Page 51 of Escape From Me

Shufflingaround 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 wasthe 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.

---