For the Thrill Page 6

  “No,” she said firmly. “I'm ready for all of this.” Looking me in the face, her intensity flourished. “I know exactly what I'm doing. Coming here wasn't an accident.”

  I was forced to reevaluate this odd creature. She was cunning, and if her nerves showed at times, who could blame her? She was still more collected than I thought she had any right to be. The news headline flowed in my skull, reminding me about what this woman had been through. I didn't know the gritty details, but it had clearly left a mark on her.

  Tragedy, of any kind, would do that.

  “Come on,” Kite said, stopping me from probing further. “Jacob, can I borrow your car? I took the subway here.”

  Handing him my keys, I pointed down the hall towards the alley exit. “Go out that way. I'm parked right there.”

  Marina ducked under my arm, clutching her purse. Kite waited for her, but his attention was on me. Wordlessly, we said a farewell and good luck without opening our mouths.

  Standing in the hall, bar noise to my left and the silent alley exit to my right, I was poised in the middle of two worlds. A peaceful life we'd done everything to achieve, and the grim past demanding we dive back in if we ever hoped to really escape.

  - Chapter Six -

  Marina

  My purse was much lighter leaving the bar than when I entered.

  If my heart was any lighter, it would float out of my smiling mouth.

  I did it. I actually did it. The number of times I'd psyched myself up to enter that bar was astounding. I'd never tell either of these men. The grasp I had on where I fit among their wild, distressing river of life was tenuous. Keeping on my feet required I fake whatever calmness I could.

  But I wasn't scared.

  Even now, sitting next to the silent, brooding Kite—and he was brooding—I wasn't afraid. There was too much hope biting in my blood. Do you know what it feels like? That drifting sensation, it had been with me since my family died. Seeing Frank had opened a doorway into having a purpose. A goal.

  These hitmen had taken it away—unintentionally.

  And now they had handed it back to me.

  In the dark car, Kite's face was lit up on the edges from the electric blue of the CD player. It was a nice sound system. Actually, the whole car was the most expensive thing I'd ever ridden in, no question.

  I watched him, counted how long he kept from blinking. I'd never been so close to someone like him. I wanted to understand what made him tick and try to steal it for myself. In the park, he'd been too fleeting of a phantom to give me the chance.

  Seeking him out in the bar had shown me a side of him I didn't understand. I'd witnessed him drunk and stumbling when I was spying on the place. I'd caught him stealthily murdering another human months ago. Those were the two faces of Kite I'd been exposed to.

  Until I approached him.

  Kite had eaten me up with those ink-blot eyes of his. I'd felt the way he wanted me, even through my haze of determination. I'd definitely felt his hand curled around my waist. He was a man scared of nothing. Then I'd opened my mouth and ended the tranquility.

  He was ready to murder me. Just because I asked him for help. No. It wasn't the help part of it. Kite thought I was dangerous, to him and his friend. And maybe I was—but I didn't feel like it. They were the ones with weapons and power and that little quirk that let them consider snuffing me out in the backroom of their own busy bar.

  By the end of this, will I have that quirk? It was what I needed. If I was going to kill the gap-toothed man from my memory, I knew it would take a certain mindset. I'd hesitated on killing Frank and had missed my chance. I wouldn't let that happen again.

  “Which street?” Kite asked, shattering the silence.

  Sitting up on the plush seat, I pointed. “Take a right here.”

  As if that was all he ever needed to say again, he went silent. Watching him covertly, I tried to sense the... whatever it was. A murderer's cloak? A killer's presence? There had to be a word for it. And if not, I'd make one up. Demon Aura, I mused. Too cheesy. Maybe something to do with predators or...

  “Why are you staring at me?” On the steering wheel, his 'swim' knuckles shined.

  Swallowing loudly, I looked out the passenger window. Shit, I thought I was being sneaky. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Guess I was just trying to figure out what to say.”

  “About what?”

  “It's obvious things are kind of tense in here. I thought I could find a way to ease that.”

