Page 41 of Web of Lies
He sighs again. “Don't tell people what you're going to do, Larken. Don't give them the opportunity to anticipate your attack. Now be still. I'm not going to cut off any fingers or toes. I promise.”
“No,” I hiss, and redouble my efforts.
Wyatt tucks the shears into his back pocket and closes the distance. “Do not bite me,” he orders and pushes me back down into the chair. Then he climbs onto my lap, with his knees on either side of my thighs, and wraps his hand in my hair to keep my head still.
“What are you going to do?” I whisper.
“Make a point.”
He reaches behind him and pulls out the shears. A hundred terrifying thoughts rush through my mind about what part of my face he's about to slice off and I try desperately to shake my head free. His grip tightens to the point that I can't move and I close my eyes, still straining against his hold and his weight even though my muscles are burning and trembling. My pulse is pounding in my ears, making whatever he's saying sound muddy and unclear.
Then my head jerks forward as the pressure on my scalp is suddenly relieved. I crack open one eye to see that Shaun is now sitting forward on the couch with a bemused expression. I open the other eye and look up at Wyatt just as he brings his hand up to look at the fist-full of hair he just chopped off the back of my head.
My mouth drops open.
He raises a brow. “What did you think I was going to do?”
Lots of things. Things that would hurt so much more than cutting off a chunk of hair. Relief flows freely, making my shaking muscles even weaker.
Until I get angry.
“Fix it,” I demand.
“Excuse me?”
“Fix. It.” I grit. “Cut it even. I'm super glad you didn't cut off the end of my nose, but if you're going to cut off a chunk of hair that big, just cut off the rest of it. You could at least even it out.”
“Unbelievable,” Wyatt mutters, but he bends down to release me from the chair. “Go to the kitchen.”
Shaun goes back to his reclined position with a smirk on his face. “Get it nice and even,” he teases Wyatt. “Maybe do some layers. Add some bangs?”
“Shut up,” Wyatt tells him. “And they call it fringe, not bangs.”
“Why am I not surprised you know that?” Shaun asks, his smirk stretching into a smile.
“Shut up,” Wyatt says again, and nudges me. “Move it.”
If anyone had even suggested that I would be sitting in an early-eighties updated kitchen, getting a haircut from someone who kidnaps people for fun and money, I would have laughed and laughed. And yet, that's exactly what I'm doing.
“Look down,” Wyatt orders.
I look down at the floor and listen to the surprisingly soothing sound of the shears slicing through my hair. “Do you even know what you're doing?”
“What's there to know? I can manage a straight line, and that's what you wanted, right? For me to fix it?” He snaps the last two words just like I did when I told him to even my hair.
“Yes,” I murmur. And then because I can't help myself, “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me,” Wyatt says as he snips. “Just hold still.”
I listen to him make small, precise cuts and I do stay very still. Shaun comes in and lays a comb on the table next to us and Wyatt quietly thanks him. No, it definitely wouldn't have occurred to me that I'd be getting a haircut during my abduction. My initial anger is beginning to fade and is being replaced with an odd chain of thoughts.
Maybe I'm glad Wyatt is cutting my hair. Maybe I want to shave the rest of it off. My Dad used to play a song when I was little, an old one that sounded like a show tune. The main lyric was “I'm gonna wash that man right out of my hair”. This is kind of like that. It almost feels like Adrian is being cut away from me along with my hair. Kind of like cutting away the dead leaves from a plant to allow for new growth.
“Done,” Wyatt announces and puts the shears on the table. He combs through my much shorter hair one more time before putting the comb down next to the shears.
I reach up to touch what's left of my hair. It barely comes down past my ears. I shake my head back and forth and the difference is astounding. I feel so much lighter.
I might cry.
