Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4), Matthew Hattersley [best book club books for discussion .TXT] 📗

buy on her shopping venture yesterday. Because the one problem with leggings – no pockets. “I’m going out for a while,” she called through, hooking the bag strap over her head and fixing it across her body. “I’m going to take the key. Lock you in.”

“Lock me in? Kinky.”

She went into the lounge and over to Danny, pointing her finger in his face. “Stop that. I mean it. The time for jokes is over.”

“Aye. Fair enough.” He ran his tongue across his bottom teeth. “What will I do with myself while ya gone?”

“You’ll do nothing,” she said, cold and prickly. “Do you understand? From this moment on, we’re in dangerous territory. I need you to lie low until I get back. Can you manage that?”

He shrugged, smirked, looked about him at the sparse room and huffed. “I guess.”

“Danny. I’m serious. If I’m helping you do this, you have to follow my lead. I know that might be hard for you to get your head around, taking instructions from a girl. But it’s my way, or I walk, do you understand?” He nodded, reminiscent of a naughty school boy being scolded by his teacher. “Danny. Do. You. Understand?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” She straightened up and rolled out her shoulders. “I’ll be back sometime this evening. But if I’m not here by midnight, for whatever reason, you’ve got your new passport, you’ve got the one egg, get yourself out of Spain.”

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, all cheekiness gone. “What’s happening?”

“I’m going to find Magpie Stiletto and I’m going to kill her. But I have to do this part alone.”

“Fine.” He sighed, begrudgingly. “But be careful. Please. I know ya can handle yourself, so don’t start, but she’s fecking crazy, ya know.”

“Yes, well so am I.”

She glanced around the room, at the sun’s sharp rays shining across the counter tops and up the wall. Then she grabbed her sunglasses from the TV stand, gave Danny one last nod, and left the apartment.

Twenty-Six

The meeting with Sonny Botha was a much briefer affair than last time. Today he seemed in a hurry, troubled almost. Sweat dripped from his swarthy brow and his watery eyes darted about as he spoke. It might have been down to the fact there were other people milling around (sightseers, taking in the glorious views across the Bay of Biscay, cooing at the impressive angular sculpture), but it was more than that, she felt. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Sonny, but something felt off. Invisible bat fangs nibbled at her nervous system as they made the exchange and Sonny promised to call if he heard anything else. She handed over the extra fifty euros as down payment – any further information he could get her on Luis Delgado.

“And I continue on this path?” she asked, as Sonny was climbing into the cab of his campervan.

“All the way along the headland. Keep the ocean to your left and you’ll see the convent up on the hillside once you get around that patch of rocks.”

Acid followed his gaze. “Got you. Thanks again, Sonny, I owe you.”

“Doesn’t everyone,” he wheezed, a wide smile splitting his craggy features. “You take care, miss. Like I said before, this is heavy shit.”

“Heavy shit is all I know,” she replied, before heading off the way he’d told her.

Over her shoulder she sensed him watching, could almost see him shaking his head in a combination of disbelief and admiration. Or more likely, perhaps, at her foolishness. But like she always said, one woman’s foolishness was another’s ingenuity. You had to think different to get one over on people like Magpie Stiletto.

As she made her way steadily around the headland, thankful of the sea breeze, her mind drifted to thoughts of her mother, and to a time when she was still the young, innocent Alice Vandella and life was so much easier than it was destined to become. Growing up, there had never been much money around, but somehow (Acid didn’t like to think about exactly how, truth be told) her mum had gathered enough together for a week in Spain. It was the first holiday Acid had ever been on. The first and last with her poor mum, as it happened. But those seven days in Majorca, up in the north of the island, had been so wonderful, so full of laughter and fun. She remembered a feeling of lightness she never experienced again in her childhood. A year later her mum met Oscar Duke and Acid’s fate was sealed. The memory of that cruel bastard, even after all these years, sent a shiver down her spine. But it wasn’t fear, she now realised, but hate. Pure hate. She could still see him in her mind’s eye, looming over her with that avaricious leer on his face and her mum’s blood on his hands. Oscar Duke. Her first kill. She’d acted that night without a moment’s consideration, driven by an intense rage and a pounding desire to avenge her mum’s attack. That single moment changed everything for the young Alice. Yet given the situation again, she’d kill him in a second.

So why was she faltering now?

Where was her desire for revenge when she needed it the most?

Maybe Spook was right, the years spent as Caesar’s most prized asset had taken their toll on her. And now, away from the organisation, she was struggling, unsure who she was in this new world. Institutionalised, was the word Spook had used. PTSD too. Was it time to admit the kid had a point?

Acid flicked her hair over her shoulders, as if the action might somehow shake the troubling thoughts into the sea. Up ahead she could now see the stone roof of the convent and the small chapel standing adjacent to it. She unzipped the canvas bag and removed the Viking and a fresh magazine. Once loaded she shoved it in the waistband of her leggings and lifted her t-shirt over the top. The other item in the bag was