  Glancing over, I caught his hard frown. “Staring at me while I drive isn't going to make a topic magically appear,” he said.

  Crossing my legs, I grabbed my knee. “Maybe you could pick one, then we don't have to sit in silence.”

  “No thanks.” The car slowed at a red light. “I think silence suits me just fine.”

  Carefully, I made myself face him. “If you like silence, why spend so much time in a busy bar?”

  The blue lights shined off of his fast glare. Then he was back to watching the road. “You really were stalking me, huh?”

  “I had to,” I said. There was sharpness on my tongue. “Plus, it was good experience for when we find the guy I'm after. A good assassin, they need to watch their target, to figure out their schedule so the kill goes smoothly.”

  Kite was all scorching steam and disbelief. “You're not an assassin. Holy shit, and pardon me for saying this, but you don't know a fucking thing about being one.”

  Warmth spread up my neck. Ignoring it, I took the bait—or had I led him into the trap? “Then tell me about it.”

  “How about I don't, and we just go get your things?” He took the corner too fast, rocking me against the window.

  We weren't far from my apartment, but I had no plans to just sit quiet anymore. “You said you'd help train me. That was part of the agreement, right?” Crushing my purse, I reminded myself of the money that Jacob now had—the payment. What they owed me. “I'll need to know about everything. You said yourself, I'm staying with you guys so I can learn quickly. Refusing to talk to me, now, here? That's hypocritical.”

  “Hypocritical,” he chuckled.

  “Closemouthed, too.”

  His fingers tapped on the wheel, a tiny song with no rhythm. “Fair point on that last one. I've never talked to anyone about this side of things. I mean, other than Jacob.” He still wasn't looking at me. He could have been talking to the windshield. “Fine. You want me to talk? Then let me tell you a little story that I think you'll enjoy.”

  Kite started smiling, but it didn't come through his voice. I didn't care. I was eager to fill my head with anything he would offer. “You're the pro, you decide what I need to know.”

  “You need to know what can go wrong.” His head moved back, skull grinding into the cushion like he was getting comfortable. “You're a newbie, mistakes are more common than success.”

  My ears strained until they rang. I hung on his every word.

  “I was lucky,” he said softly. “I didn't have a real mistake until my second year. It was our fifth contract, a guy named Culver Dinsen. Real strong, not that you'd know by looking at him. He wore baggy clothes all the damn time. I don't know where he got all his muscle.”

  My arm hairs were prickling. “How old were you?”

  Kite blinked, the spell broken when he stared at me. The stern, empty man had melted as he recounted that fact. It was only for a second, but I saw it. “This was about three years ago. Guess I was twenty-two.”

  A stack of bricks filled my throat. My age. He'd already had five kill contracts by then?

  “Anyway,” he went on. “Jacob took point, made sure no one was watching. We were near the wharf, I figured I could slip in, get him with some wire from behind. Done.”

  If I closed my eyes, I could have pictured it better. I didn't dare try.

  Kite's lips softened. He wasn't angry or irritated... just subdued. “I was quiet as anything, even without the rough waves hiding my steps that night. Culver was drunk
. You'd think that would have helped, but alcohol makes some people stupid and others—well.” There, a real smile. “He was a beast. I dug the wire into his throat, threw myself back, but he didn't go down. Guy fought me, got his nails on my arms and dug in deep. Made me bleed before he finally choked.”

  Could lungs explode? Breathing out loudly, I shook my head. “Wait. I thought you were telling me about a hit that went wrong. You still killed him, right?”

  “That's why I said you don't know anything.” Kite pulled around a street, the car rolling into the parking lot of my complex. He cut the engine, then twisted to face me. In the low lights, Kite was a mixture of gentle breathing and wild, dangerous eyes. His arm was over the back of his seat. I could see every muscle fiber flexing.

  I grabbed my knees tighter and forced myself to remain still.

  “The fact that I allowed Culver to cut me with his hands. That was the mistake.” Lifting his palm between us, Kite flexed his fingers into claws. “Skin cells under the nails. It'd be enough to lead the authorities back to me. Normally, we can leave a body at a scene and it won't matter. Not this time.”

