Brutal Discoveries (5 page)

“Wow,” Ella gasped.  “He said please?”  I nodded.  “That is so
fucking
hot,” she all but shouted.  “Hottie, and Dreamy for that matter, do
not
strike me as guys who say please often.”

“That’s what he said,” I murmured.  “His name’s Aden West, by the way.”

“Maybe he wanted to explain shit to you today.  Maybe you overreacted,” she suggested.

“I doubt it,” I mumbled.  “Now you know why his name has changed to Hashtag Asshole, and right now, I need to get back to work.”

“Babe, I’m thinking, by those dark circles under your eyes, you didn’t get much, if any, sleep last night.  You want to go home, I can handle things here.  If it gets too much, I can call in Sammi,” Ella said gently.  I sighed and smiled softly at her.  She was
such
a good best friend.  The best. 

“I’ll be okay,” I assured her.  After a quick hug, we got back out front and prepared for the afternoon rush.

For the next week or so, I avoided spending any time that wasn’t absolutely necessary, working the front. I didn’t want another confrontation with Hashtag Asshole, so instead, I spent that time baking.  I poured all of my energy into creating delicious cupcakes.  Of course, being a bakery, Sweet Treats already sold cupcakes.  Those were mostly chocolate or vanilla frosted, sometimes filled with cream or jelly, but plain in decorative stakes, and generally purchased by parents for their children.  My new range though, it was nothing short of stunning works of art that customers wished they could display in their homes.  That I knew, because they had told me.  Frequently. 

I was concentrating so hard, my tongue was poking out of my lips, as I used my piping bag to swirl a generous amount of thick, delicious, mint green colored frosting onto the fluffy yellow cakes lined out in front of me.  Then I topped each one with mint candy leaves and tiny edible flower confetti.  Once I was done with those, I moved onto the chocolate cupcakes.  The frosting on those was mocha flavored, and I decorated each one with delicate chocolate shavings before popping a chocolate-dipped coffee bean on top. 
Damn, they looked amazing.

Gently, I placed them on a tray before carrying them out to the display cabinet, and then I got started on filling the order for a baby shower cake I had been commissioned to do a few days prior from Macy for friend, Brielle.  She was having a girl and apparently all the guests knew.  So I made vanilla cake with pale pink frosting, flavored with the delicate scent of rosewater, and decorated with edible candy flowers, tiny silver balls, and swirls of frosting in different shades of pink.  All of that meant I hadn’t seen Hashtag Asshole since the day he asked to speak with me in private.  But that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought of him; I had, and I hated myself for it.  It also didn’t mean that Ella hadn’t told me about the times Asshole and Dreamy had come into the bakery.  According to Ella, Asshole had been constantly scanning the room for me.  I tried not to let this warm me from the inside out, but it did.  And I hated that too.

***

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I went with a selection of our most popular cookies – however, saying that, we sell out of everything almost every day, but these are the cookies we sell out of
first
,” I explained as I slid a white cardboard box containing a dozen cookies across the rectangle table in the visitors’ room at South Glenn to Damon.  They had been thoroughly searched and x-rayed by the prison staff before I was allowed to bring them, just to make sure I hadn’t laced them with any drugs.  Of course, I hadn’t, so I was free to bring them in to Damon.  His calculating eyes lit up and he immediately lifted the lid.  I caught sight of the Sweet Treats logo my designer had made up for me before I opened the bakery and smiled. 

“What are the flavors?” Damon asked, lifting a cookie out.

“That one’s peanut butter brittle.  Then you’ve got Oreo delight, chocolate caramel, good ol’ chocolate chunk, raisin and hazelnut with choc drizzle, and choc peppermint swirl.  Six flavors, two of each.  You tell me your favorites, and I’ll bring you more of those next time.”

“Don’t know how I’ll choose,” he said through a mouthful of peanut butter brittle cookie.  I grinned.  He kept eating.  When he finished consuming five cookies, we chatted back forth for a few minutes before his eyes darted to his journal.  I thought maybe his reading to me out loud what he had written, what he had
done
, may have been helping him in some way.  I nodded to his unanswered question, and he lifted his notebook, opened it to the page he needed, and began.

