Chapter 19
Zayne
If it weren't for bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all.
That's the thought rolling through my head as I wait for Zeus to come outside so we can leave. I don't know when the note was left, but we're going to be cutting it close.
When he steps outside, I notice that he's wearing the same jeans he had on, the ones that grip his ass like a hug, but he’s changed his shirt.
The scent of his cologne fills the inside of the cab the second he opens the door. I don't have any clue what brand it is, but that doesn't keep me from wanting to bathe in it.
Why now?
Why is he looking at me like he wants to eat me alive in the best way possible when our focus needs to be a hundred percent somewhere else?
He walked away from me so easily all those years ago, without so much as a glance over his shoulder, and now I have butterflies for the man?
I know I'm a fool. I know nothing good can come from this.
He'll snap out of whatever sexual need he's feeling, and I'll be tossed to the side once again.
But that doesn't stop that ache for him from eating away at me.
There's that voice in my head that is trying to tell me that whatever I can get from him should be good enough, that he's not the type of man who can value or cherish someone else.
That's the old me, the old man who took what he was given because he didn't know he could ask for more.
I stopped being that man the day Dakota died. I begged her to stop seeing the guy she was with and told her she deserved better. I knew nothing good would come of it, but she was in love and wouldn't listen to anyone where he was concerned.
It got her killed, and I'll be damned if I put myself in the same situation for a man who could never love me the way I thought I loved him all those years ago.
I avoided relationships my entire life for several reasons.
One, because I knew I could never feel for another the way I felt for him, and two, I convinced myself long ago that I wasn't worth loving romantically.
Although I know now those feelings had more to do with immaturity and lack of self-esteem than anything else, it still kept me from opening my heart in a way that would allow someone to hurt me again.
Besides, the work I do would never pair well with a successful relationship.
I'd have to lie all the time, and trust is paramount to success.
I never wanted to make someone feel the way he made me feel when he left.
I push away thoughts trying to infiltrate.
It doesn't matter that he, of all people, would understand my work, that we wouldn't have to lie to each other because he'd be doing the same job.
It would only give me hope that things could be successful for us in an environment where a relationship isn't even an option.
Wanting something and being able to have it are two very different things.
"You said you don't think they're planning to kill us. So what? You plan to do it yourself?"
"What?" I snap, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my fingers ache.
"You took that corner back there on two fucking wheels, Zayne. Maybe slow it down a little?"
I chance a glance in his direction, and although he sounds unimpressed with my driving, there's no anger on his handsome face.
"Sorry," I mutter. "Just a little anxious, I guess."
I don't bother to explain that my anxiety has everything to do with him and the way we kissed last night, and the way his eyes raked over my body while I was getting dressed, and nothing to do with the meeting we're about to attend.
"We'll be fine," he says, his warm palm pressing against my thigh for the briefest of seconds. I manage to hold back the whimper of need when he pulls it away.
The rest of the drive is silent, other than Zeus telling me which turns to take because he knows the area better than I do.
All too soon, but with only minutes of our meeting time to spare, we pull up outside of a massive tin fence.
A small sign, warning us that the wrecking yard is not accessible to the public and is open by appointment only, is the only hint of where we are.
"I've driven past this place numerous times," he mutters, leaning forward as if getting closer to the windshield would allow him to see over the fence.
"Think they're chopping cars here?" I ask.
"At a minimum," he mutters. "I should've fucking put two and two together."
I follow the point of his finger, reading a sign that I missed with my initial inspection of the place.
"Liberty Pick and Pull," Zeus says, knowing that Casper is either listening right now or will review the audio later.
I pull in a deep breath, feeling a little calmer knowing that at least Cerberus will know where to come look for us if we go too long without reporting in.
"They probably have an inventory list online," I say. "Might be wise to check against stolen vehicles in a hundred-mile radius."
Another hint for Casper, although the man is smart enough that he's probably already researching the business.
