Page 43 of Nemesis

It comes out of nowhere, headlights bursting on a second before it clips the back of my bike. The engine roars in my ears, the lights searing my eyes. The bike wobbles, but somehow I keep it upright. I coast to a stop and hop off. I’m shaking, but I ball my fists and face the truck.

What the fuck is their problem?

It could be some drunk idiot who didn’t see me—but by the way it’s idling in the middle of the road… a bad feeling overtakes me. I can’t see past the lights who’s driving. Or how many people are in the car.

Something is wrong.

The engine revs, which is the only warning I get. The vehicle shoots forward, aimed straight for me. The street we’re on has houses close together, everyone has chain-link fences blocking their yards, their cars pulled under covered driveways or in garages.

Empty.

Silent.

The neighborhood is holding its breath.

I dive out of the way, managing to lift my body up and over the chain-link fence. I land hard in the grass and roll, keep rolling, until I hear the sickeningcrunchof metal.

My bike.

I dig my fingers into the grass, tempted to push myself up, but then the truck window lowers.

“This is our neighborhood,” a man spits. He’s bald, pale white skin, with tattoos across his forehead and under his eyes. “We see you here again, you’ll get a bullet instead of a warning.”

The truck reverses.

I tear my helmet off and drop it to the ground, swearing under my breath.

We knew this could happen.

In the wake of the Titans’ end, it created an opening for some new gang to slip in. And try as my brother and his friends might, they weren’t able to stop it.

I shiver and flex my fingers. My hands are shaking.

The Titans sucked. But with Kronos, their leader, there was familiarity. His guys regularly fought at Olympus—disguised, sure, but we knew who they were. The Hell Hounds, too, run byWolfe’s father. The lines were blurred in the neutral areas of the city, and Olympus offered an outlet.

Better than them killing each other on the streets, right?

Now, the power vacuum that my brother, Jace, and Wolfe left behind seems glaringly obvious. I use the gate to get back onto the sidewalk and touch my elbow. My fingers come away wet with blood, even through my jacket. It takes a minute for the pain to hit—my adrenaline is still soaring.

The bike has fared much worse than me, though. It’s mangled past disuse.

“Are you okay?” Across the street, a woman pokes her head out of her door. A dim light spills out behind her, giving her a silhouetted appearance.

I automatically move toward her. “I’m fine.”

She stiffens, like me coming closer is a bad thing. “Best be going back to your side of the Falls, dear.”

“What does that mean?”

She gestures. “You’re marked. One ofthem. They’ve made it clear that they won’t tolerate…”

“Who won’t tolerate…?”

“They call themselves the Cyclopes.” She shudders. “Didn’t you see what they did to?—”

Abruptly, she cuts herself off. Her head turns, tracking another car that coasts down from the top of the street.

Patrol?

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