Page 14 of Sin Like the Devil

One foot propped behind him, the usual morning guard spares me a glance. He’s tall and well-built, his tanned biceps straining against the soft material of his black shirt.

He’s always been friendly to me. Sometimes suspiciously so. He’s cute in a boyish way with his dark hair and fuzz-covered jawline.

“Morning, Rip. You’re up early.”

“Got a project calling my name in the studio.”

Bright-blue eyes scanning over me, he frowns slightly. “Anyone causing ya trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle on my own.”

When his aquamarine eyes soften, I cast a cursory look around, ensuring no one is watching. I like Langley. Unlike some of the warden’s well-paid thugs, he has a heart. Shame I can’t afford to have any form of attachment in this place.

But in here, I don’t get to have friends. Connections. Weaknesses. There’s a reason why I keep everyone at arm’s length. I’m here to do one thing. Survive. And I’ll take myself out long before I let anyone break me again.

“Anyone gives you shit, I want to know about it.” He moves to rest a hand on the baton strapped to his hip. “Contrary to what you may think, you’re not alone in here.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time,” I say matter-of-factly. “It has nothing to do with this damn place. Do me a favour and mind your fucking business.”

Waiting for the hurt to fill his eyes, I stare for a second longer before walking away. The sooner he stops seeing me as some tragic experiment that’s somehow his to protect—from his employer no less—the better.

The cafeteria is located on the ground floor of the west wing. Traipsing down plush corridors adorned with more priceless artwork, I force my exhausted body to obey. Food. Paint. Forget. That’s how I’ll get through today.

With freshly waxed hardwood floors, cream walls and several long, rectangular tables to house the small patient population, it’s practically empty at this hour.

Food awaits on the service line in the uppermost corner. I bypass the hot option and grab some fruit to take away. As I’m grabbing a juice box in lieu of the macchiato I’d rather be drinking, something hard shoves into my shoulder.

I trip and stumble, catching myself on the service line before I faceplant on the floor. Rick offers me an innocent smirk before he turns away with his breakfast tray in hand.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there,” he coos over his shoulder.

“Seriously?”

“What’s up, Rip? No guard dog to kiss your ass today?”

Placing my food down, I snatch the back of his loose blue shirt and yank. He’s dragged to a halt long enough for me to slip a foot around his ankle and shove his shoulder, causing him to go flying.

Food splatters across the floor as he lands unceremoniously on his ass. Rick bellows in shock and pain. I stare down at him pathetically rolling around.

“Sorry,” I snap angrily. “Didn’t see you there either.”

“Motherfucker!” he screeches.

“You seem to have egg on your shirt.”

Swiping spilt milk from his face, Rick eyes me furiously. “You have a fucking death wish or what?”

“I was perfectly happy minding my own business until you showed up.” I tilt my head to stare down at him. “You’re cut off. I don’t sell to assholes. Spread the word.”

Before he can respond, I grab my apple and saunter away with a wink delivered to an open-mouthed Langley, watching everything unfold from his post. He shakes his head at me, lips quirked up as he fights his amusement. What? I told him I could handle myself. Maybe next time, he’ll believe me.

The art studio is located in the deserted south wing, at the end of another seemingly endless corridor surrounded by locked classrooms. I swipe my keycard to let myself into the large, shaded space.

Flicking the lights on, the comforting surroundings of my happy place are revealed. No one touches my canvases or supplies—not even Lena, the resident hippy art therapist—so I have a whole corner all to myself.

Everyone knows better than to fuck with my artwork. Like Rick said, being the warden’s bitch has its perks. It only cost my soul.

Pulling out my oil paints, I begin to set up. My paintbrushes are clean and waiting for me. The only exception to people touching my shit is when I use my leverage to get someone to clean up after me. Again, perks.

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