Page 148 of Nemesis

“No,” she responds, making a face. “It’s not up to you.”

My mouth sags open. I’m caught somewhere between adoration and shock.

“Okay, see, here’s the thing,” Alex jumps in. “It actually is up to him⁠—”

“You people are psychotic,” the priest mutters.

I level him a dark glare, and his face pales. “That’s enough out of you.”

“It is not up to him,” Octavia says, voice lowering. “Vasiliy already belongs to me, and I’m not going back to Chicago without a failsafe for the second part of Popov’s demands.”

The…second part?

Alex’s expression changes from one of concern to sudden understanding. “You’re removing the claim.”

“What claim?” I snap. “What are you guys talking about?” I’m missing something massive here, and I hate it.

“Uh, miss.” Ivan waves down the flight attendant. “Do you guys have any popcorn back there?”

“Can we all just put down the guns?” Alex says, draining his vodka in two gulps and flinging his arms between the angry priest and us. “Surely you understand that a single shot will knock this box out of the air, and I, for one, wish to die on the ground.”

“What were the demands?” I ask, raising my voice. Everyone quiets.

Octavia spins in my arms to face me. “He wants me to marry one of his men. To end our line of power.”

No one moves.

I blink.

Then my gun rises, a direct line toward the priest’s skull. “Get on with it.”

“What?” he gasps, jumping farther down the aisle to increase the distance from my weapon to his head. Moronic.

“Let’s go! Say your lines.”

“Christ,” Alex groans, but Octavia presses her lips to my temple in a rewarding peck.

“If I marry you two like this, you’ll be damned,” the high and mighty fucker says, holding his head. “You don’t want to sully such sanctity⁠—”

“We’re already damned,” Octavia says. “If I go to hell, I’m pulling him down with me.”

“This is a fever dream. It must be…” Alex mutters, sitting back.

Octavia looks up at me with crystalline eyes, as if it’s just us in the plane and everyone else has faded away.

“Consider this your punishment,” she whispers with a playful smile.

I should sin more often.

“What am I being punished for?”

“Leaving me.”

My stomach twists. Even the glint in her eye dims at the words. “I’d rather rip out my own spleen than leave you again.” I brush a kiss to her temple, and her pulse flutters beneath my lips.

“Oh, I know. I was serious about the tracker.”

A laugh bubbles up my throat. I glance over to the priest, patience waning.