Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

25. Xander

CHAPTER 25

XANDER

brAIN STEW – GREEN DAY

We’re sitting silently with morning coffee when the news comes in. Our entire group has been on tenterhooks since we received word that Sabre is making its move on Bancroft. Just in time for his grand reopening of Blackwood Institute.

It’s been splashed over the airwaves for days now, deafening any other news reports. His last-ditch PR effort to fix Incendia’s public image is a newly refurbished institute with reformed measures and security practices.

What a crock of shit.

Naturally, Enzo and his team kept details limited, citing unearthed concerns about the SCU’s trustworthiness. Not like we hadn’t figured that out long ago when Ripley’s deadbeat uncle knew far more than he should.

Nursing my black coffee, I watch Ripley fret over the commentators tearing the story to shreds. Overnight, hours’ worth of interview footage was leaked to blow the cover off Incendia’s lies once and for all.

“This is insane,” Lennox grumbles. “I can’t believe this has all been leaked.”

Remaining silent, I watch the reports drag on.

None of us have been mentioned, but the elusive inmates from Blackwood feature in all the snippets we’ve seen. The blonde-haired ex-patient, Brooklyn West, is being ripped to pieces live on air right now.

Another short video clip rolls.

“Blackwood and all the other institutes like it harbour a dark secret.” Brooklyn’s slate-grey eyes stare dead into the camera lens. “One bought and paid for by this country’s wealthy elite.”

Newscasters flick back on to the screen, dissecting every word and tearing apart Brooklyn’s recorded testimony. It’s a character assassination. This leak has rocketed the investigation back into public awareness but at great cost.

“This is what they’ll do to us in time,” Ripley mumbles lifelessly. “Drag up our pasts, throw every last mistake we’ve ever made in our faces and tell us to be silent once more.”

“They’re just chatting shit for the views.” Lennox is trying to placate her, though his voice lacks any hope.

“We can never go public.”

“Rip…”

“No matter what I threatened my uncle with.” She ignores him. “If we aren’t silent for the rest of our lives, we’ll face the same public lynching as these patients.”

None of us can offer Ripley any comfort. Not when the irrevocable proof of what she fears is staring us all in the face. The regime that ruined our lives is falling apart at this very moment, but it changes nothing.

We’re still outsiders.

Misfits. Rejects.

That’s all we’ll ever be.

“Do you think we’ll be free now?” Raine changes the topic.

Sitting next to him, Lennox is pushing cold toast around his plate. “That seem likely to you?”

“Well, I don’t know. Bancroft is the head of the snake. If Sabre is apprehending him, the rest of his empire will follow, right?”

“It isn’t that simple,” I butt in. “We have other enemies.”

“But if the truth is being dragged into the light, they can apprehend everyone who funded Incendia’s evil for so long,” Raine states like it’s simple. “Including Jonathan.”

In theory, that’s how it should work. Yet we all know the wheels of justice turn slowly, and in the case of mass-scale corruption and decades’ worth of high-level bribery, they turn even slower.

Laying a hand on Raine’s arm, Lennox’s stare is fixed on Ripley. She’s twisted in her seat at the table to see the TV better, her charcoal-stained fingers drumming nervously on her folded arms.

We’re all on edge, but she’s worryingly calm. Her only anxious tic is the twitching of her fingers. It’s like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. I don’t trust this supposed ending, but Ripley trusts it even less.

Hours pass sluggishly without an update. Lennox cleans up from breakfast, wasting time making endless cups of tea and coffee that sit untouched while Raine has coaxed Ripley onto the sofa to rest.

“Now let’s take a look back at the history of Britain’s privately-funded psychiatric care, commencing in 1984 with the opening of…”

“Enough,” Lennox snaps, grabbing the remote. “We can’t listen to this crap all day long.”

“Stop!” Ripley shouts at him.

“Come on, Rip. This isn’t healthy.”

“What else do you expect me to do? Sit here and wait for news?”

“I expect you to stop digging yourself a mental hole!”

Knocking pounds on our front door, making us all collectively freeze. The loud banging comes again. Louder. More frenzied. Someone is trying to break our goddamn door down.

Lennox drops the remote, his posture stiffening as he launches into battle mode. I shove back the kitchen chair to stand, my eyes focused on the corridor leading out of the apartment.

“Stay with Raine,” I bark at Ripley. “We’ll see who it is.”

She moves to Raine, fists clenched. “Be careful.”

I bend over to roll my jeans up, pulling the stashed pocketknife from its hiding place. Lennox raises an eyebrow before quickly moving to pull a meat cleaver from the kitchen block.

