Page 8 of Cut Me Down

I pack my tattoo bag and grab my smoothie to head down to the shop. The door swings open with a creaky squeal, and as I look down to step over the floor transition strip, I see something resting on top of my welcome mat. Bending down to look, the realization of that something being a flower warps my brain. I look up and down the hallway, leaning into the cold chill running up my back and into my neck, making the hair stand straight up.

I know this isn’t from Cooper, he’d never leave me something so beautiful. But who would? I pick it up to feel the smooth stem, and cool, moist pedals. It looks like a tulip, but it’s black. Tulips aren’t black, are they? Though, it’s not completely black, as if it’s unnatural, but a very dark, red purple. It's beautiful and smells sweet to my nose. I twist it, admiring its dark beauty, when a card nudges my hand, being held on by a silk, black string.

I flip it over to check for a message, and there isn’t one. Just my name, written in gold with calligraphy lettering. Each curl and swipe of gold is hypnotizing against the matte black cardstock. A wave of curiosity slams through me, but the thought that someone would want to leave me something so beautiful plucks at my fear. Every ounce of my sense of danger is screaming at me to throw it away. To ignore it and go about my day, but if I throw this beautiful creation away, I’d feel like a menace. Not that the flower is alive or will be hurt if I did, but to discard something so luminous should be a crime.

Leaving my bags in the hallway, I step back inside my apartment, grab a glass of water, and stick the flower inside. My mind becomes lost in thoughts of the ghost that left the beauty in front of my door and I admire the way the dark color reflects off the water, making the glass appear gray. It feels familiar to me, as if in that moment, the reflection and I have something in common.

I eventually tear my thoughts away and make my way downstairs to the barber shop. Opening the door, I begin my morning routine. Getting things ready by turning on the towel warmers, preparing the barbicide, and charging my clippers. I mostly cleaned last night, but I left some hair in a pile near my station. I went upstairs right after doing that guy, Carter? I think he said his name was.

Yes, because I remember comparing his hair to the color of a wooden board.Carpenter Carter, I had said that in my mind to remember his name. He had a friend waiting for him outside, so he didn’t stay and chat, and other than asking for my name, he didn’t talk much. He had good hair and did really need it cut. And a new style. He said he thought his girlfriend would like it, so I suppose he was happy. Must have been to leave me three hundred dollars.

But the man outside was about as captivating as the flower upstairs. I had looked out of the window, thinking I would find a shadow. Instead, I found this striking man. Hardened with soft muscles from head to toe with his angled, defined jaw, and captivating icy blue eyes that complimented his warm, slightly tanned, white skin. Monochrome tattoos covering his left arm. His longer, layered, modern greaser styled hair was almost as dark as mine, and the way the front curved down to touch the bridge of his nose did nothing to hide his masculine beauty.

All of that wasn’t what almost captured me though, it was his stare. It was as if he was reading me like a book. Solving all of my mysteries and adding my series to his collection of souls. It made my heart skip a beat, as if it knew he’d come for me at any moment. The second my eyes met his, a shiver ran down my spine, and I had to look away, practically cowering. That instant fear was quickly cast out when Carter noticed my stare and announced he was his friend. The fact that the exhilarating man could have a friend was slightly comforting. So, I went on with my normal business and didn’t look his way again.

He's been on my mind ever since, plaguing my thoughts in a haze. A black curtain of fog in front of twinkling blue stars. I've never seen someone so attractive and alluring, yet so mysterious and dangerous. Every dark romance readers dream, but probably one of the monsters that lurk in the dark. I've never felt a reaction like this. One as terrifying as it is longing. It’s been so long since I've even thought of a man’s physicality that I wasn’t sure I had a type. Well, come to find out, I do, and he checked off every single mark.

The thought of being attracted to such a man doesn’t ease my fears, showing in the shakiness of my hands, or the rumbling heat I feel in my gut, revealing itself in my hardened nipples and throbbing clit. This isn’t like me. I'm asking for trouble, or to be hurt again. I shouldn’t want such an obvious warning label, and I definitely shouldn’t be aroused by it. His hungry stare was most likely nothing more than a lapse in judgement for him. He probably has some hot model normally hanging on his arm. He wouldn’t pine for a Damaged Darla like me when he could have any Model Melody that walks the earth.

Trying to cast my thoughts of them aside, I unlock the main door and turn the lights on as the men begin to walk inside. My gaze searches the small crowd for the mysterious man, hoping to catch a better look on the off chance he came back, that the flower upstairs was from him, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and I can’t decide if that’s motivating or disappointing.

My friend, Tony, is the first to walk in. He’s an officer for the local police department and comes in fairly often for haircuts. He went to high school with Serena and I, and unfortunately, was the responding officer that night the neighbors called the police during my attack. He comes in every other week, and most of the time he texts me on the off weeks to check up on me. Super nice guy, a little too nice if you ask me.

“Morning, Tony. Anything new on the streets?” I question him enthusiastically as I grab my cape from the back of my chair.

“Not that I can talk about, Ash.” He takes off his bullet-proof vest and hangs it on the coat rack.

“You mean before you sit in my chair and spill all of your secrets anyway, right?” I wiggle my brows, and he chuckles at my attitude.

“Exactly.” He slyly retorts.

“Well, come on over and start spilling.” As he sits in my chair, I drape the cape over him and start the same bald fade he’s had for six years. Running my fingers through the short, light brown locks.

“So, what do you want to know?” He asks obliviously, as if I didn’t always want to know the juicy and gory scenes he witnesses.

“I don’t know, anything exciting in the last two weeks, I guess.” I say, shrugging my shoulders before I go back to cutting.

“Well, we stopped a robbery, busted three young adults with meth, and now we have a mass murder. Devil’s Hands struck again last night.” That draws my attention to his eyes in the mirror in front of us. DH has always yanked at my curiosity. I don’t know if it’s a person, or a lot of people, but when they strike, they strike hard. I admire that. After my drug filled past, or should I say my parents’ drug filled past, I find comfort in what they do. I never knew my parents sober, so they may have been good people at one point in their lives, but from my knowledge, there wasn’t much good in either of them.

My experience in fucked up shit started when I was young, and as unfortunate as it is, just when I think there can’t be much worse in the world, Dust proves me wrong. So, anyone who takes down those assholes are okay in my book.

“What'd they hit this time?” I ask curiously, and he slightly leans his head to the side to whisper, and I lean in a little to hear him.

“A Dust cocaine operation.” My eyes widen, not necessarily out of shock, but of intrigue.

“Really? How many this time?” I whisper back.

“A warehouse full of about twenty men. We found one female body, but the bullet matched the gun belonging to the dealer we found next to her, so we don’t think it was DH.” The words about the unknown woman pierce my heart. That poor woman must have been terrified. Having to face the barrel of a gun, knowing that your life could end in a literal flash is one of the worst feelings…

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah. We found evidence of other girls being held there, but they were nowhere in sight. Hopefully they got away.” He rolls his shoulders as if he’s trying to ease the tension in them.

“I hope so.” I add, my voice laced with sympathy.

“Us too. We were gathering intel on the warehouse, enough to get a warrant, but you know as well as anyone that the courts tend to take their time. Chief wants DH, almost as much as Dust.” I rear my head back as if I dodged a slap.

“Why? It sounds like DH is helping you guys.”

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