Chapter 27
Zayne
I know my partner is no less confused when he wakes up than he was when we went to bed, and it's killing me not to have the chance to explain what's going on.
I can ride his ass for not reading the dossier, but honestly, there's so much shit that is nuanced across different groups that you could spend years studying these types of groups, only for the operation you land in to be nothing like what you studied.
Bobby's power play last night was a godsend. Zeus was seconds away from stopping that couple who were disappearing into the darkness last night.
This type of job is such a fucking fine line between right and wrong and lesser fucking evils, that I've lost bits and pieces of myself along the way for not acting when I should or not acting soon enough. I don't know how many more of these infiltrations I have in me.
I requested the oil change because, more than anything, I didn't want to end up forced to drive one of their vehicles. Having to leave it at the supplies building made me nervous, but nothing has been said about them finding the devices Casper had installed so they can listen to us.
I also know that we can't talk completely freely. Since we got in this damn thing ten minutes ago and made it out of the compound, I've been trying to figure out how to explain what's going on to Zeus without risking exposure if someone from The League is also listening in.
"You seem confused," I mutter as I hit my blinker to take the next left toward town.
"Where are we going?" he asks, allowing me to give Casper info.
"Jim's Lube and Oil," I answer. "You know how testy this piece of shit gets when I don't keep a regular maintenance schedule on it. We're about fifteen minutes out. What's with the fucking attitude?"
I glare at him as I slow for a school bus to turn into an elementary school.
"Not enough coffee this morning?" I prod when he just stares back at me.
"Speaking of the food," he mutters, finally engaging. "We may need to stop and get some fucking seasoning. Tastes like cardboard."
I chuckle. I mean, I can't tell him the best meal prepared by the best chefs would still taste that way if it were being served by trafficked women.
"We can make a stop," I agree, loving the segue. "After we handle League business."
"You know I'm not the quickest fucking person to catch on," he says. "So, can you explain exactly what we're doing today? I might actually be fucking helpful if I had a clue what a cozy place for some friends meant."
"Just what it means," I say, unable to give him the real description. "He needs a place for some folks to stay. Some place they feel comfortable."
"They can't stay at the yard?" he asks, his mouth clamping closed when I glance at him in warning.
"That's probably not a good idea," I say, ending the conversation.
The rest of the drive to Jim's is silent, and when we pull up, the truck is barely parked before Zeus pops out and walks off. I have no fucking clue where he's headed, but he disappears around the edge of the building without looking back.
Frustration crawls all around inside of me. He seems a little too hot-headed to do this type of job, but it's not my place to tell Cerberus who or what is best for their missions. The guys in New Mexico have literally been doing this for decades, and I have to defer to their judgment.
I head inside, swallowing against the smell of grease and body odor that slaps me in the face the second I open the door.
The floor is slick in places, and in others, my boots crunch over what looks like cat litter, their solution to tracking in oil from the bays.
"Need an oil change?" the guy asks from behind the scarred counter. "I'm out of premium."
"My truck is a junker, man," I tell him with an easy-going smile. "She'd probably die if you tried to use that hippie shit on her."
He gives me a wide, yellowed grin as he accepts the keys.
"Give me about twenty."
"Sounds perfect. Have a restroom?"
He tilts his head toward a door on the far wall before heading outside to grab my truck.
I should probably be a little uneasy when I open the door to the restroom to find a guy standing in there.
He looks hard as nails, scary as hell, and like a man not willing to take shit from anyone.
The way he narrows his eyes at me makes me wonder if he'd even cut his own momma some slack if she made an error in front of him.
"Nyx," I say as I close us into the too-small restroom.
"Casper wanted me to let you know they're sweeping the truck for bugs," he says, his voice gruff and tinged with a pissed-off attitude as if he thinks he drew the short straw having to meet me in here. "If they find them, they'll leave them, but we'll let you know. Here."
He drops the phone in my hand before I can fully get a grip on the damn thing.
He grins, or at least what might be mistaken as a grin. It looks more like a scowl, as if he's mildly disappointed I didn't drop the damn thing.
"It's a burner," he says as if he has to explain shit to me. "Any news?"
"Regina Banks is on the property. She's been hurt, but she's still up and walking around."
The left corner of his upper lip twitches, and that's what Cerberus sees in this man. He looks like he'd rather cut you off at the knees than shake your hand, but it's clear that, like the rest of us, he has a very low tolerance for people who hurt others, especially women and children.
"That it?" he growls, sounding more than a little disappointed.
"Cut me some fucking slack," I hiss, noting the surprise in his face that I have the balls to stand up to him.
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.