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)
Scott and Billy disappear as Zeus and I finish the bedroom windows. I'm not at all surprised to find them sharing a glass pipe of meth when we walk outside.
"Want a hit?" Billy asks, offering the pipe to Zeus.
Scott slaps at his hand. "He's waiting for a fucking court date, you asshole," he mutters to his friend, revealing that he's someone others in higher positions have at least spoken in front of about us.
Billy takes one final hit, blowing the smoke in Zeus's direction. Surprisingly, Zeus simply walks away rather than punching the guy in the face. The restraint he shows is astounding, but I know he just put that man on his shit list, and God help his soul if he comes into contact with him during the takedown, not that my partner would be nice to any of them when the time comes.
"Another one down," Scott says with a smile as we climb back into the van. "Lunch at The Garage?"
"I could eat," I tell him, taking the middle spot.
I feel a sense of relief when Billy climbs in beside me, leaving Zeus to sit on the bare floor in the back. It's not ideal if we get into an accident, but knowing he's behind me, watching the guys if they do something crazy, makes me feel a little better.
Being on edge, filled with paranoia, and having to be aware of our surroundings all the time is exhausting.
Billy and Scott chatter among themselves as we make our way to The Garage for lunch, but they talk about stupid shit and conspiracy theories, giving us no new information to stow away for later use.
I play my part, feeding their suspicions about the government and their real desire to keep Americans poor with their hands out, always dependent on the very organization that is supposed to be there to help us.
Some of their points make sense. Some points are spot on. I can see how they fully believe the shit they're saying. I can see why they're angry.
What they can't see is the absolute privilege they have just by being born white males in today's society, and how the way they treat the women around them is no different from the way they feel they're being treated by the government. It's the fucking hypocrisy that kills me more than anything.
"You think Stella's working?" Billy asks, rubbing his hands together as if he's in for a treat.
"She's always working," Scott answers as he shifts the van into park before opening the driver's side door.
Zeus waits in the back as both Scott and Billy head for the door. I tug open the back door for him, smiling when he grumbles something incoherent under his breath as he climbs out.
"What was that?" I ask as we make our way to the front of the diner.
"Gonna die of a heart attack eating here," he mutters.
"Get a salad," I suggest, chuckling when he huffs.
The suspicion of ordering a fucking salad with these two other guys would be astronomical. But if anyone could get away with it, I imagine it would be him with his horrible attitude. They may think something was weird about it, but I doubt they'll actually voice their opinions to his face.
Scott and Billy are already seated at a four-top table when we get inside, sitting opposite each other.
"Gonna wash my hands," Zeus mutters, splitting off from me.
"Don't say shit about us getting high," Billy says as I pull a chair out to sit.
"Didn't see shit," I mutter, liking that I have the opportunity to form some sort of brotherhood with these guys.
It builds trust, which opens a lot of doors for us.
"It's not that we can't," Scott explains. "We're just supposed to leave that shit at home when we're working."
I lean in closer, making a point to look around before speaking. "That first night we worked with Bobby, he got high after the job was done."
Billy nods as if I've confirmed something he was suspicious about.
"I heard that you guys left him in the parking lot here, passed out," Scott says, also leaning in as if he's worried others around will hear our topic of discussion.
I shrug. "Didn't know what else to do. Didn't know where he lived. I bet he was pissed."
Scott shakes his head. "He thought it was funny. Ballsy even. It got you guys home faster than I've seen it happen before."
Home.
He means not only the compound but also into the brotherhood as if it's a highly sought-after position.
"I was thinking it was a little fast," I say, hoping the wording gives them what it would take to keep talking.
I look over the menu, fighting back the urge to laugh when I notice there isn't a single salad listed for order, not that Zeus would risk ordering one in the first place. Manly men don't eat salads. They want a steak or a greasy bacon cheeseburger and fries.