Chapter 29
LILY
Feeling like I have a hangover, without actually having a hangover, just doesn’t seem fair. Where are all the drunken memories to cringe over in the sober light? Where are all the patchy memories of laughter and falling over and thinking you can sing?
They certainly aren’t here.
All I’m left with is this ache in my chest that won’t go away.
The only time it didn’t ache as much was when Asher was near, especially when I was in his arms.
We didn’t talk much yesterday. The emotional exhaustion left me numb at times, and then too emotional to speak.
I was so scared I was going to give in and tell Asher everything. About my family in Australia. About the Crimson Angel. About my stalkers. About how awful my marriage really was to Alexander. About how I killed Asher’s dad.
The need to open myself up and tell Asher everything was so overwhelming that I retreated inside myself, and Asher allowed it, giving me the space to try to deal with the shit show that went down over Easter.
Asher slept with me again last night. There was no sex. Just a loving caress that allowed my body to relax and fall into sleep. I even think I slept all night, which is why this stupid hangover feeling really isn’t fair.
As if I don’t feel crappy enough, let’s just throw an emotional hangover my way, too.
The chaos of the weekend has me so distracted that I don’t notice the envelope lying face down when I first step through the back door of the salon on Tuesday morning. It’s not until I step on it, and nearly slip, that I notice the damn thing.
The sight of it doesn’t even scare me. Just pisses me off.
I don’t need this shit. I have more important things to worry about.
Sighing, I pick up the offending envelope and close the door, turning the lights on in the salon and put my bag down on my desk in the tiny backroom.
“What have you got for me today?” I ask the envelope, tearing it open to reveal a single photo.
Holding it up, I take in the scene.
This one was one of my more creative kills quite a while ago.
I’d strung the man up. Tony, I think his name was.
He liked to use his appendage to steal the virginity of girls so young they wouldn’t have even understood what was happening.
I actually kept him alive for seven hours during his torture before I turned it into the brutal carnage captured in the picture.
I’m standing in front of Tony, who is strung up on a concrete wall, his arms and legs spread wide.
In one of my gloved hands, I’m holding my knife.
In the other, the floppy remains of his dick.
The whole scene is painted red in his blood, some of it caught in a frozen waterfall in this image as it pisses out of where his pin dick used to be.
It was a very satisfying moment, I must say.
Tony’s expression says it all. There’s physical pain in it, but the emotional pain of seeing his dick severed from his body takes the cake.
Something that’s not caught in this photo but was almost just as satisfying was how he howled in grief when I slapped my knife through his dick on the bench before using a meat tenderiser to flatten the flesh into something that resembled a burger patty.
Some of my best work.
Flipping the picture over, my eyes widen at the words that are once again so different from the other times.
I WISH I’D BEEN THERE TO SNAP A PICTURE OF YOU LAST NIGHT, WHEN YOU KILLED THE RAPIST. BUT THIS ONE FROM A WHILE AGO WILL HAVE TO DO.
I BET YOUR KNICKERS WERE SOAKED WITH YOUR AROUSAL AFTER YOUR KILL.
My lips part in a silent gasp as I reread the note.
What the actual hell.
This guy, whoever he is, is getting bolder. And shit, I hate that he’s pegged me so well.
After a kill, I do get aroused. I know it’s not right. I can’t exactly go to a therapist to find out why it happens, but I’m pretty sure it’s related to the euphoria I feel when I make monsters suffer for their crimes.
But shit, this guy somehow knows how it affects me.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter to myself, feeling like everything I’ve worked so hard to keep secret is on the brink of reveal.
Everything seems to be escalating in all areas of my life right now.
None of them good.
Well, maybe except for Asher, but even that is a secret I can’t risk going public.
I still don’t know what we are to each other, or if we are even alright after our disagreement the other night, but I do know he’s still here for me, supporting me despite the trouble I seem to have gotten myself into.
Granted, he doesn’t know everything, but the more I get to know the real Asher Scott, the more I feel like he’d be here for me, regardless.
The sound of the back door opening alerts me to my staff arriving, so I shove the picture back into the envelope before stashing it in my bag. I’ll need to let Barrett know I received another one.
“Hey, Lily. How was your Easter?” Bonnie sing-songs as she enters with Joel and Lenny on her heels.
Plastering on a fake smile, I turn and flash it at them.
“Wonderful,” I lie. “It was great having the twins home.”