I gape at him. “Are you for real?”

“What?” He shrugs.

“This isn’t a horror movie. Why the cleaver?”

“Shut up, Xan. A knife’s a knife!”

Together we creep through the apartment, following the sound of the obnoxiously aggressive knocking. When Lennox leans in to check the peephole, his wide-set shoulders still don’t relax.

“It’s Warner.”

I remain poised, mirroring his suspicious stance. “Alone?”

“Yes.”

Ripley trusts him far more than we do, and if recent accusations are anything to go by, Bancroft has moles planted all over the place. Warner hasn’t earned my unequivocal trust yet.

“What do you want?” Lennox yells.

Warner braces a hand against the door. “Let me in, Nox. It’s urgent.”

“Then tell us urgently.”

“Not here.”

“Then we’re not opening the door,” I fire back.

“For fuck’s sake! Let me in. I think your location may be compromised.”

We exchange glances, both wavering. I make a fast judgement call and open the door, allowing Warner to step inside. His eyes blow wide at the sight of us clutching weapons, but he quickly nods.

“Good. You’re prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Lennox demands.

“Where are Ripley and Raine?”

I gesture down the corridor. “Kitchen.”

“Let’s talk together. Hurry.”

We return to the living area where Ripley is still standing in front of Raine. He’s been backed into the corner beside the TV. She visibly relaxes at the sight of Warner, red-faced and jittery in our doorway.

To be fair to him, my least favourite agent looks rough. His blue eyes are bloodshot, face sagging with tired lines and his clothing rumpled. Even his gun holster is fastened lopsidedly.

“Warner!” Ripley rushes towards him. “You’re okay.”

He waves her concern off. “No time. Sabre raided the Blackwood reopening last night. Bancroft is dead. His known associates are being arrested as we speak.”

Surprise stiffens my muscles, holding back the barrage of questions I intended to hit him with. Bancroft. Dead. The man who hurt us all so badly and forced us to flee for our lives… is gone.

Why don’t I feel relieved?

This is what we wanted. But the emotion never comes. It can’t be me because I’m still feeling all kinds of fucked up about what’s driven Warner to our door. My brain is trying to tell me something.

Bancroft’s death may have kicked the hornet’s nest. There’re plenty more below the head of the snake. Far more harrowing secrets will come to light now that he isn’t here to hold them back.

“That’s… good, right?” The uncertainty in Raine’s tone is palpable.

“It was.” Warner swallows hard. “Until I got word that Jonathan Bennet’s bank accounts, the legit and offshore holdings we’ve identified, were emptied at eight o’clock this morning.”

I connect the dots faster than he can explain. “Shit.”

If Jonathan is shuffling funds, he’s planning to disappear. With the amount of money that bastard holds, he could vanish off the face of the planet in no time.

Something tells me he isn’t the type to cut and run without tying up loose ends. Especially not after his altercation with Ripley and Lennox. He knows we’ll keep talking. The authorities will never stop hunting him.

Even if he can escape, tuck himself away on some bought and paid for tropical island under a false identity… he’ll live the rest of his life as a fugitive. It’s far from the luxury he’s used to. That won’t do.

“You think he’ll come for me,” Ripley surmises.

“I think he’s going to be angry and desperate.” Warner shifts on his feet. “He made it clear that he’s had you under surveillance. To be safe, I want to move you to a new location.”

“Move us?” Lennox glares at him. “That doesn’t sound safe at all.”

“It’s a necessary precaution.”

Warner doesn’t seem like a man who’d act as a mere precaution. Moving risks exposure, but if our location is compromised, staying would be far riskier.

“Why are you alone?” I ask, the hairs on my arms standing at attention.

“The teams are dealing with last night’s raid.” He fidgets again, failing to contain his nerves. “Sabre is preoccupied right now. Everyone’s guards are down.”

“But not you.” Lennox scrutinises him with his head inclined. “You came to get us.”

“Just call it a hunch, alright? I’m worried about the timing. Jonathan isn’t the type to scuttle away with his tail between his legs. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

Observing him, I decide to heed his warning. Warner didn’t have to come here. It would be stupid to ignore his instincts, even if I still loathe the bastard.

“Pack your bags,” I order them all. “We’re leaving.”

“But Xan—” Lennox starts.

“That’s final.”

Mouth slamming shut, he throws his hands up in frustration then stomps off towards our room. Raine presses a kiss to Ripley’s cheek and leaves the room too, a hand outstretched to feel for the layout he’s memorised.

