Chapter 40
Zeus
"Hey, Zeus?" Kincaid says as we all stand. "Can you hold up a minute?"
The other guys filter out of the room, and I notice Zayne is slow to rise. But once he's standing, he shows no signs of leaving.
It's hard to wrap my head around the meeting and the details given after curiosity died down with Zero's introduction.
They found shallow graves on the property, some with bodies that fit within the timeline of our presence there.
I don't know how to feel about it. They were all men, members connected to the group, and thankfully, no women.
But to know murders took place while we were there, and that it could've been something we prevented, is a lot to deal with right now.
"You're free to go, Zayne," Kincaid says.
"If this is about the mission," Zayne begins, ready to argue his right to stay.
"It isn't," Kincaid assures him. "Close the door behind you."
Zayne does as instructed, and it seems to take him forever to leave the room, not as a stall tactic, but because he's in so much pain, he just can't manage to go any faster.
Each second that ticks by increases the tension in my shoulders. I overheard some of the last private conversations Kincaid had with only a single Tennessee member in here, and it didn't fucking end well for Nyx.
This isn't exactly the same. Shadow, Hemlock, and Casper are all still in the room, but it feels more like a four-on-one attack than anything else.
"Take a seat," Kincaid urges, his hand indicating a chair in the front of the room.
I walk that direction, letting my eyes drift briefly down to the chair, but when I look back up at him, I lift my chin a little higher.
"I think I'll stand," I say.
I don't know what makes my mind shift from the chance of losing my job to something that I know will affect me on a much more personal level.
Maybe it's the sad smile in his eyes.
Maybe it's the way Casper has his eyes locked on his computer screen, although his fingers are twisted together in his lap.
Maybe it's the way Hemlock seems nervous, worried about what happens next as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Shadow leans against the wall, arms clasped over his chest, not unlike how he had for most of the meeting, only now he looks sad and mildly uncomfortable.
"We didn't realize that you didn't know your dad had passed," Kincaid says.
The beginning of the conversation doesn't trigger me. I dealt with that rush of news when Zayne mentioned it on our first night in that shitty covert house.
"I don't see a need to discuss it," I mutter.
I try my best to ignore the questions as to how they even know that conversation happened.
"Did Zayne tell you I didn't know?" I ask, despite my previous insistence.
I want to know where they got the information.
Both guys on my team, Hemlock and Casper, clear their throats in the way someone would if they're gearing up to make a confession.
Casper speaks up when it becomes clear that Hemlock isn't going to step forward.
"The house was wired," Casper says.
My blood runs cold, the memories of every fucking thing that happened in that fucking place.
It's bad enough to come back, knowing they all know about our history. Zayne blurted that shit within seconds of walking into the house, but to have proof that something else happened makes my blood run cold.
My palms grow sweaty, a tremble in my muscles that I seem unable to control.
"Just for sound," Hemlock says. "Not video."
That only fucking makes things slightly better.
"In the living room?" I ask.
"Every room," Casper answers as he drops his eyes to his twisting fingers.
I pull in a ragged breath, that urgency to run as if I'm a toddler who got caught doing something wrong, who could disappear out of the room, and their parents wouldn't remember that they were in trouble.
"You didn't think to let us know our privacy was being invaded?" I ask as calmly as I can manage.
Hemlock takes a step forward as if he's facing a battle he has no plans on losing. "It's standard operating procedure, and it's no different from the last job you worked, or any job anyone with Cerberus has worked. We get some level of surveillance every chance we get."
"It's for the safety of you guys," Kincaid adds. "Not a way to spy on you."
They know everything.
Every touch.
Every whispered word.
Every action Zayne and I participated in.
Even if we didn't speak, the fucking grunts of pleasure are obvious enough that anyone listening could decipher what the fuck we were doing.
"Doesn't make me feel any less violated," I mutter, wondering where we go from here, and why Zayne didn't stay in the room.
If I'm going to catch shit for this, then he should be standing right beside me, facing them as well.
"No one has access to the audio, except me," Casper assures me. "Unless there was pertinent info in the recordings."
"He did let us know that the LOL bugged the house when you were gone," Hemlock says, his eyes narrowed as if he hasn't decided whether he wants to punch me in the face or give me the benefit of the doubt.
I lock eyes with Casper, and oh shit, they don't know about what happened between Zayne and me.
I was seconds away from confessing all sorts of shit, ready to defend my behavior, but it looks like I don't have to.
That is until I look up at Kincaid and see the weird grin on his face. Somehow, he knows very clearly what my reaction could've been about.
"We only brought up your dad's passing because it triggered Casper to dig a little deeper," Kincaid says.
"That also feels invasive," I say. "I was certain I was fully vetted before I even got a call from New Mexico."
"You were," Kincaid assures me. "We knew your dad passed. We didn't know that you didn't know. You never brought it up, so we presumed you just didn't want to talk about it."
"Still don't," I assure him.
"We said that to give you different news," Hemlock says.
"I set up an algorithm that searched online for any mention of yours and Zayne's real names and aliases when you started this job," Casper explains.
"I wanted to make sure we knew as quickly as possible if someone suspected something was up with you being involved.
I didn't know whether Robert Jones would link your aliases to your real names.
I had it set up that any mention of your names in a search online would send me a notification. "
"Bobby linked us back?" I ask, my brows drawing together.
