Page 65 of Nemesis

If I have to then deal with Malik? I’m one hundred percent not doing it sober.

17REESE

Kade Laurent stridesfrom the marina parking lot toward the docks. I track him through the scope of my rifle, focused on keeping my breathing even. Steady. It’s the only thing holding back a vague, creeping sense of panic.

How did he find me?

My former best friend types a code into the locked gate, makes sure it is shut firmly behind him, and heads down the walkway. He turns onto one of the narrower docks, pausing at the slip of a small speedboat. Its name is obstructed. He steps on board and disappears from view. I wait another minute, then climb down from my position.

My finger was nowhere near the trigger—the asshole was safe from me this time—but I still double-check the safety as I exit the roof and hurry back toward my apartment.

Once inside, I lean the firearm against the wall.

Kade didn’t actually find me. He’s about four blocks off, currently, but he’s stillhere. In Sterling Falls. The last place I want anyone I care about to be.

I strip off my shirt and exchange it for a clean one. The studio apartment was cheap to rent, the landlord accepted cash, and he didn’t ask a ton of questions. It’s also one of the taller buildingsin the industrial district that has apartments. It’s just on the edge of South and East Falls, where the warehouses give way to housing. Most of the people who live in this building work at the harbor, on the ships, or in factories dotted around South Falls.

As a result, they’re relatively quiet, and a lot of them live alone. It’s an eat-sleep-work mentality during the week, which is fine by me.

The roar of a motorcycle below reaches my ears. I automatically stiffen, but it continues on. I stay still until it fades, then hurriedly finish getting dressed. The Hell Hounds’ compound is a fifteen-minute drive from here, which means motorcycles aren’t out of the norm. Especially on nice days, when it seems like the whole club goes out for a ride.

Still, the sound reminds me of things better left in the past.

Going to Artemis once was foolish.

Seeing her a second time was dumb.

And seeking her out a third time was…problematic. Stupid seems too light a word, but I regret it. I regret it even as I remember the feel of her skin on mine. I regret it even though I cause her panic attacks.

She’s lucky she didn’t pass out last night.

Guilt strikes me. And a second emotion is quick to follow:jealousy. That someone left hickeys on her neck. That she moved on from Terror while I seem trapped in the past.

It’s my fault she has this reaction to me. My fault my parents brought me to Terror and forced me to…

Pounding at my door jars away my thoughts.

I grab the rifle and creep to the apartment door, peeking through the peephole.

A man in a leather cut stands waiting, his hands in his pockets.

“What do you want?” I call, standing off to the side of the door. My fingers tighten around the rifle.

“Artemis Madden,” the guy replies. “She wants to have a word.”

I pause.

Debate.

“Come on out,” the guy continues. “Just a conversation.”

I’m curious, so I relent. I unlock the door and crack it, keeping my foot braced so he can’t shove it inward.

“Who are you?” I bite out.

The man appraises me. “Malikai Barlow.”

I glare at him, but he just shrugs. Like none of this bothers him. Knocking on a stranger’s door, sending a very particular kind of message… There’s a knife in a very visible holster at his hip. The handle alone looks wicked—the blade has to be seven, maybe eight inches long.

---