Never Kiss a Bad Boy
Read Never Kiss a Bad Boy Online
Authors: Nora Flite
NEVER KISS
A BAD BOY
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Nora Flite
Copyright © 2015 Nora Flite
All rights reserved. NEVER KISS A BAD BOY is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was previously published as the Beyond Blood series, and has been edited/revised into this current edition.
Want FREE copies of the newest books and so much more?
Also from Nora Flite:
Connect with Nora!
Facebook-
www.facebook.com/NoraFliteAuthor
Goodreads-
www.goodreads.com/noraflite
Amazon-
www.amazon.com/author/norafliteauthor
Get a peek into what happens next HERE!
A Bonus Chapter: The Bad Boy Arrangement | - Chapter One -
A Bonus Chapter: Chapter 1 of Filthy | by Katherine Lace
Check out more of | Nora's books!
––––––––
T
ugging my jacket off, I smoothed my hair. I could smell her on my hands. The scent was another chain link in my brain. Marina was trapping me.
“I'm not joking,” I said firmly. “I am very serious about what I'm going to do to you.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out a condom. “Stand up.”
Kicking her pants and shoes off of her feet, she hurried to do so. The insides of her thighs were shimmering. I spread my jacket out, creating a safer place for us both. Lifting my eyes, I planned to motion for her to lie back down—but being level with her hips stopped me.
She made a tiny noise, stumbling as I yanked her closer. On my knees, I nuzzled the side of her thick, curved ass. “You are so damn gorgeous, it's a travesty,” I said against her flesh.
Reaching down, she took hold of my shirt. “Can I...?”
“Undress me? Yes.” Leaning away, I let her guide the clothing over my head. My hair was tossed, coppery strands blinding me. When I could see again, I gazed up at Marina's appreciative face.
Her hands trembled, she touched my bare shoulders and used me to support her balance. “I was right,” she said, satisfied.
Helping her kneel, I stroked the side of her throat. The way her lashes fluttered, they might as well have tickled across my swollen cock. “About what?” I asked.
She only smiled, a little sideways tilt of her lips.
Crooking a finger at me, she splayed on her back. Her thumbs tucked into the sides of her soaked panties, pulling them down. She had to lift her feet up, pointing her toes. I had the ultimate view, and I saw my hands grab her ankles before I even debated it. “Fuck, who thought it was fair to the rest of the world to create only one of you?” I growled.
The button of my jeans popped, zipper grinding down. The reddish tip of my engorged cock peeked over the top of my boxers. Marina saw it, licked her lips, and I just fucking gave up any attempt at control.
Yanking the last of my clothing down, I fisted the base of my shaft. It arched into the air, veins like serpents on a sugar high. Deftly, I opened the condom and stretched it over my girth.
I had her ankles, crossing them together and bending them towards her face. Marina was flexible, but I pushed her to the brink of discomfort. Those carved thighs were rubbing, her pussy beckoning at me.
I didn't ask if she was ready.
I didn't need to.
Kite
––––––––
T
hin as a rail, the man looked distinctly like he never ate. The hot dog he held was out of place in his bony fingers. He turned too fast, ketchup staining his neck collar.
That red splotch was foreboding.
I wasn't worried he'd notice me. I didn't duck or dive or anything so ridiculous. Surrounded by the crowd that had gathered for the marathon, I was essentially invisible.
A ghost.
“You spot him yet?” The voice buzzed in my ear, feeding through my bluetooth earpiece.
Reaching up, I acted like I was scratching my nose. I never took my attention off of my target. “Just enjoying the sun at this point,” I whispered. “Hope you're not falling asleep over there.”
Jacob snorted. “Race is about to start.” He paused, a smile coating his voice. “Sorry you'll miss the action.”
“I'm about to see plenty of action.” Lowering my chin, I tightened my grip on my gun. The target—sorry, I guess I should use his name—Frank had changed directions. I'd need to adjust my route. “How long until it starts, exactly?”
The earpiece crackled. I pictured Jacob weaving closer to the starting line. “Announcer is out there, everyone is in position and doing that leg-stretch thing they always do. Fifteen seconds, max.”
In my chest, my heart was broadcasting its familiar music. All drums, all going full tempo.
Cutting across the grass, I took long steps to make sure I could get in front of Frank. Timing was everything, anyone who said otherwise was just excusing their own fuck ups.
“Count down for me when the Starter's hand is up,” I said. It was a hushed demand. No one around me would hear.
Frank was slowing, his eyes—everyone's eyes—pointing at the end of the park. I could see the milling group of runners, the packed sidelines. I couldn't see Jacob, but I didn't try to. I was stuck like a magnet on Frank's approaching figure.
I'd been behind him earlier, now I circled in front.
“Four seconds,” Jacob stated flatly.
