Play the Game: Hannaford Prep Year Three

by J Bree

  Play the Game

  Hannaford Prep Year Three

  J Bree

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Also by J Bree

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Laura

  We are the weirdos, mister.

  Prologue

  Harley

  I’m forced to walk behind the sick fuck who is holding Lips at his side, pressing her into him until they’re moving as one.

  Every eye at Hannaford is on us, the building is holding its breath as we walk out to the waiting car. It’s a statement, a public claiming, and I know that when we return to school for our junior year Lips will be treated with a whole new level of suspicious reverence. I’m going to fucking hate it, but maybe it’ll keep her safe.

  The BMW waiting for us is the same type my grandfather owns. It looks fucking showy, but it’s the unseen elements that make it worth well over the mil mark. Bulletproof, flame retardant, and supposedly able to withstand a bombing, it’s not a status symbol.

  It’s a vehicle built for war.

  Diarmuid drops his arm from where it’s slung around my shoulders to open the door and usher me in. Lips warned me about protocol and I know this is a clear move from my uncle, telling the Jackal I’m a protected player. I hate it; I hate what my life is costing everyone, but if it keeps Lips safe too, then I’ll play along.

  He climbs in beside me and we sit in the rearward facing seats. It’s risky because I’ll be facing Lips and there’s no way I can look at her while the Jackal watches us both.

  He watches her like he fucking owns her. He watches her like he’s picking out the inches of her skin that he’s going to brand with his mark to keep her chained by his side.

  I fucking hate it.

  The rage that grows inside my chest expands until I can’t breathe and it’s only the echo of her words, the rules she told me back in her room, bouncing around inside my skull that stops me from reaching forward and choking him the fuck out. My uncle sits beside me, grinning like a fucking idiot, and I try not to look back at the posturing dickhead that keeps kissing and touching my Mounty. I know he’s just trying to get a rise out of me, but you know what? He’s succeeding. I keep my eyes on my own hands or on the Jackal’s hands.

  He’s gripping her knee hard enough that I know it has to be hurting her. It’s her bad leg, and she’s just gotten over the flare up. She ignores him, doesn’t attempt to brush him off, and I know she’s trying not to provoke the sick fuck. I want to kill him.

  When, finally, the barren, gray wasteland of Mounts Bay looms over us, he breaks the silence in the car.

  “Where are you staying this year, little Wolf? I’ll check your security and make sure you are safe.” He murmurs and I clench my fists. Diarmuid nudges me discreetly. I take a deep breath and force myself to unclench.

  Lips hums under her breath, a habit she’s picked up from Floss, and says, “Take us to the docks, Luca.”

  “Anything for you, princess.” The dickhead says and Lips scoffs at him.

  “Where are you staying?” The Jackal asks again, his voice harder. I roll my shoulders back, ready to grab the fuck if he goes for a weapon.

  Lips shrugs. “Arbour is heading back up the coast and I have a few jobs lined up. I’m meeting with a friend at the docks to discuss the terms of my acceptance. You know I only take certain jobs.”

  He speaks through his gritted teeth. “I’m not asking what you’re doing in the Bay, I’m asking where you’re staying.”

  She pauses and then with a flat voice she says, “And I’m choosing not to provide you with that information. I told you months ago, I’m learning to stand on my own two feet. I appreciate the ride, but I’m on my own. It’s me and Arbour, and any other person I choose to induct. If you wanted me to be one of yours, you should have inducted me instead of sponsoring me.”

  “I tried. You told me you’d rather die.” He snaps.

  That’s news to me. I look up and meet her eyes.

  I know why Floss warned me not to look at her around the Jackal; I know I can’t keep the longing and the worship out of my face, and only Lips has been blind to it. I can’t help but look at her now and the clenching on the Jackal’s jaw lets me know he sees it for what it is.

  Lips stares at me as she replies to him, “I will never be owned, and certainly not by you. I’m the Wolf.”

  I’m fucking flirting with danger, I know it deep in my bones, but I grin at her with the savage joy that her words rip through me. She tips her head back and laughs like a lunatic, and that’s when I know she does feel fear. She’s just as affected by this as I am.

  The car pulls into the docks and the Jackal’s hand tightens on her knee until she grunts. I lurch forward and grab his wrist, ready to choke the fucker out if I have to, and he reaches for his gun with his free hand. I hear the click of a gun to my right and tense up.

  “You’re hurting the little girlie, Jackal. Best you let her go.” Diarmuid croons.

  Luca parks the car and flings the door open, presumably to help his boss now he has a loaded gun pointed at him, but there’s a beat of silence before I hear, “Boss. You’d better get out of the car.”

  The Jackal is sneering at Diarmuid as he wrenches his wrist out of my hand. “Pointing a gun at me? You’re a fucking dead man, O’Cronin.”

