Never Kiss a Bad Boy

by Flite, Nora

  It left my head foggy, my stomach twisting. So just say something and break this tension! I screamed mentally. Clearing my throat once, then twice, I looked at Kite. “Thanks for teaching me to shoot.”

  He glanced at me, then nodded. “Yeah. You did pretty good.”

  His compliment thrilled me. Just like he'd thrilled me when he'd been touching me, guiding my hands and whispering in my ear on the range. He really was enticing. Knowing what he could do to me, seeing his impossibly well-cut body, resisting would be hard.

  Looking at my nails, I remembered how I'd scratched him. It was a spontaneous thing. I was feeling more and more sure he wouldn't kill me, but still, I'd wanted to ensure I'd get a little more time.

  With his DNA under my nails, he wouldn't dare try to murder me tonight.

  Or I've just guaranteed myself an acid bath in a barrel.

  “Anyway,” I muttered as we rolled into the city, “At the rate I'm going, I'll be ready to kill that guy by the time you and Jacob actually find him.”

  I heard him crush the wheel. “Oh?” he whispered. “You really think some practice shots are going to prepare you for that?”

  Blinking, I tightened my mouth. “Yes.” When he said nothing, just took us down a dark side-street, I pressed on. “Isn't that how you said you and Jacob got good? If I can guarantee the fatal shot, I'll definitely be able to—”

  “It isn't the same,” he snapped. He turned off the headlights, the car driving at a snail's pace down another quiet road. I didn't know where we were, but the area looked destitute.

  Buildings stood like toothless giants, garbage piled on corners. He whispered, “Even if you line up a shot that will kill, practicing with a paper target won't make you ready to fire on a living person.” He was speaking with a raw edge in his voice.

  A heavy pit formed in my guts. “What else can I possibly do to get ready, then?”

  Leaning over, he reached into his duffel bag. He was close to me, bending near to get at it on my side of the car. His scent brought back the crisp memory of our bodies rubbing together.

  In the dark, the barrel of the Ruger shone like diamond dust in Kite's grip.

  My heart had been hammering from excitement. Now, it locked up and rusted away.

  Especially when he offered the gun to me.

  The single, flickering orange street lamp outside turned Kite's frown as grizzly as a jack o' lantern's. “The only thing that prepares you for killing, is to actually fucking kill,” he said.

  I didn't touch the weapon. My tongue was numb. “What?”

  Gesturing ahead, Kite had me look out the window. A few yards down on the empty street, there was a man curled up on a filthy bus stop. He didn't see us, he didn't even lift his head.

  The word that escaped me was strained. “No.”

  Kite shoved the gun at me again. “You keep talking like you're already a hitman. You want to avenge your family and murder someone. Marina, answer me.”

  I was sure my heart had stopped. “I'm not shooting someone I don't even know.”

  “You think you know the man you want dead? You don't know his name, he's a stranger to you.” Kite moved fast, taking my wrist, slapping the gun's handle into my fingers and trapping them.

  Eyes that I'd thought were similar to mine, they were now cold and empty. But not unfamiliar. I'd seen them before.

  This was the man I'd watched murder Frank Montego. The silent beast who'd stalked a busy park on a happy summer day.

  “It isn't the same,” I said. “The man I'm chasing is a murderer! I know that! This guy is just... I'm not going to kill a random person!”

  “Marina,” he whispered. How could a whisper feel like a slap? “Every person you shoot is going to feel the same. Whether you know their past, their sins, or their saintliness.” He pulled away, and the Ruger was left with me. “If you wait until your 'target' is your first, you will not be able to pull that trigger.” His chin dipped, and I wondered where the man who had kissed me had gone. “You will not succeed, and then you will die.”

  I couldn't stop shaking. Breathing, swallowing, everything was a struggle. The gun weighed more than the Earth and it was pulling me into my unseen grave.

  Narrowing my eyes, I inhaled deep. I remembered everything he had taught me. My thumb popped the safety off, my finger went for the trigger.

