32. Kaos
Irub my aching jaw as I make my way through the complex.
Fuck, Kovu got me good. It’s not often our fights involve actual punches intended to hurt each other, but I’m craving violence more and more while Camilla is under our roof.
It’s only a matter of time before they realize she doesn’t belong here and send her on her way. Their interest in her is temporary, just like it always is.
Kovu especially is easily led by a shiny new toy, and what is better for him to obsess over than a wounded virgin? The sick fuck will have a field day with his prey, and then he’ll spit her out when he’s had enough. It’s always the same. I just have to be patient.
Bishop is another story, though. He’s rarely interested in women for anything more than fucking. He’s never seen the appeal of having a woman here full-time other than to enjoy the perks of having live-in pussy. But he’s different with Camilla. I’m not so blind that I don’t see that.
Perhaps it’s because he saved her. He found her beaten and broken, and now he has some kind of fucked-up savior complex.
Who fucking knows. I’m just living for the day I don’t have to see her.
I walk into the living room and pause, blinking twice to make sure I’m not having a nervous break that has me hallucinating.
Bishop is spread out on the three-seat couch, while Kovu is in the corner armchair, his eyes closed and breathing even, with his arms wrapped around a sleeping bundle in his lap.
His arms are tight around her body, and his face is more content than I can remember seeing it in a long time, as if she settles the part of his mind that has always been wild.
I’m stuck in place, unable to move, unable to breathe as I watch them. Something unfamiliar and unwelcome flickers to life in my chest, and no matter how hard I try to push it down, it only seems to burn more. Jealousy. I’m fucking jealous.
I blow out a frustrated breath at my inability to walk away. I should just go back to my room or find some fucker to kill. But I’m rooted in place, watching a scene I have no right to feel anything toward.
“You just gonna stand there?” Kovu murmurs.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” He hasn’t bothered to open his eyes, but that’s because he has an uncanny ability to always know when someone enters a room. Doesn’t matter how quiet they are or if he’s in a dead sleep, he always knows. A product of his messed-up childhood, but something that has always been useful in our line of work.
It only takes another moment before I slump into the other armchair, as far away from them as I can be while still being in the same room.
I don’t know why I do this to myself. Why do I insist on watching them together when I have no interest in being a part of whatever fucked-up Brady Bunch bullshit they have going on?
“You know, K, if you just let yourself consider that you’re wrong just this once and got to know her, you might actually like her.”
“I doubt it.”
He chuckles and rearranges Camilla’s sleeping body on his lap, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, which is so at odds with his usually brutal persona, I’m left staring with my mouth agape. “You can deny it all you want, but you wouldn’t be sitting there if you didn’t feel the same pull we do. We’re just not fighting it.”
I remain glued to the seat despite my entire body wanting to punch him again. But not because he’s wrong. No. It’s because he’s right that I want to wipe the smug smile off his face.