Never Kiss a Bad Boy

by Flite, Nora

  Replacing everything, I tied my hair back as I headed to the front room.

  Earlier, Kite had run into me on the street. It had shocked me, but not because seeing him was frightening.

  Though, once, it had been. When had that changed?

  No, what I'd been worried about was that he'd look into my face and I'd give up my ruse.

  I was carrying on me the one thing him and Jacob kept obsessing over.

  Peeling open my purse, I lifted the envelope free. Setting it on the kitchen counter, I thought I'd feel more... nervous. I was giving them the ultimate power. The two of them could erase me now and, knowing their skills, remove every sign that they were ever involved.

  But actually, giving that letter up, I felt my shackles fall away.

  Tension that had knotted in my heart melted. I'd told Kite I'd give this to him if I suspected I might be walking into Death's arms.

  But that wasn't why I'd taken it from the bank this morning.

  Pushing a hand to my throat, I slid it down, hugging myself tight. Their safety—their future—had become important to me. I cared about these assassins. Right in my atoms and molecules, right down to my very existence, I was determined not to let them be punished for my actions.

  My flesh was tired, my mind was powered by determination. They'd been so drained after what we'd done, Kite hadn't heard me digging in his discarded jeans.

  The key to his car cut into my palm when I reached the garage. This was my least favorite decision so far. Stealing his Mercedes was shitty, but I wasn't going to leave myself in a bind.

  I was setting myself up to end this on my own. Public transportation? Please. If that was what fucked me over, I'd be a poor killer in the making.

  In the silent bubble of that car, I slid out the napkin that carried all the secrets I'd been chasing. My phone was cool as I dialed the number. I was breathing tightly by the third ring—on the fourth, I was clammy.

  The ringing died. “Yo,” Juice said, “What's up?”

  Shutting my eyes, I leaned back in the seat. “It's me, Melony.” I licked my lips, burning with adrenaline. “I need to see you.”

  “Whoa, eager,” he laughed. “Uh, sure. Let me give you my address.”

  Revving the engine, I balanced the phone between my shoulder and ear. I was halfway down the street before we ended the call, his directions crisp in my brain. No music, no wind, I did nothing but crush the wheel and stare out the window.

  Focus was the word of the moment.

  He didn't live that far. Pulling down a side street to hide the car, I held my purse close and jogged to Juice's apartment. I could see him sitting on the front step, a cigarette lighting up his hard cheekbones.

  He jumped up the second he saw me. “Hey girl, I didn't think you'd call so soon.”

  Wasting no time, I closed the gap between us. “I need you to tell me about Frank Montego and his nephew.”

  Juice balked, looking around as if he'd spot hidden cameras. “What the fuck? Come on, I thought maybe you and I could get to know each other first.”

  Unzipping my purse, I yanked out a wad of cash. I didn't even know how much it was. “You wouldn't talk earlier. Will this help?”

  Staring at the money, the kid's jaw fell open. “Shit, girl. You're not playing around.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I'm not.”

  Chewing his thin lips, Juice reached out and took the money. He flipped the edges, going from upset to paranoid in a blink. “Why do you want to know about Frankie?”

  I considered lying. The fuzzy numbness was taking over, I was starting to feel invincible again. “He helped kill my family,” I said. The familiar horror entered his eyes. “I'm looking for someone close to him. You said Hecko was his nephew, and dead?”

  “Right. Super dead. Word is he choked on his own vomit. Nasty, huh?” Juice smiled feebly. His tough act was just that, an act. Part of him clearly cared that this Hecko guy was gone. “Sorry about your... you know.”

  I shook my head. “Don't be sorry, just tell me something I can use. I'm trying to find the guy who worked with Frankie. This was sixteen years back.”

  “Man, I wouldn't know.” His shrug was exaggerated. “Actually, that guy Dennis brought up something similar.”

  A tiny flash of joy filled me. Jacob had been trying to find information for me. It was immensely satisfying to hear it from someone else. “You couldn't help him?”

