by Nora Flite
Yes, I kept it hidden. No, it wasn't registered. It's startling, how simple it is to buy a gun on the streets.
Bringing it with me into the living room, I also carried a bottle of oil, a rag, and my tools in my other hand. My living room table was a mess. I shoved everything on it to the floor. Dropping heavily onto the couch, I set down the items.
I didn't have the same obsession with being clean as Jacob did, I wasn't generally organized, either. But when it came to my weapons, I was as OCD as it got. 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. Having an excuse to hold my gun was... well. I don't think explaining it is necessary.
Polishing the barrel, I hummed softly. From the start, I'd had a fascination with weapons. I didn't like automatics, I held the opinion that every trigger squeeze should be intentional. No stray bullets, no casual accidents.
I used hollow points for that reason, too. The bullet was a simple thing. Tiny, deceptively light. When aimed correctly, it would tear through flesh. The slug would flatten out, morphing into a quarter-wide spread that tore muscle and sinew like a saw blade.
The advantage was they were built to prevent penetrating a wall. Using these, I'd never miss my shot and send a bullet careening into another building. Or worse, a house.
No innocent babies in cribs would get snuffed out with my method.
Placing the suppressor down, I checked the bolt; started to scrub it. The vibration in my pocket demanded my attention. Digging the device out, I saw Jacob's name, tapped the button and shoved the phone between my shoulder and ear. “Hey man,” I said, going back to cleaning. “What's up?”
“Hey, 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 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 Ruger 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. Earlier, I'd told myself it was time to slow down—to cut back on how overboard I'd been going with my addictions.
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... and I knew I couldn't handle the ache. 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.”
****
Jacob hadn't needed me as much as he implied.
I showed up, dressed in black jeans and a soft tan shirt. No one would guess what I'd done with my day—or what was left of it after I'd woken up. I was clean, fresh, and didn't look so much like I'd been knocked on my ass.
Even after I helped Jacob roll some barrels into place in the basement, I had barely warmed my muscles. No sweat stained my forehead. I was... a little let down. Working with Jacob, doing something like physical labor, brought back nostalgia.
Guiding us upstairs, he headed to the bar. Anabelle was already serving customers, the place busy with the happy-hour rush. Jacob tossed her a look; she hurried our way, giving us priority. “What can I get you boys?” she asked.
“Whiskey,” I said. “Straight, please.”
Neither of them argued with my choice. She gave me a glass, then handed Jacob a beer. 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 you drove home last night.”
“You planning to lecture me on how stupid that was?”
He shrugged casually. “I was mostly curious how you managed it. You parked better than some people do when sober.”
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'm not honestly sure how I got home.” Glancing sideways, I saw Jacob's tight frown. “Ah. There it is.”
Taking a pull from his beer, 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?”
Jacob copied me, putting his bottle down. “You could quit drinking.”
“You know that's not enough.”
“It's a fucking start,” he mumbled.
Surprised by his swearing, 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? The faceless anger every morning is getting old.”
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. Well, a tirade for him. 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 before we had more than spears and caves. 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 was 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, highlighted her shining brown eyes. She was hot as hell... and looking at us.
“Holy fuck,” I said with a poet's mouth.
Jacob cleared his throat with more beer. “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 affliction.”
Rolling his eyes, he inched closer to talk near my ear. “How do you know she's not coming over here to talk to yours truly?”
I gave him a quick shove. “Well for one, she's looking right at me.” I wasn't wrong; the girl hadn't stopped staring the closer she got.
Jacob breathed through his nose. “Funny, she looks familiar. I'm not sure where I've seen her before.”
“Your dreams,” I said with a smile.
“Don't be so cocky, Kite. She might like both of us.”
Hopping off of the stool, I gave him a tight shrug. “Guess we'll handle that if it goes that way. For now, have a drink—on me.” Grinning, I winked and indicated my abandoned whiskey. “I'll go meet my new friend halfway.”
Spinning, I closed the distance between 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, I thought. 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 want
ed 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 private area was low-lit, curved booths and a second bar for special events. Now, it stood empty. Here, with the music piping through the speakers and the buzz of the crowd in front, we'd be alone enough for our purpose. I'd been told no one heard the women moaning unless they leaned into the hallway.
Thinking about the blonde from this morning, I let my guest go and turned to face her. “I didn't get your name. I'm Kite, if you didn't know.”
Her eyebrows went up to her hairline. She seemed so calm, or confident... 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 goes around. Nice to know they say good things.”
Marina finally faltered, eyes squinting. “What?”
“Uh, the girls.” Lifting my hands, I gestured helplessly. “That's... why you were so forward as to want to see me in private.” Her lips scrunched up; my heart started to beat for another reason. Ah fuck, I thought bitterly. Shut up, Kite. You're sounding like a cocky asshole. Jacob was right. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”
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. Horribly, I imagined she was going to ask me for Jacob's phone number or for me to talk to him for her. In hindsight, it's funny that I worried about this. “Then go ahead. Talk to me.”
