by Sian Rosé
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
xxxxxxxx
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 still agape from where she had attempted to scream.
“Definitely dead,” Minnie muttered to herself, pulling off her sweatshirt and making it into a ball. Carelessly, she threw it across the basement floor and kicked off her blood-sodden shoes.
She left the child behind to make the phone call and hurried up the wooden steps leading to the main house.
It was huge and very grand. She marvelled at the lavishly decorated interior as she padded through the warm, high-ceilinged corridors and leisurely mused the colourful array of family photographs mounted on the walls. She slung the canvas travel bag that she had left by the front door over her shoulder and headed off up the wide staircase towards the pristine marble bathroom.
Minnie showered, scrubbing the blood stains out of her skin and massaging sweet-smelling shampoo into her choppy blonde hair. The warm water sloshing down against her back felt like heaven. She could’ve stood there forever.
But alas, as always, Minnie had shit to do.
With a wistful sigh, the woman clambered out of the shower stall and helped herself to a thick, fluffy towel from the cupboard. She towelled herself dry, then used it to parcel up her old, bloody clothes.
A few moments later, Minnie was plodding back downstairs, dressed in clean clothes and already feeling nostalgic for the rusty taste of blood on the tip of her tongue.
It had not always been in her nature to enjoy the kill. There was a time, long ago, when violence and brutality were barely even words in her vocabulary.
But then, violence
and brutality became essential.
And then, after some time, it became a treat.
Flo, her youngest daughter, was sitting at an antique dining table in the kitchen, casually swinging her skinny legs as she chomped on a bowl of brightly coloured cereal and watched YouTube videos on her iPad.
Minnie dumped the bloody parcel of clothes on the floor and wandered over to the kitchen cupboards. She browsed their contents, noticing the vast amount of crisps, sweets, chocolates, and biscuits.
“Must’ve had grandkids,” Flo commented, not looking up from her iPad.
“Took the words out of my mouth,” Minnie replied cheerfully as she helped herself to a bag of sugary doughnuts.
They heard the click of the front door then. Minnie felt her body tense as she pricked her ears to listen to it swing open. Images of flashing blue lights and cop cars sprang to mind and made fear boil in the pit of her stomach.
“Nachos,” called a low, familiar voice. Instantly, Minnie relaxed.
Nachos was the code word.
If no one said nachos, it was time to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible.
“Kitchen,” Minnie called back, licking sugar from the soft cake. She leaned against the kitchen counter and glanced at a small, free-standing calendar propped up on the side. Apart from the messy scrawl of a dentist and a hairdresser appointment, the whole thing was blank. Poor old bat, hoarding treats for selfish grandkids that probably never even gave her a second thought.
“We’re home,” called Ronnie in a sing-songy voice, a bright grin lighting up his handsome face. He tossed his head, thick brown shag of hair constantly sliding into his piercing blue eyes. “Who wants chicken?” he chimed, dumping three large KFC carrier bags on the top of the dining table.
“Me, I’m fucking starving,” said Flo, pushing away the vibrantly coloured bowl of cereal with a look of revulsion. Just as she reached a small arm to one of the bags, the carrier was snatched out of her reach by her older brother.
“Lloyd!” she groaned, furrowing her brown as she folded her little arms across her chest. “Come on, man.”
“Come on, man,” mimicked Lloyd, his piggy eyes already undressing the bucket of fried chicken in his hands. “Buyer’s rights, little sister,” he informed Flo solemnly.
Flo scoffed and rolled her eyes, “better go downstairs and give it to Grandma then.”
Stella, the next oldest, laughed shrilly as she sat down and tucked her knees up beneath her chin as she had always had a habit of doing. “I highly doubt she needs a fucking chicken bucket where she’s going.”
Lloyd was already stuffing his face with a chicken thigh, the juices dribbling down his fat, spotty chin as he frantically chomped. Zach, the eldest sibling, glared at his younger brother in revulsion and smacked him hard across the back of the head.
“Christ, you eat like an animal,” he said scathingly, as he sat down at the table beside him, “it’s enough to put anyone off their dinner.”
Flo smirked, “he doesn’t even need to be eating to put you off your dinner.”
“Shut up, you little bitch,” growled Lloyd.
“What you gonna do, squash me with your fat arse?”
As the children bickered in their usual merry way over dinner, Ronnie and Minnie were both in the kitchen, entwined in a deep, warm embrace. She nestled her head against his shoulder, inhaling the warmth of his body and the hard muscle on his chest as if it were a drug. He twirled a strand of her damp hair around his finger and felt the perfect curve of her hip.
“After dinner, you better take the boys and get rid of the body,” said Minnie, “I’ll have a little snoop. Make double sure we aren’t going to have any surprise visitors popping around unexpectedly…”
Ronnie pulled away and glanced around at the huge, open-plan kitchen. “It seems likely,” he said grimly, “maybe it’d be better if we head off tonight. Get a hotel.”
Over the years, Minnie and Ronnie had developed razor-sharp skills of inference. They could sniff out situations like a pair of trained police dogs.
