Page 32 of Cut Me Down

Damien takes a duffle bag from the hand, and as he whisper to the stranger, my line of sight is drawn to his back. He has a large tattoo covering his entire back and it reaches up to the top of his shoulders. It’s all monochrome, but that’s all I can make out before he turns back around.

But damn, that ass…

“There’s people in my apartment?” I ask him.

“My cleanup crew. Don’t worry they’ll be done soon, and it’ll be like Cooper was never here.” He smiles softly and winks at me.

“Who are you?” I start to shakily get dressed in the sweat pants and t-shirt he picked as he plops his duffle bag on the bed and starts pulling out clothes to get dressed as well, but not before he takes my towel and dries himself off.

“Damien.” He says, smirking. When the corner of his mouth tugged, it pulled my soul with it. The devious, seductive grin calling to me through space and time. It almost has me walking over to him and into his hold, but I refrain. Practically having to plant my feet onto the floor.

“I know that. Smart ass.” I try to speak with confidence and not like I’m internally screaming. “I mean are you like a cop or a drug dealer or something?”

“Opposite of both, actually.” I look at him and ponder for a moment, wondering what the hell he could possibly mean by that. Then in an instant, it’s like it clicks into place. The ability to move without being seen, knowing about ‘my story’, and getting a hold of my contact information somehow.

“You work for Devil’s Hands.” My shaky statement comes out as a whisper, and more of a statement than a question. He jumps, pulling up his jeans and fastens them as he walks up to me, only about an inch away. They fit snuggly, yet comfortably around him. How does his large penis fit in those pants?

“I am DH, baby.” He grabs my hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing my knuckles before slowly dropping it back down. “Damien Hartley.” He walks back over to his duffle.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. I started Devil’s Hands a few years ago.” My eyes widen. Of course that’s what this is. Just some bored, rich man who needed a distraction and got caught up in something worse. All of my pining was for a man who wouldn’t normally bother to look in my direction. Probably looking for a thrill and nothing more.

I step over to the bed, sit down, and just stare at my hands as I feel his eyes on me again. The heat from my embarrassment is creeping up to warm my cheeks.

I don’t know what all has happened tonight…not only have I managed to fuck the head of a vigilante organization, but I watched him kill my ex. Granted, he tried to kill me first, but I don’t know what to think. As creepy and alluring as these past two weeks with a stalker has been, thinking someone wasactuallyinterested in me was…kind of nice. It opened up all kinds of possibilities in my mind, and now, I’ll shove them back down.

A man with that much power wouldn’t want someone as messed up as me. He probably wanted Cooper, and knew he could use me to find him. How could I be so naïve? Of course that’s what this was. He stops drug dealers every day for fuck’s sake.

I look up just in time to see Damien stalking over to me, concern etched into his brows. As he sits, he does so carefully. Like if he moved too fast it would scare me away.

“I know what you're thinking, and don't. I'm not bored, and you're not just a plaything to me, Ashia. You’re not a charity case. Do not think of yourself like that.” I look down at my feet ashamed. I don’t know him; I suppose I shouldn’t judge him too harshly. At least until I do know him better. I mean he just finger fucked me in front of hundreds of people, killed my ex, and then fucked me in the shower. Granted, I initiated that, but should the fact that he’s a vigilante matter as long as he’s good to me?

What the fuck am I saying, of course it should! I'm so drunk and out of it. I need to seriously contemplate my life when I wake up in the morning. The first thing I’m doing is calling my therapist and begging for an appointment.

“Then what am I to you? I mean, why do all of this?” He reaches beside me and gently kisses my cheek before brushing his lips to the shell of my ear.

“Everything, Ashia. You are everything to me.” He whispers out as a declaration. His nose grazes my skin as he pulls away. His lips only an inch from mine.

“So, you weren’t using me to get to Cooper?” He gently leans back and hoods his eyes. Furrowing his brows, almost as if I insulted him.

“Absolutely not. I haven’t been courting you for weeks for that piece of shit.” He nudges towards my bedroom door at Coopers dead body.

“You don’t know me. If you knew…”

“I know more than you think.” He murmurs, interrupting me before I spit out something else that insults his intentions. “I may not know everything, but I will spend the rest of my life finding out every detail of you.” His warm breath fogs up my vision like a cold window.

We take a moment and just stare at each other intensely, trying to get a good read on each other. It’s probably much easier for him than it is for me. He’s so calm, relaxed, and almost seems happy. I know liars, and from the sincere look in his eyes, he’s not one.

I don’t understand. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know me, but it’s like he doesn’tneedto know everything, more like he wants to. He’s made up his mind about me, and he’s not changing it. He’s crazy…that’s the only explanation…right?

I’m first to break and look back down at the bed. A bed that I'll still get to sleep in tonight thanks to him.

“I suppose I should thank you, for stopping him.” I whisper shyly, even though I meant to come right out and say it. He places his hand under my chin and lifts my teary gaze to meet him.

“You don’t have to thank me. No one is going to hurt you again.” He wipes the tear that falls from my face. How can a murderer’s touch be so soft and sincere? So soothing, as if the waves of violence in his mind would never be turned on me.

“What game are you playing?” Regardless of whether he deserved it or not, Cooper is dead. This isn’t just a harmless crush anymore or light stalking. Someone is dead. Gone. Hopefully his soul is being tortured in whatever hell exists, but still dead.

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