  I had it halfway up, aimed at Kite, and the words on my tongue were readied. I wanted to say something like, Then I'll just kill you to see if you're right. If every kill feels the same, it won't matter.

  I thought I would make a point. Scare him a little, at most.

  I never even started my speech.

  Kite slammed my head into the window, holding me there as he ripped the gun away. I was stunned, brain ringing like a bell. The cold tip of the Ruger stabbed against my temple.

  “You made too many mistakes.” His tone burned into my ear and left destruction as it went. “Let me list them for you, so you can learn. One.” He dug the gun in harder, but I was too terrified to wince. “You forgot that I'm faster. Two, you forgot that I'm stronger. And three.”

  He squeezed his hand. The 'click' was a landmine.

  I was going to die.

  Have you ever seen your life flash before your eyes? I expected a slide-show to appear. It wouldn't have been a great one, but it would have been better than nothing.

  Somehow, I didn't get to see my own blood splatter on the window.

  Shaking violently, I watched as he turned the gun over. Purposefully, he yanked the bolt back. He said, “You forgot to check the chamber. I told you, always examine the clip when someone hands you a gun.”

  There had been no loaded bullets. He'd known that.

  The breath I let out was really a sob. Kite hadn't killed me, but he'd taken years off my life.

  “Number four,” he said, dropping the gun into the bag. “You are not a killer, Marina Fidel.”

  The engine rumbled, the car pulling down the street. As we passed the sleeping man, I looked away. My hands were in my lap; I opened them, made fists. The sight of my sweaty palms disgusted me.

  Jacob's words, the ones he'd blessed me with as we'd sat in his kitchen, haunted me now.

  Anyone can be a killer. That's the beauty of it.

  I didn't think so.

  Not anymore.

  - Chapter 12 -

  Jacob

  The instant Marina and Kite had left, I'd shut my shades, crawled into bed, and given into the exhaustion that plagued me.

  My dreams were fluid, pulling me down one path and then dropping me onto the next. At one point, I found myself stretched out on a sea of pillows. Everything was shadow.

  Everything but her.

  Marina glowed like new bronze. She twisted and spun, bending so that her perfect breasts hung before my eyes. Hard nipples begged for me to graze them with my hands.

  My cock was painfully stiff, even before I touched her.

  Groaning, I curled her against me, exploring the stairway of her back. The groove there led me up to her neck, her hair, then down again to her plump ass.

  “Fuck me,” she purred.

  Smoldering like a new coal, I gripped my shaft. Forcing Marina's ass up, I shoved her face into the pillows. The tip of my cock swayed over her sweet cunt.

  I never got any further; sleep evaporated around me.

  I remembered little of my dreams when I awoke. Only the siren's call of silky lips, wild eyes, and the gentle grooves criss-crossing open palms.

  Snapping my eyes open, I stared at the ceiling and didn't see it. I was still longing for the warm embrace of my private thoughts. Reality was less welcoming.

  Here, in my bed, I was alone.

  There was no Marina.

  Sitting up, I cradled my forehead and smiled cynically. She's done something to me. How else can I explain it? She was a stranger, but I felt like I knew her. Simultaneously, she was a mystery.

  Throwing the blankets aside, I stumbled into my shower.
<
br />   Routine would save me. It, alone, would keep that woman from burrowing deeper in my skull.

  As much as I wanted to understand the reasons for my growing obsession, I knew dwelling on Marina in any fashion would just increase it.

  At this rate, I'd never shake her out.

  Scrubbing my arms for the third time, I eyed the suds in the drain. They were melting down, vanishing into the tiny holes. Soon, none of them would remain.

  I wiped a palm over my wet hair. When was the last time I had anyone around for more than a few hours? Beyond even that... when had it been someone who recognized me for what I was? A killer, a meticulous monster.

  I knew the answer to all those questions.

  The only other person that understood my character, my flaws and sins, was Kite. There wasn't another living soul who understood what I was capable of. Until now.

  Marina had been so keen. She didn't watch me with disgust, and she even reacted like I—on some level—captivated her.

  She certainly captivated me.

