I could figure out the hows and whys later. Now, Greg was coming down the hall from the sitting room. He still had his hunting knife in his holster, and I wasn’t willing to see how he would react to a surprise guest, given his state of mind. I don’t think he would’ve hesitated lunging that six inch blade into Kyla’s chest, like he did to the camp guard in the Congo.
“Greg,” I said, stepping in front of him.
“Yeah?”
“You remember Kyla Rose, right?”
He stared blankly at me. Greg didn’t remember much, unfortunately. It was a miracle he was alive at all.
When our platoon was ambushed, half our squad was killed by a hand grenade, tossed into the window of the hut we were sleeping in. The Kongies slipped passed our night watch unnoticed. It wasn’t hard, seeing as our night watch was Sammy, and he was off fucking a prostitute, halfway across the village. When the grenade went off, everyone in the room died—everyone but Greg. The son of a bitch was built from steel, I swear to God. He walked out of that room with no more than a few cuts and bruises. At least, it only looked like a few cuts and bruises.
That grenade did something to his brain. Greg wasn’t the same after that. He was quiet, he forgot things, and he became terrifyingly ruthless. The Greg I knew before the war had no intention of shooting his rifle. None of us really thought we’d be shooting anyone. But after the ambush, he had blood on his mind. And hell, if he didn’t, maybe we would’ve never gotten out of that camp. I couldn’t have done what he did, stabbed that kid—even though the kid was pointing a gun at our heads, I couldn’t have done it.
“You remember Kyla, Greg. Right?”
He shook his head, his eyes completely hollow. He was trying. You could almost hear the name pinging around inside of his head: Kyla Rose, Kyla Rose, Kyla Rose. But he had no idea. He just shrugged.
What I’d been beginning to realize was, Greg didn’t know he had an issue. He didn’t know his Kongy hallucinations weren’t real. He didn’t know that he couldn’t remember things. That’s what made Greg Cherovitz so dangerous. He didn’t trust anyone. If you told him you were an old friend, he’d think you were a Kongy trying to trick him. Couldn’t blame him either. The second we touched down in the Congo, there were Congolese tricksters trying to dupe us on every street corner and in every bar.
“Kyla is an old friend of mine,” I said. “She’s in that room. Anders sent her to stay with us.” I made sure to say it loud enough that Kyla could hear. All I could do was hope that she caught on.
Greg looked towards the door. “She’s here now?” His eyes narrowed.
“She showed up while we were out.”
“You knew about this?” he asked, eyes still narrowed. His hand was uncomfortably close to his hunting knife.
“No. But she’s an old friend of mine.”
He looked back down the hallway. Greg didn’t trust anyone, except for me—and even I wasn’t so sure he trusted me sometimes. He told me he thought Anders was working with the Kongies, and that he hadn’t decided about Bremkin yet.
He was convinced that the Congolese Rebels had made their way to America while we were in the camp. “First, we reclaim Brazza, then we take your White House,” our captors would remind us regularly. Sometimes they would say things like, “Our troops, we’ve taken Chicago.” They only knew a few American city names. Sometimes they would even get those wrong. “Alaska is now burning, Americans. Washington is next,” they would say, not realizing Alaska was an entire state, up in the middle of nowhere. Greg always knew better than to believe their bullshit, but after we escaped, he didn’t seem so sure anymore.
I could see Greg’s fingertips inching towards his knife as he approached the door.
Before he could reach the door, it opened. Standing in the doorway was Kyla, dressed in a sheer pink nightie. The little number didn’t leave much to the imagination, only vaguely obscuring her nipples. Had the nightie been cut any shorter, her pussy would have been in plain sight. The nightie was probably a good idea on her part, so Greg could see she wasn’t concealing any weapons. The added bonus was that I got to see her beautiful, practically-naked body—and I wasn’t about to complain about that.
“Hi,” she said.
My shoulders were nearly touching my ears; I was so tense. All Kyla had to do was say his name and he would’ve ended her life right there—and maybe mine too.
“Kyla Rose,” she said, holding out her hand.
Greg hesitated. Then slowly, he extended his hand. “Greg,” he said simply.
Thankfully, Kyla had not only caught on, but she was a far more convincing liar than I was as she explained that she’d been told to leave town until things settled with the reporters.
She was convincing enough that Greg apologized for being short with her, and then he went to bed. I went into the cabin’s main room and motioned for Kyla to follow. In the main room, we could talk and not have to worry about Greg overhearing, as long as we kept our voices low.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, making sure my voice wasn’t any louder than the crackling fire.
She stared at me with blank eyes. She could weave a complex lie for Greg, but with me she was speechless. Judging by the blank expression on her face, she had no clue how much I knew.
