Page 12 of Nemesis

By the time I’ve showered and changed into pajamas, the sun is rising. I take a particular joy in closing my blackout shades and crawling into bed. My body is running on empty, and my mind is buzzing with nothing-thoughts. Sleep should come easy.

It does, but it’s far from restful. Instead, I dream of dark hallways and pain. I’m just on the edge of consciousness, tossing and turning, but the burn of ropes against my skin, the crack of my nose breaking, the constant darkness, holds me hostage.

And when I finally wake, I’m alone. Free of everything except the sheets twisted around my legs. I kick them off and curl on my side, the panic so visceral I can taste it.

I breathe deeply, touching the bridge of my nose.

That dream was too real, too close to the real hit that broke it once. Doctors were quick to set it, but no one cared that I had a pair of black eyes. I learned fast that I was pretty with or without bruises.

And only pretty girls are of value.

There’s sunlight peeking around the edges of my curtains.

I hop out of bed, shivering, trying to literally shake off the dream. I let the sunlight in, then dress fast and slip from my room. Saint’s bedroom door—itwasan office, but was converted when he moved in—is shut. It tells me absolutely nothing. He could be in there awake or sleeping, or gone. Probably gone, since it’s the middle of the day.

In the elevator, my phone rings.

It takes me a second to fish it from my pocket. I frown at the name scrolling across the screen.

“Why are you calling me?” I ask instead of a hello.

“I’m not allowed to check up on you?” Wolfe James asks. My brother’s other best friend, besides Jace King. The trio are inseparable.

“You are,” I allow. “But it’s suspicious.”

“I was mainly just calling to find out if you’re still fighting tonight.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Right.”

“You forgot.”

“I… didn’t.”

He scoffs. “Antonio’s got a security photo of some guy printed out. He wants it plastered everywhere. He was in the sheriff’s office first thing this morning.”

“Shit.” I drop my hand when the door slides open on the parking garage level. “Who did he talk to?”

“Bradshaw.”

That, at least, is a blessing. I mentally shift around my to-do list to include an urgent visit to our friendly neighborhood sheriff.

“I’ll be at Olympus tonight,” I tell Wolfe. “But I’m not fighting.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Who is?”

He pauses.

“Wolfe?”

He’s always been straight with me. When he and Apollo were kept separate,Iwas the one holding them together. That’s a whole different story, though. That was when Sterling Falls was no better than a warzone. But the point is, he owes me honesty.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he warns. “But… Saint is fighting.”

I stiffen. “I’m not going to shoot the messenger. I’m going to shoothim.”

I contemplate turning back around and storming into Saint’s room. I’d love to start another fight with him, this one about how fucking stupid he is.

---