Kisses Of A Criminal

Getting Back Cold

A/N: Once again, AGES HAVE BEEN CHANGED. Viva is now nineteen. River is twenty-one. Nineteen and twenty one. Okay. Anyway. This chapter isn't going to have too much in it, because this is part of the build-up to the next big dramatic event. So yeah, bear with it, to those of you reading this story. And there's, like eight people reading this. But whatever, every reader counts! <3

Viva's POV

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River's house was indeed empty, from the looks of it. There was no sound of anyone except for us, no car in the driveway. I made my way to the living room, sitting on the dusty beige couch. Behind me, I heard River closing the door. I tensed at the click of him locking the door, remembering that I had brought no weapons of any kind.

Going over some defense moves in my head, I watched him walk around me to sit on the dark brown chair across from me. Now that it was quiet, and I was in his house, the tention built up in the air. I'm sure he was remembering me stabbing him in the ribs. I looked at his bare stomach; he still had no shirt on. He had dressed the wound there, but the cut on his bicep had only been dabbed at. A dark, tribal tattoo wrapped itself around the other bicep. Trying not to stare, I shifted in my seat, remembering our fight. I was still pretty damn sore from it, and from the look of River, he was too. Feeling a small twinge of guilt that I ignored, I broke the silence. "So let's figure some things out."

"Like what? Who should kill who?" he replied, cocking his head to the side. His dark hair hung over his forehead.

I snorted. "I think it's been proven that we can't agree with each other on that topic."

"You're very right, babe."

"Will you stop calling me that?"

Silence. He raised his eyebrows; a challenge.

"Anyway," I say, shooting him an annoyed look, "I'm not liking this whole thing of being inside of your house, especially since we were trying to kill each other a few hours ago. So let's make this quick." I paused, considering. Was it a good idea to tell him that my boss thinks he's dead? Probably not. But since he hasn't tried to kill me again yet, I'll take the chance. "I told my boss you're dead, and I half expected you to be at the time, so it's not a full lie. Now that you obviously aren't, you have to play dead. Which means backing off from me. I'll do the same, and hopefully we won't have a problem. Agreed?"

I winced once I was done. I just pretty much screwed myself if he wants to play the bad guy. I should absolutely do the smart thing and kill him for real, now.

He nodded. "Agreed." Then, he smiled slyly. "We should do this more often."

"Oh, totally. I love going on living room dates with shady guys while in my pajamas." I say.

He leaned forward, appearing at ease. "Well, what else do you want to discuss?"

I pressed my lips together, off-put by the pose he was in. It was like he was modelling or something, leaning over with a little smirk, a mischievious glint in his eyes.

I blinked and said, "Okay, for starters, I'm guessing the leader of your gang is your father. And I'm also guessing he instructed you to kill me. What are you planning on telling him?"

He immediately replied. "That you're taken care of and he doesn't need to keep looking."

I nodded. "What I think is that we both pretend that we won the fight and the other is dead, once again. And we never interact again."

He stared at me, widening his eyes in mock dejection. "You..are we breaking up?"

"I'm afraid so." I said solemnly. Playing along with the casual act was a lot less nervewracking than staying serious with him.