Page 1 of Masked Sins
PROLOGUE
THE AUDITION
Orion
Seven Years Ago
Breaking glass pulls me out of my stupor. Someone says my name, but I hardly hear it. Everything sounds like it’s underwater—hollow and vague. I know I should look around to make sure no one is hurt, but the room is spinning. I’m going to be violently ill if I move too quickly.
Lifting my head, I slowly track the bartender gesturing at me. I can’t hear him. I only hear the beating of my own heart. He points at my hand as someone brushes up against the side of my body, lifting my arm. I startle at the sight of the blood and turn to face the person touching me. That’s when I see the shattered glass around my seat and the lines of blood tracking down my forearm.
I pull away from the person helping me, stumbling off the stool as my pulse whooshes in my ears.How much did I drink?My boots crunch glass as I make my way to the back of the bar. Each step is unsteady, the room spinning slightly as I push through the haze. My vision blurs at the edges, and the floorfeels like it’s shifting beneath me. I stumble over the threshold of the small bathroom, barely managing to catch myself on the sink. The lock clicks into place with more force than I intended, echoing in the tight, grimy space.
I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or something darker clouding my thoughts, but I feel disoriented, as if the world has slowed down around me. When I close my eyes, the only sounds are my own labored breathing and the faint, distant hum of the sports game on the television out front—a reminder of the world still moving beyond this door while I struggle to keep my footing.
Someone pounds on the door.
“Orion, open the door,” Gary yells, the handle rattling as he tries to break the door down. “We should get you checked out. Come on, man.”
“Fuck off,” I yell, stumbling as I turn on the tap. “I’m f-fine. Jus’ going to clean it up.”
Running the water, I clean my arm and pull out the shard of glass embedded in my palm. It doesn’t feel like my arm. It feels like someone else’s arm. Like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
I don’t feel a single fucking thing.
Once the water runs clear, I turn the tap off and pat the thick cut with paper towels, pressing into the wound until the paper blooms red.
“Orion, I swear to God,” Gary bellows, hammering on the door.
I grumble as I toss the paper towel and open the door. “’S okay,” I tell him, patting his large chest with my good hand. “S-s-top worrying about me.”
He sighs heavily, running a hand down his long beard. “I’m sorry, man. You’ve gotta leave.”
“’S fine,” I reply, nodding. “I have s-somewhere to be, anyway.”
He follows me, and when I get back to my usual seat, the broken glass is gone—as is my drink.
“Where’d you put it?” I ask, slowly turning to face him and nearly falling over in the process.
“You’re drunk off your fucking ass, Ravage. Go home. Sleep it off. I already told Scott to expect you.”
I rub my mouth with my hand as anger begins to bloom inside me. “Scott.”
“Yeah, man. Come on?—”
“And why the fuck would you do that?” I ask, my voice cracking. “He already has enough fucking shit to deal with. His wife justdied, asshole,” I hiss.
His wife—my mom.
Technicalities.
Gary’s face softens.
I fuckinghate the look he’s giving me.Pity.He pities me. Why the fuck would he pity me? It’s not like we didn’t know my mom was going to die. No, we had two years to get used to the idea. We all did. None of us were surprised when she started declining. None of us were surprised when the doctors told us there was nothing else they could do. None of us were surprised when she stopped walking or when she needed around-the-clock oxygen.
I’m already a burden to my brothers, Layla, and especially Scott, the man who married my mom ten years ago. He had rules about drinking and living under his roof, and I’d been breaking those rules a lot lately.
I want to scream all of this at him, but Gary is a decent guy. He’s Scott’s best friend, and I realize now that I should’ve gone somewhere else in Crestwood. Choosing the bar owned by someone who’s known me since I was fourteen probably wasn’t the smartest idea, considering I planned on getting rip-roaring drunk today.
