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)
"Excuse me?" he asks, his words even and a little creepy.
I know before I even clarify that he had no idea, and if that isn't a punch to the fucking gut.
"His death," I say against my better judgment. "Eight months ago."
I don't know what I expected from him, but it sure as hell wasn't him standing, taking his plate to the sink before disappearing into his room without a word.
Chapter 12
Zeus
Heartbreak is such a weird fucking thing.
Hearing that a parent is gone should make a person think about all the good memories, the tragic loss of them so strong that it leaves you breathless and wishing for more time.
But there are no good memories to conjure where Edwin Jenkins was concerned.
The heartbreak I felt when I came into my room earlier was for myself, and the realization that I wasn't even important enough to be notified of his passing. I knew I wasn't important to them. I knew my relationship with my adoptive parents was filled with disappointment after disappointment, but I didn't realize until Zayne said the words that I meant so very little to them.
After being injured and discharged from the Marine Corps, it was fully expected of me to attend law school before beginning a career in politics. It was the only time I let myself get confused and actually think that my parents cared about me, but that haze lifted when I refused their wishes.
They didn't give up on me instantly. They argued that a wounded war hero was a perfect candidate for politics, and I think it's the only time my father mentioned how proud he was of me. That pride vanished when I declined. They all but disowned me after that. The calls and emails came fewer and farther between until about two years after that conversation. Then they halted completely.
I had been working for a company building barndominiums outside of Waco, Texas, when Kincaid showed up on the jobsite with an offer I couldn't refuse.
How I was able to come in here and fall right to sleep after hearing the news is a testament to just how often I've felt that level of distress where they were concerned. It's as if the shock of the news didn't even register in my nervous system.
What registers in every cell in my body is the angry shouting coming from the other room.
I jump up from the bed, grab my handgun, and rush to the door.
Taking a calming breath before swinging the door open because I have no idea what I'm going to be facing is second nature. It's a way to get my shit together in one breath before possibly facing death.
Frigid air from the open front door hits my bare chest, but instead of shocking my system, it's exactly what I need to be fully present in this situation.
I analyze what's going on in half a second.
Zayne is standing in the open doorway, hand at his side, a pistol gripped in his palm. I'm not as discreet as I inch forward, weapon pointed right at the guy's forehead.
I recognize him immediately as one of the guys who is known as a player with The League of Liberty. But just because we know who he is doesn't mean this is a goodwill visit. These volatile fuckers could as easily be here to kill us as they would be to ask us to join them.
I haven't decided whether his appearance on the front stoop is going in the direction we need it to go to get a jump on this job, or if there's going to be bloodshed tonight as I inch closer, stepping out of the shadows so he can see it's two against one.
"As I said before, you have two fucking seconds to get the fuck out of my doorway before I paint the fucking steps with your brain matter," Zayne says, his voice calm, a testament to his experience in the field.
I know he knows who the man is. He's always been the type to be detail-oriented, and if it’s in the dossier, I have no doubt Zayne has read it cover to cover half a dozen times already.
"I wanted to stop by and introduce myself," the man says, looking from Zayne to me, his tone calm, making my skin crawl.
He doesn't seem nervous at all, and it's that kind of "I don't give a shit if I live or die" attitude that makes a man unpredictable.
"Midnight isn't the fucking time to make introductions," I growl, lifting my weapon a few inches higher.
"It's always a time for Liberty," he responds with a slow grin.
"I suggest meeting at a better place and time," I return. "Maybe one that doesn't end with you dead and me back in jail."
I know we can't appear to be too eager. No one in The League would expect us to invite this motherfucker in at any point before we got to know him, much less in the middle of the night after he shows up unexpectedly. It's also a fine line between pissing him off and meeting expectations.