Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
"Nothing good," Idiot One answers. "Nothing good."
"Can we go home?" I ask. "I'm ready for a fucking beer."
"We'll catch up," the one with the hidden pipe says, using his free hand to shoo me away.
I turn my back on them and walk back toward the truck.
I know I have to smell like damp earth and sweat, but I don't give a shit how much mud I track into the vehicle. When they come walking up, they climb inside, unconcerned about the debris and mud on their clothes as well.
"How about some lunch?" the one in the passenger seat asks as we get on the road.
"The Garage would be perfect," the one beside me in the back seat says.
"No," I growl. "Back to the fucking wrecking yard."
I meet the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"It's fucking macaroni salad day," I growl. "I don't want to fucking miss it."
"Oh, yeah," the passenger says. "I forgot."
"I hate that shit. My mom made it all the time when I was growing up," the one beside me says. "A cheeseburger sounds better."
The driver holds my eyes as if he can't decide who he wants to piss off.
"You really think it's a good idea to go to The Garage right now?" I ask.
He blinks, decision made.
Chapter 35
Zayne
"I didn't get an assignment," I tell Bobby when the last of the guys walks out.
Bobby looks up from his computer, eyes landing on me.
There's no surprise in them. I'm exactly where he expects me to be.
"Close that door," he says, his tone no different from any other time he has spoken to me.
I walk in that direction, mind and body in battle yet again as I reach the door.
My head says everything is fine. We haven't been busted. Scott didn't open his fucking mouth about what he saw.
My body, on the other hand, fights me, urges me to haul ass out of this office and pray I can make it back to the cabin and shoot off a text to Casper so at least they can recover my body.
Experience tells me that this isn't the tight spot I'm trying to convince myself it is.
Remembering the terrified look on Sable's face when I walked her as far as men are allowed to go last night makes my decision for me.
The door closes softly, and in a split second, a pause too minimal to be caught, I demand that all aspects of my person get their shit together and see this through.
These women's lives are on the line, and if they can survive in that situation, then so can I.
Bobby smiles when I turn back to face him, as if he's proud of me, and since I only closed a fucking door, I let the eeriness that I made the wrong fucking choice settle inside of me.
"I've got your cousin out digging ditches," he says. "Grunt work is all he's worth to me."
I walk closer, taking a seat beside him.
"That fucker loves being outside. I don't think it's the level of punishment you're expecting it to be," I say, my face calm and cool because I suspect he's trying to test my loyalty to Zeus.
"You don't wonder why I'm punishing him?"
"Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Punishing him? As I said, he loves it. Want to really punish him, make him teach a fucking class or something." I smile when the corner of his mouth twitches, taking a little pride in the fact that I'm eating the bait he's dangling in front of me. "Better yet. Make him read in front of a group. But that might end badly for everyone. He would flip fucking tables in school to avoid it."
"I may consider that," he says, an analytical hint to his words, but I highly doubt he's trying to figure out how to best Zeus.
"We're just hanging out today?" I ask, tapping my fingers in an off-beat rhythm on the tables.
"No," he says, shaking his head quickly, as if he didn't realize he was so far off task until just now. "You don't care that he's on my shit list?"
The guy just can't fucking move on.
I shake my head. "He's his own person. I'm grateful you let him join, but I always knew there was a chance he would ruin the opportunity. He's got too big a fucking chip on his shoulder. He can't see past it."
"He is an angry man," he agrees. "Bad childhood?"
"We all had a fucking bad childhood," I mutter, growing increasingly annoyed with him. "Some channel that energy into better things. Some have worse coping skills, I guess."
"And if I said he had to leave?"
I blink twice at the guy, trying to figure out which direction he wants me to go, but I know what agreeing to him not being a member means. I could sign his fucking death warrant right now and never fucking see him again.