Page 3 of Nemesis
“The last operations manager was practically family for twenty-nine years before he turned on us,” a new man says, stepping out of the window’s light. The guy rivals my own muscle mass, built like a trained enforcer. Now that would be an interesting fight.
“Don’t bring Lev into this,” the blond guard dog at the desk snaps.
“It’s been four years, Ivan,” another says with a sigh.
I glance back and forth, trying to keep track of the continuing argument. Maybe I should have spent more time researching his inner circle on the flight, and less on reaching level ten-thousand on Candy Crush.
“I don’t see why we should trust an outside hire,” the big guy continues. “Especially one with an inconsistent reputation.”
I grin. “So you’ve heard of me.”
“I wouldn’t be flattered. Our sources called you reckless. Uncontrollable. Volatile.” He spits the traits like he’s reading off a rap sheet.
My brows lower.
“It’s just like the Morozovs,” another man mutters, “to send us their most unstable soldier.” He’s the shortest of the group, and by the way he folds his arms and narrows his eyes up to mine, I’m pretty sure he’s got a complex about it. It would only take a few steps to size him up. Three seconds to knock him out. A good brawl is exactly what the doctor ordered today.
“I think the word you’re looking for,” I say, “is effective.”
“Enough.” The room goes quiet at Solokov’s intrusion. He looks at me steadily. “Martyr or not, you belong to me now.”
I bite down on the reflex to roll my eyes. It takes genuine effort.
“Just because you’ve been hired under such a high title doesn’t negate the fact that you are young and untried here. Trust is earned, wouldn’t you say?”
Here we go.
What will it be this time? Finger? Ear? I got off easy with Uncle’s family discount. All I had to do was withstand a week in the basement with his most aggressive enforcers. Other than a few scars and seared images that wake me in the dead of night with a cool sweat, I got off scot-free.
“I’ve heard great things about your work, Vasiliy.” Solokov taps his index finger against the desk. “As well as less than positive reviews of your temperament. Nevertheless, we have use for your particular abilities. I think you can find a place for yourself here, regardless of how you came to us.”
Every muscle in my body goes taut as I prepare…for a shoe that never drops.
The guards at my back dissolve with a gesture from Solokov’s hand. For the first time since I walked into this building, I feel the room expand around me. My lungs inflate. Mikhail’s attention has already disbanded, returning to the papers littered across his desk.
“He’s done with you, Morozov,” the blond man beside him says, spurring me from my confused stupor.
Done with me?
It’s almost generous. I was prepared for something sharp and demonstrative. I have no idea what to do with this.
“Welcome to the Solokov Bratva,” the same guy says with a cheeky grin that confuses me even more. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Faster! Move, you cows!”
My teacher’s creative insults haven’t bothered me in years, but tonight, my heart rattles like the last pill in a bottle.
I jump.
The stagnant air rushes to make space, whipping hair strands into my eyes. I appreciate the distraction from the nearing ground, which approaches my skull far too fast for my liking. My eyes twitch. Just when I’m sure the impact will arrive, pressure crushes against my ribcage to stop the fall. I suck in desperate breaths as a pair of hands clench the sides of my torso, lifting me through the air like a rag doll.
The music prattles on from the CD in the corner of the room, not caring that we’re a beat behind. The small Russian lady in the corner, however…
“Useless! You’re both fucking useless!” Ms. Irina’s shrill cries grind into my ears. I grit my teeth.
I’m lifted higher from the ground. The hands lace my torso like a clawed corset, tightening for a moment of desperation before finally giving in. I slam back down to the steady floor with an uncontrolled thunk that causes my knee to shriek. My head doubles over my knees.
The music cuts out.
