For the Fight (Romantic Suspense) (Beyond Blood, #2) (3 page)

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.

Kite

––––––––

M
y 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 avoiding 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.

Tugging the paper away, she put it in her purse. “So,” she said, like the moment was all in my head. “Trip time?”

“Trip time,” I agreed. I opened the front door, waving her into the hall. My legs carried me towards the elevator. How quickly I'd stopped bothering to make Marina use the stairs when we were together.

Standing inside the moving box, I felt my air begin to vanish. She replaced it, flooding my lungs just by standing nearby. Her hands were in her pockets, chin buried behind the collar of her jacket. Marina was ready for a blizzard. I wanted to be the storm that swept her up.

I thought of the first night. She'd insisted we use the elevator, ignoring my paranoia with her own crisp logic. We'd stood here, in this very place. Her body against mine, her soft curls of hair grazing my cheek.

It had been torture then.

It was torture now.

The 'ding' was my savior. I shoved through the sliding doors, power walking towards my car. Marina climbed inside seconds after I'd already had the engine growling. My anxiousness was invading her, too. I could tell by how she shot me furtive glances, her knees glued together.

We'd had many conversations in my car. It was a fucking therapist's office for everyone, I swear. But today, Marina didn't fight to clear the air. She didn't think up a topic or force any conversation. This time, as we drove down the slippery, shiny streets of New York, Marina stared silently out the window.

****

I
didn't need directions. Twice now, I'd been to her apartment. Pulling into the lot, I reached behind my seat. The umbrella was heavy in my hand.

Marina eyed it, then me, with a wry smile. “Worried we'll melt?”

Her casual humor sucker punched me. Helplessly, my lips rose at the corners. “You'll thank me when you don't catch pneumonia.”

“My hero.” She crinkled her eyes, all slyness and sass. For a long moment that got away from me, I just watched her.

Breaking the bubble, I opened the door and let the umbrella expand. It kept the worst of the drizzle off of me. Circling to her side of the car, I waited for her. The wrinkles on her brow said, 'why are you being such a gentleman?' She never voiced the thought, so I was freed from having to think of a response.

Together, our shoulders close to snuggling as we shared the umbrella, we climbed to her apartment door. We were masquerading as a wandering couple. Anyone catching a glimpse of us would have thought we were about to kiss under the canopy, or stumble into the apartment, cheeks flushed and our eyes dazzling as we laughed and got frisky.

Crushing the handle, I stood over her as she bent for her keys. Marina and I were no giggling, cavorting couple. We were not dating or any interpretation of the word. Imagining it was ridiculous and pointless.

But I imagined anyway.

“Huh,” she said next to me. Her face was screwed up, tense lines and confusion.

“What is it?” I asked, noting how she had her hand perched on the door knob like it was a grenade.

Briefly eyeing me, she completed the turn of the handle and led us inside. “Nothing. Come on, I'll get something hot going.” Stepping over newspapers, she headed right into her kitchen and didn't look back at me. I watched her shake her hair, smoothing water from the top. The ends were curling like vines from the weather.

It was cold inside. Worse than the last time when I'd been here with Jacob. Shaking the umbrella out, I used it to shut the door so I didn't need to touch it. I was still keen to leave no fingerprints. I didn't plan to come here again after today. Granted, Marina had covered both my place and Jacob's in traces of her. We'd need time to erase those signs.

In the kitchen, Marina ran water from the sink. “Your choices are green tea, or this package of lemon that
might
be full of toxic mold.”

Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, I folded my arms. “I like to live dangerously, but green tea is fine.”

She put two mismatched mugs onto the counter. “Good call. I'd hate to worry about explaining your corpse to the cops.” Her smile was brittle. No longer was she so amused, and the air of trying to connect with me—hadn't that been what she was doing earlier?—had dissipated.

We stood together in that tiny room. It was barely enough space for a stove on one side, a cupboard on the other, and her in between. With me blocking the exit, an easy thing to do with my size, Marina couldn't escape. “The cops,” I said softly. “What, you wouldn't call the paramedics first?”

She leaned on the opposite wall and shrugged. “Would you?”

“Yes.” My answer was quick. It surprised her, but not me. Marina poisoning herself would do me no good, even if she thought otherwise. Looking her up and down, I reached over and knocked the lemon tea package into her too-f trash with the back of my hand. “I told you,” I said briskly. “I'll help you find your man. You can't do that if you're croaking from poisoned fucking tea.”

“That's an easy claim to make.”

“It's the truth.”

Crossing her arms, she pushed into the dented plaster like she wanted to put more space between us. “It's the top half of the truth.”