Page 34 of Cut Me Down

Shifting to look back, I gaze at my girl. Wanting nothing more than crawl up beside her and hold her close to me. I’m willing to do anything to ensure she sleeps peacefully and forgets about these events. Even if it’s just for a while, but I suppose that’s not such a good idea since she’s not used to sleeping with someone else. The last thing either of us needs is her waking up in a panic and having a heart attack or swinging her fists mercilessly.

“Alright, D. We’re good to go. Do you have a preference on disposal?” Graham asks.

“Don’t dispose of his body yet. Keep it in the freezer for now.” I glance at him, and I can see his internal struggle not to look over at her and witness for himself why I’m so fucking unhinged tonight. I stand, having to look down slightly to address him further.

“Yeah. You got it.” He nods and I walk out with him as he ushers the other men out of the apartment. The moment they step out, I lock the door behind them and go to look at the end result. Damn. They really are good at their jobs. Not a single drop of blood or other evidence left behind to show that he was ever here.

Fighting the urge to crawl into the bed with her, I lay down on the couch instead, but I’m sure to turn and face where I can see into the bedroom. Keeping her in my sight the entire time as I get comfortable. This is probably going to be a long night, but if she does wake up in a panic, I’ll be here. Ready with open arms to comfort my little wolf.

Chapter fourteen

Ashia

The Next Morning

As I open my eyes, I can feel how sore my body is. Not just from the rough sex and his ginormous penis. I had almost forgotten the haunting Domestic Violence hangover. When you're lucky enough to be alive but hating every move you make after. Where every time you move, it’s a reminder that it wasn’t just some horrible dream, and this hangover takes days, sometimes even weeks to recover. It’s not just the physical aches that hurt. It’s mental aches too. Eating away at you until there’s nothing remaining but that empty feeling.

I slowly sit up, halfway expecting there to be a large warm body next to me. When I realize I’m alone, I manage to swallow down the small blip of anxiety. Only to cringe as even the simplest of tasks like swallowing hurts my abused throat. The warm saliva running down and coating it to remind me of the horrors from last night. Allowing visions of Cooper’s hatred to flood my mind. As if my eyes weren’t already swollen from how much crying I did last night, the tears pooling in my eyes now burn even worse. I swore this would never happen again…how did it get to this point again?

The phantom pain begins. Burning and stinging searing my arm…I reach for it, allowing the warmth of my palm to soothe the aches. A subtle reminder that they’re healed, and that I'm indeed alive.

I look over at the now closed door and see Damien’s duffle bag still on the floor. He’s still here…the sweet gesture warming my chest but fogging up my mind. Why is he doing all of this for me? I muster up the strength to slowly walk into my bathroom and take a good look at myself in the mirror.

Purple and blue cover my swollen throat, my eyes are blood shot, and the bridge of my nose and inner left eye also bruised. At least there’s no cuts this time. In the past, I would be grateful for that…now? I’m not sure what to think.

I was okay. I was concealed. Slowly approaching a state of blissful ignorance. Why did he come back? Why did he have to do this to me? He was so far away. I didn’t even have to be a thought in his mind. Why the fuck did he do this?

I inhale shakily through my nose to silence my tears. I won’t cry over the pain he caused me anymore. I refuse. He’s fucking dead. Shot through the head like a rabid animal that needed to be put down. I won’t cry over that either. I won’t give him that. Like Damien said, I won’t give him the satisfaction.

As I inhale again, I smell the sweet, nauseating smell of food. The smell of bacon beckoning yet turning my stomach.

I walk out of the bathroom and through my room to see Damien standing at my stove cooking breakfast. His tight white t-shirt hugs the muscles I explored last night. Evidence of my scratching barely shining through the thin material. His long, black hair in disarray, and it sways as he jerks his head to the sound of the popping and sizzling meat.

Looking at the couch, I notice it’s slightly more wrinkled than the material normally is. He must have slept on the couch, and the gesture of giving me space allows me to drop my guard a little. I take another small step, causing the floor to creak beneath me, and he slowly turns to meet my eyes.

“Good morning, little wolf.” He says as he smirks at me. His pearly white teeth gleaming in the morning light, and his posture is casual and light. As if he does this every morning, like it’s routine to make me food.

“Morning.” I say sheepishly and hoarsely through the pain, careful not to cower too much as I hug my middle.

“How are you this morning?” His eyes soften, but don’t break the straight line to my gaze. He’s refusing to look at the evidence last night left on my body, and I’m grateful for it.

Lie, Ashia. Lie through your fucking teeth.I think to myself.

“I'm good. You?” He turns and back again, with a filled plate in hand, and gives me a questionable look. He tilts his head and flashes a gentle smile.

“You’re not good. You don’t have to lie to me.” If it were anyone other than my shadow, I’d think he’d know that based on the horrible events that transpired. His look, though, piercing through my gaze and into my mind, reading me intensely. Is it that easy to decode my thoughts, or is he truly that obsessed with me?

“I'll be the judge of that.” He cocks an eyebrow at my attitude and sets the plate on the bar separating my living area from the kitchen. The same bar my face smacked last night.

“Come sit. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” As much as I want too, and how amazing the food looks, I can’t eat that. He looks at me, sadness tinged in his eyes as he looks at the plate and back to me. “I didn’t poison it. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.” His words sound sincere, and his eyes longing. As if he’d do anything to please me.

“No, I know that. I just, I can’t eat it.” I try to reassure him.

“Why not?” He asks, and I feel my throat scratch to his intrusive question.

“Oh, so you really don’t know everything about me?” I'm sure to sling resistance into my words.

“I told you I didn’t.” He smiles gently at me again, and I walk over to the bar and sit on a stool. He slides the plate closer to me along with a cup of coffee, a glass of water, and a Plan B still in the sealed box. I'm shocked by the gesture, and actually quite grateful. I hadn’t really thought that through.

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