Never Kiss a Bad Boy (18 page)

I handed him the glass. Together, we clinked them with reverence; dedication to a man long dead, a man I had helped kill.

The moment Hecko took his greedy gulp, I counted the seconds. I knew how much of the poison I had given him. It would be crawling into his bloodstream, twisting his guts and muddying his mind.

In three minutes, he'd be a dizzy mess. A pliable mess.

Tapping my finger on my knee, I waited him out with a smile. Soon, his cheeks turned the color of paste. I said, “You look like you need some air, let's go out for a smoke.”

He grunted, grip shaking on his glass. Hecko stumbled; I hooked my arm around him for support. The bartender was staring at us. I crooked an apologetic smile and mouthed, 'Too much to drink' at her.

She nodded, turning away.

Busting through the alley exit, I made a soothing sound as Hecko groaned. His ability to stand on his own was fading. As if on cue, my green haired friend bent away from me, vomiting on the filthy concrete.

“Come on,” I whispered, listening to Hecko's pained babbling. “Over here. Let's get you set up.” Dragging the man around a corner, I ducked into the long alleyway.

Hecko coughed, pushing against me feebly. The poison had done its job. He was conscious, but disoriented and frail.

Crouching on the opposite side of a dumpster that smelled too much like rotten eggs, I knelt beside him. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

“What... what's wrong with me?” he groaned, unable to see me—or anything—in the dark.

Firmly, I pushed a hand onto his throat; held him against the cold wall. I put enough pressure to frighten, to keep him from squirming.

Fear was as useful a tool as cyanide.

My thumb dug in harder. Under me, his pulse was rapid. How strange it must have felt for him, to have a heart throbbing so madly while his limbs refused to obey. “What did you do to me, you cocksucker?” he croaked.

Leaning in, I whispered, “I poisoned you.”

The long, pathetic wail that Hecko released made my hairs stand on end. “No! Please! I promised him I wouldn't say a word! Why does he need to kill me? I didn't care what he did, I
told
him that! Even if he offed Frankie... it didn't matter to me! Please, let me call him, let me clear things up!”

I turned his head, let him vomit down his own shoulder. Instantly, I snapped his face back to me. “Who offed Frankie?”

“I don't deserve to die,” he moaned. “I paid for my sins already! I'm out of the game... haven't hurt anyone since... since that last girl... that dumb stripper...”

My blood went cold. If I'd had any reason to feel bad for this man before, it evaporated.

Hecko said, “Lars always helped me clean up my messes... I'm loyal to him, I swear. I just want a normal life. He said I could have one, I just had to turn a blind eye to what he was going to do to Frank.”

I bit my fingers into his neck. “Is that his partner's name? Lars? Is the man with the gap-tooth named
Lars?
” And did he really ordered the death of his own partner?

A full body shudder went through Hecko. “Wait, what? I thought... didn't he send you to kill me?”

Lifting the pistol from my jacket, I pushed the cold tip to his forehead. I hoped he could hear my smile. “Not exactly. But he might want you dead after you tell me what you know.”

His eyes shot wide, straining in his skull. “No! I'm not a rat!”

I clicked the safety off. The metallic sound was a punch to the ribs. “Tell me his full name.”

Hecko squeaked pathetically. “Lars Diani! His name is Lars Diani!”

Not a rat, indeed.

He breathed in deeply, struggling for air. The poison wouldn't kill him, I hadn't given him enough. Sliding the gun down, I nuzzled it on Hecko's cheek. “He's the man who used to help Frankie burn down businesses, destroy families who didn't pay them?” I needed confirmation that this was Marina's family's murderer.

His hand came up, wiping at my wrist weakly. He'd find no hold, his nails doing nothing to my sleeves. “How did you know about that? It was so long ago.”

The nose of my pistol ran over his temple. “So it is him. But why would Lars order a hit on Frank? Weren't they friends?”

Hecko was silent. I nudged him, listened to him wheeze. He was losing consciousness from the poison. “I—what?” he mumbled.

“Weren't Frank and Lars friends, partners?”

“Yeah... they used to be. The Dianis and the Montegos have always been close...”

