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 other buildings around have symbols painted on them, designating their purpose. It proves the group's validity and shows how established they are as an organization.
If they were just flying by the seat of their pants, they wouldn't be so organized. This place has been in operation for a while. A lot longer than Cerberus initially thought.
I feel the draw of eyes in our direction, but I know better than to look in any one direction too long. A little curiosity is expected, but looking around like we're casing the place wouldn't be received well at all.
Knowing I could take a shotgun blast to the chest at any given moment makes it hard to inch closer to the door of the building we're in front of, but I do my best to hold my head high, acting as if I belong in a place like this. This is also East Tennessee, so I know the sound of a gunshot in this area wouldn't raise any alarm bells. Getting shot wouldn't bring in a parade of police and SWAT for our aid. It would be ignored, and our deaths wouldn't even raise an alarm to those around who may hear the shots. Not to mention that even if someone did hear it and was curious, the echo off the surrounding mountains would make it damn near impossible to isolate where it actually came from. Whoever set this organization up here may be a damn genius.
Zeus doesn't speak, but I know he's taking in as much as he possibly can. We can't risk being overheard, and I have no doubt they have just as many microphones as they have cameras.
Balls of steel.
The words echo in my head, a mantra of sorts, reminding me to be brave. I repeat it over and over as my muscles threaten to seize, urging me to go back to the truck and get the fuck out of here. I know better than to think we even have a shot of escaping at this point.
Being brave doesn't wash away the fear. Not being afraid in a situation like this could get me killed. I may present and look like I have a sense of belonging, but I know better. No one belongs in a place like this, and that's my whole reason for doing what I do.
I lift my hand to knock on the door, knowing better than to just open the motherfucker, but before I can make contact with my knuckles, the door opens.
Gene, the guy we met at The Garage, is standing in front of us with a blank look on his face.
He doesn't speak as he holds the door open wider, indicating for us to walk inside.
I pull in a deep breath, praying the man doesn't hear how ragged it is before stepping inside.
Gene walks ahead of us, guiding the way, and as I suspected, the place is a lot nicer on the inside than it looks on the outside.
It honestly reminds me of the Cerberus clubhouse back in New Mexico. Although they've made changes to the place since they fully shut it down to outsiders in recent months to make it more visually appealing, I saw old pictures while I was there. The clubhouse started as a metal building much like this one, but stepping inside, you'd think it was designed and decorated by a top designer featured in magazines.
This place is cozy but efficient, and much smaller than the clubhouse.
Gene opens the door to another room, standing to the side and sweeping his arm like he's the butler of an English estate. Similar to a conference room, there's a long table with leather chairs encircling it. The chair at the head of the table is large and turned around so that the only part of the person sitting in front of it visible is the lower half of their legs.
I know immediately that the person sitting in that chair is quite possibly the top guy of the organization. We don't know how far this organization extends, but the person in that chair is, at a minimum, running this location.
As experienced as I am in situations like this, it doesn't stop the gasp from escaping my throat when the chair spins around, only to reveal fucking Bobby sitting at the head of the damn table.
"Motherfucker," Zeus mutters at the sight of the smiling man.
This can't be fucking good at all.
"Two things," he says as he points to the two chairs to his left.
We make our way across the room. I know how smart it is that he puts both of us on the same side of him rather than dividing us, where he'd have to protect both sides of his body if shit went south.
"One," he says, lifting a remote and turning on the television on the far wall.