Brutal Discoveries (2 page)

Every morning my alarm woke me at four a.m. and I dragged my ass out of my bed to begin baking for the day.  Thankfully, I didn’t have to commute to work since I lived just one block from my bakery.  To compensate for the copious amounts of frosting I consumed, I made myself walk briskly to and from work each day.  Judging from the size of my ass, I knew I probably needed to do more exercise, but I read an article in Cosmo years ago that said men like junk in a woman’s trunk.  I wasn’t sure how reliable the information was, given I hadn’t had any action in years, yet I was prepared to continue nurturing my curves in the event it actually was true.  Or maybe I was just a lazy shit…

With gloves warming my hands, and a dove grey puffer jacket warding off the cold, I stepped out and began walking at a fast pace.  The quicker I got to the bakery, the sooner I could have a cup of coffee to warm my insides and wake me up properly.  As usual, thirty minutes after I arrived, my first employee turned up to begin her shift.  Macy attended college across the city and worked four mornings a week for me.  While Macy loaded the sweet pastries into the glass case, I continued piping thick swirls of frosting on the cupcakes I had baked.

“What’s today’s special, Scarlett?” Macy asked, holding the small blackboard and piece of colored chalk in her hand.

“Coffee Pecan Delights,” I replied.  Each day we had a different special we served with coffee or hot chocolate, and it didn’t matter what it was, we sold out every single time.

By the time we opened at six-thirty a.m., the cases were full and the coffee machine was ready to go.  As usual, the first customer to walk through the doors was Bill, an elderly man who came in every morning and ordered the same thing.

“Morning, love,” he greeted in his friendly manner.

“Good morning, Bill.  The usual?” I asked, even knowing the answer.

He nodded once and I set about making his two coffees in to-go cups, while Macy retrieved two cheese and tomato croissants from the case. 

“Here you go.  Have a great day.  Say hi to Mavis.”  I smiled as I handed him his goods.  Just fifteen minutes after Bill left, Ella arrived for her shift, and not five minutes later, the morning rush began and we were run off our feet until almost closing time.  At six p.m., I closed the doors and forced myself to walk swiftly home before I collapsed into bed and slept like the dead until four the following morning, when my alarm woke me up once again.

***

The moment I saw him, I knew I had seen him before.  I just couldn’t remember where.  It was something about him that stuck with me in a way I knew it wouldn’t leave.  Was it his gravelly voice as he greeted me a good morning?  Or the incredible width of his shoulders?  Maybe it was the thickness of his arms and the hint of tattoos that peeked out from the cuff of his jacket?  I wondered what else he was hiding underneath.

“Coffee.  Large.  To-go.  Two sugars.”  His tone was so deep and rich, and hearing it caused a shiver to skate down my spine.

I tried to hide the tremble in my voice as I replied, “Sure thing.”

“Holy hotness,” Ella whispered as she passed me at the coffee machine.  I ducked my head to hide my smile in case the hottie was watching.

“Would you like anything else?” I asked, handing him his coffee.

“Cookie.  Cinnamon nut.”

“Good choice,” I replied, before sarcastically muttering, “Nice manners,” under my breath.  I passed him his bag and he handed me some cash.  When I gave him his change, he looked me in the eye with those piercing blue depths of his and said, “Thank you,” in a way that let me know he had heard my muttering.

Crap
.  My cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as I wished him a good day and then escaped to my office to catch my breath. 

“Who. 
The fuck
. Was he?” Ella gasped as she barged into my office not five minutes later.

“No idea.  But… wow,” I whispered.

“I hope he becomes a regular,” she gushed.  “I’ll serve him every day. Hashtag Hottie… that’s his name.  Is there a law about fucking your customers?” she pondered.

“No,” I replied wryly, a grin on my face.  “Now let’s get back to work.”

Much to mine and Ella’s dismay, Hashtag Hottie didn’t come into the bakery for the rest of the week.  By Saturday afternoon when I closed the doors, I couldn’t wait to get home and take a long soak in my tub while sipping a glass of wine.  I was looking forward to a long sleep in tomorrow, since Sundays were my only days off.  I crawled into bed at eight p.m. and slept solidly until after nine the following morning.  Feeling refreshed, I cleaned my house and then called Ella to see if she wanted to do lunch and some shopping.  She agreed, so we spent the afternoon trawling the shops and scoping out bargains.  By Monday morning, I was ready to face the early morning wake-ups once again.

