Page 70 of Zeus

Zeus rumbles something under his breath, but we both ignore him.

"Right," I say, handing her the keys. "And our personal stuff?"

"I'll make sure it's sent to your cabin within the hour. Is there anything in there you need before then?"

I glance back at the duffel bags of clothing left in the back of the truck as if I'm considering it, but I know there's nothing back there we can't stand to lose.

"Nope," I respond. "Thanks, Candy."

"Dining hall is just around there," she says, pointing to the far left side of the building. "I'd avoid the scrambled eggs."

Zeus keeps his mouth shut as we walk toward the dining hall, but a quick glance in his direction tells me he's doing exactly what he should be doing—looking around and making note of everything without looking too suspicious.

Noisy chatter dies off when we step inside, all the people looking in our direction, each one analyzing us.

Some are curious.

Some, much like a chicken coop, are sizing us up to see what it will take to keep us from passing them in the pecking order.

Some hate us on sight.

Some have to be wondering why we would give up our lives in the outside world to come to a place like this.

Some wonder what might've taken us so long to get here.

Some think we're suckers and easy targets.

The kitchen is separated from the dining area by a swinging door, but it's clear where we go to get food. Like a buffet line at an all-you-can-eat place, the plates are at one end of a long counter, and a selection of drinks is at the other.

I nod to people, smiling at those I remember speaking to at the rally the first day we started this job. Others I meet eye to eye, an expected warning of sorts that they might've heard I was funny and kind, but I also shouldn't be underestimated.

Zeus snarls in every direction, causing some to sit a little straighter, a challenge of sorts. A couple of them drop their eyes as if they're not willing to go head-to-head with him in order to keep whatever flimsy standing they have in the organization.

Unsurprisingly, it's only women filtering in and out of the kitchen with fresh trays of food and walking around to make sure the guys have full cups of their drink of choice.

The women will get to eat after every man is served, and more often than not, that's more grazing and snacking in between breaking down this meal and prepping for the next. They won't have structured breaks, and I'd bet money that the same women working breakfast will be the same ones working every other meal, every calendar day that they're here. It's nothing short of slave labor. Some will be here willingly, brainwashed with warped beliefs that they're helping the group by working twelve to fourteen hours a day. Some of them are here against their will, either from day one or shortly after their arrival, with no ability to leave.

What I won't do to stay in character is mistreat any of them just to further any of the men's respect toward me.

I am, however, curious to see how Zeus handles this with the character he's been given.

I wave my hand, giving him the first spot in line, and he gladly takes it.

He doesn't speak or make eye contact with a single woman behind the line of food. He simply piles food on his plate as if he hasn't eaten in days. When one plate is full, I pass him my empty one before grabbing another for myself.

"Can I carry your drink for you?" a girl asks when she notices him holding a plate in each hand.

I take back everything I said about him not being prepared for this job when I notice his shoulders tighten at the sight of her.

Seventeen-year-old Regina Banks went missing from her hometown of Maryville a couple of months ago, and it was suspected that she ended up tangled with a member of The League. However, there was no direct evidence to prove it. She simply didn't show up to school one day, and her parents have been looking for her ever since.

Zeus's reaction to her suggests that, at a minimum, he reviewed the pictures provided before we started this job.

She gives him a gentle smile when he looks up and acknowledges her, but it doesn't even come close to reaching her eyes. Even if she came here willingly, it's clear to see that's no longer the case. I can't even imagine what the girl has been through over the past few months. That's not actually true. I have a good guess, and that knowledge turns my stomach.

I fight the urge to grab her by the arm and attempt to get her off the property, but I know that would end with us both being dead.

Not responding when you know what's best is the absolute hardest part of this fucking job, and I hate it. There's no telling what else this girl will have to endure before we're able to shut this fucking place down, and I can't help but feel complicit in her victimization for not helping sooner.