“You’re not going to get rid of me. You know who I am. I’m not Reese anymore, baby. My name is Joker and I take care of the people I love. I love you, and I had to end the fucker who made you afraid of life. That is what I do.”
“You’re a murderer.” It wasn’t a question.
He didn’t say anything to deny it.
“He’s gone, Amy. That bastard is never coming back to lay a finger on you. He’s dead, and he died screaming and begging forgiveness.”
Tears filled her eyes at the image he created for her. She didn’t want to know this or even think about what he’d gone through. The bastard had hurt her more than anything.
Relief swamped her as it suddenly dawned on her that Bruce was never going to knock at the front door. He’d never show up at work. His ghost wasn’t lurking around a corner waiting to take the life from her.
He was gone; it was over, but what did it mean for Joker?
What would happen when the cops found out? Would he be taken from her, too?
Eloise bagged the last of the groceries for her customer and handed her the receipt. “Thank you for shopping at Markam’s; please come again.” She leaned against the wall behind her, so tired from working a double shift today, but having no option. She didn’t make a lot of money, not as a cashier at the small grocery store in town, and although she had never seen herself doing this for a career, not everyone got their dreams in life.
She could see her reflection in the reflective window across from her, the “Boss’s Cage” where her pig of an employer, Hanson, sat all day. She assumed he just watched everyone work while he claimed to do paperwork. Eloise could feel his eyes on her all the time, and although she hated feeling like this while working, it was a necessary evil. Unless she wanted to leave Markam’s and start over, making even less than she made now, quitting because of her creepy boss wasn’t even an option.
The bell on the front doors dinged as another customer entered. It was almost nine in the evening, and although they closed in about ten minutes, there was always that one person that waited until the last minute. She turned, about to greet the customer in the generic, almost robotic way she was trained to, when her voice stalled and her whole body tensed recognizing who it was. The man that stepped through the front doors was huge, muscular and tall, and deadly-looking. He looked like a killer, a gorgeous, hardened killer that had her thinking of very inappropriate and sick things. This wasn’t the first time she had seen the man who called himself Steel. And the leather biker vest he wore told her he was part of the outlaw biker gang in town, The Soldiers of Wrath. The memory of his last visit played through her mind, and although she thought wicked things concerning this man, things that were perverted and made her feel dirty, she had turned him down when he had so blatantly and lewdly asked to take her home.
No, not asked. Practically demanded she give up her body to him.
He moved through the store, his gaze locked on hers at every available opportunity. He watched as he went to the fridge section and grabbed a couple of cases of beer. When he went over to the locked case that held the cigarettes, the sound of the manager’s door opening had her turning and looking at Hanson. He was only in his thirties, and although he wasn’t much older than her twenty-eight, he had the whole “Creepy Pervert” look going on. His dark hair was greasy, combed over to the side, and his face was riddled with old acne scars. It wasn’t his appearance that disgusted her; it was his attitude and clear disrespect of her and women in general that did it. She had lost count of the number of times she had heard him speaking on the phone, coarsely talking to what she presumed was a woman, and the disgusting things he said to them.
“Eloise, can you explain to me what this is?” Hanson asked in an annoyed, slightly raised voice.
She glanced at the man named Steel, and had this uncanny feeling that he was aware of everything going on behind him, even though his back was to her while he continued to scan the shelving of cigarettes. The sound of Hanson slamming a piece of paper down on the counter in front of her had Eloise looking down at the form and knitting her brows. It was an order form for paper goods in the store, and although she dealt with ordering things from time to time, this was not on her.
“Can you explain why there were two cases of paper towels, toilet paper, and napkins ordered, yet there is only one case of each accounted for?” Hanson asked, his beady black eyes staring at her with annoyance and interest.
“This isn’t my signature, Hanson,” she said and placed her finger next to the name who signed the order form. “Robert ordered these, and he isn’t coming back from his vacation until next week. You should probably take this up with him.” She glanced over at Steel again, took in the way his dark hair was on the longer side, how his biceps were so thickly corded with muscles, and the tattoos that seemed to cover every square inch of his arms.