Page 71 of Wanted
Aris shook his head. “What choices do we have?”
“We can leave, go underground,” I suggested.
“And watch our country go to shit under Aram and Spencer’s petty bitchfights? Brother, do you have no sense of responsibility towards our citizens?” Aris countered.
“What if you have to choose between your own flesh and blood, your child, and the citizens of this country? What if it’s do or die?”
Aris grew silent.
“Or we can stay and defend the land with Aram. Play along with his charades and bow to his threats. Our women will still be in danger, pregnant or not. Absent or in his bed.” My gaze drifted upstairs towards the windows of Kamila’s room. “Once she heals entirely, and the after-therapy is done with, I’ll send her back where she came from. She doesn’t want to be here.”
“I’m sorry,” Aris said. He genuinely was. He’d wished for Mandy to deny me, and now that it was actually happening, he realized how cruel his words had been back then. My brother was a man fueled by his energetic charisma. He was a passionate man, more so than me. He had channeled his energy in the wrong people before he fully committed to being the husband his wife deserved. Now, he was officially pussy-whipped, no more Hole Stores for him.
“Aram needs to go,” my brother realized. The words were barely audible, but I had heard him very clearly.
“We can’t…”
“Look at Grandpa.”
“That was the work of our enemies,” I reminded Aris.
“They say it was the work of our enemies. Then Aram says Grandpa wanted Taron or Spencer or Rich Daddy, whatever the fuck his name is, for the throne. Great-Grandpa was still alive and pulling strings. Think about it,” Aris insisted. The conspiracy was brewing there, between us. I had an open ear for sounds from inside the house, but Valentina’s sandals hadn’t yet announced her return. “And the gossip sites blamed it on Grandma who, as you would agree, would never hurt a damn fly. She rarely even ate meat.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, exhaling.
“We have a murderer in the family. Let’s put him to use.”
“You’d have your father killed?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I sighed. Treason. We were discussing treason. “I’d do it myself if I could.”
“With him gone, we have the country to ourselves. We can rewrite the laws, make them more Westerner friendly. Go mainstream. If we were more liberal friendly, we wouldn’t have such a bad reputation in the West. Or in the East, for that matter. China has banned our name in their search engines. Think about all the possibilities. Tourists cramming our shores and all the social media presence we’d attain.” Aris seemingly had thought all of this through. His eyes were glistening in hope. “I won’t have my son or my baby girl grow up the way we did. That man is a walking bomb waiting to go off.”
“Imagine Valentina having a girl,” I blurted out, leaning back on my seat.
“I do. Every single day.”
“And?”
“I almost cry like a fucking loser at the mere thought.”
KAMILA
Alex’s muscles were carefully crafted through a regiment that controlled his eating and his workout habits. He never missed a beat, and he meticulously followed his schedules. The day after my breakdown, he took some time off.
Jordan was in the cellar, working with electronic devices that nobody could track. He was researchingthingsabout safe rooms like the ones in the Jodie Foster and Kristen Stewart movie, Fylox explained vaguely. We didn’t hear or see him for the entirety of the day.
“I could never grow tired of seeing you like this. Maybe you should always accompany me when I work out,” Alex suggested, approaching me. His skin glistened in sweat. He and Fylox had just played a one on one game on the indoor basketball court. Another luxury that I had no idea about. If I knew that I could have the spectacle of two men dripping in sweat in the privacy of my own home, I would have asked for it years ago. Instead, I wasted my time in Hole Stores, whose primary clientele was men who sought out pussy for sale.
I sat on the side of the court on an uncomfortable bench. Next to me, there was a stack of towels and a bunch of water bottles, opened and unopened.
Alex grabbed one of the towels, and he dried himself off. In the background, Fylox practiced his shot. Alex crouched down in front of me, glancing at me like I had a million secrets he couldn’t wait to uncover.
“Fylox gives you a run for your money, I see,” I commented. Alex smirked, and Fylox stopped dribbling.
“He’s not competitive with me,” Fylox called. He jumped, shooting his shot. He scored. “He loses on purpose.”
