Of course, she had no magic. She was able to retreat to this unfeeling state because she was a little bit of a psychopath. Whether she was born with it, or it grew within her from living in terror, it didn’t matter. She knew what she was, who she was, and she had made peace with that fact when she shoved the doctor’s castrated dick in his own mouth and liked it.
“You shouldn’t care about me,” she said, making sure to say the words slowly, making sure each of them were sharpened into a point so they made him bleed. “You don’t need to. I’m not your job. I’m not your high school girlfriend. I’m not some damsel in distress for you to save. I’m nothing.”
Maddox’s mouth flattened into a stiff line. “You know that’s bullshit, Orion. You are not nothing to me.”
Finally, some steel.
She raised a brow. “Okay, then what am I to you?” she demanded. But she wasn’t going to let him speak. She wasn’t going to let him try to tell her what she was. “You want me to be the victim, Maddox,” she spat. “Because then you, Maddox Novak, can be the hero.”
He didn’t give her the reaction she wanted. He didn’t go hard with offense or fury.
“No, Orion, I don’t want to protect you,” he said quietly. “And I sure as fuck don’t want you to be the victim.” He stepped forward. “I know you’re anything but that. You’re a warrior.” Orion held her breath, but he stopped short of what she considered her invisible boundary. What she needed between her and other people to stop the constant need to tear her own skin off so it didn’t ache with memories of what happened when other people—other men—got close. “You’re a fucking warrior, Orion. In your heart. In your mind. In your spirit. The whole world knows it already. You’ve just gotta catch up.”
The kiss at the door was a one-off. It was tequila induced. She would not be doing that again. She pulled away from him slightly, hesitantly.
“I want you to be the heroine of your own story,” Maddox said, voice low.
If he’d struck her physically, he would’ve done less damage. The eye contact, the tone, the words themselves were all mini knives puncturing her skin.
She couldn’t stand it. That he was looking at her like she was someone to be redeemed. Someone worthy of him. Worth happiness.
Orion almost did it, right then, just so he’d stop. She almost told him that she’d murdered a man, took a father away. Widowed a woman. That she liked it. That it energized her in a way she didn’t understand. In a way she was addicted to. She wanted to tell him she was planning on doing it again. That sure as shit would wipe that look from his face. Send her hurtling off that fucking pedestal he’d placed her on. The one the whole world had placed her on.
Her mouth opened, words prepared on her tongue, but she stopped herself. She could lie to him, to everyone else around her, but she couldn’t lie to herself. A small, pivotal part of herself needed to be on that pedestal. Needed that look. Needed Maddox.
She stopped short of a full confession.
“I’m not the heroine, Maddox,” she said, stepping back. “I’m the villain. You just don’t see it yet.”
She reached forward to snatch the coffee, the bag, and then slammed the door in his face to prove her point.
“Oh, you got the good toasted ravioli,” April said, eyeing the distinct takeout bag Maddox was holding. She leaned forward and snatched it from him. He was a cop. He was meant to have better reflexes than that. But nothing short of superpowers would have him winning against his sister when toasted ravioli was involved.
“It must mean you’re trying to butter me up for something,” April deduced—correctly—somehow already chewing on a ravioli dipped in marinara sauce. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “Okay, whatever, bury a body? I’ll finish these and get my shovel.”
Maddox chuckled, moving toward the fridge to grab a beer. The inside of the fridge was fully stocked, everything organized by April’s “system” that he was not allowed to know. He didn’t give a shit about the system. He was just happy that his sister was a neat freak which meant she enjoyed cleaning. She did not enjoy cooking, mind you. So, most of it was just snacks or crap she put in smoothies.
He knew it was odd to live with your sister when you were a grown man, but when your sister was April and your past included Ri, it made sense. He and April had somehow turned into friends throughout all the shit. They’d been at each other’s throats before that, bickering, and needling each other. She was just his annoying, dramatic little sister, and he was the asshole big brother. And sure, they’d had many disagreements over the years, like when he’d had to drag her out of a bar in Tennessee when she was following a fucking rock band around the country. They’d had plenty of fights, but got over them quickly because they knew they needed each other, and they knew, even though their parents loved them—though superficially when it came down to it—they only really had each other in this life. Neither of them had lived up to their parents’ dreams. So they stuck together. They healed together. And they bonded in the process.