Burn Like An Angel (Harrowdean Manor #2)

27. Ripley

CHAPTER 27

RIPLEY

BURN IT TO THE GROUND – NICKELBACK

The rumbling engine is my sole companion in the blackness. Discomfort long since stopped registering after my third hit of Elon’s favourite weapon. Each time the numbness begins to lift, he doses me up again.

I’ve been carelessly tossed between vehicles every time he stops. The two men travelling with Elon seem determined to throw any potential tail, changing vehicles multiple times.

During our most recent stop, I didn’t even open my eyes. My limbs had started to tingle and wake up, but I remained a limp rag doll. Enough to avoid another dosing to keep me placid.

Every part of me is still weak albeit coming alive. As the engine roars and infinite time slips by, more feeling returns to my extremities. I can make my fingers twitch now. I’m basically deadly.

No, Rip.

You’re basically screwed.

In the pitch-black din of the car boot I’ve been tossed in, I construct a mental portrait of the faces I left behind. Adding brush strokes here, splashes of colour there. Creating realistic texture and nuance. Adding voices, touches, familiar scents.

God, I fucking miss them.

Raine is sunshine. Warmth dappled on my face. Summer barbecues on the beach. Orange juice freshly squeezed in the morning. All things love and light in a world awash with such despair.

By comparison, I see Xander as all dark. The violent, bubbling storm clouds that roll in when that summer day comes to a close. Yet it’s still beautiful—all that destructive threat. Complex and purposeful. Storms are a necessary part of nature.

I’d paint Lennox as the undulating lake that lives in his seafoam eyes. That’s the reality beneath his angry facade. A bottomless pit of water with a whirlpool at the centre. Holding us all firm.

The painting I first created of them in Harrowdean couldn’t be further from the truth. I thought they were my demons. The villains lurking in the background, creeping ever closer with their foul intentions.

Now… I’d take the monsters I first encountered over whatever lies ahead of me. Given the chance, I would rewind the clocks, return to Priory Lane and do it all over again.

Every second of heartache and anguish. All the trauma, the grief, the regret. I wouldn’t change anything. Even if it leads me right here.

If they’re dead… I would know, right? I’d feel it in my bones. Gravity would shift, and the world would dim into everlasting night. I’ve waited so long to find a place to belong, and now it feels like it’s being torn away with each mile that passes.

This can’t be it.

I didn’t survive all I did for it to end like this.

Ears straining when I feel the vehicle pull to a halt, I listen for any clues as to our whereabouts. These assailants are incredibly skilled. Jonathan must be expending a small fortune to secure my safe capture.

I don’t know why he doesn’t just kill me. Sure, it would play into the villain narrative that will form against him. He’d be forced to hide underground for the rest of his life. But isn’t this far more effort?

Car doors slam, causing the boot I’m encased in to jolt. I close my eyes, forcing my tingling limbs to loosen. I’m far from being able to run for the hills, but I won’t take another hit of those damn drugs.

“Sir,” someone greets.

“Any problems?” a clipped, all-business tone responds.

“None. We’re clear.”

“Good. Get her inside.”

Fresh nighttime air rushes in when the boot clicks open. Hands grab hold of me, lifting my torso and ankles between them. It takes all my self-control to keep my eyes shut.

My body is jostled between two people, the hands beneath my armpits carrying me a short distance. Multiple footsteps follow. I dare to crack open a lid the tiniest amount.

Black tarmac marked with stripes and landing strips. Curved metal fuselage. Circular windows. Spinning rotors. Golden embossing spelling out a familiar company name.

Langdale Investments.

I’m being carried onto a private jet.

If I try anything now, I’ll be drugged and incapacitated again before I can get far. The pins and needles are still spreading, bringing sensation with them.

“Leroy will meet with us in Rio De Janeiro.”

Uncle Jonathan. I recognise his voice.

“Very good, sir.”

That motherfucker, Elon. I’ll kill the son of a bitch.

“You’ll be compensated for your assistance, Elon. I understand it has been a trying time, but we’ll recover from recent setbacks and rebuild.”

“Sir.” Elon hesitates, shuffling his feet. “Is it wise to keep her alive? She’s a proven risk.”

Jonathan chuckles. It’s a flat, ugly sound. A true reflection of the man who lies within his carefully choreographed exterior, clothed in luxury and false smiles to schmooze his clients.

“My niece can do far more damage in death than she’ll do subjugated by my side. I will not allow her ramblings to destroy what assets we have left.”

“But—”

“That’s final,” Jonathan cuts him off.

Elon sighs audibly. “Very well, sir.”

I’m roughly deposited in what feels like a leather seat. Terror grips my lungs, almost causing my act to slip. I can wriggle my toes now. When my body obeys me, I’m going to tear these monsters apart.

Noise bustles all around me. Bags being heaved. Men huffing. Pre-flight checks accompanying the hum of the engine warming up. I sense someone stop in front of me before cool lips briefly touch my temple.