Crossing my arms, I level Warner with a stare. “What else happened last night?”

For a moment, I don’t think he’ll respond.

“Bloodbath,” he eventually admits, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “There were multiple casualties including Bancroft. Enzo, Theo and Hunter are all safe. The other witnesses too.”

“How did he die?” Ripley asks.

Warner kneads the back of his neck. “Does it matter?”

My temper flares. “He hurt us both. It matters.”

“His… ah, throat was torn out, I believe.”

Whistling under her breath, Ripley’s mouth spreads in a smile. She looks up at me. I’m trying to puzzle out the thoughts I can see dancing in her eyes… Relief, satisfaction, maybe disappointment?

Did she want the kill for herself?

Our lives are inextricably interlinked by the monster who ensured our paths would cross. I can understand her thirst for revenge. That man caused untold damage to so many people.

“Good.” She nods.

Appearing uncomfortable, Warner’s eyes flit around the apartment. “We should move.”

“I’ll grab my things.”

Leaving Ripley to find Raine and pack her essentials, I don’t budge. Warner flicks me a glance.

“You’re not packing?”

“I’ve got all that I need.” I toss the pocketknife effortlessly up and down in my left hand. “Where are you taking us?”

“We have another safe house far from London. Closer to Oxford.”

If Warner is a mole, he would’ve turned us over to Bancroft long ago. Or be fleeing to hide from the inevitable convictions that will now be doled out. Perhaps it’s time I gave him some due credit.

“Listen, Warn?—”

CRASH.

Glass daggers hurtle towards us as the living room window shatters. A projectile flies through the air, carrying sharp daggers. Warner lunges to shove me to the floor, landing half on top of me.

We hit the rough carpet with a thud, the impact jolting my spine. His weight pins me down, azurite eyes lit with concern. The brief second of silent shock doesn’t last long.

CRASH.

A second projectile hits the carpet closer to us in a pile of scattered shards. It takes a moment for the round, dark-green object to register in my mind. Then terror sets in faster than I can bellow a warning.

“GRENADE!”

Warner kicks the grenade across the room before a flash blinds us. The detonation causes an almighty roar of crumbling bricks and broken glass. Smoke quickly fills the open plan space.

It’s all we can do to cower. The explosion ripped a hole in the apartment, causing an almighty racket. When I lift my head in the thick plumes of dust that have filled the room, I spot the first projectile.

Another grenade, but it hasn’t detonated. I’m not taking any chances. Reason doesn’t pierce the surface of my determination. We can’t take another hit. Protecting those around me becomes my only thought.

“Xander! Stop!”

Warner hollers when I pick up the grenade and aim it towards the window, hoping it sails through the smoke to reach outside. For an awful second, I’m standing there with it in my fucking hand.

“Run!” I scream at him.

Thick, noxious smoke is billowing from the hole blasted in the side of the apartment. The first grenade flies through it, vanishing into the black cloud. I momentarily look at my hand. Huh. It’s still attached.

“Go!” Warner bellows back. “Now!”

Dropping low, I follow him out into the corridor. The hollow smash of an exploding bottle reverberates throughout what’s left of the room behind us. Crackling flames and the stench of ignited fuel chase us out the kitchen.

Is that..?

“Fire!” Warner roars.

Molotov cocktails.

We’re being firebombed.

I point for him to find Lennox while I head towards Raine and Ripley’s room, my panic narrowing into a pure adrenaline rush. We need to get out of here.

“Xan!” Ripley pulls Raine into the corridor, their bags forgotten. “What’s going on?”

“No time! Out, now!”

They run for the door, leaving me to find Warner and Lennox. The pair stumble through the rapidly-increasing smoke, billowing from the burning kitchen. More cocktails must’ve been thrown in.

Grabbing Lennox’s wrist, I hold onto him as Warner guides us to the exit. Raine and Ripley hang in the stairwell outside, waiting for us to follow. Throughout the building, fire alarms are wailing.

“We can’t just go out there,” Lennox shouts over the sounds of destruction. “We’re under fire!”

“Service exit.” Warner draws the weapon from his gun holster. “Second floor. Car’s outside. Go, go!”

All clinging together, we race down the levels, passing other startled residents battling to escape. Chaos is fast unfolding. The apartment block is huge with countless lives now caught in the crosshairs.

Ripley almost trips in her hurry to get downstairs as fast as possible. I lunge to catch her before she can go flying down several flights of steps. She steadies in my arms, barely able to breathe.

“Shit,” she wheezes in panic. “Xan!”

