Chapter 12
Zeus
Heartbreak is such a weird fucking thing.
Hearing that a parent is gone should make a person think about all the good memories, the tragic loss of them so strong that it leaves you breathless and wishing for more time.
But there are no good memories to conjure where Edwin Jenkins was concerned.
The heartbreak I felt when I came into my room earlier was for myself, and the realization that I wasn't even important enough to be notified of his passing.
I knew I wasn't important to them. I knew my relationship with my adoptive parents was filled with disappointment after disappointment, but I didn't realize until Zayne said the words that I meant so very little to them.
After being injured and discharged from the Marine Corps, it was fully expected of me to attend law school before beginning a career in politics. It was the only time I let myself get confused and actually think that my parents cared about me, but that haze lifted when I refused their wishes.
They didn't give up on me instantly. They argued that a wounded war hero was a perfect candidate for politics, and I think it's the only time my father mentioned how proud he was of me.
That pride vanished when I declined. They all but disowned me after that.
The calls and emails came fewer and farther between until about two years after that conversation. Then they halted completely.
I had been working for a company building barndominiums outside of Waco, Texas, when Kincaid showed up on the jobsite with an offer I couldn't refuse.
How I was able to come in here and fall right to sleep after hearing the news is a testament to just how often I've felt that level of distress where they were concerned. It's as if the shock of the news didn't even register in my nervous system.
What registers in every cell in my body is the angry shouting coming from the other room.
I jump up from the bed, grab my handgun, and rush to the door.
Taking a calming breath before swinging the door open because I have no idea what I'm going to be facing is second nature. It's a way to get my shit together in one breath before possibly facing death.
Frigid air from the open front door hits my bare chest, but instead of shocking my system, it's exactly what I need to be fully present in this situation.
I analyze what's going on in half a second.
Zayne is standing in the open doorway, hand at his side, a pistol gripped in his palm. I'm not as discreet as I inch forward, weapon pointed right at the guy's forehead.
I recognize him immediately as one of the guys who is known as a player with The League of Liberty. But just because we know who he is doesn't mean this is a goodwill visit. These volatile fuckers could as easily be here to kill us as they would be to ask us to join them.
I haven't decided whether his appearance on the front stoop is going in the direction we need it to go to get a jump on this job, or if there's going to be bloodshed tonight as I inch closer, stepping out of the shadows so he can see it's two against one.
"As I said before, you have two fucking seconds to get the fuck out of my doorway before I paint the fucking steps with your brain matter," Zayne says, his voice calm, a testament to his experience in the field.
I know he knows who the man is. He's always been the type to be detail-oriented, and if it’s in the dossier, I have no doubt Zayne has read it cover to cover half a dozen times already.
"I wanted to stop by and introduce myself," the man says, looking from Zayne to me, his tone calm, making my skin crawl.
He doesn't seem nervous at all, and it's that kind of "I don't give a shit if I live or die" attitude that makes a man unpredictable.
"Midnight isn't the fucking time to make introductions," I growl, lifting my weapon a few inches higher.
"It's always a time for Liberty," he responds with a slow grin.
"I suggest meeting at a better place and time," I return. "Maybe one that doesn't end with you dead and me back in jail."
I know we can't appear to be too eager. No one in The League would expect us to invite this motherfucker in at any point before we got to know him, much less in the middle of the night after he shows up unexpectedly. It's also a fine line between pissing him off and meeting expectations.
"The Garage off of Douglas Dam Road," he says, handing over some paperwork.
Zayne looks down at it for a brief second before using his free hand to accept the documents.
It's the only time he takes his eyes off the guy, and I know he only does it because he's well aware that I have his back.
Our goal may be to infiltrate this group, but it won't be at the expense of our own lives.
The guy takes a step back, a weird smirk on his face as if he's won some game we didn't even realize we were playing.
"Noon," he says, and then he turns and walks away as if he wasn't seconds from being six feet in the dirt.
He acts like having a gun pointed at his face is an everyday occurrence, and the fact that he may die tonight is just a part of the life he has chosen to lead.
Zayne continues to stand in the doorway, waiting for the guy to get into his truck. Only after hearing the man's truck drive off do I lower my gun.
Zayne closes the front door, using one hand to snap the lock into place before pressing his forehead to the wood with a sigh of relief.
"Not the best fucking way to get woken up," he mutters.
"Seriously," I respond, my skin alive from the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
"It looks like they're going to be the type of group that wants to keep us on our toes," Zayne says as he takes a step back from the door, only to go to the window and pull back the curtain to double-check that the guy hasn't turned back around.
"What did he give you?" I ask when he doesn't offer to explain.
Zayne looks down at the papers, confusion drawing a deep crease in his brow.
"Looks like a lot of the same shit I picked up at the rally," he says, turning on the living room light before sitting on the sofa. He drops the pamphlets on the table and begins sifting through them.
"Think there's a hint at something different?" I ask as he starts to comb through them individually.
"Maybe. Maybe not. You never know with these types of people."
I take a seat in the recliner and wait for him to sift through it all to decide.
I could easily leave him to it, but I know there's no way I'll be able to go back to sleep.
I'm not exactly a paranoid type of person, despite that being one of the key characteristics of the person I'm pretending to be right now, but getting woken up the way I was will make it impossible to go back to sleep anytime soon.
"I don't see anything different from the ones I got earlier, but I also don't know if this is their way of saying they have interests in these different groups," he mutters, tossing the last one on the pile in frustration.
"I can't believe they're organized enough to get shit printed to hand out," I say, placing my gun on the table before leaning back in the recliner.
I press my palms to my eyes, the threat of a headache building.
"This is going to take forever," I complain.
"We got a meeting," Zayne says. "That's what we needed."
"I'm surprised he wasn't armed," I say, dropping my palms and looking at my partner.
"There were two men across the street with assault rifles pointed at me. They were standing under the street light. They wanted me to know they were there," he says. "It's why my gun was at my side and not pointed at his forehead."
"Shit," I whisper.
"I think the one on the doorstep was the only one who could see you, though. The angle was off for the other two to see you."
"I knew these types of people were dangerous, but that's a little eye-opening."
"You can never drop your guard around them," he warns. "They're more than a little unpredictable at all times, but add in the drugs and risk of jail, and they're all like ticking time bombs. They'd sell their sister out to avoid prison time."
I nod my head in understanding.
"Gonna try and get some sleep," I mutter as I stand from the recliner, stretching my arms over my head.
It's not that I did it on purpose to draw his attention, but I might pause with my arms suspended over my head for a second longer than necessary.
His eyes rake down my chest, pausing on my abdomen before he stands and walks closer.
I drop my arms, stiffening because I have a million ideas swarming in my head about the things we could be doing, but I know that's not some shit we need to get involved in right now, or at any point really.
His eyes are soft when he steps within a foot of me.
I'm once again reminded of the height difference as his head angles slightly downward.
I swallow against the lump in my throat as he reaches his hand up and places it over my heart. The cool touch works its way through me, comforting rather than shocking my system.
"I didn't know that you didn't know," he whispers.
My first instinct is to lean into the compassion he's trying to show me, but instead, I take a step back, instant regret filling me at the sadness in his eyes.
"Thank you," I say, my tone flat, an attempt at trying to sound unbothered.
My hands are shaking by the time I close myself inside my bedroom.