Page 26 of Zeus

After being injured and discharged from the Marine Corps, it was fully expected of me to attend law school before beginning a career in politics. It was the only time I let myself get confused and actually think that my parents cared about me, but that haze lifted when I refused their wishes.

They didn't give up on me instantly. They argued that a wounded war hero was a perfect candidate for politics, and I think it's the only time my father mentioned how proud he was of me. That pride vanished when I declined. They all but disowned me after that. The calls and emails came fewer and farther between until about two years after that conversation. Then they halted completely.

I had been working for a company building barndominiums outside of Waco, Texas, when Kincaid showed up on the jobsite with an offer I couldn't refuse.

How I was able to come in here and fall right to sleep after hearing the news is a testament to just how often I've felt that level of distress where they were concerned. It's as if the shock of the news didn't even register in my nervous system.

What registers in every cell in my body is the angry shouting coming from the other room.

I jump up from the bed, grab my handgun, and rush to the door.

Taking a calming breath before swinging the door open because I have no idea what I'm going to be facing is second nature. It's a way to get my shit together in one breath before possibly facing death.

Frigid air from the open front door hits my bare chest, but instead of shocking my system, it's exactly what I need to be fully present in this situation.

I analyze what's going on in half a second.

Zayne is standing in the open doorway, hand at his side, a pistol gripped in his palm. I'm not as discreet as I inch forward, weapon pointed right at the guy's forehead.

I recognize him immediately as one of the guys who is known as a player with The League of Liberty. But just because we know who he is doesn't mean this is a goodwill visit. These volatile fuckers could as easily be here to kill us as they would be to ask us to join them.

I haven't decided whether his appearance on the front stoop is going in the direction we need it to go to get a jump on this job, or if there's going to be bloodshed tonight as I inch closer, stepping out of the shadows so he can see it's two against one.

"As I said before, you have two fucking seconds to get the fuck out of my doorway before I paint the fucking steps with your brain matter," Zayne says, his voice calm, a testament to his experience in the field.

I know he knows who the man is. He's always been the type to be detail-oriented, and if it’s in the dossier, I have no doubt Zayne has read it cover to cover half a dozen times already.

"I wanted to stop by and introduce myself," the man says, looking from Zayne to me, his tone calm, making my skin crawl.

He doesn't seem nervous at all, and it's that kind of "I don't give a shit if I live or die" attitude that makes a man unpredictable.

"Midnight isn't the fucking time to make introductions," I growl, lifting my weapon a few inches higher.

"It's always a time for Liberty," he responds with a slow grin.

"I suggest meeting at a better place and time," I return. "Maybe one that doesn't end with you dead and me back in jail."

I know we can't appear to be too eager. No one in The League would expect us to invite this motherfucker in at any point before we got to know him, much less in the middle of the night after he shows up unexpectedly. It's also a fine line between pissing him off and meeting expectations.

"The Garage off of Douglas Dam Road," he says, handing over some paperwork.

Zayne looks down at it for a brief second before using his free hand to accept the documents. It's the only time he takes his eyes off the guy, and I know he only does it because he's well aware that I have his back. Our goal may be to infiltrate this group, but it won't be at the expense of our own lives.

The guy takes a step back, a weird smirk on his face as if he's won some game we didn't even realize we were playing.

"Noon," he says, and then he turns and walks away as if he wasn't seconds from being six feet in the dirt.

He acts like having a gun pointed at his face is an everyday occurrence, and the fact that he may die tonight is just a part of the life he has chosen to lead.

Zayne continues to stand in the doorway, waiting for the guy to get into his truck. Only after hearing the man's truck drive off do I lower my gun.

Zayne closes the front door, using one hand to snap the lock into place before pressing his forehead to the wood with a sigh of relief.

"Not the best fucking way to get woken up," he mutters.

"Seriously," I respond, my skin alive from the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

"It looks like they're going to be the type of group that wants to keep us on our toes," Zayne says as he takes a step back from the door, only to go to the window and pull back the curtain to double-check that the guy hasn't turned back around.