Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) Read online

  SISTER DEATH

  Acid Vanilla Book 4

  Matthew Hattersley

  Boom Boom Press

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  Discover how Acid Vanilla transformed from a typical London teenager into the world’s deadliest female assassin.

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  Making a Killer available FREE at:

  www.matthewhattersley.com/mak

  For Suzanne and Alba

  One

  The girl’s eyes were the colour of dark chocolate. So dark, one had to get up close to see where the pupil ended and the iris began. Of course, Danny Flynn had already known this before sliding onto the bar stool next to hers. Her eyes (big, oval, beautiful) were the same colour as almost every other olive-complexioned girl’s here in the Spanish taberna. But pinpointing the shade, the tone, the precise hue of that brown, that was another matter altogether. And one that made all the difference.

  “They’re so striking,” he purred, not blinking, not taking his own eyes from hers. “So rich. Like cocoa… umm, el cacao, sí? A deep chocolate brown.”

  The game was simple and arose from Danny’s long-held belief that, for a ladies’ man such as he, a lover of women, the eyes were not only the gateway to the soul but also to the heart, the mind, the bed. Staring into someone’s eyes like this, trying to work out the exact shade, created strong, lasting eye contact, which in turn reinforced trust and likeability. He’d also read how this act of intense perusal conjured up a deep connection between two people. So the person whose eyes you were gazing into – the girl in this case (always a girl in Danny’s case, and there’d been plenty) – would likely become attracted to you.

  It also helped if your own eyes were the most beautiful shade of azure blue most girls had ever seen. Or so they told him, at least. Whether or not they meant it didn’t matter to Danny. By that point in the proceedings, everything else was usually a foregone conclusion.

  “They are just brown. I think,” the girl said, with a shy titter. “Like most girls from Donasti. You are silly.”

  “No way,” Danny went on, “they’re beautiful. I’d say looking at them now, in this light, they’re actually more walnut. Or chestnut. Or raw umber.” He took his time with each description, giving the words as much sexual energy as possible.

  “I do not know these things.”

  The girl looked away. Damn. He was losing her. Donasti, she’d said. Donastia. The Basque name for San Sebastian. So her family was old-school. Figured.

  “Your English is great,” Danny told her. “Better than my Spanish, anyway. Hell, better than my English too.”

  Smokey topaz? Would that have done it?

  Russet?

  He sometimes offered up beaver as a shade, test the waters that way. But with non-English speakers, the nuances of that were risky.

  “Whereabouts in England are you from?” the girl asked, gazing up at him through her eyelashes.

  He was wrong. Game on.

  “I’m not actually from England,” Danny chimed, with a grin to match the twinkle in his baby-blues. “I’m from Ireland. Dublin. You heard of it?”

  The girl nodded. “Yes, of course. But I have not visited. I have never left my country. Never left my city.”

  “No way,” Danny purred, as his stomach did a somersault. “I’ll have to take you some time. Once we’re married, of course.” He held eye contact, upped the grin, delighting as the girl’s light brown (caramel?) cheeks flushed a dusky pink.

  “You are very funny,” the girl told him. “What is your name?”

  “Oh shite, where’s me manners? I’m Danny. Danny Flynn.” He held out his hand. “And you are?”

  “My name is Lola.” She took his hand coyly. “Pleased to meet you, Danny Flynn.”

  The way she said it made him think she knew his game. Knew it, but was maybe onboard all the same. These baby-blues.

  “Lola, hey? Not a showgirl, are you, Lola? Or a fella?” He laughed but got nothing back, adding quickly, “Ignore me. Being daft, so I am. Can I buy you another drink?”

  The girl, Lola, shifted in her seat as a nun shuffled past them and sat at a table in the corner of the small taberna. Danny watched her for a moment, stifling a sneer. A devout Catholic in his youth, he had no truck these days for any members of the cloth, man or woman. Not that he’d had any dodgy run-ins with the local priest or anything like that. But losing your dad at such a young age does have a tendency to test your faith somewhat. It seemed the good Lord didn’t have his back the way he’d been told he would.

