Page 58 of Burn Like An Angel
“Ha. Someone thinks highly of himself.”
“That’s not a disagreement. So you do love my tongue.”
Huffing, I awkwardly turn over to face him. Raine is sleeping next to me, less than a metre between our cardboard boxes. Lennox opted to sleep beside him, still keeping a safe distance from me.
Raine is curled up on his side, the rich caramel of his unfocused eyes gleaming in the morning light. Beneath his golden locks sticking up in all directions, his gaze bounces around haphazardly.
“We can’t just lay here and wait forever,” I hiss under my breath. “What if he’s been captured by Rick’s merry band of idiots? Or he’s injured? Or…”
“Rip,” Raine interrupts. “Time out. Langley—or Warner—he’s a big boy. He can look out for himself. You going out there is a shitty idea that we’ve already proven sucks.”
“He needs our help!”
“We need to help ourselves,” he disagrees. “That starts with laying low until we have a decent plan. The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to get.”
Deep down, I know Raine’s right. The nightly screams now bleed into daytime. From our hiding spot, I’ve heard bonfirescrackling outside at all hours, the smoke leaking in through the broken roof and windows.
For the last two nights, we’ve been plunged into darkness to preserve our waning flashlight. The pitch-black cloak only intensifies the awful sounds all around us.
I’ve startled awake to wailing and sobbing several times. Sounds of people being assaulted. More brutal fights. Starving patients are turning to desperate measures to ride the riot out.
Something has to give. If Incendia’s plan is to wait this out, it isn’t working. Exhaustion and hunger aren’t starving out the violence; it’s just fuelling it. And Harrowdean’s patient population has plenty to be angry about.
“How long was the longest prison riot? Like, ever?”
“In this country?” Raine questions. “I dunno. A couple weeks, maybe?”
“We’ve been trapped in limbo for almost a whole week now. It won’t last much longer, surely?”
Skin prickling with trapped energy, I begin to scratch at my arms and neck, savouring the bite of pain. My injuries are healing well as the evidence of our torture slowly disappears. The memories remain just as raw, though.
I’ve seen the shadows in Lennox’s eyes. He blinks them away when he catches me staring and always averts his gaze. We’ve woken up to the sound of him thrashing about in nightmare-filled sleep multiple times too.
The back and forth of my ping-ponging thoughts is only worsened by the physical symptoms I’m trying to ignore. I scratch my arms to the point of bleeding, watching the blood vessels burst in bright-purple streaks.
“Rip,” Raine croons.
Ignoring him, I keep scratching. Harder. Rougher. My skin stains red from abrasions. The thick, gnarly scars beneath mytouch are a harsh taunt.Harrowdean’s whore.I’ve memorised each letter by touch alone.
Look at her now.
I’m a fucking coward.
With each second ticking away, I can feel the devil breathing down our necks. But in this case, the devil has a human face. One that now infiltrates every restful moment I manage to find.
Bancroft won’t let me go unpunished. My uncle told me enough stories about his associate long before I experienced his cold calculation firsthand. He rules the corporation with an iron fist.
Now he’s out there. Plotting and moving his chess pieces into place. I’ll never take his silence for defeat. It’s deliberate. The calm before a violent storm that destroys everything in its path.
Is my uncle helping him now?
Will he cheer Bancroft on when I’m sacrificed?
“Rip! Come here.”
The sharp snap of Raine’s command interrupts my downward spiral. I look over at him, sitting up and wearing a concerned frown that’s directed in my vicinity.
“Now,” he adds.
