Chapter 25 #2
"Noted," he grumbles, grabbing a box and turning away from the truck, his asshole demeanor fully locked into place.
He isn't disrespectful to Candy, but she can tell as he walks toward her, no doubt a glare in his eyes and a snarl on his face that something has changed. Her lips form a flat line when he drops the box on the ground she indicated earlier, before turning back to the truck without a word.
Disappointment swims in her eyes as she watches him walk away, as if she had hoped he was different from what she had been told, only to discover that he isn't.
Watching that hope fade is a kick to the gut. It's clear she isn't happy here, and that she had imagined herself finding a friend in him, only for him to live up to his reputation.
It doesn't take us long to sort through what we're able to keep and what we're expected to hand over, but as soon as we lay the stuff out, Candy has it sorted and logged into her inventory.
I know from experience that this process has more to do with the organization's expectation of members' dependence on the group.
For some, it might be punishment, all under the insistence that it's for the betterment of the group as a whole.
It prevents theft in private lodging and prevents people from revolting against others in the group when they're pissed.
Even the leaders of these groups know how much of a hothead some folks can be, and this is another way of preventing in-group violence and retribution.
If what Ricky said at the gate is true, and I don't doubt that it is, some people have got to be livid when they arrive, thinking they'll have an amazing life with the woman they brought, only to be told that she's now an item on their fucking inventory list. It also gives us an in and the ability to utilize those people's losses at a later date.
Planting seeds of doubt in the group is tricky, but it can be done with the right finesse and planning.
"Let me help you with that," I tell Candy when she grunts, lifting a heavy box.
Her eyes dart around, but she doesn't argue when I pull it from her hands. I don't know how long she's been a part of this group, but I can tell she has no standing in the hierarchy. It seems she knows every movement and every action she takes will be judged by someone.
"Just point me in the right direction." I nod, my eyes locked on the front of the supply building.
Hesitantly, she thanks me before walking in that direction.
Zeus follows behind me, another box of our logged belongings in his hands. I don't mind being helpful, and most days I would insist on it, but my real intention is access to the building.
My eyes dart in every direction as we step inside, and I know Zeus is logging everything he sees as well.
The building is row after row of steel shelving, much like what you'd expect to see in the back area of any grocery or retail store.
The bins are all labeled, and I'm not surprised to see sedatives, handcuffs, masks, and hoods indicating what's in the boxes above.
She points to an empty bin, and I place the box, turning around to grab the next one from outside.
Zeus and I both carry the boxes inside, refusing to let her help when she attempts. Over and over, we make trips, each box taking us down a separate aisle until everything is put away to her liking.
"We didn't have breakfast," I tell her when I place the final box, a case of MREs, on the shelf.
She glances down at her watch, an analog sort of thing, and I know it's intentional that she doesn't have a more modern Smartwatch. The organization would never allow her such a luxury.
"They have breakfast in the dining hall around the corner for another hour. If you hurry, you can grab something to eat," she says. They also have a meal request form at the front, but don't hold your breath on getting it anytime soon."
"Thanks," I tell her before going back out to the truck.
"Hey," she says, sounding out of breath as she stops me before I can climb inside.
"What's up?" I ask, although I already know what's coming.
"The truck," she says. "It also stays."
Zeus rumbles something under his breath, but we both ignore him.
"Right," I say, handing her the keys. "And our personal stuff?"
"I'll make sure it's sent to your cabin within the hour. Is there anything in there you need before then?"
I glance back at the duffel bags of clothing left in the back of the truck as if I'm considering it, but I know there's nothing back there we can't stand to lose.
"Nope," I respond. "Thanks, Candy."
"Dining hall is just around there," she says, pointing to the far left side of the building. "I'd avoid the scrambled eggs."
Zeus keeps his mouth shut as we walk toward the dining hall, but a quick glance in his direction tells me he's doing exactly what he should be doing—looking around and making note of everything without looking too suspicious.
Noisy chatter dies off when we step inside, all the people looking in our direction, each one analyzing us.
Some are curious.
Some, much like a chicken coop, are sizing us up to see what it will take to keep us from passing them in the pecking order.
Some hate us on sight.
Some have to be wondering why we would give up our lives in the outside world to come to a place like this.
Some wonder what might've taken us so long to get here.
Some think we're suckers and easy targets.
The kitchen is separated from the dining area by a swinging door, but it's clear where we go to get food. Like a buffet line at an all-you-can-eat place, the plates are at one end of a long counter, and a selection of drinks is at the other.