***

Once a month, generally on a Thursday, I left work early and drove an hour outside the city to have dinner with my parents.  They are both in their sixties, and my dad’s health has been declining in recent years, so they don’t get into the city much these days. 

“Hey, Mom.”  I greeted her with a smile and a hug when she opened the door to meet me.

“Hello, love.  Come on in.  Your father’s out back picking me some herbs from the garden, so follow me into the kitchen for a minute.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Oh, you know, so-so.”  She shrugged, but I could tell from the worry in her eyes he was getting worse.  Arthritis, old age, and heart problems were a bitch. 

“I brought dessert,” I said in an effort to cheer her up. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Scarlett,” she replied with a wry grin, knowing I always bring the dessert.  She took the box of caramel mocha cupcakes from me and set it on the counter before she finished chopping the vegetables.

“I thought I heard you pull up.”  At the sound of my dad’s jolly voice, I turned around and smiled broadly.  I have always been a daddy’s girl.  I walked to him and into his waiting arms.

“Hey, Dad.”

“How’s my girl?”  He smacked a kiss on my temple.

“Doing good.  Sweet Treats is doing great.  How are
you?
”

“I’m fine, a tough old man.  Don’t you worry about me.”

“I
do
worry about you, Dad.”  I kissed his stubbly, wrinkled cheek and then stepped out of his embrace when Mom announced drinks and before dinner snacks were ready.  It was a nice evening, so we decided to sit out on the back patio.  Our twenty-something-year-old cat, Smelly, meowed at my feet like he always did, waiting for me to pick up his elderly body.  I lifted him onto my lap and petted him while sipping my wine and catching up with my parents.

“The bakery’s doing well, then?  I heard you mention it to your father,” Mom commented.

“It is.”  I nodded, going on to tell them about how many employees I have now, and how every day seems to get busier than the last.  My parents are very supportive of everything I do, so it didn’t surprise me that they both listened on with interest as I told them seemingly mundane details.

“I had a phone call from Ella earlier today,” Mom mentioned.

“Oh, you did?”

“She said to ask you about a program you’re volunteering for.”  Mom’s voice turned concerned.  “With how busy the bakery is, are you sure you have time to volunteer?  I don’t want you over-filling your plate.”

Ugh, Ella.

I went on to tell them all about Friends For Lifers, then I went on even more to dispel their fears about the program.

Damn you, Ella.

Of course I would have told my parents in time, but I know they worry about me, so I would have liked to have done it in my own time.  Once I convinced them that it was completely safe and actually a really good cause, they seemed satisfied.  We moved inside to enjoy my Mom’s famous pot roast, and just after eight, I made the trek back into the city.

The next morning was even more hectic than usual.  Along with the slew of customers streaming through the doors, I also had men in to check and service the fire extinguishers and air conditioners, plus an electrician was checking over my ovens.

“Hashtag Hottie alert,” Ella hurriedly whispered as she passed by me.  I sprinkled some chocolate on the mocha I was making before I looked up and saw him.  Ella made a beeline for the register so she could serve him, and I swear I saw her knees buckle when she realized there were
two
of them.  His friend looked familiar as well, but just like Hashtag Hottie, I couldn’t place him either.  I smirked a little and began stocking the cases, a little disappointed I couldn’t serve him.

“Two coffees.  To-go.  One with two sugars.”  Even from across the room his voice had an effect on my vagina. 

“Oh. My. God!  I thought Hashtag Hottie was delicious, but
damn
, his friend takes the cake,” Ella whispered as she made their coffees.  His friend was good looking, but to me, Hashtag Hottie was just divine. 

“Now you’ll need to think of a name for him.  Or, you could just ask for his number,” I suggested. 

She gave me wide eyes and I watched as she walked back to the register. 

“Here you go.”  She turned her attention to Hashtag Hottie’s friend.   “Can I get you anything else, my number perhaps?” 

I almost snorted as I chuckled at her bold suggestion.  She was certainly one of a kind.  Both men grinned, but said nothing else as they collected their coffees and walked out.  Just before they left the shop, Hashtag Hottie looked across the room and his eyes found mine.  Time seemed to slow and everyone in the bakery disappeared as I became entranced in him.  My heavy breathing was the only sound that filled my ears.  All I could see was him.  His deep blue eyes.  Chiseled jaw, highlighted with just the right amount of stubbly hair to make a woman’s mouth water.  Straight nose.  Full lips.  Those lips pulled up into the slightest hint of a smile and then the moment was broken as he exited through the door. 

