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
“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
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