Page 16 of Nemesis

This is better. Both in my interest—for breaking in—and just simple privacy reasons.

Take Saint, for example. He hears everything, which has made nighttime activities a thing of the distant past. Even solo activities.

Separate is better.

I find Malik’s unit with ease. He’s the leader, therefore he has the largest and nicest accommodations. His window isn’t even locked, which makes my break-in job that much easier. I’ve scaled buildings before, but climbing through a window into his apartment is nothing.

Once in, my boots solidly on his laminate flooring and the window left only a crack open, I take a breath. It smells faintly of wood shavings in here, a remnant of the reconstruction. But overwhelmingly, it smells like Malik.

And that is an unexpected comfort.

The place is neat, but not un-lived-in. He’s got a kitchen, which I’d bet everyone else doesn’t have, and there’s a plate and cup in the sink. A collection of framed photos hung on the wall in the hallway leading to the bedroom. The three-cushion couch faces a television, and a crumpled blanket has been haphazardly thrown over one of the arms.

I let my fingers trail along the back of the couch, debating if it’s safe to take a seat.

Who knows what Malik brings home nowadays.

When I was younger, I was obsessed. He killed that crush relatively fast, but the shame of it still simmers low in my gut. Ithrewmyself at him, and all he had to say was that I couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Blah, blah, blah.

To a sixteen-year-old girl, it was devastating.

The front door opens, and Malik strides in. His gaze finds me immediately, and his severe expression softens.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Kid didn’t tell me it was you.”

“Your pup should learn the important faces.”

“Kind of hard when you’re never around,” he counters.

“Come to the club, old man. Bring your gang. Spend some of your money.”

He eyes me, then slowly shakes his head. “You don’t need them scaring away your North Falls rich tourists.”

I crack a smile. “I think a little danger would intrigue them.”

His hair is long enough to need to be tied back. He keeps it contained at the nape of his neck, although right now he tears the leather strip out and rakes his fingers through his hair. A sign of agitation? Wolfe does the same thing sometimes, although his hair is managed. Probably Kora’s doing.

But as far as tells go…

“Is this about you passing out?” he finally asks. “Do you need to sit down?”

“For fuck’s sake,” I groan. “How did you hear? Antonio?—?”

“Mel,” he says, smirking.

I don’t like his smirk.

I also don’t particularly like that my host is associated with the Hell Hounds. Something Ishould’veknown but missed. I’ll figure that out later—who she’s fucked, how deep in she is, if she’s been hanging around the Hell Hounds recently or if I made a bigger mess with her by not uncovering it sooner.

“She ran here after her shift,” he supplies. “Couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“And what did she say?” My voice is tight.

She’s freaking fired.

“Just that the big, bad Artemis swooned so hard she passed out.” His gaze sharpens. “And her hero carried her back to her apartment in the club.”

I scoff. “I swooned, huh?”

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