Blue Skin (Book 2): Blue Skin Read online

  Blue Skin

  Book Two

  steven jenkins

  Contents

  Free Books

  I. MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  Chapter 1

  II. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  III. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  IV. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  V. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  VI. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  VII. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  VIII. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  IX. MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  Chapter 27

  Free Books

  Also Available - Thea: A Vampire Story

  Also Available - Thea II: A Vampire Story

  Also Available - Blue Skin: Book One

  Also Available - Burn The Dead - Quarantine

  Also Available - Burn The Dead: Purge

  Also Available - Burn The Dead: Riot

  Also Available - Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

  Also Available - Fourteen Days

  Also Available - Spine: A Collection of Twisted Tales

  Also Available - Rotten Bodies: A Zombie Short Story Collection

  About the Author

  Contents

  Free Books

  I. MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  Chapter 1

  II. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  III. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  IV. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  V. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  VI. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  VII. SEAN RICHARDS

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  VIII. FREYA LAWSON

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  IX. MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  Chapter 27

  Free Books

  Also Available - Thea: A Vampire Story

  Also Available - Thea II: A Vampire Story

  Also Available - Blue Skin: Book One

  Also Available - Burn The Dead - Quarantine

  Also Available - Burn The Dead: Purge

  Also Available - Burn The Dead: Riot

  Also Available - Eyes On You: A Ghost Story

  Also Available - Fourteen Days

  Also Available - Spine: A Collection of Twisted Tales

  Also Available - Rotten Bodies: A Zombie Short Story Collection

  About the Author

  FREE BOOKS

  For a limited time, you can download FREE copies of Spine, Burn The Dead: Book 1 & Book 2 - The No.1 bestsellers from Steven Jenkins.

  Just click here: GET MY BOOKS

  For my wonderful daughters. Freya & Erin.

  Part I

  MICHAEL MATTHIAS

  1

  There’s a strong smell of bacon as I enter the kitchen. Its sweet, mouth-watering aroma brushes past my nostrils, impossible to resist. To hell with my high cholesterol.

  Joseph is sitting at the dining table, dressed in his school uniform, a spoonful of cornflakes in one hand, and his phone in the other. He spots me in the doorway and stuffs the phone between his thighs.

  “Morning, hun,” Marie says from the kitchen, busy cutting off the fat from the bacon.

  “Morning, family,” I reply with a smile, even though I hardly slept a wink last night. “Where’s Esther?” With an aching knee, I limp over to Marie, kiss her on the cheek, and then sit at the table. “She’s not still sleeping, is she? She’s got college in an hour.”

  Marie puts a bacon sandwich in front of me, and then fills my mug with steaming-hot coffee. “She’s just finishing her homework. She won’t be long.”

  I lift the white slice of bread to see what sauce she’s used on the bacon.

  “Brown sauce,” she answers before I can check.

  “Thanks, love.” I sip my coffee. “She’s got to start doing her homework on Friday or Saturday, or at the very latest, Sunday. Not Monday bloody morning.” I take a bite of my sandwich and struggle to chew; the scar across my cheek and upper lip still tight and uncomfortable.

  “I know. I’ve told her, but she hardly says two words to me these days.” She collects Joseph’s empty glass and takes it over to the sink. “Teenage girls are hard work. And I’ve got to deal with her on my own.”

  A wave of guilt washes over me, realising that I’ve worked every evening for the last two weeks straight. “It won’t be forever, Marie.” I almost say ‘I promise’, but she’s heard that too many times.

  “When will we be going home, Dad?” Joseph asks with a mouthful of food.

  If someone asks me that one more time, I swear to God I’ll scream. But it’s hard to get angry with them for wanting to go back to London. I’d kill to go. I haven’t seen Mum or my brother in months. Hell, I even miss the guys from the squash club. “We’ll go home when the job is done, Joe.”

  “You said that last month,” Esther points out as she enters the kitchen. “And the month before that.” She grabs a slice of toast from the centre of the table, but she doesn’t sit.

  “Glad you could join us, Esther,” I say, sarcastically, only now noticing how revealing her white top is. I consider saying something, forcing her to run back up stairs to change it, but I don’t have the energy. “Finished your homework, yet?”

  She nods, patting her purple bag, which is draped over her shoulder.

  I want to tell her off, threaten to ground her, but I’ve got more important issues to deal with this morning. “Once I’ve trained enough people, we can go home. But Ammanford is ground zero. I can’t exactly let everyone else handle it. We just need to be patient.” I look around the kitchen. “Can we all do that? As a family?”