***

DAMON

Ninety-eight dollars.  Damon had counted, then re-counted, the money he had stolen.  Never in his seventeen years, had he had so much money in his possession at one time.  With the high of losing his virginity still pumping through his veins, and the small pile of bills clenched in his fist, Damon felt un-fucking-touchable.  He loved the exhilaration.

Before the sun had begun to rise the next morning, Damon collected his belongings and made his way to the truck stop on the edge of town.  He ate breakfast and then hitched a ride from a truck driver.  He didn’t care where he was going, so long as it was far away from there.  Damon exited the truck, mid-afternoon, in another small town.  He walked around, searching for a place to spend the night and eventually found a secluded area in a park.  The bushland was so dense, there was no way anyone walking past would discover him unless they were really looking.  He stashed his stuff and went to the public bathrooms to freshen up.  After that, he started hatching his plan.  The thrill of his last attack was starting to dwindle, and he was craving that boost in adrenaline again.

Damon spent the afternoon sleeping in an anticipation of the night ahead.  When he woke, he crawled out from the bushes and began casing the streets.  It took him a while, but he found a good part of town where the houses were new, the gardens were nice, and he had a feeling he’d strike it lucky.  It was around ten at night by the time he finally found
the
house.  He snuck around, peeping through each window, checking for occupants.  He only found one.  A woman. 
Perfect.
  She was curled up on the couch in her living room, a glass of wine beside her, a book in her lap, the lamp beside her illuminating the words.  She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.  Damon suspected she was getting tired.  He knew it wouldn’t be a long wait, so he found a spot, sat down, and waited, his eyes glued to the window, waiting for that lamp to go out.  Finally, the house was bathed in darkness.  Damon waited a further hour to give her time to fall into a deep sleep.

Then it was time for him to have his fun.

She had struggled.  Fought him back harder than he had anticipated.  Still, the adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him the strength to overpower her.  He fucked her hard and rough, with no regard to her body.  Even with his hand over her mouth, the bitch’s muffled screams annoyed him.  She bit and scratched him.  Kicked him.  It pissed him off.  Made him so angry, he lashed out.  As he punched her in the face, she morphed into his father, and he hit harder and harder until blood was pouring from her nose and her mouth.  The streetlights outside illuminated the bruises that littered her face.  She was still.  Unmoving.  Unconscious.  Silence.  Thank
fuck
.  He finished raping her and then, using the duffle bag he found in her bedroom, moved through the house to stuff anything valuable inside that bag.  Cash, jewelry, and even some alcohol.  Standing in the kitchen, he surveyed the area, scoping it out, making sure he hadn’t missed anything, when he heard the thud and pained cry come from her bedroom.

Fuck
.

Damon’s eyes found the knife on the sink and he instantly moved to it.

“Please, I won’t tell anyone. Please, just leave me.  I swear,” she begged, looking up at him from her knees.  Her hair a mess, her nightgown torn, her face fucked up.

“Shut up,” Damon growled.

“Please,” she whimpered, not heeding his warning.

Her pathetic whining made Damon surge forward with anger, and he grabbed her broken body from the carpeted floor and tossed her backward until she was beside the bed on her back.  Then he straddled her hips, and without another thought, he lifted the knife above his head.

“Oh god, please, no!” she cried out, her voice a garbled moan from the blood filling her mouth.

“You didn’t listen,” he whispered sinisterly.  “I told you to be quiet, you didn’t, so now I’m going to make you.”

He plunged the knife into her chest, the resistance from her bones surprising him at first.  Then her face morphed into his mother’s and he stabbed her over and over in her chest, stomach, arms, neck, face, everywhere the knife could touch, until she was barely recognizable.  He stood over her lifeless body and watched the blood seep from her, staining the carpet below.  After he had committed the image to his memory, Damon stalked into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower.

Then he left and never looked back.

