The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (5 page)

“You don’t want to go?”

Ava frowned. “I’m an editor, not a journalist. But Melanie thinks it’ll be a good learning experience and, while I agree, it’s such a long drive.”

“Let Jarvis take you in the town car.”

She shook her head. “You need Jarvis here. Besides, it’s not even really the drive. I’m just lazy. I’d hoped to spend the weekend in my pajamas, eating cereal out of a box.”

John Paul’s nose crinkled. “You still do that?”

Ava grinned at him. “Why do you think I moved out? So I can do all the things that make your nose do that twitchy thing it’s doing right now.”

“It’s cereal. It belongs in a bowl.”

“So does ice cream, but that doesn’t stop me from eating it out of the container.”

John Paul shuddered. “You’re a disgusting girl.”

Snickering, Ava took another bite of her sandwich. “How are you?”

He sighed dramatically. “I came to the conclusion the other night that I am getting old and you live too far.”

“It’s twenty minutes away,” she argued, using the same excuse she had when she’d found the apartment. “You can walk there.”

“What if I break my hip getting out of bed?”

“How high is your bed?”

“Not the point.” He claimed the other stool. “You should move back. There is so much space here. We could redo the east wing and it could be all yours.”

“Dad…” She took his hand. “You know I can’t. I’ll wind up killing Mom and I’d feel so guilty when you get blamed for it.”

John Paul frowned. “Why would I get blamed?”

“Because the husband always gets blamed.” She squeezed his fingers. “My point is, Mom and I can only coexist in one place for so long before the world ceases spinning.”

He exhaled. “It’s just my luck my two girls can’t get along.”

“We do get along, just in small doses.”

He relented. “Fine, but I’m not giving up.”

She released him with a chuckle. “Didn’t think you would.”

A piece of pasta was speared on the prongs of his fork. “So, how are things with Patrick?” He popped the pasta into his mouth, chewed. “I saw him earlier tonight and he seemed to have calmed down.”

“Things are … all right. Patrick is nice.” She wrinkled her nose and gave a one shoulder shrug. “He’s dependable.”

John Paul ceased his noodle twisting and peered at her quizzically. “Is that a new age term of some kind?”

Ava laughed. “No, I just don’t know what else to call him.”

He set his fork down inside the container and set the container down on the island. He dusted his hands together once before folding them on the marble surface.

“Can I ask why you’re with him if you’re clearly not interested?”

Appetite gone, Ava abandoned her sandwiches next to his spaghetti. “It’s not that I’m not interested. Patrick’s very sweet and he makes me laugh, but I just…” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to explain it. He makes me feel safe, but not the good kind of safe.”

“He bores you,” John Paul supplied.

She considered this a moment.

She sighed. “Yes. I thought that was what I wanted. Not to be bored, exactly, but to feel safe. Instead, I have to motivate myself to stay awake when he starts talking.”

John Paul nodded slowly. “Seems to me like now is a good time to let go of the relationship before you talk yourself down the aisle with a man that puts you to sleep.”

The sad fact was that she’d already knew that. By no means was she the sort to simply accept a bad situation, but she was human and it would be so easy to simply allow herself to get comfortable with it. She didn’t want to be stuck in a rut. She didn’t want to be one of those women who stayed with a man because it was easy.

“You’re right.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Maybe I do need to break things off. Then I think I’ll just take some time to myself. Maybe go on a vacation. Somewhere warm and sunny.”

“Your mother’s been wanting to go to Brazil for a few weeks.”

Ava wrinkled her nose. “I said vacation. I’m not going anywhere with Mom.”

She’d said it lightly, but John Paul’s eyes lowered. He scratched at his cheek, making the stubble rustle.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “I talked to her this evening about the things she said to you about your friend.”

Ava stiffened. “You heard?”

He shot her an almost apologetic grin. “She’s not exactly subtle when she’s angry.”

“Guess not.”

His warm palm settled lightly on her knee. “She had no right to say those things about him, true or not. He’s a good friend and he cares about you. Nothing else beyond that matters.”

