Chapter 30
Zeus
I know that interacting with these motherfuckers is what's required to get the information we need to shut this place down, but I felt relieved when we didn't hear the bell last night.
I'm well aware that staying in our little cabin won't get the job done.
We didn't get so lucky tonight.
I don't know what kind of work the other guys were tasked with today, but you'd think it was Friday after a week of heavy overtime by the way these guys are laughing and drinking around the fire pit.
There's a different feel around me, as if they know what's coming and are more than a little excited about it than they were a few nights ago.
I take a long swig of my beer, trying to drain it so I can grab another.
I'm not trying to get drunk, but the atmosphere swirling around this place tells me that I may need a too drunk to do something sort of feel to it, so I'm trying to at least drink enough for that to be plausible if the time comes.
The bell rings out, a slightly different sound from the other night, and I know it has to be code for something. I hate not knowing what most of this shit means.
The signs on the buildings, the fucking rules. I feel more than a little out of my element being here, and just winging it could be exactly what gets either one of us killed.
The women file into the area a little more slowly than before, giving me more proof that the bell's sound tonight definitely means something different.
Bobby is nowhere to be seen, and as grateful as I am not to be in his presence, I also know that not talking to him means just one more night without gaining any information from him.
I lift my eyes, diligently avoiding eye contact with the woman sauntering toward me, and risk a glance at Zayne.
The same girl he was talking to the other night is standing in front of him, grinning.
The way the guys were talking at lunch earlier today makes me think we aren't here because of Zayne's charisma or his ability to get people on his side. There's something a little more villainous about Bobby's reasoning for bringing us to the compound.
I hate to think that our cover was blown before we even got here.
I push down the idea that we're being played with as a cat does with a mouse before making that final bite.
Zayne must feel my eyes on him because he glances up at me. There's no outward change in his expression, but it feels like an assurance of some kind.
"This seat taken?" a woman asks.
"Have at it," I answer, pulling my eyes from my partner but not looking in her direction.
I jolt in surprise when the woman climbs on my lap instead of sitting in the chair beside me, which I presumed was her intent.
She smells too sweet, too feminine as she leans in close, rubbing her nose in my beard.
"Love a nice thick beard," she whispers, her words nearly slurred as if she has been drinking.
Maybe that's what it takes for these women to get through a day in a place like this.
Sympathy curls itself around me much the same way she does, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. It effectively cuts off my line of sight, making it impossible to see what's going on around me.
I can't discount any action by any person on this property as not being part of Bobby's plan with us.
I have to work under the notion that everything is strategic.
These women may not want to be here, but they're going to do what's expected of them, on the off chance it earns them a little more favor from the ones mistreating them.
I imagine that each and every one of them is in a tragic cycle of fight-or-flight, and the instinct to look out only for themselves is the only way they see as their chance to survive.
"Love the scratch of it all over my body," she says, a sultriness in her tone that might be believable to some of the other guys here.
Surely, none of the men involved with this compound think these women are just so happy here and always sexually charged and ready for anything.
The bell ringing out should be evidence enough that there's no way twenty-plus women are just horny at the exact same moment and ready for whatever they may be offered.
But I guess people believe what they want. Maybe for some, believing it, no matter how ridiculous it is, is how they act on the expectations for men.
They're not supposed to pause and tell the woman they want to get to know them better. There's no dating in a place like this, at least not one visible to others. Showing interest in someone is a surefire way to end up on Bobby's radar and that girl in his bed as a power play.
That's what one of the guys called it earlier, and that's exactly what it is. Bobby is the end-all, be-all in this place, and he makes sure everyone around him is aware of it at all times.
"Don't spill my beer," I hiss when she shifts again, knocking my hand off the armrest of the chair we're sitting in.
She doesn't shy away from the anger in my voice. She simply puts her tits higher in my face as if the distraction will ward off any punishment she might be inching toward.
I'm not a mean person. Finding brotherhood and family in the Marines, and then again with Cerberus, changes a man. The angry man I portray here is who I used to be. That's the man Zayne knows from our shared history.
