Page 39 of Kill for a Kiss

I lift my glass. “Cheers.”

The crystal clinks gently. I sip slowly, letting the flavors settle across my tongue—dark cherry, a bitter warmth, and spice that lingers long after I swallow. Stan downs his in one go.

I blink. “Did you just…?”

He sighs, content. “Smooth. Might need another.”

Clo shakes her head. “You were supposed to savor it, Stanley.”

“I did savor it,” he says with a smirk. “Just all at once.”

Clo turns her attention back to the wine. “The flavors unfold in stages. First, the fruit, a rather forbidden temptation. Then the strong oak carries throughout. And if you’re patient, the lingering spice all the way to the end.”

Stan pretends to contemplate. “Cherry, right? Can’t say I got that. But I got a nice buzz.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. I sip again, slower this time, like Clo said. The warmth spreads through me, pleasant at first. Clo keeps speaking, explaining the aging process, the harvest season, and the barrels. I hear her. I hear Stan too, throwing in the occasional joke. But my focus starts to blur.

I sip again. The glass is half-empty now. The warmth deepens, threading through my limbs, winding around my thoughts, until it’s harder to focus. I blink at my glass, watching the red swirl against the rim, glowing like a melted garnet in the light. It’s just wine. So why does it feel like more than that?

The world around me tilts in a blink. So I blink some more. Once. Twice. Trying to right the tilt back. But the dizziness stays. It lingers at the edges of my vision like fog, curling around my mind, disorienting me entirely.

My fingers tighten around the stem of my glass, the crystal cool beneath my touch. Did I drink too fast? No… I barely had half. So why does everything feeldistant?

The conversation around me drifts, Clo’s voice smooth and elegant, Stan’s laughter low and easy. But they sound far away. My pulse flutters wildly in my throat. Something isn’t right. The light bends wrong. Colors blur. Time slips. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. Seconds? Minutes? It’s like trying to hold on to fog while I lose myself in it.

A voice breaks through the haze. Stan’s, deep and familiar. But wrong somehow. He sounds strange. All worried and urgent. Stan’s not supposed to sound like that. Then there’s another voice. Clo’s, gentle and soothing. Measured, always so measured. I try to say something, but my lips won’t form the words. They feel heavy, far away, and not mine.

The world spins. Then I’m weightless and warm. I realize I’m being carried by strong arms. It must be Stan. I know it’s him without needing to see. I can guess the shape of him.

Then there’s leather beneath me, cool and smooth. The angry growl of an engine fills my ears. Time passes, I think. Then I hear the sound of gravel. A car door opening and slamming shut. Arms again. Tighter now. Speedy footsteps. Then the scent changes. Nolonger smoke, but tea. Floral, bittersweet,home.

Ivory walls and chandeliers dance dizzily across my vision. My body is weightless again, but I’m not floating. I’m being guided, held, then lowered into a bed. The blanket tucks around me.

Clo brushes a hand over my forehead, smoothing my hair back. Her presence is soothing. She says something I don’t understand. I try to focus on her words, but they slip between my thoughts.

Then her fingers are holding something. It’s dry and chalky on my tongue, bitter and medicinal. I want to ask what it is. But my lips part without my permission. Clo’s fingers press gently against my throat, guiding the bitterness down.

“Slow down,” she whispers. It’s her voice, but it feels far away, as if it’s coming from somewhere inside me, not around me. The words don’t land like commands. They bloom like thoughts I believe are my own.

I try to blink, to focus, but my vision is blurring more and more. The last thing I see is Clo smiling, blurry but comforting.

The world tilts in a warm, pleasant, welcome way. My limbs feel lighter. My thoughts are quiet now.

“Stay,” Clo whispers, or maybe she doesn’t. Maybe it’s just a thought echoing in my mind.

Stay, her voice said. So I do. The bed is soft. My breath deepens. My eyes slip shut. And then, sleep claims me.

9

Sterling

Four days later

Fremont, California. August 13. 2100 hours. Weather: 66 degrees Fahrenheit. Clear skies for now. Visibility fair. Entry and exit points secured. Personnel identified: one for now. Immediate threats: multiple armed guards. Hazardous materials confirmed. Destruction protocol imminent.

It took me a few days to look over files and finally get access to this lab. A few days too fucking long.

Normally, it’s easy. Gather intel, find the location, track a mark, and lift a badge off the moron. Then slip past the doors, take what I need, and vanish before anyone even notices I was there. In. Out. Easy.