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

of that world. Plus he’s retired. His name doesn’t have the same sway it did even ten years ago. Maybe he could help out with ma’s care, but he’s been through the mill himself with my aunt Sheila. And she’s my ma. I want to help her.” He risked a glance her way. “I promised her.”

The room fell silent for a moment, broken only by the sound of Acid softly huffing. Danny watched her as she stared unblinking out the window.

“I know you’re doubting yourself,” he said. “But we can still do this. I know we can. So what if you don’t have the same bloodlust ya used to have? Maybe that’s not a bad thing. The way I see this going, we don’t need to kill anyone. We can get the eggs and be out of here soon as possible, no drama. No killing.” When she didn’t answer him, he asked, “Did yer ma know what ya did?”

She didn’t move from the window. “No.”

“So the person she knew, who was that?”

Another long silence, before, “It was me, obviously.”

“And is that person alive?”

She frowned. “Yes.”

“Right. So a part of you existed before - independent from all the training and the killing.” He paused, waiting for a reaction, but none came. “Look. I get you’ve had a tough old life and maybe you’re a little messed up, got a few more demons than most to deal with. But don’t give up just because you don’t know how to be in normal society. Cos I’ve got news for you, darling, no one does. And anyway, there’s no such thing as normal society, if ya ask me.”

He kept his eyes on her, searching for a tell. A moment passed and then Acid raised her chin, her ruby red uber-pout slipping. And there it was. A softness in her face he hadn’t seen before.

“What did I tell you about calling me darling?” she purred.

“Ah, get away with ya,” he replied. “Deflect all ya want, Acid. Tell yourself you have to be a certain way if it helps. But sounds to me like maybe you aren’t letting your ma down at all. Because maybe she’d never have wanted this life for you in the first place.”

He shut up and sat back, realising his heart was beating heavy in his chest. In front of him Acid chewed on her bottom lip.

Jesus, she was attractive. Even with a face like thunder.

She turned to him. “You think you’ve bloody well cracked me open, don’t you? Sat there with that smug grin on your face.”

He held up his hands, dropped his expression. “Not smug. Optimistic. Expectant. Go on, we can do this. Steal the eggs and run. In and out. No fuss.”

She huffed loudly before joining him on the bed, smiling in a way that made his heart beat even faster. “Fine,” she said, indignantly. “We’ll get your damned eggs. But I’m not promising anything, Danny, okay?”

He shot her a grin. “Of course.”

She shook her head in that I must be mad sort of way that Danny recognised all too well.

“Go on then,” she said, looking him dead in the eyes. “Tell me this plan of yours.”

Forty-Two

The sun was high in the sky, shining down on Luis Delgado as he strolled confidently along the busy Mirakruz Kalea. It had been a good morning so far, having already brokered a sweet deal with the Albanian trafficking gang led by Murat Sula for a flat three million euros. A decent day’s wage, considering, to be paid in three parts – one million to be handed over this evening on inspection of the product, another to pay off Delgado’s many contacts in the police and the customs service, and a third million when the shipment (seven young girls, most of them from Eastern Europe) had successfully passed through Spain and was on its way to the UK.

It was a dirty business – and not one that married well with Delgado’s alter ego as one of the most celebrated and renowned citizens of Donastia (with whispers he could even be the next mayor), not to mention as a generous provider for his two ex-wives and six children – but the girls were peasant stock from countries ravaged by the effects of civil war. So really, he was doing them a favour. And then of course there was the money. Oh, the money. That sure did make him feel a whole lot cleaner.

Besides, Delgado had always been skilled at compartmentalising the different aspects of his life and business. Like today, shifting effortlessly from the murky deal to indulging in another great passion of his alongside money – art. Although admittedly, dealing art had also brought in a decent chunk of wealth.

His destination this afternoon was the El Destello Gallery in the south of the city. A modest enough establishment founded by Delgado in early 2010, it had fast become the go-to place to experience new and exciting Spanish artworks. Today was no exception. Hanging in the gallery right now were sixteen brand new paintings by the young Murcian artist, Pablo San Miguel – commissioned by Delgado and expected to earn him more than eight hundred thousand euros. Enough to clean most of the first payment from the Albanians.

As he entered the calm, white space of the gallery, Alfredo, the curator and an old friend, welcomed him with open arms at the exact moment Delgado’s phone began to vibrate in his trouser pocket. Holding one finger in the air, an instruction to Alfredo to wait, he retrieved the phone and swiped at the screen.

“Yes?”

It was Hugo, his right-hand man. “I have confirmation,” he said. “The egg has been retrieved. The files also.”

Delgado turned to face the street, lowering his voice as he spoke. “And the Irishman?”

“I am told there were complications. But I have her word he will not be a problem for much longer.”

Delgado gritted his teeth, affecting a smile as two handsome middle-aged women walked past and nodded in acknowledgement. “We can