Page 37 of Player
Finn
Now what am I going to do with her?
If Clarissa were hard liquor, she’d be one-hundred percent proof. Pure mind-numbing trouble. Bad news. Yet I’m fond of the drink, as well as a glutton for punishment, aren’t I now? I admit I’m surprised at how calm she is after a hail of bullets accompanied our hasty departure away from the ship. We made it out by the skin of our teeth and with, literally, the clothes on our backs.
I look over my shoulder and glance past her hurrying behind me, to where I parked the speedboat in some bloke’s private slip. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices it, though no one seems to have yet. I plan on disappearing into the mist before the mob descends on this place.
“Is there Uber in Ireland? Or we can call a cab? However we make this work, I’d like to be in Cork harbor before the cargo ship arrives.”
Now I don’t have the heart to correct her. Share with her that the mob has a different port in mind, a less-busy, more mob-friendly place thirty kilometers south in Kinsale. That we can go hunker-down and twiddle our thumbs until they turn blue, but they’ll be no ship pulling into Cork.
Still, I could call her a cab and be done with her. She’d be safe enough; it’s not like they got a gander at her pretty face. And it’s doubtful they think a woman helped steal their bleedin’ boat.
No. It’s Antonio they’ll be hunting for.
It’s about time I give that wanker a quick death.
She curses under her breath, forcing me to stop and turn. “We can go our separate ways,” the ballsy minx informs me.
I can hear me da’s whispered warning in my ear. That I’m twice cursed by Adam’s slipup, that when Eve handed Adam the apple, he should have resisted. He should never have nibbled on the forbidden fruit.
“Or we can do this together,” I hear myself mutter.
“What?” she gasps from behind me.
I keep quiet and keep moving forward. Quickly running through my options.
Let her get on with things alone.
Use her.
A stunner like her? A girlfriend? Another set of eyes and ears? It’s feckin’ brilliant.
She grabs my arm from behind and halts our progress. “I don’t even know your name. But, I mean, of all aliases, you chose Antonio?”
Keen as a priest hearing confession. “Ever hear of Black Irish?”
She snorts. “I believe the term applies to coloring. For example, hair color. And, you, Antonio, are red-headed.”
“Red-headed?”Not on yer nelly.“I’m blond.”
“Ginger.”
“Strawberry blond.”
“Whatever.” She pauses. “And I’ve decided to call you Patrick. Or maybe Reilly. That has a nice ring to it.”
“Just don’t call me late to supper,” I say, my tone a wee bit gruff. Reilly? Not on me worst day.
Next, she’ll be demanding I share a list of my favorite things. Violent video games. Sex. Good food. A fine pint of the Black Stuff. Sex. A good, honest fight. The craic. A woman’s touch. Not soft but hard, like her firm hand wrapped around my cock. Or her teeth biting my neck while I knock her boots off. A dirty, no-holds-barred fuck. I bet with that filthy mouth of hers, she’d be down with it. I’ll bet the winnings of my first fight that Clarissa can handle my brand of loving.
You eegit, I catch myself. Dead men can’t drink, fight, fuck, or consider riding a lass like the one staring at me. If Hayden discovers I’m risking exposing TORC by bringing her into the mix ...
No. I’ll use her then send her packing. That’s it.
“So, Conor. We’ll clean up, catch our breath, then wait at the dock for the ship to arrive.”
“No.”
