Never Kiss a Bad Boy

by Flite, Nora

  Could she really have no friends?

  Furiously, I went through her list of sent and received calls. There were a few to generic numbers, but I scribbled them down anyway. Her incoming calls were essentially blank.

  Well, I guess that solves one issue. The knowledge that Marina didn't have any close friends or family should have comforted me.

  On one level, the cautious side, it did.

  The rest of me found it depressing.

  Looking at her, sleeping in her tight ball of limbs, I tried to understand. What would keep a girl like her from getting close to anybody?

  Putting the phone back into her purse, I jumped at the sudden noise beside me. It was a shivering, frail sob that stabbed into my guts.

  For an instant, I thought I'd look up and find Marina staring at me. Had she woken up, caught me in the act?

  Twisting, I could see her face from where I crouched. Fuck, I could have touched her. Marina's mouth was a grimace, eyes scrunched fiercely shut. Along her arms, goosebumps prickled. The whimper of fear and sadness escaping her was tragic.

  She said no words. She didn't need to. I understood her tremors and knew she was having a nightmare. Whatever it was about, it had her whole body twitching.

  Standing, I bent closer to her flushed cheeks. She was struggling, I sensed her tears about to start right before the first one flowed. It left a wet streak down her caramel skin.

  Then they just kept coming.

  Looking around, I told myself to leave. To get out of there and forget about the strange girl who had flipped my life around and was now sobbing in my spare bed.

  I should have fled.

  So why did I put my hand on her shoulder?

  “Marina,” I whispered. Gently I shook her, my fingertips attacked by every tiny quiver that rocked her. “Marina, wake up.”

  She was sniffling, great ugly tears that should have been private. Not seen by someone like me. Reaching down, I wiped some of them away.

  Her thick lashes fluttered, brown eyes snapping to their widest setting. Marina gawked up at me, and the terror there made me wonder if she was seeing me or something else.

  Both of us jerked apart, my hands going to my sides. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, rubbing at her face to hide the evidence of her vulnerability.

  “You were having a nightmare,” I said carefully. “I heard you from my room and came to check on you.” Lying was easy when you'd done it your whole life.

  Pulling the blanket around herself, like me seeing her in a shirt and shorts was inappropriate—and maybe it was—Marina eyed the bedroom. She was breathing rapidly, realizing where she was.

  “Oh,” she said. It was a simple word. Looking up at me, her nose was the color of a cherry. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm—it's just...”

  “Forget about it,” I said quickly.

  Blinking, she watched me curiously and gave a nervous smile. Her lips were swollen from crying. “Alright.”

  Wanting to escape the moment, I turned for the door. I said, “Bad dreams happen to everyone. Do you want me to... to get you anything?”

  Her smile touched her eyes. “Could you leave the door cracked for me? The hallway light makes me feel better. I know, it sounds stupid.”

  A weird flutter hit my belly. “Are you scared of the dark?”

  “No.” She looked at the window. “It's not that. Could you just do it? Please?”

  Deciding not to pry, I ducked my head and inched out the door. I left it partly open, big enough for a hand to fit through. “See you in the morning, Marina.”

  Behind me, her voice was soft. “Goodnight, Kite.”

  The floorboards were colder than usual. My body was heavy, limbs not holding warmth. All the blood had gone to my head, flooding and choking my brain.

  I had a suspicion about why Marina wanted the door open. It was something so ridiculous, so bizarre...

  And I was sure I was right.

  Marina had told the truth, she wasn't scared of the dark. She could have opened her blinds and flooded the room with the city if that was the issue. What she had wanted was an opening. Something that connected her to another human.

  In this case... to me.

  Sitting on my bed, I put my forehead in my hands. If she thinks that being closer to me makes her safer, that I'm a source of protection from whatever her nightmares are, she's wrong.

  I couldn't bring Marina comfort.

  Only tragedy.

  - Chapter 8 -

  Jacob

  The sun was still down when the knock came.

