The Hitwoman Plays Games (Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman Book 24)

by JB Lynn

  As the last card was flipped, the twitch seemed to be more pronounced.

  Toothpick pushed back in his chair, his personal tell revealing he thought he had the hand won, and pushed all his chips into the center of the table.

  I didn’t take my eyes off O’Leary.

  “And the ball,” the cop ordered.

  A battered Skee-Ball was placed on top of the pot.

  Nothing about this game had gone as planned. I’d thought we’d be playing in some dark smoky back room, but we were sitting under bright lights in the middle of a doll warehouse. Apparently, O’Leary had chosen the location, a place owned by his cousin or something.

  It was creepy to have so many pairs of eyes watching me, even if most of them were attached to toys. Plus, it was unnerving knowing Gino was standing directly behind me. I couldn’t quite shake the fear he was under orders to slit my throat where I sat if I didn’t win the game and save Angel. Logically, I knew Gino would never do that, but it still added to the sense of pressure I was under.

  But the worst unanticipated problem was that God had been unable to get into a position to read O’Leary’s cards. We’d planned for him to crawl up a wall to see what the cop was holding, but none of us had our backs to a wall. We were in the middle of a wide-open space.

  O’Leary grinned, revealing a chipped front tooth as he showed his winning hand, and pulled the pile of winnings toward him. “Go tell your boss you failed him,” he gloated.

  Toothpick, looking disgusted, snapped his toothpick in half and stalked out. That left just me and O’Leary facing off across the table. I tried to breathe slowly and regularly to quell the panic that was clawing at my throat. If I didn’t get this right…

  “I know who you are,” he sneered.

  Figuring he meant that he knew I was Delveccio’s stand-in, I remained silent.

  He began to deal the cards. “You’re Archie Lee’s kid.”

  Caught off-guard, I stiffened slightly. The corners of his mouth curved upward.

  “He’s just trying to get in your head,” God warned from where he was perched on a shelf, atop a red firetruck.

  O’Leary looked around. “You hear a squeaking sound?”

  I shook my head, thankful to the lizard for offering the pep talk and providing a break from my opponent’s perusal. It gave me a second to get my head on straight.

  “Quit stalling, O’Leary,” Gino said from behind me.

  He was the only other person in the room. The District Attorney and the mob boss were probably watching remotely. He’d explained his boss was worried that I’d be unprotected if I attended alone and smug O’Leary, probably thinking I was a woman who needed defending, had insisted Gino stand beside me so that he couldn’t help me cheat.

  The cop leaned back in his chair, obviously considering me to have been less of a threat than Toothpick had been and dealt.

  “I arrested your dad once,” O’Leary revealed as I looked at my hole cards.

  “Oh yeah?” I had an ace and ten of hearts. I placed my bet.

  He matched it and dealt the flop: a king of hearts, the ace of diamonds, and the ace of clubs.

  I watched him as he took in the pair of aces and noted his twitch. Did that mean he held the ace of spades? Did we both have three of a kind with aces?

  “He’s got an ace of spades!” God called excitedly, O’Leary’s new posture exposing his hand to the lizard.

  I swallowed hard as he confirmed my fear. I wasn’t going to beat him with three of a kind. The knowledge made my airway constrict with tension.

  “Yeah,” he continued. “Your dad kept lousy company, too.” His gaze flicked up to Gino. “Scummy company.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Gino to see his reaction. He was staring impassively at the other man, unaffected by the insult.

  “You’ll get no argument from me about that,” I said to O’Leary, turning back to the game. “My dad was not the best judge of character.”

  We each bet again and he dealt the turn card: the jack of hearts.

  His eye twitched and my anxiety skyrocketed, my heart pounding in my ears.

  “He’s got a black jack,” the lizard revealed. “I can’t tell which one. His opposable thumb is in the way.”

  Like I said, you know it’s a bad day when you’re facing a full house, and that’s exactly what O’Leary was holding. That beat my three of a kind aces. It was, as Armani predicted, a shitful.

