Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

1. Ripley

CHAPTER 1

RIPLEY

HELP. – YOUNG LIONS

TEN YEARS EARLIER

I’ve recently become acquainted with pure agony.

It’s not the kind of pain you’d experience from a scraped knee or a sore cartilage piercing. That pain can be buried. Avoided. Numbed. Tucked away into a darkened corner until it grows tired of hanging around and fades.

The pain that’s wracking my body now is a whole other level of intensity. Beyond exhaustion or emotional anguish. Survival isn’t free—for any of us. It always extracts a toll, one way or another.

Escaping sometimes means leaving pieces of ourselves behind.

I imagine it’s the same pain that semi-conscious Lennox is feeling. His injured hand hangs at his side as he’s pulled along between Xander and Raine. I watch his bare feet drag against the ground, limp and useless.

“Where now?” Raine asks.

“Straight ahead,” I croak.

With a trembling hand, I hold onto his hospital gown, attempting to steer him in a straight line. It’s a challenge as we trip and stumble towards the manor, dodging the mayhem unfolding all around us. It’s spilling in from all directions.

“Careful,” Xander calls out. “Body up ahead.”

“Body?” Raine exclaims.

“A guard, I think. Dead or unconscious. I don’t know which.”

“What the fuck?”

“Be glad you can’t see what’s going on around us,” Xander mutters.

Tightening my grip on his gown, I peer through the haze. “Keep going, Raine. I’ll steer you.”

Floodlights illuminate the nighttime air, and honestly, I wish they’d just plunge us into full darkness at this point. Then I wouldn’t have to see the anarchy we’ve escaped into. We swapped one hell for another.

After months of malpractice and blatant abuse, the patient population of Harrowdean Manor has declared war. We escaped Professor Craven’s sadistic Z wing, fleeing torture and imprisonment only to stumble out into a full-blown riot.

All around us, the madness is spreading like an airborne infection. Patients have turned into wild, almost rabid animals, attacking at will and destroying anything they can lay their hands on.

“Round them all up!” Rick’s voice echoes in the distance. “I want every guard cuffed and gagged.”

There’s a chorus of agreements and various sounds of enthusiasm from the patients choosing to follow him. Most have descended into violence. Some fight, exchanging blows, while others begin smashing whatever they lay eyes on.

Those who’ve flocked to Rick’s call are banding together to capture the remaining guards. Contrastingly, the rest of the patients are cowering or running. Sides have already formed amongst the anarchy.

The organised few—Rick, Rae, Patient Three and her fellow escapee—are doling out instructions as they assume control. They seem to be operating under the delusion that we can pull this pseudo-heist off. Really, it’s only a matter of time before the authorities march in here.

Then all our heads will be on the chopping block. I may have decided not to run, but we at least need to give ourselves a fighting chance of staying alive. That starts with getting Lennox help before he deteriorates.

“Ripley?” Lennox moans in pain.

He’s unable to lift his head, the way my name slips off his tongue like a sorrowful prayer sending shivers down my spine.

“She’s here, man,” Raine mumbles back.

“Can’t… go… farther.”

“Like hell you can’t,” Xander spits.

“Xan,” Lennox gasps. “Stop.”

“We’re getting you somewhere safe.” Xander’s usually curt voice carries a disturbing, almost high-pitched edge of apprehension.

Xander is… scared?

No. That can’t be right.

“Just leave me,” Lennox tries to plead.

“Not this crap again,” I cut in. “We’re not leaving you, Nox.”

I don’t miss the curious side eye Xander gives me, a single, midnight-blue orb slicing deep into my skin. It wasn’t so long ago when I would’ve happily left Lennox to be trampled to death in a riot given half a chance.

Now the world has been swept away by a violent tsunami, and we’re left to pick over the destruction to find our lives once more. Everything I thought I knew about Lennox, Harrowdean, even myself—it’s all gone.

“What?” I snap at Xander.

“Nothing.”

“Then stop staring, and get us out of here!”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Whatever you say.”

Dodging the dead or unconscious guard who’s sprawled out near the steps leading inside, we head for the rear entrance to Harrowdean’s reception. My cooked-spaghetti legs are barely carrying my weight.