A cool darkness settled over me. It crawled from my belly upwards, then out; it made my fingers tingle on the gun. Frank wasn't seeing me, he'd slowed on the path. The hot dog hovered by his lips.
The last thing he'd ever eat.
I never blinked, my lungs didn't even flex. One breath was all I needed.
“Three,” the voice said in my ear.
I guided the pistol—my Ruger—from my inner pocket.
“Two,” Jacob insisted.
This was it, this was the finale to our years in the hitman business.
Minutes from now, everything changes.
It always amazed me, the way a single second could stretch like chewed gum, going as far as your arms could spread before finally snapping. Clear headed, I switched off everything but the hyper-senses I needed.
“Starter's hand is up,” Jacob hissed. “Go.
Now
.”
Frank grunted, turning my way when I bumped into him. My nerves were cresting, I could taste the battery acid on my tongue. The tip of the noise suppressor jammed into Frank's chest. I aimed without looking; I knew exactly where his heart was.
He met my stare, and I wondered—as I always did—what his final thought would be.
“Bang,” Jacob whispered in my ear.
A thunder-crack, all eyes were on the runners as the Starter's pistol went off. No one was watching me, no one saw or heard my weapon fire simultaneously.
And no one would see my lashes flutter with the thrill.
Fuck,
I thought to myself.
That rush. That fucking rush
. Nothing compared to this. Nothing from this bland world, anyway.
Believe me. I've tried every other high.
In my palm, the recoil was negligible. The bullet's casing clinked in the tiny catcher, confirming I'd leave no evidence behind but the unidentifiable lead slug in Frank's flesh.
He stood there, too shocked to respond. He didn't even drop his hot dog. I didn't linger, the gun was back in my pocket and I was already walking away.
Four seconds, that was all it had taken to erase another human being.
So easy—too easy.
Killing was what I was good at, it was simpler than opening a beer bottle. Long legs, calm strides, I strolled over the plush grass towards the street. I was in no hurry, the job was done.
I was at the front gate before I heard the first scream.
“How did it feel?” Jacob asked through the headpiece.
My grip uncoiled from the fist I'd made; I smoothed the sweat from my neck. My brain was thrumming with a gallon of endorphins. “You know how.”
For a second, he was quiet. “No,” he said softly. “Not the kill. The fact it was your last one.”
Raising my eyes, I judged the brilliant blue sky and beaming sun. Sirens were coming in the distance; someone had called for an ambulance. It was no good, of course. Frank was long dead.
How does it feel to know that was my last hit?
I mulled it over, judged what the right answer was.
Jacob and I, we'd known each other for close to forever. We'd been kids, the first day he'd seen me alone on an empty playground and changed both our lives by walking over. If I could be fully honest with anyone, it was him.
That was what it meant to be Blood Brothers.
“Anticlimactic,” I said, ducking into the subway station. “Feels weird to imagine that was it. But it's over. That was always the plan, right?”
The reception fuzzed below ground. Either I'd lost him, or he'd decided to bite his tongue. “Yeah,” he eventually said. “That was the plan. Hey, let's celebrate tonight, okay?”
“Yeah.” I slipped into the subway car. “Let's go big tonight. Make some memories.”
Jacob chuckled. “See you at the bar, Kite.”
“Sure thing,” I said. The earpiece clicked; radio silence. Jacob no doubt planned to fill our bellies with alcohol and our lusts with women.
Lots of women, I hoped.
In the mostly empty car, I leaned on the window. It was yellowish in the tunnels, my reflection smudged and wobbling. Watching it, I recalled the summer day above me. The green grass, the smell of life. The sound of another man's final moments.
In my pocket, the gun barrel was still warm.
****
––––––––
O
ne, two, three, four, five.
I glided my fingertips over the necks of every top-shelf bottle I owned.
Aha,
I mused silently. Pulling a bottle of vodka into the air, I held it to the light. It was a fraction lower than the marking.
Gripping the stopper, the tip a razor edge of metal that could cut an unsuspecting finger or gouge out an eye, I started to refill it.
“I can take care of that, Mister Fallow!”
Glancing sideways, I noticed the waifish, creamy skinned bartender—Anabelle. I was probably giving her a heart attack, doing her job like I was. “It's nothing,” I said gently. Replacing the bottle, I lingered on the pointed tip. “I just like to have things a certain way.”
Her smile was hesitant, but she rounded the bar to join me behind it. In her low-cut opal top and a pair of needed-to-be-oiled-to-fit-leather-shorts, she would have blended in better at a nightclub than in my bar.
Adjusting my sleeves, I peeled the dove-grey material back to check my watch. “We open in twenty minutes, Anabelle.”
“Sure sure,” she said cheerfully. Brushing her long hair back into a tail, she nodded at the door. “You uh, want me to tell you when Mister Lawson arrives?”
Kite's last name was hilariously unfitting. “No. Just hand me a bottle of whiskey.”