Never Kiss a Bad Boy (8 page)

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.

****

S
he 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.”

Marina was starting to shiver. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her delicate nose. “You can take a break if you—” I started to say.

“No.” Her chin lifted, eyes on me from under the fringe of her lashes. The determination in those shiny surfaces quieted me. It wasn't sweat on her skin, it had been a tear; she wiped it away vigorously. “Let me finish.”

She didn't need my permission, I just leaned backwards in my seat.

Taking a deep breath, she crushed her hands together. “The other man, he was taller. Thick, wide shoulders. He had these sickly green eyes, and giant farmer's hands. When he grinned, I saw he was missing a front tooth. He strolled in, shut the door, and pointed this stubby, double barreled gun at my dad.”

My brain was rustling the description together. I didn't know any men like that, not specifically. The gun was clearly a sawed-off shotgun.
He never used it, though. The article didn't say a thing about bullet wounds. It was just to threaten them into silence.

Marina was rocking gently. “He tied my dad's wrists up with electric tape. Then they tied up my mom and sister. Frank didn't say much, but the other man... he kept telling my dad how stupid he was.” A flame of anger tickled her throat. “The asshole said this was his fault. If he'd paid them, they wouldn't need to make an example out of him. He said you obeyed, or you were killed. That was life. Then...”

Suddenly she stopped, looking me dead in the face.

Quickly, I asked, “What is it?”

“I don't want to tell you the details. Is that enough, can you get by on my description of him?”

Kite answered first, his voice tight. “Yeah. That's enough.”

Her story had unsettled us both. But unlike Kite, I needed one more thing from Marina. “The man with the gun, the one you want dead. What did he actually use to kill them?”

“A hatchet.” She reached for her drink, then stopped halfway, like she'd forgotten she wanted it. “Frankie cut them up with an X-Acto blade, but it was the gap-toothed man who chopped them to bits. Cece, then Mom, and finally... my dad.”

So they did make him watch.
Running my fingers over my thighs, I sighed. “Thank you for going through all of that.”

“Don't thank me,” she said coolly. “Just find him. I want to show him how wrong he was.”

“About what?” Kite asked.

“He told my dad obey, or be killed. That was his message to anyone who stood up for themselves. I'm going to make sure he understands
my
message.” She was challenging us with her glare. Marina had shifted back from wilting flower to raging storm. “You can't murder my family and live happily ever after.”

Marina

––––––––

E
vening rolled in quickly.