Page 122 of Wanted
I didn’t like Katantia, and I couldn’t wait until Kamila’s other brother woke up so that we could finally get out of here. I was missing games and pissing people off with my absence. My PR team was twisting my Katantia honeymoon into a feminist warrior coup, but the fans were displeased.
Understandably so.
Travis and Jordan regrouped in the dining room with some of the guards, discussing strategies. What was there left to do? I couldn’t see what the next day would bring. It was a time of uncertainty.
I stomped up the stairs. There was nowhere for me to let out my frustrations. I couldn’t go to the gym, and Fylox didn’t have time to spar. He was happy now, for some peculiar reason.
Shutting the door close behind me, I surveyed Kamila’s room. Her bed wasn’t small, but it still didn’t fit us comfortably. I’d have to get a couple of massages when I returned to Indianapolis. Fylox didn’t show any signs of discomfort, but I didn’t believe he felt as fine as he pretended to.
The door didn’t creak, but I felt the shift in the air. Fylox joined me in Kamila’s room. “You don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t,” I admitted.
“You’ll get to leave soon. Don’t worry,” he reassured me. He adjusted the sleeves of his black hoodie, and I traced his movements. It was too hot for hoodies, but he refused to wear anything else. We couldn’t even get him to switch to wearing shorts.
On Katantia, Fylox spent half of his days showering his sweat away.
“What about you? Do you want to stay here?” I dared to ask.
Sharply inhaling, his nostrils flared. “I have unfinished business here.”
“Did her father—”
“No. Kamila’s father never touched me,” Fylox revealed. His face turned cold, and his whiskey eyes went dark. “That doesn’t mean that he’s innocent. There are hundreds of children being abused in this country. He doesn’t do anything about it. He will pay.”
“You can’t make him pay,” I said.
“But I can.”
“She’ll never forgive you.” Would she, though? I’d say anything to get Fylox out of trouble.
“Kamila will kiss my feet if I murder her father.”
“Please, Fylox. Don’t do this. You can’t get to him,” I urged him. I rubbed the back of my neck. “We can leave and be happy somewhere else. Kamila wants to be with us now. You can live with her, and I’ll join you whenever I’ve got—”
“Happiness is reserved for the likes of you,” Fylox commented. He approached one of the cupboards, the one where Kamila stored her underwear. He reached inside, removing one of her dark blue thongs. She didn’t wear thongs much around us. She went bare most of the time, and that freaked me out. Fylox found it amusing, but it messed with my head since she walked around with our shirts only. She didn’t wear any shorts.
Kamila Ruby Wraith was a walking tease. She didn’t shy away from her sexuality. She didn’t care that half the world had seen her naked at some point.
I did.
With her thong in hand, Fylox took a seat on the edge of Kamila’s bed. He’d made it for us this morning. The bedsheets crinkled where he sat now. He lifted the dark blue fabric to his nose, and he inhaled.
Jealousy was unbecoming of me. I was perfectly aware of that. Especially after the three of us had made a pact to share Kamila. She wanted to be shared among us, and I wouldn’t be the one to break my wife’s heart. Fylox’s inhale of Kamila’s thong was a break of his promise. He didn’t do such things. When he told Kamila he’d wash her panties, he actually washed them. He didn’t stash them away for secret jerk-off sessions like a pervert. Odors disgusted Fylox. That was his thing.
My best friend broke out of the shell that he’d built around him after his return. It had taken us years to get Fylox to solely flinch at a curse word instead of suffering an anxiety attack that resulted in an attempt to beat the shit out of the person that had accidentally cursed in front of him.
It almost felt like all Kamila had to do was snap her fingers, and Fylox was tame.
“You work hard to be happy, and I see it. You haven’t been happy since we came here,” Fylox commented. The thong was on his lap now, and he stared at it like it was a science project. “You don’t want the complications.”
“That’s not true,” I argued. “I want to understand—”
“But you can’t. You never will. I don’t want you to. You shouldn’t have to get inside the head of an abused person.” He cleared his throat. “I have unfinished business here, and I won’t leave until it’s settled.”
“This isn’t permanent. We’re leaving soon,” I reminded him. “I only have one more week left. Then I have to return. What will you do in a week?”
Fylox’s fingers fondled the fabric of the thong, and I felt my heart harden at the sight. Why did it bother me? In his signature monotone, he responded, “We won’t be done in a week. What I plan takes much more time.”
