Chapter 74 74
DAISY POV
I followed the lady they called Raven through the clubhouse. I’ll be honest—this place looks like hell. The walls are stained, the air is thick, and the stares from those huge, tattooed men should have made me slip on my toes. Any other night, I would have been trembling, but somehow my body finds a strange rest. I’m not scared; for the first time in years, I just feel this secured peace.
“Hey, you should learn to carry your legs faster,” Raven said, her voice snapping me out of my thoughts. I realized I’d slowed down; she was already a few steps ahead of me, looking back with pure annoyance.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, and I forced myself to walk a bit faster.
She didn't acknowledge my apology. She just started walking again without looking back, leading me toward a creaking wooden staircase. I watched her bright red hair bouncing with every sharp step she took. She moved like she owned the place, and she clearly didn't like that I was breathing the same air.
Finally, we reached the top. Raven pushed open a heavy wooden door and stepped aside, leaning against the doorframe with a judgmental look.
"This is it," she said. "Diesel’s quarters. Don't touch anything you don't have to. And don't think that because he brought you here, you're special. I've seen a lot of girls pass through those doors, and none of them stayed long."
I looked at her, and despite how tired I was, a spark of my old self flared up. I was tired of being talked down to by people who didn't know me.
"I never asked you any of that," I said.
The words were out before I could stop them. Fuck. My heart jumped into my throat—I shouldn't have said that, right? Not to her. But the way she’d been looking at me since I walked in with Diesel, like I was something she wanted to scrape off her boot, just made me snap. Her voice was just the final straw.
Raven snorted, her eyes narrowing with a dark glint. “I like the fact you might give me a reason to kill you, if you cross the line.”
She stepped closer, her eyes scanning me with disgust. She leaned in and squeezed her nose as if I smelled of the gutter. “Water is inside the bathroom, you sneak.”
With that final insult, she turned on her heel and walked away. The door slammed shut, and a second later, I heard the heavy click of the lock from the outside. I stood there in the silence of the room, staring at the wood.
“I guess I just found myself a new enemy,” I whispered to the empty air. “Damn.”
I turned around to look at the room. It was surprisingly clean, dominated by a massive bed with black silk sheets. There was a dark wood dresser, a leather chair in the corner, and a stack of crates filled with motorcycle parts. It was a man’s room—rugged, unyielding, and smelling faintly of tobacco.
“Diesel.”
The name felt heavy on my tongue. I knew I was a prisoner, technically. But as I stared at that bed, my body ached so badly for sleep that I didn't even care.
I reached for the zipper of the leather jacket he'd put on me. My hands were still shaking—a delayed reaction to the shooting in the alley. As I pulled it off and draped it over the chair, my mind went right back to the bike. I could still feel the way he’d reached back with that rough, calloused hand, yanking my wrist until I was crushed against his spine.
I stared at my palm, still feeling the phantom warmth of his skin. A small smile crept onto my face. I was starting to drift, going deep into the memory of his heat, until I realized I was romanticizing a man who had just shot someone.
I sharply slapped my own cheeks. Wake up, Daisy. Stop it.
I stumbled into the bathroom. Sitting on the counter was a neat, white towel. It looked brand new, perfectly folded. I stared at it, wondering if he’d put it there for me, or if he just kept a stash for the "other girls" Raven mentioned. I didn't want to know. I just wanted to wash the smell of Tyler and the alleyway off my skin.
The water was hot, but it couldn't wash away the shivering in my bones. When I stepped out, I looked at my pile of clothes on the floor. They looked like trash. I couldn't put them back on.
I walked back into the bedroom, clutching the towel, and stared at the dark wood dresser. My heart thudded against my ribs as I pulled open a drawer. I found a stack of black shirts. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the fabric.
"He'll understand," I muttered, more to the room than to myself.
I pulled out one of his shirts and put it on. It was huge. The fabric was heavy, the sleeves hanging way past my hands and the hem reaching my mid-thigh. I caught my reflection in the window and felt a wave of embarrassment hit me.
I’ve never had a boyfriend. Everything I know about guys comes from the books and movies I used to hide in when my life got too hard. I remembered all those scenes where the girl wears the guy’s shirt and it’s supposed to be sweet. I felt like a fraud.
You’re an idiot, Daisy, I told myself, looking at my messy hair and pale face. This isn’t a movie. This is a nightmare.
I let go of the "stupid me" and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain just a crack. Down in the courtyard, the tiny orange glow of a cigarette pierced the dark. Diesel was standing by his bike, his back to the building. Even from this high up, he looked lethal—the kind of man I can’t even explain.
Somehow, the reality finally hit me. The alley. The gun. The blood. The fact that I had nowhere else to go. I might never have a chance to live a normal life like every other girl.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the silk cold against my legs, and finally let the tears I’d been holding back fall. I sobbed into my hands, the sound muffled by the heavy walls of the room, finally letting the terror of the night break me.
I don’t know how long I cried, but I eventually fell asleep right at that spot.
Until…