“I know.” She gave his fingers a squeeze. “I was raised to know better.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her brow. He drew back and peered into her face.

“I know you were, but I wanted to make sure you knew.”

Neither of them said anything for a few minutes. The comfortable silence that spread around them hummed with the normal sounds of the fridge buzzing, the wind churning, the clock ticking. Ava sealed the containers and returned them to the icebox. She set their empty glasses in the sink and ran a quick cloth over the island, liberating it of leftover crumbs. When it was all done, John Paul walked her to her room, bid her goodnight and sent her off to bed.

It was only when she was wrestling with the sheets for a comfortable position that it occurred to her that she would never know if Dimitri made it home safely or if he’d passed out in a ditch somewhere. She had no contact number for him, no friends in common, no idea where he lived or what route he would have taken to get there. It could be years before she saw him again, unless he was dead, which she would never know.

There were very few things in the world that could go ignored, few things Dimitri could overlook, but unnecessary bravery was not one of them. It was a fatal flaw that was more deadly than a loaded gun in the hands of a child. Unnecessary bravery was always met with stupid stubbornness and false determination that always ended one way … with the idiot dead.

Ronald Lovell was about to become that statistic. Yet, despite his fierce expression, his chin was wobbling, his shoulders trembled visibly, and sweat had flattened his greasy locks to his broad brow. He was a man only seconds from breaking, which was fortunate for him, because Dimitri had reached the end of his tether.

“You lied to me, Ronald, and that lie got me shot. It wrecked my favorite jacket and put me in a very uncomfortable position.” He paused to allow his words to sink in. “What do you think I should do to you?” he pressed when Ronald continued to sit in his brooding defiance.

A fat, purple vein pulsed at his sweaty temple, emphasizing the glisten of terror in his wide, dark eyes; the pupils were endless pits of torment sucking Dimitri into them. His pudgy hands clenched and unclenched in the arms of his chair, making the flimsy piece of wood squeak in the musty silence. It echoed through the abandoned warehouse, rebounding off broken beams and shredded sheets of plastic. The property was one of the many owned by his family. It was seldom used and only by the odd, wandering junkie looking for a place to shoot up. The place was strewn with discarded needles, bottles, and other waste paraphernalia’s that made the structure primarily useless. But it suited their needs for the moment.

Dimitri straightened off the stack of empty cargo containers he’d been leaning against and tugged at the lapel of his coat. The soft leather barely made a sound as it fitted more closely around his shoulders. He rolled one, biting back a wince at the tug of stitches keeping the bullet wound closed. Dirt crunched beneath his pivoting heel as he faced Ronald fully.

“All right.” He flicked a glance towards Rocco. The other man had stood stoic and silent the entire time, face cut carefully from a slab of granite. He met Dimitri’s gaze unblinking. “The right one.”

“But I’m right handed!” Ronald cried, breaking his silence in a rush of quivering words. “I use it for everything.”

“Then it will teach you not to lie, Ronald.” He studied Ronald’s face carefully, waiting for that telling sign to confirm what he already knew. It came in an extra flutter of the man’s pale lashes. It was rapid and gone before it could be noticed, but Dimitri had noticed. “How many have there been?”

“I didn’t! I swear!” There were tears in his eyes that did nothing to soften Dimitri.

“You took them.” Grit crunched beneath Dimitri’s pacing feet as he circled Ronald. “It was you. You are the only link in all this.”

Jaw muscles hardened with the stubborn clenching of Ronald’s teeth. Glassy eyes averted even as he quaked hard enough to make the chair rattle.

Dimitri ceased in his pacing, careful to remain behind Ronald when he did so. “Where is Yolanda Huerta? Is she alive? Return her to her family and we won’t take turns liberating you of your pieces.”

He met Rocco’s gaze over Ronald’s head when Ronald only mashed his lips together, and gave a nod, a brief, barely perceptible nod.

Marcus’ second in command moved to Ronald’s right, to the hand tied securely to the armrest. The structure rattled noisily as the bound man struggled to shrink himself, to pull himself free. His sobs became weak, pitiful whimpers.

