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

“Stop.” Another swift lunge with the spike, getting her in almost the same wound as before.

“Nnnggg.” The pain was extreme and she had to fight to stop herself from blacking out. She snarled at her attacker like a wild animal. “Fuck you.”

“You should calm down, Acid. Conserve your energy. It’s going to be a long night for you.” She moved around the side of her, stabbing deftly and fluidly with the spike, puncturing her flank and upper thigh as she went.

All Acid could do was squirm away, screaming with each tear of her flesh, the sound coming from a space deep inside of her.

Satisfied with her work, Magpie stepped around the front to take her in. Acid’s bare legs were almost crimson with blood as it dripped down her body and pooled at her feet.

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispered, her eyelids heavy. “I’m going to— ARGG!” A sharp pain shot through her as Magpie tore the spike through the thin skin of her underarm. “You rotten bitch. I’ll— Shit!”

More pain.

The spike stabbing into her back. Her shoulders. The tops of her arms.

“I swear… I’ll kill…”

“Shut your foul hole,” Magpie spat. “You’re embarrassing yourself. I hate to see it.”

Fighting through the pain and dizziness, Acid murmured, “For my mother. For me. You will die. You will fucking die…”

“Stop!” Magpie screeched into her face. “You pathetic iniquitous dog. You don’t talk to me anymore.” She marched back to the metal table and threw down the gouging spike. A quick perusal of the implements and she selected the scalpel once more. “Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue. Shut your wicked mouth once and for all.”

“Try it,” Acid muttered, as the fluttering onslaught of a million invisible wings beat against her mindset.

The bats were arriving in force.

Now alongside the pain and panic she felt a resourceful, shimmering energy that was at once overwhelming but also empowering. Like a full body orgasm only more potent and driven only by hate. Her limbs and chest tingled with a manic vigour.

She lifted her head as Magpie stepped forward, scalpel gripped in her bony fist. But before she had chance to strike, Acid took her weight onto her arms and lifted herself off the ground. Summoning all her strength (and with memories of her gymnastic training flooding back to her), she kicked out violently with both feet, catching Magpie in the face and sending her toppling backwards into the mirror.

“Go to hell, you crazy fucking bitch.” Her voice was back, strong in her throat and with a rancorous fury sharpening each consonant.

“Perro estúpido,” Magpie squawked, getting to her feet and launching herself at her.

Acid leaned back on the chains ready for another go, but as she raised herself up a dark presence swooped across her eyeline, launching at Magpie, grabbing her around the waist and sending them both crashing into the wall. Before the screeching nun knew what was happening, the figure dressed in a black hoodie had smashed her head into the concrete, knocking her out cold.

Acid stared open-mouthed as her shadowy saviour got to their feet and turned around.

“You all right, love?” Danny gasped, lowering the hood and wiping a hand across his mouth. “I wondered if you might need a little help.”

Thirty-Eight

Despite what some people might think, Danny Flynn wasn’t stupid. And he wasn’t blind or deaf either. He knew how most people viewed him. The cheeky chappie, the carefree charmer, the loveable Irish rogue – he’d heard them all, but usually did little to dissuade any cliched assumptions. Why would he? He knew from experience, whenever people underestimated you it gave you an advantage over them.

Because whilst all these traits were genuine (charming, loveable – absolutely), they were only a small aspect of his persona. And when it came down to it, Danny Flynn could be as mean and crafty as the best of them. Hell, he wouldn’t have lasted two minutes amongst the villains and charlatans with whom he often associated otherwise. And whilst he preferred the role of the charmer, he was still his father’s son, still his uncle’s nephew. Fierce Irish blood pumped through his veins.

It was this fiery spirit that had compelled him to follow the mad nun as she’d headed towards town an hour earlier. He’d taken it steady, staying a safe distance away but keeping her in his sights as she cut down backstreets and weaved her way across crowded squares. He’d been witness to her silent showdown with Acid, seen the two women going into the nightclub. He’d even tried to follow them until a gruff bouncer grabbed him and told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome. As it transpired, a recent conquest of Danny’s was a good friend of the bouncer’s and he’d seen her with Danny a week or so earlier. It wasn’t clear whether the bouncer was sweet on this girl himself or just pissed off with Danny for ghosting her after promising the world, but his position was clear – he was not letting him in the club.

Knowing better than to argue, he’d moved to the taberna opposite to wait with one eye on the exit. It was there where he’d seen Magpie emerge from the basement club dragging an almost paralytic Acid alongside her before scrambling into the back of a waiting taxi.

That same fecking bouncer had even helped her.

After grabbing up his holdall he’d jumped in the next available cab, yelling for the driver to step on it (“Rápido, por favor”) as they pursued Magpie and Acid across the city until they pulled up outside a derelict butcher’s shop, la carnicería, on the outskirts. He’d paid for the ride and asked the driver to wait for him, telling him there was another hundred euros in it if he did. Then with the sound of muffled screams drifting up into the warm Spanish night, he’d made his way down to the basement