  “Let’s make this interesting,” the cop said.

  I forced myself to meet his gaze. I could see he thought he had the upper hand and I was inclined to agree with him. He looked so smug that I wished Angel had given him the beating he’d deserved.

  “What are you proposing?” My voice came out sounding vaguely husky, not because I was trying to sound sexy, but because I was having difficulty breathing.

  He chuckled. “Sweet cheeks, if you’d wanted to win by seducing me, you shouldn’t have dressed like a goth.”

  “I was going for the Druid look,” I replied drily.

  I heard Gino’s breath catch behind me.

  O’Leary kept going. “You should have worn something more impressive.”

  “A crown! A crown! A crown!” Benny called.

  “What the hell.” O’Leary jumped up.

  I reached down and lifted Benny out of the dressy handbag Aunt Susan had given me for my date with Phillip. “I brought my good luck charm.” I kissed Benny’s head to make my point.

  “I thought that was my role,” God complained from his hiding place.

  O’Leary shook his head, sat back down, and leaned in a bit. “Let’s sweeten the pot. You win, I…”

  I didn’t even hear his offer.

  I was too busy thinking about what Benny had said, a crown. That’s what Armani had envisioned. Suddenly, I knew what the letters really spelled, flush it. “Use five,” she’d said, and I’d put five heart tattoos on myself.

  “I’m all in,” I said, interrupting O’Leary’s pot sweetening and pushing every single one of my chips into the center of the table.

  I could feel the tension emanating off of Gino at my sudden impulsive move, but he remained still and silent.

  I met the cop’s surprised gaze steadily. “Call or fold.”

  “Well, I guess you’re ballsier than your pop,” he said.

  “You have no idea,” I told him in a voice that dripped icicles. “You folding?”

  He curled his lip contemptuously. “You think you can bluff your way out of this? You’re a loser. Just like your scum-loving father.” He pushed all his chips in.

  “And the ball,” I told him.

  He picked up the Skee-Ball and examined it. “Which do you think your boss wants more; this or to keep his nephew outta jail?”

  I shrugged.

  He put it on top of the pile of chips.

  “You just cost him money, his stupid good luck charm, and the jerk’s freedom. You’re as stupid as your old man.” He blew a kiss at me as he revealed the river card.

  I knew what it would be. It was the card I needed for a royal flush, the queen of hearts.

  I leaned closer to him. “Tell me, sweet cheeks, have you got something that can beat my royal flush?” I flipped my hole cards over.

  “You…you…” he sputtered.

  “Who’s the loser now?” I winked at him, and got up to leave and reached for the Skee-Ball.

  Veins bulging in his neck and forehead, a furious O’Leary grabbed my other wrist. “Double or nothing.”

  Sensing Gino coming to my rescue, I held out my other hand, signaling for him to stop. “I’m fine.”

  “I’ve heard that one before,” he murmured, sounding amused.

  Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin. That’s what Patrick had taught me.

  I smashed the Skee-Ball into O’Leary’s eye socket.

  Howling in pain, he released my wrist. He stumbled backward, clutching his face.

  “Impressive.” God’s compliment was delivered breathle
ssly as he ran across the warehouse floor toward me. I scooped up him and the bag containing Benny, handed the Skee-Ball to Gino and walked away.

  “For the record, I think you make a pretty sexy Druid,” Gino whispered in my ear as we left the warehouse.

  And I laughed. A real, giddy, laugh. Because things were good in my world. Marlene had her daughter. Patrick had his drug bust. Angel had his freedom. And the Concords were no longer a threat.

  My life was good. At least, for the moment.

  The End

  Mix equal parts urban fantasy, cozy mystery, laughter and love and you get the magical read known as the Cursed Chicks series.

  Enjoy this excerpt from 1 Flew Over the Raven’s Nest, book 1 in the Cursed Chicks Club series.