“I had to get away from town. I didn’t think there would be anyone here.” It seemed too convenient to be true. I thought she was lying until she looked down at her feet, trying to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t telling me everything.
“And Liam?”
“He stayed behind,” she said, not looking up from her feet. “He had to w—” She caught herself before she could finish the sentence—probably remembering that it was because of me she knew Liam had been canned. “He’s out looking for work.”
I still couldn’t figure out why she was protecting the piece of shit. Though I don’t think she knew either. I grabbed her arm and spun her around, checking her body for more bruises. Thanks to her sheer nightie, I could see everything—including her perky butt cheeks and the black panties that hardly covered anything at all. A quick glance at the supple ass and I’d almost forgotten what I was looking for in the first place.
I was looking for bruises—right.
There were a few fading bruises on her arms, and a small cut that she kept hidden by letting her hair hang over her cheek.
“Did he do this?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Then why are you here, Kyla?”
She shrugged and then brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “We aren’t perfect, okay? People have flaws. That doesn’t make them bad.”
I knew it. I knew that little bastard wouldn’t honour his word. Some Marine he was. He was probably one of those piece of shit soldiers who shot himself in the foot so he could come home early. Or maybe he was one of those lazy soldiers, a reckless son of a bitch who endangered the lives of his whole platoon so he didn’t have to get his new boots wet, and so he could get a couple extra hours of sleep in. I could feel my hand clenching into a fist, wishing Liam was there.
Kyla saw my fist and shook her head. “You know, you aren’t perfect either. You think going around, acting like some kind of cowboy makes you better than anyone else?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, my mind drifting back to the Congo.
Private Mayer was our platoon’s medic in The Congo. He was one of five that survived the ambush—along with me, Sammy, Greg, and Lieutenant Niles. Private Mayer was a devout Christian from Louisiana. He’d always seemed a bit off, like there was some wire loose in his brain. After three months in the camp, he started cursing God and he threw the cross they let him keep into the fire. He started getting too friendly with our captors for my liking, bowing to them despite never being told to, agreeing with everything they said like they were the words of God himself. When we started to plan our escape, Mayer threatened to turn us in. He said to us, “Escape? But they’ve giv
en us everything.” He tried to rat us out.
We did what we had to do.
But I’ll never forgot those eyes—those lost, sorrowful eyes. Kyla had those same eyes now. There was nothing funny about them, but still, no other reaction made any sense.
“You’re an asshole,” she said.
“You need to leave him.”
“Why? So you can have me? It’s not going to happen, Hunter. We aren’t kids anymore. You can’t just go around and take everything you want.”
I laughed. “You need to leave him because he’s beating your ass and that’s bullshit.”
“I can’t just leave him.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t respond, though I could tell she was searching her brain for an answer—if not for me, than for herself. She never came up with anything. Instead, she shook her head and told me she would be gone in the morning.
I told her to sleep in my bed, and I took the couch in the main area. Though I didn’t give up the bedroom for the sake of chivalry. I didn’t want her leaving in the morning without me noticing. The cabin had one entrance—one exit—and the old, lumpy couch was right between it and the bedroom.
PART TWO
We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders won't allow them to write "fuck" on their airplanes because it's obscene.
MARLON BRANDO, APOCALYPSE NOW
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It wasn’t until the morning that I realized why Hunter gave me the bedroom. It was silly of me to think he was being courteous.
I managed to make it out from the bedroom and halfway towards the cabin’s main room without waking him up. The couch was only a few feet from the front door. Getting my shoes on was going to be a whole other challenge, but I was going to cross that bridge when I got there.
Greg’s bedroom door was open, and his bed was empty. The bathroom door was open, and it too was empty. Greg was gone. One less person I had to worry about waking up.
I tiptoed past Hunter and reached the front door, feeling the cool breeze against my toes from the slit under the door. I still didn’t know where I was going to go—that was another bridge I would cross once I reached the highway. Maybe I would go back to Nintipi and just pray Liam forgave me. Or Maybe I would go north. I could stay in motels. I had enough money for a few nights in cheap rooms—and I’m sure I could beg my way into a few more. I bent over to tie my boots.
Then, I noticed his face between my legs, awake, smirking at me.
“I don’t know how anyone could hit someone with an ass like that,” he said.
I spun around. That didn’t stop his eyes from exploring my body.
“Underdressed for the weather, no? I can’t imagine those tights are too warm.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, bending back over to finish tying my boots. I knew he was going to try and stop me, but I was mentally prepared. I wasn’t going to take any of it. I wasn’t going to let him manipulate me.
“You know there’s a blizzard on its way. If you aren’t fast, you’ll get turned around out there.”
