Nemesis Unlimited [1] Sweet Revenge by Zoe Archer

meanest bastards—he was one—and none of them had half her resolve. The truth gleamed in her gaze: she truly believed that she and her crew would take Rockley down.
    “In my experience,” he said, “no one’s more dangerous than a man who believes he can’t fail. His confidence makes him sloppy and reckless.”
    “I’m not a man,” she pointed out. As if he didn’t know.
    “A woman who has faith in herself is like a gun that shoots fire. She’ll burn everything down just to hit a single target.”
    She tilted her head, studying him. He wondered what she saw.
    I don’t give a good goddamn.
    Still, he liked seeing her try to puzzle him out. Maybe he wasn’t entirely what she had expected him to be. Good. Let her ponder and stew and fret. Only fair.
    “Good night, Mr. Dalton. Welcome to Nemesis.”
    “You’re wrong about something, Miss Warrick.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I don’t snore.”
    “How do you know that for certain?”
    His smile was a leisurely one. “None of the women who shared my bed ever complained.”
    She shook her head, then turned and left.
    He listened to her footsteps as she walked down the hall, and down the stairs. The room in which he stood wasn’t pretty, but it turned far more dingy as soon as she left. There were murmured exchanges down below—he didn’t quite catch all the words, but it was clear that Lazarus was being warned to stay on his guard around Jack. After some more words, people filed out of the flat. Marco, Simon, Harriet. And Eva.
    The past five years he’d spent making sense out of quiet nighttime sounds. Lights out in prison didn’t necessarily mean falling asleep right away. He learned to tell guards apart by the rhythm of their walks. He knew that the man two cells down from him whimpered the name Cathleen every hour. He figured out who was a restless sleeper and who liked to give himself a wank before nodding off and who ran into the arms of forgetful sleep as fast as he could.
    As for Jack himself, he hadn’t thought of pretty girls or foods he missed, or even about how rough life was within the walls of Dunmoor. No, he’d lie awake, staring at the stone ceiling, and think about killing Rockley.
    He’d do the same this night, even though he wasn’t in prison any longer.
    Two strides took Jack to the grimy window. Holding back the curtain, he stared out at the little courtyard behind the house. There wasn’t a lot in the yard. Just a bench, a bucket lying on its side, and the previously mentioned jakes. Hard to tell in the dark, but not much grew out there except some weeds poking up through brick pavers. Beyond the yard were more houses, all of them dark and shuttered.
    He’d never been able to look out his cell window. A view like this would’ve been prized. But suddenly, it wasn’t enough.
    “Where the hell are you going?” Lazarus demanded as Jack shouldered past him in the hall.
    “Can’t go out,” Jack growled, “so I’m going up. This place got a roof, don’t it?”
    For a moment, the older man just stared at him. Then, “This way.”
    Jack followed Lazarus through a narrow door—he barely fit through the thing, turning sideways and ducking his head—and up another, even tighter staircase. They emerged onto a slate-shingled roof that fell away sharply on all four sides. The flat part of the roof wasn’t sizable, only three good strides in any direction, and the chimney took up a decent section of it. Grime and soot coated everything. Bitter cold poked chilled fingers through the gaps in his clothing.
    But Jack didn’t care. He walked to the edge of the flat part of the roof. Stared up at the sky, the London sky, the one under which he’d been born. It was such a damn luxury to have the night surrounding him, when he’d been herded indoors at the first sign of darkness for five years.
    “You won’t see any stars,” Lazarus said. “Not with the smoke and fog.”
    “I’m not here for stargazing.” When he’d