  “What did you do?” I hushed.

  His hand became a fist. He left it fall into his lap. “Jacob helped me wrap the body, then we loaded it into the car. The longer you have a body, the nearer you are to getting caught. What would you do with a corpse?”

  Shivering, I kept my voice steady. “I don't know. Burn it?”

  His chuckle was wicked. “Too much can be identified these days. We had to erase every bit of that body. Any other guesses?”

  I shook my head, a barely noticeable move. Of course Kite saw it. I suspected he saw everything.

  “Big metal barrel.” His eyebrows hooded his face. “Enough acid to cover everything. Took almost a week. We were edgy, watching the news and praying no one had seen our car or us. Like always, they never did.” Hesitating, Kite stared at me in our private bubble and frowned. “Or they never did, until you.”

  Bile flooded my mouth. Is this story a warning about proper killing? Or is he threatening me, letting me know he could make me disappear? It was a horrific thought.

  Shrugging, Kite leaned back and took out his keys. “I'm sure that was disturbing, but you needed to hear the reality. We fuck up and it's ugly. Melting a body and—”

  “What happened next?” I whispered.

  He paused, eyes shadowed and suspicious. “Next?”

  “The remains you melted, what... where did you put them?” Call me twisted, I just needed to know what had happened to Culver. The idea they had a barrel of corpse juice hanging around was too much.

  Kite unlocked the doors, the noise made me jump. “You shouldn't want to know the grizzly details.”

  If we left that car, he would never answer me. “Please,” I said, grabbing for his elbow. His skin was smooth, and too warm for a cold monster.

  His eyes opened a fraction wider. One look at my hand on him, and I pulled away nervously. “You really want to know?” he asked.

  “I think I have to.”

  Kite closed his eyes. When he observed me again, that cool mask had returned. “The ocean. We poured him out into the ocean.” He opened the door and let the brisk air inside. “I remember it being a beautiful night.”

  He's trying to freak me out, I thought silently. I won't let him. Stepping from the car, I begged my legs to stop wobbling.

  He stood back, letting me take the lead. The parking lot was cracked, the staircase up to my door no better. I'd warned him, my complex was essentially a revamped motel. It was all I could afford. I made little money, and I'd done my best to save what had been leftover from my father's business. It had shrunk over the years. These two hitmen now owned the whole chunk.

  Twisting my key in the lock, I jiggled the handle. Nothing happened. Peering up at Kite, I flashed an embarrassed smile. “One second, it likes to—” I jerked it, grunting. “Jam. Ugh.” Yanking the handle, I finally pushed the door open and breathed a sigh of relief. Clicking on the light, the small room was bathed in all its glory. I'd left piles of newspapers on the couch, magazines and printed articles. Kite only had to glance at them to realize most had to do with Frank's murder.

  He followed me in, hands deep in his pockets. I hadn't left the heat on while I was out, it was... expensive to run it all the time. Eyeing him, I tried to tell if he was cold—I certainly was, and I had on a thick sweater. Kite was wearing nothing but a tan, short sleeved top that showed off his defined forearms. Had he left his jacket at the bar in his haste to get out of there with me?

  The hitman hovered by the doorway, and when I didn't shut it, he did with his hip. Watching him close us into a small space had my blood chilling. Stop worrying, I told myself. If he was going to kill you, he wouldn't have taken you back here to do it. His story about the barrel flipped my stomach, ignoring my logic.

  “Don't take too much,” he said. “You can come back here another time for the rest.”

  Stepping over a pile of clothes, I scooped up a duffel bag. “You're serious about me leaving here.”

  “That should be obvious by now.”

  “No, I mean... I have a lot of stuff.” Glancing at him, I stuffed some clean jeans into my bag. “You should realize how much work it'll be getting it all out, storing it, that kind of thing. It's no joke to move so fast.”

  Kite graced me with a sly smile. “It won't be a problem.”

