Player: Stone Cold MC, #1

By Carmen Faye

Player is book 1 of the Stone Cold MC trilogy. Books 2 and 3, Playboy and Stud are available everywhere now!

MONEY TALKS, AND WHEN RIP PETERSON TALKS IT, I’M HYPNOTIZED

ALEX
I had a good thing going… until he showed up, six feet of leather and steel, a tempting smile, and a downright dangerous offer that left me breathless and ready.

But once ours fingers were in the honeypot, we got a taste of the adrenaline and wanted more. He wanted more.

Me.

RIP

My only rule in life?
Don’t get caught.

Call it what you like, I’m the one who walks away on top every single time, and I f*cking love it that way. 

But Alex is something else: smart and sexy--a spitfire and one hell of a natural for cheating a card table. 

I knew I could take her and make her into something great. And when we walk out with our first winnings, I know we’ve got a good thing going.

There’s just one flaw in this plan… my lies are about to catch up with me.

And just maybe my stupid f*cking heart, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBook Publishing World
• Release date: Dec 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386702535

Book preview

PLAYER: Stone Cold MC (Book 1)

By Carmen Faye

MONEY TALKS, AND WHEN RIP PETERSON TALKS IT, I’M HYPNOTIZED.

ALEX

I had a good thing going... until he showed up, six feet of leather and steel, a tempting smile, and a downright dangerous offer that left me breathless and ready.

But once ours fingers were in the honeypot, we got a taste of the adrenaline and wanted more. He wanted more.

Me.

RIP

My only rule in life?

Don’t get caught.

Call it what you like, I’m the one who walks away on top every single time, and I f*cking love it that way.

But Alex is something else: smart and sexy—a spitfire and one hell of a natural for cheating a card table.

I knew I could take her and make her into something great. And when we walk out with our first winnings, I know we’ve got a good thing going.

There’s just one flaw in this plan... my lies are about to catch up with me.

And just maybe my stupid f*cking heart, too.

CHAPTER ONE

The damn key wouldn’t go into the lock and I was running out of time. I fiddled only for a couple of seconds before I lost my cool. I looked over my shoulder. Still no sign of them, but they wouldn’t be long. If this key didn’t go in now, I was kicking the door open, motel policy to hell. It wasn’t as if I was going to be around long enough for them to slap some kind of fine on my ass, and I’d been careful with my identity, paying for the room in cash. That was how I always did it. In my line of work, you could never be too careful.

No one was going to find the intimidating-looking guy with the leather clothes and steel-toed, shitkicker boots unless they had the guts to follow me. And I’d made sure that the few people who had noticed me had wanted to steer clear of me. I didn’t have to be a badass biker to instill fear.

The door finally complied, and I pushed into the room. The door slammed against the cheap wall, probably leaving a dent in the plaster. I didn’t give a shit.

I found the gun under my pillow, checked the clip, and shoved it in the back of my pants. Sweat trickled down my temples, and I rubbed it away with the sleeve of my t-shirt. My shirt stuck to my body where I was sweating in other places. Between my shoulder blades. Around my hips where the belt hugged my pants to my body. I went through the drawers and pulled out everything I owned. Next time I was living out of my bag instead of making myself at home.

I only had a handful of clothes in the drawers, and I shoved them into the knapsack I’d been using as a bag like a vagrant. It didn’t do much for my image in casinos, but the clothes inside it were enough to make me look legit.

Neat pants and collared shirts. I also had jeans, t-shirts, and a nice pair of shoes. The leather-studded jacket wouldn’t fit, so I shrugged into it instead. The heat pressed down on me almost immediately. The weather here in Nevada just wasn’t the kind of weather that allowed for leather jackets during the day. But there was no time.

I could just imagine what my tombstone would look like. R.I.P Rip Peterson. RIP Rip. If they even gave me a tombstone. Maybe thugs like me deserved to end up in a ditch.

I pulled the black duffel bag from underneath the bed, zipped it open, and took out two wads of cash that I stuffed into my pockets. Always good to have money on hand in case I needed it for something like food. Or a bribe. The bag was almost overflowing with wads and stacks of money, as arranged or messy as whichever night I’d won it.

The sight of all that cash made me giddy. My stomach rolled with the familiar mix of urgency and stone-cold greed. That amount of money was enough to buy me the kind of lifestyle any guy like me dreamed of.

I just wasn’t going to use it for that. Not yet. Casinos were my playing field for now—until I could cash out.

Still, the money was damn inviting, begging me to spend it. Cold hard cash. The green sheen of the notes against the black material of the bag was a sight to behold. I ran my fingers over the money, momentarily lost in the power under my fingers, the riches, the wealth. And I’d done all of this by myself. No help from the Stone Cold Club.

All they’d ever done for me was cause me pain and misery. Assholes. And they were on their way to do it again. Stone Cold because they were heartless killers who didn’t care about the destruction they left behind.

If Emmett were here, he would be cheering, urging me to pack faster. The sight of all this money would make him just as manic as it was making me. But that would never happen, would it? The club had made sure of that.

Fuck, I missed that kid. His goofy smile, the way he always looked so damn innocent, even when he was swiping your shit right in front of your eyes. He could scale a fence like no one I’d ever met in my life. Quickest fingers with a lock, too.

He’d been a gem when it came to burglary.

Even when we’d gotten caught and we’d ended up in jail, he’d gotten everything he wanted. They’d all liked him from the start; they saw the same potential and easy-going vibe he had about him that I did the first time I saw him. Criminals go for that kind of thing. And they all loved him as much as I did.

Gunshots interrupted my train of thought. It was still a ways off, but if they were shooting they knew I was close, and they were taking out anyone in the way. Shit. I zipped up the duffel, ran out of the room, and got into my Mustang. I dumped the bag with the money in the foothold, knapsack on the seat, and turned the ignition.

The car coughed and sputtered before it started, but then it roared to life and I threw it in reverse, flooring it.

My tires squealed on the blacktop as I pulled out, gravel spitting to the sides, and then squealed again when I shifted gear and shot forward. My Mustang was old, but it was a good getaway car. It had been my baby from the start. Some things just couldn’t be replaced by something better, more expensive. No matter what kind of high life I ended up living, my Mustang was coming with me.

I headed for the entrance to the interstate just as the white Merc pulled into the parking lot.

I was getting sick of the sight of that car. No doubt Diego was driving it—Stone Cold’s hitman. He was out to get me, take what I owed out of my flesh. He aimed a gun at me. I saw that black metal mouth point at me, Diego’s arm hanging out of the