Hush

by Anne Malcom

  Regardless, his family, his buddies, and his colleagues would all want his killer brought to justice. They would fight to catch the monster who took the life of a beloved doctor, father, and family man.

  They would never know what a monster he truly was.

  But that wasn’t Orion’s goal. She had no grand plans of exposing him to the world. She didn’t need the world to condemn him, and she knew such a thing was too hard if not impossible. She had done her research—she knew how easily rich white men got away with sexual assault, how many victims were made into liars. Jeffrey Epstein got thirteen months. She had read all about it. All the accusations, all the reports. The evidence was damning. And yet, he spent thirteen months in a county jail, thirteen hours of work release, six days a week. That was not justice. That was white male privilege. That was the rich living under a vastly different set of standards. And it was unacceptable. Orion wasn’t going to leave it up to a judge and jury. She wanted him to pay. She wanted him dead. And though the killing filled her with an intense, visceral fear, it also gave her a jolt of adrenaline, a rush unlike anything she’d felt since she made Thing Two bleed.

  She felt alive.

  But everything was wrong. It was too quick. Too messy.

  She had cleaned the blood from her face with some makeup wipes in the car—she’d tossed the gloves under the seat. If, for some reason, she was pulled over, on the surface, it wouldn’t seem like she’d just brutally murdered someone.

  If the cop was the least bit suspicious, he’d find it. The evidence. The blood. The murder weapon tucked into her boots.

  She’d be done.

  She hadn’t slept.

  Not a wink.

  The entire rest of the night was spent destroying evidence. Washing her clothes. She wanted to burn them, toss them in a dumpster. Have them out of her house, out of her life. Gone. But that was far too suspicious. Most people who committed crimes of passion and tried to get away with it thought getting rid of everything was the right idea. It wasn’t. If anything, it was a huge fucking neon sign of premeditation to the police.

  So, Orion kept the clothes. The gloves too. She washed those with bleach, even though that ruined the fucking leather. Maybe she was keeping them as a trophy. A reminder of her stupidity. Then there was the car. Her shoes. Everything she touched after the murder. The knife. It was a murder weapon now. She couldn’t dispose of it. She had to hide it and hope she hadn’t left a trail leading straight back to her.

  When all the practical stuff was done, she tortured herself with all of the ways she could’ve damned herself. An insomniac looking out the window, seeing her rush from the alley. Cameras. Hair. Footprints. She’d done the research on how to get away with murder, so she was all well versed at how to get caught.

  The knock at the door jarred her bones. Her stomach churned as her body threatened to fail her. It was them. The police. She’d done all the research at how to be smarter than the criminals. One moment of lost control and she’s busted almost immediately.

  She could run. But where? Out a third-story window? If she didn’t break her legs from the fall, she had on no shoes, had no money. Her fake passports were yet to be picked up—you couldn’t exactly FedEx them.

  She couldn’t escape.

  No, she had to face it.

  On wooden legs, she walked to the door, opened it.

  And she was right. It was the cops. But just one. Gun strapped to his belt and not pointed at her. Eyes full of softness instead of cold hatred. Hands full of coffee and a paper bag. The smell coming from it caused her to gag.

  “Maddox, what are you doing here?” she rasped, a feeble attempt to sound normal.

  He took her in. Quickly, probably as he was trained to do as a cop, but she knew he saw the sunken, empty look in her eyes. She’d showered. Three times. Scrubbed her hands with watered down bleach. Her hair was washed three times too, and it was in a damp braid down her back.

  She was wearing clean sweats.

  But she was still a murderer. She was still the person Maddox was trained to catch, hiding right before his eyes.

  “I’m here with breakfast,” he said, holding up the coffee and bag. “To congratulate you. We didn’t really get to celebrate you passing your driving test.” A heavy pause, a memory of what had happened in this very doorway. “I haven’t been able to get a hold of you since then. You’re a hard woman to pin down.” He smiled, showing her his teeth.

  Orion swallowed daggers. She wasn’t sickened by what she had done. She was sickened by the thought of a cell. Of getting caught. And Maddox never smiling at her again.

  His smile faltered at her silence, a worried frown replacing it. “Are you okay? You look like you haven’t slept.”

  Orion straightened her spine. She could not have a relationship of any kind with this man. He noticed things too easily. Cared far too much.

  “I know I’m not adept on social niceties, but even I know you’re not supposed to say something like that to a woman.” Her voice was stronger now. Colder.

  Orion was a killer of men. She needed to start acting like it.

  Maddox looked properly chastised. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just worried about you.” He paused. “I care about you, Orion.”

  It didn’t affect her. That admission, delivered quietly and with nervousness filtering through the words. It would’ve, had she not descended into her heart of stone, the place where she felt nothing and thought only practically, strategically. She couldn’t take credit for such an idea. She’d given herself leave to read for pleasure every now and then, and had immersed herself in a fantasy series by Patrick Rothfuss. She liked the idea of crafting such a place in her mind. Like the worlds she used to escape to in her mind when the suffering became too great.

  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 rede
emed. 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.

  “I’m a cop, April,” he said, sipping his beer. “I can get rid of a body all on my own, thank you very much.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right, Mr. Rulebook. You don’t fool me with the outfits and the five o’clock shadow. I know your ‘morals’ and ‘ethics’ are far too staunch to murder someone and try to get away with it. You’d be the first person to die from fucking anxiety.”

  He sat on the sofa. “You don’t need to air quote morals and ethics. Most people have them.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Most people are boring. Now, what do you want from me?”

  He sighed, took another pull of his beer. “I need help with Orion.”

  April froze, the last ravioli halfway to her mouth. The marinara dripped onto to her lap.

