He Didn’t Kidnap Me. Not Exactly novel Chapter 22

(Daisy’s POV)

I waited and decided to have patience and hope, but the suspense got too intense as it clawed against my chest. And soon, I couldn’t wait anymore.

I decided to go back in and check but just as I tried to do so, a figure appeared suddenly.

I flinched hard, stumbling back slightly and throwing aimless punches at this-

DeLuca.

My gaze stretched at the realization.

He was holding one of his men up, supporting his weight as they moved out and relief hit me so fast it was almost embarrassing.

“Move,” he said.

I didn’t argue.

I followed.

Fritzo and the other man came out behind them, and together we moved quickly away from the building.

Out of nowhere, a car screeched to a stop nearby and the driver leaned out.

“Tell me you’re done playing hero, so I can take it from there,” he smirked.

Nico.

“Get in,” he added and we didn’t waste time.

I got into the front seat, the others piling in behind me as the car sped off almost immediately.

No one spoke.

Not for a while.

By the time we got back to the mansion, everything still felt… off.

Men were being carried in. Others limped.

Blood.

Tension.

It hadn’t gone well.

DeLuca stepped inside first, his expression hard, unreadable, like whatever had just happened was already being filed away

for later.

“You came,” he said to Nico.

Nico shrugged slightly. “Your driver was dead. I figured that was a bad sign.”

DeLuca didn’t respond.

Nico glanced toward me briefly, then back at him.

“So,” he said casually, “you went back for the girl.”

I spoke before I could stop myself.

“Thank you.”

Both of them looked at me but DeLuca’s expression didn’t change. Not even slightly.

“She’s still useful,” he said flatly to Nico as if I suddenly wasn’t there. “That’s all.”

And then he walked away.

Just like that.

I stood there, the words settling in a way I didn’t like at all.

Nico watched him go, then looked at me.

“He’s never done that before, you know” he said.

I frowned slightly.

“Done what?”

Nico didn’t answer.

He just gave me a look- one that said more than words… if I could figure it out. Then he turned and walked off, leaving me standing there with that thought sitting heavily in my chest.

The moment I stepped into the room, I paused.

…Well.

“Back again,” I muttered.

Same walls. Same bed. Same very questionable conditions.

I dropped onto the edge of the mattress and looked around like maybe something would have changed while I was gone. It hadn’t.” Still a criminal house. Still me. Still kidnapped-adjacent.

Honestly, at this point, I felt like I should start leaving reviews.

I exhaled slowly now and leaned back on my hands.

It was weird, though.

This place felt… better.

Not good. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. But better than that other place. Less… suffocating. Less like I was one wrong breath away from being buried under concrete.

Which was apparently my new scale for comfort.

Love that for me.

I sniffed slightly, then immediately recoiled at the smell of myself.

“Oh, that’s not okay.”

Smoke. Sweat. Stress. And whatever temporary mental damage smelled like it was all happening at once.

I stood up.

“Yeah. We’re fixing that first.”

Because of how long ago, showering felt illegal but then I was done with in no time as something else became paramount.

Hunger.

The kitchen was quiet when I walked in- which lasted exactly two seconds.

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