The Devil’s Bargain by Carin Hart EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Carin Hart
- Language: English
- Genre: Kidnapping Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
HIS SECOND PHONE
LINCOLN
Leaning back in my booth, rapping the bottom of my empty shot glass
against the tabletop, I watch my second out of the corner of my eye.
It’s the smirk pulling on his too-fucking-pretty face. He’s up to
something, and I’m not in the mood to find out what. My single shot of
whiskey hasn’t done a damn thing to take the edge off today, and the last
thing I need is for any of his bullshit.
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After knowing “Rolls” Royce McIntyre for these last ten years, I’ve
gotten pretty good at telling when he’s in “underboss” mode, and when he’s
pushing his luck and testing me.
In the whole damn world, there are only two people who can get away
with that without fear that Devil will retaliate: Royce and—
Gritting my teeth, stretching my arm across the top of the leather seat
behind me, I look out into the glitz and grit that highlight every inch of my
playground. From the crowded dance floor in the middle, to the private
booths just like the one I’m sitting in with Royce, and the wraparound bar
doing more business than every other joint in Springfield combined, it’s a
monument to everything I’ve accomplished in my thirty-five years—and a
reminder of the price I paid to have it.
Even now, all this time later, I can hear her asking me why…
I need another shot. Fuck, I need something. The bass of the music
pumping out of the nearby speakers seems to pulse in time to the throb at the
back of my skull, and the button-down shirt I stretched over my chest for my
dinner meeting earlier makes me feel like a stuffed sausage.
Knocking the shot glass away from me with my knuckles, I grumble
under my breath and yank at the tie. Once I can breathe a little easier, I flick
open the first two buttons on my shirt and exhale.
A little better, though I squint through the haze of the club, trying to fight
back against my headache.
Usually, I don’t mind the noise. My customers expect it, and the racket
adds to the atmosphere. No one comes to the Devil’s Playground for quiet
contemplation. My club is about drinking yourself stupid, losing all your
money at the tables near the back, and getting laid by one of the club girls
upstairs if you can still afford it.
It wasn’t always like this. Before I bought the place out, it used to be
called Jimmy’s Bar, but I changed the name shortly after I cobbled together
the Sinners Syndicate. We needed a headquarters, a place to conduct
business, and an establishment that would get the cash rolling in while we
worked on bigger deals and better scores. Nowadays, the Playground is the
syndicate’s main form of income—thanks to the gambling and the girls—and
I know damn well most of the bit players in Springfield as well as some
wannabes only come by because they’re dying to get a glimpse of the Devil
himself.
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