We’ve both been wilfully battered in our time beneath ground, and though Lennox looks in far worse shape, I can feel the steady throbbing of my wrist along with countless bruises and other injuries from the beatings.

My wounds are bleeding, each droplet dripping in time to the rhythmic pounding of my skull. Between the water torture, subsequent beatings and lack of food or sleep beyond passing out, the trauma of our trip to the Z wing is quickly making itself known.

“Inside,” Xander orders. “We’re too exposed out here.”

“How are we supposed to do this?” I ask weakly.

“Take Raine—don’t let him fall.” He shifts Lennox’s weight onto himself. “I’ve got the big guy.”

“I can climb a staircase,” Raine grumbles.

Grasping his hand, I hold on tight despite the way it makes my wrists twinge. “We know. Just let me help.”

“You’re hurt, guava girl. I should be the one helping you.”

“You are just by being here.”

“I wasn’t there to protect you!” His sunglass-covered eyes tilt upwards, like he’s praying to the heavens for patience. “I failed you. Again!”

“Cry me a goddamn river,” Xander drones with marked exasperation. “Get inside before having a breakdown please.”

He tilts his head in the direction of Xander’s once again lifeless voice. “Fuck you, Xan.”

“He’s right,” I placate. “We need to hide.”

“From who?” Raine shivers in my arms. “The guards? Or the patients?”

Xander releases a dry laugh. “How about both?”

I’m about to drag Raine up the damn stairs whether he likes it or not when a cacophony of screams reaches us through the night, silencing us all.

“Burn, Harrowdean! Burn it all!”

“No more!”

“Burn! Burn! Burn!”

A gaggle of patients are high on whatever riot fever is spreading from one soul to another—eyes wild, fists bloodied, uncaring of who they hurt or why we’re pushing back against the oppression at all. When violence takes root, reason soon evaporates.

Their chanting is growing ever closer. We’re vulnerable out in the open, our only source of light the now-flickering floodlights that seem to be signalling impending disaster.

“Go!” Xander barks.

Semi-carrying Lennox up the first few steps, we’re right behind the struggling pair when the patients catch up to us. It doesn’t seem to matter that we’re not dressed like guards or even a threat.

“Ripley Bennet!”

Fuck!

Lewis, an idiot from the sixth floor, recognises me. “Hey! Harrowdean’s whore!”

Without hesitating, I shove Raine forward, wincing as he trips and falls. But I won’t watch him get hurt because of me for a second time.

“Go. Get out of here!”

“Rip!” he yells.

“Move! Run!”

The only way to stop them from pouncing on Raine, sprawled out and disorientated, is to attack first. I fling myself down the steps to Lewis, determined to throw the first punch.

He takes the brunt of the fall. We hurtle towards the hard ground, landing in a tangle and both yelping at the pain of impact. His friends hang back, content to watch us brawl.

“Stay down,” I warn. “We’re not the enemy here.”

“I’ve heard the whispers,” he snarls in my face. “I know you’re management’s bitch. If we’re taking them down… you’re going down with them, Ripley.”

“Look around you! This chaos only ends one way!”

Lewis grabs a handful of my filthy, bloodstained shirt to wrench me closer. “Yes. We’re getting out of here. Not you, though. You’re going to die here.”

I ignore the sound of Raine’s protests on the steps behind us, focused on my attacker. “Back off, man. Final warning.”

“Or what?” he challenges.

With a quick glance at the group of onlooking patients, I realise how much of a target I’ve painted on my own back. They don’t see a fellow patient. A victim. A survivor. Whatever bullshit fits the bill.

No.

To them, I’m the enemy.

Harrowdean’s whore, right?

I didn’t survive this long by making friends or exercising a moral conscience. And I’m sure as hell not going to start now.

“Your mates are leaving you.” Lewis nods his head towards the institute where Xander’s still struggling to shift Lennox. “I didn’t think you had any of those.”

Despite the voice telling me that Xander is right to leave me here to die, pain still cuts across my chest. He’s here for Lennox. Raine. Not me.

“I don’t have friends, and I don’t need them.”

Drawing back my fist, I deck the stupid son of a bitch. Agony explodes across my knuckles on impact with his square jaw, the vibrations ricocheting up my forearm to my elbow.

