Page 89 of Nemesis

I lead the way to Saint. The elevator chimes right as we approach, the doors sliding smoothly open. Once we’re in, I realize that this might be worse than the car.

They’re eyeing each other now, with nothing likedrivingorevading captureto distract.

It’s a miracle we made it here in one piece.

“So.” Reese hits the button for my floor without prompting. “How do you know Kade Laurent, Saint?”

Saint frowns. “He won our fight at Olympus. Apollo shared his name.”

Reese’s gaze cuts to me. “Apollo, your brother.”

“That’s the one.”

“He won a fight at… where?”

Oh, boy.

“Where have you been?” Saint’s tone is incredulous.

It’s a bit warranted. Stay in Sterling Falls for any amount of time, and you’re bound to hear about Olympus. The fighting, the masquerades. Hell, even the cliffs.

“Living under a rock,” Reese says. “What is Olympus?”

Saint and I trade a look.

This weekend… I mean, what could be the harm?

Doesn’t really matter that Kadeandthe sheriff are now searching for Reese. Or that I was supposed to find him for Kade. I seem to have switched sides.

The sheriff is acting weird, and Kade pulling some sort of scheme…

“I don’t trust him,” Saint says under his breath.

“Who?”

“Kade.” He pushes his shoulders back. “He shouldn’t be staying in that house.”

That, again.

“And he was too presumptuous with Artemis.”

I open and close my mouth.

But…maybe that’s fair?

Reese frowns. He’s about to retort when the elevators open, and we’re saved from further questioning. I make a beeline for my door, then register that I don’t even have my keys on me. Reese takes the pizza boxes from Saint, who unlocks the door.

And then we’re in.

I am in desperate need of new clothes. I grab stuff from my room and lock myself in the bathroom, slowly stripping out ofmy ruined shirt. I toe off my shoes and undo the ankle strap that holds the sheathed knife, but I don’t know how to get the sweatpants off easily.

There are scrapes across my upper chest and stomach, the backs of my forearms and elbows are torn to shit. Everything hurts. I wet a washcloth and try to dab at the cuts, tackling those before my legs. Blood is soaked into the shredded edges of my sweatpants, down past my knees even. It takes a long time to peel them down, and I kick the ruined fabric into the corner.

Ten minutes later,ish, I’ve doused myself in antiseptic, wrapped what I could in bandages, and slipped into new clothes. Unable to delay any longer, and partially driven by the smell of pizza, I slowly limp out of the bathroom.

Reese sits on a barstool. Saint leans against the counter across from him. They both have beers, but they’re not talking.

This is weird, right?

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