I wonder how safe it is to stay here if others with the same mindset as those in the LOL know exactly who we are. It could compromise the entire organization.
"No," Casper says. "There's no evidence that they had a clue you guys had infiltrated the group with plans to take them down."
I swallow again, wondering if this is going to lead to a line of questions, wanting to know exactly what happened that would lead the guys to torture Zayne in a fucking underground dungeon.
I may not be as clear of that confession as I started to hope I was.
"Your real name came up in a newspaper in Connecticut," Kincaid says.
"What?" I ask, completely confused. "Why?"
The mood shifts, somehow coming full circle right back to the weirdness that was in the room right after Zayne left.
"Your mom," Kincaid says. "She passed away two weeks ago."
"My name was in the obituary?" I ask, knowing just how strange that question is immediately after being given such sad news, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.
A beat of silence tells me all I need to know.
I wasn't even mentioned. They'd disowned me years ago.
"If not the obituary, then where?"
"A law firm posted a public notice looking for you this morning," Casper says. "It triggered the algorithm."
"For what?"
"It was a notice to heirs in the legal section," Casper says.
"We anticipate you heading back home to sort it out," Kincaid says.
"To just show up to be told they left me nothing?" I ask, feeling like that would be as much of a waste of time as this fucking conversation has been. "I think I'll pass."
"I think you need to go back home and take care of things," Kincaid urges, but the tone of his voice doesn't leave much room for argument.
"I'll add it to my schedule," I say, trying to appease them for now.
Going back home and facing a place I never planned to return is the very fucking last thing on my list right now.
"I’ve booked you a flight for this afternoon and a hotel for the night,” Casper interjects. “The return ticket is open-ended, but your meeting with the estate executor is at ten tomorrow morning."
I glare at the man, but he doesn't shy away from the attention, making it clear he was only doing what had been asked of him.
"We have a pretty good system in place to not only protect your identity from criminals you may come in contact with while working, but if you don't go, they could hire a private investigator.
As much as I'd like to believe Casper, Max, and Rooster are the best in the tech business, we can't take the chance that they use someone who might have the ability to bypass the systems we have in place," Kincaid says.
"You need to go. Get all of it settled. Cerberus will be here waiting for you to get back to work when you're ready. "
That explanation makes much more sense than their misplaced assumptions that I give a shit about what has happened in Connecticut.
It felt like a hundred-pound weight sitting on my chest after finding out about my dad. I hadn't been contacted. My adoptive mother never reached out. Her lack of contact said all that needed to be said.
I dip my head in agreement. As much as I don't want to face this, if Cerberus is asking this of me, then for the organization's safety and those who work in it, I'll go.
"Anything else?" I ask, ready to get the fuck out of there.
A million emotions are all tangled up inside me, and I can't even begin to work through those in front of witnesses.
"If you need some time off," Kincaid begins.
I shake my head. "I'll be back tomorrow. Ready to work."
He dips his head in understanding.
"We have plenty of work to do," he says, holding his hand to shake mine. "Have a safe trip."
Three hours later, I was sitting on a plane, wondering just where I had gone wrong in life for this to be my reality.
I went back to my room to grab an overnight bag of shit for the trip, fully expecting to find Zayne asleep on my bed, only to walk into an empty room.
It was for the best. I didn't want to have this conversation with my bosses, and have even less desire to speak these words to Zayne.
He knows too much of my history.
He was always a silent observer, knowing what was going on in my life and gauging my moods just by watching.
I didn't have to speak about the pain and heartache I felt at not being the child my parents wanted. He just somehow knew, was always there to offer a moment of quiet acceptance without expectations.
I couldn't handle the sadness in his eyes when he heard the news. I didn't want the sympathy, or the misplaced regret on his part that both of my parents were now gone without a hint of guilt for how they treated me.
I try not to think about the emotional side of shit or give a voice to the part of me that has always hoped that they'd see the wrong in how they raised me and ask for forgiveness.
I always knew it would never happen, but her death puts a finality to that lingering hope that I'm not prepared to face so soon after what happened at the compound.
As if he knew what I'd want, Casper booked the hotel right next to the airport.
I'm not here to sightsee or take a fucking trip down memory lane. If it weren't for protocols and legality, I'd argue this shit could be settled over email or a fucking video chat.
It feels like a waste of energy and Cerberus resources to have to travel north just to be told by a stranger that my parents hated me.
I suck in a deep breath as I close myself into the no-frills but decent hotel room and pull out my phone. I enter the number Casper provided in the email to the lawyer's office, hoping I can go there right now and get this shit over with, but I get voicemail instead.
There goes the hope of catching a flight back tonight.
My mind drifts as I pull off my boots and settle on the bed.
I should be thinking about what my next job could be, getting my head right so I don't fuck that one up too, but of course, that's not how shit ever works for me.
Zayne fucking Harmond is front and fucking center in my mind. His injuries, the way I thought he would die, the whispered prayers to a God I don't know that I ever fully believed in.
All of it plays back like a movie reel in my mind.
The mistakes I made that put him in harm's way.
The way I would've gladly traded places with him so he wouldn't have had to suffer what he went through.
Zeus, King of the gods...
I force myself to believe that it’s some sort of savior complex that makes me want to switch places with him, but as I drift off to sleep, I find it more than a little difficult to keep lying to myself.