“Bitch!” Lewis screams.

His blow comes hard and fast, striking me in the cheek. My head snaps to the side, wrenching painfully. It’s a mere drop in the ocean compared to the state of my body, though, and it doesn’t distract me.

I use my position above him to my advantage and rain down punch after punch. Not even the wailing of my protesting muscles slows me down. My mind narrows on one thought. Self-preservation.

I’ve always preferred to rule with words and threats. Most would fear the loss of their precious contraband far more than any physical damage I could inflict. But in a fistfight, I’m still deadly in my own right.

Lewis bucks and writhes, trying to throw me off. Clinging on, I slam my forehead into his as a last resort, a wail threatening to escape from my gritted teeth. Hitting the ground, his skull impacts with a rock, making him go limp.

“Move!” Xander yells distantly. “Now!”

At the sound of shouting, I flick my eyes up to the institute. Raine is still helplessly sprawled out, while Xander’s almost inside, but his voice has taken on that disturbingly urgent edge again.

“Move, Nox!” he demands.

“No! Raine! Ripley!” Lennox replies in a weak bellow.

“I can’t help them until you’re inside, dickhead!”

Distracted by the sight of Xander shoving Lennox inside then rushing to help Raine up, I miss the attack heading my way. The long-limbed patient stinks of cigarette smoke, her face obscured by snarled hair and malevolence.

Air bursts from my lungs as I’m body-slammed, thrown sideways off Lewis’s unconscious form. Hands wrap around my throat, finding a tight cinch that cuts off my oxygen supply. I writhe and scratch, frantic to find an escape.

“You used us all,” she accuses.

My lungs are burning—filled with white-hot, molten lava that’s permeating deeper into my chest. I can feel her blood on my fingertips, her hands seeming to squeeze ever tighter.

“You deserve to be cuffed and paraded around like the rest of them.”

Warmth coats my skin from where her nails are slicing my throat. My vision is beginning to haze, awash with bright, white spots.

CLICK.

“Let her go. I’ll only ask once.”

My attacker freezes, her head raising towards the new voice. The floodlights illuminate her blurry face. Tania. Seems her gratitude for the pink dildo I previously sold her was short-lived.

“You,” she hisses at the voice.

“Step aside, inmate.”

“You’re outnumbered, asshole!”

Peeking over her, I spot the barrel of a black handgun. It’s pointed directly at Tania’s back. Looking higher, the person clutching the weapon causes shock and relief to blast through me.

“Do I look like I care?” Langley cocks the gun, ribbons of blood spilling down his face from a cut at his hairline. “Move. Now.”

I’ve never heard such raw aggression from him before. The person looming over us both isn’t the soft-eyed guard I know. Then again, I had no idea he was secretly working for Sabre Security until he tried to poach me as an informant.

Tania hesitates, her fingertips bruising my oesophagus. “You wouldn’t dare use that.”

His finger rests on the trigger, twitching in challenge. “Try me.”

“It’s your job to protect us!”

“Stand up, turn around and walk away.”

“There are witnesses!” she screeches.

With a short laugh, Langley casts one of his baby blues around the state of disarray. “Where, exactly? I could unload this entire clip into your skull without anyone saying a word. Now get up .”

Her eyes now wide with genuine fear, Tania releases her grip on my throat. I splutter violently, sucking in frantic breaths, the rush of oxygen causing my insides to sear. Each inhale feels like drinking fire.

“That’s it,” Langley says in a flat tone. “Walk away now, and I’ll let you live.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tania exclaims.

“I have a job to do. So I’d suggest you get out of my sight, and take your little friends with you.”

Langley boots Lewis in the ribs. He’s beginning to stir, a semi-conscious groan escaping his mouth. With tears now streaming down her cheeks, Tania gestures for the others to approach and heave him up.

Once they’ve scuttled away, casting worried looks over their shoulders at the gun Langley holds poised, my surroundings filter back in. I can hear racing footsteps, speeding towards us from the institute.

“You.” Xander’s cool, clipped voice is unmistakable.

Langley swings the gun around, now aiming it at him. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then step away from her.”