  He watched on as the nun eased herself down onto a hard wooden seat. With her face hidden by the folds of the wimple and veil it was hard to tell her age, but by the way she was stooped over, Danny would have said the old dear was pushing eighty. What the blinking hell was she doing here anyway, in a bar? Trying to cockblock him?

  But maybe it was a sign. God looking out for him after all. He knew he was pushing it being out in public right now. Luis Delgado knew a lot of people in San Sebastian, and he’d be looking for him. Looking to take back what was his. Still, the way Danny saw it, if he was going to have to lie low for a few days, he may as well have some decent company

  He turned his attention back to Lola, narrowing his eyes a little, enough that they creased at the sides, giving her that ‘hint of a squint’ that made him look so confident and sexy, and which he’d often practice in front of the mirror.

  “So, a drink?” he asked.

  “I am sorry, I do not think I should,” she replied, flustered now. “I have to get home. I only stopped for one drink after work.”

  “Oh, where do you work?” Danny asked, trying to dampen any desperation in his voice.

  “I am a cleaner, so I work a few places. A school. Some houses. The convent on the hill.”

  “Righto. I see.” Danny sighed. “She give you the evil eye, did she? The old God-botherer over there?”

  “I must go,” Lola continued, shuffling off her seat. “My parents will be waiting for me.”

  “Aye, go on,” Danny told her. “I’ll see you around, Lola. You take care now.” He turned his attention to the large barman standing at the far end of the counter with a gruff expression on his face. Danny nodded him over, raising his empty beer glass for a refill. “One more, please, mate.”

  “No problem.”

  He picked his packet of cigarettes up off the counter and stuffed them in the pocket of his off-yellow cheesecloth shirt. “I’m just away out back for a smoke,” he said, gesturing at the frothy beer being poured. “Put that on my bill, will ya?”

  Muttering fecking nuns to himself, he swaggered through the taberna and out the back door, finding himself in a small courtyard big enough for only two plastic tables and a few chairs. Danny sat on one of the chairs and pulled out a wonky cigarette from the packet. Last one. He stuffed it between his lips and lit up, before leaning back in the flimsy chair and exhaling a large plume of smoke into the night air. It was past nine, but still hot out. A warm breeze felt good against his cheeks and forehead as he closed his eyes and took another long drag of the cigarette.

  What to do?

  He’d already risked so much. But having only one was of no use at all. Both of them or nothing – that was the deal. Meaning he might as well not have bothered. He shook his head, his libidinous mood dropping like a lead weight onto the dusty earth.

  “Fucking hell,” he mouthed. “Ya stupid bastard, so y’are.”

  He took another long drag on the Marlboro Light, sucking until the filter was hot and his throat burned. He held the smoke in his lungs a second before exhaling thoroughly and getting to his feet. With his nicotine craving satisfied, and feeling a little dizzy, he flicked the cigarette butt into a gnarled old olive tree at the back of the courtyard and turned to go back inside.

  Only someone was blocking his way.

  “All right there, Sister,” Danny chimed, seeing the old nun leaning against the doorframe. “You get lost looking for the bathroom? Umm… el baño?”

  The old nun didn’t answer, but slowly she raised her head to face him. Now he saw she was younger than he’d realised. Much younger. Not bad looking either. For a nun.

  Danny grinned. “I don’t suppose you fancy a drink?”

  The nun still didn’t speak. But as he stared open-mouthed, she lifted her hands and peeled back her veil before removing the stiff white coif covering her head. This is a bit fecking weird, Danny told himself. He’d never turned a nun before, and in all honesty he hadn’t thought it’d be this easy.

