed the bathroom in the four-by-four holding cell you’ve been keeping me in for the past day. My bad.

I was still in the cage when they knocked me out. When I came to, I was in a fresh, new cell—different floors, smaller bars, and worst of all, no Octavia. All I knew was panic for twenty-four hours as I waited in the glorified closet without any idea where she was. It felt like I was a child again, thrown into solitary confinement for days after mouthing off to my uncle at the dinner table. At least back then, I could enjoy being alone without the vexing, itchy panic of imagining my former cellmate hurt and vulnerable.

Instead of rising to the obvious bait, I level Octavia with a questioning gaze. Those intense, green orbs hit me like a sucker punch to the gut, but I tighten my core, unwilling to topple over or back away.

She doesn’t need you anymore. She has them.

The voice slithers through my mind, reminding me of every time I failed her. Letting her get kidnapped off the street. Allowing those assholes to pull her away from my arms and lock her into that chair. Getting separated after the rescue…

“Go ahead,” she nods, climbing back into the bed beside us. I’m expecting the words, but my heart still sinks. “You’d better return him in one piece, though, or my previous threat stands,” she says sternly, making eye contact with every single scary motherfucker in the room.

She thinks she owes me something. A favor, perhaps.

“Of course,” her dad agrees. “Alex, please do us all a service and find the Morozov kid a room with a working faucet.”

The man at the door nods, gesturing for me to follow. My legs resist the cue. I search Octavia’s gaze one last time, scouring it for some minuscule alteration, before finally turning and exiting the room.

My chest aches softly as I settle back into the comforter and watch Vas leave. Shockingly, it’s not my physical injuries bringing the pain.

You’re stronger than this, Octavia. You’ve been alone your entire life. You can handle a few fucking minutes without your emotional-support man by your side.

“I’d like to see proof,” I whisper into the quiet room. That’s what I should be asking for in the wake of such an absurd claim, right? Come on, Octavia, some voice whispers into my head. What would the scam even be?

I flinch instinctively when the man beside me moves, reaching into his pocket. He doesn’t react, simply pulling out an expensive-looking leather wallet and cracking it open.

“We can do a test, just to be sure, but,” he says, tilting the leather towards me. A small photograph peers back, scratched and worn, as if it’s rested there for years. “I always keep this with me. The family nurse took it the day you were born. April third. Twelve fifty-two PM.”

As I stare down, I’m sure my eyes must double in size. There he is, a younger version of the man hovering a few inches away. Less scruff on his chin. Several wrinkles missing between the crook of his eyes, which smile up to the camera with overwhelming joy. And in his arms lies a tiny, pale face with a birthmark just above the lip. My hand flies up, fingers brushing the identical brown dot above the corner of my own lips.

The intense gaze burning a hole in my neck makes it difficult to think, let alone process such a wild concept. The guy refuses to look away.

Not just any guy, I remind myself.