I nod to people, smiling at those I remember speaking to at the rally the first day we started this job. Others I meet eye to eye, an expected warning of sorts that they might've heard I was funny and kind, but I also shouldn't be underestimated.
Zeus snarls in every direction, causing some to sit a little straighter, a challenge of sorts. A couple of them drop their eyes as if they're not willing to go head-to-head with him in order to keep whatever flimsy standing they have in the organization.
Unsurprisingly, it's only women filtering in and out of the kitchen with fresh trays of food and walking around to make sure the guys have full cups of their drink of choice.
The women will get to eat after every man is served, and more often than not, that's more grazing and snacking in between breaking down this meal and prepping for the next.
They won't have structured breaks, and I'd bet money that the same women working breakfast will be the same ones working every other meal, every calendar day that they're here.
It's nothing short of slave labor. Some will be here willingly, brainwashed with warped beliefs that they're helping the group by working twelve to fourteen hours a day.
Some of them are here against their will, either from day one or shortly after their arrival, with no ability to leave.
What I won't do to stay in character is mistreat any of them just to further any of the men's respect toward me.
I am, however, curious to see how Zeus handles this with the character he's been given.
I wave my hand, giving him the first spot in line, and he gladly takes it.
He doesn't speak or make eye contact with a single woman behind the line of food. He simply piles food on his plate as if he hasn't eaten in days. When one plate is full, I pass him my empty one before grabbing another for myself.
"Can I carry your drink for you?" a girl asks when she notices him holding a plate in each hand.
I take back everything I said about him not being prepared for this job when I notice his shoulders tighten at the sight of her.
Seventeen-year-old Regina Banks went missing from her hometown of Maryville a couple of months ago, and it was suspected that she ended up tangled with a member of The League.
However, there was no direct evidence to prove it.
She simply didn't show up to school one day, and her parents have been looking for her ever since.
Zeus's reaction to her suggests that, at a minimum, he reviewed the pictures provided before we started this job.
She gives him a gentle smile when he looks up and acknowledges her, but it doesn't even come close to reaching her eyes.
Even if she came here willingly, it's clear to see that's no longer the case.
I can't even imagine what the girl has been through over the past few months.
That's not actually true. I have a good guess, and that knowledge turns my stomach.
I fight the urge to grab her by the arm and attempt to get her off the property, but I know that would end with us both being dead.
Not responding when you know what's best is the absolute hardest part of this fucking job, and I hate it. There's no telling what else this girl will have to endure before we're able to shut this fucking place down, and I can't help but feel complicit in her victimization for not helping sooner.
"Water," Zeus grunts, angling his head toward an empty cup. "Thanks."
He walks away instead of waiting for her to fill a cup. I guess, with who he's supposed to be, that's the most I should expect from him.
I fill my plate, and the food actually looks and smells much better than it has at other compounds I've had access to. I diligently avoid the scrambled eggs per Candy's warning and opt for extra bacon instead.
I manage my own drink and smile when one of the guys from the rally waves me over.
I feel like a mean girl deserting her friend for the popular crowd as I walk past where Zeus is sitting alone, head down, shoveling food into his mouth as if he were in prison, afraid someone would take his plate before he finished.
I pause, letting Regina walk past to get back to the kitchen.
Although I only give her a passing glance, I notice the bruising on her back, easily visible with the tank top she's wearing.
I lift my eyes back to my new friend, smile in place even though I want to spit nails. I'm mad enough that I could string each one of the motherfuckers in this room up by their toes and beat them with a baseball bat.
"Chris, right?" I say as I drop into a chair across from him, offering my hand to shake across the table like a politician running for his first term in office.
He shakes it. "Good memory. Welcome. Good to see you again so soon."
"Same," I say, digging into the food, although it tastes like sawdust, having everything to do with what we're witnessing and our inability to do anything just yet than the actual meal itself.
After a couple of minutes, chatter begins around me once again, but I know better than to let my guard down around any of these people.
I make small talk with Chris until I'm done eating, and then I don't waste time standing, leaving my plate and utensils right on the table because that's expected.
I glance toward Zeus, who is standing as well.
"Leaving so soon?" Chris asks.
"Gotta get unpacked," I tell him before turning away.
I pull out the map Ricky gave me as we exit the dining hall.
"I think it's down here," I say, pointing toward the end of a long row of crushed, stacked cars.
I know this place is going to be like a fucking maze, and every bit of that is intentionally disorienting.