I don't want to be mean to her. I wouldn't, even if I didn't have a hint of what her story was, but, like these women, I don't particularly want to be touched.
I wouldn't go so far as to consider myself a victim, but I also have to act in ways I don't want to achieve the desired outcome.
It's fully expected for me to lose all focus on anything else with her in my lap.
I'd be acting out of character as a member of this group to tell her to get the fuck off of me, but being unable to do that makes me no less like her, albeit likely on a much lower scale of consequences than she'd likely get with her refusal.
"I can make it up to you," she says, finally putting a little distance between us, only to run her hand down my chest and over the front of my jeans.
My lips form a flat line when she glances back up at me, my body showing no response to her attention.
That's not true. I could probably puke right now if I thought about it, but I can't feed the disgust that's building inside of me.
"It's okay," she says quickly, as if she's been blamed in the past for a man's body not working the way that it's expected to. "I can help you with that."
"Can you?" I ask, my voice intentionally slurred.
"Sure," she says, giving me a light smile. "Lots of guys around here need help."
I don't doubt that chronic use of drugs keeps them from getting an erection, or at a minimum, maintaining one. I can also see why there's fear in her eyes.
It wouldn't be the man's fault. It's always the woman's fault.
She isn't pretty enough.
She doesn't do enough in bed to turn him on.
Her body isn't perfect.
She's been with too many other men.
The list could go on and on.
"Wanna go back to your place?" she asks.
I look over her shoulder, watching as Zayne walks away from the fire pit with the girl he has chatted with twice.
Disgust swirls in my gut. How we're supposed to get out of this shit was one of the many questions I never got around to asking him the other day while we were out scouting for that house, and now that regret is eating me alive.
I'd like to think that he isn't the type of man who is all when in Rome, and takes advantage of one of these women just to keep his cover up, but who the fuck knows.
"Looks like the cabin will be occupied. My cousin just walked away with someone," I say, considering the outright rejection when I should have used it as an opportunity. "Let's go back to your place."
It would give me the chance to find out where on the compound the women are being held.
"The guys aren't allowed to go where we stay," she answers quickly. "I don't mind an audience."
Her hand rubs back up my chest, fingers tangling in my beard. I fight the urge to jerk my face away from her touch.
"That's too bad," I slur again, making myself sound drunk. "I do."
Instead of looking relieved, she looks a little scared because of my rejection.
"What's wrong, pretty girl?"
I shift my beer from my right hand to my left before curling a finger under her chin to make her look at me.
"We'll get our chance," I lie. "Just not tonight."
"You're not as bad as they say," she whispers. "Kind even."
"I'm as mean as they come," I assure her.
She shakes her head a little. "You're different. I can tell."
"I don't hurt women," I confide. "But I'll slit a motherfucker's throat for looking at me sideways."
I forgot to slur my words this time, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's too busy in her own head, teeth gnawing on the corner of her lower lip worryingly.
"What happens if you don't walk away tonight with a man?" I risk asking.
She swallows, a hesitance in her eyes.
"If I don't leave with you, then I'll have to find someone else," she says, her teeth right back to worrying that corner of her mouth.
I reach up, using my index finger to tug it out of the way. From the outside looking in, it might appear I'm flirting with her, gearing up to do what's expected, and that's exactly what I need everyone to think.
"Then let's go," I say, shifting to let her know I'm going to stand.
"O-okay," she stutters, as if she thinks I've changed my mind. "But I thought you didn't like an audience. Maybe we can take turns? Wait for your cousin to be done, and then we can go?"
I shake my head, standing from the chair. I tilt the beer bottle, draining it. I walk over to the trash can and drop it in, only to find that she has followed me like a puppy.
I hold my hand out, waiting for her reluctance to fade before she takes hold of it.
I lean into her, making a show of stumbling so those around can see how drunk I'm pretending to be.
"Look out, Peaches," one guy shouts as we walk away. "He's likely to pass out and crush you."
The darkness engulfs us as we walk away from the fire and the crowd.