'I am no good nor evil; I simply am.'
☾
"Presents dropped off at my door, and it's not even my birthday?" That husky voice called out, smoothly echoing around the bare concrete walls. Zeppelin thrashed against the heavy boot pressing into her spine to no avail. All she could see were legs. "Damn, I love being me!"
The voices above her chuckled harmoniously, and the sound reminded her of a pack of starving hyenas. Strangely, she couldn't discern any noise coming from Jace's direction, her focus fighting tooth and nail to shift between the hooded figure to her left and the faceless one to her right.
"Well?" The voice paused as a hushed silence fell over the men. "What are you waiting for? Get her off the ground, she's not a damn prisoner of war."
Warm, heavy hands wrapped around her arms just above her elbows, pulling her up until she was lifted from the floor, sweaty and bristling and downright pissed off. Her warden had her facing the wall, where the only sight available to her was of Jace smirking at her like a cat watching its dinner. She resisted the sudden urge to sneer at him and cranked her neck, searching for an angle to match a face to the voice.
"Aren't I, though?" Zepp hurled the retort moments before her gaze hit its mark.
The man was tall, intimidatingly so, though he was a few inches shorter than Jace, the Freak of Nature behind her. Hazel eyes framed by thick, dark lashes pinned her to the spot as they dragged up and down the length of her body. A hint of something near ravenousness appeared in that inspection of her, disappearing as suddenly as it had emerged. His face was disarmingly attractive, and he radiated the kind of confidence that said he'd stand out in a crowd even before said crowd was assembled of dead people. He flashed her a wide, arrogant smile, revealing a line of perfectly straight and blinding white teeth.
"Well, I can pull out the handcuffs and chains, sweetheart, but you look like the kinda gal who needs to get to know a man first," he said.
The men gathered on the leather couches behind her snickered and jeered in unison again, and Zeppelin's skin pricked in response. The one holding her arms behind her back gave her a little shove forward, and it took more self-control than she realized she had to not launch herself on him and rip his eyeballs from their sockets with her bare hands. Self-control and the fact that her wrists were still bound together in the expert knot Jace tied.
Instead, she laced her fingers together, steeled her spine, and stared down the snake in her path.
"What's your name, darling?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest, the slick leather of his jacket pulling on sharp, broad shoulders as he casually leaned against the door frame.
"It's not sweetheart or darling," Zeppelin bit back. She shifted on her feet, gauging his reaction to the hatred spitting from her lips. She was nervous and uncomfortable, and giving in to her anger was the only thing keeping her from toppling over.
"Hmm." The sound rumbling in the back of his throat was nearly feline. "Well, until you give me a name, I think I'll have to call you whatever the fuck I like, doll."
She dug her nails into her palms, the jagged edges carving half-moons into her palms. From her point of view, she's left with two options. Lie, let them take her captive, then slit the closest throat and bolt when she found her opportunity. Or, do the one thing she hated more than the idea of fighting her way back to her brother.
Ask for help.
She was taking too long to answer. The man's gaze darkened, and a slight tic in his jaw appeared as he straightened his stance. A gloved hand clenched at his side as if he was missing something usually gripped lovingly there.
"It's Zeppelin." She finally spoke before she could give her heart time to give out under the weight of his stare. "Most everyone just calls me Z."
She heard someone chuckle in amusement behind her but couldn't be bothered to pull her attention from the man who seemed to be their leader. His dark hair was slicked back from his tanned face, showcasing the black beard peppered with white and gray splattered along his sharp jawline. A tiny trace of a tattoo slithered up from underneath his shirt, and more were inked onto his knuckles and hands.
As much as she hated to admit it (the thought made her feel a bit nauseous, actually), if he'd walked into her bar before the end of the world, she would've given him more than a second look. There was just enough danger lurking underneath to keep things exciting but enough easy-going charm to strip her of her walls (and clothes).
