Chapter 45
LEGION
I f I possessed any semblance of decency, I would have kept riding.
I would have cut myself from her life and put a bullet in the part of myself that still sees her face every time I close my eyes.
But I don’t. I’m not a decent man, and I’ve never been one.
I’m hatred steeped in smoke, wrapped in leather and bad intentions.
Regret seems to have become a common theme in my life, especially as of late.
Against my better judgment, I find myself outside the apartment of a woman I should have left in my past a long time ago. Another regret…
The door swings open, and at first sight, she seems annoyed by my presence, yanking her black robes tightly around her body.
Her brows pinch above false lashes and smoky, scowling eyes.
She must have just come from the strip club.
The silent seconds pass between us, but it isn’t long before the anger radiating from her dissipates as she takes in my sorrowful state.
“Damien?” she sounds genuinely concerned, or at the very least, curious.
“ Puppet.”
“What are you doing here?”
She hasn’t moved from her doorframe. A subtle que she does not want to invite me in.
We both know how this scene always plays out.
I use her body like some sick combination of a confession booth and a whipping post, and we both pretend it fixes something…
in us…between us… Fuck if I know anymore.
What I do know is that I shouldn’t be here, that the games between us have run their course.
We’re no good for each other. We never were.
Coming here was a mistake.
I turn to leave, but she grabs my hand. An alien wave of emotion tears through me at her touch, but is quickly consumed by the flames of rage and resentment roaring inside of me. Keegan’s words continue to echo within my mind. An unrelenting torment of painful truth.
‘ You’re pursuing an unavailable woman because you’re broken, because you’re a piece of shit… A shallow, unworthy, villainous piece of shit...’
I am the villain.
I am fucking pathetic, more so for seeking out another I find even more pathetic… A selfish attempt to ease my own pain.
Keegan is right, and I hate us all for it!
I sneer at the hand clutching mine, a war of choice raging within.
I don’t owe this whore anything. I could simply walk away, spare her what remains of her sanity, and go drown my shame in more whiskey. I should slink off with my demons in tow and spark up a joint somewhere… somewhere I won’t hurt anyone else tonight.
“Damien,” she presses. “Look at me… What’s wrong?”
“I just realized I’m out of cigarettes.”
“I have some,” she says, giving my hand a gentle tug.
“You don’t smoke.”
“Something happened to you tonight… I can see it all over your face. Just come inside.”
The selfish desire to ease the ache in my chest allows her to pull me across the threshold.
“Would you like something to drink?” she offers. I don’t respond, and she only hesitates for a moment before fixing a drink from the crystal decanter set on her dresser. She hands it to me and watches as I attempt to wash away the taste of shame still thick on my tongue with the whiskey.
I gesture to her closet with the empty tumbler in my hand. The wigs displayed on Styrofoam heads look like a collection of decapitated hookers. “Variety is the spice of life, huh?”
“You should try it sometime.” She smirks. “Get off this brunette kick.”
I scoff and hand the glassware back to her.
“There’s something different about you…” She places the tumbler on the night table behind her. “She finally hurt you, didn’t she?” The protective tone in her words surprises me.
“Of course not.”
“ You’re lying ,” Puppet firmly insists. “She did, didn’t she? What did she say to you?”
I scoff. “You’re being ridiculous.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No…you’re Damien again… You’re hurt, and I’m the only one who sees it. What did that bitch do?”
I pull in a breath to quell my rising temper. “You mentioned cigarettes.”
Puppet turns and opens the drawer to remove a pack of my brand, then slowly approaches me. She opens the half-empty box and holds it out to me.
“You don’t smoke,” I say again, plucking one out. I light up and pull a much-needed drag. Maybe she keeps these on hand to offer her clients. A fuck and a smoke before she’s on to the next trick. Or maybe… “I didn’t know Reaper took up smoking.”
The sly little smile ghosting across her lips confirms everything.
“I knew it.”
She chuckles. “You think you know… Did you really tell him at least you got the girl?”
I shrug. “ Not verbatim , though I was simply pointing out the silver lining after besting him.”
“You’re a dick. But I knew you’d be back.
” She smiles, then lets out a dreamy sigh as her eyes drop to linger on the brass zippo in my hand.