  “Nah. We were both pissed off that night, we were just chatting. I don't think he was really looking for anyone. Listen, this happened a long time ago. I would've been a kid.” He lowered a hand to his knee, indicating an invisible child. “I wouldn't know about this. Frankie sold coke to me, that was all. He hung around lots of people. I'm good with faces, but that's too many for me to remember.”

  The knowledge that this guy was, or used to be, a drug dealer didn't phase me. That he hung out with Frankie the Razor? Frank the monster who had killed my family?

  That info didn't swallow easy.

  “Alright, okay. What if...” Furrowing my eyebrows, I dug into my purse again. It was my magic bag of tricks tonight. The twinkle in Juice's eye said he thought I had more money for him. Instead, I slid out the photo I'd been keeping at my side since Jacob had handed it over. “Maybe seeing him would jog your memory?”

  In front of me, Juice's eyes boggled. I thought he'd drop the cash and just run. “Holy shit,” he whispered. He studied me with new respect—or was that disbelief? “You're looking for Lars Diani?”

  A rubber band snapped in my chest.

  Lars Diani.

  The roof of my mouth trapped my tongue. “Is that his name? This guy, are you sure?”

  “Fuck, yeah. That's his ugly mug.”

  It was finally happening. I knew his fucking name.

  Lars Diani.

  He was going to die.

  Trembling, I jammed the photo away. I wasn't careful, it crinkled and tore. I didn't care at all. “Lars Diani. His name is Lars Diani.”

  “Uh, yeah. You okay?”

  I realized I was smiling. I looked insane, but that was fine. “Juice, can you tell me where I can find him?”

  “Like, right now, or in general?”

  My stomach dropped through my feet. “You know where he is right now?” Could my luck be this good?

  Itching nervously at his cheek, he tucked the money away and lifted a palm. “Okay, so look. I'll tell you where he is, but you need to let me know you'll never, ever, say you heard anything from me. I'm out of this life, I'm moving on. I won't be the next body found in an alley.”

  Everything was reverberating, even my teeth. Looking at his hand, I slid more money into it. The number of things I owed Kite an apology for was growing. It'd be nice to get a chance to make it up to him. “My lips are zipped. Now tell me, please.”

  Juice rocked on his heels. His dilemma was nothing compared to mine, and apparently, nothing compared to his greed. “Tonight is Hecko's wake. I was thinking of paying my respects, but now... I might hang back. Visit his grave later, or something.” The kid pulled his thick sweater around tighter. “It's happening on the corner of Smith and Pine. Open door, anyone can pay their respects. Word is Lars will be there. Those mafia types, they think of everyone close to them as family.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and to both our surprises, I gave him a hug.

  It was spontaneous, over so fast he was left standing with his arms lifted at his sides.

  He'd opened the path to my redemption. I was incredibly grateful to him.

  Through the chilly night, I sprinted to Kite's car and climbed in.

  I had a wake to catch.

  ****

  The place was exactly where Juice had said. A stubby building, hard stone and soft yellow lights. The front door was wide open, allowing people to mill in or out. Whoever Hecko had been, he seemed to have a large family.

  Sitting in Kite's car, I peered through the windshield and just... waited. I didn't know what to expect, I'
d never been so close to the confrontation I'd been envisioning for years. I'd expected that Juice would give me something to go off of. It could have taken days or weeks, but no.

  Here I was, waiting for Lars to appear like I'd rolled out the red carpet.

  Perhaps karma did exist.

  Everyone wore black; suits, dresses, you name it. They funneled into the building or hovered by the edges. It reminded me oddly of the charity ball, when I'd stood in the garden with Kite.

  The night they'd both spun me in their arms. Don't think about either of them.

  Fidgeting, I reached for my purse. I needed to do something to stay busy. Holding the pistol, brushing the suppressor, I mulled over Kite's advice. Unless you yourself load in the clip, always check.

  Pulling the bolt of the Ruger back, I stared into the chamber and scowled. Ejecting the clip, I confirmed my suspicion. Only three bullets? Shit! It was good I'd checked, but if I'd looked earlier, I could have grabbed extra ammo. I'll have to make sure the shot is close. I can't risk missing.

  Condensation had begun fogging the windows. Even so, I still saw him when he appeared.

