“Bastard!” Stella snapped through gritted teeth, her pretty face furrowing into a deep, irritated frown. The dark shadow of her father’s face projected into the back of her mind then. His words of warning echoed against the inside walls of her skull.
Lay low.
Her parents would kill her if they found out about this. She was certain of it. “Shit!” she hissed.
The snap of a twig somewhere behind her caused her to jump and then freeze still and rigid with shock.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
A few seconds later, Neil came into view. He was wearing the same grubby tracksuit as earlier but was now wielding a baseball bat in his hands. He stood directly in front of her and then dropped down so that he was squatting, their eyes level.
“Only me,” he smirked, eyes gleaming unsettlingly.
“This isn’t funny,” growled Stella, “let me go. Seriously, or my dad will fuck you up.”
Neil sat back on his heels and threw back his ugly head as he laughed. “You hear that, boys?” he called to somebody behind the tree trunk, to a dark corner of the world where Stella could not see. More footsteps crunched on the woodland floor behind her, and soon Neil was joined by his little posse of grubby-looking chavs. One of them was predictably smoking a joint, whilst a few others also carried long, thick tree branches, shovels, and bats.
At the sight of them, a high-pitched giggle spilled from Stella’s lips.
“What you laughing at?” Neil demanded, his cheeks reddening with fury. “Huh, bitch? You tried to steal from me. From my family.”
Stella threw back her head and then spat as hard and as far as she could in his direction. She tossed her long curtain of thin, blonde hair out of her face and stared at him daringly. “So what do you plan on doing? Beat the shit out of me with baseball bats? Then what? Your shitty caravan and your pathetic stash of money won’t be doing you any favours when you’re banged up in a jail cell?”
Taking her by surprise, Neil suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her chin hard in his sweaty hand and dragging her face so close to his that she could feel the stagnant steam of his breath congealing on her cheeks.
“I’ll fucking kill you and put your body ten foot in the fucking ground, where no-one will find you, you little bitch!” he licked her face, leaving a foul-smelling trail of slobber on her skin. Bile crawled up her oesophagus, silencing her at once.
“But first of all,” he continued, tightening his grip on her jaw, “first, I think me and the boys will have a bit of fun with you.”
With every shred of strength left in her body, Stella jerked her knee upwards so that it collided with Neil’s crotch. He let out a bewildered screech then fell down to one side, releasing her.
“MUM! DAD!” screamed Stella as loudly as she could. “ZACH! LLOYD! HELP ME!” she continued until she was red in the face. One of the other teenagers clamped a filthy palm over her lips whilst another began to pull at the bottoms of her trouser legs.
*
Approximately fifteen minutes away from where Stella had been taken, Sambuca was shakily moving through the rows of caravans, Minnie’s knife teasing the skin on her back. It was about lunchtime, and there was barely anyone from the travelling community about in the open, probably because they were inside eating their meal.
Typical.
“How far now?” Flo asked, adopting the stereotypical whine of an impatient eight-year-old. It was this social form of intelligence, this incredible acting skill of hers, that had allowed the family to slip through the net of the law so many times. Nobody ever looked at them and thought they were anything but a perfectly normal family. Certainly, nobody would ever look at them and think they were actually a family of violent, drug-dealing vigilantes, with a borderline rapist for a son, a thief for a daughter, and a sickening fetish for blood and suffering.
Sambuca swallowed back a croak in her throat, the thick knot of nerves bundling there uncomfortably. She was about to open her mouth to speak when up ahead, there was a welcome sight. Up ahead, walking towards them, his rifle wielded tightly in his hands, was Pat, Destiny’s uncle.
“Uncle Pat!” squeaked Sambuca, relief flooding from her lips as recognition flickered in his pupils.
“You alright, Sam?” he called out as he got nearer. He nodded at Minnie, too, a pleasant, if toothy, grin spreading out across his face. “Ah, Min! Good to see you girl, how long’s it been now?”
Sambuca felt her heart sink like a deceivingly heavy pebble in quicksand. “Pat…” she began before Minnie cut her off whilst also jabbing the point of the knife into the top layer of her skin.
“Pat!” she chimed, “how lovely to see you. It must’ve been a good year or so since we stayed here last. We only got here last night, see.”
“Where’s Ron? Are you staying long? We should have drinks before you set off again!” Pat’s attention was entirely consumed by Minnie, his eyes resting over her in that way that Sambuca knew so well. It was that perverted look of infatuation, the way that the men around here stared at the women as if they were juicy cuts of meat sitting in the fridge at the butchers.
“Ron’s off fishing with my other son,” Minnie smiled, her conversation effortlessly fluid and charming. “But we’d love to get together tonight for a couple of bevs.”
“Sounds good to me. I know the rest of the gang would love to see you as well.”
The woman continued to grin at the man, her eyes shining as though butter wouldn’t melt in the sunshine. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen my daughter Pat?” she asked brightly, as though just making more general chatter.