That woman was Damon’s first kill, but she wasn’t his last.  He didn’t read the newspapers, so he didn’t know anything about his victims except the way they felt wrapped around his cock, and the noises they made when his fist slammed into their faces, and the addictive sound of their final throaty whimpers as their life left their bodies as he removed his knife for the final time after stabbing them
multiple
times.  Damon didn’t want to stop, he wasn’t ready to be caught, so the morning after every kill, he packed his belongings and hitched a ride to the next town, where he would find his next victim, commit his next crime, and then repeat the process again.  Sometimes it was weeks in between kills.  Sometimes it was days.  Sometimes the women were black, white, Hispanic, thin, thick… he didn’t discriminate based on race or looks.  So long as their houses gave him the impression they had money, he was going to act on his desires.

***              

SCARLETT

When Damon closed his notebook and then lifted his head to bring his calculating eyes to mine, I swallowed down the revulsion and fear I felt.  It would have been easy in that moment, or any moment during any visit before then, to judge him.  But it wasn’t my place, and I wasn’t that kind of girl anyhow.  So instead of running to the bathroom and vomiting like I desperately wanted to, I gave him a small, shaky smile, and changed the subject to something light.

“Do you like cupcakes, or do you prefer cookies?” I asked.

“Depends.  Are your cupcakes better than your cookies?”

“I’ve been told they’re works of art that should be displayed in museums around the world,” I shared.

“I like cupcakes,” he replied instantly.  I giggled at his eagerness.

“Well, next time, I’ll bring you cupcakes and let you make an informed decision yourself.”

The guard’s voice came over the loud speaker, signaling the end of visiting hours.  As I stood to say goodbye to Damon, the speakers cackled again before the guard’s voice announced, “Scarlett Everett, please report to the front desk before you leave.”

I felt my face pale and I just
knew
I was going to get in trouble for bringing Damon cookies.  It didn’t matter I’d been given the go-ahead to do so, I had a feeling I was in big,
big
trouble.

“Uh, I better go and see what’s up,” I said nervously, trying not to let on how absolutely terrified I was.  Was bringing cookies to an inmate a chargeable offense?  I wasn’t sure, but I hoped like hell it wasn’t.

“Later, Scarlett,” Damon said gruffly as I walked away on wooden legs to the front desk.

The woman standing behind the desk had a tag clipped to her shirt pocket, complete with her photo and a barcode.  Her name was Jane.  Her hair was pulled back from her face in a sleek bun, and her watchful eyes moved from me, to the visitors leaving, to the inmates still seated, and back to me again.

“I’m Scarlett Everett,” I croaked.  “I was asked to come here after visiting hours ended.  If it’s about the cookies –” I started to explain, but she cut me off.

“Just a minute, Ms. Everett.”  She disappeared through a door before returning a short time later.  She used her barcode to buzz open the door beside her desk.  “Come through, Ms. Everett.”

“Scarlett, please,” I murmured.  I followed her and she led me toward the door she had entered moments before.

“Go on in,” she told me.  I figured this was where the warden of the prison had his or her office.  Lord, I was in big trouble.  I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet I was petrified.  Gathering my inner strength, I took a deep breath and walked into the reasonably sized office.  I heard Jane close the door behind me, and for the first time, I looked across the room to the desk in front of the window, to find Aden
fucking
West sitting there looking contemplative and relaxed. 

What the hell?

“Scarlett,” he greeted formally.  “Take a seat.”

“No, thank you, I’d rather stand,” I snipped as my hands went to my hips and I glared at him. 

His lips twitched and my eyes dropped to glare those too, before I quickly looked back up to his now-twinkling blue depths.

“Is this about the cookies?” I questioned, throwing attitude. 

“No, although I’m wondering why you gave them all to Salt, and didn’t save any for me,” he commented casually. 
Bastard.

“You can come into my bakery and buy your own damn cookies,” I muttered. 

He stood and rounded his desk.  Before I had time to process that, he was prowling toward me.  I took one step back, quickly followed by two more, then my back hit the wall behind me just as Aden caged me in, his palms flat against the wall beside my head, his nose just inches from my own as he leaned down to look me in the eyes.  The scent of his cologne invaded my senses and my mind swam for a second before I pulled myself together. 

