Page 3

Chapter three

Damien

‘Stuck In Your Head’- I Prevail

With the sun now setting well past seven, I tend to wait until later to deal with business. But this time it couldn’t wait. Dust has grown a pair over the past few weeks. The number of dealers out on the streets, and manufacturing locations has risen, so we have to act accordingly. It means more hours for us all, which is both exhausting and exhilarating.

Normally the more I kill, the better I feel. Yet, here lately, it just reminds me of the growing threat to the city. It seems every week, more dealers are popping up. Causing the number of overdoses, murders, and missing persons reports to rise with it. Our focus needs to shift to the why of this escalation, and not just the numbers, and that why could very well lead us to the source of it. The person that runs it.

I love the aftermath our work brings. I can still taste the copper crimson that mists the air with every gunshot. The only thing that fucks it up is when Zeke or I spray paints the calligraphy ‘DH’ and the smells mix together. The smell of the iron from the blood spatter does not mix well with the harsh, chemical tinge from the paint.

Carter doesn’t come with us on missions very often, but he tagged along this time. Occasionally, he needs to get away from the screens and uncomfortable chair he sits in. He says that his set up is exactly what he needs, and that everything is set up to accommodate him comfortably. I tell him his cheap chair makes his ass look like a spatula if he sits in it too long.

We’re not in New York or Seattle, or some other large city where you walk at night and know you should be afraid. We’re in a smaller city, in the middle-western part of Virginia, where everything is silent. Graceful. Supposedly beautiful.

I don’t see the beauty in it. I see the weak, sadistic, twisted side of it. Where evil is so concealed it doesn’t have to hide in the shadows or wait until dark. This city has been home to criminals for years, and the crime rate seems to keep growing. The drug organization, Dust, moved into town a few years ago, bringing much more than drugs.

Murder, rape, robbery, it’s all riddled the state. Especially in this city. Devil’s Hands fights every day to keep it at bay. We target warehouses and the lords that move into town to try and expand their operation here. Dust is spread across the country, while we are not. Going country wide has never really crossed my mind. There are more groups like us out there. Groups that I would have to answer to if we decided to expand. Even if we had the capabilities, we don’t have the numbers.

Which is why when Sahara, the largest vigilante organization in the country, reached out, I responded quickly. They mainly focus on sex trafficking rings, and we focus more on the drug side of things, but now that they want to set up in our area, it could be favorable for both groups.

I won’t give up control of Devil’s Hands, but if we and Sahara can come to an agreement and work together, it’d benefit us both. They have more resources and people, whereas we’re close to D.C. and other major politicians that participate in ‘extracurricular activities’.

I’m not quiet about what I do, and I’m not sorry about it either. The things these lords do are unspeakable. Murder and rape plague this town, although there’s not many that know about it. Or at least, say they don’t know about it. I imagine it’s the un-mentioned conversation at every dinner party. Just like us. That’s why whenever we do our work, we tag it. The useless police department isn’t going to take credit for us protecting this city, and this side of the state for that matter.

“Where are we at with the meeting with Sahara?” I ask Carter.

“We gathered all of the information he wanted with you confiscating what you did tonight. So, now we’ll notify him that we're ready to talk and see where it goes from there.” Carter says to me eagerly.

“Perfect. How did he know how to get in touch with us?”

“Your old friend, Kade, told him about us. Sahara’s been wanting to set up shop in this state and Kade told him to get in touch with you. Said Sahara wouldn’t want to step on your toes.” Damn right he doesn’t.

We’re a much smaller organization than Sahara, but we pack just as big of a punch. There’s about fifty of us total in DH, but our methods are much more…radical than Sahara’s. We do good here, but not enough to gain his attention. In my mind at least. Well, until that podcaster Adrien, or D.N. as he goes by online, started talking about us. Changed his whole platform to talk about us. He tells his followers what we did and why. I don’t really mind it. He can keep up his little fan base as long as he doesn’t get too nosey.

As for Kade, we’ve been friends for a long time. We took hacking and tracing classes together. We’ve never met, but virtual friends you could say. I reached out to him about working for our organization, but when he told me he is working for Sahara, I wasn’t that surprised. He’s good. Really good, but that meant I had to find someone else just as good besides myself.

