Page 46 of Orion Ruined

She turns to me and opens her hand as if to wave, but without raising it at all. I spot it, though.

“Um, Lisa, do you have an Advil, too? I have a terrible headache.”

“Of course. I’ll bring it over later.”

CHAPTER 8

ORION

I’m late. If any of these fuckers in here mention anything, I’ll kill them on the spot. Pain rattles around my skull, both from the champagne, and from being reckless with everyone’s lives.

I’ve been late only once–when I had to deal with the murder of Lisa’s husband–but everyone knew about that. When someone’s late and there isn’t a known reason, people start talking. They better not say a word.

I keep the agenda short, let people talk quickly, and we focus on the matter at hand: the Slavs. They’re a continuous headache to me. To us. Milan suspects me of foul play with his wife, but he can’t prove that Camila actually came to my house that night and attended the meeting. Lucky for me, she had a mind of her own and he knows that. We took her back at La Toya’s within half an hour and set it up so it looked like she was banging her bodyguard when they were killed. And with the Slavs not knowing Milan was to meet me, I’m in the clear. Still, they continue to leave their shit in our backyard, which takes me weeks to clear with the cops. I bet it’s done on purpose, but I also have a feeling that someone on the inside’s helping them.

I scrutinize everyone at the table, one by one, while playing with the tumbler of whiskey in my hand. My hangover is from the champagne, not the whiskey, which right now I need like water. Anyone in here could be a snitch. And they’d kill me in a flash only to take my place. They all respected my father, Willer Carte–or as they knew him, Willer A La Carte. He got his nickname from allowing people to choose how they died. But he’s fucking dead now, and no one gave him the option to choose his own death. Fucking cancer.

Jonah jerks me out of my hangover fog. “Orion, I think we’re done.”

“And you’re all still here? Get to work, fuckers!” I snarl.

It takes twenty minutes to walk from the club to my house, and instead of taking the car, I decide to go on foot. I need to clear my head. I notice Jonah following me from a distance, smoking as he does, but he doesn’t bridge the gap between us. The fucker wants me to get inside my house before talking to me.

I reach my door and turn, staring at him as he draws near. I’d rather not have anyone in my house right now. I want to check in with Maisy, since I left her in tears. Something I often do with her. “Did you want something, Jonah?”

“Yeah.” Jonah nods at my house. “Do you mind if we go inside?”

I groan, exasperated. “Make it quick, I’m busy.”

I enter and he follows. We head straight for the kitchen, where Leila’s cleaning up.

“What the hell happened in here?” Jonah’s barbed voice is riling me.

“None of your fucking business. Now, what do you want?”

“You know, you’ve been very guarded lately. Your mind’s in a different place, and everyone’s noticed. I see the kitchen in a mess, you’re not letting me in, a few weeks ago you freaked out when I went upstairs… It’s as if you’re hiding someone.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Someone that shouldn’t be here.”

He did not just say that. I march across the room and tower over him. He’s bold, I’ll give him that, because the fucker stares right back at me, defiant.

“Fuck. You,” I bark.

“Why don’t I just go upstairs now and see if anyone’s in?” he counters.

Rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt floods me. “Do that and you’re a dead man walking, I promise you.”

Garry, our youngest member who’s barely over eighteen, walks in. The fuck?! Since when is my house open to everyone?

Lucky for him, he’s new, and doesn’t know the rules yet. I should lock that damn door, though.

Seeing Garry in my house seems to encourage Jonah, who starts walking backward toward the kitchen door. He must stupidly think I won’t shoot him.

Garry looks confused. “What the hell’s going on?”

Jonah turns and runs upstairs, and I follow. He heads straight to Maisy’s bedroom. I want to catch him up and smash his head in, but no matter what happens, I’m the one with the power here. As such, I must be composed. I know that much. He’ll pay later, anyway.

He enters her room and a few moments later I stroll up to the open door. He’s making apologetic noises and raising his hands, protecting himself from the angry words and blows of my sister, who’s hitting him and yelling.

“You fucking idiot, Jonah! Did you think you could just get in my bed and fuck me?” She kicks him, right in the balls. “Has my brother not done enough for you?”

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