For the Fight (Romantic Suspense) (Beyond Blood, #2) (7 page)

“What is it, what do you want?” he croaked.

“Our discussion earlier was never finished.” Leaning in, I strained to spot the sound of nearby people—there was nothing but Hecko's whimpers. “I asked you about Frankie's partner. The big man who worked with him, a guy with a gap tooth.”

The long, pathetic wail that came out made my hairs stand on end. “I promised him I wouldn't say a word. I said I didn't... didn't want any part in this. I didn't care what he did to Frankie... I swear...”

My face tightened from my sharp frown. Did Hecko just say what I thought he had? “This man had something to do with Frank's death?” In response, the guy gurgled. I turned his head, let him vomit down his own shoulder. Instantly, I snapped his face back to me. “Tell me his name, Hecko. Unless you want to die in your own puke.”

A full body shudder went through him. “I'm not a rat.”

Lifting the pistol from my jacket, I pushed the cold tip to his forehead. I hoped he could hear my smile. “What about now?”

God, had he started crying? Was it from the poison, or was he that scared? “Why are you doing this?”

“Tell me his name.” I clicked the safety off. The metallic sound was a punch to the ribs; Hecko squeaked. Not a rat, indeed.

“Lars Diani... his name is Lars Diani.” He breathed in deeply, struggling for air. The poison wouldn't kill him. I hadn't given him enough. I had no intention of using the gun, though. It was too obvious. The spool of wire would be smarter.

Sliding the barrel down, I nuzzled it on Hecko's cheek. “Lars. He was the man who used to help Frankie burn businesses, destroy families who didn't pay them?”

“How do you know about all that?” he asked. “It's been years since they did any of that themselves... they didn't dirty their hands anymore, they didn't... didn't need to.”

Hecko knew a lot for someone who appeared no older than Marina. “You said you didn't care what Lars did to Frankie. What did you mean?”

His hand came up, wiping at my wrist weakly. He'd find no hold, his nails doing nothing to the thick cloth covering me. “You never met me... did you? Your name isn't even Cory.”

“No,” I said softly, “It's not.” The nose of my pistol ran over his temple. “Focus. What did Lars do to Frankie?”

Hecko swallowed loudly. “He had him killed. Isn't that why you're here?”

Blood rushed to my heart, my lungs squeezing. Lars had ordered the hit—the hit Kite and I had orchestrated—against Frank Montego? “Weren't they friends?” I asked, trying to absorb this turn of events.

Hecko was silent. I nudged him, listened to him wheeze. He was losing consciousness from the poison. “I—what?” he mumbled.

“Weren't Frank and Lars friends, partners?”

“Yeah... they used to be.”

Settling on my heels, I slid the gun away. “Why kill him?”

I'd adjusted to the dark enough to see the wetness in Hecko's eyes. “I swear I told no one... I swear... why am I being killed when I promised Lars I didn't care?”

He was fading. I slapped his cheek, squeezed his lips until I felt him come alive. “Hecko, what was the reason?”

Something wet rolled down his chin. “Frankie was going to make a deal... he was going to betray everyone... I heard him, he said it, and I...” Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned. “Why the fuck would you do that? Uncle Frankie, why the hell... why...”

Ice exploded in my veins.
Uncle Frankie.
“You're his nephew?” Dammit. God dammit.

Hecko blinked when I let him go. “Please,” he whispered, “I told Lars everything. He promised he'd leave me alone if I... if I never said I'd told him. It'd make people suspect he'd hired the hit, and... fuck, I just wanted to be left alone...”

Yes. I could understand, now, why this guy had been drowning himself in drink. If he'd heard from his uncle that the plan was to make a deal, and had gone and confided to Frank's partner—or former partner—Lars, then... well. The guilt had to weigh heavy.

But I was in a situation I hadn't predicted. I couldn't let him live. He'd tell Lars and alert the man to the presence of someone looking for him. The element of surprise was crucial here.

Yet, killing him in a suspicious way... I'd narrowed my choices down dramatically. In front of me, Hecko was coughing again. I smelled the vomit on his tongue, knew more was coming up. Casually, I snapped my palm over his mouth and held him tight. He was too weak to struggle, his head vibrating and throat clenching desperately. “Sorry,” I said into his ear. “If you squealed on Frank, you'll squeal on me.” Hecko was, in the end, a true rat.

