BLOG TOUR
BROKEN PONIES
Book 2 in the Crooked Little Sisters series
Sophie Jonas-Hill
THE THRILLING SEQUEL TO THE BESTSELLING NEMESISTER
Following the gripping – and deadly – events of their night under siege in Nemesister, the sequel, Broken Ponies, provides more details of Red's mysterious past as well as Rita's childhood, and brings light to the events that will eventually bring them together.
But meanwhile Red’s hunters have not given up the chase and Rita becomes bait in a trap set for Red in a terrifying storm damaged fairground….
The second in the Crooked Little Sisters series, Broken Ponies will thrill fans of dark gothic thrillers and readers of John Connolly and Joe Hill.
• “Dark and twisty – a must read!” – It’s all about the books Blog
• Book 2 in the Crooked Little Sisters series
• “Sophie Jonas-Hill’s novel is an incredibly atmospheric thriller that swings from eerie to brooding to intense.” -M J Hill, reviewer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sophie Jonas-Hill lives next to the sea in Kent with her family. An antenatal teacher, Sophie is currently working on the third book in the Crooked Little Sisters series.
EXTRACT
Chapter ONE
THE SAVANNAH HEIGHTS CASINO did its best. Above the two gaming levels, there were six floors of reasonably priced hotel rooms, which were reasonably clean and reasonably anonymous, a woefully under-used pool deck and a ‘skyline’ bar. This translated to a room that ran the whole length of the building, offering a
panoramic sweep of the city, though the view was mostly the back of everything else, as if The Savannah Heights was a short kid come late to the school photograph.
At 3.30 a.m. above the background hum and trill of slots, the click of chips and the dull, subterranean thump of the generators, an angry noise began to rise from table four. I’d seen the guy playing there when I’d come onto the floor after my break and was pretty sure he’d been there long before that, though guys like him were pretty hard to distinguish from one another, or indeed the fixtures and fittings. This one had the same hard, chiseled expression as
the faux, carved wooden Tiki heads dotted about the place, until of course he lost, which he just had – big time.
Like Mormons us security operatives are supposed to travel in pairs, but Olaf was still in the bathroom, which meant I alone was the sole representative of Savannah Heights law. With no time to wait for Olaf to wash up, I strode toward table four, nodding to its operative Barbara to let her know I’d seen what
was happening.
‘You goddamn’ bitch–’ Tiki man, pot-bellied and crackling with anger, jabbed his finger at her face. ‘I said stick, and you goddamn went an’ hit me. What the hell you go and do a thing like that for? You deaf, well as stupid?’
Somewhere off to his right one of the slots chose that moment to pay out and play the opening chords of ‘Sweet Home Alabama’. It didn’t improve anyone’s mood.
‘Sir –’ I began, ‘Sir, is there a problem?’
Tiki man struck the table top, sending cards, chips, beer an’ all skittering to the floor as Barbara, trapped in the table’s central well, arms jammed across her chest, let out a yelp of protest.
‘You heard that then, you stupid bitch!’
The lucky few still awake at this hour turned to get a good look, necks craning out of plaid shirts and sports collars.
‘Sir!’ I tried again. My hand on his shoulder, I was dimly aware of Olaf hurrying through the archipelago of tables while doing up his flies. Then Tiki man swung round to face me. He was wearing a blue shirt crowded with images of pigs dressed in grass skirts and flower garlands – really, I thought, hula pigs? Now, did you buy that, or was it a gift? I mean, seriously, did you actually look at that and think – hey, now that’s the one for me?
‘Sir, you’re gonna have to calm down here …’
One of our boss Jose’s theories was that you need women on staff because men are more reluctant to hit them. As Tiki man threw a punch at me, I made a mental note to question this at our next team meeting.
‘Oh no you didn’t,’ I heard myself say. His blow connected with my left arm; I deflected it but was hit instead by a waft of aftershave and stale sweat. Tiki man didn’t get the hint. Backed into a chair he rounded on me quicker than I’d expected. He didn’t swear either; most start calling you names and threatening legal action, proving they’re more bark than bite. Tiki man said nothing, just went for me, hard and mean.
Time snagged on the bright lights and chatter of voices. The world stuttered to a halt, that god-awful shirt traced blue and pink on the back of my eyes, spreading out like an ink blot. I saw things both as if I were him and as if I watched him; Tiki man, still angry, still in that shirt, but in another place, his knuckles bloodied and broken, standing over someone else, someone smaller, someone weaker – someone Tiki man thought don’t got no right to sass mouth him that way. I was somewhere else for a moment, looking through Tikki Man’s haunted, piggy eyes.