“ The smell reminds me of you…” Her words come slowly and longingly.
“Sometimes, I just light one and let it burn, the way you used to burn incense. Sometimes I’ll pull a drag, just to remember what you taste like. ”
I don’t know whether to vomit or shed a tear—if I were even still capable. While staring at her blankly, memories of our twisted past play like a reel in my mind.
There was a brief moment in time when I entertained the idea of loving her… Where I thought perhaps it might be possible that she could love me, too, despite our pasts, despite what we’ve become. I was wrong about both of us. Love has never been in the cards for me…not with anyone.
“I shouldn’t have come here,” I say, resigned to our fate.
“Damien…” she whispers, reaching for me, but I take a step back, avoiding her touch. “Listen to me, Reaper is just?—”
“You’re not what I want.” My words slap the lovesick expression off her face.
“You never were, and you never will be… And I’m not, nor will I ever be, what you need…
We’re both losers, Puppet. I told you once to hate me.
I mean it more now than I ever meant it before…
You will always pale in comparison to her…
I will never see you as anything worthy of my trust or respect.
I apologize for intruding upon your evening, but now, do yourself a favor, Puppet.
Hate me, as I have come to loathe the sight of you.
Let this be the end of us. You will never hear from me again. I promise you that.”
She’s speechless this time. There’s no flash of anger behind her dulling stare, no dramatics, no tears laced with pain and resentment streaming down her cheeks. Puppet simply stares at me as though my words have finally sunk in.
T he sun is too bright, burning my eyes like a punishment, even behind the aviator shades I took off of Dean this morning.
I’m sitting on a park bench beside Rosita, watching our kids play on the pirate ship playground they love so much.
“Coffee or horchata?” Rosita offers.
I’ve never been a big coffee drinker, but now…after last night… the thought of coffee makes me sick.
“Horchata, please.” I force another smile and adjust the sunglasses on the bridge of my nose.
“I know how much you like it, but perhaps coffee will help your hangover better than horchata?” Rosita suggests.
I smile at her weakly. She seems to sense something is off and pours me a cup without further debate. “Did you mix liquors?”
I chuckle, soft and strained, and take a sip from the solo cup.
But inside, I’m breaking.
This isn’t a hangover.
When I woke up this morning, everything felt wrong.
I can’t explain it. Just a weight in my limbs and a thick fog clinging to the edges of my mind like smoke that won’t clear.
I remember the fight with Lucinda. I remember speeding away on Legion’s bike.
I remember drinking coffee with him and the unsettling things he said…
I don’t remember my car arriving. I don’t remember texting Dean that I was home and all was well, or plugging my phone into the charger on my night table. I don’t remember opening a bottle of Jameson and having more shots with Legion…and I don’t remember getting into my bed…
I remember coffee and his confessions…
Dean came home last night to find me passed out in the bedroom after apparently drinking nearly all of his Jameson and leaving the evidence of such on the island.
I looked my husband in the eyes and acted like I remembered everything. Like I hadn’t been violated in a way I can’t even put into words yet. I don’t know what happened… I don’t know what to say that won’t end in violence… Because what I do know is that Dean will kill him if…
I told him about the fight with Lucinda, about Legion showing up and getting me out of the bar before things with her could escalate.
I didn’t bring up the knight spell, even though he pressed me to know why Legion would make such an effort with O’Keefe.
I told him about the money, what Legion won, perhaps that was it…
but…I know he still suspects there’s more… I do too…
Legion’s been ignoring Dean’s texts and calls since yesterday, and he hasn’t responded to any of mine either. That only makes the strange heaviness settling in my bones worse . Panic rises in my chest whenever I try to remember what happened, but can’t .
There are flashes. Sensations. Breath on my neck. Firm hands on my waist…
Shame and anxiety continue to ebb and flow like the tides of the ocean within my soul.
I let it happen… I went with him… I let him in… I trusted him… Despite my husband’s warnings, I trusted him…
Rosita leans forward to get a better look at my face. “Vanna, are you alright?”
I nod. “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
And I will be. I don’t have a choice. If I let myself fall apart over this now, in the middle of this sunny park, in front of our children, I might never pull myself back together.
I keep my focus on Ace and Mia.
I sip from my solo cup.
And I keep the scream buried behind my smile.