Page 36 of Shadowed With Fear

It was the mask. The protector. The Shadow.

Not me. Not Grayson. Not the asshole that left her for pretty much fuck all leaving her vulnerable. Dahlia would kill me if she knew the truth—knew it was me.

Well, after that little once over she gave me after Brahm and I were training, perhaps she wouldn’t be too opposed.

I could feel the heat in her eyes as she looked over my chest and down my torso.

Should’ve known the little goth chick would have a thing for tattoos.

Sadly, I’m not on babysitting duty tonight. Brahm’s home. I’m not needed and something about that has me twisted inside.

I want her to need me. I want her to be able to come to me. I want to be there for her. I want the arguments, and the hit talking, and the way that only we seemed to get each other. I want what we used to have, and now, I guess I want so much more.

A guy can dream, huh?

Here I am. A random ass Thursday night. And what am I doing? Developing photos for the Sunday paper. Wild.

I scoff at the thought. Even better is having no one here to keep me company. Alex and Adam are both on doubles. Henry is…doing whatever the hell he normally does.

And Brahm is where I wish I could be, living in her presence.

Sighing, I dip another photo into the basin of chemicals. The paper floats around, swishing back and forth in the liquid, the red light gleaming off the surface.

Slowly, the image begins to appear. Grainy, light, over-cast and then darker and darker.

Staring back at me is East End’s finest. Mayor Cook. Or as the guys and I have taken to calling him, Mayor Crook.

You couldn’t name a bigger sleazeball. Been the mayor for close to a decade, and he does nothing but spout bullshit about how this town is thriving, doing better than ever before, but does nothing except turn a blind eye to the rot that has taken hold.

Outside the dark room, my phone rings faintly. The tone of the high-pitched alarm of the mission phone.

Thank God.

I rinse my hands, heading out of the room, sure to close the door quickly, before snatching the phone off the bench in my garage.

“Please tell me you got something for me to do. I’m dying here.” My voice is rough after not speaking for hours upon hours today.

“Um, hi.”

My heart stops. A lump forms in the back of my throat, and my mouth runs dry.

“I’m not sure what to say.” She speaks calmly. Her tone is even, and yet its strong, unwavering in the face of this crazy idea she idea.

“Dahlia,” I choke out in a hoarse whisper.

“Hello. I hope this isn’t a bad time.” I can hear her chew on the inside of her lip, taking a sharp inhale.

“No. Never. Never for you. What—Why are you calling me? Don’t you know this is a bad idea.”

She sighs on the line and there is a pause. I know she’s thinking. “I think that this is the best idea I have had for some time.”

I don’t reply. I just think. Surely this is a mistake.

“What’s your name?”

“Why do you want to know my name?” My spine straightens.

“I want to know who has been watching me. I’ve been watching you too.”