“You wouldn’t give me a chance to explain, so now I’m
taking
that chance,” he informed me.  My hands went to his stomach and I took a second to admire how rock hard his was.  Like a freaking brick wall of flesh! 

Then I shoved him while growling, “Get back.”  Of course he didn’t move an inch from my shove, and he just leaned in closer.

“Scarlett,” he warned.

“Get
back
,” I repeated on a snap, combined with another shove.

“Listen to me, dammit,” he clipped.  He moved his hips imperceptibly closer, close enough for me to feel the heat from his powerful body, but not so close I could actually
feel
him. 

“What do you want?” I whispered.

“A chance to explain,” he murmured back, using that soft sweet voice that has the ability to make my knees wobble.

“Step back,” I warned as I gave him another shove. 
God, why wouldn’t he budge?
  “And I’ll let you explain.” 

He took his hand from the wall beside my head and curled his index finger before tracing it down my jawline until he reached my chin.  Then he used his thumb to touch my bottom lip softly.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured as he took a step back.  I’ll admit, I wanted to swoon when he called me sweetheart, but I held it together and marched right past him to the edge of his desk.  I sat myself down in the chair and glared as I waited for him to take his seat and
explain
whatever he wanted to explain.  He didn’t sit in his desk chair, though, he came right up beside me and rested his ass on the edge of his desk.  His leg was touching mine, so I jolted out of the way, putting some much needed distance between us.  I leaned back, right back so I could aim my glare at him.  His lips twitched and his eyes twinkled, and it made me glare harder.

“Talk,” I snapped.

“Why did you run off when I asked about Salt?” he asked.

“I thought you were explaining.  Shouldn’t you be doing that rather than asking questions?” I snapped.  He sighed and ran his hands over his face in frustration.  Then he pinned me with those deep blue depths of his before he laid it out in his gravelly, addictive voice.

“Obviously, I work here.  Clocked you on your first visit, babe, watched you on the monitors, wondering what a hot piece like you would be doing visiting a joint like this.”

Okay, that was really sweet.  His
hot piece
compliment warmed my stomach, but rather than latch onto that, I decided to narrow my eyes at him.  Before I could snap at him for being so judgmental, he continued.

“I saw you visiting with Salt, couldn’t
believe
that shit.  Figured you must’ve been related to him.  Imagine my surprise when a few days later, I walk into a bakery and see
you
serving the best fucking coffee in the city, and the best fucking treats in the
state
, dressed in the sexiest fucking outfit I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Oh dear
.  My uterus contracted and I’m almost certain I may have had a mini orgasm.

“My uniform isn’t sexy,” I protested.

“Babe,” he sighed.  “Your hair, your smile, those tits, that ass… makes a man think of nothing more than lifting that apron up over your hips, laying you out on that counter, and feasting on the promise of what’s sure to be the sweetest tasting pussy in the world.”

Okay,
that
was definitely a mini orgasm.  I clenched my legs together, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did, and he smirked a cocky, arrogant smirk that made me want to kiss it right off his lips.

I was
totally
in trouble.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask me to dinner and then start grilling me on if I was related on Damon.”

“You took it the wrong way, didn’t give me a chance to explain, and then bolted like you had a firecracker up your ass.  You also
left money to pay for your meal
,” he growled the last part while scowling at me.

“So?”

“So,” he mimics.  “A man asks you to dinner,
he
pays. 
You
do not.”  He pulled out a bunch of crumpled bills from his pocket and tossed them in my lap.  My mouth fell open in surprise.  “I asked about Salt because I was trying to figure out why someone like
you
would be hauling your ass to a maximum security prison twice a month to visit with a convicted serial killer and rapist.”

“Don’t be so judgmental,” I snapped.  “He’s a human being, and he’s paying for his crimes.  For your information, Hashtag Asshole, I’m volunteering for a program called Friends For Lifers,” I huffed.  It was then I noticed the change in his face.  Gone was the irritability, the frustration, the anger.  The lip twitch came back.  His eyes crinkled at the corners and I watched in fascination as they melted right in front of me.  It was
then
I realized my mistake.

“Hashtag Asshole?” The lip twitch morphed to a smirk.

