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)
Candy called it a cabin, but it's exactly like one of those small buildings someone would put in their backyard to park their lawnmower and store their tools.
The doorknob, if you could even call it that, is a twist handle with a metal mechanism that shifts a piece of metal inside the frame. There's no real security in it at all. There's a keyhole, but we weren't offered a key. I have to presume that Bobby and the other powers that be feel entitled to gain access to any building on the property at any time, and I suppose that ownership comes with some level of access. But the idea that anyone can come up on us at any time makes my skin crawl.
"Home sweet home," I mutter, unable to hide the disdain in my voice as Zayne reaches for the doorknob.
Instead of quickly agreeing with me, he pauses, hand raised to turn the knob as he looks back at me.
What I read as disappointment swims in his eyes, and it takes me back to a time in my early life that I've always tried my best to avoid thinking about. I hate the way it makes me feel, and I have to fight the urge to cower and shrink inside myself.
"You're looking at me like my dad used to," I confess, wondering how he'll receive my vulnerability.
He swallows, his head shaking a little as if an apology. "That's not my intention."
His voice is low, just above a whisper, but his face shifts, his features transitioning into a look more reminiscent of understanding.
"You have to watch what you say," he explains. "Not only with others in the group but also with me. I have no doubt every inch of this place is wired for audio, and I've already noticed a half dozen cameras."
"Sure," I agree, pulling in a deep breath.
"I'm just as unhappy to have to do the things we have to do while we're here, but organizations like this are always one step away from implosion. They take and take and take from people all the while expecting gratitude and compliance, but all it takes is pissing off the wrong person on the wrong day for shit to go nuclear. The surveillance is just as much about keeping people out as it is about keeping people in and knowing what their next move may be should they decide to buck the rules."
I nod. Every word out of his mouth makes perfect sense, and I hate that my consideration of all that shit has come secondary to newly awakened emotions.
I swallow down the urge to mentally blame his arrival and joining of Cerberus because that's not only untrue, it's unfair to both of us, and pointing the finger at someone for something they have no control over is a level of narcissism I refuse to engage in.
He gives me a weak smile before opening the door and stepping inside.
The shift in his disposition once inside tells me that he's putting on an act, and I can do nothing but go along with it. If the room is bugged, we have to play our part. We're the new guys, and I'd say suspicions for everyone on the compound are at an all-time high. No doubt higher for me than Mr. Charismatic.
"Oh, it's insulated. This is great," he says just as I'm following him inside.
The shed at least has paneling up on the walls. From the outside, I fully expected it to be nothing but exposed two-by-fours, exactly like a small outbuilding, where the only protection the items inside need is from the rain. There's no real decor, and it's very similar to the hunting cabins we've been robbing.
A set of bunk beds is on the far wall. I don't know if they're strategically placed directly across from the door, making it impossible for anyone in the bed to get the upper hand if someone decides to gain access to the building, or if that's the only place they would fit. There's a small sofa to the left with a table made of two cinder blocks and a flat piece of rough-cut wood for the top in front of it, and that's it.
"Nice," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can manage, and honestly, it's not very fucking much. "No kitchen?"
"Don't need one," he answers with his back to me, his hands lifting the sheet on the lower bunk, clearly checking for bed bugs. "The bitches at the dining hall cook for us."
Even without seeing his face, I know him well enough to detect the hint of disgust in his face for the words he used.
"Yeah," I say as I spin around, my eyes searching for any sign we're under surveillance.
"What about a bathroom?" I ask, noticing very quickly there's no other door leading to any other room.