Never Kiss a Bad Boy(3)

By: Nora Flite


Laughing, I patted his shoulder and guided him towards a quiet corner. “The night hasn't even started.”

Our bar was big, all dark wood and rich blue booths. It had the right combination of grit and class. New York was full of young people who were burnt out from trying to 'make it.' They wanted to go crazy and lose themselves in drink and noise.

And we gave them the place to do it.

It also sated our love for alcohol, sin, and sex. All sorts of girls came through, and I was eager to taste each one of them.

Kite and I had partied like this since the day we came into money. Could we be blamed for that? After years of struggling and scraping, we suddenly had more cash than we'd ever imagined.

Maybe buying a bar was a little extreme, but we made use of it. It had worked as a front, allowing us to pretend it was the source of our income. It was easy to justify the purchase, but the reality is we'd gotten hooked on the lifestyle and never come back down. Sex and whiskey were just the tip of our sins.

At least we aren't killers any longer.

Well. That wasn't entirely true.

We'd always be killers, that doesn't wash off of you. The only thing that had changed—as of today—was we wouldn't take contracts anymore.

Frank had been our last.

The bottle thunked onto the center of the table. Kite uncapped it, taking a long pull right from the opening. He sighed through his nose, pushing the whiskey to me. Lifting my eyebrows, I nudged it back to him pointedly. Kite took the hint, swallowing another mouthful.

“Good?” I asked.

“Burns like hell,” he chuckled.

“Right. So it's good.” My smile didn't reach my eyes, neither did his. Kite wasn't acting like himself. I knew today would weigh heavily on us both, but I didn't want to think about the why of it.

We'd finally done what we'd promised. Five years of contracts, get the money, and get out. It was never supposed to be long term.

Who wants to be a murderer forever?

Staring at Kite, studying how he twisted the bottle on the table, I was now wondering. I couldn't lie, it had been an exciting life. There were ups and downs, but the ups... the ups made you soar like nothing else.


The buzz you could get from drinking paled when compared to pulling a trigger.

Reaching over, I took the bottle and forced some down my throat. It really did burn.

Wiping my mouth, I said, “Everything is fine.”

He sat up, fingers curling on the edge of the table. “I know that, Jacob. Stop acting like I'm depressed.”

“Stop pouting like a sad puppy,” I countered. Kite narrowed his eyes on me, but there was no threat. Keeping my face emotionless, I forced the whiskey back into his hand. He didn't have to take it, I couldn't make his fingers close on the neck... but they did. “I know you, Kite. I know you better than anyone.”

Wrinkling his nose, he shot his eyes away. “Then you know I don't want to get into this.”

“The fact that there is a this—”

“Dammit, Jacob!” he snapped, gesturing at me with the bottle. “How can there not be a—fuck, a this, a whatever!” Lowering his tone, he leaned towards me. In the red lamps, those black eyes resembled fresh blood. “It was a big deal. I didn't want it to be, but it was. Imagining that it's over with just makes me feel so...”

When he didn't finish, I linked my hands on the table. “So empty? So stale?”

He actually flinched, a smile slow to grow. “Yeah. Of course you know what I mean. I'm acting like this is all about me, but it's the same for you, isn't it?”

“Yes,” I said flatly. “It's the same for me. Kite, it's okay to admit it. Thinking that it's all done... it's weird, but it's for the best. We'll be living the high life until we're too old to get our dicks hard enough to take advantage of it.”

His laugh took him by surprise. Kite couldn't resist copying my grin. “I'll never be that old,” he snorted. “Speaking of which, this place better get busy tonight.” Another gulp of whiskey, and when the bottle came down, Kite looked the way he normally did. That dark humor, those knowing eyes and sharp smile.

Yes. This was better.

“It's Friday night in downtown New York,” I said. “When has it not gotten busy in here?”

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