  “She’s trying to push me away. I’m worried about her. I . . .” He trailed off. He wasn’t going to tell April about the kiss, about all these intense, overwhelming feelings because that went against those morals and ethics April had just been teasing. He was taught manners. Respect. He didn’t kiss and tell. He was also selfish. He knew how rare that kiss was. How painful it was for her. He wanted it all to himself and Orion. If he was honest with himself, he wanted fucking more, but today showed him she wasn’t ready for that. If he pushed, she might’ve given in. There would have been enough time for her to hate him for being another man who took things from her. For him to hate himself.

  “Yeah, you’re still carrying a big old torch for her,” April finished for him. “Or maybe you’ve lit a whole new one, because this is a whole new Orion.”

  It sometimes freaked him out how astute his sister could be. Not for the first time, he lamented the fact that her intelligence was wasted taking orders in a shitty diner. He’d long given up on trying to verbalize it. Maddox didn’t want to sound like his parents. April was young. And despite what her demeanor, outfits, and personality said, she had self-confidence issues.

  “It is a whole new Orion. Ri’s still in there, of course. But she’s hardened. Frightened,” he said, “and I can’t get her to trust me. To let me in.”

  April stared at him. “Of course you can’t. You’re a man, you dipshit. She’s been held captive, abused, and terrorized by men for almost half her life. It’s gonna take her a lifetime for the touch of a man to feel okay again. Don’t be so daft, Maddie.”

  Fury simmered in his belly. “I’d never fucking lay a hand on her. Or any woman. And you know that.”

  April rolled her eyes. “Tame the beast, Bruce Banner. You’re my brother. I know you’re not some psychopath. And Orion knows that too. In her logical brain. But that’s not what’s ruling her right now. She’s got years of shit to work through. Years of fear, pain, and horror to overcome. Trusting you is not at the top of her list. It doesn’t matter who you used to be to her, Maddox. It’s not even about you. It’s about her. About who she used to be. Who she is now.”

  Not for the first time, he wished the monsters responsible for this shit were in this room, so he could kill them with his bare hands. April was so sure he was so staunch in his morals and ethics, but if he had the chance, he would abandon both in order to dole out vengeance. For Orion. For that sorrow in his sister’s voice. It had cut her too. Deep.

  He thought about the look in Orion’s eyes that morning, and the deadness he saw there. It was something else he couldn’t admit because he’d gazed into the eyes of a killer before.

  “We’re losing her, April,” he said. “I’m losing her,” he added quietly.

  Fury simmered in his sister’s eyes. “We’ve already lost her, Maddox,” she snapped. “I’m just getting back a version of her. And what? You want me to use my tenuous favor with her in order to what? Make it so you can be the love of her life again? She’s not fourteen, Maddie. Her main goal in life is no longer to be loved by Maddox Novak or any other man.” April stood. “In fact, I have no idea what her goal in life is right now. But I do know I’ll be right there beside her as a friend.”

  Maddox had always agreed with his mother on April not shaking the little part of her that was spoiled and entitled. Dropping out of college on their parents’ dime, no apologies, no real responsibilities, boyfriends chosen for their ability to piss everyone off.

  But at some point, his sister had turned into a woman, and a good one at that. A fierce one. He was damned proud of her. And ashamed of himself. Because everything she was saying was fucking right.

  He ran his hands through his hair because goddamn if he didn’t feel like crying like a little bitch. “Fuck, April. I know I’m being selfish. I know I am. She isn’t Ri. But she still is, at least a little bit. I see it in her. Even the things I don’t recognize, the things I hate . . .” He met his sister’s eyes. “They’re a marvel, April. What I’ve seen of this world, what happens to victims. Most of it is what happened to Jaclyn. We’re not meant to survive some things. And though I’m glad as fuck she did, Orion was not meant to survive what was done to her. No one should have to try and be human after that.”

  April moved forward to squeeze his shoulder. “Big bro, I don’t think she is entirely human. I think she had to become a little bit of a monster to survive.”

  Ma
ddox thought of that coldness in her eyes. And he agreed with his sister.

  Seventeen

  “What’s going on with you and Eric?”

  Orion surprised both herself and April with the question. She had thought it, of course. Many times. But she’d never asked before. Didn’t want to inevitably end up on the subject of her and Maddox.

  April damn near choked on her glass of wine.

  They were at Maria’s, the Italian place Maddox had taken her for that initial dinner. It was Orion’s safe place—Maria was a warm presence who came to bring Orion great peace. It was the only place she felt comfortable going since the Mexican restaurant and the fight.

  Not with Maddox, of course. She was icing him out. Ignoring his calls. Not answering the door when she saw him through her peephole—though that had only happened once. He looked so dejected, so heartbroken, she had almost opened the door for him. But she snuffed out the tiny voice telling her to.

  Orion should be thinking a lot less about Maddox and a lot more about the man she’d murdered in the street, but she found the opposite to be happening. The further the doctor got in her rearview, the calmer she became, detached from the gruesomeness. Meanwhile, the longer she kept Maddox at a distance, the more she yearned to stop.

  She’d thought about the doctor, of course. It was hard not to when his face was all over the news. She was glad she had killed him in St. Louis, far away from Grandview and the horrors of The Cell. She regretted cutting his dick off the moment she did it. She cursed herself for being so fucking undisciplined, so controlled by her emotions.

  Fear clung to her lungs for the first week or so, making it hard for her to breathe. The story was headlining the news, of course, and it would stay there for a long time. She watched every segment. Even caught a glimpse of the man’s family, and Maddox and Eric on the scene, being interviewed about Clark County’s involvement in the investigation, as the doctor resided in the county seat, Monroesville. Her breath completely left her lungs when she saw him there, where she had been. She tried to swallow, to gulp, but couldn’t seem to work through the knot in her throat.