A Game of Hearts and Heists: A Steamy Lesbian Fantasy Romance (Girl Games Book 1)

There are two things I love: winning and angry women. If the two happen to fall together, and I win—or seduce—an angry woman, well, I’ll let you work it out.

The problem is, women—and angry ones in particular—never quite play fair. Which is precisely the case for my current angry-woman-play-thing, Quinn Adams. Resident New Imperium medic—she’s more commonly known, in my circles, for her vicious skills with poison.

She’s also a royal pain in my ass.

Our tête-à-tête started a few years ago. Though if you ask her whether she’s trying to screw me over, she’d hang before she confessed.

She is, though.

Trust me.

Stirling, my beloved, but irritating twin sister, kicks her legs up on the outdoor table of our favourite bar as she slurps on a cocktail we can’t afford—which also happens to be Quinn’s fault, but I’ll get to that later. I sip my reluctantly purchased coffee. We could only afford one cocktail between us, and Stirling won the toss. But I guess it’s not all bad. The afternoon sun reflects off the table, warmth kissing my skin, the sweet stench of booze and baked goods filling the street. Then I glance at Stirling.

“Must you?” I ask.

“Oh, definitely,” Stirling says and oggles the waitress walking inside the bar. The server has an impossibly small waist and tits for days. Exactly Stirling’s type.

I lean back in my chair, wondering where Stirling gets the attitude. While I might love the game of chasing women, I’m much subtler than her. I’m more of a power play girl, games of dominance and submission, winner takes all.

Speaking of winning, Quinn—The Poisoner—appears at the end of the street. It’s those evergreen eyes and crow-coloured curls I spot first. Her hair is as twisted as her heart. Of course I turn away, pretend the sun has blinded me and glance through the bar window. As if I’d let The Poisoner think I was staring at her.

Doesn’t seem to matter, though. Normally she won’t deign to give me attention in public. But today, I can sense her gaze raking over me—thank you Assassin training. I can play her like this all fucking day. I still my breathing, let my periphery vision work, my hearing stretch, my skin prickle with the vibrations of her movement through the air.

If you weren’t paying attention, you’d have missed the flicker of her eyes to mine. It was fast. Not long enough for anyone else to notice.

But I did.

The nanosecond of heat on my arms and neck as her gaze skirts over my body. The hiss and bubble of her anger.

Her lust.

Absolutely glorious.

One nil to me, Poisoner.

This is the game between us. She wants to kill me as much as she wants to fuck me. And much to my disdain, the feeling’s mutual.

The Poisoner kicks her chin a little higher, walks a little quicker. Her piss poor attempt at snubbing me.

I smirk.

Pitiful.

“Are you quite finished?” Stirling says, glaring at me as she sips her cocktail. The waitress makes another pass as she delivers drinks to another outside table. She tuts at Stirling as she passes, but she also cocks her head, giving Stirling an eyeful of cleavage.

Unbelievable.

I have to physically suppress an eye roll.

This is how it’s going to go: Stirling is going to make eyes at the waitress for the duration of our drink. Then, she’ll slurp the last mouthfuls of cocktail, kick back the chair, slip to the counter and convince the waitress she needs something from the kitchen. They’ll sidle outside and Stirling will finger fuck the poor girl into a leg-quivering orgasm and I will have to hear the sordid details all afternoon.

It’s tiresome.

And no, I’m not jealous.

Probably.

“We’re approaching thirty for fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t we have grown out of this by now? Do you ever think about anything other than tits?” I ask.

Stirling shrugs, then pushes a lock of her shoulder length dark hair behind her ear, “Sometimes I think about girls’ arses, and the curve of their tiny waists under my fingers, and the taste of their c—”

“—Yes, thank you, sister.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Gods, Scar, you need to find a lady so bad. You gotta lighten up, honey. When was the last time you got laid, anyway?”

I shift in my seat. Hardly appropriate conversation for sisters. Stirling’s expression widens. “Oh my. Tell me it wasn’t Lara?”

Lara is my ex. She’s… it ended in disaster. I say nothing and press my lips shut. She’s not the last person I slept with, but Stirling doesn’t need to know that. If she wasn’t so preoccupied shagging half of New Imperium, she’d remember my last interaction with The Poisoner—Stirling had to help me out of the… predicament.

“Ohhhh…” Stirling drags the word out.

“My sex life isn’t actually any of your business,” I snap.

Stirling tilts her head to examine me, pausing as she chews her lip. “Tell me it’s not the fucking Poisoner.”

And she’s remembered. I don’t respond, just look down the street instead. I don’t feel like confessing the fact that I’ve fucked The Poisoner at least three more times since the particular incident Stirling is remembering.

