Page 165 of Sin Like the Devil

Screams.

Salvation.

I gradually float back down to reality. It’s the same practised routine. A coping mechanism I perfected during months of this same treatment. I’d always come back once the reprieve came.

But Xander?

He never returned.

I open my eyes to Ripley crouched over me, something akin to a look of concern on her bloodied face. Wet hair is plastered to her head, the cut in her forehead still trickling.

She’s trembling from exertion, like it took all of her remaining energy to slide over to this corner of the cell. Fresh scrapes and bruises are scattered all over her.

An arm crossed over her bare breasts, she seems to be favouring her left side. My own body aches even more fiercely than before, promising fresh bruises to evidence the onslaught of kicking and punching.

A quick glance around reveals that we’re now alone, the machine vanished with Harrison and his grunts. Our tormentors have delivered their welcome gift and left. I really did check out.

“You back?”

I heave a breath. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die on me yet,” she jokes hoarsely.

“You wouldn’t like that?”

Ripley sighs, her weight braced on one cuffed hand. “No need for pretence, right?”

Hissing in pain, I breathe through the fire in my ribcage. “Do I look capable of that right now?”

“I guess not. Truthfully, I don’t want to die alone in here.” She summons a weak smile. “How’s that for honesty?”

Coughing wetly, she shuffles her back against the padded wall. I remain curled up in a puddle of water, too limp to lift a finger. There’s no concept of time in here. I don’t know how long the torture went on for, but we’re both drained.

“You kept saying your sister’s name.” Her voice is a needle in the heart. “And Xander’s too.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You can’t let them get in your head like that. It’s exactly what they want.”

“Who survived this shit before?” I wince on an inhale. “Don’t lecture me.”

“Fine. Be like that.”

From the corner of my eye, I can’t help but watch her. It’s the same sick desire that’s brought me into her orbit for months now. A drive I wasn’t willing to acknowledge before. Look where that got me.

Disaster follows Ripley at every turn, and I’ve followed along like a storm chaser on the heels of a promising tornado. In all the plots and schemes, a part of me hoped I wouldn’t succeed in destroying her.

Then the chase would end.

And I’d be left with a heavier conscience.

“You need to put pressure on your head,” I point out.

“Worried about me?”

“Hardly. Just don’t fancy being stuck here with a dead body.”

There’s an odd rattling sound before a sudden blast of cold air spews from the vents in the ceiling. More is pumped out, over and over, until the cell’s temperature has dramatically dropped.

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