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)
The video screen goes blank, so I work on fully shutting it down and putting it back in the anti-detection box before securing it back in the ceiling.
"Nervous?" I ask Zeus as I pull my gun from my waistband and make sure it's good to go.
"Not at all," he says. I don't know if that's false bravado or if he's been through so much in life that a meeting with some redneck militia guys doesn't even register on his radar. "Will they take our guns?"
"Not if they want to live," I mutter. "Even if they ask, they'd expect us to refuse. They're our right, and protected under the Second Amendment."
"How contradictory of them to use the same Constitution to support their beliefs but also be anti-government," he mutters, checking his weapon.
"Most of these groups would prefer strict adherence to the original Constitution. The contradiction is them picking and choosing which amendments they like and which ones they think never should've happened."
"Idiots," he mutters.
"Now, there will come a time when they will ask for our guns and expect full compliance, but that usually doesn't happen until we gain access to their compound. So just keep that in mind," I explain. "We need to head out. Got everything you need?"
"Yeah," he says before walking toward the front door.
I follow, making a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure there's nothing in the house that would draw the wrong kind of attention. The ceiling tile is in place, giving no indication that I've hidden something there.
"You have your ID?" I ask when I climb in behind the wheel. "We should anticipate a full background check."
He nods. "I've got it."
Cerberus has created an entire online persona for both of us, with details that can be confirmed digitally if they go so far as to check them out, including criminal history in the national crime information system. As thorough as Casper is, I have no doubt there's any way for this group to discover who we actually are without running extensive facial recognition programs.
But I have faith that our covers won't be blown even if they did that. Max, the IT specialist back in New Mexico, assured me that part of our acceptance into Cerberus is wiping our real identities from the internet. It's a way to protect those connected to us in our real lives, like our families and friends.
The only thing that should show under my face is the history we've created for Curtis Allen.
I pull in a deep breath as I back out of the driveway, channeling the qualities of a man I'd never want to be in real life, all the while hoping Zeus is doing the same damn thing.
Our lives depend on it.
Chapter 14
Zeus
"Does that help?" I ask, unable to keep the irritation out of my tone.
"What?" Zayne snaps back at me, his fingers continuing to tap on the steering wheel.
"You're fucking twitchy," I mutter, looking out the passenger side window. He might not be able to cage his anxiety at the moment, but my nerves are about shot as well.
We haven't really gotten started on this job, and I'm already over it.
He huffs as if the proof of my words isn't in the tap, tap, tap on the steering wheel.
"They're going to see right through you."
I feel his eyes on the side of my face as he slows to a stop at yet another red light. Traffic in town is utterly awful, something I didn't realize until I started working for Cerberus a few months ago. In Tennessee, you can't really get anywhere fast. On any other day, it wouldn't be as annoying, but every red light, stop sign, and slow-moving tourist is putting us behind.
I feel the same annoyance as he does. It just seems like I can manage it better.
"I'm fine," he assures me.
I shake my head. "They're going to fucking shoot us for being late."
Zayne points to the car in front of them. "I can't control the traffic."
"You think they'll care?"
"Probably not," he mutters, laying on the horn the second the light turns green and the car ahead of us doesn't burn rubber to get through the intersection.
"Helpful," I complain.
"Getting there early would be suspicious as well," he says, waving his hands in an urging display as if it could make the traffic ahead of us move faster so he can take the next right. "Fucking finally."
"That's just disgusting," I mutter, looking at the long line of trucks in the parking lot of The Garage.
"It's insane how blatant people are with their hatred these days," Zayne says, knowing I'm talking about all the hateful bumper stickers each of them has.
"Not one out-of-state plate," I mutter.
"I have no doubt that if the stickers don't keep people away, then they'd be greeted at the door and urged to find another establishment," he says as he puts the truck into park. "Now school your face into something a little less disgusted and a little more 'these are my people.'"