My blood was on fire, the sensation I'd been robbed of for so long flooding back. In my grip was someone's life. The flickering, warm heat that kept us all moving and smiling and crying and laughing. I held it close, crushing it until it dissipated in that grim alley.

When his body was discovered, it'd look like he passed out and choked on his own vomit. I suspected that anyone who knew him would agree: Hecko was an alcoholic. And yes, he'd been drinking this night.

If they remembered me, they would recall a man in a knit cap with a beard and green eyes, a man who had come and gone and no longer existed.

I was thrumming, my body all electric and wild. The disgusting air was suddenly fresh, the shadows fleeing like my eyes held their own source of light. Kite had murdered Frank. That had been eight months ago. My last kill had been much further away.

Flaring my nostrils, I strolled from the alley and back to my motel. I took new streets, avoided any repeated eyes. It was a brief return; I gathered my items, used my small bottle of bleach and a rag to scrub down everything I had touched in that room. The doorknobs, especially, were cleaned.

Leaving my key and more cash on the empty front counter, I brushed back out into the February night. My steps were springy, and I ached to utilize the energy and power I felt. I wanted to taste and hold and claw at a woman—one woman.

I couldn't wait to see Marina again.

Marina

––––––––

G
runting, I pushed the crate of glasses into place. My hair was in a bun, but strands still escaped and plastered themselves to my face. I really should
not
have been helping Kite organize the bar, but I'd caught him grumbling about everything that wasn't getting done because, and I quote, “Jacob was out pretending to be Batman.”

No single braincell of mine should have felt sympathy for this man. Especially after he'd guilted me into a bargain I got no benefit from, but... well. I don't know. Sometimes Kite was a brute, and other times I saw something soft and tender and
hurt
behind those black marble eyes of his.

So here I was, stacking boxes behind the bar on a Tuesday morning. No one else was here besides Kite, not even the bar tender whose name I'd learned was Anabelle. Apparently, as much as she was willing to put up with, she refused to load and restock before her shifts began.

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I looked over the bottles behind the bar. The two men who owned the Corner Velvet stocked it with some high quality stuff. Grabbing a bottle of Johnny Walker, I turned it and eyed the mostly empty contents.

“How strong are you?” Kite asked, staring at me from the hall.

Twisting his way, I blinked. “I guess it depends. What do you need me to do?”

Nodding his head, he motioned for me to follow. He had on faded jeans, a tight shirt stretching over his back muscles. Pacing behind him, I studied how his shoulder blades flowed. They reminded me of a big cat on safari.

Kite stopped in the loading dock, pointing down at a staircase. “I never arranged the kegs that came in the other day. It's hard with one person, care to help?”

Flexing an arm, I pulled my sleeve higher. “I think I can manage that.” Kite rolled his eyes, but the edge of his smile was fantastic. Working like this, with him, made everything feel so... normal. Close to normal, at least.

Following him into the basement, I gazed over the walls of huge containers. There was a wine cellar built into one side, the glass panel blinking with its temperature. The floor was solid under me, which was good, because standing among all the giant barrels was making me sway.

This was where Culver's body had been kept.

“Here,” Kite said, breaking into my thoughts. He slapped the top of a keg that sat in the center of the floor. There were eight of them gathered. “Together, this will be a cinch.”

Shaking myself free of the morbid images, I grabbed one side of the keg and grunted. “You guys have a lot of stuff,” I said, helping him set the heavy object on the far side of the basement. Clearly there was a system here. “What
is
all of this?”

“Jacob orders everything, I don't have a clue.” Shrugging, he loosened the neck of his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he revealed the tight, dark grey tank-top underneath. His shoulders gleamed, corded muscles swollen from his pumping blood.

My heart took a leap down into my gut, giving up on life. I'd seen this man naked, and still, a peek at his hard edges had me buzzing.
Focus and stop being a horny teen,
I reprimanded myself. Gripping a container, I rolled it until Kite came to help. “Jacob really does everything, doesn't he?” I asked.

“He's always been more organized. Even as kids, he made the plans.”

The metal felt good in my fingers. Nice and cold when up against my heating mood. “I never asked, when did you two meet?” Kite glanced at me, his nose scrunched like I'd asked him something too personal. I pressed on, undeterred. “You're clearly good friends, so if you knew each other as kids...”

