Page 80 of Zeus

"I'm proud to do it," I tell him, turning away just as the first tear runs down his cheek.

Almost everyone can look at what we're doing and see that it's the right thing, but coming face-to-face with someone who didn't get the help in time is gut-wrenching.

I don't know that old man's name, but I'm glad Cerberus found him. It's strategic. I know that for certain. He's helping now, if only a small part, in taking down some of these bad people, and I hope that he knows that his efforts in this fight are just as valuable as the support we're providing on the front line.

"Explain this fucking house to me," Zeus demands the second we're on the road.

"I don't know exactly," I answer honestly.

"Don't give me that shit," he growls.

"Put on your fucking seatbelt," I snap back, feeling a sense of helplessness from the conversation I just had, even though that man may have lost a daughter before I was even out of fucking diapers.

I feel every loss. I know what it's like to hang my head at a funeral when all I want to do is burn down the fucking world for letting it hurt innocent people.

I can't imagine not knowing. Yeah, there are details surrounding Dakota's death we never got, but we know the gist of what happened and why. To spend decades not knowing, of still holding out some sort of hope even when you know there really isn't any, is a special kind of hell I wouldn't wish on many people.

Zeus does as I ask, much like a petulant child, snapping the strap down and clicking it into place.

"Thank you," I say, turning out of the parking lot and heading out of town.

"Explain," he says, his voice only a little calmer.

"It could be one of two things that I can think of," I begin. "They either need a landing spot to process a new group of women."

"I'll be damned," he snaps.

"Or they could need a place to lure in drug users."

Silence fills the cab to the point that I have to take a glance in his direction. He looks even more confused now than when he didn't know anything about the house we have been tasked to find.

"They want a trap house?"

"A lot of these organizations do it," I assure him. "They need people who will spend every penny they have on dope, and it's easier to have them in a place they control than having to go out and risk getting caught by police while dealing their dope."

He's quiet for a few more seconds as if he's trying to understand the reasoning, but it's hard to do if you're not a criminal and always thinking of ways to make money off of other people's suffering.

"The liability," he mutters. "I've done a few raids on trap houses in South America when I was training with Cerberus, and finding a place to rent doesn't seem smart. It's not like they'll ever get their fucking deposit back."

"Rent?" I say with a chuckle. "They don't want to rent. That would only invite trouble when they get raided. They need an abandoned house, preferably one that's semi-furnished, that's secluded enough that a little increase in traffic isn't going to draw too much attention."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find," he says after considering the needs. "Mountains are full of meth houses."

"And they don't like competition," I remind him. "No one pays more attention than a dude tweaking and thinking someone is out to get his shit."

"So what you're saying is impossible," he mutters. "And we were told not to come back until we found something."

I huff another laugh. "You're thinking like a League member."

"Fuck you," he snaps at the insinuation.

"We aren't alone in this," I remind him, pointing at the dash of the truck.

I've been keeping an eye on my surroundings enough to know that The League hasn't had us followed, and the second I get out into a little bit more rural area, I pull into the parking lot of a tiny wooden church.

"You said we couldn't bring our phones," he says, watching me pull the burner from my pocket.

"Nyx gave this to me at the shop," I say, hitting the power button and turning it on.