Page 92 of Nemesis

“I think you remember exactly what I’m capable of.”

“Maybe I need a demonstration to jog my memory,” she responds with a cheeky grin.

My retort is on the very tip of my tongue when Siderov’s voice slithers between us.

“Morozov, show’s over,” he announces. “Let’s go.”

I don’t want to leave, though.

A sigh leaves my chest, extinguishing the last spark of borrowed joy. The crowd reshuffles around us, preparing for the next fight on the docket. There are too many faces to properly assess for threats. Maybe Sasha was right about bringing her.

“I don’t like this,” I say, thumbing the grooves of my holstered gun. “What if your guys wander off? We’re really going to abandon her in a place this insecure?”

Sasha glares. “That’s exactly why I didn’t think she should come, but all it took was one smile, and she had you folding like a lawn chair.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Octavia growls, pulling out of my arms. “I’ve survived a long time without the help of either of you. I can handle a fucking hour on my own⁠—”

“Not here,” Sasha and I say at once.

Her eyes widen. “Good God, there’s two of them.”

“I think that might be the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me,” I say, watching Sasha’s face pull into a sour look of outrage.

“Sorry we missed the fight!”

Octavia spins towards the familiar voice. Two of her cousins emerge from the crowd and dip beneath the rope to join our group. At the sight of the youngest Siderov boy, my eyes drift so far back into my head, I briefly wonder if they’ll get stuck there.

Really? Sasha’s big protection plan involves depending on Kirill Siderov?

Octavia was able to flip his ass in her first month of tactical training. At least his brother, Maksim, is also in attendance, hovering a step behind like always. There’s something about the quiet bastard’s quick reflexes that makes me think he could hold his own.

A hand lands on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll leave her with the whole unit, too. She’ll have twelve guards watching over her every move.”

“Rude!” Kirill announces, frowning at his uncle’s shrewd assessment. “Maksim and I are perfectly capable of watching our cousin’s back for a night.”

Yeah, right. “Fine. The unit makes me feel marginally better, but let’s make this quick.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Octavia says under her breath, but I lean in anyway.

“Let them know if you need me to come back, okay?”

Her frown thaws. She nods, a strange look glinting in her eyes.

“Alrighty, enough with all that,” Kirill announces, tugging her hand. “Let’s go find some fun!” She lurches away from me.

Within seconds, Sasha and I are left behind, watching the torrent of guards pour into the crowd behind them.

I hate watching her go.

“Yeah. This was a bad idea,” he sighs, breaking the silence. “Let’s get this over with.”

I nod in agreement. The sooner she’s back in my arms, the better.

The back room is exactly what you’d expect. Boarded windows. Stained floor. The defector is tied to a cheap, metal chair in the center of the room, but it might as well be any of the other chairs nailed to the floor in rooms like these. The only time the sight of one tainted me was the day I saw a beautiful, defiant girl chained down in the darkness.

I force the image away. Emotions have no use in these situations—not that Siderov’s men understand that.

Three of his soldiers circle the man, trading verbal barbs and random jabs. Each hit is angry. Unproductive. They straighten when they see their boss beside me.