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She had to plan, to cover her tracks, to make things perfect. Patience. Knowledge. All those years ago, she’d thought about knowledge being power.
But it didn’t matter how much she knew about monsters. As long as they held the key to the chain around her ankle, they had all the power.
But that was in a dark basement where dark needs had no gatekeepers, no laws, no witnesses. This was the real world, or at least enough people believed it was. So, Orion had to play by different rules.
She’d known this. She’d understood it to her bones, that everything depended on her willpower. Her self-control.
She’d had it thus far, hadn’t she?
But something snapped inside her that night. The crack was so loud, so resounding, it blinded and deafened her. She was simply supposed to tail him again that night, watching him as he walked to the parking lot from his favorite strip club a few blocks away. The good doctor happened to have more vices than only young girls, and when Orion first saw the place and discovered his habitual visits, she knew it’s where the murder had to take place. Her best opportunity. The darkened streets and little foot traffic made it perfect. But she didn’t feel ready that night, didn’t feel right. She was just supposed to solidify the plan. The next thing she knew, as if driven by her inner demons and all that hatred, she was shoving him into a darkened alley and striking out with the flip knife she always carried with her.
It wasn’t smart.
The alley wasn’t private. Anyone walking past would see what was happening, though it was late and she hadn’t seen anyone else. There could be cameras. And he wasn’t the smallest guy in the world.
He turned around, his hands up and eyes wide, obviously suspecting someone much larger than the woman who stood before him.
As his face first turned from shock to disgust, she plunged the knife in his gut. His disgust turned to fury as she pulled the knife out, and he swung at her, hard, connecting his fist with her chin, and she saw stars for a moment.
He reared back again with one hand, his other clutching his gut, but Orion wasn’t about to take another punch. She stabbed the knife into him again, forcing his arm down in defense, and then she kept stabbing.
She wasn’t sure how many times the knife had sunk into his flesh, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. Not enough to stop him from fighting.
He wasn’t a large man, not overly muscular, which was why he usually liked his girls underage and strapped to a bed. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have sixty pounds on her and could fight back.
He hit her again, weaker this time, but it staggered her, nonetheless. Her face felt like it was on fire. She felt lightheaded.
Another fist slammed into her stomach and she doubled over. The doctor staggered back then, the blood seeping from the many wounds in his stomach. He sucked in a breath, looked from his stomach to her, and sneered at her. “You fucking bitch! You fucking whore!” He pushed her, not hard—he seemed weakened by the blood loss already—but enough to stagger toward the mouth of the alley, hands to his gut. “Help!” he called out, though it was snuffed out by a grimace. “Help,” he grunted, staggering still, closer and closer. “This bitch stabbed me!” He doubled over and hacked, blood and saliva splattering against the pavement.
Orion knew, with chilling certainty, this was her moment. If he made it to the entrance, if he was able to call for help, it would all be over. Her life, her freedom, her quest.
He would stumble into the lights, covered in blood. He would be saved by a passing car or some other drunk heathen stumbling his way from the strip club to the parking lot, because that was what happened to people like him. They got saved. And she would be caught because that’s what happened to people like her.
It was close. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him backward at the same time as she sank the knife into his spinal cord.
No matter what it seemed like in the movies, stabbing someone wasn’t easy. Bone, muscle, flesh, it didn’t want metal to tear through it. Something fought back. Whether it was something in the body, something instinctive, the flesh itself, or the soul, something didn’t want to die.
It took all of Orion’s strength to yank the blade from his back while keeping a firm grip—he was still struggling now, but not as viciously—and drag him back into the shadows. He was heavy. Heavier than she thought he would be. The term dead weight made sense to her now. It was like hauling bricks. Her arms and shoulders screamed. Maybe it was the weight of his sins, or her own, but she was strong enough to drag him back. Stubborn enough. Scared enough.