“I bet it was. How are those two devils, anyway?” Bonnie asks as Joel and Lenny slide past her, storing their bags in their lockers.
“Oh, you know those two. Always balls of energy,” I say, trying not to think about the hate in their eyes directed at me before they left on Sunday.
Bonnie laughs, throwing her head back, her jet-black hair bouncing from the movement. “That they are. I bet the little shits are having a right old time playing the old switch-aroo on campus.”
“Probably. I don’t want to know.” I smile, speaking honestly about that.
I have no doubt that’s exactly what they’ve been doing.
As Lenny and Joel move out into the salon, already knowing how to prepare for the day ahead, the back door opens and Sebastian and Darla stride in.
“Full house today?” Bonnie asks, giving Seb and Darla a friendly wave.
I nod. “Yep. We are booked out. The Fairfield wedding is this weekend, so all their family and friends have booked in for colours and cuts.”
“I heard the bride was talking about a bold colour change before her big day. Please tell me we talked her out of that?” Seb asks, and I nod.
“Yep, Bonnie did. Didn’t you, Bon?”
She beams. “Sure did. She wanted to go from dark brown to blonde…”
The chatter fades out as Bonnie, Seb and Darla, our barber, leave the back room, heading out into the salon, and I sigh, relieved to finally be alone again.
Dropping my chin to my chest, I suck in a deep steadying breath before I roll my shoulders back, hold my head high, and turn to join the rest of my team in the storefront.
Suddenly, a loud explosion rattles the walls, and on instinct, I drop to the floor.
The sound of glass shattering and screaming is quickly overrun by the familiar sound of gunfire, popping loud in the air as wood splinters in the doorway.
Bonnie’s shriek is close, and I scurry across the floor to peer around the corner, seeing her huddled in a ball in the hallway as bullets fly overhead.
Army crawling out into the salon, I reach Bonnie and tug on her arm.
“Come on. Get in the back room!” I yell, hoping the other staff can hear me over the never-ending cracks.
Bonnie’s wild blue eyes peer up to meet mine, and I tug her again until she starts helping herself, army crawling into the backroom.
“Stay low,” I hiss, the sting of pain lashing my cheek as a shard of glass just misses my eye.
More screaming comes from deeper inside the salon, and I know I need to get out there and help the others, so I scurry into the back over to my desk, reaching under the drawers and pulling free the gun I have stashed there.
“Why the hell do you have a gun?” Bonnie cries, huddling in the back corner, but I don’t answer her, instead checking the chamber before standing.
Bonnie is calling to me, but I zone her out, as well as Lenny’s screams, and focus on what needs to be done.
With the gun raised, I peer around the corner noticing an arsehole wearing a balaclava standing on the path outside the store, the semi-automatic gun in his hands as he shoots rapid rounds into my salon, cutting it up like it’s nothing but a sheet of paper.
I take aim and shoot.
The pop is loud, but it’s followed by ear-ringing silence as the fucker falls to the ground.
“Get in the back!” I scream to whoever can hear me as I step back out into the salon, gun still raised and pointed out to the street.
There’s a van pulled up at the curb, and another man wearing a balaclava leaps out, going to the ground to try to rouse the shooter I shot.
It’s too late, though. My bullet went straight through his eye socket. He was dead before he hit the ground.
“No! Benny!” The man cries right as another masked offender sticks his head out the window of the van.
“Darcy! We gotta go! Get the fuck back in the van!”
Right as Darcy stands, anger visible in his eyes as they meet mine, I smirk and squeeze the trigger.
Just like the first guy, my aim is impeccable, hitting Darcy’s eye, and he crumbles to the ground right next to his mate in a heap.
The wide eyes of the driver meet mine, and he ducks back into the van right as I start filling the side of it with lead, including the back tyre.
I squeeze off every round I have, but he still gets away, speeding off with one tyre squealing while the one I hit sends sparks spraying as the rim spins.
It takes a few moments for my hearing to return, the blood rushing past my ears almost deafening until the soft whimpers of my staff kick me into action.
Sirens sound in the distance, so I know help is on the way, and I dart my eyes around my destroyed salon, trying to find my staff amongst the rubble.
Blood. It’s the first thing I see pooling out from behind one of the barber’s chairs. Sure, there are some other blood splatters around the place, but the amount of blood I’m staring at right now is from someone that can’t be saved.
A sob escapes me as I dart forward, my eyes landing on my apprentice, Joel.
No.