Dimitri moved to the grimy window overlooking the equally drab landscape of gray on the other side. The polluted surface of the Harrison pitched against the rising storm lashing over the city. It emphasized the bleak circumstances unfurling behind him. He tried not to think how appropriate the weather was for what needed to be done. He tried not to listen as Ronald’s breathing increased to shallow pants. In the vast emptiness of the building, it reverberated off the walls in waves of fear and panic. But there was no way he was going to ask Rocco to stop. Ronald had already been given the chance to save himself. He’d had sent Dimitri into an ambush that had gotten him shot. For that alone Ronald would die. But not until he gave them the location of the six-year-old girl he’d kidnapped. Dimitri had already linked the bastard to eight other children, all within a fifty-mile radius of the pervert’s house. He’d been doing it for years, but Yolanda Huerta hadn’t been just another girl at the park. She was the niece of Marcus Lozano, the Colombian crime lord of the east, and a close friend of Dimitri’s.

Ronald’s scream jerked him back to the present. It tore through the fraught silence like a knife through thin paper. The shrilling sound scuttled up Dimitri’s spine with razor sharp talons. It was nearly too much to bear when it was followed by the sickening crunch of shattering bones. But he steeled himself against it, mentally building a concert wall between himself and the scene unfolding behind him.

There wasn’t much that disturbed him. He’d caused his own share of pain, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Only a psychopath enjoyed hurting people. Unfortunately, sometimes, some people, just deserved it.

Ronald’s screaming slowed to weak sobs. Dimitri waited until they had before turning. Rocco was wiping his hands on a white piece of fabric, staining it with crimson streaks. Ronald was still tied to his chair. His head lulled forward, chin brushing his chest. The hand in his right side was a mangled mess of torn skin and crushed bones. Blood dripped from bent fingers onto the cinder blocks Rocco had used to crush the hand to a pulp. Smudged bits of skin and blood clung to the gray stone as evidence to Rocco’s creativity.

“Would you like to change your answer, Ronald?” Dimitri made his way towards the group once more. “Tell me where she is and this can end.”

Tears and sweat mingled together on Ronald’s colorless face. His Adam’s apple bobbed rapidly.

“Please … please, I don’t have her.”

Dimitri exchanged a quick glance with Rocco. “Then who does?”

Ronald shook his head. “I have a family…”

“No, you don’t. You have no one, Ronald. No one that will notice if you go missing, you know why?” He crouched so he could peer up into the other man’s bloodless face. “Because you are filth. You prey on the innocent because they can’t fight you. But I can. I can do many, many terrible things to you and enjoy each one.” He waited a heartbeat. “Where is she?”

The man dissolved into tears. His wide shoulders shook with the heavy sobs. Dimitri fought not to lose his patience, but the longer he stood there in suspense, the more he found himself wanting to just end the other man’s misery.

But his patience paid off when Ronald inhaled a wet, sniveling breath and raised watery eyes.

“There’s a trap door in my closet.”

“We got the girl.” Dimitri balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he used his freed hand to dig out a crumpled bill from his back pocket. He slapped it down on the counter. “Rocco’s taking her home now.”

On the other end, there was a short moment of silence followed by the sound of Erik Tasarov’s voice.

“I knew you would find her.”
Another pause.
“Was she hurt?”

One pack of gum, a bottle of Coke, and a Mars bar was dumped into a plastic bag. His money was snatched up and pitched into the register by the bored kid behind the counter. Dimitri took his items and stalked out, letting the bell bolted above the door jingle wildly.

“Not from what I could see. A few scratches, but mostly scared.”

“Good.”
His uncle paused before asking,
“And Lovell?”

Dimitri fished out the chocolate bar. He tore off the wrapper and took a chunk out of most of it.

“Dead.”

Erik clicked his tongue.
“Too bad. We could have used him.”

“Mom doesn’t want to get into the origin business.” He stuffed the rest of the bar into his mouth and chewed. “Too gross, she says.”

