Player - A Deadliest Lies Novel - Michele Mannon Page 0,6

with everyone.

Or, do as my da always said. “Play to yer weaknesses, bucko, because you got ample material to pull from.”

My old man was always quick with a kind word.

How easy it’d be to give into temptation. Lay her across the kitchen table and have a wild go at her. I might not be the man of her dreams right now, but by the time I’m through with her, she’d be humming a different tune.

Be that as it may, I wouldn’t ride her if she had pedals. I’ve got a job to do. And though I’ve come to detest the role I’m playing—the bumbling eegit Antonio being the feckin’ worst one yet, he’s all this mad minx is going to get.

I break free. “Whoa. Aren’t you taking things a wee bit fast?”

She blinks, and I almost feel sorry for the lass.

“I know I’m irresistible but how about we add a drop or two of whiskey to this fire to heat things up?”

Her lips part in surprise. Her reaction is like watching someone find a winning lottery ticket she thought she’d lost.

Confusion.

Joy.

I’m sixteen years old again. Now who’s the bigger gobshite? Antonio or bleedin’ you?

“I’d love a drink,” she murmurs.

“Hold up then,” I reply, then get the hell out of Derry before I hoist her into the air and toss her happy self onto the table. I make her wait as I retrieve the bottle of Jamison from the living room, my movements slow as I calm my delusional thoughts.

She’s here for a purpose, bucko. It’s not your body she wants, but information.

I amble back to her and, while she holds out the two glasses, pour amber liquid into both.

“What took you so long?” she teases. “Run out for a new bottle?”

I gift her with a lazy smile. “Only one thing in life worth pursuing.”

Her eyes light up. Damn, she’s pretty. Deep blue eyes. Rich auburn hair. A faint sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose. And she’s clever. A challenge.

Wouldn’t you know a chancer like me thrives on challenges? For most, there’s a time and place for everything. For heartless killers like me, there’s the job, period.

“I can’t imagine what might get you moving fast.”

“Can’t you?” I wink.

She laughs. A disbeliever in my lovemaking skills.

How I’m tempted to prove her wrong. Fuck her hard and furious, at a speed that’d leave her breathlessly begging me for more.

“Not sex,” I say. No sex. Not with you. Not now. Not ever.

She cocks her head at me, inquisitively.

“Assassin’s Creed.”

“The . . . video game?” she asks in complete wonderment.

“You play?”

She bursts into hilarious laughter.

I strive to look contrite, yet, in truth, I’m feeling a wee bit disappointed she can’t see past my malarkey. Though, how could she? Dishing out my brand of shite is what I excel at. I’m a player, slipping seamlessly into one role after another.

My life has been one motherfucking lie after another. I’ve been a priest. A delivery man. A sloppy drunk. My best role, which I masterfully executed if I do say so myself, was that of an old, frail Frenchman. Even my colleague and fellow mercenary, Kylie Smith, was fooled. Role playing, fighting, pissing people off, these are things I excel at.

You used to be a charmer. A ladies’ man, tried and true. Before Antonio came to be.

I can’t feckin’ wait to be rid of the wanker.

But Hayden says we wait. He thinks there’s more than meets the eye going on here. To keep our eyes and ears open and figure out who all is involved in this back-alley deal.

So, while my counterpart, Diego, has all the fun playing Don Juan inside some luxurious mountaintop retreat, I’m bumbling about like a goddamn fool, with my tongue stuck out in the hopes of tasting that one tiny drop that preludes the motherfucking flood I’m hoping for. Tedious work for a man like me, who thrives best when he’s in the mix of things and not biding his time on the sidelines.

Truth is, I was bored to death. Until this fine specimen of womanhood showed up, flashing her eyes and giving me hell. “Before we get down to business, a toast.” I raise my glass and wait for her to do the same. “May we get what we want. May we get what we need. But may we never get what we deserve.”

Her eyes dance.

What is it you think you deserve, Samantha-not? I take a healthy swig as I consider her. Feeling the welcome burn of the