For the Fight (Romantic Suspense) (Beyond Blood, #2)

by Nora Flite

  He met me in the garage, his attention going briefly to my bag. “Planning a camp-out?” he teased.

  Dropping the bag in the backseat, I climbed into the car. “It might be a few days. I don't know yet.”

  “It makes me nervous that you don't know.” Revving the engine, he guided us out of the underground. It was bright out, the sun happy to shine and blind us. “And I hate that you're going alone.”

  “It's safer alone.”

  “It's safer with the two of us,” he grumbled.

  Sighing, I turned up the radio. “Stop worrying. Ponder more on how you'll entertain Marina on your own.” The music that piped through the speakers was classical. It made me think about this morning. Quickly, I changed the channel. “What was she doing when you left?”

  He tossed a look at me. “I don't know. Sleeping, I guess.”

  I doubted that was true. “You didn't talk to her?”

  Shrugging violently, Kite turned the car down the street. “No. Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn't,” I agreed. “Except that you're acting strange.” Slowly, my eyebrows crinkled over my nose. “She was acting weird this morning, too.”

  He slammed on the breaks, changing lanes abruptly. Someone honked behind us. “What?” he blurted, struggling to stare at me and also watch the road. “She came up to see you this morning?”

  “Careful,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Don't drive like an idiot. Yes, she came up because you apparently forgot to buy toilet paper.”

  He was silent for a single heartbeat. “And then what happened?”

  My mouth was a neutral line. “You tell me. What happened between you two that's gotten you both so uneasy?”

  Kite took a slow breath. Pulling into the alley, he parked behind the Corner Velvet. The keys twisted, engine dying and the last of the white noise going with it. For a while, my best friend did nothing but sit there, staring at his hands.

  The back of his head thumped against the seat. His eyes were shut. “Shit. Jacob, her and I fucked last night.”

  A tiny, tiny sliver of ice inched into my belly. Pressing two fingers to the bridge of my nose, I started to laugh. It was a soft, gritty sound.

  Kite rolled his head, cheek on the cushion as he watched me. “It's not that funny.”

  “No,” I agreed. “But when I tell you what happened this morning, you might see the humor.” He sat up, eyes searching mine for the answer before I even let it roll off of my tongue. A tongue that still tasted like her. “Marina and I, we kissed.”

  Lifting his head, Kite looked down his nose at me. “You kissed her, or she kissed you?”

  “I kissed her, if you want specifics. Did you fuck her, or did she fuck you?”

  Shaking his head rapidly, Kite grabbed the wheel and squeezed. “There's a question. I think it was both.”

  My smile was brittle. “Interesting. So now what?”

  “What the fuck do you mean, now what?” Kite was fidgeting, unable to decide if he wanted to hit something or freeze in place. I knew the feeling. “You're telling me you want her, right? Unless you kissed her because you were curious if she'd have a god damn heart attack and drop dead.”

  Remembering the softness of her mouth, how it yielded to my roughness, I shivered. “No. I kissed her because I felt like it. Yes, Kite, I want her. I also don't plan to fight with you over her.” Pointedly, I faced him in the car. “You understand what I'm saying.”

  He was flicking his stare from my face, to his fists. Never had two people in this shallow world been so connected, so in sync. Kite and I were beyond friends. Our bond was stronger than law or logic. We did everything for each other, with each other.

  We always had.

  “She doesn't change the rules,” he breathed. Setting his jaw, he offered his hand to me. It stayed in the air, waiting for mine. “I want her. You want her. That means we both get to have Marina...”

  “Or neither of us does.” Clasping his palm, I crushed it tight. The tendons in my forearms flexed with the briskness of the handshake. It was a reminder, for us both, of who we were and why we were here. How we had arrived at this place, crawled up from the shit and dust and made our lives something new. Something worth owning.

  Kite and I, we'd seen things—done things—that no one knew of. Just us, a pair of wretched creatures who would kill to live and murder to succeed. We were not good people. We were never under the illusion that we were.

  This moment shot home the memory of our first oath. The oath. How we had become Blood Brothers, and our inability to end that. Our agreement and our rules were here to protect us both.

