Page 25 of Dozer (Rolling Thunder MC #14)
Chapter 25
Daisy
I’d have never picked Master as a boyfriend, and yet, the more I got to know him, the more I liked him.
Also, he owned his own home, and he owned several motorcycles, plus the truck I’d stolen. Dray had always been coming up with ways to get rich, but mostly, we barely scammed and stole enough to survive, and one of the things he did was troll social media to find people going out of town for a while, so we could just live at their house while they were gone. We’d follow their trip and know when they were due to return home, so we could be sure to clean up and leave before then. It was a pain in the ass because we had to park way down the street and then come and go when the neighbors wouldn’t see, but a few times we found houses kind of off by themselves with no neighbors to notice, and that was way more fun. Mostly, we stayed in run-down by-the-week motels, or we stole a van and put an air mattress in the back and slept in it.
I’d gone from the rich princess sent to live with the dragon because the King and Queen couldn’t be bothered to care for her, to poor thief, and I wasn’t a fan of either.
There was no way for me to make a living, a legitimate living, without my parents’ approval, and they were never going to approve of anything I wanted to do. Master had assured me a few days before that he could get me another identity, so I could work and file taxes, and my parents wouldn’t know. They’d never find me. A regular paycheck and a way to buy a car and rent an apartment, maybe even eventually purchase a small home. A life all my own. My choices.
I’d believed Dray when he’d convinced me to run away with him, and I shouldn’t have.
I was afraid to believe Master, but the truth is, I didn’t have much of a choice.
I thought about trying to jump out of the SUV and run, but there had to be a trick. After keeping me locked up so well for so long, there’s no way Master would give me a chance to jump and run. He’d have locked me in a trunk or something if he didn’t have a way to keep me from escaping.
I mean, I was barefoot, but if I truly wanted to get away, that wouldn’t stop me.
But I desperately wanted what he was offering — a chance at a life I could eventually choose. A way to earn money with my art.
We left the downtown area and headed into a not-so-great part of town, and he told me, “You’ll have more time when I allow open conversation moving forward, because I believe you’ve learned the things I’ll find acceptable to talk about versus the topics that will annoy me.”
“Thank you, Master. Your slave looks forward to getting to know her Master better.”
He glanced at me and looked back to the road.
“You asked me once what I do for a living, and it’s complicated, but you need to understand a little about me before you meet my friends. Do you know what a one-percenter club is?”
I shook my head, and he said, “That’s fine. I didn’t expect you to. I’m a member of a motorcycle club. We own several establishments, so that makes me part owner of them. I get my portion of the proceeds from our businesses, plus I work as a bouncer and occasionally a bartender at our restaurant, and I’m paid an hourly wage as well.”
I wanted to ask a question, but I bit my tongue, and he said, “Ask your question, Daisy May.”
I’d hated him calling me that, at first, but it seemed mostly okay, now. He said it with affection, and maybe I was imagining it, but I wanted him to like me.
“Like, Sons of Anarchy, Sir? That kind of club?”
“They only owned the bike shop, and we also have a restaurant, a gun store, some laundromats, and a martial arts studio.”
“They owned the porno studio for a while, Master.”
I could use Sir in this kind of conversation, but it felt wise to use Master when I basically argued his point.
He chuckled. “They did. You’re right. A whorehouse too, later on, but that didn’t work out so well for them.”
I’d known he was a criminal. The burner phone in his glove compartment, the signal-blocking sleeve for his regular phone, and his decision to kidnap me rather than call the police had all been huge red flags. Deep down, I’d hoped he knew how to avoid the police because he was an undercover cop, but I’d known he was a criminal.
So why did it hurt my heart so much to have it verified?
“What happens if I’m locked in your basement when you’re arrested for something, Master?”
“That isn’t likely to happen. If it does, one of my brothers will take care of you if necessary, but the odds are, I’ll be out on bail and back home before you even know to miss me. I’ve been arrested a handful of times, but the charges have never stuck. I’ve never even been in front of a judge for more than a bail hearing, which means I’ve never been found guilty of anything.”
I’d wanted him to tell me there was no danger of that happening, and the fact there was a possibility sent my anxiety through the roof.
“Hey hey, little flower. I spend less than twenty or thirty hours a year doing stuff that might get me put away for a long time, and we’re super careful during those times. I do things that might get me sent away for a few months more often, but…” He sighed. “I’m going to tell you a few things, and then we don’t bring up my club’s illegal activities again. I won’t confirm or deny anything after this talk.”
I nodded, and he let me get away with a nonverbal response, which wasn’t at all like him.
