Flesh and Blood Sian Rosé (best motivational books for students TXT) 📖

Flesh

and

Blood

By Sian Rosé

Copyright © 2021 Sian Rosé

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

A note from the author

Hello there, and thank you ever so much for picking up this book. It means so much to me, and I really hope that you enjoy reading it.

This is just a disclaimer that this book does contain many dark themes which are inappropriate for anybody under the age of 18 and is definitely not for the faint of heart. It has lots of gore, evil people, and much profanity. If this sounds right up your alley, then you're gonna lap this up. If not, you may want to skip it. Just warning you!

Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy the book!

Sian Rosé

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Chapter One

Summer, 1999

It was just another beautiful summer's evening at The Grapevine Restaurant. The brilliantly bright blue of the sky was just beginning to fade, and the day's sweltering heat had been reduced to a deliciously scented breeze. On the polished wooden decking, sophisticated, wealthy couples, families, and groups of friends sat around lavishly decorated tables, sipping champagne and nibbling on complimentary breadsticks. Surrounding the exquisite dining area was a woodland; the heavenly aroma of fresh plants mingling charmingly with the taste of overpriced food and the distant sound of birds twittering creating the perfect ambience.

"I propose a toast!" Henry Walter's obnoxiously booming voice erupted through the otherwise peaceful atmosphere, causing a number of heads to turn towards his table. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. The large, beefy man clumsily got to his feet, his chunky red fingers clasped around his champagne flute. His wife, Julie, glanced up at him nervously. She loved her husband dearly; however, drink made him unpredictable.

"Here, here!" gushed Ross Walter- the couple's eldest son who sat opposite his mother at the table.

"To our Minnie," grinned Henry, smiling so wide that almost all of his teeth were visible. "My beautiful, clever little princess…"

Sitting opposite her father, Minnie Walter gave a shy smile, her cheeks blushing bright red. She lowered her face, the curtain of silky blonde hair falling across it, hiding her embarrassment.

"To Minnie," smiled Julie, holding up her glass, her eyes begging Henry to sit down.

"My little girl," Henry gushed, clearly having no intention of sitting down anytime soon. His flushed cheeks seemed to shine in the hazy, falling sun. Tears welled up in his eyes as he fixed Minnie with an adoring stare. "Thirteen A*s at GCSE…"

Minnie forced herself to look up then, whilst her father's heartfelt words gradually descended into the usual over-emotional bullshit he would spout whenever he had drunk too much. During the overly loud speech, she kept looking over at her mother, who was regularly flashing her apologetic smiles.

Truthfully, Minnie didn't mind. She loved her family dearly, both of her parents and even her annoying older brother. And she was happy.

Well and truly, blissfully happy.

As she zoned out of her father's slippery, repeated slurs, her heart quickened with excitement inside her chest. She'd gotten the grades to go to a top sixth form. She was going to get her A-Levels, then on to medical school. Butterflies fluttered madly inside her heart at the very prospect.

Yes, life was good.

Minnie was young, good-looking, well-educated, and she was surrounded by good people. A supportive, loving family. Friends who truly gave a shit about her. And best of all,

Ronnie.

Chapter Two

2019

"You’re just not fucking listening, are you?” Minnie growled, pressing the rusted, jagged teeth of the knife closer to the old woman’s wrinkled throat. “Are you?” she spat, flecks of spit erupting from her crimson-painted lips.

The old bat groaned, her thin lids falling over her eyes as she became too weak to struggle any longer.  “I… I…”

Minnie rolled her eyes and jerked the knife slightly, causing a tiny nick in the woman’s crumpled skin. “I’m giving you one more chance, lady…”

“F-f-fine,” croaked her victim, who was being crushed up against the wall, one of Minnie’s hands pinning her by her wispy white curls, the other holding the menacing knife against her neck. The old woman relayed a four-digit pin number in a throaty, barely audible voice. Once she was done, Minnie sharply turned her head to glance around at the basement behind her.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, an eight-year-old girl with piercing blue eyes quickly tapped in the number onto a pin reader and then consulted the screen of the laptop in front of her. A few seconds passed.

“Well?” Minnie asked her impatiently.

“It’s gone through,” the child affirmed, “what account should I transfer it to?”

Minnie chewed her lip a moment and thought about this. “Do it to Daddy’s please, sweetheart,” she instructed.  And with that, the woman turned back to her victim, and in one swift, sharp motion, slit her throat open. Warm blood immediately spurted from the wound, splashing onto Minnie’s face. She gasped and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she watched the old pensioner splutter and choke, then let her body thud onto the ground as she released the decrepit old curls from her grasp.

“Shit, that was good,” Minnie shuddered, allowing her eyes to close for a moment as she savoured the feeling of fresh blood dripping down her cheeks.

“All done,” the little girl on the floor announced, apparently unmoved at the cold-blooded murder that had just taken place. “I’ll give Dad a call now, get him to withdraw the cash.”

Sighing, Minnie opened her eyes and nodded. With the back of her jumper sleeve, she wiped the scarlet moisture from her face and looked down at the broken heap of the old woman lying in front of her. The old bat’s eyes were open, her wrinkled lips