Never Kiss a Bad Boy (4 page)

Marina's face scrunched in disgust. “Of course not. I'm not an idiot.” She saw the way I folded my arms, felt my doubt. “Okay, yes, I know that coming to see you was dangerous.”

“Not was.
Is.
”

Lifting her chin, she pressed on. Her composure was returning. “I wrote a letter. I detailed the entire murder of Frank Montego, what I saw you do. I also said that if anything happened to me, that I was coming to this bar, and the police should know it meant you were the one who'd killed me.”

I went cold. This girl, she'd actually started something I couldn't prevent. If she'd really written such a letter, who had it? Where was it? Could it be enough information to finger me for Frank's murder?

Frustration sank into my blood. Narrowing my eyes, I turned away from her. “Please excuse me a moment.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, starting to follow me.

A single, sharp glare over my shoulder made her go rigid. “Don't worry. I'll be back to talk with you very soon. Go make yourself a drink, get comfortable.”

“But you
will
be back?”

Hunching my shoulders, I felt my empty pockets and begged for a gun. “You won't even miss me.”

Marina

T
he nerves in my fingers were cold. No part of my body wanted to behave like it should.

Kite's hands, they'd been as deadly as knives. But the worst part hadn't been how he'd grabbed me, it had been his projection of fury.

He was more dangerous than I'd imagined. Something else was bothering me, though—something that chewed at the base of my brain. How was it possible for a killer—an actual killer... to be so damn handsome?

His jaw was powerful, angular. And those black eyes, even as they'd burned me up, they'd startled a deep part of me that itched for more. His energy had made my breath catch, and my tongue was buttery and numb.

A gorgeous man; a guy who could be a model!

And he'd been on the verge of ending my life.

It had taken all my strength to cry out before it was too late. The letter wasn't a lie, I'd put it together after a few days spent staking out the bar. I'd learned Kite's last name was Lawson, and that his best friend was Jacob Fallow. They owned the Corner Velvet together.

My letter included photos of both of them, just to be safe. I didn't know what it was, but I suspected Jacob couldn't be oblivious to his friend's 'hobby.'

There
was
a slight bravado to my threat, though. Yes, I'd made a note, and yes, I'd put it safely in my bank deposit box. But the reality was, who would report me missing?

I'd said '
they'll know,'
but I didn't think anyone would actually notice.

Luckily, my warning had been enough to scare Kite.
He
feared the cops.

That was all that counted.

Glancing at the abandoned bar on the back wall, I decided to do what Kite had suggested. Grabbing a glass, I filled it with vodka and tonic water. I wanted my wits, but something to remove the edge was helpful.

Sipping the drink, I paced the room. I couldn't get myself to stay in one place. This was really happening.

I'd made myself wait for days, until I was sure it was him. Lingering into the late hours, I'd watched him stumble from the bar, his arms around random girl after random girl. Spotting his familiar face, his tattooed knuckles, it hadn't been a challenge to identify him.

If
I'd
been a hitman, and he'd been my target, I could have shot him a few times by now.

But I wasn't a killer.

Not yet, anyway.

I had barely touched my drink when Kite appeared. He wasn't alone.

Jacob had an intense aura that reminded me of a cannon ready to fire. I thought, if he wanted to, he could have moved faster than any weapon.

Like Kite, he was just as handsome; chiseled from head to toe, muscles tightening his crisp dress-shirt over his chest, fit and magnificent.

Running fingers over his smooth jaw, he set his clear blue eyes on me. I could have drowned in them.

“Marina,” Kite said, motioning at his companion. “This is Jacob. Jacob, Marina. Please get acquainted, I think we're about to have a nice long chat.”

Jacob wasn't smiling. He shut the door behind him, closing us off from the rest of the bar. I felt like I was deep underground, far away from rescue. “Hello, Marina,” he said soothingly. Or he tried to, I wasn't soothed. “Kite says you're looking for some help.”

Every suspicion I had that Jacob was in on things was confirmed. It didn't shock me much. I'd noted Kite's bluetooth that day in the park. Obviously, he'd been talking to someone.

“You're a hitman too, aren't you?” I asked.