“Keep moving, goddammit!”

My grip on her bicep doesn’t relent. We escaped the dense black smoke and flames only to run into herds of people flooding out, heeding the warning to find the nearest exit. I can’t risk losing her in the melee.

“This is insane!” Ripley shrieks. “Why attack so blatantly?”

“Figure that out when we’re secure!”

Warner darts ahead, waving for us to follow when we reach the second floor. While everyone else heads for the main exit below, we wind around the staircase to head deeper into the building.

Lennox is now hauling Raine each step, ensuring he doesn’t hit anything. We follow closely, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who decides to infiltrate the building.

“There.” Warner points towards a service door marked with a sign. “Should be steps leading down to the back of the building.”

He wrenches the door open, ducking his head outside for a cursory glance. After a beat, Warner takes a tentative step outside with his gun raised, ready to fire off a round into the first person who stops us.

“It’s clear. Follow me.”

I hold Ripley back. “Bring up the rear behind Lennox and Raine. I’ll go first.”

“So you can get shot first?” she hisses back.

“If necessary, yes! Don’t argue!”

Shoving her behind me, I step in front of them and follow Warner. Ripley has the good sense to heed my instructions, moving to the back of our group.

I step outside, surveying the concrete slab wrapped around the apartment block. It’s littered with communal bins and broken down cardboard boxes that are piled up, set to be recycled.

Not a single assailant.

For now.

Warner gestures towards his SUV, clicking the key fob. “In! Now!’

The exit steps are made from thin, inflexible metal sheets. This door is clearly only used for building maintenance. It’s a tight squeeze to fit us all as we rush to reach ground level.

“Let me help you!” Lennox insists, pulling Raine down the steep steps. “We don’t have time.”

Reaching the ground, we take a split second to check each other over before racing towards Warner’s parked car. The sound of erupting glass and raging fire is deafening.

A quick glance up reveals that the flames have spread, now consuming several apartments surrounding ours. Our attackers didn’t seem to consider the collateral damage of their firebombs. Or they simply didn’t care.

“In the back!” Ripley throws open the door for Lennox. “Hurry!”

They both help Raine into the car. I climb into the passenger seat, all my focus fixed outside. Still nothing. Distant sirens are now wailing, adding to the mayhem rattling my brain.

Warner clambers behind the wheel, stashing his weapon in the door. He throws the car into gear then takes off in a squeal of tyres, causing us all to be slammed back in our seats.

“I didn’t think Jonathan’s surveillance was that sophisticated,” he mutters to himself. “We should’ve moved you days ago, before the raid went down.”

“You think?” I counter.

“We fucked up, alright?”

“No! It’s not!”

“Stop, Xan,” Ripley gasps. “This isn’t his fault.”

Warner drives like a man possessed, attacking sharp turns without an ounce of hesitation. Other motorists blare their horns, narrowly avoiding being mowed down.

“Shit.” Lennox stares out the back window.

Black smoke billows into the sky behind us even after the apartment block vanishes. It must be visible for miles around. Their reckless attack is eating through the building’s cheap cladding without mercy.

“All those people.” Ripley stares out of the window numbly. “God, what about casualties?”

“Emergency services are en route.” Warner hits the handsfree, pulling up a phone number. “We can’t worry about them right now.”

Ringing fills the car as he manoeuvres his way through the traffic winding out of London. The line connects to heavy, panicked breathing.

“Warner!” Becket’s crisp voice booms. “What the fuck is going on? We’re getting reports of a fire at the safe house.”

“We need backup. I got them out. Track the car.”

Curses spew down the line.

“We’re half an hour out from your location. Goddammit!”

“Just find us, Beck. I’ll keep them safe.”

“Be careful.”

The line disconnects. Gaze locked on the rearview mirror, I study the huge, black Range Rover swerving through other cars to catch up to us.

When it passes several cars to catch up, my suspicions grow. It can’t be a coincidence. The windows are tinted too, showing a hint of multiple passengers.

“Behind us,” I call out. “We have a tail.”

“Bollocks.” Warner bangs a fist on the steering wheel.

We almost careen straight into the back of a rusted minivan as Warner slams his foot down on the accelerator. This road is cluttered with traffic. Horns blare all around us.

Swerving dangerously, the Range Rover gains on us. Warner spits another choice curse word, his eyes fluctuating between the road ahead and his mirror.

There are only two cars acting as a buffer between us, holding the Range Rover back from a hard collision. At this rate, they’ll be hot on our tail in seconds.