Settling on my heels, I slid the gun back into its holster. Hecko was beyond needing to be threatened. “Tell me why he had him killed.”

I'd adjusted to the dark enough to see the emptiness in Hecko's eyes. “I told him I was done,” he murmured softly. “He wouldn't need to clean up after me ever again... no more dead girls, I promised...”

Nausea swam in my guts. I fought the desire to probe further, to learn about what awful things Hecko had done in his past. Or at least, I
hoped
it was in the past.

I slapped his cheek, squeezed his lips until I felt him come alive. “Hecko, what was the
reason?
”

Something wet rolled down his chin; saliva. “Frankie was going to make a deal, he was going to betray the Diani family... I heard him, he said it, and I...” Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned. “Why the fuck would you do that? Uncle Frankie, why the hell... why...”

Ice exploded in my veins.
Uncle Frankie.
“You're his nephew?”

“Please,” he whispered. “I told Lars everything Frankie planned. He promised he'd leave me alone if I kept my mouth shut. Fuck, I just wanted to be left alone... I really wasn't going to hurt anyone again... I swear...”

I could understand, now, why this guy had been drowning himself in drink when I found him. Hecko had let his own uncle be murdered. His guilt had to weigh heavy.

But I didn't feel bad for him. He'd admitted to me that he had a taste for hurting—killing—the girls in the clubs he loved to frequent.

He was scum.

And I couldn't let him live.

“Lars Diani,” I said. “Where can I find him?”

His chin dipped to his chest. “Charity Ball... coming up. The Dianis like to donate, make a... a lot of friends that way. Lars doesn't usually go, but... but sometimes he does.”

A charity ball? That seemed easy enough to investigate.

Hecko was coughing again. I smelled the vomit on his tongue, knew more was coming up. Casually, I snapped my palm over his mouth and held him tight. He was too weak to struggle.

“If you squealed on Frank,” I said into his ear, “You'll squeal on me.”

My blood was on fire; in my grip was someone's life. The flickering, warm heat that kept us all moving. I held it close, crushing it until it dissipated in that grim alley.

When his body was discovered, it'd look like he'd choked on his own vomit.

An accident.

I was thrumming, my body all electric and wild.
One step closer to helping her get her revenge.
That pleased me more than I'd ever expected it to.

I was only supposed to be doing this because we needed time. We had to get that letter that would condemn us to jail—or worse.

But as I left that alley, my steps were springy. I ached to utilize the power I felt.

I wanted to taste and hold and claw at a woman—one woman.

I couldn't wait to see Marina again.

Marina

––––––––

G
runting, I pushed the crate of glasses into place. My hair was in a bun, strands still escaping and plastering themselves to my face.

I really should
not
have been helping Kite organize the bar, but I'd caught him grumbling about everything that wasn't getting done because, and I quote, “Jacob was out pretending to be Batman.”

No single brain cell of mine should have felt sympathy for this man. It's just... well. I don't know. Sometimes Kite could be a brute, and other times I saw something soft and tender and
hurt
behind those black marble eyes of his.

So here I was, stacking boxes behind the bar on a Tuesday morning. No one else was here besides Kite, not even the bar tender whose name I'd learned was Anabelle. Apparently, as much as she was willing to put up with, she refused to load and restock before her shifts began.

Wiping my hands on my jeans, I looked over the bottles behind the bar. The two men who owned the Corner Velvet stocked it with some high quality stuff. Grabbing a bottle of Johnny Walker, I eyed the mostly empty contents.

“How strong are you?” Kite asked, staring at me from the hall.

Twisting his way, I blinked. “I guess it depends. What do you need me to do?”

Nodding his head, he motioned for me to follow. He had on faded jeans, a tight shirt stretching over his back muscles.

Pacing behind him, I studied how his shoulder blades flowed. He reminded me of a big jungle. Power and grace coiled beneath the surface of his perfect skin.

Kite stopped, pointing down at a staircase. “I never arranged the kegs that came in the other day. It's hard with one person, care to help?”

Flexing an arm, I pulled my sleeve higher to display my bicep. “I'm here to help, little lady.”

Kite rolled his eyes, but the edge of his smile was fantastic. Working like this, with him, made everything feel so... normal.