Oh no, I thought, oh no you didn’t!
‘Oh yes he did,’ Margarita said.
Reality snapped back fast enough to flinch me away from Tiki man’s fist. I caught his punch with both hands letting the force of his blow carry him off balance. He was face down on the table before he’d time to catch his breath, arm all twisted up behind his back. That should have been it; I should have been calling him ‘Sir’ and warning him that the authorities had been called, only
the hot-black, heartbeat moment twisted inside me and wouldn’t let him go.
There was the dull thud of impact, then the ricochet as its force crunched back through me. I lost Tiki man and the casino and everything as memory swelled up, molasses dark and rich, bringing the taste of river water, blood and the itch of fire. When Olaf ’s arms closed around me, it took everything I had not to slam
my fist into his face.
‘Rita!’ he yelled from the edge of the void. ‘Rita, what the fuck?’
I made myself go limp, gasping for air as if I were breaking the
surface again. Around me the casino hissed with exclamations, all those yellow white faces tutting and sniggering at the show.
Barbara was jabbering that Tiki man ‘…deserved everything he got comin’ to him. Hell, I’d have slapped him myself, if I hadn’t been stuck inside this goddamn doughnut!’
‘Rita?’ Olaf, hands on my shoulders, steered me away as two other security guys darted in behind us, one to pick up Tiki man, now mewling like a stuck kitten, and one to try and calm Barbara.
‘It’s always me what gets shit like this, all the goddamn time. Hell, only the other week some bitch sprayed me with her Christian Dior. I hate that crap too, had to get my wig dry cleaned and who’s gonna pay for that?’
‘Rita?’ I slid my gaze back to Olaf. Margarita jubilant, her smile on my lips. I pulled from his grasp. ‘What the hell was that?’ he demanded, but I was already walking away.
I strode into the locker room and kicked door number seven. The boom it made did nothing to stop the roar echoing around my head. I threw myself down onto the bench and jammed my head into my hands.
‘Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it,’ Margarita said. ‘You were lovin’ it, just the same as me.’
‘Shut up,’ I told her. ‘You’re gonna get us both fired.’
‘Oh hush now,’ she laughed. ‘You think they’d can your ass over a piece of shit like that? I know what he did, I could smell it on him and so could you.’
‘No I couldn’t,’ I said, but I was lying.
‘Oh really?’ she said. ‘You keep on tellin’ yourself that.’
‘Rita?’ It was Jose, who really didn’t seem to have a home to go to. I glanced sideways at him and saw he’d crossed his arms across his chest in the same way Barbara had at Tiki man. Which probably meant he wanted to give me a goddamn slap as well.
‘Aren’t you supposed to provide single sex locker rooms?’ I said.
‘What the fuck?’ he replied, his forehead creased in furious lines.
‘I know,’ I said, sitting back, hands held out in front of me. ‘I
crossed the line.’
‘Crossed it?’ Jose’s eyebrows pitched a tent. ‘You gone an’ pissed
all over the fuckin’ line, that’s what you done.’
‘He went for me,’ I said. ‘Check the tape.’ I got up and opened
my locker, already knowing my shift was over.
‘Tape?’ Jose sniffed. ‘What tape would that be?’ Half way through yanking my rucksack out I stopped to look at him. He shrugged. ‘We don’t got no camera covering that table tonight, and you don’t know any different.’ He pointed at me. ‘Never again, you understand? Whatever shit you got going on here–’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘don’t bring it to work, alright?’
‘He means me,’ Margarita sniggered.
‘You want this job, you don’t want this job, all the same to me,’ he said. I got my bag free and pulled off my uniform jacket to hang in its place. ‘But you don’t go making work for me. That piece of shit you put down’s not gonna make no trouble, but the next time?’
‘There won’t be one,’ I lied.
‘Smart,’ he said, flicking his hand toward my locker. ‘You’re done. Go home, don’t come in tomorrow–’ he raised his finger before I could protest. ‘Don’t come in tomorrow, don’t come in till Thursday. Go sleep, go get fucked, whatever, but don’t bring your shit again. Jesus, what? You get your hair done and it rots your brain or something?’
‘I thought you liked me blonde,’ I said and yanked my sweat top free of my bag. He watched me pull it on, the hand that had been pointing at me now gripping the back of his neck, where the hair was longer and bushier than it had any right to be.
‘Where the hell you learn shit like that anyway?’ he asked. I
shouldered my bag.
‘I was home schooled,’ I said.
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