Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

19. Raine

CHAPTER 19

RAINE

PULL THE PLUG - VOILà

Shaking the pills from the plastic bottle, I count out each dose. I’m determined to do this alone, hands sliding over each sleek kitchen cabinet as I search for a glass.

I’ve barely familiarised myself with the two-bedroom apartment we were deposited in by Warner and his superiors. They instructed us to get cleaned up and rest while they handle the fallout of the mess we left behind.

After being driven down to London and checked by the doctor waiting, we were ready to pass out. First, we had to wait for medications to be delivered. Sabre must have serious money if they can summon controlled substances with a click of their fingers.

They left quickly, promising to return with updates and more essentials. Warner assured us that security would remain outside for our protection. They’re taking no chances after our close call.

Feeling something cool knock against my fingers, I feel for its texture. Curved edges. A glass. Triumphant, I pluck it from the cupboard. With the pills in one hand, I can attempt to locate the sink.

Clang.

My foot smashes into a hard piece of furniture, causing my still-painful ankle to flare. The sudden collision unsteadies me, and before I can stop it, the glass slips from my hand.

“No,” I yelp, trying to catch it.

The shattering blast of it smashing on the kitchen tiles will certainly draw attention. Sighing hard, I rest against the sink, my fist curling around the pills.

Bloody useless.

This is why I always kept my room precisely organised, down to the inch. I hate new environments. It always takes time to adjust. And right now, I don’t even have a guide stick.

“Raine! Where are you?”

“Kitchen, Xan.”

Hurried footsteps bang through the apartment. I don’t bother attempting to move. Xander announces his arrival with a loud exhale.

“Ah.”

“Yep.” I pop the P exaggeratedly. “Figured you’d slept enough.”

Cracking a yawn, he steps closer. “You should’ve just woken one of us up.”

“It was just a dumb mistake. I hit my ankle.”

“Alright, stand still.”

I remain frozen while Xander cleans up the broken shards then fills another glass with water to hand over. Knocking back the pills, I swallow the powdery mouthful then hand the glass back to him.

“How long did we sleep for?”

I hear the glass make an impact when Xander deposits it in the sink. “Fifteen hours. Must’ve needed it.”

“Christ. Those guys will be back soon to start taking statements.”

“Yeah.” He sounds groggy and half-awake. “I’ll get Lennox up. Can you find your way back to Ripley’s room?”

“Erm…”

Xander chuckles. “We’ll get you another stick. Come on, take my arm. You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

“It’s fine, the swelling is down.”

Gratefully accepting his elbow, I let him steer me through the unknown space. Once I commit the layout to memory, I’ll be fine. In the meantime, I despise being so dependent on others.

“Good luck with the snorer.”

“Thanks,” he drawls sarcastically.

“I’ll wake Ripley up.”

Easing the door open, I keep a hand stretched out to avoid any more collisions. Ripley’s stirring in the bed. She was exhausted when we arrived, passing out immediately once the doctor cleared her and she’d showered.

Finding the double bed, I crawl back underneath the cheap, scratchy duvet. Being roused by turbulent shaking and nausea twisting my gut wasn’t a pleasant awakening. She slept through it, though.

“Mmm,” Ripley moans.

Snuggling up to her back, I hold her in a close spoon. “Just me.”

“Where did you go?”

“To take my meds.” Her scent is an unfamiliar perfume, not the papaya fragrance I’m used to. “I don’t like the shower gel you're using.”

Laughing sleepily, she presses her back into me. “It was a bar of soap. This place is sparse.”

“What’s it like?”

“Bare.” Ripley pauses to yawn. “Kinda like a cheap London rental but unfinished. I don’t think anyone’s been here for a long time.”

“I guess safe houses aren’t supposed to be luxurious.”

“At this point, I would take a cardboard box on a street corner if it’s safe.” Her back vibrates with a laugh before she curses. “Ouch.”

We all heard the doctor declare her stable, though she’ll be multicoloured for a while. Thankfully, there’s no permanent damage from Harrison’s beating and the brutal tasing she received.

“How are the bruises?”

“Delightful,” she groans. “I can’t believe that bastard didn’t break a rib.”

“You got lucky.”

“Some didn’t.”

Ripley falls silent, and I know she’s thinking about Rae. Whenever I interacted with the girl, she was open and warm. I liked her energy.

“I’m sure Warner’s teammates have taken care of Rae.”

“I don’t even know if she had family,” Ripley replies thickly. “I know what type of razors she liked. How often she’d reorder. What she was willing to pay. Nothing actually important or meaningful.”

Unable to alleviate the guilt she’s overwhelmed by, I do the only thing I can. I hold her close, her spine aligned with my chest as I rock her gently. Her sobs are barely audible when they take over.

“How did Harrison even know we were friends?” she weeps. “It’s my fault. I let her get close. He used Rae against me.”

“Stop, Rip. Her death isn’t on you. Letting people get close doesn’t mean you’re sentencing them to death.”

