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

a new passport. It’ll take a day or so, but then you need to get gone. Go to Ireland or London or wherever. Keep your head down and your nose clean. Forget this sorry state of affairs ever happened.”

He shook his head, and she noticed there was an annoyance to him now she’d not seen before. “No. Sorry. Can’t do that, Acid. I need those eggs. I need that money. We have to get them.”

“Are you fucking serious?” She was shouting now, so unlike her, pointing the banana at him like it was a weapon. “I’m done, Danny. I can’t help you. I thought I could. And it’s not like I don’t need that money myself, because I do. But I don’t have the… energy. Or the means. Or the capability any longer.”

“What are ya talking about?” He sat on the edge of the couch, a frown planted across his brow.

“Back when I was working for Caesar I could do anything – would do anything – to achieve my mission. To get my mark. The reason Magpie hates me so much is everyone said I was the best. And I was, once. But not anymore. I’ve lost it. Lost whatever it was that used to drive me, that made me who I was.”

She sat back.

Well, shit.

That was it, right there.

The realisation hit her like a claw hammer to the chest. Because Spook was right. Acid had been an assassin all her adult life and now she couldn’t cope with being a civilian. It wasn’t working out. She was bored, not to mention confused and unsure of how to be in this new life she was creating for herself.

And if that was the case, what did it say about her?

Spook had said she had to step out from the shadow of her past, but she saw now that was impossible. Because she was the shadow all along. And if she stepped out from that, what else did she have. Who was she?

“Acid?”

She looked up to see Danny staring at her, in a way that implied he’d been speaking to her.

“Sorry… what?”

“My plan. What d’ya think?”

She got to her feet and walked past him to the bedroom, grabbing up the bag of surgical tape and bandages from the kitchen unit as she went.

“I was saying, I’ve got an idea – for getting the eggs back. A good one. It could work.”

Once in the bedroom she threw the bag onto the bed and placed her luggage, thankfully untouched, alongside it. “I’ve told you, it’s over. We need to get out of Spain as soon as possible—” She stopped herself, the rest of the sentence echoing in her head… like we should have done in the first place. If she hadn’t have been so damned stupid.

“Yeah, well I’ve told you. I’m not leaving without those eggs.”

She turned to face him as a brittle clarity hardened her. “How the hell would we even get them back to England?”

“Ah, that’s easy.” He hit her with that cheeky grin of his. “I’m a professional, remember. This is what I do. I’ve got papers for them already printed out. Fakes, obviously, but the customs guys won’t know. I’ve done this sort of thing many times. Like I keep telling ya, I’m not just a pretty face.”

She snorted but didn’t respond, turning her attention back to her luggage and rummaging about in the side pocket. “Here.” She pulled out a packet of Quikclot combat gauze and a small vial of antibiotics. She popped off the top and shook two in her hand before swallowing them dry and offering the tube to Danny.

“No thanks, I’m good.”

She scanned his body. “Come on, that wound on your back could get infected. Sit. I’ll put some on.”

He did as he was told for once, wincing as she cleaned the gash and applied the gauze. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“You hurt anywhere else.”

“Only my heart and my pride.”

“Jesus.” She finished off and pushed him away. “Pass me the tape, will you?”

He crossed the room to get it and she dropped the sheet to examine her own injuries.

“Danny, what’s the h…” She looked up to see him staring at her naked form. He shook his head out and offered her the tape.

“Sorry, here ya go.”

“Tear me some off,” she said, removing a piece of Quikclot gauze from the packaging and placing it over the laceration under her arm. “Put it here and here.”

Over the next fifteen minutes the two of them worked on dressing Acid’s multiple wounds. Her instructing Danny in a curt, clinical manner, and him (thankfully for once) doing as instructed without further comment. Once finished, she grabbed a pair of clean knickers from out of her luggage and slipped them on.

“So what now?” Danny asked, looking at her in that almost coquettish way he had. Like Princess Diana with stubble. It made her want to punch him in the dick.

“I’ve told you already,” she muttered, finding her jeans and pulling them on, grimacing as the tight denim scraped at the wounds on her thighs. “We lie low and wait for my contact to get you a new passport. Then we go home.”

“But what about the eggs? What about Magpie? Don’t ya want to kill her?”

She busied herself locating a fresh bra as well as the crumpled top she’d bought on her first day. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Ya can’t? Feck me. I didn’t realise it was that bad. And what’s this I’m sorry shite? Sounds weird coming from you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, as she finished dressing.

“I mean you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Not like all the crazy chicks I usually… ya know… hang out with. You’re smart, funny, fecking tough as nails. Ya don’t strike me as the sort of person who apologises for anything. Ya certainly don’t strike me as someone who feels sorry for themselves.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Ah, that’s just a get-out.”

She spun around and was in