Page 11 of Orion

Vincent wasn’t as mean in the beginning. He’s gotten crueler over time. I’ve been mostly isolated from society for so long that I wouldn’t even know what to do if I ran away. Where would I go? I have no skills. No education. I’d be living on the streets. He’s orchestrated that.

Again, that might have been better. I’ve been growing bolder lately. I suspect that’s why he brought me with him today. He feared I would run away while he was gone. I hadn’t had any plans to that effect, but I’ve certainly thought about it a few times.

At the sound of a roar coming from outside, my heart starts racing. The noise is so loud and scary. I run toward what I assume is a closet door and open it. It’s not large. Not a walk-in closet. It’s just a small room with a bar across to hold clothes.

When another roar fills the silence, I drop down and crawl into the small space, pulling the door closed behind me. My wrist protests, but I ignore it as I turn around, sit on my butt, and press myself against the wall.

It’s dark. I’m scared. What if Vincent hurts someone? What if he hurts Orion?

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around my shins and hold myself in a little ball. It takes me a minute to realize every inhale draws more of Daddy into me. It’s his closet. His clothes. His shoes. Everything smells like him. Masculine. Woodsy. Dominant.

Is that a scent? The man sure is bossy, but that’s not something a person can smell. Is it?

I want him to come back. I want Vincent to leave so my Daddy will come inside and tell me again that everything is going to be okay. Squeezing my eyes closed, I focus on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Daddy’s scent is potent. Is it increasing? That makes no sense. But maybe I’m becoming more in tune with it. When I tip my head back, I see several flannel shirts hanging above me. On instinct, I reach up and tug one down. I bring it to my nose, hold it against my face, and inhale.

Damn. So powerful. My own clothes smell like cheap laundry detergent and cigarettes. Gross.

Suddenly, I can’t stand to be touching the blouse and sweater I’m wearing. They were my mother’s. I’ve been wearing clothes out of her closet for a few years. Vincent said there was no reason to waste money on clothes for me when I could just wear my mother’s old things.

The cardigan I have on was one she wore all the time in the end before she died. She was always cold. I wouldn’t want to part with it, but I would like to wash it before I touch it again.

I quickly remove my cardigan and blouse, replacing them with Daddy’s shirt. It’s far too huge on me. I have to roll the sleeves up several times. I button it up almost to the top. If I stand, it will reach my knees.

But it smells like heaven. Like Daddy. Like this house. Like home.

After opening the door a few inches, I shove my old clothes out and pull the closet closed again. And then, I fold my arms over my knees and rest my face on my forearms, inhaling over and over, drawing Daddy into me. Reminding myself that he’s going to take care of Vincent somehow and get rid of him.

Several minutes tick by, and I startle when the closet door suddenly opens. Panicked, I pull my knees in tighter as if I could possibly hide from whoever is out there.

But there’s no need to freak out. The man who squats in front of me is Orion. He reaches in and touches my cheek. “Are you okay, Little doll? I was worried when you didn’t answer the door.”

My breath hitches. Shit. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to…hide.”

“From me, Little doll?”

I shake my head. “No. I was afraid Vincent would find me. But also, there was roaring.”

He chuckles. “That was my pride brother, Quinn. He was in lion form and strutting his fierce side. It helped. Vincent is gone.”

I stare up at Orion. “But he’ll come back. He has a gun. He’ll shoot you.”

“He won’t shoot me, Little doll. I promise.”

I want to believe Daddy, but he doesn’t know Vincent or how determined the man is.

Daddy fingers the flannel I’m wearing at my shoulder. “You changed. I like this.”

My face heats. I hadn’t considered the fact that he might not like me touching his things, let alone wearing them. I should have asked first. I’d been so preoccupied by Daddy’s scent that I’d simply acted without thinking through my decision.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched your things.”

“Cora, you may touch or wear anything of mine you’d like. I don’t have any secrets.”

“My clothes smell like cigarettes.”

“I noticed. I guess you don’t care for that scent?” he teases.