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 have no doubt this man could snap me like a fucking pretzel and enjoy every second of my cries of pain, but I won't be run over like a fucking deer in the headlights when it happens.
"We just got there yesterday," I continue. "The leader goes by Bobby, but I highly doubt that's his real name. We hit two cabins the night before last, another before that. We're getting guns and gear. They have a supply building right in the center of the compound. Just about everything they need to start a little revolution. Our task for today is to find an off-site house."
"Trap or girls?"
I shake my head. "I don't know yet."
He points to the pocket where I shoved the burner phone. "Use that when you do."
And with that, he walks out.
"Always a pleasure, motherfucker," I growl before locking the door and taking a piss.
Zeus is in the tiny waiting room, a small grocery bag in his lap, when I leave the bathroom, still drying my hands with a paper towel.
"Snacks?" I ask, pointing to the bag.
He opens the bag and pulls out three containers of different seasonings. I should've guessed the guy wasn't just using that shit as an excuse.
"Even Mrs. Dash can't help the food taste better when you have to choke it down around those fuckers," I mutter.
"Tell me about this place we're looking for," he requests, but his voice is harsh as if he's a two-pack-a-day smoker waiting to kick the bucket.
"It's—" I begin, but pause when the door to the shop opens.
"You're lucky that thing still drives," the man says as he hands over my keys.
"I count my blessings every day," I tell him as I pull out my wallet. "What do I owe you?"
"Your friend took care of it," he says, pointing to Zeus. "You're clear."
I notice the way he's looking at me, saying more with his eyes than his words.
"Thank you," I say.
"Until you're not," he urges. "Bring it back in if you have any more issues."
I pull in a deep breath, thanking him one last time before heading to the door. I pause with my hand on the push bar when he speaks again.
"I had a truck like that," he says. "She was stolen from me. We never found her. You're doing the right thing, taking such good care of the one you have. I should've paid more attention to the one I had."
When I look back at him, I notice the pain in his eyes and know immediately he isn't talking about a truck.
The world is a very small place, and the touch of pain, of loss, of victimization is always just a breath away, either your own personal suffering or the mistreatment of the person standing next to you on the street.
It happens too often to too many people, and it's my life goal to ease some of that for as many people as I can.
"I'm proud to do it," I tell him, turning away just as the first tear runs down his cheek.
Almost everyone can look at what we're doing and see that it's the right thing, but coming face-to-face with someone who didn't get the help in time is gut-wrenching.
I don't know that old man's name, but I'm glad Cerberus found him. It's strategic. I know that for certain. He's helping now, if only a small part, in taking down some of these bad people, and I hope that he knows that his efforts in this fight are just as valuable as the support we're providing on the front line.
"Explain this fucking house to me," Zeus demands the second we're on the road.
"I don't know exactly," I answer honestly.
"Don't give me that shit," he growls.
"Put on your fucking seatbelt," I snap back, feeling a sense of helplessness from the conversation I just had, even though that man may have lost a daughter before I was even out of fucking diapers.
I feel every loss. I know what it's like to hang my head at a funeral when all I want to do is burn down the fucking world for letting it hurt innocent people.
I can't imagine not knowing. Yeah, there are details surrounding Dakota's death we never got, but we know the gist of what happened and why. To spend decades not knowing, of still holding out some sort of hope even when you know there really isn't any, is a special kind of hell I wouldn't wish on many people.
Zeus does as I ask, much like a petulant child, snapping the strap down and clicking it into place.
"Thank you," I say, turning out of the parking lot and heading out of town.
"Explain," he says, his voice only a little calmer.
"It could be one of two things that I can think of," I begin. "They either need a landing spot to process a new group of women."