They shared a look. I witnessed Kite's surprise.

“Relax,” Jacob said. He gave me a cool, considering look. “She would have found out. It doesn't matter. Tell us why you're here, Marina.”

Though I wondered about my safety, I was starting to feel... in control. “Kite, he—or I guess both of you—murdered Frank Montego eight months ago. I need your help for something similar.”

“You want us to kill someone for you.” Jacob laid it out, not blinking.

Swallowing more of my drink, I used it to gather my thoughts. “No. Not exactly.”

Kite folded his arms into a knot. “I don't know many ways to 'not exactly' kill a person. Dead tends to be dead.” His companion sent him a meaningful glare. Kite ignored Jacob, too busy frowning at me.

Reaching for my purse, I started to dig with my free hand. “Let me—” Loud, metallic clicking erased my voice. Gingerly, I raised my eyes and saw Jacob had a gun aimed at me. I couldn't look anywhere else.

“Move slowly,” he advised. “And take your hand out of your purse.”

There was a loud whine in my ears. “I don't have a weapon in here. It's just money.”

Kite came my way, bending so close I could see the lashes over his black eyes. They were richer than mine. His scent was smoke and oil. “I told you,” he whispered. Tiny hairs flew up on my skin. “Coming here was reckless.”

Strong, agile fingers scraped down my ribs. Kite had grabbed me, his hands exploring my torso in smooth sweeps. I was so stunned that I froze, a shocked cry bubbling on my lips.

Jacob put a finger to his lips across the room, telling me to be quiet.

“What are you doing?” I hissed at Kite.

“Checking you for a wire,” he said. “You could be a cop.” Lifting my sweater, he displayed my tanned belly to the room. The pink cloth of my bra, the tops of my breasts, soon followed.

In spite of myself, warmth bloomed through my belly.
Calm down! This isn't the time to get excited, a killer is touching you!
My entire face—my whole being—was on fire. “I'm
not
a cop,” I said. “You don't need to do this!”

Kite stared at me, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. He was so close that I could have leaned forward and kissed him. I could even see the flecks of silver deep in his black eyes, the only hint of light inside of him.

“No wires,” he said, glancing at Jacob. He took my purse, and I had a second where I debated cracking him in the temple with my glass. I didn't. I just stayed still.

Kite lifted an envelope from my purse. I saw his eyes flash; knew he was praying I was stupid enough to bring the letter I'd spoken about. Opening it, he fingered the stacks of money with a frown. “You really were planning to hire me.”

“Both of you, now,” I said softly. “You clearly work together.”

They glanced at me, then back to the cash. “How much is it?” Jacob asked.

“It's only fifteen grand.” Shoving it back in the envelope, Kite nodded my way. “You don't know much about us, do you?”

My neck was starting to cramp from not moving. “I told you, I only saw you kill Frank. I thought you might know an accomplice of his.”

Jacob lowered the gun, freeing me of some of my tension. “You want us to find a friend of that man?”

“Yes.” I risked itching my nose. My hair had tickled it for the past minute. “If you killed Frank, you might know someone he worked with years ago. That's the man I want dead.”

“The guy you want us to not
exactly
kill,” Kite mumbled.

Narrowing my eyes, I purposefully took a sip of my watery drink. Neither of them reacted, the gun stayed down. “Right.
I
want to be the one to put a bullet in his head.”

Now I had their attention.

Taking my purse from Kite, Jacob explored it. He didn't say what he was searching for. Seeming satisfied, he tossed it my way—the money still inside. “I'm sorry to say we no longer take on contracts. If we don't accept your cash, what will you do?”

Catching my bag, I spilled some of my drink. I stared at them from under my hair. “You want to know if I plan to blackmail you into helping me.”

Kite didn't smile, but Jacob did. “I'm asking because I'm curious. If we say no, what is your next step?”

My chin touched my collar bone. “I won't lie. I didn't have much of a plan B.”

“Why not take that money, go buy a gun, and off the fucker yourself?” Kite asked.

“I would. I was going to do that to Frank,” I admitted. “But I don't know where the guy I want is. Or even his name.”

