Page 131 of Player

He folds over clutching his side.

I shove the other man out of me way and exit the car.

“Tit for tat, right. Be seeing you around, fellas.”

* * *

Blood burns me eyes from Vidal’s savage assault.

The minx would be horrified. Another blessing she’s on the sunny side of England by now.

Whack.Whack.

O’Brien asked for a show. O’Brien got it.

And I’m getting what I deserve.

Five.Whack. Four.Thump. Three. Two.Bugger me blind.

Bell.

I glare at Vidal through a veil of red. The bastard’s grinning, so feckin’ confident. Blissfully unaware of the danger staring him down. I shake me head like a dog, sending fluids everywhere.

He jumps back, cursing like the amateur gobshite he is.

I walk away as the ten-minute intermission begins. Everyone but O’Brien’s men are lined up at the betting table. Irish or not, bets are changing in favor of the South African. Country before money in the ol’ pocket? Not a bleedin’ chance with these disloyal wankers.

If they’d only stop long enough to take a gander at the smug faces around them. The South Africans. O’Brien’s men.

If they linger long enough after the fight, they’ll see half of those same smug faces drop.

Even a crafty fella like yours truly can’t winandlose a fight.

I’m handed a white towel to wipe me face. A bottle of water to quench me thirst. A pat on the ol’ back for a job done well. Do I feel a profound sense of accomplishment? The sweet swell of victory feeding me ego?

Feck no. I’m hungover and bloody miserable. Missing me partner in crime, me beour.

Jaysus. Not even a savage beating can out-hurt me aching heart. I’m struggling with making amends—a plan already in play—because, if I have to let her go, I’m hell-bent on leaving the minx with something.

I search the room for Fiona, who’s unknowingly helping me with this poor arse idea. The boss won’t be so understanding, if he ever figures out what I’m doing.

Right now, he’s pleased as punch with me. The information about Cape Town has that mind of his fast-forwarding to the next steps of the game—locating the supplier then eliminating him.

Or her—Mrs. Ogdenhayer won’t be spared.

In a few days, I’ll be far away from this scene and this country.

Lorries will be arriving at the warehouse during the next three days. The boss says O’Brien is worried the bribes paid to the garda won’t silence the rumors of mob shenanigans, especially when lorries begin arriving from other parts of Ireland. He gave the buyers an ultimatum, get in and out quickly or don’t come at all.

O’Brien’s like a dog rounding up sheep, baring his teeth and barking orders. Neatly gathering the bleating and baaing herd, oblivious to the wolf, Hayden, in the pen.

My eyes connect with the South African from last night. He nods, reminding me I best prepare an exit plan or I’ll be missing out on the grand finale.

“Finn.”

I turn then twist my head away and hold up me hand. “Not in the face, will you?”

“Shy, are you?” Fiona chuckles, lowering the new phone I purchased earlier.