Needing to clear the fog he had left me in, I made my way into the kitchen to pull the latest batch of cookies from the oven.  Ella joined me a minute later, looking deflated.

“He didn’t even take the bait,” she mumbled.  “Maybe they’re a couple,” she surmised.

“Maybe,” I agreed, non-committing.  I didn’t get the gay vibe from Hashtag Hottie, but anything was possible.  

“Hashtag Dreamy,” Ella sighed suddenly.  “That’s his name.”

“Oh, my God, you’re crazy,” I said through a laugh.

“I better get back out front, just in case Hashtag Dreamy changes his mind and comes back for my number,” she chirped as she skipped away.  As for me, I kept on baking, frosting, and mixing dough until mid-afternoon.  Then, with an hour until closing, I began our end of day routine of wiping down the tables and cleaning everything to make sure it was ready for tomorrow. 

***

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back, to be honest,” Damon said as I sat across from him that Sunday.

“Of course.  Why not?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

“Nah, I’m tough,” I joked.  “How has your day been so far?” I asked, then instantly cringed, wishing I could take the words back.  What a silly question to ask a man who’s in prison.

He gave me raised brows, as if knowing what I was thinking.  “How is the bakery?  You didn’t sneak a cookie in for me, did you?” he asked hopefully.

“I didn’t, but I could ask if it’s possible.”

“I’d love that.” 

I could only imagine how bland prison food would be, and I suspected fresh baked cookies and cakes would be a rarity.  “Would you like to read something to me?” I asked, noticing the notebook that sat on the table in front of him.

“Yeah, if that’s okay with you?”

I nodded once and watched him open the notebook and begin reading.

Damon Salt was just seventeen when he came home from school one Thursday afternoon to find both of his parents dead in their bedroom.  Frothy vomit spilled from his mother’s lips.  An empty, used needle hung loosely from his father’s arm, just below the rubber band that was pulled tight around his bicep.  Damon snarled at the both of them, feeling nothing but hatred for them.  He was glad they were dead.  As he had grown older, his mind maturing more, he had barely contained the itch that burned deep inside of him.  An itch that made him dream of killing the two people he should have loved and respected more than anyone else on earth.  He imagined wrapping his hands around his drug addict father’s neck and squeezing until his eyes bulged and his lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.  He imagined the pleasure he would feel as he watched the man slowly die at his hands.  Then he thought of his mother, and what he would do to her.  If possible, the hate Damon felt for his father was only outweighed by the sheer abhorrence he felt for his mother.  Damon wished he could sneak into their room at night in the shitty, single wide trailer they lived in, and drive a steak knife deep into her chest.  Over and over and over again he would ram that knife in, twisting it and watching the blood slowly drain from her body.

Damon didn’t bother reporting the deaths of his parents.  Instead, he searched the house for money, not finding much, then he searched for anything of value, again not finding much, except for the baggie of marijuana and some heroin his parents hadn’t manage to inject.  He stuffed the drugs and the money in his pockets, nabbed a jacket from his bedroom, and walked out of the trailer, not bothering to close the door behind him.  He figured the neighbors would report the deaths when they noticed the smell of rotting flesh coming from the trailer.  Damon didn’t care.  By then, he’d be long gone.

On foot, Damon walked through the small town where he had lived all of his life, unsure of where exactly he was going.  Without a plan, he wasn’t going to get far, and it was turning dark.  Down by the river, he found a spot under the bridge out of the weather, and made himself a makeshift hideout using discarded bits of cardboard and other items he had found.  He needed a plan.  He needed money.  If the cops got wind of his parents’ death, they would put Damon in the system, and there was no fucking way that was happening.  So he needed money.  Fast.  And he needed to get the hell out of this town.  There was only way Damon was going to get the cash he needed: robbery.

***

Scoping out the house before him, Damon took in the manicured gardens and the paved path leading up the front porch, lit with the soft glow of the expensive-looking lamps.  His eyes swept across, taking in the vast windows, illuminating the sole occupant of the house as she finished off a glass of red wine.  She was gabbing on the phone, smiling and laughing through the chatter he could only see, not hear.  Damon’s eyes left the woman and slid to the kitchen area, where he spotted a purse set on the end of the counter.  He decided he would rummage through that first before making his way through the rest of the house.  He sat in the dark, tucked into the bushy hedge that surrounded the perimeter of the property, and waited until the house turned dark.  Then he waited an hour longer to ensure the woman was asleep. 

