Page 8 of Orion Ruined

“Um, there’s a letter for you.” True, there is a letter for him, except I don’t have it. It’s one of those ‘I glanced at it and now it lives in my head’ things. As much as that always gets me in shit, it’s saved me quite a few times. And had I not seen it and remembered the address, I probably wouldn’t have known where to go. Seeing Camila entering only a moment earlier gave me the strength I needed. Camila the witch!

He reaches out with his palm open. “The letter.”

“I-I don’t have it.”

“I will ask you again. And I expect the truth this time. I don’t need to tell you who I am or what I could do to you.”

There’s an infinite void inside his eyes, and I feel it pulling me to him. It must be a cross-examination technique he uses in his work. Or some kind of sorcery.

I nod. “Yes, I know.” He’s the head of the Carte mafia family, and a criminal lawyer. Which is partly why I knocked on his door.

“So, why did you show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night?” he repeats.

“I told you already.” I have a persistent itch under my arm that I try to ignore but it’s damn hard, so I scratch as I speak.

“I’ve seen girls like you on the streets, hungry for a heroin shot or whatever else is available. Whoring themselves out for a moment of peace. Are you one of those girls?”

“No.” I scowl. “Of course not.”

“Your eyes tell me one thing but your body tells me another.”

He keeps looking at my legs, specifically around my ankles.

“Remove your towel and stand still for me.”

The fire in my fists ignites by itself. I raise them, using my upper arms to hold the towel tight at my sides. “You will not sell my body like I’m a piece of meat, and I will not be your whore! I’m a human being, you asshole!”

Orion doesn’t flinch. He seems entertained, even. “I don’t want to sell you. I want to see if you have any bruises or whip marks. That usually tells me who you are. Unless you want to start telling the truth.”

“Well, I’m not a heroin addict.” I raise my chin. I have nothing to be ashamed of. “Here. Read my body, asshole.” I remove the towel.

My body’s already been seen by at least twenty men today. They all had a nasty comment, a few slapped me, and one wanted more but thankfully was stopped. I was to be ‘prepared’ and then put into production. Monsters.

I watch his pupils dilate as he sucks in a breath. He stands up and moves closer to examine me. His eyes meander all over my upper body, expertly avoiding my nipples, hardened from the sudden rush of cool air. He rubs a hand over his jaw, and his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip.

He reaches for my upper arm and I jolt when his cold hand lands on my skin, expecting him to say something demeaning. He’s a man standing with a naked woman in front of him, after all. But his eyes are at peace, black and calm, his head slightly cocked as if I’m overreacting.

He proceeds to turn me around, slowly. “I see.”

“What do you see?” I breathe.

“You have a stamp on your lower back from your pimp. A fresh one. Did you run away, Maisy Roy?”

“A stamp?”

He stoops to get a better look at it, checking it out carefully. I’m self-conscious about his face being literally an inch from my bare ass. But clearly that doesn’t faze him at all.

“Mm-hmm, done four hours ago. Checked, stamped, dated, contraceptive included, the whole shebang.” He stands up and I turn to him fully, as if I’m not naked at all. I look up at him as he towers over me. “This means you’re clean and you can start.” He twists my itching arm outward. “Here. They inserted you with an implant so you don’t get pregnant.”

I automatically give my itchy arm a good scratch, almost trying to tear that fucker out from under the skin, and as I do, my eyes stay on him. His are focused lower, on my breasts.

The moment he realizes I’ve noticed, he steps away and sits back in the armchair. “Please, cover up.”

I pick up the towel and wrap it around my body.

“Tell me how long you’ve been a whore.”

A hurtful presumption. I have feelings, asshole. The way he looked at me a moment ago is at odds with the impassive expression he wears now. The sight of it doesn’t give me any indication of my destiny.

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