“Uh…”
Shit.
  “It just slipped out, I mean, I didn’t mean it,” I stammered. 

“Hashtag
Asshole
?” he repeated, as his smirk moved into a full blown grin that only made him look even more gorgeous.

“Well, it was Hashtag Hottie until you became Hashtag Asshole after Sherman’s,” I snipped.

It was then he burst out laughing and I watched in awe as his beautiful body shook on the desk and his loud chuckle filled the room. 
Beautiful.

“What will I have to do to become Hashtag Hottie again?” he asked through a grin.

“That’s an impossible feat.  I’d advise against it.  You’ll only set yourself up for failure.”

“God, even when you’re being a pain in the ass, you’re sexy as fuck.”

“I am
not
a pain in the ass!”

“Babe.” He was still grinning, looking at me like I was the most amusing person in the world.

“Are we done?” I stood abruptly.

“Not even close, sweetheart.”  The way he said those words was like a promise and I felt a shiver shimmer down my spine.

I went to step past him and his hand shot out to capture my hip in his strong hold.

“Don’t avoid me anymore, Scarlett.  You won’t like the consequences, but I will.”  The sexy glint in his eyes had me thinking that maybe I would enjoy the consequences more than he would.  Another shiver travelled down my spine, and I knew he felt it because his eyes turned melty.  I sucked in a breath and found myself wishing he would kiss me for days.  As if reading my thoughts, his eyes went molten and my knees trembled.

“Go now, Scarlett, or I’m going to kiss you,” he warned on a growl.

I didn’t move, partly because I
wanted
him to kiss me, and partly because I wasn’t sure my knees would be strong to hold me upright as I exited.

“Fuck it,” he rumbled, right before he pulled me toward him so fast my body collided with his.  Then his hands went to cup my jaw and his fingers threaded through my hair and he tilted my head sideways.  His head slanted the opposite way and then his full lips were colliding with my own.  God,
god,
he tasted good.  Peppermint.  So fresh.  His tongue slid inside my mouth and I thought it prudent to wrap my arms around his shoulders and hold on for dear life, because this ride he was taking me on should have come with a warning, or a seatbelt at the very least.  I sighed into his mouth, letting him ravish me.  My clit pulsed and my nipples tingled so I pressed myself against him and felt the hardness between his legs as it hit my stomach.

Oh, my.

One of his hands left my jaw and travelled down my ribcage, over my hip, until it settled on my ass.  He squeezed tight, pulling me impossibly closer to him, and that’s the way he remained, even when his mouth left mine and he whispered, “
Fuck
,” as his phone started ringing.

“What?” he barked into the handset, his hand still groping my ass, my arms still wrapped around his neck, my body still pressed tight against his.  I was trying to regain my breath and doing it with my face buried into his neck.

“I’ll be there in five.”

I tried to push off him, but his fingers pressed into my butt, communicating he wanted me to stay put.  I stayed put.  He replaced the handset and looked down to me.

“Sorry, babe, I’ve got to get to work.”

“Okay,” I replied, my voice sounding as melty as my insides felt.  He grinned and brushed his lips against mine once more.

“You busy tonight?”

I shook my head.

“Dinner.”

I wanted to offer for him to come to my house, and I would cook for him.  But, I resisted the urge, and instead nodded my head.

“Text me your address when you get back to your car.  I’ll pick you up at seven.”  He handed me a slip of paper with his cell number on it.

“Okay,” I whispered, still breathy as I clutched the paper in my palm.

“I got to get work, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks go red as I righted myself.

He took my hand and led me out of his office and through the door near the front desk, using the photo ID tag clipped on his uniform pants to let us out.

“Seven, baby.  Text me your address.”

“Okay, Aden,” I agreed softly before I left the now-vacant visiting area and walked across the parking lot to my car.  It wasn’t until I was safe inside that I let out a rush of breath and banged my head on the steering wheel.  What the hell was I doing?  How on earth had I managed to agree to a
second
date with Aden?  Even as I thought that, I flipped my phone open and sent him my address.  Then I drove home and got ready for our dinner.