  Diarmuid clucks at him. “Hurting a fellow member of the Twelve? You wouldn’t want that getting back to the meetings, now would you? Think of what the Crow would do to you, he’s been waiting a long time to take you out.”

  “She’s mine!” he roars, grabbing her arm, and the door on his side of the car is ripped open with such force I think it will tear right off the hinges.

  “Get your fucking hands off her, D’Ardo.” roars the newcomer. My eyes stay glued on the Jackal until he drops her arm. He looks out the door, grimacing, and finally his face shifts into something close to wary.

  I blow out a breath and yank Lips into my arms, shoving us both out of the door on the other side of the car. She’s not shaking, no racing heart in her chest or shallow breathing, but I can’t say I’m that as unaffected by the little spat. Once we’re out, and I’ve run my hands over her to be sure he didn’t fucking knife her without me noticing, I glance up only to find the fucking Butcher of the Bay staring back at me.

  I gape back at him like an idiot. He winks at me.

  Fuck me.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  “I told you, I called for reinforcements. Illi’s a good guy, the best.” The Mounty whispers in my ear and then pulls away from me, stepping back into her role as
the Wolf.

  A good guy.

  He’s a cage fighter, a trained killer, his weapons of choice are his fists or a fucking meat cleaver, he shows no mercy and has no conscience, and, according to my crazy hot girlfriend, he’s a good guy.

  I think I’m going to have a fucking stroke.

  Chapter One

  Spying on clients for the Tiger is my favorite type of work.

  I’m picky about what I’ll do for him. I’ve made it pretty fucking clear to him that I will not take out innocent witnesses just to keep his dirty clients out of prison and he’s good about finding me work that is okay with my morals.

  Which is how I find myself dressed like a Mounty street girl at three am outside a bar fending off sleazy, drunk assholes.

  Leaning my overheated, sticky back against the brick wall staring at my phone should be a big enough indicator that I’m not currently selling but three broken fingers later and I’m still having to tell guys to fuck off. Not that I’m selling at all, it’s just the best spot to find the information I’m after without attracting too much attention.

  My phone vibrates silently in my hand and I cringe before opening the new text.

  Right. Where the fuck are you? If you don’t tell me I’m texting the group message and you can explain this shit to Avery.

  Ugh. I’d told Harley not to come down until after 10am tomorrow. I wanted to finish up the job and sneak in three hours of sleep before I had to deal with the fallout of our ‘chat’ with the Jackal, but in typical Harley style he drove down to the Bay from his hotel on the coast early. I’d called the POA and gotten him into the townhouse in the gated community I’ve rented, but the barrage of text messages has only gotten worse as the night wears on.

  I’ll come back to the house now. I’ll be 30mins.

  I am not going to go back right at this second and I order an Uber to arrive in twenty minutes. I’m sure I could persuade Harley to believe there were traffic delays. The mark the Tiger had paid me fifty grand to get photos of is loitering in the gardens across the road. I know he’s there for drugs, I just have to wait the dickhead out.

  I’m already in the car.

  Bossy fucking boys. I send him the name of the bar and glare down at all the skin I’m showing. He’s either going to be a total fucking dick over it or I’ll get a hot make-out session in the car. I wonder if he’s boosted the car? My thighs rub together without me even realizing because I’m fucking damaged and get hot for that shit.

  I keep my head ducked like I’m staring at my phone even as my eyes follow my mark. He’s coming down from whatever high he’s been riding and his body language is becoming more and more agitated as the night wears on. I need him to act before Harley gets here. If he makes a scene, my cover is blown and I will have to find a new vantage point and spend another night out here following the idiot around.

  I hear the roaring engine first and then shouting and whistling pierces the air. I groan under my breath. When the mustang pulls up in front of me, I already know who the hell it will be, and now I have the attention of the entire damn street. It’s a fucking nice car, a vintage muscle car that rumbles like a beast even as it idles at the curb. Matte black and silver trimmings, even to me the car looks like a wet fucking dream.

  I pull my lips into my best Mounty street girl smile and trot around to the driver window. Wasted guys outside the bar start catcalling me and the other street girls start talking shit. I ignore them all for the guy smoldering in the drivers' seat.

  Harley is pissed.

  “I’m working so unless you want me out here again you should play the fuck along.” I croon because I have to make it look like I’m giving him the sales pitch of his life.

  Harley grunts but a fake smirk plasters itself across his lips and he grits out, “I can see the outline of your fucking pussy in those shorts, Mounty.”

  I take a shaky breath and glance down to double check that he’s just being moody. Okay, I have a teeny tiny bit of a camel toe but nothing so dramatic that it’s indecent or anything.