  Prologue

  You know you’re an unhappy camper when you’ve been serenaded by a yowling cat for more than 14 hours. I glared at the Siamese in the passenger seat. She had been singing, “Take Me Home Country Road” for what felt like forever.

  Personally, I could have done with a good rendition of “One Hundred Bottles Of Beer On The Wall,” but I knew there was no point in complaining. Millie wouldn’t care, despite the fact her caterwauling was tempting me to drive the camper van right off the road.

  I could put us both out of our misery. Except that wouldn’t happen. Ever.

  My mother-in-law, Mildred Bloodworth, was a witch. A real witch. And she’d managed to curse us both while trying to take something from me. Now I’m haunted by her, in the form of the damn cat, but that’s not the worst of it.

  If I don’t fix the things that she did wrong in her life, I’ll be haunted by her for eternity.

  So unfortunately, I can’t afford to die.

  Yet.

  Chapter 1

  It was all the white rabbit’s fault.

  One minute I was driving along a winding road, past the beautiful sprawling pastures of the horse farms of Georgia, and the next moment, I was slamming on the brakes as a flash of white fur sped across my path.

  Wheels squealed, there was a scream of terror punctuated by a loud pop, and Princess groaned as she shuddered to a stop.

  The rabbit, as though he realized the havoc he’d just caused, paused and looked back at me.

  I stared at him through the bug-spattered windshield of the recreational vehicle I’d barely managed to stop without killing anyone. “Watch where you’re going!” I yelled, pounding on the steering wheel for emphasis.

  He twitched his pink nose in some sort of apology.

  That moment cost him.

  A large woven net flew through the air, casting a momentary shadow over him.

  He bolted, but it was too late. Enveloped completely, he was trapped. He struggled mightily to free himself, but two men and a woman, their backs to me, quickly gathered up the netting.

  I could have driven away then. I should have, but something didn’t feel right.

  Who traps a rabbit with a net in the middle of a road? For that matter, what were the chances of encountering a white rabbit anywhere besides at a little kid’s magic show?

  My right eye began to twitch.

  That’s never a good sign.

  The shorter man tossed the trapped rabbit over his shoulder and when they turned to cross back in front of my vehicle, I saw their faces. Their real faces

  I don’t have much understanding of the whole witchcraft/magic thing, but if I’ve learned anything in the last year or so, it’s that I can see a shimmer.

  Most people, normal people, can only see the face of a person that’s presented to the world. But I can look past it, to what’s really inside, the shimmering image of one’s true soul. It’s kind of like a holograph, but instead of being projected on a surface, the shimmer is hidden deep inside someone.

  The shimmers of these three were blue.

  “Uhhh, Conroy?” I murmured to my favorite owl. “I could use a little help.”

  “This is none of your business,” the cat beside me hissed.

  I picked up the spray bottle of water I carried in the cup holder. I could endure fourteen hours of her yowling, but I wouldn’t put up with her interference.

  She narrowed her blue eyes at me, much like she had when she was still alive and in human form. Back then she’d scared me, but not anymore.

  She flattened her ears. “Don’t you dare, you lit—”

  I interrupted her insult by dousing her with a generous squirt.

  Instinctively she lashed out, scratching the back of my hand hard enough to draw blood. She let out a pained yelp and dashed for the back of the vehicle.

  “Don’t get blood anywhere, Millie” I warned with a chuckle.

  I might be cursed with Mildred Bloodworth’s presence, but she was equally trapped. Every time she physically harms me, she suffers a mirror injury, so now the back of her paw was bleeding. I’m pretty sure the boomerang aspect of the curse is the only reason she hasn’t ripped my throat out as I sleep.

  “I remain unable to visualize through material,” Conroy complained. He delivered the equivalent of “I can’t see” in the pedantic style of someone who had attended a private North Eastern prep school and rubbed well-to-do shoulders with the Kennedys.

  “Sorry.” I pulled the owl pendant that I wore around my neck, out from under my shirt so that he could see what I was looking at.

  “Filchers,” he muttered with disgust.

