Never Kiss a Bad Boy (3 page)

That was good.

Because the plans I had were as serious as they could get.

Kite

––––––––

T
he air outside was crisp. It cleared my head, shredded my throat.

In long shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, I didn't just jog through the streets.

I sprinted.

It didn't feel like spring was so far away, the sky more blue than cloudy. The grass was still faded and brown, but otherwise... the park looked exactly the same.

Especially the spot I'd unconsciously approached.

Had it been unconscious?

Heaving, I grabbed the tops of my thighs and hunched over. My chest argued with me, acting like breathing was
not
what it wanted to do. I ignored it, staring straight at the spot on the ground just yards away.

There was nothing to signify that the body had been there. But I knew.

Since the day I'd pulled the trigger and killed Frank...

I couldn’t let it go.

Rubbing perspiration from my face, I stood straighter. The park was sparse, nothing like the packed day in June. Someone was walking a dog; I heard it bark. It reminded me of the gun blast.

Curling my hand at my hip, I felt the invisible weapon. The
idea
of it made me itch, boiling in my tendons. I wanted to crush the handle, feel the weight. I knew, as I turned and jogged from the park, that I would go home and clean my gun.

I'd been handling it every night that I wasn't wasted on booze.

You need to stop this,
I told myself flatly.
This can't be healthy.

Telling myself this wasn't new. I'd tried to hammer it into my skull for months. I had debated seeing a therapist, but imagining the conversation had been enough to put me off.

Yes, that's right. I keep visiting the spot where I murdered someone. Oh, no. Not the first man I ever killed—just the last.

Oh? You're going to need to call the cops?

Well, thanks for your time!

I was too burnt to run the miles back to my place. This time, I flagged down a taxi.

Watching the city creep by through the foggy window, I felt—was lonely the word? Detached. That was better.

When I was younger, I'd felt like this. Back then, I'd had reasons to withdraw into myself. I imagine all kids cope with rough shit that way.

Then Jacob had arrived in my tiny world. Our blood oath had given me gravity. Jacob, of all people, was at my side and ready to talk.

That wasn't the problem. I wasn't craving human interaction. What I was lacking these days was something more encompassing.

Now that I wasn't a contract killer...

I didn't have a purpose.

Paying the taxi driver, I shut the door and headed into the apartment. I took the stairs, long strides that skipped a step at a time. I wanted to get away from my depressing realization. Alcohol didn't do it, sex didn't do it, and literal running was futile.

But I still tried.

Inside, I threw my sweater onto the couch. My shoes left wet smudges on the wood floor; I ignored them. Almost possessed, I entered my bedroom. There was a pair of black panties by the side of the bed, I just kicked them aside. The woman they belonged to wouldn't come back for them.

Tracing my fingers down the side panel of my bed's headboard, I found the indent an inch up from the shaggy rug. A little pressure, and the secret cover popped off. Inside the hollow bed frame, I stored a number of things. The Ruger Mark Two was what I retrieved first.

Bringing it with me into the living room, I also carried a bottle of oil, a rag, and my tools. Reaching the coffee table, I shoved everything on it.

There was a rhythm to taking the gun apart. My fingers were practiced, unscrewing and twisting at the smooth metal. Surgical precision, I had the Ruger dismantled in minutes.

I could have done it faster, but I savored this process.

Polishing the barrel, I hummed softly. The vibration in my pocket demanded my attention. Digging the device out, I saw Jacob's name, then tapped the button and shoved the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Hey man,” I said, going back to cleaning. “What's up?”

“Just checking in.” His voice had an echo. I knew he was in the basement at the bar. “Did a few errands today. What about you, what are you up to?”

Glancing at the partial-gun, I held it to the light. It shimmered. “You know. The usual.”

“Right. Got it.” Jacob rolled something, metal grating.

“Are you working right now?” I asked, knowing the answer.

Chuckling, he breathed out softly. “Got a delivery this morning. You want to come down, help me out? Could use more muscle.”

My smile went sideways. “I guess I
am
stronger than you.” Jacob made a noise that said he didn't agree. “Let me finish up and change. I'll be there in thirty.”

“Sounds good,” he said. “Think you'll stay for the night shift?”

