Page 11 of Nemesis

I lift my chin.

And then I move.

I snatch the mug and leap backward at the same time that Saint lunges for it. He barely misses, his fingers snagging my coat sleeve.

I sneer. “If there’s liquor in this, you owe me.”

He narrows his eyes.

The liquid is amber. The mug is ice-cold.

So it’s either tea or something else.

I sniff, and the smokey, pungent scent of scotch assaults my nostrils. I make a face, and he reaches out again.

I swallow it down.Yep, it fucking burns a path down my esophagus. I set the mug in the sink and point at him. “You’re not supposed to be drinking.”

“Okay,Mom.”

“Fuck off. Where’s the bottle?”

“Who scared you so bad you fainted?” he asks instead.

I frown.

“Ah, see? You don’t like me pressing on your bruises either.”

It’s got to be around here somewhere. I yank open cabinet doors, drawers. Saint watches me, his gaze like a laser on my skin, until I get to the refrigerator.

The freezer.

I find it tucked under a bag of frozen peas, half empty. The glass is frosted.

He grabs my wrist. His hand is so hot, it might scald me. But his grip is tight enough that I can’t just pull away. I gape at him, tugging, but he holds fast and draws me upright. He kicks the freezer door shut.

“Just leave it,” he says.

“You—”

“I’m not going to get drunk and throw myself off the balcony,” he interrupts. “I’ve had plenty of opportunity to do that, Artemis, and I haven’t.”

“You think I like being on suicide watch?” I hiss. “You think Nyx would?—”

“Don’t say her name.” He pushes me against the refrigerator and slams his hand to the door to the left of my head. “Don’t. How about we cut you open soyoursecrets can spill all over the floor? I’m sure they’re just as ugly as mine.”

My mind goes to Reese, and I choke on my laugh. That’s where we’re at—it’s either laugh at our trauma or fall to it.

“Uglier, Saint,” I whisper. “You can count on that.”

He drops my wrist, drops his other hand. It’s like he suddenly realizes how close we’re standing. One big inhale from both of us, and our chests would brush.

My face flames, and he steps away fast.

“I’m going to bed,” I murmur.

“Who scared you?” he asks under his breath as I’m retreating.

I am not going to answer that. The answer is way too fucking complicated to even start.

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