"Look at this motherfucker," Zeus whispers, dipping his head in the direction of the guy walking toward us. "Surprised he's not carrying a fucking banjo."
"He only pulls that out on special occasions," I mutter, both of us chuckling.
It eases some of the tension, but not enough that my muscles loosen as I manually roll down the window.
I open my mouth to speak, but the guy cuts me off. "IDs?"
I lean closer to him, pulling my wallet out of my back right pocket as Zeus does the same.
"Someone expecting you?" the guy asks as he takes the identification.
"Yep."
He dips his head, not asking who is expecting us as he hands the fake driver's licenses back to me.
I pass Zeus his before sliding mine back into my wallet.
"You'll go in and to the left. To the building with the crown on the wall," he says before stepping away and disappearing into the small door in the tin wall.
Seconds later, the massive gate pulls open, and surprisingly, the place actually looks like a wrecking yard, with old, rusted cars parked in layers stacked four or five high. It makes it impossible to see what's on the other side.
"Reminds me of that movie, 13 Ghosts," Zeus mutters.
"Well, hopefully there aren't any fucking ghosts around to kill us."
The appearance of a wrecking yard fades as I drive through the two stacks of cars, revealing small bungalow-type housing and other bigger buildings.
"Might be advantageous to get a drone out here," I say.
"They'd probably shoot the motherfucker down," he responds.
Men carrying assault rifles walk around, patrolling as if they're prepared for World War III, and I know from experience with places like this that they're around to both keep people in and keep people out in equal measure.
"Over there," Zeus says, pointing to the big building with the crown painted on the wall.
"Not the biggest compound I've been to, but it's up there," I mutter as I park in front of the building. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," he says, eyes locked on the front door.
Unsurprisingly, the buildings don't have windows, but the excessive number of cameras, visibly mounted everywhere, means the people with access know exactly what is going on around them.
I take a look around, both because it's expected of anyone in a new place and because I want to get the lay of the land.
The roads, if you even want to call them that, are all lined with old cars stacked up.
I know they use them both for protection and to obscure the line of sight of anyone who isn't supposed to be here.
The other buildings around have symbols painted on them, designating their purpose. It proves the group's validity and shows how established they are as an organization.
If they were just flying by the seat of their pants, they wouldn't be so organized. This place has been in operation for a while. A lot longer than Cerberus initially thought.
I feel the draw of eyes in our direction, but I know better than to look in any one direction too long. A little curiosity is expected, but looking around like we're casing the place wouldn't be received well at all.
Knowing I could take a shotgun blast to the chest at any given moment makes it hard to inch closer to the door of the building we're in front of, but I do my best to hold my head high, acting as if I belong in a place like this.
This is also East Tennessee, so I know the sound of a gunshot in this area wouldn't raise any alarm bells.
Getting shot wouldn't bring in a parade of police and SWAT for our aid.
It would be ignored, and our deaths wouldn't even raise an alarm to those around who may hear the shots.
Not to mention that even if someone did hear it and was curious, the echo off the surrounding mountains would make it damn near impossible to isolate where it actually came from.
Whoever set this organization up here may be a damn genius.
Zeus doesn't speak, but I know he's taking in as much as he possibly can. We can't risk being overheard, and I have no doubt they have just as many microphones as they have cameras.
Balls of steel.
The words echo in my head, a mantra of sorts, reminding me to be brave. I repeat it over and over as my muscles threaten to seize, urging me to go back to the truck and get the fuck out of here. I know better than to think we even have a shot of escaping at this point.
Being brave doesn't wash away the fear. Not being afraid in a situation like this could get me killed. I may present and look like I have a sense of belonging, but I know better. No one belongs in a place like this, and that's my whole reason for doing what I do.
I lift my hand to knock on the door, knowing better than to just open the motherfucker, but before I can make contact with my knuckles, the door opens.
Gene, the guy we met at The Garage, is standing in front of us with a blank look on his face.