Page 6 of Sin Like the Devil

“Not for a lack of trying, though. I’ve heard the gossip. Besides, I’d rather be locked inside a real prison than this twisted shit show.”

“You took the deal,” I point out.

“If I could go back, I’d never agree to come here. None of us would.”

I’m sure Rick and so many of his criminal pals spew the same shit. It makes them feel better, like they can forget they signed up for Harrowdean’s glittering rehabilitation program. Duped like the rest of us.

“You committed a crime. It’s not my fault you’re doing the time.”

“People come here to be helped,” he argues, two red splotches forming on his cheeks. “This is supposed to be a treatment program. We all know that’s a sham, though. Soon, the world will too.”

Cruel laughter bubbles out of me. Now he’s really starting to piss me off. I’m not above kicking his ass in front of everyone to teach him a lesson about respect.

“Whatever, man.” I dismiss him with a wave. “Get out of my face.”

“Watch your back, Ripley. I wouldn’t want a knife to slip into it.”

With a wink, he disappears to smoke and join his friends. I school a perfectly blank expression into place. No one can know the effect his words really have on me. I hate to admit it, but Rick’s right.

I’ve spent the last year building a reputation for myself. Doling out contraband and inflicting a beating where necessary has earned me this hard-ass image. But I can lose it just as quickly. Perhaps it’s time I taught these sheep a lesson to remind them who’s in charge.

My eyes connect with Noah’s pale brown orbs from across the lawn. He’s slumped over at his usual picnic bench, mouthing the words half an hour with a raised brow.

I shoot him a thumb’s up, anticipation already rolling down my spine. This new friends with benefits arrangement is working nicely. What? A girl’s gotta eat. Especially when the excess energy grows too unbearable, inching its way into mania-territory.

Noah is a gangly, fellow manic depressive who got transferred here less than a month ago. He’s tolerable for now. The others all want to fuck me too, I’m not denying that. But only to score themselves some free gear.

Noah’s different. Lengthy periods of depression will do that to you. He’s far too numb to mastermind an elaborate scheme to win me over to score himself a free spliff or whatever shit he’s into.

I like that about him. The brokenness hidden behind his sad eyes and slumped shoulders is its own safety net. He’s incapable of feeling anything too deeply. Therefore, he can’t get attached. This arrangement is only temporary.

By the time I’ve offloaded this week’s deliveries with no further incident, it’s almost time for my dick appointment. I cast Elon—my least favourite grunt and assigned guard—a nod as I pass him on the way to my room on the fifth floor.

“Any problems?” he queries.

There’s no sense lying to him. His gunmetal eyes catch everything. He’s stocky and well-built, his closely cropped hair accentuating the harshness of his features. The man is as ugly and rough around the edges as they come.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What does that mean?” His voice is a lazy drawl.

“It’s been taken care of.”

“You’re supposed to keep them under control, inmate. Fail to do that and alternative arrangements can be made.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I swallow the trepidation bubbling in my throat.

“For your sake, I hope not.”

Grinning creepily, he gestures for me to continue up the winding, mahogany staircase that services the east wing. The beady, painted eyes of countless original paintings follow me, denoting various long-dead old bastards in white wigs and frilly suits.

Harrowdean Manor is the smallest of six privately-owned institutes spread across the United Kingdom. Nestled in the quiet, inconspicuous countryside of the rural midlands, it’s a sprawling, Victoria-era manor house straight off the pages of history books that tell the tale of long-gone asylums.

Only, this one isn’t long gone.

Far from it.

Hidden in a secretive forest of juniper and willow trees, Harrowdean is a gothic monster split across four huge wings—dorms, classes, therapy rooms and utilities like the cafeteria and library. It’s a whole world locked behind dramatic stained glass, tall archways and crisscrossed bay windows.

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