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. Dammit, if she does ask me about Jacob, I swear I'm going to insist he put in a good word for me and...
“I know who you are,” Marina said.
That didn't rattle me. Blinking, I tilted my jaw. “I'll play. Who do you think I am? A playboy, a billionaire, a celebrity?”
Her voice didn't waver. “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 hour-glass 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 change everything.
Her pretty neck wasn't meant for hickies, now it was made to be strangled. I wondered how quickly I could cover her mouth, slam her temple onto my knee and knock her out. Would anyone be outside, catching me as I stole away with her body?
That would be too obvious. My glare shot to the nearby bar. A bottle could slice her jugular, the tall wood could hide her bleeding form. If I was fast enough, she wouldn't even squeak.
A cool, silken web descended on me. It made me light and airy. My thoughts coiled and I forced myself to think. Killing this woman here, right now, was foolish. She said she knew I was a hitman? It wasn't possible. I had to figure out what was going on... only then could I decide how to handle her. “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. Your gun, how fast you came and went.”
“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.
She shook her head, long threads of hair tickling her shoulders. “No, the news told me that part. I initially thought you were part of some rival gang.”
The skin on my face was wooden. Smiling was getting harder. “So you came here to meet me. Isn't that a little... risky?” Fuck fuck fuck she knows. I wished I'd brought my car. I'd have to use Jacob's trunk, instead.
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 planning to do to her. Not the how, she couldn't read my mind. But my presence had the thick aura of death. “Stop! You can't hurt me.”
Lowering my eyebrows, I took another step. My fingers flexed at my hips. “Sweetie, I'm not going to hurt you. We're way beyond that.”
The dip on her throat fluttered. Maybe jumping to murder was rash, but you have to grasp the severity here. It only took one loose end, and my world—Jacob's world—would come undone. No one who used our services ever saw our faces. They knew us as the Jackals, our website pretended we were a much larger group than just two men.
The only people who saw us, who knew we were killers, were the ones about to take their last breath.
Marina was now one of them.
Her hands came up. Mine came down. I had her jaw, but her voice spilled faster. I should have been lightning. How could she beat me? The only saving grace was that she didn't scream and announce the situation to passing ears. “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 adrenalin, I eased my fingers off of her. I hadn't left a mark. I knew better than that—I'd learned from past mistakes. “Tell me, right now, how in the fuck anyone would know about this. Did you tell the cops about me?”
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. “I know that coming to see you was dangerous.”
“Not was. Is,” I spat.
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 was cold, but not from the familiar blackness that came with preparing to kill. This girl... she'd actually started something I couldn't prevent. Not at that moment, at least. 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 pause. “Oh, 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.”
- Chapter Four -
Marina
My heart wouldn't listen to me. The nerves in my fingers were cold. No part of my body wanted to behave like it should, and I knew the reason. Lord, did I fucking know.
Kite's hands, they were as awful as knives. The worst part hadn't been how he'd grabbed me, it had been the projection of fury. That man, he'd been on the verge of ending my life.
It had taken all my strength to cry out first and bully him off.
The letter wasn't a lie. I'd put it together after a few days 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 fellow bar-owner's habits.
There was a slight bravado to my c
laim, though. Yes, I'd made a note, and yes, I'd put it safely in my bank deposit box. But the reality was that, unless my data entry job contacted the authorities about me not sending in work, who would report me missing?
I'd said they'll know but truthfully... I didn't think anyone would bother. Who would they distribute the contents of my bank to? Some long lost cousin I didn't know?
It was possible the executor of the will or the bank would report the letter, but I had lost a lot of faith in the system.
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 until I was sure it was him, lingering as he stumbled from the bar late with his arms around a girl. Spotting his familiar face, his tattooed knuckles, it hadn't been a challenge. If I'd been a hitman, and he'd been my target, I thought I could have shot him a few times by now.
But I wasn't a hitman.
I hadn't ever fired a gun.
Eyeing the doorway for Kite's return, I hoped that would soon change. I had most of my drink left when he appeared. He wasn't alone.
Slightly taller, Jacob had an intense aura that reminded me of a cannon ball. I thought, if he wanted to, he could move fast and catch us all off guard. It was just a vibe he gave me, but I trusted my instincts.
Running fingers over his too-handsome chin, he set clear-blue eyes on me. Kite was looking less furious now, but the redness on his throat said enough. He was not happy. “Marina,” he said, motioning at his friend. “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. “Hello, Marina,” he said soothingly. Or he tried to. I wasn't soothed. “Kite says you're looking for some help.”
