A Destiny of Carnage (A Violent Agenda)

“Jude,” I say. His red-rimmed eyes dart to me. “Don’t fuck this up.”

His jaw clenches, then he nods, letting out a breath with a curl to his lips that has him looking like his old self. “I’ve got this, babe. Don’t fucking sweat it.”

We spend the next few hours grabbing some food from the canteen and then watching bad TV. Most evenings tail off the day’s activities with recreation time so we can pretty much do what we like.

“Movie time,” one of the orderlies calls out.

I glance at the clock on the wall as teenagers shuffle into the TV room—it’s 9 p.m. We stay in our seats as the room fills up, the lights go out, and the movie starts.

I am too busy taking in who is here and who is missing to notice Jude reaching across. The first inkling I have of him being soppy as fuck, is his hand in mine under the table we’re sitting at. His hand is warm and firm, reminding me of his strength. This guy who hated me, who I hated at first, is here with me, holding my fucking hand.

I glare at him in the dark.

He grins and adds with a shrug. “You’re not letting go.”

“Shut the fuck up,” someone hisses at him.

I don’t know who it is, but I consider shoving my pen through their ear canal, so they never have to worry about someone talking during a movie again. But Jude’s fingers stroke over my palm, and I lose interest in anyone else.

A little later, a glance at the clock says it’s almost half-past.

I extract my palm from Jude’s and stand up to leave the room. One of the nurses, the one who’s been eyeing us all week, frowns as I do.

“I think she knows you’re not supposed to be here,” Jude says under his breath.

“I don’t care what she thinks; we’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

I walk out, leaving Jude to follow me later. I don’t need the cameras to see us leaving together.

The kitchens are empty apart from Bateman making a hot drink. He looks up as I approach, and I immediately switch my facial expression to one that blends a huge amount of innocence and a small tease of allure. Bateman likes the weaker ones. I can’t be anything but submissive right now.

“Sir, can you help me with my bed?” I walk right into the kitchen and stare up at the orderly.

He frowns down at me. “Your bed?”

“Yes, Sir,” I breathe out. I’m trying to move it to the other side of the room.

He frowns. “Did you get permission for that?”

It’s my turn to frown. “My father is paying a lot of money for me to be here. I want my bed on the other side of the room.” I bite my lower lip. “I won’t tell anyone you helped me.” I place my hand on his arm.

Bateman looks me over a sick light behind his eyes coming on as he takes in my skimpy scrubs and my swiped-back ponytail hair. He must like what he sees (and hates) because he agrees to help me. I can already hear the cogs turning in his brain. I’m a rich brat who needs to be taught a lesson.

Bateman follows me to my room where there are no cameras. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jude coming up a side corridor. He gives the barest nod at the signal I give him.

I leave the door to my room open while Bateman helps me move my bed to the other side. His eyes are darting everywhere when he’s done, checking the door to see if anyone is coming, checking me out to see if I’m worth it.

But Bateman isn’t a predator. He’s a scavenger.

And Jude is going to come by in a few minutes.

“Okay, thank you,” I say to the older man, edging him toward the door. He peers around the doorframe into the corridor. There’s no sign of Jude or anyone for that matter.

Where the fuck is he?

Bateman turns to me, eyes shining as he closes the door. “Since I helped you, maybe you can help me,” he says quietly.

“Help you with what?” I ask as adrenaline surges. I take a step back.