A State Of Sin Amsterdam Occult Series Book Two Mark Hobson (romantic novels in english TXT) 📖

Pieter raised his gun just as she glanced back over her shoulder at him, and their eyes briefly locked together, and then he pulled the trigger in a split-second snapshot.

There was a tiny fountain of blood on her upper arm where the bullet hit, and then they were riding out into the flow of traffic.

Chapter 20

Red Snow

With blood streaming from her arm Lotte clung to her uncle’s back as they rode through the road tunnel beneath the River IJ. He weaved the motorcycle around the other cars and buses with confident ease, pushing the small bike hard, and rather than risk sliding off the saddle she clasped hold of the straps on the canvas gun bag, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

Her arm stung where the bullet had hit her, and she’d lost quite a lot of blood, but thankfully she didn’t think the injury was dangerously bad. Lucky for her the shot had only grazed her arm, slicing a groove through the flesh which would probably, she thought, leave her with a permanent scar, but it could have been worse she decided.

It hurt like hell, and would need some stitches, but she could put up with the pain.

Overhead the lights along the tunnel roof flashed by, and the headlights from the vehicles around them swept around the curved concrete walls, lending the place a strange otherworldly feel. Moments later and they emerged from the northern exit and the traffic spread out as the road fed into the faster motorway, and they quickly cut through the suburbs of North Amsterdam.

There was a set of rail tracks in the central reservation between the northbound and southbound lanes, and a long, red GVB train carrying commuters home kept pace with them, and Lotte vaguely noticed the curious stares they attracted from the passengers looking out of the windows as they cut a snaking path through the cars. She turned her face away and closed her eyes.

She kept thinking back to the craziness they had just left behind, the violence of the firefight and their narrow escape, and she couldn’t rid her mind of her brief glimpse of Pieter Van Dijk as they had sped along the alleyway. The way their eyes had held each other’s gaze for those few fleeting seconds.

Something had passed between them. She was sure it was a shared experience, a touching of their minds or something, and she was surprised at the emotional impact it was having on her now. It should not be affecting her this way, she admonished herself, and she shook her head in annoyance.

Nevertheless it was.

Under any other circumstances, she would have found the feeling touching, maybe poignant even. But this was the last thing she needed, allowing their past closeness to stir something deep inside her.

She needed to get a grip, she told herself.

To focus on her goal, to correct her mistakes in the spring.

To keep to her path of destruction and revenge.

Lotte rubbed hard at her face and her hand came away wet with unshed tears.

A short time later and they crossed the ring road, and then a few miles further on she spotted a Shell service station, and she tapped her uncle on the shoulder and pointed, and he steered the bike down the exit ramp.

There was a small Albert Heijn mini-market and a pharmacy next to the forecourt, and after setting the bike on its stand, her Uncle Johan led her over. He took her weight a little, and before they entered they turned up their collars.

The young man behind the counter was too busy watching Ajax on the TV screen to pay them much attention, and he barely said hello and goodbye when they bought a bunch of bandages, pain killers and antiseptic cream.

Back outside, Lotte carefully removed her jacket and peeled up the sleeve of her sweater.

The whole of her forearm was covered in blood, but the nasty wound just above her elbow looked to have stopped bleeding for now. The icy cold wind as they rode north had no doubt helped to numb the injury somewhat, but the sharp pain was still there, so he made her take three or four painkillers, and then tried his best to clean the wound and smear it with cream. Finally he wrapped a bandage tightly around her arm and then gingerly rolled her sleeve back down.

“It will do for now,” he told her. “We can stitch it up later. Let me know if you start to feel faint, we don’t want you falling off the back.”

He tried to make light of the situation, giving her his winning smile, but she cast her eyes down.

“Is everything okay? You seem quiet.”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” she snapped, and went back over to the motorcycle.

◆◆◆

For several minutes Pieter stood looking down at the droplets of blood on the snow, ignoring the traffic and pedestrians at either end of the alleyway. The sound of approaching sirens came to him then, and he turned and hurriedly retraced his footsteps back through the sloughing snowstorm, along the busy shopping street, and then down the lane where the beer drinkers were just retaking their seats, and through the covered passageway into the Begijnhof courtyard.

He felt compelled to take a quick look inside Lotte’s apartment before the armed response units arrived, who would then be followed by his colleagues from HQ, and then the forensic boffins. He didn’t know why, just that instinct was telling him to go in first.

Crunching over the broken glass he stepped through the open door.

Just beyond the entrance there was a short hallway and a coat on a rack. Down one side ran a wall of undressed brickwork with a shelf set back into it, containing several peculiar wooden carvings, each one with a small plaque and a spotlight. He read a few of the inscriptions: A pair of gnarled hands clasping a pentangle was called HOLD OF BAPHOMET. A half-man/half-goat was PAN THE GUARDIAN. A voluptuous