She would've plastered on her best smile and then shamelessly ensured he noticed every time she bent over behind the counter. She would have done things her regulars like Dave could only dream of, but that was then, and this was now, and she had shed that skin a long time ago.
Now, his wolfish grin and swaggering stance left her feeling more uneasy than it did turned on, though she was hanging dangerously in the balance between.
She shifted again, wildly aware of the blood rushing to her cheeks. He noticed it, too, the tip of his tongue dancing along his teeth as he grinned at her. He sighed in contentment, returning to his relaxed position against the frame.
"And what in the hell are you doing rooting around in my stuff, Zeppelin?"
He said her name as a lover would speak it, and the heat in her face was scorching now.
"My brother is hurt. I was trying to find some medicine to bring back for him," she answered truthfully. The shock in his brows showed he expected a lie and had to acclimate a new response.
"And you thought, hey, I'll just break in and steal from them? What a grand plan you had there." He slithered forward a few steps, and she matched the rhythm in reverse. His gaze narrowed into slits as if he was trying to burrow her into the ground.
It was almost working.
"Well," she sighed. "Maybe if you didn't make it so easy to break in and steal from you, I would've reconsidered my options."
He laughed at that, his head tilted back, revealing the scruff trailing down his neck. She wondered if it was soft or coarse.
"Easy? Is that what you think this is?" The laughter died instantly as he took another step. "Have I made this too easy, boys?"
"Oh, it could be harder," the one with the mustache chortled. Zeppelin glared at him, earning a wink in response.
"We haven't even started yet, Zeppelin," the leader whispered. "So," he scoffed, pushing off the wall to make his way over to the leather loveseat. One of the men quickly decided to perch somewhere else, conveniently leaving his prior spot open for the boss. "Tell me, why should I help a dirty little thief?"
She gritted her teeth at the accusation, true as it was. "If it was any of you, would you do anything different?" The room was silent; the gazes suddenly averted somewhere other than her for a moment.
"If it was your little brother who was hurt and dying, would you knock on the front door and ask politely? I don't fucking think so. From the look of this place, I would've been shot before I made it two feet through the front gate."
"Now, that's a heavy charge coming from someone who committed a breaking and entering. Tsk tsk," the man sucked his teeth at her in annoyance.
She was beginning to panic now, a weird tightness settling in her chest as the tether to her freedom slowly slipped through trembling fingers.
"You have a walker problem, you know that? Someone upstairs was bitten. I saw him come back." She was grasping at anything now, desperately reaching for something that would either distract him enough to give her a chance to escape or prove her worth. She previously had no intentions of revealing the man she had killed, but Jace was bound to throw her under the bus sooner or later.
That sparked something in him, gloved hands tightening and extending, the shiny leather prominent against the faded black denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and studied her for a long, too long, beat.
"And what makes you say he was bitten?" He asked calmly, a hint of impatience lining his voice. Then, he was on his feet, and she felt infinitely small.
"I-" she stuttered, all of her conviction evaporating as suddenly as he stood.
"Come on," he coaxed softly, striding closer to her. "Spit it out."
A flicker of movement behind her. She glanced back to see Jace prowling along the wall, his face still hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
Why hasn't he said anything?
"God damn it," she cursed herself, worrying the inside of her cheek with her tongue as her rational mind scrambled to find a path out. "I killed him. Fuck. I fucking killed him, and he came back and tried to eat me, okay? So that means he must have had the infection already in his system, and that means you probably have some dead fuckers roaming the halls right now, so-"
He cut off her rambling with a loud, rolling guffaw. She pulled on her wrists, testing the strength of her bounds as she considered all the ways she'd like to kill the man.
She'd start by ripping out his tongue.
"Shit, girl, do you even know anything?"
The others snickered, but their agreement was nothing compared to how their leader's condescending grin brought a new surge of heat to the back of her neck.
