Page 41 of Painkiller (Sin Records #3)

I stand behind the black leather salon chair, staring at Poppy’s expression in the mirror.

Her multi-colored eyes swirl with excitement, and all of her perfectly straight teeth show from her wide smile.

She is animated and vibrant, and it does something funny to my stomach, making me want to figure out how to keep her that way.

Then the stylist approaches, and my mood turns to fucking shit. I haven’t so much as had a passing thought about my past in almost twenty-four hours. Not since I spotted Halfpint last night. But it returns with the force of a hurricane the moment the bottle blond appears.

My teeth clamp down, and the feeling in my stomach turns to nausea, bile rising in my chest. When she touches Poppy, the urge to break her goddamn predatory hand slams into me like a wrecking ball.

Memories of her hands on me, of Krista dangling Casey like a bargaining chip, make me dizzy.

The way they groped and grabbed at me like I was a piece of meat.

The shame and embarrassment I felt when my body reacted to them.

She was one of many, along with my goddamn stepmother, that violated me time and time again.

Except…

I said yes. Every time. Played every game. They never had to tie me down. Just dangle Casey.

That means it wasn’t really assault, right?

One late night when I was fifteen, I crept through the house, trying not to get caught sneaking in after being at my girlfriend’s when I overheard Krista cackling obnoxiously, which wasn’t unusual. Everything about that bitch was obnoxious.

To this day, what I heard her say makes me more nauseous, angrier than anything she ever did to me.

So I confronted her. Threatened to tell my dad and brother. Even Liam, though I didn’t know him back then.

It seemed to work.

Then one night, I woke up with her mouth on my dick. I jerked her away from me, wrapped my hands around her throat, and told her she was done.

She twisted the story so fast, my head spun.

“No one will believe I forced you. Took advantage of you,” she cackled in my face, ignoring the way my hand tightened around her neck. “You’re bigger and stronger than I am, but even if they do, I’ll take Casey, and no one will ever see us again. I’m quite resourceful, you know.”

My heart hammered. I wouldn’t let her hurt Casey like that. I may have been resentful of her, but she was just a kid. Not even a fucking teenager, and I knew the cunt was psychotic enough to follow through.

She offered a deal. Casey would be off-limits if she could have me. The thought turned my stomach, and for a nanosecond, I considered squeezing until she could no longer waste oxygen.

Looking back, that’s what I should’ve done.

Krista’s demands eventually became more. Her friends wanted to join, and I didn’t have a choice.

The woman with her hands on Poppy is one of those sick bitches with a husband just as bad.

She doesn’t recognize me. At sixteen, I wasn’t covered in tattoos and piercings, didn’t have long hair or a five o’clock shadow.

My face still held many babyish qualities of youth that have long since given way to maturity.

My shoulders have spread, I’ve grown another three inches, and the gangly hundred sixty-pound boy is now a two hundred twenty-pound man.

The truth is, I could pass for closer to thirty than twenty.

But I recognize her. The voice. The eyes. The bottle blond hair. They were all blonds. And it’s taking everything in me not to rip her away from Poppy.

“What are we after today?” she asks, oblivious to my presence and quiet rage. “Color? Cut? Oh, you should go blond!”

“No,” my voice cuts through the room, garnering stares from the clients on either side of Poppy.

She meets my eyes in the mirror, brows raised in question.

I try to unclench…my jaw, my fists…every muscle in my body.

I’m not sure it works, but I at least manage to take control of my voice.

With a lower, softer tone, my eyes focused only on Poppy, I say, “Her color is perfect. She doesn’t need to be blond. ”

Poppy beams back at me, her radiant smile thumping against the fury roiling through me.

“But blonds have more fun, sweetheart.” The bitch shakes her bottle job, smiles, and winks. “Trust me. I’m the expert here.”

“Then how about you carry your expertise to someone who fucking wants it?”

Her gasp of shock is almost satisfying. Almost.

Poppy looks at me with a curious gaze. Questions swim in her hazel eyes. I’m surprised when she doesn’t reprimand me for being rude, as she has on occasion. She doesn’t even object to my demand. She shifts, like she wants to reach for me, but doesn’t. Like she knows touch might unravel me.

I wish she didn’t. I don’t want her to see that part of me.

“Is there a problem here?” A multi-color-haired woman appears at my side, concern flashing in eyes the color of violets.