  Moving from the front room's window, I walked through the blueish shadows. I hadn't turned any lights on yet. With the city back-lighting me, I didn't need to.

  Through the peephole, I saw Kite's face. He looked just as grim when I opened the door. “Didn't think you'd be awake so soon,” I said.

  He tossed something at me; my car keys jingled, the edge digging into my closed fist. “Thought you'd want those back.”

  “And you thought I needed them now?” I asked. “What if I'd been sleeping.”

  Arching an eyebrow, he scanned me from head to toe. “It doesn't look like you even tried. Did you even change clothes?”

  Touching the front of my dark green shirt, I scowled. “Of course I changed.”

  “But you didn't sleep.”

  I allowed a cracked smile to spread. “No, I didn't sleep. Come inside.”

  He started to, then froze on the threshold. “Actually, I was going to suggest something.”

  That was when I saw the bloodshot stains in his eyes. “You didn't sleep either.”

  “Not a wink,” he admitted.

  Lifting my chin, I squeezed my car keys tight. “Tell me where we need to go. I'll drive.”

  Kite shook his head, moving so I could enter the silent hallway. “No,” he whispered. “Where I want to go, your car has already been in the recent hours. Taking mine will be less suspicious.”

  And then I knew. “Her apartment. Is she sleeping right now?”

  “She was when I checked on her. I think we can risk a brief excursion without her wondering where I am, if she does wake up.”

  We took the stairs, jogging down without speaking. It wasn't until we were safely in the confines of Kite's Mercedes that I resumed the conversation. “You went there last night with her. Did you see anything?”

  He sped through the relatively quiet streets of the city. “No. I couldn't check much, she was right there. I didn't see her pack anything suspicious.”

  “Hopefully we find it in her apartment, then.” My sigh was loud. “Otherwise we have to accept she hid it somewhere. Maybe with a friend.”

  Kite pushed the gas harder. “I don't think so. I checked her phone, Jacob. She had no one in there.”

  I sat up straighter, glancing at him and his subtle frown. “That's strange. Good for us, though. Makes the chances of someone reporting her missing less likely.”

  He went quiet.

  We pulled down the street from Marina's complex. It was getting light enough out that leaving such an expensive car in the parking lot of a run down apartment was too conspicuous.

  Together, we walked; long strides that carried us to the front door. Our hands wore matching gloves, insuring we'd leave no fingerprints.

  I slid a long metal pin from my pocket. Picking a lock was a simple task. “Hm,” I mumbled. “This one is a little sticky.” I twisted the pick back and forth. Finally, I heard the metallic bang of the bolt shifting. “Bad craftsmanship,” I explained.

  Standing, I turned the knob and let us inside. Something crunched under my foot. Looking down, I saw the sheets of paper and wrinkled magazines. Stacks of empty soda bottles had gathered in a crate by the door.

  “Messier than your place,” I chuckled.

  Kite shut us in, instantly heading into the kitchen. “I'm disorganized, not a hoarder.”

  Bending down, I carefully flipped through the newspapers on the couch. “I
don't know if she's a hoarder. Looks like she was collecting things intentionally.” Holding up the top sheet, I tapped the headline. “Obsessed with Frank's murder, it seems.”

  “That fits with her story.” Kite had his head in the cupboards. Meticulously, he went through each of them.

  “You don't think she's lying about wanting revenge, do you?”

  He left the kitchen, staring at me seriously. “No. I don't. We should sit down with her and get her to tell us everything about that massacre, though. I bet there's clues there, like what the other man looks like.”

  Gingerly, I set the newspaper down. My voice was low. “Then the plan is to go forward with trying to find the killer?”

  Kite pulled up short. “The plan is to find the letter.”

  I squinted, hands folding behind my back. “No. You're getting excited at the idea of going through with this, aren't you? You're acting like this is a normal contract for us.”

  “Fuck, I don't think any of this is normal, Jacob.” He wrinkled his nose and bent down, checking the floorboards for movable, hidden spaces.