“I’ll be fine. I know my way,” I said. If that was the best he had, I don’t know why I was ever worried.
“You should reconsider. If you go back to town, I won’t be able to help you from here.”
I laughed. His excuses were getting weaker. “I’ll be fine.” He watched me tie my final boot, do up my coat, and reach for the door handle. “Bye Hunter.”
“Don’t leave now,” he said. He still had a big grin on his face, his eyes still exploring my body, even wrapped in a coat. It was like he could see through my clothes. Or maybe he thought if he tried hard enough, they would fall off.
I shook my head. “When you’re back in town, I’d appreciate it if you stopped by and apologized to Liam,” I said, turning to the door.
“Don’t leave,” he said again, his smirk disappearing. He was out of excuses. Now he was just begging and it was sadly pathetic.
I didn’t respond. I turned the handle and opened the door.
“Greg will shoot you if you walk out that door,” he said
I stopped, feeling the cold air, now against my face. The sun was only just peering over the horizon and the forest was black, in shadows. I couldn’t see Greg—I couldn’t see anything past the first line of trees.
It was probably another little trick to get me to stay, but I’d never been much of a gambler.
“He took the rifle and went out about an hour ago. I tried to stop him, but he thinks it’s his turn for watch duty. Greg’s a good shot, Kyla. He doesn’t miss. Don’t go out there.”
He didn’t have to say anymore before I closed the door and took a step back.
“Tell him to come back inside,” I said.
“How?” he asked. He was smirking again, beaming with victory. He was probably full of crap. Greg was probably out for a hike or something harmless like that. Still, it wasn’t worth the risk. Hunter raised his brow, waiting for a response.
“When will he be back?” I asked.
“I don’t know. In the Congo, we did six hour watch shifts.” Great. I was stuck with Hunter for five more hours. “And I wasn’t kidding about that blizzard. It’s supposed to be a nasty one. Might be a few days long even.”
I shook my head and sighed. “Wonderful,” I said, bending over to take off my boots. In the corner of my eye, I could see Hunter straining to look around my body, to see my ass. They say war changes people. But my mom was right when she said some people just aren’t capable of change.
Without the isolation, the cabin felt like little more than a tiny prison in the middle of nowhere. I’d been looking forward to a few weeks of relaxing quiet. Now, I couldn’t even remember what I’d planned on doing to pass the time. How did I fill my days when I was here, three years ago?
Whenever an activity sprung to mind, so did the thought of Hunter turning it into some tedious task. The bag I brought was mostly filled with books I’d been meaning to read.
But I couldn’t imagine trying to focus on a book while Hunter’s gaze fondled my chest. Dozing off during a long, hot bath was out of the question. The bathroom door didn’t have a lock on it, and there were gaps between the boards, just wide enough that any motivated pervert could see inside, and just thin enough that they could watch unnoticed.
“You can sit down,” Hunter said, patting the cushion next to him. He was sitting up straight now, with the blanket piled up at his lap. He was topless, and possibly bottomless too, under that blanket.
The last time I sat down next to him we ended up having sex. Hunter’s eyes were bright and wide and he was probably thinking the same thing. Five years ago, I was a dumb, vulnerable girl. I was grown up now, and I knew far better than to make that mistake again. Not that we would’ve had sex had I sat down with him—I was stronger than that—but I was perfectly happy pacing around the cabin.
“Suit yourself,” he said, laying back down with the blanket still pushed down to his waist. He put his hands behind his head. My God, his arms were thick, and his chest was stacked. I made a point of keeping my head up, and my eyes off his body so he wouldn’t get any ideas. Though I couldn’t help but take a quick glance when I noticed the dark lines along his ribs, out of the corner of my eye. My glance was quick, but he still noticed, his grin growing out towards his ears.
“So you got it, then?” I said, not giving him the satisfaction of looking back.
“Got what?”
“The tattoo. On your ribs.”
He looked down at his ribs, as if he’d forgotten what was there. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Sammy did it in the Congo using a needle.”
“It’s a lyric from a Nirvana song, right?” I said. “Isn’t that the band you were obsessed with?”
He laughed. “I decided not to get that one.”
Curiosity got the better of me. Keeping my distance, I looked over and tilted my head to read the tattoo.
Born Strangers. Died Brothers.
It was crooked, smudged, and nearly unreadable. “It looks like Sammy’s handwriting,” I said.
He laughed. “It hurt like hell, too. He really jabbed that needle into me.”
“What’s it from?” I asked.
“It’s not from anything. We just came up with it. I poked the same thing into his ribs.”
“Did you guys think you were going to die that day or something?” I asked.
GAGE: A Bad Boy Military Romance Page 24
