Page 2 of Nemesis

“Virgin,” she declares. “Her hymen is intact. Get her into the shower, then back to me. We need to take photos for the auction. Oh, wait.”

She’s suddenly beside me, swabbing a spot on my upper arm.

Pinch of pain, and then warmth radiating up my shoulder and down to my fingers.

“A little something to make her more compliant,” she says to the guard. “So you won’t have any more excuses if she comes back more broken.”

Her face swims above me, blocking those terribly bright lights. If I expected any sort of compassion, I am sorely mistaken. Her expression is fucking cold.

“Welcome to Terror, beauty.”

1ARTEMIS

(nearly) ten years later

I’d liketo punch whoever said eyes are the window to the soul. I hate my eyes. I hate looking at myself in the mirror, especially lately. If that saying about eyes being a window is true, my soul is tarnished. Practically burned to ash.

My strategy lately has been ignoring the issue, which is why I’m up and out of my condo bright and early this morning. I’m supposed to meet my twin brother in an hour, but I decided a nice, relaxing sunrise on the cliffs would do me good.

Except for the cloud cover that has ruined my view. That seems to be on par with everything else going to shit in my life. I’ve been occupying myself in the meantime by tossing rocks over the edge, because watching the sky go from dark gray to light gray is just depressing.

“You’re early.” Apollo approaches from Olympus, the looming building just down the sloped pathway from the cliffs. Olympus, which I skirted around in favor of the wind lashing at me.

Olympus is a building straight out of Ancient Greece, a Pantheon-esque temple that my brother and his friends useto host masked fight nights. Dress as your favorite character from Greek mythology. Just don’t wear flowers, or else you’ll be marked. Hades doesn’t take kindly to someone imitating his beloved Persephone.

I still remember the opening night, although it was years ago. It was everything they—and I—hoped it would be. More, even, because it turned into something that seemed to escape reality.

It wasOlympus. Home of the gods. It was luxury and grandeur, and it catered to those with a thirst for anonymous violence. The indulgence of the place, and the brutality of fist fighting, doesn’t fail to draw a crowd.

Apollo has been my near-constant companion since before we were born. We’re thick as thieves—sometimes to a scary level. We know each other inside and out. And sometimes that’s terrifying, because I feel like he can know what I’m thinking just by looking at me.

I meet him halfway, stopping just shy of hugging him. Unlike mine, his eyes aren’t tarnished. Even with everything he’s done and gone through, his eyes are kind.

There’s something wrong with me lately. More than just avoiding my own gaze in the mirror. I just can’t put my finger onwhat.

“How’s Saint?” he asks.

I wrinkle my nose. “He says he’s fine.”

He’s not fine. In fact, Saint Hart is less fine than me—and that’s saying something. The love of his life died right in front of him, and then he more or less threatened to kill himself and follow her into an early grave.

I’ve been playing babysitter at the request of Apollo’s best friend. Although, when I agreed to this nearly twelve months ago, I never could have predicted that Saint Hart wouldstillbe living with me.

“I’ve got a project for him.” Apollo appraises me. “Something you could help with, too, if you want.”

“No.” I scoff and face the cliffs again. Olympus is situated on some of the highest cliffs in Sterling Falls, and the view at the edge is unbeatable… even when it’s cloudy. “No, I’m good. If it’ll get Saint out of my hair, he can have at it.”

“Hmm.”

My brother annoyingly tall, and while I gotsomeheight in the genetic lottery, I didn’t get six-foot-something. For me, puberty was a bitch. Suddenly I had to contend with breasts and hips, which further separated my brother and me in appearance.

We do look alike, though. Dark hair, tanned, olive-toned skin. Our dad’s grandfather was, fuck, I don’t know. From somewhere in the Middle East. Our mother had Spanish blood. That’s what she used to say, but it could’ve been a drop for all I know. Our ancestry kind of got lost on us somewhere around the tender age of fifteen. That’s when both Apollo and I were thrown to the wolves…

Different kinds of wolves, but their hunger was the same. They tore away our innocence, and it was a miracle we both came out on the other side.

“Tem.” Apollo takes my hand.

I slip away before he can get a good grip, making a show of kicking a few loose rocks over the cliff edge.

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