"Alright, alright," he sighed, leaning back on his heels as he surveyed the room. "Enough bullshittin'. Everyone except Simon and Jace, out." He jammed a thumb toward the door she was shoved through, and the rats followed the order with little pause, though one let his gaze linger on her legs a little too long as he passed by.
"Well, in that case," Zeppelin sighed herself, shrugging her aching shoulders as she attempted to follow the men out.
Jace swung her around quickly, a subtle shake of his head the only statement he deigned to make to her. She stifled her venomous sneer and whirled to face the other threat in the room.
He was laughing again; he seemed to do that a lot. It annoyed her, considering the world had ended and all, but everyone copes differently.
"You've got guts," he offered, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed over his chest. "That or massive lady balls, I'll give ya that much, darling."
She didn't respond. The only words she could think of at this moment with Jace's hands wrapped like pythons around her arms were banned on all television stations.
"Tell you what, kid," he began, eyeing her intuitively. She couldn't hold back the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head at yet another nickname. "I'll think on it."
"You'll think on it?" Her tone dripped with disbelief. "My brother is dying, and you'll, what? Have a drink? Take a hot bath, maybe fucking meditate on it?" She stretched her hands again and thought she felt a little give in the rope this time.
"Jace, take her to a room for the night," he ordered, ignoring her. If she were a child, she would've stomped her foot. "In the morning-"
"You'll be missing some employees come morning," she cut in, angling her feet toward the open door. If Jace would ease up on his grip just a touch... maybe she could make a break for it.
The man locked his jaw, the subtle impatience growing more and more discernible. He looked to Simon, the one with the mustache who was still slung back on a couch, evidently bored with the whole situation. They shared some wordless exchange she couldn't decipher before he turned around to face her.
"Alright," he finally mused, rubbing at the scruff dotting his chin. "You caught me in a good mood; it's your lucky fucking day, dollface. I'll cut you a deal. We'll help your boy, bring him to the doctor back home. Then you and little bro will work off what you owe me once he's healed, of course. What do you think, darling?"
It almost feels like a threat.
It almost feels like a hand reaching out, offering shelter from the storm.
She took hold of it and squeezed like it was her lifeline.
It very much was.
"Deal." Her voice floated just below a whisper, just a puff of breath between her teeth.
The grin he leveled at her was sinister, and it sent a hot snake of flame down her spine. He was close enough that she could smell him: earthy, leather, and just a hint of spearmint. Zeppelin, on the other hand, couldn't remember the last time her body was fully submerged in water. She didn't know how they could stand to be so close to her.
"How big is this brother of yours?" He pondered as he strode over to the sleek back bar set up against the furthest wall. She watched as he poured two knuckles worth of a golden liquid; she guessed it was some very expensive scotch back in the day, tossed in three ice cubes, then leaned back on the wall as he sipped on the crystal glass. "Is he little like you? Or is there some goddamn meat on his bones?"
"He can defend himself just fine, and so can I," she snapped at him, testing Jace's iron-clad hold on her arms.
"Relax, Zeppelin. My goodness, you're jumpy." he held his hands out at his sides in surrender, the scotch swooshing around in the glass. "I was simply asking so I can decide how many men I need to send to drag his sorry ass back to the doc. Take a chill pill, or four or five."
She huffed, angling her breath to blow the sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. "I carried him through the woods. I need someone to show me the way."
"Oh, tsk, tsk, tsk," he scolded, shaking his head. Jace's hands tightened on her skin, the heat of them smoldering into her veins. "As my employee, as you so stylishly put it, you're under my protection now, and that extends to using as many of my men as fucking need be to get the job done. Seems like two should do it. And I know just the men for the job."
He sipped his drink, eyeing her over the crystal rim. "Simon, Jace, take my new friend to her brother, scoop him up, then meet us back at the Sanctuary. I'm heading out there in five, and I want you both to report to me as soon as you get back, got it?"
Simon and Jace exchanged their own glances, and before she could blink, she was being shoved out of the room and into the doorway.