  As though she’d heard the accusation, the woman glanced up at me, her eyes locking on mine. According to Conroy, who was my sole source of paranormal particulars, there aren’t too many of us who can see shimmers. It was obvious from the nasty sneer she directed at me, that the woman couldn’t see mine.

  “Filchers,” Conroy continued. “Thieves of magic. Hoarders of light. Remind you of anyone you knew?”

  “Orville?” I guessed as I was swamped by a wave of outrage and disgust.

  “Scum of magickind,” Conroy confirmed.

  Behind us, the cat hissed.

  I rubbed my itchy palms together as the threesome disappeared into the woods at the side of the road. I saw a flash of white fur as the rabbit continued to struggle and then they were gone.

  I fished a penny out of my pocket and asked, “Whatchya think, Link? Do I help the rabbit?”

  I tossed the coin into the air and watched the copper disc rotate as it fell. Hand flat, I caught it in my palm.

  It landed heads up.

  “Okay,” I muttered, unhooking my seatbelt. “Save the bunny, save the world.”

  Leaving the penny on the dashboard, I tucked the spray bottle under my arm, grabbed a taser out of the center console of the RV and snatched a kitchen broom off the rack on the wall before jumping out.

  “Do you smell that?” I wrinkled my nose against the scent of wood smoke.

  “I possess no olfactory senses,” Conroy replied haughtily.

  “Any special way to deal with filchers?” I asked, stepping into the woods.

  “They normally run when confronted,” the owl told me. “They’re thieves, not warriors.”

  Emboldened, I picked up my pace and soon caught up with the three.

  The trapped animal was still struggling to get loose. Even from a distance, I could hear his heavy breathing.

  “Now what?” the man carrying the rabbit asked.

  “Now we burn him,” the other man replied.

  “Alive,” the woman added.

  I lost the element of surprise when I stepped on a stick. It’s echoing snap alerted them to my arrival. The three turned to face me.

  “Order them to unhand the bunny,” Conroy suggested haughtily.

  The woman looked at me like I was something she’d wipe off her shoes. “What do you want?”

  Having tucked the taser and spray bottle into the waist of my jeans, I tightened my grip on the broom. “Let the rabbit go.”

  “Make us,” the taller man taunted, walking toward me.

  “He’s headed in the wrong direction,” I muttered under my
breath to the owl pendant.

  “They must find courage in numbers,” Conroy said. “Dispense with this one and the others will most certainly crumble like the proverbial cookie.”

  Figuring he knew more about filchers than I did, I dropped the broom to the ground, pretending to surrender.

  The approaching man laughed and looked over his shoulder at his comrades in crime. “I think I scared her.”

  With his attention elsewhere, I reached behind me, whipped out the taser and was pulling the trigger before he turned back. The electric shock from the weapon made his body quiver uncontrollably. He let out a pained shriek and collapsed to the ground. Something ricocheted in the flow of power and I got a shock that made me drop the weapon.

  “Unhand the bunny!” Conroy yelled.

  Instead of dropping the trapped animal and taking off, the woman snatched the net out of the other man’s hand. “End her,” she ordered.

  While the short man advanced on me, pulling a long hunting knife out of a holster on his leg, the woman ran deeper into the woods with the furry white fluffball.

  As I picked up the broom, I felt compelled to point out to Conroy, “There’s no crumbling going on.”

  The man lunged at me with the blade. I took a half step back, and then hit him with three well-placed blows. The strike to his arm, knocked the knife from his grip. The blow to his groin doubled him over in pain. I finished him off with a swipe to the back of his head that broke the broom handle and knocked him out cold.

  “Bravo!” Conroy cheered.

  I didn’t have time to feel proud of my accomplishment because the wind changed, and smoke stung my eyes. “Fire,” I murmured, tossing away the broken handle.

  Remembering what the woman said about burning the rabbit alive, I ran in the direction she’d disappeared, hoping I wouldn’t be too late to save him.

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