Hush - Anne Malcom Page 0,80

the instructor recognized her from TV, so that could have also been the reason. He stared at her slack-jawed for ten whole seconds when she first met him. She counted. He didn’t ask questions or mention her ordeal, but she knew. She could feel the pity and morbid fascination in the air.

But in the end it didn’t matter because she had her license. And she went and bought herself a hundred-thousand-dollar car directly after. She felt vaguely sick at the amount of money she spent on it, but it was worth it. Plus, the Range Rover would serve a more practical purpose . . . later.

Now, they were sitting in a bar somewhere downtown, drinking tequila in celebration of Orion getting her license.

It was her first time in a bar.

She’d been out with Maddox, but he’d been careful with his choices. Small, family-friendly restaurants. A movie at two in the afternoon.

April was definitely not her careful brother who would have thought through what it might be like for a famous kidnap victim to be in a brightly-lit bar with thumping music and sticky floors. Orion both hated and liked it.

“Cheers,” she muttered weakly, downing the liquid.

She hadn’t done a shot of tequila before.

The red wine she’d been introduced to at the Italian restaurant became part of Orion’s daily routine. She found enjoyment in searching for new wines from all over the world, ordered with a simple click of a button. She’d become accustomed to opening a bottle by four in the afternoon. Cabernet Sauvignon was her favorite. Most days, when she wasn’t working nights, April would arrive for dinner to help her with the second bottle.

Everything was so much lighter with the wine. Freer.

Sure, she overindulged on the nights she wanted to chase that feeling of fearlessness, of forgetfulness. And the headaches were bad. The depression that swam along with them was also bad. But nothing was worse than anything she’d already endured.

Orion had not dabbled in other forms of alcohol, definitely not the joints that April smoked on the balcony of her apartment.

So, the tequila went down rough, burning the sides of Orion’s throat. She was sure if she’d eaten anything today, it would’ve landed on the sticky floor.

As it was, Orion barely managed to keep her stomach lining.

April, on the other hand, looked like she’d just slammed some orange juice. To be fair, it seemed like the young woman was no stranger to the party scene. The stories she’d told Orion cemented that. She had many tales of nights starting in St. Louis, ending in an entirely different city, sometimes in different states. Bands she followed around the country for a while—until Maddox turned up and dragged her back. Boyfriends who were moderately famous and took her on glamourous weekends.

She had lived her teenage years for the both of them.

Orion was aware of the amount of time they spent together. The parties, dates, and other forms of normal life she must’ve said no to in order to hang out with her damaged childhood friend.

She would’ve fought her presence more if all of her energy wasn’t spent on pushing Maddox away.

“Do you think we inherit the sins of our parents?” Orion asked, the tequila no longer burning her throat but instead loosening her tongue.

April blinked at the sentence plucked from the depth of Orion’s dark mind.

“Damn, some deep shit, girl.” April chuckled. “What do you mean exactly?” she asked carefully, dipping a chip in the salsa the bartender had deposited earlier.

Orion sipped at the margarita—much tastier than the straight tequila—before she answered. She regarded the chips and salsa and decided her stomach was not yet ready for food.

“I got my eyes from my mother. My hair from my father. Many other qualities from a mixture of the two of them. So, doesn’t it make sense that I inherited their sins as well? Their cruelty, their selfishness? It’s somewhere inside of me.”

She was ashamed at the way her voice sounded. How small and uncertain. She was even more ashamed she uttered the words themselves.

April’s face turned dark. All angles. Furious.

Orion had seen a glimmer of that when they had argued months ago, when April had cemented herself into her life, but nothing like this. The easygoing, smiling and light April was nowhere to be seen. She resembled Maddox more than ever.

She tapped two fingers on the bar, raising her brows at the bartender before turning her gaze back to Orion.

“You need to shut that voice the fuck up right now,”