Page 6 of Burn Like An Angel

“Go. Get out of here!”

“Rip!” he yells.

“Move! Run!”

The only way to stop them from pouncing on Raine, sprawled out and disorientated, is to attack first. I fling myself down the steps to Lewis, determined to throw the first punch.

He takes the brunt of the fall. We hurtle towards the hard ground, landing in a tangle and both yelping at the pain of impact. His friends hang back, content to watch us brawl.

“Stay down,” I warn. “We’re not the enemy here.”

“I’ve heard the whispers,” he snarls in my face. “I know you’re management’s bitch. If we’re taking them down… you’re going down with them, Ripley.”

“Look around you! This chaos only ends one way!”

Lewis grabs a handful of my filthy, bloodstained shirt to wrench me closer. “Yes. We’re getting out of here. Not you, though. You’re going to die here.”

I ignore the sound of Raine’s protests on the steps behind us, focused on my attacker. “Back off, man. Final warning.”

“Or what?” he challenges.

With a quick glance at the group of onlooking patients, I realise how much of a target I’ve painted on my own back. They don’t see a fellow patient. A victim. A survivor. Whatever bullshit fits the bill.

No.

To them, I’m the enemy.

Harrowdean’s whore, right?

I didn’t survive this long by making friends or exercising a moral conscience. And I’m sure as hell not going to start now.

“Your mates are leaving you.” Lewis nods his head towards the institute where Xander’s still struggling to shift Lennox. “I didn’t think you had any of those.”

Despite the voice telling me that Xander is right to leave me here to die, pain still cuts across my chest. He’s here for Lennox. Raine. Not me.

“I don’t have friends, and I don’t need them.”

Drawing back my fist, I deck the stupid son of a bitch. Agony explodes across my knuckles on impact with his square jaw, the vibrations ricocheting up my forearm to my elbow.

“Bitch!” Lewis screams.

His blow comes hard and fast, striking me in the cheek. My head snaps to the side, wrenching painfully. It’s a mere drop in the ocean compared to the state of my body, though, and it doesn’t distract me.

I use my position above him to my advantage and rain down punch after punch. Not even the wailing of my protesting muscles slows me down. My mind narrows on one thought. Self-preservation.

I’ve always preferred to rule with words and threats. Most would fear the loss of their precious contraband far more than any physical damage I could inflict. But in a fistfight, I’m still deadly in my own right.

Lewis bucks and writhes, trying to throw me off. Clinging on, I slam my forehead into his as a last resort, a wail threatening to escape from my gritted teeth. Hitting the ground, his skull impacts with a rock, making him go limp.

“Move!” Xander yells distantly. “Now!”

At the sound of shouting, I flick my eyes up to the institute. Raine is still helplessly sprawled out, while Xander’s almost inside, but his voice has taken on that disturbingly urgent edge again.

“Move, Nox!” he demands.

“No! Raine! Ripley!” Lennox replies in a weak bellow.

“I can’t help them until you’re inside, dickhead!”

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