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)
Another hushed answer from Nyx, and if I weren't hurting so badly, I might risk the chance of getting caught eavesdropping by walking closer so I could hear both sides of the conversation.
"Then explain the shit that went down at the compound," Kincaid demands, his anger growing with every word he speaks.
"Jesus, talk louder," Zeus mutters, making me smile.
He's just as invested in what's going on as I am. It makes me feel less nosy.
"Do you have any idea the amount of fucking paperwork involved when you pull the shit you pulled yesterday?" Kincaid snaps. "Not your fucking job?"
His voice is a growl, and I commend the man for not having put his hands on the insolent motherfucker yet. I highly doubt Kincaid is the least bit intimidated by Nyx. It shows just how much patience and control the man actually has.
"Like I said on the fucking phone," Kincaid snaps, his voice more controlled, albeit less loud. "You have a fucking decision to make, but you're done here."
I can't turn around fast enough to avoid being caught.
Nyx glares at us as he leaves the conference room, but it doesn't stop his feet from carrying him out.
"Looks like we're a man down," Zeus mutters when I manage to turn back in his direction.
"Give us a minute," Kincaid says, startling me.
"I'll warm this soup back up," Zeus says, scrambling to pick up the bowl and leave the room as if he's afraid his head will be on the chopping block next.
Kincaid comes around the end of the couch I'm sitting on. Instead of sitting on the sofa Zeus just left, he takes a seat beside me.
"You had a really fucking rough introduction to Cerberus with this one, huh?" he asks, not a hint of the anger I just heard coming from him in the conference room.
"I've had other assignments that went better," I answer.
He gives me a soft smile, but the apathy on his face makes him no less intimidating.
"I have these," he says, holding up a couple of pamphlets.
I attempt to hide my wince when I reach for them.
"Addiction?" I say, sorting through them. "Recovery and relapse?"
"You were put in a position that we don't deal with very often," he says.
"And you think I'm going to start using drugs?" I ask, more than a little irritation in my voice.
He pulls in a breath before speaking, and it makes me wonder if he's going to demand I attend meetings for addicts as a condition to continue to work with Cerberus.
"I don't think that at all. I just want you to know that there are resources available if you feel the need for them," he says.
"And if I don't need them?" I counter.
"Then you don't," he says, his response sounding a little less sure than I'd like.
"I hear a but in your voice."
"We have to take precautions."
"And that includes?"
He shifts his body, pointing it directly at mine.
"You'll need to undergo random drug tests for the next six months," he says. "As a precaution."
If I were on the outside looking in on this situation, I'd be fully on board with his requirements. I'm all too aware of how easily that first hit of an illicit drug can change who a person is. I know how quickly they can become a shadow of their former self.
My mind tries to pull me back to Dakota's arraignment hearing. I hadn't seen her in weeks, and even that short period had turned her into someone I barely recognized. Her cheeks were sunken in, her under eyes painted with dark shadows that couldn't be explained away with an excuse of a few sleepless nights.
My sister went to jail as an addict, and knowing that she was so easily plucked from her life of privilege and opportunities and sank so quickly into one of drugs and crime broke a part of me that has never healed.
"Sounds fair," I answer, knowing his concern is built on his own experiences and knowledge about just how potent the drugs I was injected with can be.
"Meeting in five," he says as he stands. "Need help getting up?"
I shake my head, giving the informational material in my hands one last look before getting to my feet.
The walk to the conference room is slow, but thankfully, Kincaid doesn't hover like a mother hen, worried her chick is in danger and needs assistance.
Before I can make it to the room, I spot Zeus walking back, that fucking bowl of soup steaming in his hands.
"I guess you're not going to eat?" he mutters, looking down at the thing as if he spent hours in the kitchen preparing it for me.
The biggest part of me wishes I had a little more time. I'd gladly eat the soup he made, even though I wasn't hungry. That part doesn't want to disappoint him. That part would walk over broken glass with the hope that he felt anything more for me right now than misplaced guilt of what happened to me.