“I know, but it’s good money.”
There was a clink of something glass being set aside.
“Anyway, where are you headed now? Want to grab lunch?”

Dimitri crumpled up the wrapper and pitched it into the passing trash bin. He dug out the Coke and unscrewed the cap.

“No, I just ate.” He tossed back a mouthful, let it burn his tongue before swallowing it down. “Maybe tomorrow.”

His uncle sighed.
“A chocolate bar and a bottle of pop isn’t lunch. That’s an unhealthy snack.”

“I’m fine. I’m too busy.”

“Busy doing what?”
Erik challenged.
“Heading up to that damn cliff again?”

Dimitri replaced the cap and dropped the bottle back into the bag. He reached his car and fished out his keys.

“I need to clear my head.”

The bag was tossed into the passenger’s side seat before he closed himself up behind the wheel.

“You went to see him.”
It wasn’t a question.

Maybe it was a tell on his part, a sort of nervous twitch gamblers got during an extreme poker game. The hill had become a place of peace for him. He couldn’t fathom what it was about the lump of rock, but the moment he was up there, surrounded by a carpet of glittering lights and endless air, everything just clicked. It was as though the altitude had the ability to unclog his lungs of everything constricting them and his mind was finally enough at peace to simply be. Maybe that was why McClary had built his home there. Maybe that was why he hadn’t left. Dimitri had only met the man on the rare occasion, but he’d always had a calm about him Dimitri had envied. The moment he’d gone up on that cliff, he’d felt it.

He couldn’t exactly remember why he’d gone up there originally. After the accident, maybe it was just his way of showing respect. In the days that followed, he just kept going. He’d even considered buying the property. It was on the market. He’d checked. But if he did, he wouldn’t live there. He’d get the ruined remains of the charred house out of the way, then he’d simply keep it as an escape, a place he could empty his thoughts and be nobody, something he’d been doing a lot lately with John Paul in mind.

He started the car, a stall tactic to prolong having to answer. The car picked up the call and his uncle’s breathing filled the cabin.

“Not by choice.” He rubbed a hand over the rough grain of his stubble. “His house was closest.”

Erik exhaled a Russian curse that came out sounding like a groan.
“I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

Dimitri said nothing, too old to be tangled up in hurt feelings. John Paul may have donated the sperm to make Dimitri, but there had never been any misunderstandings between them. Dimitri had known from the time he was old enough to understand that his father only saw failure when he looked upon him. Dimitri had accepted that. He had agreed it was better to simply stay away. He had kept that promise for the first sixteen years of his life.

Then
she
had come into the picture.

Ava.

His female replacement. The girl his father had accepted, welcomed into his life without judgment. She had slipped into the life that should have been Dimitri’s and had taken everything from him.

He’d hated her.

He would have killed her. Had gone to kill her. Had made it right up behind her, his sweaty fingers clenched tight around the smooth handle of his flip blade. He’d never killed anyone before that, but he’d wanted to end her. He’d thought about it for days before finding the courage to follow through.

The thing he remembered most about that afternoon was the unforgiving heat. Only the very stupid could afford to withstand the hell upon the earth. Every house on every block had their air conditioners blowing. Those who couldn’t afford it had cleverly rigged fans and buckets of ice to keep cool.

Dimitri had considered it a sign when he’d found her and she was completely alone, huddled behind a game booth in the ugliest dress he’d ever seen. But it was the tears on her face that had stopped him. In all the months that he’d envisioned himself sinking his knife into her chest, he had never really believed she was a person, a girl. In his mind, she’d been a monster, a hideous creature with red eyes and a forked tongue that could spit up acid. In reality, she’d been small and so broken. Something about that had stopped him. He’d stood there, watching her, wondering how she could be crying when she had everything. Even in that moment, John Paul had rented an entire carnival for her birthday. There were children everywhere. The tinkle of music and laughter rose into the oppressing heat. There were mounds of brightly wrapped presents cascading over three picnic tables. But there she was, huddled in the dirt, face bunched up against her knees, weeping.