  Twisting the shower knob, I turned it off. The water stopped dripping, but I remained standing there for a few minutes. My struggle to brush her aside had crumbled. As I'd feared, my thoughts had turned back to her and now they were stuck.

  Well, I thought in defeat, If I'm pulled to her because she isn't scared of me, I can easily change that. Flicking water from my eyes, I wrapped a towel around my hips. I needed to get moving. There was a lot on my agenda.

  Marina had told me about her family's massacre. I was certain I could use those details to narrow down who Frank's accomplice had been. It would mean potentially long, grueling hours on the street, but it was a start.

  It was also the key to getting Kite and me out of her shackles.

  You see, I'd figured out my plan. If that damn letter was in the bank like I suspected, it really came down to convincing her to hand it over to us. Getting her to comply meant playing hardball. That was something I was good at.

  All I needed to do was find her mystery man. Then the power would be in my corner.

  If Marina wanted the information bad enough, she would have to trade. Hand over the letter, and I'd hand over the location of her would-be-target on a silver platter.

  If not, we'd go and kill him ourselves, robbing her of the pleasure.

  Her own obsession would be her downfall.

  Digging my fist into the top of the towel, I stepped into the hall. My coffee pot was brewing already, the machine on auto-pilot.

  It was after eight in the morning. Later than I'd prefer, but the peak time for prowling the street was when it got dark. The hours until then were meant for research. I needed to find out where, exactly, Frank's gang loitered.

  My only lead was where Marina used to live. Gangs tended to stay in one territory.

  In the kitchen, the glow of my tablet turned the marble counters blue. Marina had said she'd searched for information already. I didn't doubt her, I'd seen the newspapers collecting in her apartment with my own eyes. But there were places Marina wouldn't know to look.

  Places I did.

  Grabbing a set of headphones from the drawer, I nuzzled the buds into place. The music I chose was classical, soothing. It'd help me focus as I scoured the web.

  It took most of the morning, and two cups of coffee, but I found my trail of breadcrumbs.

  I'd sent out an anonymous request to buy some cocaine. That took me towards someone willing to sell to me, if I met them at the strip club on Fifteenth and Western.

  Surprise surprise, it was on the lower east side.

  There was no guarantee that this guy would know anything. But anywhere that was 'safe' for someone to sell something as illegal like coke? There'd be plenty of scum lurking around who could take me further in my hunt.

  I didn't hear the knocking at my door. It was the motion of the knob turning that caught my eye.

  Blinking, I tugged the ear-buds out just as Marina pushed her way inside. She spotted me, freezing with the key—the one I'd given her—still in the lock. Her expression of shock was comical.

  “Oh,” she stammered. “I'm so sorry, I knocked and no one answered!”

  Standing, I put the tablet aside. “Are you okay, did something happen?” I asked.

  Her pupils flicked from my face, to my nude torso. In just a towel, Marina had quite the eyeful of me. And it looks like she's taking it all in, I mused.

  Her appreciation was easy to see, even through her flustered expression. She cleared her throat, yanked out the key and held it up like it explained everything. “I'm seriously sorry. Should I just go? I should just go.”

  It was a chore not to laugh at her rambling. “You don't need to go.” I'd reached the wall, turning the lights up in the room. I was no longer lit by just the hushed blue of the morning seeping through my windows. Approaching her, my fingers gently touched the door, pushing it shut. “You broke in for a reason, what was it?”

  For once, Marina had out dressed me. In tan pants and a thin, orange and white sweater, she reminded me of a Creamsicle. I wanted to reach out, touch her pink forehead and see if she would melt.

  “I really knocked. I swear, I wouldn't just use the key you gave me without thinking.”

  “I know,” I said.

  She relaxed, looking up at me with more of her typical confidence. “Remember how you sent Kite out to buy groceries?”

  The memory had me chuckling. “Yes. I believe he called me 'Mom.'”

  Nodding, she tugged at the ends of her long hair. “Well, you forgot to put something on the list. Toilet paper.”

