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)
"Listen," he says, forcing me to pay more attention to my surroundings.
Music drifts around the room.
"I think there's a party. Could be fun," he says, and I know it's more of a reminder that we need to get to work rather than him wanting to go have a good time.
He opens the door to the building, and I'm surprised by the darkness outside.
"How long did I fucking sleep?"
"All fucking day. Should be fully rested," he says as he steps outside.
I follow, feeling more than a little exhausted. I have gotten used to functioning on little to no sleep, but there's just something about this job that's been completely draining me. Despite knowing I've been out for over ten hours, I still feel like I haven't slept in days.
There's no separation, and although I've infiltrated groups before since joining Cerberus, I've never been fully immersed like I am with this one. I've always had a break and the ability to decompress after a day of pretending to be someone I'm not. I don't know how Zayne has done it, time and time again, for so many years, and not gone completely insane.
Being on high alert twenty-four-seven is beyond exhausting, and we've just barely gotten started.
"They're serving dinner for another twenty minutes. Let's go eat," he suggests.
I follow, my eyes scanning everything they land on, my brain cataloging it all.
We don't mention the girl we saw there earlier today, but I know he's thinking about her just as much as I am.
Her story hit the news a few months back, but, as with most other missing-teen stories, people formed opinions about whether she deserved whatever she got for putting herself in a position to go missing. Her family says she got mixed up with the wrong group, but she was so secretive about who she was spending time with that it left her parents with very little information to give the police when she was gone.
Her story was quickly overshadowed by the next sensational bit of news and was quickly forgotten by the public.
The sad part is that I know the family is suffering. Her parents are losing sleep, not knowing whether every time their phones ring, it's going to be good news that she’s been found or bad news that they've recovered her body.
The dining hall is closer to our cabin than I'd like, cutting our walk and the ability to get to know the place better short, but we're in no position to argue about accommodations.
Stepping inside is a little different this time. We draw attention, of course, but the chatter doesn't completely stop this time, although it does die down some.
I head straight for the food, my eyes downcast, giving off that "don't fuck with me" look despite still being able to look around.
I don't see Regina, and I'm not fool enough to think she was given time off. I hate to imagine the worst things she could be experiencing right now, other than helping prepare meals.
The idea that she could've been sold off while I slept, something that I know happens when women and girls lose their value at a certain location, makes my skin crawl. The urgency to demand to know where she is eats away at me, but I shove it down, knowing that even if I were given the information, it wouldn't help the other countless females we're here to liberate.
Familiar guilt at feeling like a failure makes my stomach turn, a bubble of disgust swelling in my throat, but despite my lack of desire to eat, I know that I have to. I'm already sleep-deprived. I don't want to add malnourished to that fucking list of things that will prevent me from doing my job.
I pull in a fortifying breath, the expected scowl on my face as I grab a plate. I may be meant to portray an absolute asshole around these people, but I draw the line at treating these abused women like shit. I would bet every penny I have that there isn't one woman at this compound who is happy to be here. The minimum respect you'd give someone just because they're human isn't even a consideration for most of these people.
They're pawns, another thing to own and control, and only useful for so long. My worry for Regina Banks continues to grow as I pile food on my plate.
"The girl," I grunt when one woman is brave enough to make eye contact with me despite my outward demeanor.
"Umm? Which girl?" she asks, her voice timid and full of fear.
I swallow, knowing some of her reaction has to do with how she has been treated long before I arrived. But I can own that, in part, that she's scared because of what she's heard about me, or it could simply be that she's learned what to expect from every man on this compound, and experience tells her I'll be no different.