  Slumping my shoulders, I approached him as if he'd run. “I'm trying to dance around it, but... I want you to realize what you're doing.”

  He rose to his feet, glaring at me, nearly nose to nose. “And what's that?”

  “You're reliving the rush of the hunt.”

  Kite pulled back his lips, a mocking grin. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm excited by the idea of killing again. What do you think about that?”

  Fine lines ran over my forehead. Then, they smoothed away. “I think I understand.”

  In front of me, Kite crumpled. His jaw fell open, then shut in a nervous smile. “You're not fucking with me, are you?”

  “I don't see the harm in looking for this guy,” I said. “And... yeah. It brings back memories. But the danger here is in letting Marina try and kill this guy alone.”

  He nodded, rubbing the side of his neck. “She'll probably mess it up.”

  “As long as she doesn't drag us down with her, that's fine,” I said flatly. Kite's fingers twitched by his hips; I noticed how he fidgeted. “You don't like that idea, why?”

  “I don't know,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

  Is he actually worried about this girl? Clicking my tongue, I looked away. “Let's keep searching. If we find the letter now, we can end this whole mess before it goes any further.”

  We spent the next hour in silence.

  It was a fruitless hunt, revealing only that Marina apparently loved packaged instant noodles. She also owned a stunning amount of unlabeled cans.

  “Well,” I sighed, tugging at the tip of one glove. “I don't know. I don't think it's here.”

  Kite was pacing the room, boiling with too much energy. We were both overtired. “Where the fuck could she put it?”

  “I have an idea, but you won't like it.” Fluffing my hair, I offered a weak smile. “Where do you put something to keep it safe, if not with a trusted friend or family, which our dear Marina has neither of?”

  He turned to face me, so slow his bones could have been rusted together. “The bank.”

  “The bank,” I agreed.

  “Son of a bitch.” He covered his eyes, then tilted his head back and laughed. “Of course. So we can't get it unless she hands it to us.”

  I studied my gloves. “Guess we could try and become bank robbers.” I knew my humor wasn't helping.

  Kite shook his head, walking towards the door. “We'll think of something. It's almost six, let's get out of here.”

  We patiently made sure everything appeared undisturbed. The final touch was locking the door. To the untrained eye, no one had entered Marina's apartment since she'd left last night.

  ****

  She was sitting in Kite's kitchen when we returned.

  Poised on a stool, the morning glow highlighted every swell of her body. It made the curls of her chocolate hair golden, and drew my eyes helplessly to the indents on her lower back.

  Jeans clung to her ass, her tight blue shirt riding high.

  Turning towards us, she blinked over the steaming mug in her hands. “Hey! I was wondering where everyone was.”

  The casual greeting threw me off. Glancing at Kite, I fitted on a warm smile and approached her.

  A strong chocolate fragrance attacked me. I was blessed with a heightened sense of smell, normally this didn't matter much. Now, as I drew closer, I caught the delicate notes of pumpkin and detergent and probably cheap shampoo. It shouldn't have smelled so good.

  She shouldn't have smelled so good.

  “Morning,” I said politely. “Did you not know how to work Kite's coffee maker?”

  Looking confused, she stared from me to her mug. “Oh, no. I'm not much of a coffee drinker. I prefer hot chocolate.”

  “It's not for everyone,” I agreed. “Though, perhaps you haven't... experimented enough?” My eyes twinkled with a subtle, sexual undertone.

  Marina blinked, blush dusting over her cheeks.

  That felt good.

  Too good.

  “Did you take a shower?” Kite asked, shattering the moment. He dropped his jacket on the couch, hopping onto the counter behind her.

  I'd spotted the damp edges of her hair already. Of course the answer was yes, and no way Kite didn't know it, too. “Uh, yeah,” Marina said. Fingering a thick curl, she shrugged. “You said to help myself.”

  “It's fine,” he said. “I was just asking.”

  The tension between them stretched, hitting me in the stomach. Curious, I shot Kite a knowing look. What happened with you two? I tried to ask him with my mind.

