Rankled (The Cardigan Estate Book 8) by Emmy Ellis

Author:Emmy Ellis [Ellis, Emmy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

A wide-eyed Amanda stared at Ollie in the bedsit, her face painted with stark fear. Jenny hoped Ollie was messing about when he’d said by the car that he’d kill the woman ‘sooner’, or that she’d misunderstood him, or it was a daft joke to scare Amanda into staying with them for whatever reason. Why say that, though, then go to sleep knowing she could sneak out and tell the police?

It didn’t make sense.

He’d dropped LSD as soon as they’d entered the room. Offered Jenny some. She’d said no, but he’d glared at her until she’d taken it from him and placed it on her tongue, dreading the next sixty minutes. The last time she’d had some, she’d hallucinated for an hour, freaked out of her mind at the terrible things that seemed to be happening. Monsters chasing her. People leering at her with massive grins, fangs descending, the weirdos turning into vampires. The sky going red, the heavens opening to deliver rain that was blood, thick and drenching the ground in a copper-smelling flood.

He’d prompted Amanda to join them on their trip, and she’d done the same as Jenny by placing it on her tongue, probably too shit scared not to. He’d said they were going to have a party of their own, they didn’t need a rave. Amanda apparently needed to know what a real party was, to understand why Ollie went to them, so she could know her son better, seeing as so far she hadn’t given a shit about him.

Jenny thought she’d misheard him on that last bit, though—son—and when he’d called Amanda Mum. That was just weird.

To begin with, they’d had fun, or Jenny and Ollie did anyway. Amanda may have been faking it, but with LSD in her system, she might have forgotten how she’d wound up in the bedsit, so her smiles could have been genuine, her seductive smile designed to get Ollie to fancy her.

“See, a slapper,” he’d said. “I told you my mum was one, Jen, and now you can see it for yourself.”

Ollie had put some music on, and they’d danced, the acid taking over, erasing everything he’d said in the car and on the way into the house—“Get in there, you stupid bitch!” and “Don’t touch anything until you get into my bedsit, got it?” and “Shut up whining or I’ll slit your throat.”

Now, the music was off, the room silent apart from their heavy breathing.

The party had very much ended. Ollie held the flick knife out in front of him, his eyes sparkling from his trip. The blade was clean; he’d washed off the dried blood smeared on it from the bloke he’d stabbed earlier, saying he’d used bleach then scrubbed the kitchen sink afterwards, leaving no traces. Jenny felt sick, petrified, but not as petrified as Amanda must be. Jenny wasn’t the one with a knife pointed her way, and she was close to the door so could run if she had to.

But was this really

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