“Doesn’t it?” She releases a miserable-sounding laugh. “I let her matter to me, and she’s dead.”

“Because a lunatic killed her. Did you ask him to?”

“No,” she whimpers.

“Did you want her to get hurt?”

“No, of course not!”

“Are you happy she’s gone?”

Ripley shrugs away from me, awkwardly twisting in the bed. “What the fuck, Raine?”

“I’m proving to you how the rest of us see it. Rae’s death is a tragedy. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, but that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. You have to stop taking on all this guilt.”

“But—”

“No buts, Rip. It stops now.”

Finding her shoulder, I slide my hand up and behind her neck to knead her skull. Ripley draws in a heavy breath, curling up into my chest. I can feel her tears sliding against my skin with each hiccup.

“It’s okay, babe. Let it all out.”

In many ways, I feel lucky to experience this side of her. Not many people know the real Ripley. The fact that she’s willing to let herself fall apart in front of me is a privilege I’ll never take for granted.

Holding her tight until her sobs turn to quiet sniffles, I let Ripley work through her grief. Sometimes, words are unhelpful. Providing a safe space to acknowledge the grief and let it come pouring out is far more powerful.

“Did you go into the kitchen naked?” She breaks the silence after a long time.

“I have boxers on.”

“What about the smashing sound?”

“Erm, I dropped a glass. Need to map the place out in my mind.”

Her hand splays across my lower back. I tune into the rhythmic strokes, each touch taking me to a familiar place where I don’t need sight. Not with her. With Ripley, I feel perfectly whole.

We drift for a long while until the sounds of stirring echo from outside our bedroom. Kissing the top of her head, I gently peel her from my chest.

“Ready to face the music?”

“Not really.” She sighs.

“We can hide here if you need more time.”

“As much as I appreciate that, we can’t. We’ll have company soon.”

“I’ll happily barricade the door for you.”

Ripley pecks my cheek before I feel her sit up. “I love you.”

I never thought three simple words would mean so much to me. Perhaps I never thought she’d say them back. In a matter of months, my entire existence has shifted. It used to revolve around the next hit.

Now, it’s her.

A far more intoxicating drug.

Dragging myself from the bed, I feel around to locate the sweats and crumpled t-shirt I discarded before climbing into bed. They hang loose on my frame, but for clean clothes found in a pinch, I won’t complain.

Ripley uses the bathroom then pads back out, the ruffling of clothes being pulled on evidence of her stiff movements. She clasps my arm, leading me from the room.

“How’s the ankle?”

“It feels a lot better. The ice pack helped.” I hesitate, sniffing the air. “Oh, smooth.”

“Huh?”

“Xander’s demonstrating his obsessive knowledge once more.”

As she pulls me into what I think is the open plan living and dining area, I hear Ripley gasp. It’s a weirdly happy sound. That alone makes me smile.

“Is that…”

“Not me,” Xander volunteers. “The snorer was already up and dressed.”

I sense movement accompanying Lennox’s signature heavy thuds. I’m convinced he’s incapable of walking quietly. He fiddles with something before approaching us.

“Joint effort,” he explains. “Xander knew your coffee order.”

Ripley snickers. “Of course, he did.”

“Here. Macchiato, right?”

The satisfied groan she releases can only be described as sexual. Seriously, I’m concerned about what she’s planning to do with that coffee.

“You went out?” Ripley takes a loud slurp. “Oh, holy shit.”

Lennox laughs under his breath. “Yeah, I wanted to check out the security we’ve been assigned. There’s a coffee place across the street.”

His rough fingertips brush my hand, passing me a Styrofoam cup. I won’t tell Ripley that I’m a tea before coffee kinda person. She’ll probably decapitate me with her macchiato in hand.

“Security still outside?” I take a hot sip.

“Five of them.”

“Armed?” Ripley asks.

Lennox sniffs loudly. “Yeah.”

Seems they’re taking the meagre information we’ve offered seriously. Warner and his colleagues don’t even know half the story yet.

We all listen to Ripley make increasingly disturbing sounds as she drinks. You’d think the woman hasn’t tasted decent coffee in years… Which isn’t far from the truth, thinking about it.

“Here.” There’s a rustle before footsteps near. “Eat before your heart gives out from all the caffeine.”

“Xan,” Ripley warns sassily. “Touch my coffee and I’ll drink it from your skull.”

A choked cough comes from Lennox. “He’d probably enjoy that.”

“No.” Xander is quick to protest. “I wouldn’t.”

“That’s an outright lie.” I savour another sip.

“It’s not!”

“You totally would enjoy it.”

“Raine’s right.” Lennox harrumphs in disdain. “Tell the truth.”

An audible sigh.

“For fuck’s sake… Yes. I would probably enjoy that.”

Xander joins our laughter—begrudgingly, from the sound of it—as he helps me walk over to what feels like a kitchen table. Measuring the space between the chairs with my foot, I begin to form a mental image.