  All he did was look away, itching his ear.

  “Where did you guys go this morning?” she asked, uncrossing her legs. She had on striped socks, toes curling on the metal ledge of the stool.

  Putting my elbows on the counter, it was the only barrier between her and me. “We were doing research.”

  Marina swayed closer, clutching her cup. Her excitement turned her lips into a tunnel I ached to drive down. Maybe I needed to get laid, because this woman was getting me wound up.

  “You went looking for him?” she asked in a whisper.

  Kite made a gritty noise. “Sort of. Marina, we actually need you to do something for us, to help this process along.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Anything.”

  Gently, I inched my hands towards her and took the mug away. She didn't stop me, but her eyes flickered with doubt. That increased when I linked my fingers with hers and smiled. “This might be difficult, but we need you to tell us everything about the murder of your family.”

  Marina examined my fingers. I wondered if she was thinking about what they had done, picturing the history of hands that belonged to a hitman.

  I was ready for her to crumble and fall apart. It was why I'd taken her drink away, the shock of my request might make her drop it.

  Slipping out of my grip, she took her mug back. “I figured you guys would want to know. I haven't had to talk about it in years, and it's a terrible story, but...” Her smile was frail. “Sorry. It's just a little absurd that I'm finally going to tell this to people who can do something about it.”

  I folded my hands in my lap. “We'll do whatever we can.”

  “I know, I'm so happy I could meet you two.” Marina said it with relief, a pretty smile that took up her face. Would she maintain such ignorance, such joy, the instant we brought death to her door?

  Unlike Kite, who was fidgeting, I remained stoic. “Start from the beginning, please,” I coaxed.

  Composing herself, Marina looked down into her cocoa. “My dad and my mom ran a little sandwich shop over on the lower east side. Sometimes my older sister helped them out, little things like cleaning and stuff. Cece was nine, at the time.”

  Nine years old.

  The reminder was tragic. I didn't doubt that Kite was thinking the same thing I was. We'd read the article, we knew it talked about evidence of rape
.

  “Anyway,” Marina said, hunching around her drink like it was a source of comfort. “Some thugs started bothering him. They wanted him to pay them for 'protection' or some bullshit. My dad was a little... proud.” Her smile quivered. “He refused. He went to the police, but they said they couldn't do anything.” The tips of her fingers were bloodless on her mug. “Maybe they just wouldn't do anything. I don't know.”

  Kite moved to stand beside her. He was silent; she didn't hear him, or she didn't act like she did. There was a mere hand's width between him and her shoulder, and I imagined he was struggling with soothing the girl or not.

  He saw me watching, and his arm fell to his side. “Cops can be assholes,” he muttered.

  Marina blinked, then gave him a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

  “The thugs who threatened your dad, were they the ones...?” I asked gently.

  “They were,” she whispered. Shaking herself, she put the mug down. “I was six years old, and I was terrified, but I remember their faces. I can't forget them.”

  The deeper she went into the story, the more withdrawn she became. It was as if Marina was shrinking in front of us.

  She said, “I was playing hide and seek with Cece. There was a closet in our home, it passed from our bedroom to my parent's. You couldn't see it from the living room, but it had these... slots, sort of.” She lifted a hand, made horizontal cuts in the air. “Right behind the television. I could see the whole room, so my trick was to watch Cece counting down, and then whatever room she ran to first, I'd scurry to the other through the closets.”

  Her voice grew quieter, I saw her lick her lips. In that moment, she wasn't seeing anything but that awful day.

  Marina whispered, “She didn't finish counting before they opened the front door.”

  Was it logical that my heart started to thump? The genuine pain coating her tongue had pulled me in.

  Kite's wide-eyed stare said I wasn't alone.

  “There were two of them,” she said. “Frank Montego, Frankie the Razor. I know who he is, now. Back then, he was a little bigger—entirely terrifying. He had on these gloves that reminded me of the kind limo drivers wear. One hand was in his pocket, the other grabbed Cece by the hair.”