“We don’t deal in drugs, and in fact, if anyone is caught with drugs in our clubhouse, they’re ejected and permanently banned. A long-time employee who suddenly develops a drug-habit, we’ll send to rehab, but one who hasn’t engendered our loyalty is immediately fired if caught with drugs in their vehicle, or if a drug test blows positive.”
“You know most bikers don’t use words like engendered, right, Sir?”
He chuckled. “I don’t talk much, usually. Most people just think I’m muscle and nothing else. You’re getting to see a side of me I don’t allow many to see.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything, and after a few moments, he kept going. “Okay, one more thing. I have strong morals. I don’t steal from people who can’t afford the hit, and I don’t beat the fuck out of people who don’t deserve it. If it’s necessary for me to steal a junker car, for instance, then I’ll circle back later, when I can, and make sure whoever owned it gets a huge stack of cash, or an even better car than the one I took. My club handles shit ourselves rather than calling the police. Fuck with us, we fuck back, and that gets us in hot water with the law sometimes, but like I said, we’re careful about it.”
It made sense, and I believed him. He’d put money on the counter to pay the cabin owners for the damage to the doorknob. It was one of the things that’d made me think maybe he was an undercover cop and not an actual criminal. Dray would’ve never done that. In fact, he’d have looked through the closets and drawers to see if there was anything of value he could steal.
And then Master said my name. My full name, and I thought I was going to be sick for real.
“Marguerite Elizabeth Chanel-Hearst. An heiress two times over, yes?”
When the wave of nausea passed, I tried my best to answer with a normal tone of voice. “But not until I’m twenty-five for one of them, and thirty for the other, and both of them have conditions.” Conditions I’d never meet because my parents wouldn’t let me.
“Not telling me who you are tells me we have a trust issue, and that’s my fault. I hope that by not ransoming you, now that I know how much money could be on the table, I’ll take the first step towards earning your trust.”
I didn’t know what to say, and I wasn’t sure I could manage to string a sentence together even if I figured it out. My heart was racing in my chest, and my stomach was still doing somersaults. If Dray had been able to figure out how to ransom me and not get caught, he’d have done it in a heartbeat, and I knew, deep down, he was working on a plan the whole time I was with him.
But Master likely had people who’d know how to do it. He could probably be ten million dollars richer a week from now, if he wanted to ransom me.
“I don’t need money, Daisy,” he told me. “The government doesn’t know how much money I have because I get a good part of my income in cash, but let’s just say I’m not hurting, okay? The point of letting you know I’m aware of who you really are is to assure you I can get you another identity despite your true one. Your parents didn’t report you as kidnapped, since you left a note telling them you were running away, so law enforcement isn’t looking for you. I can get you an identity you can work under, pay taxes under. A new you. We can even get you some subtle plastic surgery, enough so you won’t look like you anymore. Your size might be a problem, because anyone who knew you before will think it's you just because of your body type and hair, but if we can give you a southern accent and change your nose and chin a little? You could possibly even be a famous tattoo artist and get away with it, assuming no one checks fingerprints or DNA.”
He knew way too much about me, but all I could manage to say was, “How do you know my fingerprints are on file?”
“Your parents would’ve had insurance on you as a child, to pay a ransom if you were taken, and the insurance company would’ve required it.”
He gave me a few minutes to consider all that while he negotiated a complicated red light with roads coming in from odd directions, and then he said, “Okay, so I know a lot about you, and now it’s my turn to share a little. You’ll hear my brothers call me Dozer because that’s my name, now. I was born Dwayne Michael Stevens. You aren’t allowed to call me by any of my names at this time. I’m either Master or Sir to you.”
And just like that, I was happy and excited, instead of terrified. “You’re keeping me, Sir?!”
He glanced at me with a smile that went ear to ear, and then looked back to the road to say, “I didn’t expect you to be so happy about it. Yes, Daisy May, I’m keeping you. If you want to go public with who you are when it’s time to branch out as a tattoo artist, you can do that. If you want to become someone else, you can do that, too. You don’t have to make any decisions now, but it’s important for you to know my club and I can protect you from your parents, if you want to keep your original identity. The fact is, Daisy Chanel-Hearst will be able to get a huge following and lots of tattoo customers strictly from the name recognition alone. Life will be simpler if we can turn you into Daisy Wright, or Dahlia Stevens, but in this, I’m going to let you decide how you want to move forward — an assumed identity or your original one.”
Stevens. That was his last name. Was he saying he might want to marry me, someday? I didn’t dare ask, so I pretended I didn’t catch the significance of the last name.
“I like the idea of being legally Dahlia with the nickname of Daisy,” I told him. “I kind of like the prospect of being myself again, too, but the names come with too much responsibility. Also, that Daisy was miserable, and I want to be happy.”