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serious crimes," the newscaster said with a dour expression on his face. "Considered armed and dangerous, the public is urged to contact authorities as soon as they see her." A picture of her dolled up in blue and purple latex for a night on the town flashed across the screen. Purple and blue sparkly eye shadow extended artistically out to the lower half of her face and her lip ring stood out against the ice-blue lipstick.
    "Nice outfit," Kent commented in a dry tone
    Ignoring him, she huffed out, "Fine, go get me a disguise." Her stomach rumbled and she added, "And some food."
    Asher bowed to her and kissed her hand. "Your wish is my command, Princess."
    Her heart stuttered in her chest as the brush of his lips and heat flashed through her body. Tensing, she waited for it to turn into punishing need, but it faded into the pleasant afterglow of desire.
    Kent pushed her toward the tiny bathroom. "Take a bath, relax. By the time you get out Asher will be back."
    * * * *
    "Oh hell no!" she yelled and backed into the corner. Her belly was full of fried chicken, and she set her shake down on the dresser. It was too good to waste by throwing it at their heads in a fit of rage.
    Closing his eyes, Asher took a deep breath. "We have to."
    "No, no way." She grabbed her ponytail in her fist. "You are not cutting my hair and making me blonde."
    "Princess, you wouldn't look good as a redhead." Kent grinned at her, and she wanted to claw out his gorgeous blue eyes.
    "Think about it," Asher said and dug through the mound of plastic shopping bags on the bed. "They're going to be searching for someone who looks like a reject from a Marilyn Manson video." He ignored her unflattering comments about the size of his dick and continued, "We're going to make you into a small town prom queen instead."
    "But it's my hair!" she wailed and tried to keep her lower lip from trembling. She loved her hair. Loved the length of it and the lilac streaks that set her apart. Being different was part of who she was.
    "And your hair would clash horribly with the orange jumper you'll be wearing in jail," Kent said mildly as he tossed a new toothbrush and toothpaste at her.
    Huffing into the bathroom, she avoided looking in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. Asher came in behind her and Kent hovered in the doorway, their big bodies filling up the space. Even her ever-present sexual attraction to the men couldn't replace the misery of losing her hair. Spitting into the sink, she rinsed her mouth out and glanced over her shoulder at Asher. "Who's going to do the cutting?"
    "I will," Asher replied and shifted beneath her glare. "My mom ran a beauty shop and I used to spend my summers there helping out."
    The idea of big, badass Asher working in a beauty salon made a smile ghost over her lips. He arched an eyebrow at her and gave her a look that dared her to say something. Taking a seat on the lid of the old white toilet, she closed her eyes as he brushed and gathered her hair back into a low ponytail. Plastic protested as a package was opened, and then he began to cut.
    A tear ran down her cheek and she dashed it away with an angry hand. Kent and Asher remained silent, and she kept her eyes shut during the entire process. If she had to look at her hair on the floor, she would start crying in earnest. The loss of her hair seemed to symbolize everything that the people who had framed her took away. She no longer had the freedom to be herself, instead having to adopt a disguise so she wasn't arrested going down the street.
    Time passed and she kept her eyes closed, becoming slowly lulled by the snip of scissors and Asher's gentle hands as he pulled and held her hair. Kent occasionally made an encouraging noise from the doorway and she hoped that was a good sign.
    "Dye," Asher said, and the tone of his voice made her giggle. So serious, like he was a surgeon requesting a scalpel.
    The stink of bleach and chemicals invaded the tiny space, and Kent coughed and cranked open