Page 117 of Zeus

"I'm on parole," the fucker beside me mutters.

"I am too," the driver says.

"Who isn't?" the passenger says. "Get us back to the compound."

The driver, coming to his senses, eases the car to the side of the road.

I hiss out a breath of relief. The driver uses his buttons to roll down all the windows, something most felons know to do to ease an officer's mind on a traffic stop.

"It's a lady cop," the guy in the passenger seat says, as if her gender will change the outcome.

I fight the urge to mention how absolutely gross they all are, and I'm not even referencing the fact that we've been digging in mud for the last four hours. I'm certain a policewoman has higher standards than Melody at The Garage.

"I got dope on me," the one beside me says. "I can't go back to prison."

I don't know how I should play this. Do I keep pretending I'm part of them? Will Cerberus arrest us all?

They wouldn't be behind the car if they hadn't been the ones to set this stop into motion. This wasn't in that fucking dossier. Their being involved in this makes it very likely that shit has gone sideways. Something pretty fucking major has to have happened for them to risk the chance of our cover being blown. My nerves shatter as we sit and wait, my head running through every possible scenario that could lead to this.

Are they just going to talk to us, giving Cerberus a chance to touch base because we haven't checked in in a few days?

Is Zayne in major trouble at the compound?

Have they discovered other information that makes our positioning with The League irrelevant?

The crunch of boots on gravel fills the car as the cop walks up, but before she can even introduce herself or ask for a license and insurance, gunfire echoes around me.

The metallic tang of blood fills my nostrils as wetness spatters my face, and I'm taken back to a time I begged to die, a time when my body was full of so much pain I saw no sense in survival.

It's the disadvantage I'm at that makes my head glitch. If I had a weapon in my hand, a way to fight back, I know without a doubt that my mind would be clear and in a split second I'd know how I needed to react.

The deafening pop of gunfire echoes around me, my ears aching from the proximity of it in an enclosed space.

I run a mental analysis over my body, trying to determine whether the wounds I have are life-threatening.

Zayne's weak smile, filled with concern and sadness, flashes in my mind.

It feels like a goodbye.

It would be my luck that I'd die in a car full of dopehead racists and bigots rather than in the Middle East, where at least I could be remembered as a hero.

My life to this point feels like a waste. I could've done so much more with the time I have been given. I could've made different choices.

I could have accepted who I am so much sooner.

I could've been happy rather than spending so much time worrying about what others might think of my choices.

Regret fills my body, pouring out of me alongside the blood from my wounds.

Maybe I'll die with a little more clarity, but what a fucking time to be given that gift.

"Zeus!"

I shake my head, swallowing down the need to cry for the man I could've been.

"Zeus!"

It takes all the effort I can manage to swivel my head on the seatback to look in the direction of the voice.