  Marie nods immediately, followed by Joseph.

  But not Esther.

  “How about you, Esther?” I say, locking eyes with her. “Can you be patient?”

  She nods, but it looks painful, like I’ve just asked her to give up her phone.

  “Good. Now you two better get off or you’ll miss your buses.”

  Joseph gets up and kisses me on the cheek. “See you later, Dad.”

  “Have a good day, buddy.”

  Esther drops a half-eaten slice of toast on the table, and wipes her mouth with her sleeve. “Bye.” She waves, scooping up her jacket from the back of the chair.

  They both exit the kitchen through the back door, leaving the room in silence, apart from the gentle sound of Marie swilling dishes in the sink.

  Perhaps two minutes pass and she still has her back to me. “You okay, love?” I ask.

  “Yes. Of course,” she replies without looking at me. “Just washing up.”

  I stare at her back like a stalker watching its prey. Her brown
hair resting over her white blouse. The thick suds drenching her delicate hands. She means the world to me. Words could never describe how much I love this woman. How important she is to this family.

  I wish I didn’t have to do this to her.

  “Marie,” I take a breath, “can you come here, please?”

  She finally turns, but doesn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”

  “I thought we didn’t keep secrets in this family.” The words almost catch in my throat.

  “We don’t.”

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the pregnancy test and place it on the table.

  The colour from Marie’s cheeks drains when she spots the white stick.

  “Is it yours?” I ask.

  A tear rolls down her cheek.

  “Is it yours?” I repeat, this time firmer.

  She nods; a slight shudder in her body. She probably thinks she’s hiding it—but there’s no hiding fear from me.

  “You know what we have to do, right?” I walk over to her, but she turns away from me, and goes back to the sink.

  “I was going to go to the clinic this week. Honestly.” She starts to scrub one of the plates with the brush. “But I’ve been so busy with the house, with the kids, it just slipped my mind.”

  “That’s okay, love. I know you’ve been busy. We can go right now. I’ll take you myself.”

  Sniffing, she grabs another plate and runs it under the tap. “There’s no need, hun. I’ll book it later and go down myself. It’s no big deal. God knows how this happened. Must have missed a couple of pills. And the way my body works, it’s probably a false alarm, anyway.”

  She’s rambling, squirming. To see her so nervous around me, so tense, it breaks my heart. I pull her in for a hug. “We have to go now. Do you understand, Marie?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  “Marie?”

  “I can do it myself,” she replies, her words muffled by my shoulder. “I’ll call them after nine. I doubt they’d be open until then, anyway.”

  I break away from her and shake my head. “I love you, Marie, but I can’t let you wait.”

  Slipping past me, she picks up a tea towel from the worktop. “I think you’re making too much of a fuss about this.”

  Stomach in knots, I walk over to the chair and grab her coat. “Put this on.”

  She shakes her head as a tear rolls down her cheek.

  “Put this on, now!” I snap.

  “I don’t want to go,” she says, her words shaky.

  Grasping her wrist, I force her arm into the sleeve of the coat. She tries to resist, so I tighten my grip. “You’ve got to.” I do the same for the other sleeve and then button the coat up. “We’re going to The Facility, Marie—and that’s that.”

  Still holding her arm, I steer her out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

  “Don’t do this, hun,” she sobs, tugging and writhing, trying to break free from my clutch. “Please. I beg you.”

  I feel nauseous, so I ignore her pitiful words, and open the front door. As I step out into the cold morning air, she grabs the doorframe, so I pull harder, prising her thin fingers from the wood.

  Huw, one of our neighbours is outside, taking out a bag of rubbish. He says something, but I can’t hear the words. It’s either Good Morning, or What the hell are you doing?

  Neither is important right now.

  By the time we reach the car, I’ve blocked out Marie’s pleas, her helpless cries to let her go. I don’t care how loud she yells, how many people see us—because I don’t have a choice. None of us do. We have to keep society afloat. Keep this town, this world safe.

  I love you, Marie.

  With all my heart.

  I hope you know that.

  But the law is the law.

  Part II

  FREYA LAWSON

  2

  My hands are burning from the hot, soapy water, but I’m nearly done. Once Hakesh finishes serving those rowdy arseholes, that steel shutter will be closed, locked, and then I’m out of this dump.