  Greed led to tragedy and betrayal.

  “We share her,” I said flatly.

  “We share her.” Kite's eyes were brooding, but they flashed when he smiled. “It wouldn't be the first time.”

  Chuckling, I let him go and leaned away. “No. I guess it wouldn't.” Thinking of the other women who had agreed to our rule, it brought a film of distaste. Not because I hadn't enjoyed them, no. It just reminded me of how they'd all failed. For so many reasons, there'd never been a woman who could keep up with us. The ones that held our attention, that clung to us and struggled to maintain our lust, inevitably crumbled.

  No one had ever handled us both.

  Marina wouldn't be the first... and knowing that sobered me.

  That girl with her tempting hips and perceptive eyes, she had no clue what we had in store for her. Beyond the reality of our plan to throw her to the wolves—or the Jackals—and free us from the risk she represented. Beyond all of the grimness. What waited for Marina would be too much for her.

  In more ways than one, I felt in my heart that we would destroy her.

  And I didn't care.

  If it meant I got to taste her again...

  I didn't care at all.

  - Chapter Two-

  Marina

  Three days had passed since he had kissed me.

  Three fucking days.

  Yes, I'd been counting.

  Normally this is where you're supposed to wax poetically about the man in your life. Stare in the mirror and into your own eyes. Phrases should pop up like, 'oh, he's so lovely!' Or perhaps, 'I wonder what our kids would look like?'

  Peeling back my lower lip, I stared at where Jacob had bitten me and wondered...

  Will next time be worse?

  The scab had healed already. He'd done just enough damage to make me bleed. Enough to make me question where in my life my sanity had taken a dive off of a cliff.

  Oh. Right.

  I guess watching your loved ones being murdered could break something.

  Splashing water on my face, I gripped the sink and looked closer at the red ribbons in my eyes. Sleep had been elusive. Jacob wasn't entirely responsible for that part. After all, while it had been three days since we'd kissed—it hadn't been much more since Kite.

  Yes, correct. In less than twelve hours of each other, two different men—two extremely dangerous men—had both buried their mouths on mine. Was this how life worked? You go without kissing someone for years and then, boom, fate throws all of your missed opportunities at you at once?

  The mirror was cool on my forehead. Water dripped from my cheek, splattered in the drain. This whole situation was fucked. I needed to focus. The point of being around Jacob and Kite, my hired hitmen, was to plot vengeance. They were supposed to teach me how to reach my target, and then how to murder him. Boom. Simple.

  Why did they have to screw everything up?

  Standing, I ran fingers through my thick hair, clasped the side of my own neck. I could see no reason why one of these guys, never mind both, would want anything to do with me. Had I missed the memo? Were insane girls who were super interested in bloody vengeance and brutality suddenly a thing?

  Tapping my cheeks, I sighed. My anxiety would vanish if I could just talk to one of them about how I was feeling. Granted, I didn't know how I felt—not exactly. If I said to them, 'hey, this is a busines
s deal. I don't have the luxury of mucking it up with intimacy,' would I prefer they agree with me? Or would that dig a knife in my guts, having their intense interests wither away just because I requested it?

  Talking about it was risky, in its own way. But it had to be done. This thick tension was a recipe for disaster, and our fucked up interactions already had enough pitfalls.

  Kite had done his best to avoid me, which was astounding since we lived together. He kept slipping off to his bar, the Corner Velvet. Or going for runs at odd hours. Or just sitting there, awkwardly, doing that thing where he'd stare at me as if I couldn't tell he was doing it—only to glance away the instant I turned.

  And Jacob?

  Three days. Literally, three days since he'd kissed me, and since I'd last seen him. Kite had confirmed, in our brief chats, that Jacob was out looking for information. That had thrilled me. It meant I was getting closer to my ultimate purpose.

  Kite didn't seem worried about where or what Jacob was doing. But I suspected that, like me, he was uneasy and wasn't showing it. It was taking a long time, and I didn't get why Jacob needed to handle this like he was. Couldn't he explore at night and then return home the rest of the time?

