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)
I twist the top off and take a long pull as I look around.
Curiosity follows me as I hunt for a place far enough away from people, yet still within sight of everyone.
I drop into a lawn chair opposite where I entered and glance around.
No one seems eager to approach and welcome me to the group, and that suits me just fucking fine. It's nearly impossible not to throat punch every fucking asshole here as it is. I don't know what I'd do if I were swarmed by them.
Through the fire, I see Zayne walking up, accompanied by yet another guy, not the same one he was talking with at the dining hall. His smile is wide as they speak, hands animated as he tells a story, but I can see the reservation in the way he's acting. The guy performing right now for these people isn't the real man I know, and I can't imagine how impossibly hard it has to be for him.
I know he hates these people just as much as I do, possibly even more, considering his connection to Dakota and her death.
There isn't a single woman in sight, and although it should surprise me, it doesn't. I overhear chatter about jobs they've done, crimes they've committed, and whispers of plans for the upcoming week. If they see women as tools, then it's unlikely that they'll discuss that sort of shit in front of them. I don't doubt some of these pieces of shit brag about what they have or what they've done when they're alone with one of them.
Zayne doesn't search for me in the group, and I don't know if it's because I'm just an afterthought or because he trusts I can play my role without his supervision. Either way, not having his attention is a little unnerving, and if I'm being honest with myself about how detrimental that can be for this mission, I know this is really something I need to get in check.
I have a sinking feeling that the powers that be at Cerberus were somehow well aware of my connection to Zayne Harmond. And I don't mean that they were aware we were from the same area growing up, but that there was more there than a passing friendship.
It makes me question their motives in putting us together on this mission and what their expected outcome is beyond taking these assholes down.
"Hey."
I look up, ready to sneer at whoever thought it was okay to bother me, but seeing Bobby makes me keep that shit a little better in check.
"You mind?" he asks, pointing to the lawn chair situated beside me.
"Would it matter?" I mutter.
Playing the asshole with everyone but him wouldn't fit my character, and honestly, I don't know if I could pull it off in a believable way if I tried.
He chuckles, pulling the chair just a little further away before sitting down, making his answer to my question very clear.
He stares around the group, raising his beer in the direction of several people. They lift theirs, smiles in place, but it doesn't take long before I notice people slowly putting distance between themselves and their beloved leader.
In my experience, most people who are happy in a group would gravitate toward the man in charge, if anything, to possibly get a leg up on others in the group.
Either Bobby doesn't seem to notice, he's gotten used to people inching away, or they have been instructed to behave this way.
Understanding the reasoning would be a great help in determining just how much loyalty these people have to him.
"They act like you have body odor or something," I grunt, calling their behavior out.
I don't have a fucking ounce of loyalty to anyone here but Zayne, and he's on the far side of the fire talking with a group of men. I have no doubt that he noticed Bobby had walked up. He doesn't seem to miss much, but it would be weird for him to stop mid-sentence to run to the leader for attention.
Bobby chuckles around the lip of his beer bottle before taking a pull.
"He's…" he says, angling his beer in one guy's direction so the man knows exactly who he's talking about. "On my shit list because he went on a bender and disappeared for two days."
"Not good," I respond.
"That one…" he says about another man who put distance between the two of them but never lost his attention. "He's afraid I'm going to give him extra work, and he's a lazy motherfucker. And that one..."
I follow the point of his beer bottle to a man brave enough to be glaring in this direction.
"I fucked his wife last night, and there isn't shit he can do about it."
Bobby lifts his beer bottle in a toast to the man, and as angry as he seems, he doesn't disrespect him by ignoring the gesture. The other man lifts his beer bottle, despite the glower on his angry face.