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

ripped patronisingly through the silence as if to taunt him.

Face contorted with confusion, Lloyd glanced around the room and studied all of the surfaces.

Beep. Beep.

He stood still and listened carefully, pricking his ears.

Beep. Beep.

Slowly, the boy lunged to the left and carefully pulled open one of the small kitchen drawers. Sure enough, inside it, lying on top of a pile of what appeared to be utility bills, was an old Nokia phone that, frankly, resembled a brick. He chuckled at the sight of it. Imagine having a house this size and a phone from the bloody eighties!

He lifted the phone up, which immediately stopped its beeping. On the pixelated screen popped up the words ‘(1) MISSED CALL – SARAH.’

At that moment, Lloyd’s stomach let out another low rumble, whining at him to fill his pie hole. He was just about to toss the phone back inside the drawer when all of a sudden, a text message flashed up. Curiously, he fiddled with the peculiar cushioned buttons and opened up the inbox. Mum, where are you? Remember, it's your doc appointment today. I’m waiting outside as we agreed.

“Oh, fuck…” gasped Lloyd, taking a step back as the phone dropped from his clammy, sausage-like fingers and collided with the tiled floor. “Oh fuck…” as fast as his fat legs could carry him, he rushed back through the corridor and banged hard on the living room door. “WAKE UP YOU LOT!” he shouted before turning on his heel and pelting up the stairs. “MUM! DAD!” he bellowed as loudly as he could, in spite of his heart hammering at 100 miles an hour. “THE DAUGHTER’S OUTSIDE. WAITING FOR THE WOMAN.” He hunched over and slapped his palms to his knees, trying desperately to catch his breath.

A second later, his mother appeared in the doorway of the room, her face still foggy with sleep, a dressing gown that did not belong to her draped over her slender frame. “What?”

“Someone….. called…. Sarah….the…. daughter…. is…. outside…. pick….woman…. up….” Lloyd explained through pained pants.

Ronnie came out of the room, already fully dressed. “Damn it, Min, I told you, didn’t I? I fucking knew we shouldn’t stay here.”

Minnie rubbed her temples, “we need to get out,” she said.

“We haven’t properly cleaned up, Min,” Ronnie said. “Our prints and our blood are all over the fucking place.”

Loud bands alerted the three of them to the landing, where Stella was dashing up the stairs, long blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. “There’s a woman, she’s coming up the front path, and she’s holding a key.”

Lloyd’s stomach dropped. He stared desperately from one parent to the other.

“I could try and get her to leave,” Stella suggested.

Ronnie tutted and narrowed his eyes scornfully at his daughter, “what are you, a fucking retard?” he barked. He was always nasty under pressure. “She’s not going to leave just because some random stranger tells her politely to bugger off.”

Stella looked hurt but remained quiet.

“We haven’t got a choice,” said Minnie, turning to Ronnie.

Her partner groaned and rubbed his head, “fuck’s sake.”

“I know, but there’s no other way out,” Minnie said. Her voice was regretful, and yet Lloyd was certain he saw a glimmer of excitement cross his mother’s expression.

The sound of a key sliding into the lock caused them all to snap their heads down the stairs to the corridor that led to the front entrance.

“Stay out of sight,” Ronnie hissed, roughly pulling Stella and Lloyd behind him whilst he and Minnie ducked and peered anxiously around the bannister.

Each of them held their breath.

“What about Zach and Flo?” Stella suddenly whispered, gripping onto her mother’s shoulder.

Minnie looked back at her and gave Stella a reassuring smile, “woe betide the fucker who crosses those two.” She winked, and Stella felt the tightness in her chest release.

They heard the front door swing open with a long, drawn-out creak. It bashed against the wall, and a few seconds later, it was being slammed shut. Footsteps. Impatient, rapid footsteps, of a daughter who had apparently had enough of her mother’s dilly-dallying.

“Mum?” the woman shouted.

Ronnie fixed his stare on her as she came into view. She was middle-aged, perhaps a decade or so older than Minnie and him. She had one of those bouncy perms that made her look like the type of woman who got in everyone's business, whether they liked it or not. She stomped off down the hall, out of sight.

“I’ll go,” Ronnie said, standing up from his crouched position. “Get all our shit together,” he instructed Minnie before quietly creeping off down the staircase.

“Mother?!” the woman barked. Just as Ronnie reached the last step, he heard her gasp. Clearly, she’d gone into the kitchen and discovered the mess on the table. With a low sigh, he quickened his pace as he charged down the hall. Just as he reached the doorway to the kitchen, the woman was talking into her phone in a hushed voice.

“Police, please… I… I think my mother’s house has been…” the woman spun around, just as Ronnie was about to lunge for her. She let out a blood-curdling scream, and the phone fell to the ground and smashed on the floor. Ronnie stamped hard on it until the screen went black, and a spider web of glass shattered across its surface.

“Nachos,” he bellowed as he glanced up and charged towards the woman, who was heading straight for the sliding glass doors.

He guessed she was the kind who also did Pilates or yoga because she was surprisingly nimble. She might have even escaped had the sliding glass door not been locked.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she sank down to the ground, her entire body quivering as tears fell down her blotchy red cheeks.

Ronnie slowed his pace and savoured the moment.

There was something exquisite about how powerful he always felt in those brief, fleeting moments, just before a kill.

Like the fucking king of the world.

He chuckled. A nasty, dirty smirk crept up onto his stubbly face. He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and