Flesh and Blood, Sian Rosé [most difficult books to read TXT] 📗

gave a fig about Sambuca. He’d probably get a kick out of slicing the skanky bitch into millions of tiny flesh cubes, but that was by the by.

Father had specifically told them to lay low. And whilst Zach and Lloyd were practically men now and were usually treated as such, both knew that disobeying him was about as sensible as burying a dead body at the beach.

But the closer Zach got, the grimmer his expression grew. He’d developed good instincts. You had to be sharp to live the kind of lifestyle that they did. And, at that moment, he was getting distinctly unpleasant feelings in the pit of his stomach. Feelings that told him to be prepared.

Because judging by the sounds emitting from the gathering of trees up ahead, Lloyd was doing anything but laying low.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Summer, 1999

Minnie blinked in utter astonishment at the shiny, plastic card that was slapped down onto the grimy restaurant table in front of them. On its surface, Ronnie’s new, hairier, dishevelled appearance stared sullenly up at her beside rows of typed identification.

“Zachary Lloyd,” she slowly read the name printed on the fake driver’s license.

“I like those names,” Ronnie said, turning to her with a smile. “Maybe if we have a boy…”

“You want it?” the man sitting across from them at the table demanded before taking a long drag on his cigar.

The three of them sat in a small, cramped diner that smelled strongly of smoke mixed with vinegar and had all of its windows blacked out. It had the distinct feeling of being closed indefinitely for a very good reason. The restaurant owner, the man sitting across from them, was Scribbles’ contact who, much to Minnie’s surprise, had actually done a pretty good job at producing a fake ID.

“You want it?” the man repeated.

If it wasn’t for the crippling unease that rendered her silent and as stiff as a board, Minnie might have felt relieved at this faint glimmer of hope presented to them. If Ronnie could get a new identity, just maybe they did have even the remotest of chances of a somewhat normal life. Once he was on his feet, once she’d had the baby, he could take care of it whilst she went back to school. Maybe she could still be a doctor after all!

Ronnie cleared his throat, “passport?” he asked.

Minnie was shocked by her boyfriend’s blunt tone with the decidedly scary-looking individual opposite them. However, the man didn’t bat an eyelid and instead produced the second ID. It was just as legitimate-looking as the driver’s licence.

“I’ll take it,” Ronnie said, with a nod. “How much?”

The shady-looking restaurant owner paused and took another puff of his cigar. He was a stereotypically bad-looking man, wearing all black clothes, a long leather coat, and even had a suspiciously slick moustache. He looked like the type of person who got what he wanted and who made death happen when he didn’t.

“The agreed price,” the man finally said, “and a favour,” he added.

Minnie sensed her boyfriend tense beside her in his seat, and immediately her anxiety soared, rocketing up from the pit of her stomach and into her throat. Instinctively, she clasped his sweating palm and squeezed it in her own clammy grip. Goose flesh broke out over her arms.

“A favour?”

With a long sigh, the man contemplated Ronnie, a look of amusement dancing on his lips. “A simple job,” he elaborated. “Somebody has something of mine. I need it back.”

Suddenly, out of thin air, a highly inappropriate giggle formed in the back of Minnie’s throat and ended up spluttering past her lips in a completely ungraceful noise. She smacked her hands to her lips. Ronnie stared at her with wide eyes, mortified.

It was a deadly mixture of her nerves and the fact that the entire situation was rapidly transforming into a scene from The Godfather or some other corny gangster movie. It was comical. Comical that she and Ronnie, a few weeks ago just a pair of loved-up teenagers, were here.

Buying a counterfeit ID.

With stolen cash.

About to be dragged into some kind of theft.

All whilst she was pregnant at sixteen and had run away from home.

Oh yes, and Ronnie was on the run from the police.

The restaurant owner narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a hardened stare that instantly silenced her.

“She’s nervous,” Ronnie said apologetically. “You were saying about this job?”

Chapter Twenty-eight

2019

“Lloy- I mean, Joe!” Zach called, briefly forgetting his brother’s assigned stage name. “Shit,” he muttered to himself quietly, checking worriedly behind him in case someone overheard. Beneath his feet, the grass was dry and crunchy, despite there being rain just last week since last week. It was dead, lifeless.

It just went to show how isolated the country park was. All because a bunch of travelling thugs in camper vans had pulled up and started beating the shit out of anyone who tried to make them move along. Zach didn’t care what anyone else said. Violence was power. The proof was in the pudding, contrary to the crap they filled your head with in schools or churches.

Not that he’d ever been to school.

His parents had never registered him, so he’d never attended (thank fuck). He’d never been to a hospital or to the doctor either. In the future, he’d never officially own his own house or go to a university. Everything he knew, he’d been taught by his mother and father. And he was, he knew for certain, much more intelligent than the average person. He was well-read and skilled at charming manipulation. Zach was a quick thinker, good under pressure, and had an excellent understanding of human anatomy thanks to his mother’s medical background. Best of all, if shit ever hit the fan, Zach knew how to survive, whilst other millennials his age would probably suffocate if they couldn’t update their social media for prolonged periods of time.

Society, school, and conformity were a load of old bollocks, in Zach’s opinion.

Who in their right mind would want to waste