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)
"It's possible, but my guess is he never steps foot outside of the house again."
"That would suck, but hell if I wouldn't like to be there right now just soaking up the A/C and not having to worry about getting shot or stabbed in the back when I'm trying to sleep," he says.
"Unless you take the piece of fried chicken Nyx was eyeballing," I say.
He laughs again. "Unless I do that."
The conversation dies off. We have a million things we could talk about. Thousands of questions swirl in my head, but knowing we're being listened to, even if it's by someone we trust and know will be on our side, those are subjects neither of us is willing to have with any type of audience.
Hell, I don't know if I would be ready to have them without someone listening. I know the answers to my questions. I know the interactions we've had recently will lead nowhere, but at least not asking postpones the pain I know is sure to come. I don't think I still regret coming to work for Cerberus. There have been simple looks the man has given me that have begun the healing process on some very old wounds he left me with years ago. The physical aspect of what we've done together has helped restore parts of me that felt unworthy because of the way I was treated. They have been an unspoken reassurance of sorts.
I'm also emotionally adept enough to know that although old wounds may heal, new wounds are sure to be opened up, exposing me to the need for more healing.
In this moment, with him riding quietly beside me, no hint of agitation or anger flowing toward me, I can almost convince myself that whatever happens later, whatever pain is coming, was worth the experiences we shared. I also know that view will change when we're hit with the aftermath of what we've done.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to manage my expectations, but, in all honesty, knowing I need to and actually putting that into action are two very different things.
"I think Bobby will be very happy with this," I say as the truck rolls to a stop at the end of a nearly hidden driveway. "Can't even see the house from the road."
"The tree coverage is great now, but when all these leaves die off in the fall, the entire property will be exposed."
"Won't matter," I assure him. "These places are temporary. He won't use it long before moving on to the next one."
"We're over an hour drive from the compound," he says, looking around the property as I slowly drive toward the house.
"Even better. He wouldn't want it too close. If this property is discovered by or reported to the police, it's less likely they'll find a connection to The League with it being so far away."
"Seems like he'd want something closer, something he could get to in case of an emergency," Zeus says.
"Oh, he'll definitely have people from the compound looking after it, especially if he's using it to bring in a new shipment of women. Even if he's planning to use it as a drug den, someone has to be here to sell the drugs and keep a little order."
"That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen," He says just as I come to a stop in front of the house. "This place is a dump."
"I have no doubt that whoever he chooses to be out here will be someone who partakes a little in the sales, but did you see the way everyone put distance between themselves and him last night? I bet it's a very rare occurrence when someone fucks up so badly they end up on his shit list. They're terrified of him."
"I noticed that, and he fucking loves it. Was all but gloating last night about it," he says as he opens the truck door. "Seriously, this place should be condemned."
"It probably is, and that means it's less likely someone will show up and discover it's being squatted in before they're done using it."
"They would have a timeline in mind when they get started?" he asks as we meet at the front of the truck.
I scrunch my nose at the idea of going inside. I'm not scared of many things, but this place looks snaky as hell, and the thought of coming across a rattlesnake inside makes my skin crawl.
"Probably no formal timeline. They usually shut it down and move locations after people start ODing."
"Nothing like having an ambulance show up to ruin their high," he mutters, taking the lead toward the decrepit front porch.
"More like dig a shallow grave and bury them out back," I explain.
This information stops him in his tracks, and I pull in a ragged breath. No one in our line of work should be okay with participating in a situation where there's a very real chance that our actions have contributed to the death of another. Being complicit in someone's death simply because they were an addict in need of help still carries the same weight as if it were a woman being trafficked, and I'm curious about his thoughts and point of view on the matter.