Page 39 of Zeus

"Do I still get paid even though you're the one driving?" Zayne asks with a chuckle, and I know it's his way of trying to defuse the tension building in the car.

Bobby chuckles, and I watch Zayne's shoulders ease a little with the sound.

"We're all earning a living tonight," the man assures us.

Within five minutes of his promise, he turns into a very secluded area, and I know we're seconds away from bullets in our heads when the headlights flash on a small cabin.

The area is secluded, the cabin small and rustic. I immediately recognize it as a hunter's cabin. There are thousands of them in the mountains, and their simple buildings have very little luxury. The basic amenities are all these places have, like an area to sleep, a small bathroom, more often without a shower or a way to bathe, and a small kitchen, usually using a hot plate to cook rather than a stove. They're simple places meant really for sleeping during hunting season.

I have an idea of what we're about to do, but I keep my mouth shut. Asking questions isn't expected of a criminal, and doing so could compromise our brand-new place in the organization. Hell, we haven't even made it into the organization yet. Although I don't want to compromise that situation, I can't be morally involved in anything that would cause serious harm to others. There's a fine line between sacrifice, victimization, and the greater good.

"You boys ready?" Bobby asks, looking first to Zayne before lifting his to meet mine in the rearview mirror.

I manage an easy shrug before responding. "Just another fucking day."

Bobby dips his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I got these for you."

I glance at his lifted hand, my pulse speeding up when I see the ski masks clutched in his grip.

My first instinct is to refuse, to demand to be taken back to the little house that smells of old furniture and despair, but instead, I reach out and take one.

The old beat-up truck parked in the small driveway of the cabin tells me it’s occupied. Wearing a mask just makes sense, but this sort of shield tends to make people feel invisible. As if their actions don't matter because they can't be identified or held accountable for what they do while wearing it.

"Perfect," Zayne says as he takes the other offered mask. "Procurement?"

"You got it," Bobby says. "Should be an easy one."

Stealing from others is so much easier than working hard for the money to buy the things you want or need. The things of value this hunter would have in the cabin wouldn't be there if the house were robbed while they were out hunting, but I didn't have a home invasion on my list of things to do before sunrise.

I swallow, doing my best to force the lump of shame down my throat as I climb out of the car and follow Bobby to the trunk.

I pull my mask over my face, the eye holes struggling to line up properly, and my blood runs cold when I can see again, and the trunk of the old cop car is open.

The trunk area is filled with assault rifles and shotguns that would give Cerberus and their assets a run for their money. I have no doubt every weapon in my line of sight has been stolen from someone else. There are so many, it makes me wonder if he already hit several cabins tonight before stopping by to pick us up.

I look up, noticing Zanye looking my way. The sincerity I can read in his eyes tells me that he understands the moral predicament that I'm in, but the slight dip of his head tells me that this is something that must happen for us to save the women we believe are being trafficked by this group of degenerates.

Bobby claps his hands, then rubs them together as if this is the highlight of his week. And like the perfect actor that he is, Zayne slides up right next to him, their shoulders touching as if these two have been best friends their entire lives.

"Fucking nice," Zayne says, a thrill in his voice I'd expect from a kid on Christmas morning, not a man about to potentially be involved in a murder, depending on how far Bobby is willing to take things.

They decide which weapon they want, and I'm a little in awe of how Zanye picks up several, handling each one like a seasoned pro before settling on an M-16.

Bobby steps back, an AK-47 held to his chest as if he's about to engage with someone right here on the fucking street.

"Hurry up and pick," he tells me.

I grab a weapon, uncaring of what I have because I have no intention of using it unless it's to beat the shit out of our new friend.

"I'll take the lead," Zayne says once the trunk is closed.

One quick glance in my direction tells me that he needs me to have his back and watch Bobby at the same time.

"Let's get this shit over with," I mutter. "I want to go back to fucking bed."

Chapter 17

Zayne