Page 25 of Sin Like the Devil

There’s another beat of awkward silence, broken by the sound of feet shuffling. I can feel the tension skyrocketing between them.

“With enough encouragement,” Xander adds.

“Wow. Fuck.” I knead the back of my neck, which is feeling tighter the more they speak.

“It’s really not how it sounds,” Lennox protests.

“Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Xander interjects. “It’s exactly how it sounds.”

Processing that, I wish I could say that I’m surprised. Out of us all, I’m generally the most level-headed. Even for a smackhead. These two have a list of issues longer than my arm that not even my penchant for opiates can compete with.

Grumbling to himself, Lennox moves again to begin pacing the room. I know it’s him—his footsteps are heavy and furious. The man has fucking ants in his pants today, this Ripley chick has him all riled up.

“What exactly did she do to you?” I ask carefully. “For you to hate her so much, I mean. I sure as hell get why she hates both of y?—”

“Ripley Bennet must be dealt with.” Xander cuts over me, completely ignoring the question.

Lennox’s pacing halts. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“And why not?”

“She said something after she kicked my ass.” Lennox pauses, presumably reaching for the memory. “You’re in my institute now.”

“What does that mean?” I lift and drop a hand.

Neither responds for a loaded second, filled with enough tension for me to taste its cloying bitterness on the tip of my tongue. Someone huffs, while another taps their feet. It’s weird as fuck to see my friends so unnerved. Well, not see. More like sense.

I’ve taught myself to recognise their emotional cues—even Xander, who barely has any. Spend enough time with someone and their tells become like clockwork. Sighing. Pacing. Huffing. This is the eighty percent of my perception now.

“It means… she thinks she’s untouchable.” Xander makes a small, almost amused noise in the back of his throat.

“So?” Lennox sighs.

“So that will be her downfall.”

CHAPTER 6

RIPLEY

MISFITS – MAGNOLIA PARK & TAYLOR ACORN

Laying on my back with my feet above me, resting on the padded interior of the cell, I toss the apple I was given for breakfast up in the air. Do they seriously expect this pointless, solitary shit to work on me?

I get it. Bad Ripley. My role here is simple. Incite violence, addiction, fights—whatever the fuck I want—and supply all these worthless sons of bitches with enough self-destructive shit to fan the flames, but do not get involved. I’m supposed to remain neutral.

The perfect inside man.

An inconspicuous weapon.

My role definitely doesn’t entail beating the crap out of someone and almost revealing my hand. Secrets and subterfuge, remember? That’s the name of the game. Instead, I ran my mouth and threatened to kick Lennox’s well-toned ass.

In front of a clinician, no less.

Real fucking clever.

Catching the apple, my hand stills mid-throw when a loud shriek lances through the morning’s peace. Even through the walls of my padded cell, I can hear it. The terror. Fear so horrifying in its intensity, it would make a grown man run like a scared puppy.

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