Page 113 of Zeus

"Crying doesn't bother me," he says with a shrug, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped together on his stomach.

"What about your men? Will it drive them insane?"

"I don't care about that shit either."

"You'll care when they get pissed and hurt one of them. Have you ever tried selling one of those bitches when they're all banged up?"

"Some men like it," he challenges as if he's searching for the button that's going to make me act differently, as if he's trying to prove a point.

What the man doesn't understand is that I'm in my fucking element right now.

"Men like to hurt little girls, not purchase an already broken one," I clarify.

He pulls in a deep breath, annoyance apparent in the way it shudders at the top before he releases it. He turns the computer back around to face him.

"I don't need your opinion on who I've picked. I need your help figuring out a different travel path to get them where I need them to go."

"Where are they now?" I ask, thinking I seriously fucked up when he snaps his eyes up from the screen to me. "Where are they going?"

"So many fucking questions," he says.

"Bobby," I say with my own edge of irritation. "I can't help with the logistics of getting them from one place to another without knowing where they are and where they're going."

His head dips as if he understands my reasoning, but it doesn't make me believe he trusts me any more than he did before I closed the conference room door.

The man has taken me from doing menial work for over three weeks to telling me about little girls he's going to traffic in the blink of an eye. I knew I was fucking cooked the second he turned the computer screen around.

Unless this guy is just completely fucking stupid, I don't think he'd make such a large jump without testing the waters first. Grown women, castoffs like druggies and prostitutes, are easier to justify than children any day.

There isn't a single fucking child on this compound, and I hate that it's just now hitting me. There are older underage teens, but no small children, although it doesn't make abuse of any kind okay, no matter someone's age. For some, it's a little more palatable, and that's why it's more than a little suspicious that he's sharing this info now, the way he is.

"Maybe I was wrong in thinking you were the one to help with this," he says, an edge of disappointment in his voice that I know would just eat some of these bootlickers up from the inside out.

"I can help," I argue. "But I can't make transportation arrangements with no information."

"It sounds like you're digging for information," he snaps.

I tilt my head, pretending to be confused, ready to play this until the very end. If the man wants to dance around some shit, I've got my fucking party shoes on.

"Digging?" I scoff. "You want-"

"I want to know fucking how, not a specific route to take!" he yells, hand smacking down hard enough on the table that the laptop jumps.

"Oh," I say, unfazed by his outburst. I haven't met a drug user yet who can keep a fucking handle on his temper, and Bobby is no fucking exception. "A school bus."

"What?" he snaps, looking even more confused than before.

"Use a school bus to transport them. No one ever pays fucking attention to a school bus. Haven't you seen those videos? People drive right past that fucking stop sign despite the flashing fucking lights?"

"People pay attention to school buses," he argues, but I'm shaking my head before he finishes speaking.

"Think about the last time you were at a red light behind one. Did you look up at it, or divert your attention so you didn't risk making eye contact with someone else's crotch goblin?"

"I fucking hate kids," he answers.

"See? You didn't look. Even people who have kids don't like other people's kids. They avoid them if they can. School bus," I repeat. "That's the way to go."

He nods as if I've just given him the best information in the world, something he never thought of. There's a gratefulness in his eyes, but it only lasts a second before it's gone, replaced with something that makes me swallow against the sudden closing of my throat.