  Not prying into his cryptic confidence, I moved towards my bathroom. He said not to take much, so I wouldn't. A toothbrush, some toiletries, I filled my bag like I was having a sleepover. “So which apartment am I staying in?” I called out. “Yours or Jacob's?”

  Stepping into the main room, I spotted Kite bending over my couch. He was toeing aside some papers with the tip of his shoe. The instant he saw me watching, he stopped. “I offered mine up. If you hate it, Jacob will probably let you switch.”

  “Probably?” I asked.

  He shrugged lazily. “I can't speak for him. I'm sure he'd do that sort of thing, though.”

  “What, be a polite host?” I asked, crossing to the kitchen. “If you offered your place to share first, that makes you just as polite.”

  “No. It makes me the most paranoid.”

  I felt him burning holes into the back of my skull. Opening a cupboard, I blocked the line of sight to give myself some breathing room. Speaking of paranoia, ugh. Kite was managing to prowl my apartment while hardly moving a few feet. It's almost like he's expecting me to do something. Frowning, I shuffled the boxes in the cupboard loudly. Through the tiny crack of the hinges, I squinted into the other room.

  The red-haired man was using his shoes to slide things around, squinting beneath. Just seeing him investigating my apartment was pushing needles into my skin.

  He was looking for something.

  Shit, I thought suddenly. He wants the letter. Of course he did. Now that I realized it, it made perfect sense. Well, too bad I'm not so stupid. You won't find anything here. It told me, though, how tenuous my life was in the hands of these men. If even now, after they'd said they would help me, Kite was scanning for the get-out-of-jail-free-card I had penned... it didn't take much for me to connect the dots.

  If they got the letter, they could kill me without fear.

  The thing is, they didn't know me. They didn't grasp what fear even was to me. I'd lived through the torture of losing everyone and everything. Let Kite and Jacob plot my death behind my back, search for a letter they would never find.

  Didn't they have a suspicion about what mattered to me?

  It wasn't my fucking life. If it had been, I'd never have stepped foot into their bar.

  If I could get my revenge, I didn't give a shit what happened to me.

  Slamming the cupboard was satisfying; I caught Kite jumping, trying to act like he'd been standing there innocently.

  His smile was strained. “What's that?”

  I waved the box. “Hot chocolate. Can't wake up without it.
” Hooking the bag on my arm, I juggled it and my purse. “I'm ready. Let's go see my temporary home.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, he came my way. It was sudden, too quick for me to do anything but forget to blink. “Here,” he said, a hand closing on my shoulder. “Let me help.”

  The last time Kite had stood this close to me, he'd had his hand on my face and been inches from stifling my screams. The man had been a lightning strike I'd narrowly avoided. The words that were okay to describe a killer: scary, intimidating, dangerous.

  With his scent flooding my skull, my cells clogged by his knowing eyes and the slope of his muscles shoulders, all I could think was: sexy.

  And yes, I know that was not appropriate.

  Dazed, I glanced at his fingers. Those tattooed knuckles waved, a flag to warn me who I was dealing with. Who was touching me. Fuck, how did I make words again?

  He reminded me by speaking first. “You alright?”

  My tongue was wooden. “Uh. Yes.” Very much no. Get it together, Marina. “I can carry it, it's not heavy.”

  He slid it off of me. I didn't even stop him. My purple duffel bag hung across his chest, indenting the shirt and displaying the groove between his pecs. “It's even less heavy for me. Come on, let's get out of here. I don't want people seeing my car.”

  Steeling my nerves, I told my feet to follow him. My finger poised on the light when I reached the door. He waited for me to open it. I did, then turned back to gaze over the room. My tiny, messy home. I didn't know if I would miss it. Not really. And wouldn't I be back to get the rest of my things?

  There were a million reasons not to feel like this was the last time I'd see my apartment. Even more reasons not to care if it was.

  I didn't know what was ahead of me. I only knew that, if I stayed here, this was what I would get to keep; a cold, desolate place to rest my nightmare fueled head.