Page 43 of Runt's Haunted Ride
"I said she looked sick too," Tank said.
"No, you said she looked like a zombie." I heard a few chuckles and comments. "She's fine. She's just molting."
"Huh." He pointed at me. "Well, just make sure she survives this melting thing."
"Molting. Never mind."
"Anyway, back to what I was saying. The security business could be exactly what we need."
"But aren't we going to be rich with all this incoming gold?" Reaper asked from the back of the room.
"With our little zombie gold mine over there, we will. But we have to sell the gold to make money. Otherwise, we're just sitting with gold sand. We might as well put in the world's most expensive beach. The problem is, the gold companies have to report their buying and selling. Therefore, the government now knows we're selling gold. They come sniffing around and find out we're selling phoenix gold from the last phoenix? That opens the door to a lot of questions. So, our gold buyer suggested we set up a company, and that's where the security business came in. The business can sell the gold, and we as individuals don't get in trouble with the IRS."
"What's in it for us?" Dozer asked.
"Yeah, I'm no businessman," Bulldog added.
"It's like running a club. We got that down. And as for what's in it for you all, how about the pay from the gold and shares in the company, which will just get bigger and bigger."
I panned the room and watched the guys mull over the plan. Each of them seemed to arrive at what the President was saying. Shit, if I was planning on staying and wasn't Kai's mate, I would have agreed to this right away.
Slowly, all of the guys voiced their agreement with the plan to start a security business.
"Let's take a vote," Fang called out. "All in favor?"
"Aye," the room said, me included. I couldn't let them see me not vote. That would seem suspicious.
"Opposed?" The room was silent.
President Silver raised his hands. "There we have it. Congratulations, men. We now officially own a security company."
As the guys all congratulated one another, I picked up Kai and headed back to my room. Once inside, I felt like I could breatheagain. Having her around all of the club while helpless wasn't something I wanted to last very long.
I set her down on the bed and watched her. I couldn't help laughing. Watching her walk was like a drunk person navigating an obstacle course. Her legs were too long, her wings kept sliding down and getting in the way, and her head bobbed around on her neck. She kept pecking at things with curiosity—examining my pillow, chirping at my alarm clock, and nearly knocking over my water glass trying to take a giant slurp before I caught it.
"Easy there," I laughed, gently redirecting her away from the edge of the bed. "You're still figuring out how this body works."
She chirped at me with a sound that I was starting to interpret as mild irritation. She spun, fell sideways, righted herself, and tried to strut across the bed like she owned it. Except her feet got tangled in the blanket and she face-planted into the mattress.
I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing.
Kai extracted herself from the blanket, swelled up, ruffling her feathers with as much dignity as she could muster, and gave me a look that clearly said, "We're not talking about this."
"Come here, you ridiculous bird," I said, still grinning as I helped her get untangled and brought her to my lap.
Settled there, her head tucking under her wing as she decided it was nap time, I stroked her back gently, marveling at how soft her new feathers were.
"Just a few more hours," I told her quietly. "Then you'll be yourself again, and we'll make our next move."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a comfortable routine. Kai would wake up hungry, I'd feed her berries and give her water, she'd explore my room with increasing confidence, then she'd demand to sit in the sun while I hand-fed her like she was some kind of royal princess.
Which, I guess, she was. I was growing accustomed to all the work, except for the one thing Kai failed to tell me about. Birdshit. Little birds who constantly wanted to eat also constantly wanted to poop. I'd gone through two rolls of paper towels and a roll of toilet paper already. I vowed next time, if there was one, I was going to be prepared with puppy pads.
By hour eighteen, she was nearly the size of a golden retriever, with magnificent feathers that caught the light like liquid metal. She'd figured out how to hop onto my shoulder and perch there, chirping commands directly into my ear whenever she wanted something.
"Who's a bossy bird?" I told her as I tossed her a blueberry. "You are, that's who."
She chirped—a sound I was pretty sure meant "yes I am and you'll deal with it"—and demanded another berry.
