Page 88 of Sin Like the Devil

It’s a sharp slap to the senses. A bucket of frigid water. I feel my lips thin, the mental bars slamming into place and concrete walls hastily rising to hold back any weakness she may sense.

“Better yet… was his name Daddy?” Ripley gibes.

My mouth goes desert dry.

Her smile expands. “Gotcha.”

Before I can attack, she seizes her advantage. Ripley throws her arms around my neck and flings her entire body to one side. I’m carried with her, rolling and twisting, down the side of the roof.

Jagged tiles slice into my back and sides, but I can’t find purchase to break our tumble. She doesn’t care that she’s risking her own life to end mine. Ripley’s arms remain resolutely locked around my neck.

The world is a blur. Trees, sky, an approaching ledge. It’s all a dizzying muddle. Crying out, Ripley abruptly releases me and throws out her limbs. We reach the industrial-strength gutter at the same time.

Falling.

Thin air.

Biting panic.

Pain slices into my fingers as I catch the edge of the gutter before it’s too late. My hold breaks, but I quickly recapture the thick metal and hold on for dear life. My entire body is hanging on the verge of a fifty-foot drop.

Is this what fear tastes like?

Head whipping from side to side, it takes a moment to register that Ripley isn’t hanging with me. The image of her splattered brains several stories beneath me is a mental assault. Then her voice reaches me.

“What is this if not control?” she taunts.

The bitch is sprawled a few feet above me, her fall halted by an upturned roof tile. Panting and wild-eyed, she shifts to a safer position, preventing herself from slipping towards me.

Ripley eyes my precarious hold from her safe perch. “Falling from that height… you’d be dead on impact, I’d imagine.”

“Help me!” I shout.

She huffs out a cold laugh. “Help? Oh, Xander. I didn’t know you had a sense of humour.”

Arms burning fiercely, I have to watch as she finds her feet then starts a slow crab-crawl back up the sloped roof. Never once looking back to see if I’m still fucking dangling.

“Get back here!”

Her laughter echoes. “The almighty Xander Beck doesn’t need my help.”

“Ripley!” I bellow.

It doesn’t stop her from leapfrogging back onto the central platform and strolling away like she just deposited a parcel at the damn post office. The sound of the exterior door slamming matches my ragged breathing.

Fucking perfect.

CHAPTER 15

RIPLEY

.INTOODEEP. – DEAD POET SOCIETY

I cast an apprehensive eye around the deserted loading bay. I’m in my usual spot behind the back of an abandoned storage building, one of many scattered across Harrowdean’s estate. All off-limits, of course.

Elon is late. Every Wednesday morning, we have a standing appointment. He delivers the shit I’ve ordered, then I peddle it to the poor fucks paying top dollar for their personal vices. It’s clockwork. He’s never late.

Sighing, I study the rough gravel surrounding the dock. Sleep has been rough going. Given recent disturbances, the guards have taken to performing hourly checks. Our doors are thrown open, lights blazing and covers ripped back.

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