Page 112 of Zeus

The door closes softly, and in a split second, a pause too minimal to be caught, I demand that all aspects of my person get their shit together and see this through.

These women's lives are on the line, and if they can survive in that situation, then so can I.

Bobby smiles when I turn back to face him, as if he's proud of me, and since I only closed a fucking door, I let the eeriness that I made the wrong fucking choice settle inside of me.

"I've got your cousin out digging ditches," he says. "Grunt work is all he's worth to me."

I walk closer, taking a seat beside him.

"That fucker loves being outside. I don't think it's the level of punishment you're expecting it to be," I say, my face calm and cool because I suspect he's trying to test my loyalty to Zeus.

"You don't wonder why I'm punishing him?"

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Punishing him? As I said, he loves it. Want to really punish him, make him teach a fucking class or something." I smile when the corner of his mouth twitches, taking a little pride in the fact that I'm eating the bait he's dangling in front of me. "Better yet. Make him read in front of a group. But that might end badly for everyone. He would flip fucking tables in school to avoid it."

"I may consider that," he says, an analytical hint to his words, but I highly doubt he's trying to figure out how to best Zeus.

"We're just hanging out today?" I ask, tapping my fingers in an off-beat rhythm on the tables.

"No," he says, shaking his head quickly, as if he didn't realize he was so far off task until just now. "You don't care that he's on my shit list?"

The guy just can't fucking move on.

I shake my head. "He's his own person. I'm grateful you let him join, but I always knew there was a chance he would ruin the opportunity. He's got too big a fucking chip on his shoulder. He can't see past it."

"He is an angry man," he agrees. "Bad childhood?"

"We all had a fucking bad childhood," I mutter, growing increasingly annoyed with him. "Some channel that energy into better things. Some have worse coping skills, I guess."

"And if I said he had to leave?"

I blink twice at the guy, trying to figure out which direction he wants me to go, but I know what agreeing to him not being a member means. I could sign his fucking death warrant right now and never fucking see him again.

"He's fucking family," I say. "Wouldn't making his life a living hell be more entertaining?"

He watches me for a couple of long beats before speaking.

I feel the scrutiny of his gaze, as if he can somehow look right inside of me and see the inner workings of my mind. Despite knowing that's not possible, I shove every thought away.

"Speaking of entertainment," he says, looking down at his computer for a second before turning it around to face me. "We have a shipment coming in, and I'd like your help with it."

"I'd love to help," I say before looking at the screen.

Six sad faces stare back at me, eyes begging for the rescue they hope for but know will never come. One of the girls on the screen can't be older than seven or eight, her eyes swollen from crying, an eerie bruise on her face the shape of a palm print.

Every one of them looks to be underage, but even as disgust eats away at me, I don't bat an eye before looking up at him.

"I sure as fuck hope you don't plan to bring them here," I mutter.

"And why is that? Have a problem with little girls?"

"Do you have any idea how much they fucking cry?" I huff a laugh, an attempt to push down the threat of sickness that wants to bubble up my throat. "Those bitches are noisy. They don't shut up, no matter how much you hurt them. Tears, crying, sobbing. It's fucking constant. Takes months before they learn silence is golden."

Every word out of my mouth is fucking acid on my tongue.