Page 45 of Nemesync
A sad smile tugged at my lips as I whispered, “I’m okay. Sometimes it’s good for me. You know, feeling pain is proof that I’m still alive.”
Pain had always been a part of my life, and I had grown accustomed to it. I just didn’t want anyone else to see that fucked up part of me that. My suffering was mine. The only thing that belonged to me. It was the only way for my brain to register that my body was still warm, even when my heart grew cold.
Because pain was the blood that flowed through my veins.
Nikolai glanced at my wrists again with hope and reassured, “You’ll find other sources of life beyond the pain, Little Z. I promise.”
I nodded, not really understanding the depth of our conversation. “What if I can’t?” I confessed, in a whisper.
But Niko just took my hand and squeezed it between his. “You’re going to learn. Consider me your new personal clown if I have to.”
A little laugh escaped me despite myself. “You’re more like an annoying big brother than a clown.”
He smiled, clearly pleased that he succeeded at making me laugh. “Then let me be.”
Let him into your heart, Zee.
“Okay.”
I walked towards Miranda’s Café for the fourth time that week, but something felt off. My heart quickened because I sensed a presence trailing my steps slowly.
Someone was following me.
The small alley felt like a cage, but it’s anger and fury that fueled my steps, not fear or apprehension when I turned into a deserted side street.
No one would threaten me. Not again.
The bastard’s eyes widened when I confronted him, a knife pressed against his throat.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded, pressing the blade deeper against his flesh.
Fucker.
His hands shot up in the air, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “I-I’m nobody, just doing a job, Miss Dellé.”
My eyes narrowed, “What fucking job are you talking about?”
The man stuttered, “Mister—mister Volkov sent me to watch over you.”
This fucking man.
Frustration and fury coursed through my veins, burning under my skin. Is this some kind of sick joke?
I stepped closer, the cold steel of the knife digging into his skin.
“Take me to him. Now.”
“I can’t- I can’t do that.”
The blade cut through, blood oozing from the wound. “Either you take me alive, or I’ll find the road myself and take your head with me.”
The man hesitated, but the threat in my eyes left him with no choice. “Alright, alright, just put that knife down, Miss.”
I couldn’t even think straight. He sent one of his men to follow me, treating me like a child. But he still avoids me. Elijah Volkov is like a sickness I can’t get rid of. And I hated it
14
ELIJAH
