The tall tattooed man who called himself Sadist left the salon for the second time the same day and Beth watched him leave, a little stunned by what had just happened. This morning had been normal enough. She had chatted with him, made him feel at ease as she had helped him, then he’d left. Nothing remarkable, except the way he’d made her stomach flip-flop and her heart race. Her next client had come in and she’d moved on, wondering if Sadist would ever be back. He’d been the last person she expected to see when he’d come in while she was taking her turn at the front desk. She’d panicked for a moment wondering if she’d screwed up his cut.
“What was that?” Sierra, another stylist asked after a moment.
“Someone I did a cut for this morning.” Beth blinked, remembered the card he’d given her