  The car that pulled onto the street was fancy. Rich midnight blue, the kind of model you saw on television but rarely in real life. The driver's side cranked open, spitting the putrid monster I'd had nightmares about into the street.

  Lars Diani.

  Having a name to put to him was amazing. My memory had been spot on; thick shoulders, trunk arms, and a chest so wide I was sure his suit was custom made. His piggy eyes glistened, settling on the doorway to the wake.

  There was sweat on my palms. Everything was slick and hot. Calm down, you can't shoot him yet. You'll never hit him. The time I'd missed Kite when we'd played paintball was a sobering reminder.

  Telling myself this didn't keep me from crushing the Ruger until my fingers ached.

  Lars made it to the building, the lights casting a long shadow behind him. The people standing outside greeted him, many shaking his hand and looking delighted. Didn't they know what kind of demon he was?

  Shoving the gun into my bag, I jumped from the car. Letting Lars leave my line of sight was giving me anxiety. Call me obsessed, I wouldn't argue it, but the man I wanted dead was here, right here.

  I wasn't about to let him vanish.

  No one said anything to me as I walked by them. They kept smoking, a glance or two tossed at me. Act natural, I told myself. In the interior, there was a long table covered in flowers. A giant poster-board with a young man's face was smiling at nothing.

  His hair was mossy green, teeth unnaturally white. The scrawled, elegant writing below said: Hector Mafaso, Gone But Not Forgotten.

  There were voices rumbling gently down the hall. I stopped, staring at the photo again. So this is Hecko. I didn't see the resemblance to Frank. I'd expected his last name to be Montego, too. It must mean Frank had a sister, someone who'd married and taken another man's surname.

  Juice said he died in an alley. I wonder how? Abruptly, I recalled the news the other day. I'd seen them talking about this! It was unsettling to connect the two events.

  Hoisting my purse, my tongue started to tingle as I entered the main room. It was full of people, grouped up and chatting, some of them in tears. I was out of place and I knew it, but the fear I had was being overrun by my determination.

  Lars was bent over a woman, holding her hands and speaking softly. She didn't look pleased to see him. Those tight lips and narrowed eyes made it clear.

  “He was a good boy,” Lars said. He kept patting her hands, making a show of comforting her.

  The woman forced a smile so jagged it made me pull up short. I stayed where I was, backing up until I hit the nearest wall. I could watch from here, hopefully I'd be ignored.

  Briskly, she pulled her arms to her sides. “Yes. He was. Good of you to make it tonight, Lars. I take it you're back in town, then?”

  Lars chuckled. I saw his teeth, the filling that replaced the gap I'd committed to memory. “Not quite. Did you miss me already, Janice?”

  “I just wanted to know if I should start locking my doors at night,” she said, still with her sugar-sweet grin.

  Adjusting his tie, Lars lowered his tone. I could barely hear him. “You should always lock your doors. I hope you're not implying you're worried something will happen to you.”

  Janice turned her body away, a subtle motion. “My brother, my son. It happens in threes.”

  “I had nothing to do with Hector's death, or Frank's.”

  Her lips curled so high that the ruby lipstick reminded me of a snarling animal. “I'll take your advice and lock my doors, just the same.” She left him, migrating into the safety of another circle of people who welcomed her.

  The swell of emotion in me was hard to handle. That was Hecko's mom. Frank's sister. This woman was related to the man I'd watched slice up my loved ones with an X-Acto blade. A man I'd wanted gone and had been lucky enough to witness dying on a sunny day in the park.

  I should have hated her for the connection, but all I felt was sympathy. Loss was my old friend. Her son was dead, she wasn't to blame for my past.

  Lars was.

  Glaring at the spot between his shoulders, I imagined pulling the trigger of the Ruger. It'd be easy to do it here. He wasn't looking, just standing still and making himself the perfect target.

  But every time I visualized whipping out the gun, I thought of the photo of Hecko in the foyer. How awful it'd be—how cold—to murder someone here while Hecko's family was trying to celebrate his memory.

  Gritting my molars, I turned on my heel and left the room. Lars had to exit eventually. I had the perfect view to stake out his car, he couldn't escape. That was what I'd have to console myself with.