  I didn't know what he was doing, but he had to be okay if Kite was able to strut around without grabbing his gun and going on a rampage for the guy.

  Was it weird to worry about Jacob? No, I told myself. You need him. That's why you're nervous. If something happens to him before this is all over with, you don't get your revenge. I needed Jacob. I needed Kite.

  That was the only reason I would worry about either of them.

  Eyeing my reflection, I filled my chest with air. I had to calm down. I needed to take hold of the composure I normally wielded so smoothly. Among monsters, you had to pretend to be one yourself. It kept you safe. They couldn't hurt you or get at your weak spots.

  Unless... they knew a secret way inside.

  Touching my lips, thinking of how differently the two men kissed, I shivered.

  Three days.

  - Chapter Three -

  Kite

  My own home had become a prison. I walked and breathed like a cursed man. Do you understand this sensation? This fucking ridiculous, suffocating experience?

  Marina Fidel was eroding my senses.

  When I dreamed, I tasted her throat and heard her screams. The fact I didn't need to imagine those things made it worse. I knew the experience first hand. I'd buried myself in her welcoming thighs, gripped her firm ass and held on for dear life.

  Marina was all I wanted. And I was supposed to kill her.

  Sitting on the edge of my bed, I heard her walking in the hall. I knew her footsteps. I could even count down the time it took her to go into my kitchen, heat herself up some water, and then sit down for her morning cocoa.

  She brushed her teeth for a minute and forty seconds every morning. Her showers lasted as long as it would take me to clean my gun five times. Obsessed? Me?

  Of course I fucking was.

  It was my job to note details where my safety was concerned. This woman was a hazard. My heart rate had reached dangerous levels since she'd walked into my life.

  Lifting a hand, I studied my palm; my knuckles. My tattoos were the same as ever, but the rest of me felt... off. It had begun the night I'd given in, when I'd coiled Marina in my claws and tasted the plushness of her lips.

  I don't know that I regretted it. I knew I couldn't resist her forever. I wasn't ashamed of that. It was just... the god damn aftermath.

  Clenching my fingers, I pictured her hair in my grip. The flash of terror in her eyes when I'd slammed her temple on the car window, put the gun's barrel to her skin. The look she gave me... Jesus, it thrilled me to my core. That fear was tangible. Delicious.

  Depressing.

  That was the face she would make soon enough. Whether it was from my hand, Jacob's, or her mystery target... Marina would find a violent end. I was starting to suspect she knew it, too. The accusation in her eyes as she'd looked up at me from the glass covered filth wasn't an illusion.

  Why do this when you know it won't last? That was what she'd asked me. My answer was so shallow. Nothing lasts. That's reality. I'd kissed her because I wanted to. Because we all die eventually. Because I'm a terrible excuse for a human being.

  Because I'm selfish.

  There was no way to stop it. Not if Jacob and I wanted to guarantee a safe future. The tattoos on my knuckles proclaimed 'swim.' Swim in the river of soulless murderers and drown, or cross to the other side and reach freedom. Jacob truly believed that. And I believed in him.

  Marina was an anchor, she'd pull us under. Jacob would never agree to letting her live. And, now, according to our last conversation in the alley behind our bar... he wanted more from this arrangement.

  Jacob wanted Marina the way I wanted Marina. That actually bothered me the least out of everything. Sharing her was the logical option. The severity of our rules—the oath of Blood Brothers—was built into my marrow. I refused to fight with Jacob. He could have Marina, too. As long as I could keep suffocating in her existence, I didn't need to be greedy.

  Falling on my back, I covered my eyes with an arm. I was a tiger, penned up in a crate and anxious to run free. But outside my cage, Marina waited. Whenever she spoke to me, I struggled to pay attention. It didn't matter if it had to do with her or with me or with Jacob.

  When Marina's mouth moved, I itched to shut her up with my own.

  I needed to find a balance between indulging in her heat, and accepting her murder was inevitable. Rolling on my side, I tried to think of a solution. I'd wasted three days doing nothing but slinking around, avoiding her. I'd excused it by saying I needed to help at the bar. A few times I'd told her I was going for a run, and I'd ended up sitting in my car in the garage instead.