In my fingers, the gun came back together. I'd assembled it while we talked. Now, holding it eye-level, I stared down the sight and aimed at the front door.

It smelled like polish. It felt like heaven.

Under my finger, the trigger squeezed. The empty clip did nothing. In my head, I imagined the bang; my shiver went to my belly.

All I wanted to do was feel that rush again. Fuck, I wanted it so bad. I needed something rolling over my tongue—alcohol or flesh—to make me forget.

“Yeah,” I whispered into the phone. “I think I might just hang around after all.”

****

A
nabelle was already serving customers, the place busy with the happy-hour rush.

I tossed her a look; she hurried our way, giving us priority. “What can I get you boys?” she asked.

“Whiskey,” I said. “Straight, please.”

She gave me a glass, then handed Jacob the same. We clinked the containers, and dammit, it was hard not to smile after a gulp of that strong drink.

“So,” he said, leaning back on the stool. “I noticed another bottle of Johnny Walker was empty.”

I flinched. “Yeah, I finished it off. Is that suddenly a problem?”

He shrugged casually. “You started it
and
finished it all by yourself, last night.”

Rocking my glass in my fingers, I watched the golden whiskey slosh. “It's okay if you lecture me.”

“I'm not going to do that.”

Wrinkling my forehead, I eyed the ceiling. “No? Then how about this. I forgot I drank it all until you reminded me.” Glancing sideways, I saw Jacob's tight frown. “Ah. There it is.”

My friend hesitated. “Kite, I don't want to tell you how to live your life. I'm just worried you're in a spiral.”

Leaning closer to him, I put down my glass on the bar-top. “You'll be happy to know you're right. I
am
in a spiral. Any suggestions on how to fix that?”

“You could quit drinking.”

I tightened my spine. “I just need something to fill my time.” Pointedly, I slid the whiskey further from me. “If not this, then what?
More
women?”

Jacob's lips parted; no sound came out. His eyes, pale blue and always so calm, flitted over my shoulder. Whatever he was seeing, it had stopped him in his tirade. Twisting, I spotted the source of his interest.

All curves and curls, the woman just
looked
warm. Not friendly, I'm talking the kind of girl you wrapped yourself up in and understood how humans lived in caves before we had furnaces.

She was dressed in a jean skirt that squeezed her hips, and black leggings that made me cry with how they hid her lovely legs. When she walked, the little gap between her thighs created a heart.

It would fit my face perfectly.

Her luxurious, coffee colored hair hung down her shoulders in waves. It shielded some of her cheeks, highlighting her shining brown eyes.

She was hot as hell... and looking at me.

“Holy fuck,” I said with a poet's mouth.

Jacob cleared his throat. “She's coming this way.”

“Of course she is,” I said under my breath. “I summoned her with my mind. She's the cure for my addictions.”

Rolling his eyes, he inched closer to talk near my ear. “How do you know she's not coming over here to talk to me?”

“Well for one, she's not looking at you.” The girl hadn't stopped staring the closer she got.

Jacob breathed through his nose. “Don't be so cocky, Kite.”

Hopping off of the stool, I gave him a tight shrug. “Don't be sore. Have a drink—on me.” Grinning, I indicated my abandoned whiskey. “I'll go meet my new friend halfway.”

Spinning, I abruptly closed the distance between me and the dark-haired woman. She pulled up short, but didn't waver or give me that pretty little surprised look a lot of girls did.

No, not this one.

Bold as ever, she leaned up and hushed into my eardrum. “I need to talk to you. In private.”

Blood stampeded into my heart.
Oh, I like her
. Winding an arm around her waist, I felt the knitted material of her form-fitting sweater. “Private? You read my mind.” Guiding her through the crowd, I shot a smirk at Jacob as I passed. “We have a private room down the hall, that should work.”

“Sure. That's fine.” She had a lovely, low voice. It was creamy, I wanted to fill my head with it.

Down the thin hall we went, beyond the bathrooms and the spare closet we used as an office. The new area was low-lit, curved booths and a second bar for special events.

Here, with the music piping through the speakers and the buzz of the crowd out front, we'd be alone.