  I was close, so fucking close. Patience was a virtue, wasn't it?

  Stretching out in the driver's seat, I put my purse in my lap. It felt better to know the gun was in reach.

  He didn't spend long inside, but it felt like forever. The thick man stepped across the grass, then down the curb until he reached his car. My heart had taken position in my mouth, forcing me to breathe heavier.

  I didn't have an exact plan, it was a straightforward urge that made me turn on the engine. That feeling guided me down the street, following as far back as I could from Lars while still tracking him. Wherever he was going, I intended to stay on his ass.

  Not appearing suspicious was easy to do while we were on the main roads, clumps of cars camouflaged mine. It was when Lars got on the interstate, then pulled off an exit onto a quiet, emptier stretched of road that it became risky.

  Taking a chance, I slowed down and flicked off my lights. In the dark, tree-lined lane, I was a shadow.

  He didn't speed up or change his pattern.

  Grinning in excitement, I listened to how my blood sang. This was going to happen. I was really doing this.

  He took a corner, his car escaping behind a thick strand of brush and branches. We were in the middle of no where, I didn't know if it was east or north or what. I was hyper focused on Lars, not the directions.

  Coasting down the road, I expected to see his car moving ahead of me. Instead, I came upon it in the darkness. There were no streetlights here, no homes or business nearby.

  Prickling with foreboding, I pushed the breaks and slowed to a halt. He was blocking me in, I'd have to reverse down the thin dirt stretch. Why had he stopped?

  Lars rose up abruptly, a solid shape with no features that stalked into view. His headlights illuminated him from the back, brightening his edges but throwing his face into a black void.

  He moved fast, coming up along side my door in a blink. Something in his hand glinted. “Get the fuck out of the car,” he snarled.

  Claws scraped at the inside of my stomach. In a moment, I'd gone from heated confidence to cold despair. He was a hellion at my window, knuckles rapping savagely on the glass.

  Grabbing the door handle, he yanked it open. I hadn't thought to lock it.<
br />
  Fuck, my mistakes were adding up. They were going to cost me.

  “Who are you?” he snapped, lifting the hatchet high. The sight of it curdled my blood. “Why are you following me?”

  Making myself tiny in the seat, I hoisted my purse and lifted my hands. Act like you aren't here to kill him! “Don't hurt me! I—I wasn't following you, I swear!”

  Lars yanked me out in one quick motion. All of a sudden I was six again. Except this time, it wasn't Cece who had the monster towering over her with an axe at his side. It was me.

  The fear was paralyzing.

  “You weren't following me?” he asked, ignoring how I winced when I hit the asphalt. “Then why are your headlights off? I'm not stupid, lady. Tell me who you are. Now.” The hatchet glinted, wickedly sharp.

  On hands and knees, I wasn't going to be able to escape. Running wasn't an option, but you know... for me, it never had been.

  My purse had spilled open near my thigh. Grabbing the Ruger, I flipped back and aimed it at Lars' surprised face. The weapon fueled me, made it clear I was no longer the little girl hiding in a closet. “Throw the hatchet away. Do it right the fuck now!”

  He hesitated, gaze flicking from the pistol to me. Finally, he tossed the axe, the instrument clunking in the leaves of the ditch.

  On legs that did not shake, I rose up, keeping the gun leveled on him. “You want to know who the hell I am?” I slid the safety off. “I'm Marina Fidel. I'm the woman whose family you destroyed, the person you stole everything from.” Heat flared in my chest. “And I'm the one who's going to kill you.”

  He hadn't blinked. The only noise was his car, the engine running quietly in the night. “Fidel?” he asked. “I don't remember any Fidel family.”

  I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. “You don't remember us? Let me help. Think back, sixteen years. You and a man name Frank. A hard working dad, a happy home, and you swinging that fucking hatchet of yours to chop everyone up.”

  A coldness slid over his face. I thought he'd been scary before, but even through my stoic shield, Lars made me swallow loudly. “Did you come back from the dead, little girl?” Shit, how was he able to smile? “I swear I cut you up after I used your body.”