  Being in my Mercedes wasn't helpful, though. It made me recall how I'd driven her down that backstreet. Handed her my gun and demanded she shoot the sleeping man at the bus stop.

  That night... the sex had left me aching for more of it. More of her. The reality of how this girl was going to die had spiraled me into a pit. She could fire a gun at a paper target. That wasn't enough. There was no way she'd pull her revenge off and walk away unscathed. It had taken me and Jacob years to become who we were. The dark, fucked up shit that made us into us couldn't be replicated. She thought she could put a bullet in someone's head the first time she pointed a gun at them, and then stroll away? Impossible.

  Marina was going to fail.

  “Kite?” That voice was hesitant, soft through the wall.

  Sitting up, I stared at my door. Pretend to be asleep. Ignore her. Fuck, was I that desperate to avoid contact? Scratching the back of my head, I approached the brass knob. Opening it, I caught Marina off guard; she startled at my sudden appearance, not expecting me to answer. I was surprised by my actions, too.

  “What's up?” I asked. It sounded casual, but my black eyes were a vortex, sucking at her luscious figure and eating up the trembling edge of her unsure smile.

  In spite of the weak grin, she still managed to glow. “I don't know how busy you are, but uh... look. It's been almost a week. I really should be handing my landlord that check—the one you guys promised?”

  Blinking, I leaned on the side of the entryway. “Right. That whole situation. Guess your stuff is still all there and everything?”

  “Yeah. I don't want to be a pain, but could you give me a ride? I can call a moving company and find some storage on my own but—”

  “No.” Pushing off the wall, I slid past her. Even at that distance, a hint of her sweet scent infected my nose. The familiar urge to shove her against the wall and hear her bones rattle slid through me. My palms were sweating; I kept walking. “I'll handle it. It was part of the agreement.”

  Her shadow followed me. Marina was stepping lightly, I thought she'd gotten better at sneaking around. Was she practicing to be an assassin, or had she improved because we'd been av
oiding each other? “Uh, alright,” she said. Lifting her purse from a kitchen chair, she slid into her black jacket. “I don't mind helping.”

  “You can help by telling me how much money you need.” My car keys swung on my finger, I dropped them into my pocket and buttoned up my coat. It was very wet and dull outside. The big windows of my apartment displayed the scene like a black and white movie.

  “Twelve hundred should do it,” she said. “Make it out to Sanfred Remar. He's the building owner.”

  As if I'd be stupid enough to write a check. “Stay here,” I said. Maneuvering back to my room, I bent by my headboard. Removing the panel, I reached past the tempting treasure of my Ruger. The stacks of money bumped and grazed over my seeking fingers. Yes, laugh at me. I literally keep money under my mattress. I'm not a big fan of banks.

  I heard movement in the hall. “Stay out there,” I shouted, grabbing up the bills and thumbing them.

  “I am,” Marina assured me, but I kept shooting my eyes up at the door. I didn't want her knowing where I kept anything important.

  Replacing the panel, I brought the thin stack into the kitchen. She eyed the bundle of fifties. I thought she'd comment, but she just stood by my elbow as I pulled an envelope from the drawer. I wasn't organized like Jacob, but I still knew where things were. Wrapping the cash in a sheet of paper, I put it inside and hoped no greedy mailmen would try and open it. “Do we need an address on this?”

  “I'll leave it in his drop box in the office, but just to be safe...” She reached over and put her fingers on the envelope. I let her take it, offering her the pen. Her writing was cramped, worse than mine. It made me smile. “Stamps?” she asked, flicking those glistening brown eyes up at me.

  Retrieving one, I licked it quickly. It tasted awful. The only thing I want to put my tongue on is her delicious pussy, I lamented silently. Marina was staring at me, curiosity on her face. She was wondering what I was thinking about. If I told her, would she flare up and blush?

  Shaking myself, I stamped the envelope and offered it back to her. She took it, but I held on—it was as close to touching her as I'd come in days. Her lips twitched, a silent secret.