Page 120 of Zeus

"Zayne?" I ask.

"We haven't heard from him," Lark says, worry in his voice. "But he's a badass, too. I'm sure he's fine."

"Zeus," the woman running the show says as I approach.

There's a look of respect in her eyes, and it makes me wonder if she had witnessed me losing my shit fifteen minutes ago, if she would still look at me in the same way.

"Clem—" I begin, switching gears when she narrows her eyes at me in warning. "Agent... Zero."

She dips her head in appreciation, then quickly turns her attention to another guy who has the brass balls to chuckle. She is nothing like the woman she portrayed at the diner, and I bet she'd give Nyx a fucking run for his money the way she's looking at her teammate.

The man clamps his lips closed and takes a step back as if even the assault rifle strapped to his chest couldn't protect him from a woman like her.

"She's amazing," Lark whispers.

"Time is not our fucking friend right now," Zero yells, and the entire warehouse takes notice, giving her the attention she demands. "Let's get the show on the fucking road."

As she speaks, issuing her expectations, Hemlock hands me gear. Within ten minutes of entering this building, each of us knows what we're responsible for and is ready to take the world by force.

I can only hope that when the gun smoke settles, Zayne is alive and able to participate in the victory.

Chapter 37

Zayne

The taste in my mouth is off.

The sharp, coppery tang coating my tongue is in direct opposition to the euphoria coating every inch of my skin.

I float, the weightlessness of my body allowing me to picture my world as if I were a witness rather than a participant.

Angels flap their wings around me, the gentle thump of sound they create is disjointed from the things my eyes are witnessing.

My vision is blurry, and the connection between what I feel like I should be able to see and what my brain is attempting to process feels severed.

Soldiers file into the room, their grumble of voices and commands drawing my brows together. I open my mouth to tell them that they're ruining everything, but no sound comes out.

My mind struggles to remember what put me in this situation in the first place, a hint of fear and pain trying to take hold, but the rapture inside of me wins out.

"What was in the fucking needle?" a voice growls.

I twist my head, my entire body attempting to shift with the motion. Something prevents me from fully turning in that direction, but I manage enough to see.

One soldier is clutching the shirt of a bleeding man, the redness swelling on his white shirt having a life of its own.

I lift my arm, a sudden need to run my fingers through the growing pool.

"Heaven," I answer when the man refuses to answer, confusion once again threatening to take hold when I find my arm too heavy to raise.

The edges of what I'm seeing soften, and the sounds around me distort to the point that I can't distinguish one sound from another, until they all just fade away completely.

I give in to the urge to close my eyes. Letting go seems like the thing I've always been missing.

Pain laces my body, my eyes snapping open.

Confusion warps everything as I jerk my body, failing to get any forward movement.

Death.