Air 'whooshed' out of Kite's nostrils. Dropping his arms, he grabbed his belt and looked down his nose at me. “You don't know his name? That's fantastic. Even if you had the money we charge for a hit, you'd need a photo and a name, minimum.”

My drink was empty, ice cubes clinking and melting. “I know what he looks like. If I saw him, I could recognize him.”

Jacob was in front of me. Shit, I hadn't seen him move. He was a shadow, the strange calmness in his eyes disconcerting. “I'm sorry, but we don't know anything about Frank Montego's companions. When we take on a hit, we don't ask for those details.”

I was deflated. I almost preferred the obvious danger to his pity. “But you could find out more than I could. You've got to have connections, know people! You just... you have to.”

“Marina,” Kite said, leaning on the wall. “I think Jacob made it clear. We're out of the game. Your money can't buy us.”

Jacob was watching me like a hawk. I felt very small, and didn't like it. “I don't want to hire you to kill someone,” I said. “I told you, I want to do it myself. Can't you take what I have, and just say it's a fair fee for finding a target?”

“Target.” Kite's forehead was a row of deep lines. “
Target?
You're not a damn assassin, don't act like you know the lingo. And
we
are not fucking bloodhounds. We can't—”

“Alright.” Jacob lifted an arm, effectively shutting Kite up. The red-haired man balked, and I suspected this wasn't normal. “Marina,” he said, bending closer to me. The gun was still in his hand, I didn't enjoy having it so close. “I need to talk the details over with Kite. But, if we accept your payment, and we agree to help find this man, there will be conditions. Understand?”

My mouth was very dry. Why did I run out of vodka and tonic? “What conditions?”

Turning enough to peer back at Kite, the man in his crisp grey suite smiled. “I'll need to talk it over with my associate. We'll come to an agreement. Just give us some time alone to reach a mutual understanding.”

Kite's glare said he didn't want to come to
any
breed of understanding. “Alright,” I said softly.

For the second time that night, I was left alone with my thoughts.

Jacob

––––––––

T
he hallway was humming. Grabbing Kite by the shoulder, I shoved him into our cramped, poor excuse for an office. It had nothing but filing cabinets, a white board, and a tiny computer in one corner.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he snapped at me, yanking out of my reach. “You can't just agree to this shit without my say!”

Smoothing my sleeve, I then folded it up my forearm. The other followed. “You're right, but I needed to make her think we were going to work with her.”

“You
told
her we were!”

“I told her that so she wouldn't decide to run off to the cops the instant she was out of our sight. Kite, we need time to think.” Furrowing my brows, I sat in the computer chair. “Calm yourself down and listen to reason.”

Roughly, he scratched at his hair with both hands. “I'm just pissed, how did this happen? All these years, and we mess up on the final hit? This girl actually sees me do it?”

My fingers clicked on the keyboard. “Doesn't matter how it happened. It matters that it did. Right now, as long as she has this letter—if it exists—she's got us by the balls. Even if it isn't real, everyone saw her walk into our bar. They saw you talk to her, saw you take her to the backroom. This can't be solved tonight.”

“So what do we do?” Kite asked, moving back to my side. “Torture her until she tells us where the damn thing is, or who has it?”

Torture. That wasn't something we commonly indulged in. A few times, when we were bouncers, we'd been tipped extra to get a little 'rough' with some customers the owner didn't like.

“No. What if we go too far before she talks? We don't know how long before someone reports her missing. What we need is more details about our new friend.” Spinning the screen, I showed him what I was doing.

The website listed a newspaper headline in giant, bold letters: Fidel family massacre. Only one survivor.

Kite gawked at me. “Wait,” he said. “No way, is this her family? How did you know her last name?”

“I looked at her ID when I was digging in her purse. Marina Fidel, it's her alright.”

Together, we leaned in to read the article. It was a brutal story, and though they never said Marina's name, we could figure the pieces out.

A mother, a father, and a daughter only nine years old. All of them, executed in their home. There was evidence of rape, and the time of death showed the father died last. No leads on the suspects, and the only connection was the Fidel family business being burned to the ground the same night.

One survivor. It didn't list how she managed to get out alive, just that she existed.