Houses like these; expensive, pristinely clean and tidy, but full of framed photos and child-paraphernalia always belonged to rich old people with huge families. Like a widower whose friends with all the neighbours and has a constant stream of snot-nosed grandkids visiting most days.
Exactly the kind of house where sticking around for too long was as good an idea as drinking a gallon of milk on a hot day.
Minnie picked up the calendar and waved it in front of Ronnie’s stubbly face. “Na, she was a lonely old crone. Poor cow, kids probably fucked off to the other side of the world and only ever come round at Christmas.”
Ronnie considered this, rubbing his chin. He still seemed unsure.
“Come on, chill…” whispered Minnie, pressing her hand up against the bulge in his jeans. “You should see the master bedroom…”
“Oh really,” Ronnie smirked, his face brightening as his lips locked against hers, and the couple’s mouths melted into a warm, wet kiss.
“Get a room!” Stella giggled, throwing a chip across the room at her father’s back.
“Na, don’t, I wanna watch,” shouted Lloyd, wiping his greasy face with the back of his sleeve.
“You’re revolting,” grumbled Flo, shaking her head in disbelief at her older brother. “That’s insect.”
“Insect?”
“Yeah, you know, when you fuck your family.”
Zach chuckled, “no, Flo, that’s incest.”
Both laughing at their children’s dinner time banter, Minnie and Ronnie broke apart and smiled.
Chapter Three
Summer, 1999
Ronnie waited patiently on the luscious green front lawn of the Walters’ residence. He stared up at the pinky-red sky, his muscular arms folded behind his head, the warm breeze pleasant on his bare skin.
About twenty minutes went by before he heard the sound of tyres against the gravel of the road, and he immediately shot up.
The huge, shiny 4x4 slowly rumbled down the road and expertly swerved up onto the front-drive. Ronnie could see that it was Julie at the wheel and that Henry was slumped up against the window in the passenger seat. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself.
Typical Henry.
Before the engine had even been switched off, the back door flew open, and out came Minnie, a huge beam stretched out across her perfect face. She almost skipped towards him and lunged forwards into his arms, wrapping herself tightly around him.
“Christ,” muttered Ross as he followed his sister out, tutting and pretending to roll his eyes. “Be sure to use a condom, kids.”
Minnie’s cheeks flushed red.
“Oh, leave them alone,” Julie scolded her son as she slammed the car door behind her. “Go on, fuck off up to your room, you little sod.”
With a final cheeky wink of an eye, Ross was striding back towards the house. Julie turned to her daughter and eyed Ronnie suspiciously.
“Back by ten, young man,” she said sternly. “But have fun,” she added, a smile playing on her lips, “you deserve it, my girl,” she said to Minnie, proudly.
A few seconds later, and the young couple were walking away down the quiet pavement; their hands gripped together as they chattered light-heartedly about just about anything and everything.
“So where is it that we’re going?” Minnie asked finally after they had been walking for about half an hour. She vaguely recognised the area, but truth be told, it was not a place that she had visited much of. It was in the opposite direction to town, and she could see country roads and vast, emerald green fields in the distance. Everything was very quiet.
But she trusted Ronnie. Ronnie could have guided her into a snake pit, and she would have followed.
“Just wait and see,” said Ronnie, planting a kiss on her forehead.
He took her towards the fields. When she complained that she didn’t want to get her sandals dirty, he hoisted her up into his arms so that her slender
legs were hanging above the ground. She laughed as he carried her across the grass towards the border of dark woodland.
“The woods?” she asked suspiciously as they approached the line of towering tree trunks.
“The woods,” agreed Ronnie with a nod of confirmation.
As the ground turned from crumbly mud to a thin bed of snapping twigs, he gently put her back down and the two clasped hands once again. It was beginning to grow dark, and Minnie could hear her heart pounding as nerves began to tease the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Four
2019
Lloyd was the first to wake out of his siblings the following morning.
The four of them had passed out in the old lady’s living room after draining her entire supply of Guinness that they had found in one of the kitchen cupboards. There was vodka as well, but unfortunately, no decent mixers. Even little Flo, who was always the first to wake, was still slumped over her big sister, mouth hanging open as she drooled on Stella’s shoulder.
From what he could remember, it had been a fun night, especially given that the owner had been such a fossil. For an old bird, she had an impressive collection of movies and even a PlayStation, as well as a great selection of snacks to go along with the booze.
A sharp pain harpooned him in the back of his skull as he blinked and hauled himself up out of a plush, leather armchair. He swallowed, the back of his throat unbearably dry like cracked parchment. According to the polished grandfather clock in the corner of the room, it was just past 11 in the morning. Lloyd’s fat, hairy stomach grumbled. As always, he was hungry.
For fourteen, Lloyd was an early developer. Already he stood at just over six feet tall, weighed almost twenty stone, and had enough body hair to weave a cardigan.
The extra weight, he often found, came in extremely handy.
Shuffling down the hallway to the kitchen, the young man peered hopefully into the abandoned chicken cartons still strewn over the old lady’s dining room table and frowned when he discovered they were all empty. Disappointedly, he sighed and waddled towards the kitchen.