Page 97 of Nemesis

He goes back to watching Apollo, who has shooed off Reese toward the fighter’s corridor with a boar-masked employee, and he has retaken his position on the stairs.

“It’s not,” I tell him. “Reese and I have history, and it’s not the good kind.”

Saint ignores me.

I ignore him back, shaking off his hand from my wrist and moving backward. I shift behind a couple, then another. By the time he turns to check for me, I’m well and truly out of sight.

Apollo finishes his speech and slams his staff into the floor. Smoke rises around him, and he’s gone when it clears. I give Saint a bubble and head for the stairs. I squeeze around people, hurrying to one of the balcony boxes. I plant myself in the cornerof one and look across to where Hades, Ares, and Persephone—better known as Jace, Wolfe, and Kora—are taking their seats.

Wolfe pulls Kora down on his lap, his hands settling at her hip and thigh. Her mask is back to springtime flowers, a mix of pink carnations and white roses. Her dress is baby pink, and it would be demure if not for the cut of it. It stops at her upper thigh, exposing her pale legs.

“Can I join you?” someone asks.

I glance over my shoulder and squint.

The voice should’ve been my first clue.

“Malik,” I greet him. “What brings you here?”

He leans on the wide marble railing, staring down at the people who prefer to be on the ground level. Usually that’s me, wanting to be right up close to the action.

Tonight, I think I need the railing to hold me up.

“Antonio asked me to check on you.”

I cough. “No, he didn’t.”

The old man does not like Malik. Never warmed up to him, barely musters the energy to be polite. It’s kind of funny, really. There are only a few people living that stay on Antonio’s shit list no matter what they do, and the Hell Hounds’ leader is one of them.

“No, he didn’t,” Malik agrees with a smile. “But he did ask me who Kade Laurent is.”

That, I would believe. You don’t have to like someone to know when they have information.

“Can I get any peace?” I groan.

The answer is no.

Antonio should not be going to the freaking Hell Hounds. Reese shouldn’t be fighting. Kade shouldn’t be sneaking around behind my back. Saint shouldn’t be… well, I don’t know what Saint is doing or not doing, just that I don’t really like it.

Or maybe I do like it, and I won’t admit it.

Nope—I don’t like it.

End of fucking story.

“Reese Avery.”

I cringe. “What about him?”

“He didn’t leave town.”

“No, of course not. He’s not the type to be bullied by a few bikers.” I peek at Malik. “Using your favor against me like that is poor taste.”

His mask is emerald green, but I can’t think of a single Greek god who corresponds to that color. It’s more akin to the fighting masks—fabric instead of plastic, so it doesn’t cut when you’re getting punched in the face—instead of the finer ones the guests wear.

Knowing him, he didn’t actually pick it with the intention of emulating a god.

“But he’s not at his apartment anymore. Landlord said it’s been emptied out.”

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