“Right. That’s it,” she says, leaning her chin on her hands. “I’m taking you to Velvet Mansion tonight.”

“No,” I say. It was meant to be a command, but it came out like a whine.

“Yes. I’m going to get you laid. I know a girl.”

“I don’t fuck on a first date.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

My jaw flexes. I pull Chance out of my pocket. She’s a large double-sided coin that fits snug in the palm of my hand. On one side is an intricately carved YES, laid in ruby. On the other side is a gilded NO. She’s the most expensive and precious item I own, and no matter how little money we have, I won’t sell her. Not ever. My father gave her to me. Told me I’d always be a winner if I controlled the game. It’s the only thing I have left of him. And I call her Chance because she’s a sentient little bastard that likes to play games as much as I do.

“Absolutely not,” Stirling says. “You’re coming. I’m not betting on that bloody coin.”

“One, the coin has a name. And two, if you want me to come, you’ll bet on Chance. Feeling lucky, Stir?”

She frowns those dark eyes at me. “I’m always lucky.” She glances at the waitress, her lips parting.

“Well, I guess we shall see.” I flick Chance up with my thumb and follow her as she spins, soaring up: ruby-gold-ruby-gold.

I use the coin for everything. Nasty habit I’ve developed. Dangerous too. It’s gotten me into more than a bit of trouble. But I love the spontaneity of it. You never know what it’s going to land on. I wasn’t joking when I said it’s sentient. Sometimes the odds are with me, and others, I swear she’s a malicious little prick doing the one thing I don’t want her to.

Like today.

“Fuck’s sake,” I growl as the coin lands on YES.

Stirling smirks and folds her arms, and then the smug bitch winks at me. “Guess I’ll see you tonight. Better get home, Scar. It will take you a while to scrub up.”

She gulps the final dregs of her cocktail and then kicks back and stands up.

So predictable.

“I hope she fakes it,” I mumble.

“Darling, please, we both know I’m gifted.” She waggles two fingers at me and swaggers into the bar after the waitress.

Vile.

How I’m her twin, I’ll never know. I shake my head and take a glug of coffee. The sun is setting. It coats the mountains at the city’s edge in embers; rouge and burnt orange glisten on peaks like flames. The street is bustling, ready for the evening’s entertainment. The chatter of expectant party goers, the hum of magic and sweet perfume clings to the air. Every night in New Imperium is a night for hopes and dreams, desires and orgies.

New Imperium is far wilder, far darker than it was before The Tearing. I was only just old enough to go to the clubs when the world tore, but we were a more civilised people then. Now the city seems to thrive on power and sex and all of our darkest desires.

I prefer it this way.

Most don’t.

I scan the street, and despite their enormous size, buildings cluster together in the centre of the city. These are full of magic, along with the mansions in the suburbs. It’s the smaller houses, the uniform boxes on the outskirts, that don’t have any. If you want a power top up, or to gain some new skills and abilities, you come to the centre or the burbs.

The royal palace holds the most magic, of course. It sits in the centre of the city, up a mile long driveway. And then there’s the second most powerful castle—The Grey Castle—our old home. I look left down to the square. Our castle takes up two sides of the square. It used to be the centrepiece of the city. A thriving hub of pilgrims travelling, hoping to study our house, our magic, and if the castle deemed them worthy, claiming a piece of our home’s magic for themselves. We even had a set of resident Collectors. Once the house deemed the pilgrim worthy, the Collector would draw magic from the house and tattoo it into the pilgrim, thus allowing the castle to ‘collect’ them. The ultimate honour. Our castle was so busy, so powerful, that there were times the Collectors had to work twenty-four hours a day.

Not any more. I take a final sip of coffee and drop the last of my change onto the table. I stare at the darkened castle. The crumbling gargoyles. The chipped crenelations, filth covered windows and shattered glass.

My stomach twists. It’s not right. Not because our power is desiccating in the heart of the castle, but the injustice of it all burns in my blood. One day I will have my vengeance. One day I will make up for what I’ve done.

But not today.

I spin on my heel and march up the narrow cobbled street. In a bout of hideous timing, I glance left, my eyes falling upon the alley.

Stirling kisses the girl’s neck. Her hand slipped between the waitress’s legs. She pants into my sister’s ear, gripping her shoulders. Stirling catches sight of me and grins.

She’s insufferable.

I pass The Poisoner’s apothecary and glare at it. Reason sixty-nine I hate The Poisoner: her store is stealing all my trade. Providing poisons for bored housewives to do the dirty themselves instead of commissioning a first class Assassin like me. I’ll have my vengeance on the bloody Poisoner, too. One day.

But not today.

Because today, I lost a fucking bet with my sister.