I'd been told no one ever heard the women moaning.

I let my guest go and turned to face her. “I didn't get your name. I'm Kite, one of the owner's here. In case you didn't know.”

Her eyebrows went up to her hairline. She seemed so calm, or... something. I couldn't explain it. “I did know,” she said. “And I'm Marina.”

Chuckling, I hooked my thumbs in my pockets. “Guess my reputation gets around. I hope the ladies say good things.”

Marina finally faltered, eyes squinting. “What?”

“Uh, the girls.” Lifting my hands, I gestured helplessly. “That's why you wanted to see me in private? Because everyone brags about how good I am in the sack?”

Her lips scrunched up.

Ah fuck,
I thought bitterly.
Did I read her wrong? Is she not here to fuck me?

Looking me in the eye, Marina swallowed. “I think there's been a misunderstanding. I asked to see you in private for a very serious reason.”

Slowly, I let my hands fall to my sides. Marina
did
look serious. “Then go ahead. Spit it out.”

Her chest swelled as her lungs expanded. Even with the heavy air of expectation, I found myself drawn to her breasts. I couldn't control myself; this woman was a walking vision.

“I know who you are,” Marina said.

Blinking, I tilted my jaw. “You already told me that.”

“No. Who you
really
are.”

Laughing, I asked, “And who do you think I am? A playboy, a billionaire, a celebrity?”

Her voice was cool and collected. “You're a hitman.”

In that quiet room, the hum of life down the hallway seemed miles away. I'd been watching Marina with an eye of appreciation. I'd noted her hourglass figure, her nice smell—chocolate and pumpkin—and the way her lips were the color of fresh raspberries.

And then she had to go and ruin everything.

I wondered how quickly I could cover her mouth. If I was fast enough, she wouldn't even squeak.
No. Stop!
I bit my tongue, forcing logic into my skull.
She knows I'm a hitman.
How was that possible? I had to figure out what was going on before I did anything rash.

“Why would you say something like that?” I asked, my smile forced and stiff.

Marina looked at my knuckles, then to the doorway. Finally, she inhaled and met my stare. “I saw you murder Frank Montego. That day in the park, I watched everything you did.”

“And so,” I whispered, “You assume that makes me a hitman?”
Not that it matters,
I realized.
If she actually saw me pull the trigger, she knows I'm a murderer.
That was just as condemning.

She shook her head, long threads of hair tickling her shoulders. “No, the news told me that part.”

The skin on my face was wooden. Smiling was getting harder. “Then, isn't coming here to meet me a little... risky?”

Marina licked her bottom lip. It was the first sign of her nerves. “Probably. But I didn't have a choice. You're the only one who can help me.”

Inching a foot forward, I judged the gap between her face and my palms. “Why would I help you?”

“Because I have money,” she blurted. She saw it, then; I could tell from the way her pupils shrank. Marina recognized what I was considering. “Stop! You can't hurt me.”

I took another step. My fingers flexed at my hips. “I don't have much choice.”
I have to keep us safe. Jacob and I... we can't let everything end here.

This girl was a liability.

What else could I do but silence her?

Maybe jumping to murder was crazy, but Marina had put me in an awful position. It only took one loose end, and my world—Jacob's world—would come undone.

No one who'd hired us as had
ever
seen our faces. They knew us as the Jackals, contacted us through the anonymity of the internet. The only people who could identify us were the ones about to take their last breath.

Marina had become one of them.

It was...

It was the only way.

The dip on her throat fluttered. Her hands came up, mine came down. I squeezed her jaw, but her voice spilled faster. I should have been lightning. Had months of inaction made me slow?

Or... maybe I'd hesitated.

“They'll know!” she gasped, eyes all white and popping.

Freezing, I kept my grip on her face. One palm hovered over her lips, not touching. “What?”

“If I die, if anything happens to me, the police will know!” Her ribs were swaying, lungs struggling to fit both air and panic at the same time. “It won't be clean!”

Clean,
I mused to myself. Shaking with unused adrenaline, I eased my fingers off of her. I hadn't left a mark. I knew better than that. “Tell me, right now, how in the fuck anyone would know about this. Did you
tell
the cops about me?”