Lennox passes around breakfast pastries crammed full of thick, sugary jam. I recognise the taste and texture on my tongue. We eat peacefully, sipping our drinks, until he breaks the silence.

“Do you think he meant it? That Enzo bloke?”

“Meant what?” Ripley chews loudly.

“What he said about cutting the head off the snake,” Lennox clarifies. “Are they going to make a move on Bancroft?”

“Are we even sure he’s the real threat anymore?” Xander slurps his drink. “Harrison hinted at management changes. Then there was that phone call.”

I hear someone put their food down.

“You can say it. My uncle.”

“Yes. He clearly sent those men after us,” Xander says, blunt as ever. “Your uncle put a hit out on us.”

“That goes a bit beyond mere disownment.” I wince at my own words. “Sorry, Rip.”

“Don’t be. We can’t tiptoe around this.” She sounds resigned. “I think his role goes beyond being an investor. He’s more deeply embroiled in the conspiracy than I realised.”

“We have to tell them,” Lennox chimes in. “Bancroft is still a threat, but they need to get eyes on Jonathan. Perhaps he’s pulling the strings while his boss is under fire.”

“That seems likely,” Xander agrees.

Finishing up our breakfast, we remain at the table, gulping down our hot drinks. Ripley’s leg pushes against mine underneath the table—she’s sitting on my right side. I drop a hand to her thigh.

“So we tell them everything.” She covers my hand with hers. “In exchange for what? Protection?”

“We need to negotiate for immunity,” Xander responds. “For the riot. The contraband. All of it.”

“You really think we’d face prosecution?” Nausea spikes through me.

“Warner told us criminal charges were on the table for other escapees.”

My mouth pulls down in a grimace. “And if Sabre doesn’t have that power? Or won’t help us avoid charges?”

Xander doesn’t answer. Fantastic. That really gives me a vote of confidence.

“Shit, Xan.” Lennox breaks the long pause. “You can’t tell them about… You know…”

The silence is frustrating. I strain my ears, trying to understand what’s happening.

“Lennox is miming,” Ripley whispers to me. “Throat cutting, to be specific.”

“Thanks. Can we really keep that a secret?”

“Nobody saw me,” Xander says nonchalantly.

“Are you absolutely certain?” Lennox counters.

His silence is telling. Nope. He’s not.

“Then lie!”

There’s a loud boom, and the table shakes as Lennox must slam his fist down onto it.

“Tell them what happened, but say the warden threatened you. Anything. It’d be your word against a dead man.”

Something has really gone wrong if I’m sitting here, trapped in a safe house, discussing how best to cover up a grisly murder one of my best friends committed. It’s a far cry from my old life.

“We aided and abetted the experimental program by selling contraband.” Ripley changes the topic. “I doubt the law will look upon that leniently.”

“Then we have a bargaining chip.” Lennox snaps his fingers. “Our inside information will fast-track years of investigative work. We can tell them everything. We sell them on that.”

Someone drums on the table’s surface. I can taste the boiling tension. We’ve sided with the good guys, but that doesn’t mean we’re off the hook. The world doesn’t work that way.

“And if it’s not enough?” Xander eventually asks. “Lennox, we both have criminal convictions. Who’s to say we won’t be sent to an actual prison this time?”

“They wouldn’t do that, surely?”

Just the thought has anxiety vibrating beneath my skin.

“This will turn into a blame game. Throwing us in jail with a nice guilty label will be an easy win.”

The thought of them being ripped away from us is too much to bear. While a violent episode landed Ripley in Harrowdean Manor, I know she was never charged. Like me, she was among the percentage incarcerated without a criminal conviction.

The rest—patients like Lennox and Xander—took their rehabilitative sentence to avoid prison. That’s not to say their mental health wasn’t a deciding factor. Ultimately, no one in the institute was altogether sane.

I rub my aching temples, a headache forming. “Why does it sound like we’re screwed either way?”

“No.” Ripley’s leg presses harder into mine. “We just have to play this smart until the investigation concludes with Bancroft and his associates behind bars.”

“Or six feet under,” Xander adds.

Lennox makes an agreeing sound. I trace circles on Ripley’s loose sweats, the cotton rough and cheap. No matter what role he’s played, Jonathan is her last living relative. She has to be struggling.

“I know he’s your uncle, but…”

“He won’t stop,” she finishes for me. “Jonathan is relentless. Focused. If he wants something, he’ll pull every trick in the book to get it.”

“In business,” I point out. “This is different.”

“I was always a business transaction to him. It’s no different now. He’s a core investor in Incendia Corporation, and we’re a threat to that. To his entire livelihood and reputation.”

Her words hang ominously. She’s right. To him, we are a threat. An erasable one. That’s why he sent those men to capture or kill us. Jonathan is far more than the heartless bastard we all took him to be.

He’s dangerous.

And we’re on his hit list.