Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

she had the wrong person. He was nothing like his uncle at all. The Dullahan was small and wiry, with intense eyes and a ferocity you could sense from a hundred metres away. In contrast this man was at least six-two and broad-shouldered, with warm eyes and an easy cheeriness to his demeanour that, given the situation, meant he was either stupid or didn’t understand how much trouble he was in. Either way, it wasn’t a good look, not someone she wanted to get involved with. In fact, she’d pretty much convinced herself that this lolloping oaf with his tan and pretty-boy looks couldn’t possibly be her guy, when Magpie had showed up to prove otherwise.

Which was the other thing bothering her. How the hell did the sour-faced witch know they’d be there?

“Wait a minute, will ya?” It was Danny, standing a few doors down with his hands on his hips, gasping for air. “Talk to me.”

“We haven’t got time,” she yelled. “We’ll talk later.”

“No. Wait.”

She’d already turned to set off again but the fierceness in his voice had her stop. Maybe he wasn’t so dissimilar to his uncle after all.

“Fine.” She sighed as he caught up with her. “Talk.”

Danny scowled. “Well, firstly, who the hell are ya? And how do I know I can trust ya?”

“My name is Acid Vanilla, okay? I’m a friend of The Dullahan. He sent me.”

“The… what?”

She rolled her eyes at him. They really didn’t have time for this. “Your uncle Jimmy. He asked me to come and get you. Bring you home. Okay? So we’re good?”

She made to set off once more but Danny grabbed at her shoulder. “Hang on, you said your name was Acid Vanilla?” He said it like it was the most ridiculous concept in the world, and maybe it was. She had no clue anymore. No semblance of right or wrong, up and down, good or bad. “You’re pulling my leg, right?”

She removed her sunglasses and hung them over the collar of her t-shirt before fixing him dead in the eye. “No, sweetie. I’m deadly serious. I’m here to save your arse. So shut up and follow me or you’ll get us both killed.”

As if to highlight this point beautifully, a gunshot echoed down the alley and pinged off the brickwork a few feet from Danny’s head.

“Shit. She’s here.”

With the bats screeching songs of mistrust across her already fraught nervous system, she dragged Danny onwards, cutting through an adjacent alleyway where enormous metal refuse bins had been placed at intervals along each side. The chicane effect provided them cover as they zig-zagged around the tall bins with bullets thudding into the thick metal behind them.

The end of the alley opened out into a wide road mercifully awash with people, most of them seemingly locals, this being the business district of the city. They took a left, mingling in with the crowds as best they could and continuing down the street until they reached a busy crossroads. Without waiting, Acid continued across the road, winding around slow-moving, overheating cars whose owners blasted on the horns in annoyance and ignoring Danny’s bleating protestations over her shoulder.

Seriously, what the hell did this idiot think was happening right now?

Once across the other side, she leapt up into the recessed doorway of a bank and pulled Danny in beside her. She gave it a beat before peering around the doorframe and throwing her bristling awareness over the scene, at the sea of faces and bodies, ebbing and flowing in the early evening sun. But no sign of Magpie. She gave it a few more seconds, casting her gaze a little wider. But for the moment it seemed they were safe.

“All right,” she said, keeping her eyes on the street. “My hotel’s about three blocks away. If we can get there without being seen, we can lie low. Work out our next move.”

When Danny didn’t respond she turned around, catching him suppressing a sly smile.

“Your hotel?” he said, bright blue eyes even bluer in the sunlight. “If you say so.”

Acid threw up an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s your first thought?”

“Can’t blame a fella for being optimistic.”

“Optimistic?” she spat, stepping down from the doorway and edging her way around the side of the bank. “You’ll need more than optimism, son. Try a miracle. Now if you want to live past this evening, I suggest you follow me, keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

“Ah, come now, I was only messing. Trying to lighten the mood a little.”

“Yes, well we don’t need the mood lightening, thank you.” She moved steadily along the street, eyes flitting around and scoping out every angle, every face. “Optimism gets you killed. Expect the worst and everything else is a bonus.”

“Jesus, I bet you’re fun at parties.”

“I’m fabulous, actually. But I’m even better at not getting myself killed.” She glanced up at Danny. “And what did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut?”

Eighteen

“Woah, would ya look at this place?” Danny spun around on the spot, holding out his arms as he took in the luxury. “It’s like a palace. Must cost a fair bit to stay here.”

Acid pulled the Viking pistol from out of her shorts and placed it on the chest of drawers facing the bed, making sure Danny clocked it. “What can I say, I have expensive taste.”

“You must earn a fair bit.”

“Used to. Not so much lately.” She smiled, joylessly. “One of the reasons I’m doing this job from your uncle. I owe him.”

“I see, so you and Uncle Jimmy…” He placed his bag down and sat in the Regency-style chair opposite the bed. “How do you know each other exactly?”

She lowered her chin. Clearly the boy fancied himself as a bit of an Irish rogue, god’s gift and all that, and to be fair he’d probably had plenty of evidence from facile young girls to back up that theory. He was handsome enough in a certain light, she’d give him that, but cocky and annoying with it.