“Dear, dear niece. It didn’t have to be this way.”

“Please take your seat, sir. We’ll be ready to depart soon.”

His presence moves away, taking his expensive aftershave with him. The smell of it makes me want to gag. All the things that made my uncle seem like such an impressive deity when I first arrived in London as a scared kid are laughable now.

It was all a sham.

One I swallowed for too long.

His rejection and disgust used to hurt me. Enough to leave wounds that impacted every relationship I had since. But I didn’t hate him. Not fully. Not until he showed his true colours and harmed those I care about.

Now I’m ready to end this, once and for all.

Bloodlines be damned.

Holding my eyes open as slits, I can safely peer around. I’m sitting at the back of the jet, an incapacitated prisoner kept out of sight. Elon is barking at his guys, disregarding my unrestrained state.

Always so cocky. He hasn’t even bothered to cuff me or fasten my body into the seat. The wanker clearly thinks I’m still dosed to my tits on his drug cocktail. I’ll show him.

“In the distance! Headlights!”

Before I can move, shouts pour in from outside. Jonathan stiffens in his seat, sternly calling out for answers, but Elon waves him off.

“Stay seated, sir.”

“Who is it?” he demands, angrily slamming a fist down on his armrest.

“Those Sabre pricks have tracked us down!”

I don’t allow the blast of dizzying relief to change my mind. These men have harmed me for the very last time. I’m not going to wait to be rescued this time.

I carefully test my limbs. Still shaky. My legs respond, pressing my feet into the plush aeroplane carpet. Hands balling into fists, I can just about move my arms. It’ll have to be enough.

My plan is simple—I have no fucking plan. Nothing but a last-ditch attempt to escape whatever unthinkable fate my uncle has cooked up for me this time.

I finally get what Xander meant as we fled Harrowdean. I’d rather die on my feet than on my knees. Even if that means throwing myself at the mercy of a suicide mission in order to escape this jet. They can shoot me on the runway before I let it take off with me onboard.

Numb fingers latching onto an empty crystal tumbler on the beverage cart next to me, I lift the leaden weight. Elon has moved to the front of the jet to continue yelling at his men, hurrying them along for take off.

My legs are like trembling spaghetti underneath me. I can hardly hold my own weight. Each step forward towards my uncle’s occupied chair feels like running into the middle of a battlefield with a high probability of being shot.

He’s watching the exit for any hints as to what’s coming, sitting on the edge of his seat. Elon hasn’t returned. It’s now or never.

I lift the glass as high as possible, swinging it in an arc to meet the back of his head.

“Argh!” Jonathan cries out.

He slumps forward, falling from his seat. I react fast before we have company. My body protests at the sudden movement, carrying me to his fallen form.

“Fuck you!” I hit his head again, causing the glass to smash.

Crystal scatters between us, cutting his shocked face and forehead. Jonathan writhes on the carpet, trying to peer through the blood now pouring from the wound under his hairline.

“Ripley, stop!”

Instead, I launch myself on top of him, willing my fists to respond. The punches are feeble, borderline pathetic, but I pour all my will into each strike. Raining down every last scrap of fight I have left to give.

We wrestle each other, two opposing forces, both on the wrong side of the law. I may have earned this fate, but I learned to be bad from the best. He sank his evil into me long ago.

“Little bitch!” he screams out.

My fist slams into his cheek, causing spit to fly from his mouth. “You did this!”

“I saved you!”

“No.” I hit his barely-healed nose. “You fucking doomed me!”

Shouts are fast approaching. I’ll be tossed aside by his men soon. Snagging a crystal shard, I grip the sharp piece, raising it high above Jonathan’s face. His eyes bug out, but he doesn’t dare move or provoke me.

I don’t think I’ve seen him afraid before. It’s a pleasant sight. Empowering. For the first time, I hold the upper hand over him. I’m no longer a petrified teenager, handing over her diagnosis for his perusal.

“Ripley,” he splutters. “We’re… We’re family.”

“You were my family,” I howl at him. “You were all I had!”

“Stop this!”

“Did you stop those doctors from torturing us? Experimenting on us? Killing without consequence?”

“You can still walk away,” he pleads, eyes locked on the shard.

Years of hatred boil into a concentrated poison in my veins. Rage has been injected into my heart’s muscle, pouring fuel on a fire that’s long burned within me. The same fire that drove me to avenge Holly’s death.

Injustice.

Pure abandonment.

Cruel, senseless fucking grief.

It all stares back at me in his terrified eyes.

I won’t allow the world to hurt me ever again. I’ve given up enough. I don’t need Jonathan’s threats hanging over me any longer. I’m more than the orphan he beat down with his negligence.

“I don’t want to walk away. I’m right where I need to be.”