Following him into the basement, I gazed over the walls of huge containers. There was a wine cellar built into one side, the glass panel blinking with its temperature.

Everything else was oak barrels, as far as the eye could see.

The floor was solid under me, which was good, because bathed in the shadows of those wooden containers, I was starting to sway.

This is where they kept Culver's body.

“Here,” Kite said, breaking into my thoughts. He slapped the top of a keg that was sitting in the center of the floor. There were eight of them gathered. “This will be a cinch with both of us.”

I eyeballed a barrel, sweat collecting on my neck.
Stop thinking about that.
Shaking myself free of the morbid images, I grabbed one side of the keg and grunted. “You guys have a lot of stuff,” I said, helping him set the heavy object on the far side of the basement. Clearly there was a system here. “What
is
all of this?”

“Jacob orders everything, I don't have a clue.” Shrugging, he loosened the neck of his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he revealed the tight, dark grey tank-top underneath. His shoulders gleamed, corded muscles swollen from his pumping blood.

My heart took a leap down into my gut, giving up on life. I'd seen this man naked, and still, a peek at his hard edges had me buzzing.
Focus and stop being a horny teen,
I reprimanded myself. Gripping a container, I rolled it until Kite came to help. “Jacob really does everything, doesn't he?” I asked.

“He's always been more organized. Even as kids, he made the plans.”

The metal felt good in my fingers. Nice and cold against my heating mood. “I never asked, when did you two meet?” Kite glanced at me, his nose scrunched like I'd asked him something too personal. I pressed on, undeterred. “You're clearly good friends, so if you knew each other as kids...”

Palming his neck, he sighed. “It's been a long time. Guess I was nine when we met.”

Nine. They had known each other for that long? “That's amazing.” The more I thought about it, the softer my smile became. Kite would have been as old as my sister Cece when he met Jacob. I felt a strange flicker of envy. “You guys might as well be brothers,” I chuckled, glancing up at him under my eyelashes.

Embarrassment crossed his features. He looked away, grabbing another bulging metal keg. “Might as well be,” he agreed seriously.

The air around us was uncomfortable. I blamed myself, I'd been prying into his life. But, the two of them knew so much about me... and I knew almost nothing about them.

No,
I told myself, eyeing Kite from the corner of one eye.
I know what counts. These men are skilled killers.
Why did I need to learn anything beyond that?

Why did I even care?

Kite straightened abruptly, digging into his pocket. “Hello?” he asked, pushing the phone to his ear eagerly. He blinked, then smiled brighter than he had in a while. “Sure. One second.” Clicking the device off, he buried it away and glanced at me. “Hang tight, I'll be right back.”

I nodded. “Okay. I'll make sure no kegs run away while you're gone.”

He said nothing, just jumping up the stairs two at a time with amazing speed.

I watched him until he had vanished. Kite was beautiful, in the way that a volcano about to erupt was beautiful.

Sitting on the edge of a barrel, I crossed my legs. The basement wasn't exactly creepy, they'd made it feel rustic with orange lights and wood beams. But, frankly, I couldn't sit down there alone and not start squinting at the shadows.

At least one body had been down here.

Maybe more.

In spite of myself, I imagined what it would feel like inside of a barrel.
Tight, as if someone was pressing on my lungs
. Could I even scream, would anyone hear?

Kite had promised me I would never end up that way. But he hadn't said he wouldn't kill me. And... I was fine with that. Wasn't I?

Yes,
I told myself firmly.

I had to be.

A footstep scuffed the stairs. Twisting, I expected to see Kite.

Pale blue eyes rested on me, a swimmer's body cloaked in a three piece suit. He stood there, the light from above glinting off his hair, the darkness of the basement hardening his features.

His smile scraped over my body—over my rapidly thumping heart.

Jacob was back.

One polished shoe slid over the cement, aiming at me. He was locked on and I was conscious of my hands, my lips, and every muscle from neck to toes. Four days, now. Four days since he'd kissed me. That was how I'd begun measuring time.

His mouth opened, his darkness falling across me. I forgot how breathing worked.

My brain had decided to melt like ice cream and run down into my lower belly. I was sure he was going to press his wicked lips to mine, right there in the basement.