“Of course.”
We drive through and make our way back to the water tower. I’m relieved to be back, as are the others, I’m sure.
“I’ll run Ophelia a bath,” Mal offers.
Roman swings his long legs out of the vehicle. “And I’ll make us something to eat.”
“Thanks.” I glance to the RV. “I’m sure the men would appreciate something, too.”
Roman smirks. “As long as they don’t comment on my cooking.”
I can’t help chuckling at that.
We settle back into the water tower, washing up and changing, preparing food, and just trying to remind ourselves that we’re normal human beings. Ophelia emerges from the bath, her long pale hair hanging down her back, still damp. She’s wearing one of Mal’s black band shirts, and it reaches down to her thighs. Her legs are covered in a baggy pair of plaid pajama pants. She looks cute as fuck, but she’s still pale and shaky, and her lower lip keeps wobbling, though she’s more together than at the commune.
Roman’s made a huge pan of chili, and the scent fills the air, reminding me how hungry I am. He dishes it up with rice and nacho chips and a bowl of sour cream. Before I can eat, I need to make sure the other men are okay.
I carry a large bowl of the chili out to the RV. None of them will be able to complain about a lack of meat with this dish, since it’s full of ground beef, though after last night, I doubt any of them would have dared say anything even if I’d brought them a salad.
As I reach the RV, I pick up the low murmur of a voice. It’s not coming from inside, but rather around the back of the vehicle. I catch the end of a sentence?—
“—the mission failed.”
I frown. Is that Felix talking? I’m sure it’s his voice. I freeze, my breath held. What does he mean by ‘the mission failed.’ Even though we lost Daisy, we did what we set out to achieve. We’re all safe, and the Prophet is dead.
“No, I can’t.” He’s speaking in that low, urgent way of someone who doesn’t want to be heard. “They’re watching her like a hawk. But there’s no reason to think your son will ever find out.”
I place the bowl of chili down quietly and stalk around the back of the RV. Felix’s eyes widen when he sees me, and he shoves the cell behind his back like a child who’s been caught with something he shouldn’t have.
“Whose son?” I demand. “Are you talking to my father?”
“Cain. I thought you were inside the water tower.” His expression is a mask, but I know that’s good training, not to reveal your emotions.
“Hand me the cell phone.”
He shakes his head. “That’s private property.”
“I own you, the other men, and everything in your possession, including that cell phone and the fucking clothes you stand in. Now give me the fucking phone.”
Still, he doesn’t budge.
With a roar of anger and frustration, I lunge at him. My fist curls into his shirt at the base of his throat, and I throw him backward against the side of the RV. I swing and manage to smash his nose, but, though I’m big and strong, Felix is also trained. He catches me in the gut with his fist and winds me. I don’t give up, and I swing for him again, this time catching him in the jaw. He kicks out and takes my legs out from under me.
We end up on the ground, rolling in the dirt, delivering punch for punch. We’re too well matched, and I fear we might end up killing each other.
The noise from our fighting grabs the attention of the others. People rush out of the RV and then the water tower. Hands are on us both, dragging us off each other, though we’re both still trying to kick and punch.
“What the fuck is going on?” Malachi demands.
“Did he insult my cooking?” Roman wonders out loud.
I let out a growl. “He’s in on something with my father.”
“You’re overreacting.” Felix spits blood onto the dirt.
Heads turn from one direction to the other as we verbally spar now.
“Then show me the fucking cell phone.”
