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 biceps and defined forearms. Had he left his jacket at the bar in his haste to get out of there with me?
The hitman shut the door 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 had rattled my stomach. Following my own logic was a chore.
“Don't take too much,” he said. “You can come back another time for the rest.”
Stepping over a pile of clothes, I scooped up a duffel bag. “You're serious about me moving out of here.”
“Yeah, very serious.”
“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 quickly.”
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. “The guy can be weird about his personal space.”
Crossing to the kitchen, I said, “If he's weird, I guess that makes you the polite one.”
“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... Kite was managing to prowl my apartment while hardly moving a few feet. It's almost like he's looking for 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 nerves.
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 hesitation.
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. It wasn't my life that mattered to me.
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 when I came his way. “What's that?” he asked.
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 new home.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he approached me. It was sudden, too quick for me to do anything but hold my breath. “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, ready to muffle my screams. The man had been a lightning strike I'd narrowly avoided.
With his scent flooding my skull, my cells clogged with thrills and heat. His knowing eyes kept me still, and the slope of his muscles shoulders pushed all but one word out of my brain:
Sex.
And yes, I know that was crazy.
Kite buzzed with a primal energy that promised dark, delicious things for my body.
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?”