  “Look, I can’t leave until I get this done. This is my ninth job and I’ve worked my ass off since I got back so I wouldn’t have to work once you got here. Please, just leave me to get this done.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me and shifts in his seat to grab his wallet. The girls behind me yell out to him, trying to get his attention and cut me out of the deal. Harley’s lip curls in their direction and they quieten down.

  He pulls out a fifty-dollar bill and waves it at me obnoxiously. I’ve snapped bones tonight for less. “This gets me an hour, right? Let me take you around the corner, you can pick which one, and I can keep an eye on you while you work.”

  I chew on my lip for a second and then bend down to lean into the car and kiss him, dirty and raw like the street girls do.

  Harley grunts as I bite his lip and he slips the money into my bra, careful not to touch me. He doesn’t want to touch me like this, not when I’m dressed up to work and hating every second. It’s fucking sweet. I have to remind myself of our audience and keep the kiss outrageously sexual.

  It’s ridiculous that I know how to do that just from growing up here.

  I pull away from him and trot around the car like I’m giving him a preview of what I have to offer him. His eyes stay glued to mine.

  I have to do a weird slide to get into the car because my shorts are so tight, and the smell of the warm leather seats hits me as I shut the door. I direct Harley to a good spot and he parks up, cranking the air conditioning up, a blissfully cool breeze on my overheated skin.

  “Information or a hit?” Harley says.

  “Photos. Nothing too dangerous really.” That’s a partial truth. The mark isn’t a concern, but if the dealer sees me, there will be serious fallout.

  “How much?” Harley murmurs, watching me as I watch my mark.

  “Fifty grand. It’s the smallest job, so I left it until last.”

  He nods and settles back in his seat, his eyes closing as he grabs my hand. I blush and try to keep my focus on the drug addict. Harley traces his thumb along my knuckles absently.

  “Can we talk or will that distract you?” He murmurs, his eyes still shut.

  Ugh, fuck. I sigh. “Is this about Illi or the Jackal?”

  “Both of them. I know who you are. I know enough about this world to know it’s not fair of me to ask you to stay the fuck away from the Jackal, but seeing him touch you and knowing how much he scares you was fucking bad, Mounty.”

  I swallow around the lump at the back of my throat. “I know. I’m… I’m taking care of it. Illi is part of that.”

  I grab my phone as the dealer finally shows up. The mark is directly in front of the car, across the street, but the photos I get are clear enough to show what’s going down. The guy isn’t subtle, but the outrageous price I’m being paid is because of how high the risk of being caught is, not because of how hard it is to find the mark scoring his dope. He’s so far gone he would buy it in front of his own mother.

  “How did you meet the Butcher?”

  I wince. “I hate that name for him.”

  Harley grunts at me. “That’s who he is; he fucking mutilates people.”

  I cut him a glare. “He also saved both our asses. He’s… the same as I am. He came into this life unintentionally, but with a set of highly sought-after skills. When I told him I’d applied to Hannaford, he helped me get out, he helped me remove myself from Mounts Bay, and then he cut off all contact with me so I’d have a fucking chance at getting clear. He’s a good guy.”

  Harley looks at me like I’m challenging his very moral system, then his eyes slide away from me and he snaps, “Fuck. We’re made.”

  My eyes dart over to find the dealer, one of the Jackal’s men I know and who most definitely knows me, who is now stalking over to the car, and I move without really thinking it through. I lean forward to grab the release on Harley’s seat to push it back. He inhales sharply as I climb over to kneel on th
e floor between his knees and crouch awkwardly under the steering wheel. His eyes widen and he swears viciously as I fumble to get his belt unbuckled and his pants undone. I can feel his dick getting hard as my hand brushes against him even as he protests.

  “Mounty-” he hisses, and I cut him a look.

  “I’m not going to fucking suck your dick to get out of this, but I am going to pretend. How are your acting skills?” I whisper and before he can answer there’s a knock at the window.

  I blanch a little -because, really, am I going to bob my head and fake this properly?- and Harley, thankfully noticing me hesitate, twists my hair around his wrist and grabs a fist full of my hair before winding the window down a few inches.

  “I paid good fucking green for this slut. How about you fuck off and let me enjoy my money’s worth before I get angry, dickhead?” Harley drawls, becoming the arrogant asshole from school once again.

  I can’t move with the grip he has on my hair, thank god. I can smell the cigarettes and weed on Reggie from where I’m crouched. He’s a fucking creep and I have to hold in a repulsed shiver at his close proximity. Thankfully, the steering wheel hides most of the skin I’m showing, and he won’t be able to see or recognize the scars.

  “What’s a guy like you doing down here, anyway? If you can afford the ’67 Rector, you can afford better pussy than what the slum girls have on offer.”

  Harley chuckles under his breath and replies, “More expensive doesn’t mean better. No one sucks like the slum girls.”