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

silent sonic cry. The pressure in her head made her ears ring and her skin tingled with an unbearable rush of heat energy.

They left Delgado’s office and padded along the white shag-pile carpet, taking a side each and sliding along with their backs to the wall. Danny had his gun raised, but Acid was unarmed and she didn’t like that. She felt naked. Vulnerable.

Once at the T-junction of the two corridors, they paused. From this position Acid had sightline into the lounge and could see the four men sitting on the couch, grinning lustfully as three young girls swayed nervously in front of them. They were each wearing a short babydoll nightdress but in different colours, a red one, a yellow one and a pastel blue one. She clocked Red as the girl from earlier, but they all had a similar appearance – blonde, Eastern-European, young. Very young. They all looked to be fogged up in the same sort of stupor. Half-asleep. Half-drugged. Pliable. Unlikely to cause their captors any problems. The sight of them, drop-shouldered and unsteady on too-high heels like small children playing dress-up, it sent deep shockwaves firing up from her belly. The bats were now insatiable in their response as the darkness overtook her.

“Acid?” She glanced up to see Danny beckoning wildly at her, pointing to the exit with the muzzle of his gun. “This way.”

Grabbing her arm as he passed, he led her down the long white hallway towards the front door, shifting around so he was walking backwards and keeping his aim up the way they’d come. Before she knew it they’d reached the entrance hall.

Safety.

Almost.

A warm gentle sea breeze hit her in the face as Danny opened the door and guided her outside onto the driveway. She saw the body on the floor, saw the blood pooling around the man’s head like a crimson halo.

“I think he’s dead,” Danny whispered, needlessly. “Let’s go.”

Acid watched as he hurried over to the perimeter wall. He had one hand on top, ready to pull himself over, when he stopped and turned back. “What’s going on? We need to get out of here. Come on.”

She didn’t move.

The bat wings beat against her soul, screeching wanton encouragement as a familiar prickle of strength shot through her system. She was at once filled up with a strong sense of imperviousness. No thoughts entered her head. Just feelings, instincts, impulses she trusted. Like in the old days. The world had suddenly switched from fuzzy grey to bright technicolour and everything had a sharper edge – including her senses, bristling as they were with a keen new awareness.

“Acid, please.” Danny was back by her side, gently taking her by the arm and pulling her forward. “We wait here any longer they’ll realise you’ve gone.”

She shook him off. Remained where she was.

Danny was a good man, deep down, but he didn’t understand. No one did. It was so clear to her now what had been going on in all those months of confusion and darkness, where she’d tried to drown out her feelings with booze and distraction. The dark presence that had weighed her down, it was guilt. Guilt that she was letting her mum down. Guilt that she’d become flabby and flaccid in her desire for revenge. For blood.

But not anymore.

Seeing those girls just now, they were her mother, they were Paula Silva, and they were young Alice Vandella as well. Every young girl who’d ever been snatched up and used by the system, their innocence lost to the whims of evil.

And she wasn’t going to let it happen.

Not today.

Without a word she reached out and took the Bersa 380 from out of Danny’s grip. “Acid, no,” he whispered. “You’re not thinking straight. We’re so close here.”

But she’d already spun around and was heading back the way they’d come.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. She was aware of walking down the long corridor towards the lounge. Straight into the room, where she put a bullet through Hugo’s smarmy skull the second he got to his feet. But after that it was all a bit sketchy.

She had vague knowledge of picking up a wine bottle as she marched over to where Delgado and the two other men were sitting on the couch. There were more gunshots. From her. Wiping out both of Delgado’s cohorts with well-placed shots to the heart and neck. And from a guard too, who burst through a side door with an UZI but who was taken out instantly with a flurry of shots from the Bersa. Moving over to Delgado she put a bullet in his knee, sending him to the floor where he belonged, before bringing the wine bottle down on the side of his head. Expensive vintage glass splintered and shattered across her vision, shards slicing into the skin on her arms and face. The noise swelling in her ears was overwhelming. A red mist descended from the sides of her vision. She saw Oscar Duke in front of her. Saw the faces of all the girls men like him and Luis Delgado had devastated. She saw Beowulf Caesar, Spitfire Creosote too, before all these images were obscured by a haze of blood and rage. Blinded by the red mist, she straddled the dark form in front of her, bringing the wine bottle down over and over again with a dull thump. Glass on flesh. On bone. Her muscles burned with an intense rage she could no longer control. Somewhere off in the distance she heard the muffled sound of her own screams. Heard her mother’s name. Her own name too.

Louisa. Alice.

Louisa…

Alice…

Then, as soon as it began, it was over. The cacophony in her head stopped, as though she’d switched off a droning TV set or a vacuum cleaner, leaving nothing but a white noise hum ringing in her ears. An absence of sound rather than a sound itself. In that same way you don’t realise any background noise was present until it