Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) Matthew Hattersley (the false prince .TXT) 📖

But not this time. Steadying herself with a hand on his leg, she got to her feet. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Acid?”

She turned at the door. “What?”

“You will still help me? To get the egg, I mean. You weren’t serious about going to the airport first thing?”

“I was,” she said. “But yes, we’ll get your damned egg. After I take care of Magpie though. Understood? I need her out of the picture as soon as possible. The venomous bitch is getting to me.”

“Got ya.”

And he did. At least he thought he did. Except this Acid Vanilla, she was certainly an enigma. Unlike any woman – any person – he’d ever met. Sure, she was sexy, funny, scary as hell, but there was so much more to her as well. In his younger days, the cocksure lad from Dublin might have labelled the fierce, feisty woman a challenge, but not now. Because now he saw something in her that he recognised.

Pain.

A deep sadness.

But that only made him like her more. Of course, he knew full well he was setting himself up for a fall. Even before you factored in the real present danger of Sister Death and the shitstorm raging around them.

Bollocks to it.

He finished his drink and closed his eyes, the alcohol making its presence known in his system. Surprising himself, he began to pray, asking the big man for forgiveness and to grant him the strength to do what he needed to do.

Danny talked a good talk, even to himself. But times like this – lying here alone with no outside stimulus, not even the television, to distract him – the twin demons of fear and worry soon rose up inside him. Despite what Acid said, he was taking this seriously. But he was also fecking terrified and if he thought too much about it he’d freeze. Go mad. Break down. So whenever possible he tried not to think too deeply. Like he had done all is life - . after his dad was killed, after his ma got sick. It was easier this way. And life was an adventure. People owed it to themselves to drink and laugh and screw and defy the Gods for as long as possible. Because Danny knew full well, it could all be over in an instant.

Twenty-Nine

Despite his busy mind, Danny must have drifted off to sleep, because the next he knew he was blinking into the gloom as a figure approached him at speed. He sat upright as they leapt on him, clutching at his hair and planting soft lips firmly on his. He kissed back, breathing in the heady mix of expensive perfume and body odour.

“Acid,” he gasped. “You sure you—”

“Shut up.” She kissed him again, before grabbing at his t-shirt and pulling it off over his head.

He leaned back, taking her in as best he could in the dark room. She was wearing a black lace bra, which he removed promptly (a seasoned pro at the old one-handed-bra-clasp-unfastening) before letting out an involuntary woah at the sight of her naked form above him.

And it was happening.

It was really happening.

It couldn’t have been a dream because she wouldn’t have been pulling his hair quite so hard if it was. Her fingernails wouldn’t have been scratching at his back quite so painfully. She lifted her hips, slipping off the couch, so he could remove his pants and then hers before (oh shite) she was back on top. She pulled harder at his hair, grinding on him as he groaned into her neck.

Oh fecking hell.

This was happening.

He was actually having sex with an assassin, a professional killer.

And boy did it feel good.

What didn’t feel so good however was the leather couch, which was sticking to his bare arse and making him sweat more than he needed to. Making a swift decision he scooped Acid up, and with her legs wrapped around his waist they stumbled into the bedroom and fell onto the bed. Now things really took off. Danny had slept with a lot of women over the years, some of them more than experienced in the ways of passion, yet this felt different. It was more like a battle, a skirmish. And one he appeared to be losing.

Who would have thought it? Danny Flynn was being dominated, and he was even (mostly) enjoying it. But that didn’t stop him giving as good as he got, grabbing hold of her in all the right places – with just the right amount of force, judging from the noises coming from her. Him too, both of them grunting like wild animals as they worked on each other, changing positions, flinging each other around the bed. There was more grunting, more hair pulling, before finally, with a mutual cry and a shudder that rocked them both, they collapsed onto the soft mattress.

“Fecking hell,” Danny gasped, once he’d got his breath back and his vision had returned. “That was amazing. I can’t feel my legs.” He glanced at Acid, who had rolled onto her side, facing away. She didn’t speak. “Hey, you okay?”

All he got was a nod. He reached over and stroked her shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, his finger resting on a small raised scar that looked like a bullet wound. So… it was probably a bullet wound. A closer inspection of her lithe, tanned back brought to light more scars. Some small, some large. But plenty of them. They didn’t detract anything from her beauty, but the sight of them gave him butterflies. She was the real deal, all right. An actual trained killer.

“You get all these in your work?” he asked, running his finger down a long white scar beneath her ribs.

She sniffed, shrugged. “Yes. All part of who I am.” Her voice was cold and clipped. Not the sort of pillow talk he was used to.

“Is everything all right?”

She rolled onto her back, making no attempt to cover her naked form like most girls might. And