With his heart thumping against his ribcage, Damon made his way around the back of the house until he found a door.  After a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no neighbors had seen him, he turned back to the door and first tested the knob.  Locked.  That wasn’t a surprise.  It made him angry, though.  Nothing had ever come easy in Damon’s life, and part of him wished at least this would be.  He also took a moment to wish he knew how to pick a lock.  He wasn’t entirely stupid, though, so he had worn gloves to prevent his prints from getting on anything he would touch.  He looked around for a rock, finding one of the ground, before stepping up beside the plate-glass window beside the door.  Damon held his breath, and with a quick jab with the rock, the glass shattered, thankfully without making too much noise.  Regardless, he stilled, his lungs burning, desperate to take a breath but not wanting to make any further noise to risk waking the woman.  When five minutes passed without anything but silence from inside, he carefully reached through the hole he had made and unlocked the door, letting himself inside. 

The house was warm, clean, and comfortable.  Damon didn’t give a shit.  He made his way right to the countertop and reefed open the black purse that lay there.  He searched through it, tossing aside anything that was worthless – receipts, gum, lipstick.  His hand closed around a set of keys and he pocketed them, just in case.  At the very bottom, he pulled out a wallet.  Riffling through it, he found some cash, which he stashed in his pockets.  He would count it later, but at a guess, it had to be at least a hundred dollars.  Not nearly enough, but it was a start.  Once he had finished with the handbag, he tossed it aside and prowled through the rest of the house, as quiet as a mouse, as predatory as a lion stalking its prey.  Damon searched inside any place where valuables or cash could be hidden – the knickknacks lining the ledge above the fireplace, the decorative canisters that sat along one of the windowsills, inside the urn that, much to his disgust, held ashes.  He found nothing, so he stalked back into the kitchen and rummaged through the freezer.  He found a bottle of vodka that he decided on a whim he would like to have, so he set it aside on the counter to collect on his way out.  Right in the very depths of the freezer, Damon found his hand closing around a small bag.  He tugged it out and grinned evilly when he saw it was a wad of bills in a zipped plastic baggie.  He pocketed that, too.

Quietly, Damon made his way down the short hall, glancing inside each open door to find a bathroom, a laundry room, and a vacant bedroom before he found the room with the woman.  She was on her back, her face soft and relaxed in sleep.  Damon crept into the bedroom, nerves making his chest feel tight.  Near the window, perpendicular to the bed where the woman lay, was a dresser.  He went there first, pocketing any jewelry he found.  Anything he thought may be worth some value, he took.  He would find a way to make it into cash.  When he was done searching, he walked to the side of the bed.  The moonlight shining through the windows gave him minimal light, and he could see she was older than his seventeen years, that was certain.  Damon guessed twenty-five.  He didn’t care about her age.  He was a seventeen-year-old virgin, and his hormones were raging.  The woman slept naked, that much he could tell, because the blankets had slipped down, exposing her tits.  The image had Damon’s cock hardening in his pants, and an uncontrollable hunger flooding his veins. 

Noticing the earbuds in her ears, Damon realized that was the reason she hadn’t heard the glass shattering or him searching through her house.  None of that mattered then, though, because he was about to fuck her, and she didn’t get a say in any of it.  He tugged down his pants before slowly peeling the blanket down further to expose her naked body.  He wrapped his hand around his length, like he had done many times before, and began stroking himself while he watched her.  The fact that she didn’t know he was there only made his blood pump harder.  This hadn’t been part of the plan, but Damon knew he couldn’t walk away without taking
everything
he wanted from her.  Grinding his teeth together, he let the mouthwatering lust he felt consume him. He lurched forward and wrapped a hand around her neck while simultaneously mounting her hips so she couldn’t kick at him. 

She startled awake, and he leaned close to her whispering, “Shut your fucking mouth, bitch, and do as I tell you.”  The scared female beneath him tried to let out a fearful scream, but Damon tightened his hands around her neck.  “Quiet,” he ordered.  She nodded frantically as best she could with his hands slowly cutting of her air supply.

Then Damon took what he wanted from the woman’s body, before he left, disappearing into the dark night.  She was his first – his first sexual encounter, his first robbery, and the first and
only
time he left a living victim of his behind.