Page 19 of Sin Like the Devil

Perhaps more than any of us can.

“Hmm.” Raine tilts his head again in that strange, calculating way as he stares in my general direction. “Is it guava?”

“I’m sorry?” I splutter.

His mouth twitches again. “Your body wash. I couldn’t place it last night.”

I watch his tongue dart out to wet his full lips, almost like he’s tasting the air. Brain still short-circuiting, I mentally slap myself hard enough to knock myself back into gear.

“So?” he presses.

“I’m not sure how my choice of body wash is any concern of yours.”

Doctor Galloway is watching us like we’re some fascinating car crash unfolding. That doesn’t stop Raine from studying me with every sense available to him from behind those odd glasses.

“When you disturb my violin practise smelling like a walking smoothie, it becomes my business.”

Cocky son of a bitch.

“Then find somewhere else to practise,” I snap back.

Steeling my shoulders, I’m about to push past him when footsteps march down the corridor towards us. My back is turned to whoever is approaching as I move to escape into the therapy room.

I can’t see the newcomer—I only hear a sonorous, low-pitched bark.

“Raine! You done, man?”

No.

It can’t be.

“Yes,” Raine replies.

With the creeping agony of ice filling my veins, I’m forced to slowly turn to confirm the nightmare I’m living. As soon as I look, I’ll know it’s just my imagination.

Wake the fuck up, Ripley.

He isn’t here. He can’t be here.

I made sure of it the day I left Priory Lane and all its bad memories behind. Those two demons showing up in my dreams can’t have been an omen. I made sure they’d never see the light of day again for what they did.

The son of a bitch I buried alive is walking right towards me, those muscle-carved shoulders as broad as ever, bearing the weight of his sadistic cruelty. My demons have escaped their state-funded prison.

I’m staring at Lennox Nash.

Gorgeous.

Insane.

Categorically evil.

When his pale, seafoam eyes land on me, I have the pleasure of seeing his utter shock. Clearly, he also didn’t expect to be running into a ghost this morning. I have a split second to summon a perfectly blank expression.

“Lennox.” My voice is flat and emotionless. “It’s been a long time.”

We’ve played this game before. It doesn’t take long for his shock to vanish, replaced with his ever-present rage. Lennox is the definition of angry man syndrome.

He’s furious with the whole fucking world and out to solve all his problems with his fists. Those muscles weren’t made in the gym, though he spends most of his time in it. Lennox’s strength comes from a lifetime of fist fights.

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