Jonathan bellows when the shard sails towards him. I numbly register that I’m screaming as I slam the pointed tip into the side of his throat, just below his jawline.

The glass easily tears through his flesh, parting skin and muscle like it’s little more than butter left out on a summer’s day. It buries deep inside him, slicing vital arteries, and I know I’ve paid the final price.

My soul.

It’s truly broken now.

Pulling the weapon free from his throat, blood squirts from the wound and splashes all over my face. Beneath me, Jonathan’s eyes are wide as saucers, a crimson spill pouring from him at an astonishing speed.

Still straddling his chest, I relax my hand, letting the crystal shard hit the carpet. Watching the life rush from him, taking with it a man who did nothing but hate the child he was supposed to love.

“You didn’t silence me.” I stare into his petrified eyes. “You just made me desperate. I’ll never let you take my voice from me again. Never .”

Jonathan tries to clamp down on his throat to staunch the blood, but it’s futile. I easily capture his wrist and pin it above him, stopping his efforts to save himself. I want to watch him die.

The guilt never comes.

Not as the light inside him begins to dim. Nor as the last remaining member of my family slowly fades before me, growing weaker with each second blood gushes from his neck wound.

He isn’t my family.

Not anymore.

This monster doesn’t deserve that title.

“You fucking lunatic!”

Movement over my shoulder is the only warning I get before Elon launches himself at me. I’m tackled to the side, thrown off Jonathan. We roll together in between the leather seats.

“Goddammit!” Elon’s spittle wets my face.

Plastering on a smile that hopefully rivals his, I’m caught underneath him. “Did I foil your great retirement plan?”

“You killed him. Your own fucking relative!”

“No!” I screech back. “I killed a stranger!”

Surging my head forward, I slam my forehead into his face. Elon yelps in pain, knocked off kilter by the hard blow that reignites my head wound. Before I can launch another attack, he lands a fast punch to the cheek.

The strike makes my teeth grind together, metallic blood bursting on my tongue when I accidentally bite down. I turn feral, bucking against his body and acting on pure instinct.

“Help me restrain her!” Elon roars over his shoulder.

Yet no backup comes.

When his men fail to make a reappearance after several long moments, he hisses in frustration, attempting to pin my wrists above my head so I can stop trying to claw his face.

“Stay still, whore!”

I’m pinned on the carpet, running low on viable options. I don’t have the strength to buck him off or attempt another head butt. The glass shard is out of reach beside my uncle’s still-gurgling body.

“I should’ve snapped your fucking neck when I had the chance.” Elon’s neck is mottled with red spots, a sheen of sweat shimmering above his lip.

“You should have,” I snarl back.

“You’ve ruined everything!”

Bullets spray against the side of the jet, causing him to startle. He releases one wrist, trying to reach for his weapon. The split-second opening allows me to lash out, aiming my nails towards his eyes.

I don’t have time to hesitate. It’s a last ditch move. A final, desperate act. My fingers connect with his eye sockets and begin digging, tearing through wet mulch.

The wails that spill from his mouth feel like they’re going to shatter my eardrums. I push past my revulsion, scratching deeply until blood soaks into my fingertips.

Oh, how he screams.

So fucking gloriously.

Elon clasps his hands over his bleeding face and falls backwards. I wipe my fingers off, ignoring the ruckus echoing from outside. Bullets have been replaced by stern shouting.

I’m hardly able to stand, bracing myself on a nearby seat. Elon lays flat on his back, writhing in pain. Too exhausted to smile, I loom over him, debating whether to slit his throat from ear to ear.

“People like you are the reason evil exists.” I boot him in the stomach as hard as I can. “You enable it. Profit from it. Fucking create it. All from the sidelines.”

A strangled howl is his only defence.

“I could kill you, but when the dust settles, the world will forget. You’ll be wiped away. And I need everyone to remember what happens to snakes who profit from others’ pain.”

Curled up like a despicable worm, it’s hard to imagine how this man spent a year taunting me. Forcing me to push product and hurt everyone around me. Ferrying innocent lives down to Craven and Harrison to meet their inevitable end.

He’s a failure now.

The final pawn to fall.

Falling to my knees, the rush of extreme exhaustion almost drags me under. My adrenaline is waning fast. I have just enough energy to crawl back over to my uncle’s body, lying deathly still in a puddle of blood.

His eyes are frozen open, pupils expanded to cavernous pits. Mouth slack. Tongue lolling. Throat gaping open. I reach over to slide his eyes closed, forever silencing his evil.

Footfalls clang against the jet’s steps, indicating multiple arrivals. But my muscles can’t hold out any longer. I lower my head to Jonathan’s shirt-clad chest, forehead resting above his still heart.

That’s how Sabre finds me.

Bloodied and limp.

“I’m sure I’ll meet you in hell someday, Uncle Jonathan,” I whisper into his chest as my strength wanes. “Hold the gates open for me.”