“Yes, Melena. I need this man escorted out. He’s rude and belligerent.”

“I haven’t been yet, but I can be,” I warn.

“Actually,” Poppy speaks up, “I was just requesting a different stylist, if that’s all right.” I scoff, earning a lifted brow, silently telling me to shut up. “I don’t think we’re a good fit for each other.”

“Ah. I understand. We can absolutely do that.” Of course, they can. For what I’m paying, they could shut down the entire salon just for Poppy. “In the meantime, I’ll send the nail tech to get started.”

“Perfect.” Poppy gives her a warm, grateful smile.

The tech gets called over, and the other women walk away, one with apologies and the other like a scolded child. I watch her as she disappears through a door to my left.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Poppy. She gives me another bright smile and nods.

I walk through the doors marked Staff Only. A few people call out to me as I make my way through the area, glancing inside different open doors as I pass until I spot her in what must be a break room.

“Out,” I demand to everyone lingering as I enter.

Everyone begins to scamper away, fearful and worried, without argument, no doubt questioning if I’m the devil himself as I stand in the room, fury radiating off of me like a hot furnace.

“Except you.” I block the path of the sick cunt, trying to get away from me.

When the room is emptied of everyone but us, I waste no time getting to business, knowing I have minutes before security appears.

“You have ten minutes to get your shit and get out of this building and this city. Crawl your skank ass somewhere else. Preferably hell.” I want her gone. Because this is where Casey comes. Lily too. And the thought of her around them, touching them, enrages me.

Her eyes narrow. She thinks she’s powerful because her husband works for a well-known, successful law firm in the city.

I’m not my brother. My connections aren’t endless, but the few I have are deadly. And if I wanted, I could just tell Graham. He’d end them both with a flick of his wrist. But I keep my brother as far away from this shit as I can.

“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” she hisses.

“I do,” I growl. “But I guess you don’t remember me.

Remember how you laughed when Krista would keep me in line by offering her daughter to you?

” Her eyes widen, and she tries to take a step back.

“Remember how she blackmailed and threatened me to cooperate so you two could get your rocks off? Or how about when you brought your husband in? How is Richard, by the way? I hear he’s moved up the ladder since then.

When’s the last time you heard from Krista, Bristol?

” Her head tilts. But I don’t need an answer.

I know it’s been almost six months since anyone heard from her because she’s dead.

I just wish I’d done it myself. Or at least been there.

The world may not know it, but she’s dead. Karma finally got the bitch when she kidnapped Casey and tried to sell her to the mafia—not Dominic, but another rival family.

I just wish it had been me who ended her. Or I could’ve been there to witness her final breath. I hope she suffered.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Don’t lie to me,” I spit, eliminating the inches between us until I’m hovering over her, ignoring the way my skin crawls when her chest brushes me.

She shudders from the violence in my tone and takes a breath. “It was consensual. You let us.”

“Consent under duress isn’t consent. Ask Richard if you don’t believe me. But regardless, I was sixteen, you dumb slut.”

Part of my issue is legally, logically, I know none of it was my fault. But it still feels like my fault.

“What do you want?”

“I already told you. Get your shit and leave this place. And I don’t mean this salon or even this borough. Leave the continent. You’ll keep your sleazy, vile hands off of anyone but your pedophile husband. Don’t assume because you’re out of sight that I won’t be watching.”

“You must be joking,” she scoffs.

“Look at my face and tell me I’m kidding.” She swallows hard. “Twenty-four hours.”

“And what if I don’t? It’s your word against ours.”

My lips part, malice pouring from my grin. “Oh, you’re under the impression I’ll go to the police? Nah, sweetheart. That’s too good for you. Leaving is too, but I figure it’s better than creating a mess for someone to clean.”

“O-okay. W-we’ll go.”

“Good answer.”

I don’t wait for her to say anything else, needing to get the fuck away from her before I do something stupid.

Surprisingly, security never shows, and I dart into the men’s room. I choke on acid and memory, rinse my mouth, and pretend I didn’t just puke up my past.

When I reappear in the salon, Poppy looks up at me, concern lighting her eyes, but she keeps a forced smile firmly in place.

I secretly love that I know her real smile from her forced one. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. All good. What do we have going on here?” I nod to where the technician brushes clear stuff over her nails.

“Just finishing up,” the technician answers.