Page 24 of Zeus

I wake in a haze of confusion, unsure what time it is or even if it's night or day.

Groggy and feeling completely drained and as if I had been drugged, I sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing my hands over my face. A glance at the burner phone I've been given tells me I've been asleep for four hours, and as much as I needed the rest, it has left me feeling out of place and uncomfortable in my own skin.

Silence fills the air around me, and I don't know whether Zeus is in the house or if he has left. The man doesn't owe me an explanation of his comings and goings, but a certain level of unease settles inside me with not knowing if he's miles away or just in the other room.

I stand, my muscles and bones hurting more than they should at thirty-three, but I'm used to the discomfort.

Pretending to be someone so fundamentally different from who I actually am takes a toll on my body. I may have looked relaxed and at ease earlier today, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight, and the aftermath is always painful, as if I'd put my body through a rigorous workout with no cool-down. Being so aware of what is going on around me and then finally taking a breath when it's over is such an adrenaline dump that it brings on waves of exhaustion.

I'm really feeling it this evening, which isn't a good sign for how I'll feel when this job is over. We've only just begun, and I want to simply curl up in a ball and sleep for a week.

I stand and cross the room, opening the bedroom door, not knowing what I'm going to find.

My eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, instantly spot Zeus on the couch. Sitting in the dark, the man is staring into space as if he's contemplating all the life choices that led him here.

I remember that feeling all too well. I open my mouth to have the same conversation with him that my training officer had with me on my first day in the field, but thinking of Thomas makes my blood boil.

Zeus doesn't need to hear that things will fall into place. I don't need to explain that what he's feeling after spending a couple of hours around bad people is completely normal. I don't have to tell him that what he's feeling is typical, and that the suffering will be well worth it once the job is over and those people are punished.

Thomas said those things to me, and although he was right that when justice is served, a sense of relief takes over, Thomas not only betrayed me but also, in a sense, betrayed his country.

My mentor, the man I looked up to for years, was the center of my last investigation. I can't recall another time in my life when disappointment threatened who I thought I was to my core.

I didn't want to believe that he was part of the group in our team that was taking confiscated items and reselling them on the black market for profit. And I discovered he was actually the ringleader, recruiting others on the team to get involved in the illegal activities.

Money fucks up a lot of people, and clearly Thomas wasn't immune. I thought the temptation was too great for him, but I think it had more to do with being disgruntled with the work we were doing. It was too easy to fall into the mindset of if you can't beat them, then join them. Last time I checked, the man, along with other members of my former team, had pending court dates. But after my investigation was over, I made a vow not to waste my time looking back, and I haven't searched to find out what stage he's at in the criminal justice system since the day I quit that job a few months ago.

I walk to the kitchen, my frustration with life in general growing inside me to the point that I want to smash everything in this house to bits.

Mentally, I know taking that anger and exasperation out on my current situation isn't the right thing to do, but my body is humming with the need to do something, and I feel completely helpless. I've done this more times than I can count. I know the waiting game is part of the process, but there's something about this job that feels different, and I hate unexpected shit more than anything else. Surprises in this line of work can be the line between life and death, but wishing things would just roll out on a schedule when dealing with psychotic people will never happen.

I open my mouth to tell Zeus that I'll be damned if I cook every fucking meal while we're working together, but he speaks before I can let my anger bubble over.

"I ordered pizza."

Relief washes over me, and it feels as if half the weight I've been carrying on my shoulders lifts enough that I can finally take a deep, productive breath.

I sense him standing, the light in the living room turning on before he opens the front door to greet the pizza delivery person before they can knock.

I grab plates from the cabinet and a couple of beers from the fridge and head into the living room. My lip twitches when Zeus places the pizza box on the table and takes a seat in the shitty recliner rather than going back to the couch.

I shouldn't feel any kind of way about it. The man only sat beside me on the couch for the video call earlier today so we could both be in camera range. But there's just something about the invisible line he is drawing by not wanting to share the sofa with me that rakes across my skin like razor blades.

I drop onto the couch, placing the plates on the table in front of him hard enough that I feel his eyes snap to my face, but I don't apologize or explain myself. It feels petty to have an attitude when, technically, the man has done nothing outright to me, but I also feel like I have a right to my feelings, no matter what they are.

"Thanks," Zeus says as he picks up one of the beers and screws the top off before taking a long pull.

After setting the beer down, he flips the lid on the pizza.

"Thanks for din—" I begin, but my words halt when I see what he's ordered.

It shouldn't be a big deal, but looking down at the pizza and noticing an absence of mushrooms and black olives on my side, and extra bell peppers on his, hits me like an emotional brick to the chest.

"Here," he says, handing over a small bag with the pizza company's logo, but I don't have to open it to know what's inside. He not only got the pizza right, but he also added several honey mustard packets for me.

Emotions invade, making it impossible to even look at the man, and with those feelings come a flood of memories from a night I only seemed to focus on part of.

My sister Dakota cooked for us at least once a week, but we'd only ordered pizza once.