  Covering my eyes, I hung my head and sighed. “Of course.” I stared at her through the gaps between my fingers. “I understand. Alright.”

  “Sorry if it's a problem,” she said quickly. “I thought you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you, I figured I could slip in, grab some and just go.”

  Picturing Marina trying to out-stealth me... that was funnier than Kite forgetting to take care of his basic needs. “It's fine. I would have answered when you knocked, I just had some music playing.” On bare feet, I padded across the floor and towards the bathroom.

  I didn't look back, but my ears caught the creak of her body weight on the floor boards. Marina was wandering deeper into my home. My heart sped up with the possibilities.

  “Thanks,” she called out to me. “I really appreciate it.”

  “It's nothing!” I spotted myself in the long bathroom mirror. The towel was perched around my middle. My mahogany hair had dried, more tousled than usual. Squinting, I purposefully slid the towel lower, revealing the hard lines of my pelvis and hip bones.

  It was a cheap move. So what?

  Grabbing an unopened roll from the closet, I carried the toilet paper back to the kitchen. Marina was standing by my tablet, looking away so intentionally it broadcast how she'd been spying. Or trying to.

  I knew better than to leave an unlocked computer sitting around.

  “Here you are,” I said, enjoying how she startled—then stared at me. I could never get sick of her reactions.

  “Th—thanks,” she squeaked. Scrunching her mouth, I saw the thoughts in her head. She was getting mad at herself for losing her composure with me. I offered the toilet paper, and she took it with steady hands. She was forcing the steel back into her veins, and that was something I both appreciated... and hated.

  Leaning on the counter, I tucked some loose hair behind one ear. “I'm glad the key was useful. And sorry I didn't answer when you knocked.”

  “Don't apologize,” she insisted. Clutching the toilet paper, she dared to look from my carved stomach to my glinting eyes. “Has Kite always been like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Irresponsible.” She chewed the edge of her lip. “Thoughtless.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, I studied her body language. She was shifting ever so slightly from one foot to the next. Something has happened. But what? “What did he do?” I asked softly.

  Her
glossy lips puckered, then smoothed into a line. “Jacob, you told me not to lie to you. So how about I don't, and we just don't talk about this, instead?”

  The hairs on my neck prickled. “I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Marina.”

  Dark eyes swayed until she was looking out the window. The city outside was coming to life, cars filling the streets. “This isn't something anyone can help with.”

  The desire in my gut tugged me towards her. It didn't take much to lean forward and put my hands on her shoulders, but dammit, it was a mile fall straight down. If this woman was manipulating me into worrying about her, she was a master at it.

  “I can try,” I whispered. “You just have to trust me.”

  Marina switched from uncertainty to brutal sympathy. I didn't want her to look at me with such pity ever, ever again. “Jacob, I don't trust you at all.”

  A knot grew in my throat. My whole plan required that she did trust me. I needed that from Marina.

  Under my hands, her sweater was soft as dandelion seeds. My thumbs brushed her throat, the only patch of skin I could reach. Choking her would have been easy. Why couldn't this whole situation be as simple as one quick, fast jerk of my arms? “Why don't you trust me?”

  “Why would I?” she asked, a cynical smile blooming. “You and your friend are the same. You're both murderers. You can kill anybody, and I'm not stupid enough to think that doesn't mean me, too.”

  Inhaling slowly, my attempt to gather my thoughts only served to cloud me. Marina's scent—that chocolate and cinnamon and spice—danced in my skull. “We won't kill you. We agreed to work with you.”

  Her expression was so bitter I could taste it. “So you can lie to me, but I can't lie to you.”

  Marina's accusations should have upset me.

  But stared down by the first woman who'd ever dared to call me out...

  I was getting excited.

  My fingers squeezed a fraction tighter; she went ramrod straight. “If you knew all along that I—that we—might plan to kill you, why would you ever do all of this?” I bent closer, unable to see my own eyes but knowing they were rumbling like a salted sea. “Why give us so many chances to murder you in your sleep or as you stand here—right here—inside my kitchen? Why aren't you afraid?”