That’s where Carter comes in. He’s the best technical analyst on this side of the country. He does just about everything, our ‘man in the chair’, and he’s even able to do most things remotely thanks to his mobile set ups we created, but we could always use more resources. More guns, tech, men. Anything we can get our hands on, and sometimes we develop it ourselves.

I try to acquire those resources myself. I pay my people, handsomely at that, and we need some type of cash flow to keep operating. That’s where we’re headed now. There’s a little comic, toy, and collectibles store a few blocks away from our current location, in downtown, that I own. ‘The Basement’ is a front for our actual business, but it brings in some money, while selling information to the highest bidder brings in the rest.

My family is wealthy with blood money, my father likes to say. He was a contract killer, employed through the military. He was ruthless, and was paid well for it, killing some of the most infamous people in the world, as well as some innocents. That’s why we have so much money. He didn’t fucking spend it. The thought of using that money for selfishness made him sick, and it does me too. That’s why when I started this organization, I didn’t even consider asking for it. I don’t use my father’s money; no one does. My mother calls it a ‘rainy day fund’. Well, it’d have to be Armageddon for my father to use it.

I stumbled into a small fortune by finding some information on the Senator from Texas. He paid me to keep my mouth shut, and that’s what gave me the idea. We find info on pretty much anyone. Politicians, CEO’s, business contracts, and either threaten to expose them or sell the info to their competitors. The money I earn is what pays for Devil’s Hands.

When I first blackmailed the Senator from Texas a part of me felt bad. Breaking the law to help people seemed counterproductive at first, but then I started to unmask other political figures and celebrities, and I didn’t feel so bad anymore. I even attempted to turn them in anyway, but they just got off. Their money paid to keep them out of jail. They’ll get their karma one day. Everyone does, and I know I’m not excluded from that.

Fuck, I can’t wait to get home and wash off today. I hate the film these drug warehouses leave on my skin. Especially after losing innocent lives... It’s not often it happens, but whenever we can’t save all of the hostages, it takes a piece of me. It makes me all the more determined to bury Dust into the ground. Most of these warehouses have innocent women making the drugs. They kidnap them, then threaten to sell them to the skin trade if they don’t comply. We always try to get them out and away from Dust, and what they do with their lives after that is totally up to them.

I pay for an apartment outside of town specifically for girls we rescue when we have to, but it’s not much, and is lacking space. There’s not much we can do for them outside of getting out of town safely. We have my cousins Zander and Kelsey, who can make fake documentation better than anyone else. When the girls are saved and they choose where to go, we give them new identities, cash, and a plane or bus ticket either back to where they’re from or somewhere new if that’s what they choose.

That’s where the main problem is though, is the means to actually get them set up somewhere else. I’ve paid for a few apartments elsewhere, but most of the time the girls have to figure it out once they’re there. I’m currently working on a project that can house them more appropriately and give them time to think about what they want, but it’s not moving fast enough. The inspections and permits are a lengthy process. One that I'm not patient enough for.

“We need to cross here, D. There are officers incoming ten blocks up.” I don’t question Carter. Well, in the moment I don’t. He always gives me reasons to question him, just not about the work. To do what we do, he has an innocent mind. Hasn’t even had sex yet, but he’s a good guy, and an even better friend. He puts up with my bullshit, that’s for sure. He’ll probably have a stroke by the time he’s forty if I keep worrying him the way that I do.

We cut across the cold, hard street, disappearing into the alley ways and weaving our way through until we walk onto the sidewalk of another busy street. Almost on the other side of downtown, like we were never near the warehouse.

And that’s when my eye catches something golden. I look over to see a beautiful, marvelous woman dancing through a window. What is this place? I look at the building for the business name and find it spelled out on a metal sign above the door. Cut Me Down? Oh right, the barbershop. It’s closed, but everything about her is open. Well except for her pretty, toned thighs and I can open those myself.

Her eyes caught me, as the sun sets, and the last beam of light touched her face at the right angle as she turned and moved her hips to what I'm assuming is music. She’s wiping off shelves and sweeping, like a good girl being told what to do. The arch of her back perfectly dipped as she bends over showing that plump, round ass and wide, smooth hips.

