Chapter 14
Zeus
"Does that help?" I ask, unable to keep the irritation out of my tone.
"What?" Zayne snaps back at me, his fingers continuing to tap on the steering wheel.
"You're fucking twitchy," I mutter, looking out the passenger side window. He might not be able to cage his anxiety at the moment, but my nerves are about shot as well.
We haven't really gotten started on this job, and I'm already over it.
He huffs as if the proof of my words isn't in the tap, tap, tap on the steering wheel.
"They're going to see right through you."
I feel his eyes on the side of my face as he slows to a stop at yet another red light.
Traffic in town is utterly awful, something I didn't realize until I started working for Cerberus a few months ago.
In Tennessee, you can't really get anywhere fast. On any other day, it wouldn't be as annoying, but every red light, stop sign, and slow-moving tourist is putting us behind.
I feel the same annoyance as he does. It just seems like I can manage it better.
"I'm fine," he assures me.
I shake my head. "They're going to fucking shoot us for being late."
Zayne points to the car in front of them. "I can't control the traffic."
"You think they'll care?"
"Probably not," he mutters, laying on the horn the second the light turns green and the car ahead of us doesn't burn rubber to get through the intersection.
"Helpful," I complain.
"Getting there early would be suspicious as well," he says, waving his hands in an urging display as if it could make the traffic ahead of us move faster so he can take the next right. "Fucking finally."
"That's just disgusting," I mutter, looking at the long line of trucks in the parking lot of The Garage.
"It's insane how blatant people are with their hatred these days," Zayne says, knowing I'm talking about all the hateful bumper stickers each of them has.
"Not one out-of-state plate," I mutter.
"I have no doubt that if the stickers don't keep people away, then they'd be greeted at the door and urged to find another establishment," he says as he puts the truck into park. "Now school your face into something a little less disgusted and a little more 'these are my people.'"
I narrow my eyes at him.
"Yep, exactly like that."
I huff a laugh at how quick-witted the man is and open the passenger side door. "Let's get on with this shit show."
We're four minutes late, and although that's not an insanely disrespectful amount of time, you never know how people will react when their time is wasted.
I scan the parking lot as we make our way to the front door.
Nothing seems out of place, except that the vehicles are all older and have as little technology as possible.
I imagine the reasoning behind that would be that they feel people could track them if they had newer ones, which is true these days.
Zayne walks in first, his head moving as if it's on a swivel, just like mine is when we step inside.
There's nothing unusual about the inside of the diner. It stinks of old grease, and my feet slide uncomfortably on the dirty floor, making it clear that the traction needed for a quick getaway, if it were necessary, isn't ideal.
There are other people inside, all of them staring us down. I suspect from how they're dressed that they're part of The League. They either frequent the place or they're stationed around in case shit hits the fan and the guy we're meeting needs backup.
I locate the fire exit to one side, knowing there would be another one through the kitchen. The single bathroom is down a short hallway, but I doubt it has a window large enough for either of us to fit through.
I pull in a deep breath, barely holding back a cough as the stagnant air fills my lungs.
It's clear, as every head turns the further we walk inside, that we'd be outnumbered, and that makes me hope that things go the way they need to.
I doubt they're supposed to be drawing so much attention to themselves.
But even organized groups have trouble training their people to behave the way they're expected when they're all using drugs and have a tendency to be paranoid on a good day.
The guy who showed up unannounced last night is sitting in the far back, at the table nearest the one visible exit.
Kudos to him for having the foresight to position himself accordingly.
It makes me suspicious of how he thinks this meeting is going to go if he doesn't have the confidence to sit in the middle of the place.
The man watches us as we approach, not saying a word, even when we're standing right in front of him. I hate the way his eyes drift over me, as if he's taking an inventory. It's very reminiscent of the way my adoptive parents would analyze me before we left the house for a function.
My skin crawls as he leans forward, arms outstretched on the table, the long sleeve of his shirt shifting to reveal a racist tattoo.
He sits up straighter, his mouth opening to speak. I can tell by the unimpressed look in his eyes that this is going to go sideways before we even get a chance to take a seat.
"We got stuck behind some fucking liberal asshole from Massachusetts," Zayne says before he can speak. "They kept fucking slowing down to watch a deer on the side of the road as if they'd never seen one before."
"Fucking Yankees," the guy says with a wave of his arm to indicate taking a seat in the booth across from him. "I'm Gene."
Zayne drops into the booth with the heaviness of a man with the crumbling world on his shoulders, and I take a seat across from him, hating with everything in my being having to put my back to everyone else in the diner.
"I'm—"
"I know who you are," Gene says, looking at Zayne first before turning his eyes to me. "Curtis and Lyle."
It's the slightest shift, one Gene doesn't seem to catch, but Zayne stiffens beside me. I don't know whether he didn't expect them to do any research or whether he's worried our cover isn't solid enough.
"Lyle?" the guy says, lip twitching. "You look angry."
I lean forward, knowing what is expected of my personality.
"I don't like being fucking summoned in the middle of the night," I growl. "Now, we show up, you've got an attitude, and then we're sitting here with our backs to the door. How would you feel, Gene?"
I may not have much experience with this group in particular, but I'm not a stranger to fucking assholes in the wild. It would be suspicious if we showed up with fucking smiles and acted too eager to listen to what they have to say.
His grin grows as he sits back, fingers twiddling with an empty straw wrapper.
"You're safe here," he assures me, his smile looking more like a snarl, his teeth yellowed. I swear the guy has a chunk of breakfast attached to his eyetooth.
