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)
There isn't one part of me that wants Zayne to do this on his own, but I'm not sure how much longer I can bite my tongue, pretending to be one of them. I'm almost certain that my involvement in this case is exactly what's going to get us killed. It's so very fucking hard for me to act like someone I'm not, especially when the man I'm supposed to be is so very far from who I actually am.
"Cousins," Zayne answers before I can open my mouth and tell him it's none of his fucking business.
"I don't mind the work," I say instead of telling the guy to shove The League and everyone associated with it up his dirty ass.
I feel Zayne's eyes lock on the side of my head. "Says the guy looking at his first stint in prison."
"I can't guarantee that you won't get into trouble," Gene begins. "But we have resources in place that will help if you get caught on the wrong side of things."
I don't know if he's casually mentioning they have police in their pockets or if it's another threat to warn us not to cross them. I guess it depends on the type of trouble we're a part of.
"Yeah?" Zayne prods.
"There's a lot of like-minded folks in these mountains," Gene assures him. "For a man without a job, you sure seem hesitant."
"You ever been to prison, Gene? If so, you'd know why I'm so against going back."
Gene is silent for a moment, telling me he hasn't gone to prison before. I'm sure it has more to do with not getting caught than not having committed the crimes that it would take to land him there.
"The pay is good," he says instead. "And advancing our ability to fight the encroachment of the government on our rights should be reason enough."
"I'm in," I say, not sure how that declaration is going to go.
He hasn't exactly included me in the job offer, but instead of telling me to fuck off, he dips his head in my direction before turning his attention back to Zayne. "And you?"
I figure he's agreeing to hire me so Zayne would be more likely to join, an incentive, in a way.
"Fuck it," Zayne says, once again tapping on the table. "How hard can driving be?"
"Exactly," Gene says, a wide smile on his face as he lifts his arm to wave over the waitress. "Now, how about some lunch?"
Chapter 15
Zayne
Riding mostly in silence has become our thing, I guess.
I don't know if it's because the man just doesn't like to talk, or if it's because he has no desire to talk to me in particular.
I feel his eyes on me when I release a long sigh as we pull into the driveway of the house.
"Home sweet home," he mutters as he puts the truck in park and shoves open the driver's side door.
I have a million things about this house I can complain about. But I learned long ago that, in situations like this, it only takes a few instances of unhappiness for annoyance to really set in. Once that happens, then the job is no longer the focus. Instead, it shifts to wanting out of the situation so badly that the job is no longer the objective, and in this line of work, that can literally be a life-or-death situation not only for the person working the case, but also for the victims who may end up overlooked.
It's not a situation I ever want to be in. Losing a sister to this type of organization's violence is the slap-in-the-face wake-up call needed to keep me focused.
"They could've at least paid for lunch," I say, following him to the front door.
"Hell, I didn't even want to pay for lunch," Zeus mutters as he unlocks the door and steps inside.
I cough into the crook of my elbow with the first breath I take once inside. The house is stagnant, the air thick and congested with scents of all the used furniture bought for the job. Stepping inside and getting slapped in the face with the stench of old smoke and mothballs makes it impossible to believe that we're on the side of a mountain in one of the most beautiful places in the United States.
"True," I agree quickly. "It's like the cooks have no idea what a vegetable is."
"Only if it's battered and deep-fried," Zeus agrees, his smile more of a lift in one corner of his mouth than a real smile.
It only gives me a hint that there may be some level of camaraderie between us.
"I could say it's a southern thing, but I've eaten some really great food in the south that doesn't have a drop of batter on it."
"Wait until you spend some time back at home base," he says as he leans against the kitchen counter. "Zara, Hemlock's woman, just started teaching herself how to cook, and the woman has mastered so many things."