“Me?” Langley’s dark brows knit into a frown. “Pretty sure she’s the one who needs protection from you, last time I checked.”

“And why exactly is her welfare your business in the first place?”

Groaning as I sit upright, I massage my aching throat. “Stop. Both of you.”

Two pairs of eyes swing to me. Langley’s track over me—cataloguing the various injuries, bruises and bloodstains like he’s seeing them for the first time. Last time we spoke was before Noah’s attack and our trip to the Z wing.

“I heard you were taken,” he grinds out. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“No time.” I look over to Xander’s impassive expression. “Where are Lennox and Raine?”

“Safely inside.”

“Then… why did you come back?”

His almost-black eyes make my skin tighten and prickle with awareness. The sheer intensity steals my breath far more effectively than Tania’s attempt to choke me.

He’s staring at me like it’s obvious, but nothing about this complicated creature is ever fucking obvious. We’ve been playing an elaborate game of cat and mouse for years now, and I still can’t fathom the broken mind that lies within his skull.

“You,” he deadpans.

My windpipe closes altogether.

“I came back for you, Ripley.”

Tucking the gun into his waistband, Langley flashes Xander an odd look. He stoops low to grasp my body. I let him tug me up, too exhausted to do much more than slump into him.

“They did this to you?” Langley grinds out.

“Professor Craven.” I gasp in pain. “And… others.”

“Jesus, Rip. How did you get out?”

“With a little help.” Looking up, I find his concerned eyes scrutinising me. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be running for the hills with the rest of your team?”

“The rest…” He grips his forehead. “How did you… Shit, not now. Can you move?”

Teeth clenched, I nod once.

“Good.”

Xander takes one look at me then moves to my other side, a slim, scarred arm wrapping around my waist. “Let her go.”

Langley snorts. “You first.”

“Not happening.”

With them both holding me, neither willing to let go, we awkwardly stumble into the reception. It’s dark inside, still littered with debris and water damage from the storm.

That night feels like a million years ago, but from the failing power to the boarded windows and dirt-streaked flooring, the scattered remnants still paint a chaotic scene. The opulence has been destroyed by Mother Nature in all her almighty wrath.

Perhaps the most telling indication of that night’s fateful importance has his arm around me. The cold-hearted man with empty midnight eyes who almost left me to drown in a pool.

Xander is my nemesis. The man who vowed to break me and keep the scattered pieces for his collection. Only now he’s helping me, limping and half-dead, to safety. I must be delirious.

“I left them down here,” Xander mutters in the gloom. “Lennox is in bad shape.”

“He… We… They tortured him for hours.” I struggle to get the words out. “Water. Beatings. His h-hand…”

“I saw. How did he make it out?”

“I, ah… helped him.”

Pausing dramatically, Xander eyes me. “You… helped him?”

“Yes.” I hold his stare, defiant.

“You.” The word is half-question, half-statement.

“You really want to discuss this right now?”

“Later. But we are discussing it.”

Xander leads us into an adjacent corridor leading towards the west wing. It’s low-lit from the odd emergency light still working. My eyes adjust, and I spot two outlines slumped against a wall.

“Xan?” Raine’s voice calls out.

“It’s us.”

“All I can smell is blood. Have you got her?”

“I’m here.” I wince in pain as we trudge towards them.

Langley takes one look at Lennox, his partially mangled hand still limp at his side, then curses.

“What the hell?”

“You can thank your pink-haired friend for that one.”

His blue gaze swings around to me. “What?”

“Alyssa, right?”

The silent bobbing of his throat is all the confirmation I need.

“You have some serious explaining to do,” I demand. “Starting with who you really are and what you’re doing inside Harrowdean.”

Mouth flopping open, Langley’s shocked to silence. Clearly, he never expected his cover to be blown so spectacularly. That only makes his betrayal all the more bitter.

“Yeah,” he mutters numbly. “I guess I do.”

“Shouldn’t you be running off into the sunset with your team?”

He draws in a deep breath to gather himself. “It’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it.”

Interrupting our exchange, Lennox groans in pain. How he’s still conscious and hasn’t passed back out from exertion or blood loss remains a mystery.

“Medical wing,” Langley announces.

“Explain yourself first. How can we trust you?”