Casper informed us earlier that, after using some facial recognition software from the hidden camera on our front porch, this guy is possibly a recruiter for the group.
He may be a little higher in the organization than others, but it's very unlikely that he's close enough to the top to make real decisions. Knowing that irritates me.
I feel like I'm sitting for a job interview, all the while knowing I need to get on with the company, but wishing I had made different choices in life than the ones that put me here.
I huff in disagreement with our safety and feel more than a little relieved when he shifts his attention to Zayne.
"I noticed you at the rally yesterday," the man says, and it makes me wonder how many people they had lurking in the shadows. I don't recall seeing this guy at all. "You drew a lot of attention."
"Wasn't my intention," Zayne responds.
"I'm not saying it was a bad thing," Gene clarifies. "People seemed to gravitate to you. That's not exactly a bad thing. You're very charismatic."
I keep my face and body still, but part of me wants to nod.
I noticed the exact same thing about him yesterday, and despite him being a little different now as a grown man, there was always something that seemed magnetic about him when we were younger.
It's what drew me to him in the first place.
I know him to be a trustworthy man, someone people felt safe around.
He was never one to whisper and gossip about people.
Not once did I ever worry he'd go to school and tell people what we were doing.
I don't think even Dakota suspected anything more than friendship between the two of us.
"Not hard to do when I'm speaking about things I believe in."
"The League of Liberty would like to offer you a job," the man says, a rush in his tone that makes me cautious about why he's blurting it rather than letting the conversation naturally go that direction.
Zayne sits back in the booth, back pressed firmly against the split vinyl as he stares at the man, a long pause filling the empty space between them. His eyes narrow as he takes the man in again before he speaks.
"Is it legal?" Zayne asks.
Gene's smile grows even wider as he leans forward as if there's a secret on his lips.
"On paper," he answers, a challenge in his eyes. I don't know if he's daring Zayne to work for them, knowing he'll be doing illegal work, or if he’s testing him to see how far he'll go altogether.
Zayne relaxes a little, a familiar coy smile on his face, as he taps his fingers on the table top to a beat only he knows.
"Can't have you getting in trouble with your parole officer and going back to prison, can we?" Gene asks, his face transitioning to what can only be described as a taunt, as if he wants Zayne to question how he would even know that information.
"You guys really do your research," Zayne mutters. "You know so much about me, and I don't know shit about you or your group. Makes my fucking skin crawl."
"You'll know in due time," Gene says, with an ominous tone, but the longer I sit here, the more I wonder if he's speaking in code or just a fucking creep.
I wouldn't go so far as to think this guy isn't a threat at all, but I don't think he's as dangerous and suspicious as he wants to portray himself. I wouldn't turn my back on the guy, but I don't think he's any more of a threat than some of the other folks in this place.
"What exactly is the job?" Zayne asks.
"We need a driver," Gene answers.
"I can't leave the state," Zayne argues.
"It's local. Pickups and deliveries."
"Company or personal vehicle?" Zayne asks, pointing out the massive pane-glass window.
"My parole officer would shit a brick if he showed up for a visit and I had one of those trucks with those stickers on it parked in my driveway.
I'm not supposed to be associating with anyone who could get me in trouble. "
"We have more discreet vehicles for work," Gene assures him.
Zayne snaps his thumb in my direction. "What the fuck is he supposed to be doing while I'm driving?"
When Gene's attention turns to me, a look of disgust on his face, it takes all I have not to reach across the table and wrap my hands around his throat. This man is one of the worst people in existence. What he and the organization he's involved with are is everything in life I hate.
"How do you know each other?" he asks as if he's already going to tell me that I'm not welcome in their group, and if that thought doesn't tangle me up.
There isn't one part of me that wants Zayne to do this on his own, but I'm not sure how much longer I can bite my tongue, pretending to be one of them.
I'm almost certain that my involvement in this case is exactly what's going to get us killed.
It's so very fucking hard for me to act like someone I'm not, especially when the man I'm supposed to be is so very far from who I actually am.
"Cousins," Zayne answers before I can open my mouth and tell him it's none of his fucking business.
"I don't mind the work," I say instead of telling the guy to shove The League and everyone associated with it up his dirty ass.
I feel Zayne's eyes lock on the side of my head. "Says the guy looking at his first stint in prison."
"I can't guarantee that you won't get into trouble," Gene begins. "But we have resources in place that will help if you get caught on the wrong side of things."
I don't know if he's casually mentioning they have police in their pockets or if it's another threat to warn us not to cross them. I guess it depends on the type of trouble we're a part of.
"Yeah?" Zayne prods.
"There's a lot of like-minded folks in these mountains," Gene assures him. "For a man without a job, you sure seem hesitant."
"You ever been to prison, Gene? If so, you'd know why I'm so against going back."
Gene is silent for a moment, telling me he hasn't gone to prison before. I'm sure it has more to do with not getting caught than not having committed the crimes that it would take to land him there.
"The pay is good," he says instead. "And advancing our ability to fight the encroachment of the government on our rights should be reason enough."
"I'm in," I say, not sure how that declaration is going to go.
He hasn't exactly included me in the job offer, but instead of telling me to fuck off, he dips his head in my direction before turning his attention back to Zayne. "And you?"
I figure he's agreeing to hire me so Zayne would be more likely to join, an incentive, in a way.
"Fuck it," Zayne says, once again tapping on the table. "How hard can driving be?"
"Exactly," Gene says, a wide smile on his face as he lifts his arm to wave over the waitress. "Now, how about some lunch?"