Page 98 of Sin Like the Devil

Owen returns with the two others. “Let’s move!”

“Almost done,” Rick murmurs.

With a final, few flicks, his artwork is complete. He wipes the blade off on my t-shirt then closes it, staring down at my arm with a weird look of pride.

“You’ll never forget this place now, Ripley. No matter how far you run. I hope the memory of the evil you’ve inflicted follows you to your deathbed.”

With that parting shot, he stands and follows his grunts out. None of them spare us a second glance. I don’t bother to warn them about the impenetrable layers of security they’ll face. No one enters the Z wing. Not successfully. But more importantly, no one gets out. If their asshole friend is down there, it’s a suicide mission to even attempt to find him.

“Ripley?” Raine grunts.

I can’t move my lips or tongue to respond. Everything is heavy. Numb. Powering down. All I can feel is the expanding puddle of blood growing around me from whatever the fuck Rick’s nicked.

“Jesus… I can smell your blood. Where are you?”

Manoeuvring himself up, he resorts to haphazard crawl. His head collides with several bookcases before he touches the slick, warm trail of blood leading back to me. All I can summon is a whimper.

“Fuck! Rip, stay with me.”

Raine collapses next to me, desperately feeling his way over my limbs.

“Where are you bleeding?”

It takes all my energy to prise my lips apart. “Arm.”

Still cursing, he locates the mess that Rick’s made and applies pressure. The weight of him pressing down on my shredded skin feels like live electrodes have been wired into my nerve cells and set to fucking vibrate.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he chants. “Forgive me, babe.”

“S-Stop…”

“I can’t, Rip. You’ve lost too much blood. Did he hit a damn vein?”

I’m so cold. Exhausted. My eyes feel far too weighty to bother trying to hold them open. When I don’t respond, Raine presses down harder on my wounds, causing my spine to arch as I screech hoarsely.

“Stay awake! Please!”

Eyes blurred with coursing tears, I watch him fumble to pull off his shirt. I get a glance of my arm before he quickly wraps it up and ties the shirt as tight as possible, freeing up his hands to locate his phone.

It’s a slightly chunkier smartphone with a tinny voice that speaks to him each time he presses the screen. I remember the laughter we shared the first time I saw him use it. The voice’s faux-British accent is ridiculous.

Scrolling through his contacts, the limited list of names are read aloud. I want to scream no at the name he lands on. I don’t want him to see me like this. Let alone someone far, far worse.

The line quickly connects.

“What, Raine?”

“Library. Bring medical help.”

“Code red?”

“Just hurry.”

There’s a growling curse.

“We’re coming.”

Dropping the phone, Raine quickly shifts his attention back to me. Even through my fuzzy vision, I can see those limitless, maple pools darting around. His face is already swelling beneath the fresh blood and bruises.

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