Page 89 of Nemesis

“I think, arranged marriage be damned, she and I were well matched,” he speculates, surprising me. “She took all the risks, whereas I took none. She questioned everything I overlooked. I think, in another world, we could’ve made a great partnership. Just like you and Morozov.”

“What?” I stutter, shocked by his final words. The statement catches me off-guard. Vasiliy and I have been politely tiptoeing around each other ever since that heated kiss we shared in training a month ago. There hasn’t been another occurrence, despite the challenge he laid out for me on the grass.

Domination is earned.

Earn it again. I dare you.

I experience a resurgence of that strange electrical pulse every time I recall those words. I’m not sure how I feel about it, so I’ve been doing what I do best. Avoidance for the win.

“First of all, there is no me and Morozov.” I can taste the ashy lie on my tongue. “Second, I’m pretty sure Vasiliy is just as impatient and reckless as I am.”

Dad’s brows lower knowingly. He can taste the lie, too. “I don’t know about that, love. He seems pretty damn patient when it comes to you.”

The chess piece falls from my hand, rattling onto the table below. I don’t know what scares me more: the fact that this man already has such a perceptive view of me, or that his observations ring strikingly true. Vasiliy is patient with me. Impatient with everything and everyone else, but patient with me. My lips open to fill the silence, but nothing leaves them.

Thankfully, I don’t have to fill the pause, because a knock at the door steals both of our attention. The hinge creaks, and the door cracks open to reveal Alex’s face.

“Sorry, kroshka,” he nods to me apologetically. “I need to borrow him for a moment. A call came in from the dock transport team.”

“That’s okay.” I pop up from my chair, stretching out my sore legs. “We’ll rematch tomorrow.” I lean down for a quick hug. “Prepare to cry.”

His laughter follows me all the way out of the door.

I’m expecting the hall to be empty when I walk through the Gothic archway back into the common space of the compound. As far as I can tell, this place serves as a home base of sorts for my father’s men. Many of them have rooms in the barracks next to the gate, though some return to their own homes and families each night. I usually enjoy the comforting chaos that squabbles across the grounds, but my stomach drops when I hear the voices around the corner.

“You’re not going to toss your hat into the ring? She’s feisty. You just know she’d be a good fuck.”

“Not even if the Pakhan himself ordered it. I’m not interested in Morozov’s spoiled goods,” another voice replies matter-of-factly.

My anger sparks.

“Speak for yourself, Paxton. I’d fuck a toad if it got me in line to be the next Pakhan.”

I’ve met and enjoyed the company of several soldiers, especially the quiet ones who tail along to the shooting range with Nik and me every week, but I don’t recognize these voices. My back presses tighter against the wall as I wait for them to disperse.

“I wouldn’t call her a toad. She’d be pretty, if it wasn’t for that nasty scar on her face.”

My cheek burns, but I don’t allow myself to touch the jagged mark. Control the rage. They don’t deserve my reaction.

Does the scar bother Vasiliy?

“Easy fix. Just turn her towards the wall before you…”

I step around the corner.

The man who’s speaking, a stout, hairy guy I’ve only seen in passing, cuts off mid-sentence, and three other pairs of eyes widen on the spot.

They’d only fulfill the chore of fucking me to become my father’s heir. It’s something I haven’t thought much about, ever since that first day at the safehouse when Dad promised not to arrange my marriage. A spike of ice forms in my gut that has nothing to do with the crude insults.

Do they not even consider me a candidate for my own birthright?

I stare each of them down, burning their features into my memory. They don’t look so cocky now that I’m standing in their space. They look frightened.

I love that.

Without speaking a word, I walk directly through the stunned bodies and up the decorative staircase, replaying that terrified expression in my mind all the way back to my room.

“You are not coming!”