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)
"Do you really think they take the time to worry about that shit? Or would even do enough research to know exactly where it is?"
"May need to ask Bobby what you should do before contacting the court," Zayne suggests.
"Yeah," I mutter, dropping my duffel bag near the door. "That's a good idea."
I feel as if we're talking in riddles. Knowing why we're doing it doesn't make me feel any calmer. Cerberus, knowing where we're going, is exactly what we need. But the reminder that everything we've done or said in this house, especially in the living room, has been monitored not only by our group but also by the enemy we're facing.
It makes me think about every single word, every sigh, every sound we've made since we moved in.
Did either group hear something that made them suspicious? With Cerberus, it would be an explanation.
With The League, it could mean death.
Did Scott really buy our story?
Are we packing our things, thinking we've made progress on this case, only to have bullets put in our heads because they somehow guessed what we've been up to?
As if my questions have been spoken, Zayne steps closer to me, his eyes searching mine.
"This is perfect," he assures me. "Exactly what we wanted."
I nod, letting him know that I'm on board. A small dose of paranoia is good in any situation. But if I take an honest step back and evaluate the situation as a whole, I can see that there has been no hint that we're facing any immediate danger by going where we've always planned to end up.
"I can't fucking wait," I say, taking a step back because if he touches me right now, I don't know how I'd respond. "Maybe they'll have bigger and better water heaters, and we don't have to argue over the fucking shower."
He laughs, the sound genuine and exactly what I needed to calm my nerves enough to move forward with our plan.
We work for the next half hour, gathering everything they'd expect us to bring and leaving it near the front door, then make several trips to our beater of a truck to load it all up.
"Ready to go home?" he asks as we take one final look around the living room to make sure that we don't miss anything.
I look at the ceiling, knowing the Cerberus-issued computer is up there, but he shakes his head. The guys will come and clean the place out, retrieving anything we left behind.
"We can't forget to call the landlord," I say. "Let him know we're out."
"I'll do it," he says, walking toward the front door. "Let's go home."
"Home," I scoff after we're outside, where there's less risk of being heard.
He locks the door behind him, leaving the keys off the side of the porch, and it makes me wonder if that direction came from Casper once we were given access to the compound. If it is, it's just one more thing I missed by not reading that fucking file I was given before the start of this fucking job.
"Home," he repeats as if trying to convince himself that we're heading exactly where he wants to be.
I know this is the perfect next step for the mission, but for both of us, it's the last place we actually want to be.
Home...
It's such a weird concept for me. I don't know that I've felt at home anywhere other than in the fucking sand pit with my guys, and five bullets killed that dream for me in the blink of an eye.
I blow out one final breath of freedom before climbing into the truck, and I can't help but feel as if I'm willingly heading toward a firing squad when Zayne backs the truck out of the narrow drive and heads toward the compound.
The concept of home, of belonging, of found family bounces around in my head as we silently drive.
I longed so much for something like that, a place where my beliefs were not only accepted but shared by others. A place where there was safety in numbers, and a line of people willing to stand up for what they believe in.
The compound doesn't even come close to aligning with my beliefs or my desires. But I can see how attractive a place like that would be for lost souls, how easily they could form opinions to match the others, even when it's something they never considered before. Mob mentality is so real, and for those people looking for love and acceptance, maybe accepting what others believe as real or true is very easy if, in return, they have people in their corner with them when their entire lives had been a struggle just to survive until that point.
Those thoughts take me back to my scattered memories of Dakota, wondering how different her views would have had to have been from those of her family to land her tangled up with the kind of people we're about to join.