“You know how to use a gun?” Warner glances at me.

I have the inappropriate urge to laugh. “No! I just guessed what to do with that damn assault rifle before.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to learn on the job. Those bastards are coming for us fast.”

Gingerly accepting the weapon he passes me, I familiarise myself with the metal grip. Running a one-man, international embezzlement scheme from my keyboard didn’t exactly call for much firearms practice.

“Aim for their tyres!” Lennox suggests, gripping Ripley’s leg. “We need to get them off the road.”

“Civilians!” Warner exclaims. “Hang on.”

The engine revs, pushing the car to the max. We pull out in front of a dawdling estate car, taking a left to find a dual carriageway. The press of traffic thins out, leaving us to advance ahead in the fast lane.

I roll down the window, peeking out to evaluate how far the speeding car is behind us. I’ve no doubt they’re also armed. I don’t exactly fancy getting my head blown off while trying to defend our vehicle.

“Now, Xander! Fire!”

Aiming as best as possible, I squeeze the trigger. Pain ricochets up my arm from the kickback. The bullet hits the smooth tarmac then bounces off, missing its target.

“Shit.” I blow out a tense breath.

“Again!”

Shifting my aim higher, I fire off another shot. This time, I’m prepared for the force that pulling the trigger creates. The shot lands in their front bumper, leaving a smoking, black hole.

My head smacks into the door’s frame when Warner is forced to turn, the lanes merging into a narrower road. More cars sandwich us, forcing me to retreat so I don’t hit anyone around us.

“Take the wheel,” he instructs, clicking the car into cruise control to free up the pedals. “And pass me the gun.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! Now!”

I lean over the console, steadying the steering wheel. Warner takes his weapon and shifts closer to the window. Ripley screeches his name in alarm, watching him leaning outside to find his aim.

Before he can pop off a shot, something hard slams into us. The impact jolts the SUV to the side, shaking us all. Warner grabs the seat to steady himself, preventing himself from falling out of the fucking car to become a human pancake.

“There!” Lennox cries out. “Blue transit van.”

A faded blue vehicle is swinging between lanes like the driver was mainlining heroin before deciding to drive. It swerves deliberately, bringing it back within range. The front rams into us, causing another rough impact.

“Xander!” Ripley screams in alarm.

I lose grip of the wheel, causing the SUV to slam into the railings. Sparks fly. Metal grinds, causing a horrific screech. Warner retakes his seat, abandoning his attempts to fire at our pursuers.

“Incoming!” Ripley shouts, trying to hold steady. “Swerve, swerve!”

But we’re sandwiched against the railings, the blue transit van trapping us in place. With the Range Rover creeping up behind us, there’s nowhere to go but forwards.

“Brace for impact!” Warner yells.

SMASH.

More screams come from the back seat. We’re rammed repeatedly, each slam causing the tyres to slip. Warner pulls us into the middle lane before another impact can land.

“Hang on,” he warns.

It’s futile. Our pursuers ram their front bumper into the back of the car. It propels us forward, giving the van the perfect chance to hit us at an angle.

SMASH.

My stomach lurches when our tyres leave the tarmac. Reality slows to a crawl, hitting me in horrific jolts. The car is airborne. Warner desperately flails. We’re going too fast to prevent the inevitable.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Each time the SUV hits the road, flipping us over in a death roll, agony crashes over me. It feels like my bones are being pulled out and ground into a fine dust, unable to withstand each hit.

Blood pours down my face. Hot. Slippery. Something burns. The pain… It’s overwhelming. Something else cracks. Distant wails sound dull in the weightlessness.

Head smashing on a surface, everything blackens. The crying and pained howling all around me feels like it’s happening above surface while I’m sinking to the bottom of a frozen lake.

Forcing my eyelids to lift, all I can see is smoke. Crackling flames. Shattered glass. Twisted, unrecognisable metal. I think… I’m upside down. Pinned by the seat belt making my ribcage wail.

Beside me, a crimson-soaked lump of meat is trapped at an unnatural angle. Head slumped. Leg pinned. Warner’s breathing is uneven, matching the sobs coming from somewhere behind me.

I dip in and out, too tired to hold myself in the present. The flashes return. Shouts. Car doors. Barked orders. Crunching footsteps. Someone is prising the back doors open.

“Ripley,” I slur semi-consciously.

Hands grab her. Slicing seat belts. Wrenching her struggling limbs. No matter how much I shout internally, I can’t get my body to respond. It’s shutting down on me.

The sound of her screaming our names is the last thing I hear before the world disappears.