  She continued to stare at him in silence – which was becoming a tad disconcerting, it had to be said. He would have guessed now she was in her mid-thirties, but would have said late twenties to her face. (Always go lower). She stood about five-four, give or take, and with her swarthy complexion and dark eyes (wenge, he might have tried) appeared to be from the region. Her hair was thick and shoulder-length, almost black except for a long strand of white-grey that framed her face at both sides. It was these white streaks that gave the appearance she was still wearing the wimple and veil despite her flinging them, dramatically, to the ground.

  “Listen, love,” he told her, grin faltering a touch, holding his palms aloft. “I’m not sure what you’re after here, but perhaps we should go somewhere more private. I’ve got a room around the corner, above the old town. We could…”

  He trailed off as the nun lifted the
remaining robes of the habit over her head and flung them to one side. Underneath she was dressed in all-black. Black leggings, black plimsoles, black ribbed polo-neck jumper.

  “You must have been sweltering in all that,” Danny said, starting to wish she’d respond in some way. Maybe she didn’t speak English. “Hablas Inglés? Estas bien?”

  Without the robes she was slim, perhaps too slim. Nothing but skin and bone, his old ma would have said. Danny didn’t like his women too thin. Liked something to grab hold of, liked boobs and bums. Still, he wasn’t going to let her lack of curves put him off.

  A nun, for feck’s sake.

  Imagine the stories he’d get out of this.

  Still not taking her eyes off his, the nun (hard to think of her as such now) reached around her back. Going for a mobile, no doubt. Back pocket. It was how it worked. He smiled, relaxing a little and putting on a show of diffidence.

  My number? Well, all right then…

  But the charade was short-lived as a moment later she brought her hands back around the front to reveal a long shiny blade clenched in each fist.

  “What the…?” Danny gasped, stepping back, one eye on the doorway now, his only escape route. “I’m not sure what’s going on but I think you’ve got the wrong bloke.”

  “No,” the nun spat (though clearly she wasn’t a nun, was she?) “I never get the wrong person, Danny Flynn.”

  His eyes were burning with how wide open they were. His mouth flapped a few times, but closed again.

  Was this… Really?

  “Listen, love. Whoever sent ya, we can talk about it. I don’t think we need to get silly or nothing. Whatever you think I’ve done, I’ll rectify it. Straight away. No messing. Let’s be clever about this.”

  Despite the quiver in his voice, these sorts of exchanges were actually second nature for Danny. And not only with the many women he’d wronged over the years. As a fly-by-night antique dealer (and one who had long since cornered the market as a procurer of high-end art for the more nefarious elements of society), he was used to dealing with scary people. Though to date, he couldn’t remember anyone having pulled two knives on him at the same time.

  “Enough talk,” the woman snarled. “Time to die.”

  She leapt towards him, spinning around and slashing out with the knives like some kind of deadly dervish.

  With his heart filling his throat, he dodged out of the way but skidded on the dusty ground and stumbled into the high adobe wall surrounding the courtyard. No doors here. No windows either. The only escape route was back through the taberna. He got to his feet just in time as the crazy woman dived at him again and one of the blades slashed at his upper arm. Not deep, but painful all the same.

  “Shite on a bike! Please. You don’t have to do this.” He held his hands up, walking backwards with his assailant matching him step for step around the perimeter, both with one eye on the door. “Delgado sent you, right? Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I’ll return what I took. No danger. Okay?”

  The woman hurled herself forward, but this time Danny grabbed her by the wrists. He held on tight as she lurched and bobbed, jabbing the steel blades towards his chest. She snarled, spat in his face, but he wasn’t letting go. Danny Flynn might be a pretty boy (a lover not a fighter, was what he told the ladies), but he could handle himself all right. A childhood spent in Ballyfermot, arguably one of the poorest and roughest areas of Dublin, meant he’d had to. A young man grows up fast, places like that, learns how to handle himself. Though, Danny did have principles. Despite what some might say, he wasn’t a womaniser (he wasn’t, he enjoyed women’s company, that was all). Growing up without a father his principal role models had all been women. His ma, his aunt Sheila. He’d always enjoyed women’s company far more than men’s. And he certainly had never hit a woman. Up until a minute ago, even the thought of doing so would have disgusted him.