Palming his neck, he sighed. “It's been a long time. Guess I was nine when we met.”

Nine. They had known each other for that long? “That's amazing.” The more I thought about it, the softer my smile became. Kite would have been as old as my sister Cece when he met Jacob. I felt a strange flicker of envy. “You guys might as well be brothers,” I chuckled, glancing up at him under my eyelashes.

Embarrassment crossed his features. He looked away, grabbing another bulging metal keg. “Might as well be,” he agreed seriously.

The air around us was uncomfortable. I blamed myself, I'd been prying into his life. But, the two of them knew so much about me... and I knew almost nothing about them.

No,
I told myself, eyeing Kite from the corner of one eye.
I know what counts. These men are skilled killers.
Why did I need to learn anything beyond that?

Why did I even care?

Kite straightened abruptly, digging into his pocket. “Hello?” he asked, pushing the phone to his ear eagerly. He blinked, then smiled brighter than he had in a while. “Sure. One second.” Clicking the device off, he buried it away and glanced at me. “Hang tight, I'll be right back.”

Assuming it was work related—bar work, not hitman—I nodded. “Okay. I'll make sure no kegs run away while you're gone.”

He said nothing, just jumping up the stairs two at a time with amazing speed and grace. I won't lie, I watched him until he had vanished. Kite was beautiful, in the way that a stalking panther or a volcano about to erupt was beautiful.

Sitting on the edge of a barrel, I crossed my legs. The basement wasn't exactly creepy, they'd made it feel rustic with orange lights and all the wood beams. But, frankly, I couldn't sit down there alone and not start squinting at shadows. At least one man's body had been down here, melting away in acid and his own juices.

Kite had promised me I would never end up that way. If that was all I could assure, then fine. It was still something. Most people don't get the luxury of guaranteeing what happens to their body. I was positive my end would come at the hard tip of a bullet.

And... I was still fine with it. I had to be.

A footstep scuffed the stairs. Twisting, I expected to see Kite. Pale blue eyes rested on me, a swimmer's body cloaked in a three piece suit. He stood there, the light from above glinting off his back and the darkness of the basement hardening his features.

His smile scraped over my body—over my rapidly thumping heart.

Jacob was back.

One polished shoe slid over the cement, aiming at me. He was locked on and I was conscious of my hands, my lips, and every muscle from neck to toes. Four days, now. Four days since he'd kissed me. That was how I'd begun measuring time.

His mouth opened, his shadow fell across me. I forgot how breathing worked. I swear, I was sure he was going to press those wicked lips to mine right there in the basement. I didn't know how I would feel about that. My brain had decided to melt like ice cream and run down into my lower belly.

But no. He didn't kiss me. “Marina,” he said, and hearing my name was a shot of adrenalin. “I need you to look at something.”

I swallowed over my numb tongue. “Hello to you, too, stranger.”

Chuckling, Jacob focused on my eyes and never blinked. How was that possible? “Sorry. You're right, I should have greeted you first before requesting something. But...” Reaching down, he went to take my hand. God help me, I sat there and let him. “I might have something for you that's even better than a hello.”

I had an idea about what was better. None of my thoughts were appropriate to voice. Jacob led me off the barrel, his fingers holding mine a fraction longer than needed. Over his shoulder, I spotted Kite on the stairs. He was staring at me—at us—and guilt washed into me like cold water. What the hell was I thinking? Maybe Kite and I weren't official, but we'd already kissed and fucked—twice!—and Jacob was... well. Like a brother to him.

Unless I wanted to end up seeing these guys strangling each other, I needed to stop getting so woozy around the two of them. Or maybe just settle on Kite. Fuck, I shouldn't have given into either of them! Was I so greedy that I wasn't satisfied with what I already had?

“Come on,” Kite said cheerfully, not betraying any of the dark curiosity that had been burning in his eyes. “Bring her up and show her.”

Turning, Jacob adjusted his silver vest and rich, emerald green tie. “He's right. Let's go, Marina.”

With neither of them watching me, I rubbed my cheeks furiously and shook my arms out. I needed to expel this ridiculous hunger out of my body. Jacob was back, and that had to mean something. I prayed for good news.