Page 27 of Sin Like the Devil

“Come on. The warden wants a word.”

“Fabulous,” I rasp.

He flashes me another warning look. “Attitude, inmate.”

This time, I have the sense of mind to keep my mouth shut.

I’m towed onwards, past the solitary confinement wing to the offices beyond. Warden Davis prefers to keep to himself far from the clinicians and patients alike. He’s paid far too much to lower himself to our level.

Gleaming linoleum turns to thick carpet as we enter the administrative side of the wing. At the third door to the left, marked with a small bronze plaque, Elon knocks politely then waits to be called in.

“Enter,” Davis calls out.

Inside, it’s as lush and pretentious as you’d imagine. Hardwood floors and thick, patterned rugs. A sprawling dark-wood desk littered with organised paperwork and framed photographs. Not to mention the middle-aged man of the hour in his fine grey suit and usual gold tie pin.

With salt-and-pepper hair, a neatly trimmed beard and deep set, coal-black eyes, Abbott Davis is the corporate dream. I’m sure Harrowdean’s PR team popped a fat boner the day he walked in. He’s the perfect poster boy for their pet project.

“Ah, Miss Bennet.” Davis’s usually professional tone is marked with annoyance today. “Take a seat.”

I have to bite back a sardonic response. “Warden.”

“I hear there has been some commotion.” His incisive gaze sweeps over me. “Care to explain yourself?”

Taking a seat opposite the desk, I wait for Elon to find his place in the corner of the room before responding. “It was nothing.”

“By Doctor Galloway’s account, you had an altercation with one of our new arrivals.”

Glancing out the window behind him, I try to act unaffected. I don’t want him to know how much power he holds over me. The fear he can so easily provoke. Before long, my eyes stray back to him though.

“Just… a little misunderstanding.”

“Is that so?” he hums with a slightly quirked lip. “Perhaps you’re also misunderstanding your role here, Miss Bennet.”

My heart hammers behind my ribcage. “No, sir.”

“When you transferred to Harrowdean Manor, I saw an opportunity for you. Has your time here not been… productive?”

The urge to scream in his picture-perfect face almost overwhelms me. Productive. I doubt the bereaved families of patients I’ve sold gear to would care for that choice of word. Frankly, I don’t either.

“Yes… sir,” I choke out.

“I’d hate to have to report back to one of my best investors that his niece isn’t behaving.”

I swallow hard, forcing down the hot ball of nausea making its way up my throat. Most days, I can forget that my uncle is the one who put me here. Or rather, his money did. He may be an investment banker by name, but that doesn’t mean all his enterprises feature on the FTSE 100.

Harrowdean and its sister branches run off the dirty money bankrolling their depravity and the carelessness of those splashing the cash while turning a blind eye. I just so happen to be related to one such piece of shit.

“If it wasn’t for Jonathan’s generous donation to facilitate your transfer, I doubt we would’ve accommodated such a volatile subject in this position.” Davis continues to study me. “I need someone I can count on.”

Panic takes root. I can feel my carefully laid plan unfolding. After losing Holly, I knew I had to do something. Anything to escape Priory Lane and the demons who took it from her. Begging my uncle for a quick transfer was a level I felt willing to stoop to.

Priory Lane could keep its new kings. I didn’t care enough to stop their ascension. But I wanted them broken, smashed to pieces and ground to a paste before they took their thrones. Then the world would see them as I did.

“I understand,” I reply.

“Do you?” He inclines his head, eyes narrowing.

“Yes, sir.”

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