"Wait, wait!" She pushed back, angling her head to catch another glance at the charismatic man that seemed to suck all the breath out of her lungs. "The sanctuary? There's more of you?"
He tipped his glass in salute, and the look he gave her could only be described as "starved."
"Darling, there's a whole world out there you're about to get real familiar with," he grinned.
She was being pushed again, and at her wit's end with impatient men, she nearly toppled over in order to crane her neck through the frame once more.
"You never told me your name."
Jace growled, a deep reverberation in his lungs. She was hauled back out with force just as the man called out his answer.
"It's Negan. Don't you forget it, darlin'."
☾
By the time the few handful of men Negan had brought with him had unloaded the supply truck back at the Sanctuary, he was ready for another drink. He tilted his head to check the position of the moon. It was late. He sighed, ran a hand over his face when the men weren't looking, and brought out the cheery bravado he loved to show off.
"Fat Joey, my boy!" He chuckled in greeting, slapping the overweight man on his sweaty back as he entered the converted old factory. "How's my kingdom doing?"
"Everything's good, boss," Joey reported, eyeing the tray of desserts Gloria was carrying to the cafeteria. "Real quiet tonight."
"Well, that's gonna fucking change," Negan griped, twirling his number one girl Lucille casually as he contemplated the course of events tonight. He'd been called out to that outpost to deal with meaningless shit, some problem with one of his communities that his men should easily be able to fix with a few broken skulls, but of course, only the true power that came from this group could do the job. He'd already been pissy, then little Miss Sunshine was dropped on his floor, and everything twisted.
"We're going to have some new neighbors coming in at some point tonight. Get the man to Doc and put the girl in the room next to Dwight and Sherry's. I want to know exactly where she is come morning." He barked out the orders, said a quick hello to the few people eating a late-night dinner, and headed to his suite.
Once he got back to his rooms, the world finally quieted. He sat Lucille in her armchair and didn't bother turning on a light before he poured himself a drink, another two fingers' worth of his best Scotch. He'd have to get more soon; he'd been drinking more and more lately.
He'd never admit it to anyone, but his carefully crafted life was slowly boiling into a shitstorm he struggled to contain. His people were antsy and eager to set off into the world to see what they could bring back. The only problem was that they tended not to come back themselves. The communities he'd taken over were either scared little bitches, and therefore utterly uninteresting to him, or they were fighters. And that was a whole other issue. His wives, Frankie, Amber, and Tanya, fought all the time over stupid shit that he couldn't give a rat's ass about. He understood them; they were bored.
Too fucking bad.
He plopped down in the chair next to Lucille's, rubbing his tired eyes.
Zeppelin. What kind of name is that? Fucking doped out parents, too many joints before they fucked to Stairway to Heaven.
She was skinny, too goddamn skinny. He couldn't wait to see this pathetic brother of hers and ask him why he couldn't feed the single most important thing in his sorry little life.
Her bright green eyes were as wild as the curls on her head, and she had a spark of life in her that seemed to be few and far between these days. It fascinated him as much as the way she snarled and snapped like a little fox. Her body was curvy in all the right places, firm and sinewy in others, though one of his first jobs will be to insist she has four rations a day. Her face was soft yet angled, and she had a tiny scar above her right eyebrow that showed she had some fight in her.
She's a little creepy, a lot badass, and drop-dead fucking gorgeous.
He wants to see the way those eyes look when they're glistening with tears. And that sweet southern drawl she has drove him crazy. He wants to hear how his name sounds when she's screaming it out for him.
He tipped the rest of the Scotch back and tapped his boot on the plush maroon carpet. He had enough crazy bitches on his plate to deal with, how was he supposed to take on another?
Negan is a very simple and straightforward man. Follow his rules, do what he wants, and life is sweet. He hates when shit gets complicated.
And from the way those eyes lingered on him as she was shoved out the door, shit was about to get very, very complicated.