  “Get to fuck,” he yelled, making to knee his attacker in the stomach.

  But she was too quick for him. His flailing knee found nothing but air as she dodged out of the way and the exertion meant he slackened his grip on her wrists. This, coupled with a foot to the groin, and she was able to struggle free. He staggered backwards, holding onto his old-fella and preying his lower intestine hadn’t actually fallen into his arse like it felt like. His right heel touched against a raised flagstone and he stumbled against the perimeter wall. That was it. Nowhere to go.

  He grimaced, waiting for the fatal blow, but it never came. Instead the woman just sneered at him and shook her head, an expression of pure disdain creasing her features.

  “Look, let’s talk about this.” He held up his hand, the other covering his bare neck as he got to his feet. “How much is he paying you? Whatever it is, I’ll double it. Triple it. I’ve got cash, it’s not a problem.”

  The woman scoffed. “It’s a problem for you, Danny Flynn. I have a job to do. And I will do it.”

  He slid his back along the wall, heading for the taberna with each unstable step. Could he make a run for it? She was fast – one swish of one of those blades and he’d be bleeding out under the stars before he knew what hit him. She stepped towards him, crossing her arms over her chest. Shite. This was it. The death strike. He pulled his own arms into his torso, shielding himself as much as possible.

  “Oh sweet Jesus, no.”

  He screwed up his face. Waited.

  I’m sorry, Ma.

  “Hey! Qué está ocurriendo?”

  He opened his eyes to see the barman standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips and a stern frown darkening his tawny features.

  “Quién eres?” he asked.

  But Danny wasn’t waiting around to exchange pleasantries. Exploiting the glorious reprieve this split-second interjection provided, he rushed past the barman as fast as his trembling legs would allow. Out of the taberna and into the night, he didn’t look back once as he ran through the narrow winding streets of San Sebastian’s old town. Nor did he stop running until he reached his apartment building ten minutes later.

  Once there, he didn’t enter straight away but circled around the block a few times, scanning the busy streets for any sign of the crazy woman with the white streaks in her hair. Satisfied he’d given her the slip, he returned to the front door of his building and hurried inside.

  Safety.

  For now, at least.

  But that didn’t mean she’d give up looking. There was something about that mad nun that sent a chill down his sweaty back even now. And it wasn’t only those sharp blades of hers. It was the way she’d looked at him. Like she hated him down to the soul with a deep and resounding passion. Was that what true evil looked like? He wasn’t sure. But he was certain he didn’t want to experience it again.

  He climbed the two flights of stairs up to his room and unlocked the door. Once inside, he relocked the door and pushed a heavy chest of drawers across it before collapsing onto the bed. Barricading himself in like this did little to assuage his fears, but it was all he could think to do right now. It was quickly dawning on him that things were much more dire for old Danny Boy than he’d realised.

  “Shitting, shiting hell,” he screamed into his pillow. “Ya fecking eejit.”

  Delgado still had all his papers. Meaning he was stuck here in Spain. He rolled onto his back and checked the wound on his arm. Only a scratch, really. He’d got away with that one. Luck of the Irish and all that. Only, that luck was now running out. He stared at the ceiling and let out a deep, wavering sigh. He had some serious thinking to do. And if he was going to survive the next few days, he’d better come up with a good plan. And fast.

  Two

  She stepped back from the barman as he let out a desperate wail, clenching big, calloused hands across the deep slashes that had opened up the top of both thighs, trying to hold his flesh together. His wide eyes founds hers, the brusque cocksureness he’d exhibited a few moments earlier now crumbling to dust. Yes, like all men she’d ever met, deep down he was nothing but a pitiful child.