Page 68 of Nemesis

The gunfire seems to be coming from the main staircase, where the Siderovs ran to clear an exit, but if I can get her out in a less obvious way, I’m going to take it.

Did they really take out all of our guards while we were in the office?

I screw on the silencer I found on the last body. My analytical training kicks in, every exit filtering into risks and probabilities. The window I used this morning would work best if the hostiles are stationed only throughout the house, but there’s no way to know whether they have snipers on the exterior.

We can’t take the chance of becoming such an easy target.

That leaves two options: The front staircase or the back one.

More shots crack through the air, forcing me to choose. Hoping the Siderovs draw the intruders to the front, I nod my head left. Octavia lowers her chin in one sharp, definitive motion before falling in line behind me.

A shout radiates through the air behind us, summoning more shots.

We move quickly, clearing each room before moving further down the hall. The warm sun streams through open windows in teasing rays, as though reminding us all of the pleasant day we ruined. If this is Popov, and he decided to make his move in broad daylight rather than waiting for the cover of night, he must be desperate.

Nothing bends probability quite like a desperate man.

The telltale creak of a footstep sounds ahead. My arm shoots out, pushing Octavia further behind as I raise my barrel. We’re only a few steps from the dark twist of the stairs—nowhere to dive for cover.

I move first, lurching around the corner. Sure enough, another man in a black balaclava stands guard on the steps. I catch him unaware, firing once. The silencer suppresses the explosion, but the man goes down hard, toppling down the narrow staircase with a loud thud.

Anyone in the house could’ve heard that.

“We gotta move,” I say, looping an arm around Octavia’s waist and lifting her to my side as I step over the body. We’re close to the exit now, but that fall revealed our location.

Boots thunder through the house as I take the steps two at a time, lugging Octavia against my ribs as I go. The old wood creaks below each of my hurried steps at a painful pitch that indicates exactly where we are in the modest house. The gasp of surprise by my ear barely registers.

Bang.

Octavia’s bony ribcage slams back into my arm before I can even twist my head.

“Octavia!” Her name leaves my lips in a vicious roar. I pull her body to my front, preparing for a failure I can’t stomach…

A body tumbles past us down the steps, a bullet lodged in his left lung. Focused, green eyes meet mine before darting down to the gun still smoking in her hand. Damn. If there was ever a question of my girl’s capabilities, today has more than answered it.

Keep moving.

Two figures appear at the bottom of the steps, but I dispatch the first with a chest shot before he even raises his gun. Red blooms in the dark fabric of his shirt for a moment before he collapses. I line up my next shot, about to end the second hostile, when a horrifying click echoes up to my ears.

My chamber is empty.

I see the fucker’s smirk grow wider the second I throw Octavia down. He shoots, but the shot goes wide, barely clipping my shoulder. Pain bites into my flesh.

Adrenaline wins out.

His left fist flies up in a hook that’s easily blocked. I leap forward, tackling the bastard to the ground. My knees press into either side of his ribcage even as he fights to throw me off his torso. I don’t allow him a second to disarm the hold before burying my fist into his nose, which gives way with a satisfying crunch.

“Vas!” Octavia calls out. My head snaps up, just in time to see her gun flying through the air. I catch it by the barrel, flipping my grip to the trigger and pressing it to the man’s head below me.

The crack splits the air.

“We really gotta have a talk about weapon safety,” I wheeze, as I climb to my feet and usher her towards the back door to the garden.

“It worked, didn’t it?” she says back between panting breaths.

I suppress a chuckle as we slip out the door, using the overgrown rose bushes for cover. That’s when a series of black vans barrels down the street toward us, brakes squealing as they swivel on the pavement. Burnt rubber singes my nostrils. Once pulled over, the vehicles sit still on the quiet street, shaded windows shining with wavy reflections of the surrounding trees. I’m sure they haven’t seen us yet. What are they waiting for?

I get my answer when Octavia’s uncle jogs free from the other side of the house, headed straight for the closest van. He smacks the door once, which rolls open with a clunk, and out climbs a group of heavily armed men dressed in combat gear. I exhale, releasing my tense grip on Octavia’s waist.