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

started, and Minnie knew somewhere deep inside of her that the end was nigh.

Rage fizzled and cracked in front of her eyes; warm splatters of rusty-scented liquid landing and drying on her cheeks and lips. But still, she didn’t stop. Even when her wrist began to ache from stabbing and slashing, and her fist protested against blade plunging into flesh. Over and over again.

Until she was numb.

Until she was dragged out of her crazed trance by the sudden, deafening clatter of the knife falling to the ground, the metal clashing with the tiles by her feet.

She took a step back, her heart thumping madly as she absorbed the gruesome scene that now covered the unfamiliar kitchen like a bright red blanket of gore.

For a while, she just stood there, blinking at it.

Blinking at the sagging, punctured corpse collapsed in front of her, and the wide, glassy eyes that stared lifelessly up at the ceiling. Adil’s butchered body lay crumpled in a pathetic bloody mess; the pool of scarlet fluid rapidly growing all around him like a sick halo.

Her fingers curled, her nails embedding themselves into her palms as fresh prickles of exhilaration raced up and down her spine like shots of electricity.

What now?

Chapter Forty-four

2019

The sun was out and shining brightly by the time the engine of the RV had started to make a weird stuttering noise. Ronnie had driven all through the night, the guilt of Stella’s brutal torture keeping him wide awake through every long, winding mile. Every time he even so much as blinked, that horrific image of her slender, naked figure hanging up like a slab of meat haunted him, causing his stomach to churn violently.

In quiet voices, he had discussed the next plan of action with Minnie hours before.

The family had been everywhere, all over the UK. It felt like they were running out of places, running out of towns where they’d not caused some kind of havoc.

Except, home.

Real home.

Ronnie sighed and frowned as the engine let out another snarl of defiance, and the vehicle rumbled to a stop in the middle of the wide country road they were travelling down. “Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, turning the key, only to find that the thing was now refusing to start.

“FUCK!” he shouted, louder this time, banging his palms against the steering wheel.

Although he and Minnie had agreed that it was logical to go to the place they’d not been to in the longest time, the plan had niggled at the back of his brain. Something had told him that it was a bad idea, and the RV breaking down felt like a foreshadowing of worse things to come.

Both of them had doubted they’d be recognised. It’d been twenty years or so since the two of them had last stepped foot in their hometown. They’d both changed.

Besides, everybody thought they were dead. Had done for years.

With a low groan, Ronnie finally gave up. He got up from his seat, yanking the keys from the ignition, and stomped through to the living area of the RV. Rubbing his forehead, he got a glass of water from the sink and then slumped down aggressively on one of the cushioned chairs lining the cabin.

It wasn’t that bad, he told himself. He’d just need to phone a breakdown service. Of course, it could be awkward explaining why they didn’t have insurance or cover. And if they got sent out some nosey bugger who tipped off the police, they’d be fucked.

“Bollocks,” he grumbled underneath his breath, rubbing his aching temple. Exhaustion had suddenly slammed into him like a wrecking ball, and it wasn’t long before his heavy, sagging eyelids had closed.

Sometime later, he was awoken by a sharp, insistent tapping at the door. He jolted at the sound, spilling the glass of water down his front in the process.

“Shit,” he swore again, his body tensing as he slid out of the seat and stared apprehensively at the outline of the door in the metal wall of the RV. He pricked his ears, waiting for another knock. The rest of the place was silent, apparently void of life from where the children and Minnie were asleep, clearly knocked into a deep unconsciousness from the excitement of the previous day.

Just as he was about to let his shoulders sag, there was another loud, harsh rap at the door. Ronnie bristled and shook his head, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He touched the increasingly familiar bulge of the pistol he’d stolen from the caravan site, wedged comfortably into the pocket of his jogging bottoms. Not that he’d be in any hurry to blow anyone’s brains out. Especially not when they had no mode of transport to get away afterwards.

But alas, he thought to himself grimly, if it was a particularly intrusive copper, he’d be left with no choice. Everything about the place was extremely incriminating. He was fairly certain his eight-year-old had even gone to sleep nursing a Tupperware box of intestine, for fuck’s sake.

Swallowing, Ronnie moved towards the door, slowly turned the latch, and pulled it towards him. Bright sunlight spilled in through the narrow doorway, temporarily blinding him to the tall figure that stood on the steps.

“Hello?” he croaked, his voice still gravelly from his nap.

“You alright, mate?” a man asked, “just wondering what you’re up to just parked up on the road like this?”

Ronnie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He shifted so that he could see the man and was partially relieved and partially irritated to find that it was just some nosy do-gooder. “Broke down,” he said bluntly. “Need to call a mechanic.”

The stranger came closer; his perfectly preened faced coming into full view. He was smiling, the kind of wide, over-eager smile that made Ronnie feel thoroughly suspicious. “My husband’s a mechanic,” he said helpfully.

Pausing, Ronnie cocked his head and eyed the man. “Right,” he said tightly, “so, can you ring him?”

Laughing, the stranger shrugged and jerked his thumb to his right. “The hubby