  I always leave the pots last to wash. They’re the easiest, so it’s better to get the utensils done first, out of the way. The clock on the kitchen wall says it’s 2:17 a.m. but that’s usually slow. It’s most likely closer to 2:30, which means that, if I’m lucky, I should get home by 3:30.

  With mouths filled with pizza, the drunken idiots start performing some unrecognisable football chant. I wouldn’t have thought a shithole town like Newton Port would even have a team.

  A few minutes later, and the moment I empty the deep sink, I hear that magical sound. Hakesh is locking the doors.

  Finally!

  He pokes his head into the kitchen, grinning. “Thought they’d never leave.”

  I smile back at him, but it’s a strain on my sore lips. I haven’t been sleeping all that well lately. Just not that used to working so late. “Any chance of getting an advance on my pay? Rent is due tomorrow—and I was late last month.”

  Hakesh thinks for a moment as if I’ve asked him something extraordinary. It’s only four days early, for Christ’s sake. “Okay. Just this once, Jodie. But don’t be asking me again. I’ve got money problems myself. This place isn’t exactly booming with business.”

  He’s full of crap. I work here almost every night, and all I hear, minute after minute, is the till drawer opening and closing. But who the hell am I to complain? It’s not like this town is crying out for fugitive girls to work for peanuts. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  Hakesh disappears into his office, so I finish wiping down the worktops with the cloth.

  “Here you go, Jodie.” He hands me a white envelope.

  Pulling off my rubber-gloves, I wince in pain as the left one drags against my wrist, reopening the fang marks from last night’s feed. He notices, so I turn away and count the cash on the worktop. “You’re fifty short. Where’s the rest?”

  He grabs the broom and sweeps the crumbs from the floor. “Look, it’s all I’ve got to spare right now.”

  “But I need it!” I blurt out, unable to hide my desperation.

  “Yeah, well, so do I. You don’t like it, you can find some other place to work.”

  “You’re an arsehole, Hakesh,” I snap, stuffing the cash into my pocket.

  “Charming,” he replies with a smirk, and then hands me the broom. “Finish up here and then you can go.”

  I snatch it from him, throw him a pair of bitch-eyes, and then sweep the floor.

  3

  With a bag of leftover chicken, I step out into the cool night air, away from the heat of the kitchen, and the stink of pizza and kebab meat.

  But I’m safe indoors.

  Ever since the curfew was lifted, Newton Port has got worse. Hardly any police patrolling the streets, there are too many roaming vampires, and the HCA are practically non-existent. They probably thought the place wasn’t worth protecting. Either that or the country really is on the brink of collapse, and this town is just one of the first few to get swallowed.

  Just up the street, by the post office, there’s a gang of boys standing around a red suped-up car. Loud music blaring out from the stereo. Thick puffs of smoke seeping out from each open window. And there’s a skull glued to the dashboard; its fangs razor sharp; its hollow eye sockets staring straight at me. Most likely fake, but I cross the road, anyway.

  The street bins are overflowing with rubbish, and most of the shop windows have steel shutters or bars. I used to think it was just to keep the vampires out, but looking at those jerks across the road, it’s obvious that this cesspit has more than one type of monster.

  But all this mess, all these dirt-bags, the lack of police, lack of HCA—it’s exactly why I’m here. I wouldn’t survive five minutes anywhere else.

  When I arrive at my street, I see a man loitering in front of my building. He’s too scruffy to be HCA, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a vigilante. Apparently, there’s a £1000 reward for ratting out any hidden vampires. And I dare s
ay a grand would go pretty far in a town like this.

  It’s at least ten minutes before the guy stumbles away from the flat. I wait until he’s out of sight, and then jog over to the front door. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I remove my key.

  The street suddenly lights up, and I tighten with panic.

  Turning, fists clenched, I see a blue van. Please don’t stop. It drifts past at a snail’s pace, disappearing onto the next street.

  I let out a long sigh of relief.

  You’d think after all these months living here, working in that grease-pit, walking home alone, that the cold, stomach-churning anxiety would have passed by now. But after every shift, after every trip to the supermarket, I still find myself ramming the key into the lock and diving into the hallway like I’m being chased by a crazed killer.

  Like Michael.

  Oh, God. Even thinking about that bastard sends painful shock-waves through my body. Those confident, powerful eyes. That look of horror after he shot Mum.

  I shake off the hideous memory and slam the door behind me.

  The building has five floors, two flats on each level. Mine is at the very top, right next door to some deadbeat druggy and his occasional weird girlfriend. I’ve hardly said two words to them since I moved in, but it’s better that way. This is not a place to make friends.