“There’s no time, Rip. I’ll explain everything, but not here. We can temporarily secure the medical wing, and Lennox needs looking at.”

“We were already headed there anyway,” Xander snarkily retorts. “Feel free to fuck off, Langley .”

“Need I remind you that I’m the one with the gun?”

“You think I need a gun to snap your neck?” Xander counters.

“Good luck getting close.”

“I won’t need it.”

“Yeah? Well, putting a bullet between your eyes will turn around this shitty day. So, make your move.”

“Enough!” I chastise them both. “Seriously.”

Lennox grunts again before he suddenly collapses. Raine’s holding his arm, so he’s pulled off balance by the weight dragging him down.

“Shit!” Raine yelps.

Xander releases me to catch his best friend before he hits the floor. He takes Lennox from Raine, throws his arm around his shoulder, then jerks his head to indicate we should all follow.

I steady Raine, taking his hand to steer him along with us. “This way.”

“Aren’t the guards supposed to be the enemy right now?” Raine whispers worriedly. “We shouldn’t trust him.”

I spare Langley a glance—stony-faced, his blue eyes darting from side to side, surveying for any threats. His posture betrays a persona I never spotted before. Shoulders square. Feet spread. Always alert and prepared to act.

He’s the perfect mole.

Affable. Unsuspicious.

Unseen.

“Langley isn’t a guard, Raine.”

“What?” His head jerks in my direction.

I tear my eyes from the blue-eyed stranger. “He never was.”

We struggle onwards. With the unlit medical wing in sight, I feel my last vestiges of energy dissipate. Xander shoves the door open, manhandling a now-unconscious Lennox inside.

“Anyone here?” he yells. “We need help.”

Silence.

“I guess not,” Raine murmurs. “Is it still dark? Morning staff probably got stuck outside when everything kicked off.”

Jaw clenching, Xander continues to heft Lennox, his alabaster skin now dotted with sweat from the exertion. We limp behind them, slipping inside the deserted wing.

Langley glances at the door standing between us and the war zone. “Patients will come looting soon enough.”

“Looting?” Raine repeats.

“Drugs. Weapons. Food. Riots can last days, sometimes even weeks. Survival instincts will kick in.”

The reality of the situation hammers home with each word he utters. Hands raised, Raine follows Xander’s huffing to help manoeuvre Lennox’s now-unconscious body onto a bed.

“If there’s no doctor, what do we do?” The concern in Raine’s tone is audible.

Langley releases a long sigh. “I was a field medic… Well, in a past life. I’m not an expert, but I can take a look at his injuries.”

“What do you need?” Xander straightens, his attention fixed on Lennox.

“A damn sight more than what we have available, I’d imagine.” He looks around the deserted wing. “We’re going to need some pain relief to start.”

Watching them disperse to search, I suddenly teeter on my own two feet. Langley’s mumbling is overcome by a loud buzzing in my head. Physical exhaustion coupled with the breakdown I’ve been holding back at all costs overwhelms me.

Lennox is badly hurt. There’s no medical help. We’re caught in a riot, surrounded by patients who hate my fucking guts, and have no idea when backup will arrive. Raine’s barely recovered and shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone running around fending off attacks.

The odds are stacked against us.

Was this a huge mistake?

Staying here may have been the brave choice, but the violence will only escalate. People will die. Maybe we will too. And all the pain, the suffering, the sacrifice… it will all have been for nothing.

The magnitude of the past few days sucker punches me in the face. The Z wing. Lennox being tortured. Beatings. Sabre Security. Our pink-haired saviour. The bloodied corridor. Professor Craven’s broken skull.

We survived.

We escaped.

But the real battle begins now.

“No,” I choke out.

“Rip?” Raine cocks his head in my direction.

“W-We… should’ve… run.”

The sight of Raine standing nearby while the other two get to work abruptly blurs. Now he’s a pixelated jigsaw of fuzzy limbs and wobbly lines as my energy fizzles out.

“Ripley?” His voice sounds far-off, disjointed. “Ripley!”

Everything turns white. Spinning. Blurring. A hot flush of fever and dizziness sweeps me off my feet and sends me hurtling into the approaching blackness.