But her face. That is a face I wouldn’t mind holding in my hand every day. Whether that be clasping her jaw as I fuck her or forcing it down on my cock. It’s soft, but held firm in her facial structure, and even though she works at an establishment that practically welcomes men to look at her, her make-up choice, or lack thereof, doesn’t make her look like a cheap whore.

Her eyes aren’t the only warm thing. Her skin is warm toned. White, but warm enough to know that if she would step out into sunlight every now and then she’d tan fairly easily. The notion that she doesn’t get out much doesn’t bother me, it means she doesn’t have time to have another man touch her, which is great considering no man will be allowed to touch her again after tonight. The tattoos that cover her right arm are smooth, healed, and well cared for. I bet all of her skin is well cared for from how smooth it looks from the other side of this window. The tattoo sleeve on her arm stretches out to halfway on her chest.

So, she can take pain? I love a girl who can handle pain.

It’s when she stretches up that she has me pulled. Showing off her flat stomach, clung to her tight shirt. Which would normally show off her enticing figure, but her baggy barbers shirt remains unbuttoned and draped around her to conceal it. Or try to at least. My eyes run up her body, and over the mountains that are her half-exposed breasts. Not huge to the point of looking artificial, and not small, they look big enough to fit in my large hands. No, perfect for my hands.

But no, that’s not it. It’s when she brings her arms back down. Her black nails barely scratch the surface of her face as she continues to dance, and she flashes herself a seductive, sirens smile, revealing her canines. What I’d do to have those graze my skin before taking a bite. The long, black strands of her hair drape over her shoulders as she flings her head, and the hair falls over her breasts more as her hands travel lower on her body. She’s free when no one watches her, or when she thinks no one is watching her.

Something is growing inside of me. A hunger I’ve never felt. Taking up the space in my lungs and in my gut. The physical urge to walk in and grasp her pretty little throat has me leaning on my toes. I can practically feel myself salivate at the thought. Something about her is so alluring. Gravitating me toward her.

On the outside, she looks sweet and innocent, but what about under that facade? It’s like I can smell it on her from here. The pain. The kick in the teeth from life. Something, or multiple somethings, have happened to her. It changed her forever, and I have to know what sent a girl like that spiraling down to the pit she feels every day. She is breath taking, and she could grasp my air by the balls if it inflated her chest again.

“Go get a haircut.” I tell Carter, my tone coming off as stern and sharp.

“What? D, we don’t have time.” I snap toward him, and it’s as if he can see the hunger in my eyes. He stiffens and straightens his posture to signal to me he knows just how fucking serious I am. “Alright, but if she fucks up my hair and Brittany starts bitching, I'm telling her to call you.” He walks towards the door nervously.

Brittany is his whiny, temporary girlfriend. Definitely not wife material. Not like this girl. Her hardened defenses allow me to believe that deep down, she wants to care for someone in a deep way, and that she has before. Although I’m guessing this person was stupid enough to cast her aside. A mistake I won’t make. She needs someone to pull her out of the depths and command her to stand in the ashes of her pain, and that is something I can do for her.

As Carter walks in, the opened door unveils the song she’s listening to. ‘Stuck In Your Head’ by I Prevail blares through the door.

She certainly will be .

I see her body stiffen as she stands up straight. Not like she’s scared, but as if her skin turned to steel, as if life has beaten her until she encased herself in metal, just like I expected. I can’t wait to break that down and soften her only to my touch, and she won’t be able to stop me. No one will be able to stop me. She will be mine, and she won’t have a fucking choice.

I watch as she looks out of the window, gently glancing at me before looking back to Carter and continuing the service. Fuck, those golden-brown eyes. Sweet like honey, but smooth like coffee. That one second of eye contact sealed her fate. Immediately intertwining our destinies and welding me into life forever. I have to have her. I will have her. I don’t believe in love, but if that ‘at first sight’ bullshit is real, that’s what just happened. I don’t know about a God, multiple or otherwise, or whatever afterlife or reincarnation shit people talk about, but I know about this. I know about her. She just took over my whole world, and she can burn it down if she wants, I’ll hand her my lighter and beg her to let me watch.

I light a cigarette and pull out my phone to text him.

Leave her something nice. It’s on me.