22. Daisy
TWENTY-TWO
daisy
Shuffling around me had my eyes fluttering open.
“Hey there, little dove. We need to get going.”
Zeiden leaned down and kissed me, but this time it was gentle and comfortable. It was the kind of kiss a man might give a woman he cherished. My stomach fluttered.
Cherished. That was exactly how this felt.
“How long have I been asleep?”
I watched him pull a black hoodie over his chiseled chest. I bit my lip.
“A little over a half an hour. The boys asked us to stop downstairs and pick up the hardware. We don’t have much time to prepare.”
Prepare?
I pushed myself up, the sheet sliding lower. I hadn’t seen much of this place, but from here I could see it wasn’t as decorated as the penthouse and seemed to be a bit darker in color, but still.
“Is this not home either?”
I heard the heavy knock on the door and froze.
“It’s just X. We need to get you some clothing at all the safe houses.”
He walked away, the door opened, and then I heard the click of it closing again. I pulled the sheet higher.
The heavy gait of Zeid was all I heard as he got closer.
“Here. The girls said you can have these.”
I grabbed the pants and underwear that still had tags on it. I peeked at the tags and, although not the designer stuff my mother insisted made some kind of difference, these weren’t cheap.
“I… you said you guys had a lot of money?”
I got out of bed, removed the tags, and slipped on the bra, panties, and yoga pants. If my mother only knew. I wasn’t even going to put makeup on. Gasp.
“Where is my shirt?”
Zeid handed me another hoodie. “You’ll wear mine.”
I took it and didn’t protest much. “You’re such a caveman. Putting me in your sweatshirt doesn’t mean you own me.”
I’d only gotten the sweatshirt over my head and one arm inside when the words were out and he was yanking me forward. I peeked over the neckline.
“No. It does not mean I own you because you wear my sweatshirt. The come between your legs does. The sweatshirt just hides your ass and assets from the world. Now, dove, we have some plans to make. Are you ready to see your future home?”
I looked around and smiled.
“I mean, anywhere you are feels like home. But tell me this home has food.” And as if on cue, my stomach rumbled.
The metal clanked loudly as Zeid dumped a small bag. Inside was the treasure trove of tools used with the judge. That bag was the only tangible thing that told me I hadn’t just imagined all of this.
It had been a little bit strange and surreal to walk back into that basement and see nothing but the chair and discarded weapons on a table. Though the fresh scent of bleach still hung in the air.
Now, one motorcycle ride later, I was standing in a warehouse full of a few cars and a handful of motorcycles, a few large safe-looking things, and a barrel in the corner.
What was this place? Zeid helped me off the bike once the metal door had closed. The loss of his body heat against me and the way my arms felt empty. I was finding myself becoming a little more attached to the motorcycle. If my mother could only see me now, she’d have a heart attack.
The whole place was rustic and metal, but it felt clean, like it was on purpose. Maybe this was something I liked instead of the gold chandeliers and silk drapes of my mother’s taste. I stared at the scraps of metal, looking to where Zeid lifted the lid on the barrel and tossed in the weapons. The only shoes I had were my heels and they clicked on the concrete floor as I stepped toward Zeid.
“What is that?” I peeked over the barrel's edge.
“Cleaning solution. It will destroy forensic evidence, eat away certain materials, and make it easier to polish down for Cas’s little guilty pleasure.”
It took seconds and Zeid was pulling me away from the barrel and away from the bike. Right. My eyes lingered for a moment longer. Forensic evidence. That made sense. Weird sense. But it had logic.
“Where are we going? Do you live in a warehouse?”
Everything was clean. Shiny sealed floors, raw but not rusty metal, windows that were high up and frosted. But still, it was a warehouse.
“Yes and no. The other door leads to our living space. This, however, is where we will be doing some planning and taking inventory.”
Inventory?
I watched as Zeid scanned his hand against another pad, just like he’d done at the other building, and the door unlocked.
It was silly, but I found myself wondering if I would ever have a key, or was it a handprint? Zeid had asked me to marry him, but something about being given permission to go into their spaces felt more intimate. It puzzled me that that’s what seemed more official to me than even getting a ring. Which I didn’t have.
A little part of me worried I’d been hallucinating the whole thing. Like therapy hadn’t ever been enough and I was living out some strange guilty pleasure fantasy.
“Dove, why are you so quiet?”
He pulled me through the door into heavy metal music playing over speakers and echoing off the cement floor and metal walls. This warehouse was huge. I tried to take it all in. A bar in a corner. Probably a fridge. Seconds later my eyes caught on a sculpture that, if I looked hard enough, looked a bit like a city skyline. But what was it made from? I studied the shapes and then it all made sense.
“Are those guns?”
Zeid followed my eyes and pulled me closer.
“Corruption knows a lot of different looks. One of them is selling off the weapons that we use to keep our power and our city clean to those that think they are above such matters. Something tells me your father isn’t above this.”
I looked at it again. Small lights had been set in strategic places while it looked like there were glimpses of color here and there.
“Cas?”
Zeid seemed a million miles away for a few seconds before he blinked and looked down at me.
“Cas’s visions are what helped get us the money we needed. We already had the strength. The numbers of loyal members begging for change. We already had the bloodlust. But money? The world runs on it. Money means power. You’ll see soon enough. But this is one way to keep clean money coming in, and the art gets rid of evidence and keeps our gang clean.”
He held my hand and pulled me away but I still couldn’t seem to look away from it. In some strange, morbid way it was beautiful. How could any of this be something my father was hellbent to destroy? It was far more than anything he gave to this world.
“Hey, Zeidy, it’s about time. The girls are trying to place a fucking order online for clothes for Daisy over there. Please, for the love of god, let Daisy sign off on this shit. I almost had to stop at the mall.”
X shuddered and received a punch to the arm from Cali.
“Shut up. We were not dragging you to the mall. But it seems stupid that you wouldn’t let us go up to Zeid’s floor at the building. Like a few minutes would have changed anything.”
That strange feeling that was hard as hell to identify from back at the penthouse had me fighting off a sting in my eyes.
“You’re waiting for me to pick out my clothes?”
The entire place went quiet, minus the music. Five sets of eyes were all staring at me.
“Oh, honey.” Rylee moved to my side and pulled me into a hug. “Zeiden, you better have a good plan because this girl needs some damn closure.”
Closure?
Rylee pulled away and held me at arm’s length.
“We are family. Chosen family, and we do not stand for control or abuse. I mean, outside of the bedroom. What you do there, that’s your choice.”
My face burned and Rylee just giggled.
“Anyway. Clothes. Then the boys can talk shop. I can practically see the steam coming from Zeiden’s ideas. He’s always the idea guy,” Rylee said and pulled me over to a small setup of sofas. A bit further into the warehouse I saw workbenches and stuff I couldn’t identify. This was an art studio though. Nothing like what I’d expected.
Nothing was distracting me enough from the sting in my eyes though. The burn of my feelings trying to turn into something real.
The word family. It wasn’t used as a swear word or a threat. It wasn’t used as a horrible reminder that family was all you had, and if you betrayed them, then you had nothing. The word didn’t mean safety to me. It meant threats and what you were expected to do to ensure they looked good. Here though? Here it was different.
“Family,” I said the word under my breath, not meaning to.
Cali and Rylee were holding out an iPad to me and they both stopped and smiled. No pity. No judgment. Just small, knowing smiles.
“A family you got to choose. Now choose some clothes so you can stop wearing ours,” Rylee said and quickly amended, “Not that we mind, but I’m sure you’d like that. Right?”