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

eyelashes at her. “I’m real sorry, babe. Let me make it up to ya. I will so, I—”

Acid landed a heavy fist to the side of his mouth which shut him up and had him staggering backwards into the kitchen unit, the contents of the bag clattering as they hit the cupboard.

It was too much for her.

Far too much.

Twenty-Eight

The punch shocked Danny. But less so than the intense ferocity on Acid’s face as she flew at him again. This time he managed to let go of the bag and grab her shoulders, holding her away from him as she swung her fists around.

“Hey, stop that.” He leaned back, steadfast in his stance. “I’m sorry, all right? I wasn’t thinking straight. It won’t happen again.”

She surged at him one more time before her body relaxed. Her face too. Although not entirely. Danny sensed a twinkle of murder still in her eyes, which was why he kept a firm hold on her, literally keeping her at arm’s length.

“I thought you were dead,” she spluttered. “I thought Magpie had come for you. And with me up on the hillside…”

“Ah, you were worried about me. That’s sweet.”

The angry assassin scowled at him through the hair covering her face. “I wasn’t worried about you. I was just… mad at myself for being… I’m here for your uncle, remember? I owe him.”

“Yeah, sure.” He loosened his hold on her and stepped backwards, thankful when she remained still. “Look at me, Acid, I’m fine. There’s no way Sound of Music knows where we are.”

“She was coming here. She said…”

Danny picked up the carrier bag and placed it on the kitchen counter with a clink of glass. “No one knows we’re here except Carlos and he wouldn’t have told anyone. I promise ya. How would she know?”

Acid frowned, shifting her gaze to the bottle of Jameson as he removed it from the bag. “She is working alone. Doing it old-school. That is, unless she’s found someone else who can hack CCTV and the like.”

“Do you think she has?” he asked, taking two tumblers from the cupboard and placing them on the counter.

“I don’t, Danny,” she spat. “That’s why I was worried.”

He screwed the top off the whisky and glugged out two large helpings. “Okay, I get it. But San Sebastian isn’t that high-tech of a city. Even if she could, you see any cameras around here? I don’t think she’s coming, ba—” He stopped himself, the remembrance of the punch still smarting on his cheek. “Mate. Even if she was, we’re two flights up with only one way in. And the front door’s double locked.”

He handed a tumbler to Acid and she took it, staring morosely into the amber liquid for a second before gulping down half of it in one go. She glanced at him, her expression softer now. “Maybe you’re right. I’m being paranoid. It happens. Especially when…”

“When what?”

“Never mind.” She raised the glass. “Cheers. I needed this.”

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses. “May the road rise up to meet ya.”

It took them both just two swigs to finish the drinks. Danny poured out some more as Acid went through into the lounge and flopped onto the couch.

“Getting comfy?” he asked, joining her as she unbuttoned her shirt. She rolled her eyes at him before taking it off and flinging it in a heap on the floor.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh believe me, I won’t try nothing. Though ya can’t stop me from having ideas. And by Jesus, some of the ideas I’ve been having about you.” He turned, hitting her with his best, most effective grin. It got zero response.

Instead she let her head roll back and stared at the ceiling, seeing something only she could see. “You have no concept of how much danger you’re in, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure I have. But what’s the use in getting all het up and stressed about it? Besides. I’ve got you here looking out for me.”

The comment elicited a loud snort down both nostrils. They drank in silence, Danny opening his mouth to speak a few times but thinking better of it. Because he wasn’t the fool she thought he was. He knew when a situation demanded gravitas and solemnity. But at the same time, life was an adventure, wasn’t it? If you didn’t try to have fun, what was the fecking point of anything?

“Sorry for punching you.”

The way she said it, whispered on an out breath, he wondered for a moment if he’d imagined it. But as he turned to her, she was gazing up at him. Her eyes were wide and a little watery, any hint of murderous rage supplanted by a wired nervousness that he at once found unsettling. And incredibly sexy.

“I deserved it. I usually do.”

“Get punched by women a lot, do you?”

He sipped at his drink. “That’s a loaded question, so it is. But yes, there have been times. And I do always deserve it.” He shifted, to better look at her. “I’m not the reckless rogue you think I am, Acid.”

“Oh that is a shame,” she replied, moving to face him. “I kind of have a soft spot for reckless rogues.”

“Is that right?”

She shrugged theatrically. “I mean, they have to be good-looking. And they can’t like that awful dance music.”

He smiled. “Ah that is a shame.”

“Isn’t it?” She finished her drink and handed him the tumbler.

“Another?”

“No.” She sat upright, the nervousness in her eyes suddenly shifting to a look of trepidation. “I have to get some rest. Got some thinking to do.”

“Ah come on,” he coaxed. “It’s only, what, gone six? You can’t go to bed now.”

“I don’t feel too good and I want to be up early.”

“One more. We were getting on, at long last.”

She looked at him with her mouth twisted to one side, clearly having an internal conversation with herself – her baser instincts fighting against what her head was saying. He’d seen the same look in many girls’ eyes. In his experience, the baser instincts always won