The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (57 page)

But she pulled away and dropped back on her elbows. Her grin was mischievous as she peered up at him through dusky lashes.

“You know what we’re about to do, don’t you?” She rolled the hem of her skirt higher on her stomach so he had a clear view of her swollen clit and the puddle beneath her ass. “We’re on the most powerful table in the city.” She dropped back fully. Her hand went to her lips, pulling them apart and reaching in the center to insert a finger. She gasped, a sultry sound that made his toes curl in his shoes. He watched, cotton mouthed, as she pushed another finger past the tight ring of her soaking sex. “This is where every decision is made, where lives are decided, and you’re going to fuck me on it.”

Fucking right he was.

He tore her hand free and replaced her fingers with a bruising thrust of his cock. Her cry raked over the walls, down his back and tightened around his balls. The sweet shrill of it fueled him, drove him. He beat into her with an abandon that should have broken the fucking table. The thing groaned and rattled and he kept fucking his woman until she came screaming his name and clutching his ass. Her nails bit into the flexing muscles of his cheeks as her back bowed off the table.

He held on to his own release, hell bent on pumping every last tremor out of her first before filling her with everything he had.

Their combined fluids trickled across the glass in a hot, wet mess, and Ava sobbed, a violent shudder squeezing around his pulsing cock as she came a second time just from the sight of it. She fingered her convulsing clit, her eyes hot and hungry on his until the last second before collapsing back on the glass, wheezing.

“When’s the next meeting?” She closed her hand in his tie and yanked him over her for a deep, passionate tangle of tongues and wiggling hips. “I want to be naked on here next time and I want to ride you.”

“Fuck, Ava!”

His hands closed in her hair and he yanked her head back. He bore into her flushed face, into her eyes. God, he fucking loved this woman.

She smiled up at him. “Take me home, cowboy. I’m not done with you.”

He was fine with that. More than fine. He was already easing her gingerly back onto her feet when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

She laughed at him as he fumbled between pulling it out with one hand and trying to stuff his penis back into his pants with the other without smudging their juices all over his screen. He shot her a glower that went ignored as she fondled him, patting his sides for her panties. He slapped her hands away.

“Mine,” he told her and grinned when her laugh deepened.

“Such a pervert,” she said with a shake of her head. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss. “I love that about you.”

He was still smirking with his own smug arrogance when he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?”

There was a hollow sound of too much open space, the roar of crashing waves, a seagull’s agitated caw. Then a voice, unfamiliar at first.

“Hello Mr. Tasarov. This is Julian Armando.”

Dimitri stopped moving. His fingers tightened around the phone, all good feelings evaporating.

“Mr. Armando, hi.” He caught Ava’s startled gaze. He lowered the receiver and hit the speaker phone. “What can I do for you?”

“I am in the city for business,”
the man said over the rush of wind, his voice filling the emptiness of the room.
“I would like to meet with you and Ava, if you have a moment to spare.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you both in private.”

At Ava’s shrug, Dimitri replied, “Yes, of course we can meet you. When?”

“I do not wish to impose. At your earliest convenience will be fine.”

They set a time for later that afternoon. Both parties agreed and the connection was severed.

Dimitri stowed his phone away and faced Ava. “You okay?”

The smooth column of her throat flexed with her rapid swallowing. “I think so. He seemed like a decent guy. I don’t think this will be a problem.”

He nodded, partially agreeing with her. The man he’d met in Puerto Rico had been decent. He’d been overly generous. There was a flaw in that that made Dimitri unease.

“Whatever it is, we will deal with it, yeah?”

Ava took his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Ava wasn’t entirely certain how was she was supposed to feel about meeting the man who’d bought her. As far as she knew, no one had paid Julian Armando back, did that mean she still belonged to him? Was that why he was coming to meet them? To tell them she was his and had to go with him?

The idea chilled her, but it wouldn’t happen. Never mind that Dimitri would never allow it, Ava wasn’t about to go anywhere with the guy. Nevertheless, the fear thickened the closer the hour drew to when they would meet Armando. The knot in her stomach tightened, making it impossible to hold her mascara wand steady.

“It’ll be okay,” Dimitri murmured coming up behind her, his hands warm, comforting stamps against her sides as he leaned in to kiss the back of her head. “Whatever he wants, I’ll take care of it.”

In the vanity, she studied his face, his eyes that still hurt to look into sometimes without thinking of the other man she’d loved. She never dreamed it could be possible to love someone half as much as she loved him. Some days, the worries, the nightmares were so fierce she was sure she’d go mad. But then she’d look up and their gazes would lock and that madness receded back into the vast ocean that had become her life. It calmed the waters. It chased away the overcast. It righted her world back to order.

He was her anchor.

He was that deep breath that slowed the chaos.

She didn’t know what she’d do without him, especially the last month.

It still hurt to think about John Paul. The last thirty days hadn’t numbed the pain. She wasn’t sure why she thought it would. Someone must have told her time was the thing she needed. Maybe more time than this. She wasn’t sure.

But each morning she woke up and went downstairs expecting him to be there. It was almost reflex to have her gaze dart to his chair, now empty except for the square of light from the windows. And no matter how many times she braced herself, the sight of it still socked her in the stomach.

She hadn’t gone in his office or bedroom. Both doors were shut. They would stay shut, probably forever. She would never be strong enough to venture into either. She wouldn’t be able to stand seeing an open file that he’d been working on, or a shirt that had been tossed on a chair, waiting to be picked up.

So, she left them. She let them collect dust. Not even the maids were allowed in there. She wanted nothing disturbed. Maybe a part of her still hoped he’d return and it would all be just like he’d left it.

Maybe she needed help.

The hospital had suggested a therapist, a woman by the name of Francine Wilder. They told Ava she was brilliant. The best in her field. She’d helped refugee women overcome their horrors and live normal, peaceful lives.

Ava needed that. Normal and peaceful.

But she hadn’t called Francine. It wasn’t pride. She just wasn’t ready. Plus, what was she supposed to tell her that wouldn’t get her locked away or heavily medicated? There was no report of her kidnapping. Nothing to suggest anything she said was remotely true. In all odds, she’d get labeled a pathological liar with attention issues, or some such rubbish.

She told no one, except Robby and Dimitri. They were her sounding board when she wanted to rant, her shoulder when she broke down, her strength and her endurance. They’d been through it all with her and neither of them judged her when she admitted with downcast eyes that a part of her was happy she’d escaped. That she’d survived. They didn’t call her horrible or selfish for not being able to save the others. They didn’t think less of her for not being able to protect Ilsa. They just held her and everything was okay.

That was the best sort of therapy, in her opinion.

At the thought of the little girl, Ava turned in Dimitri’s hold. She pressed her palms to his chest, over the strong patter of his heart and peered into his eyes.

“Have you heard anything from that lawyer in Germany?”

Dimitri shook his head. “They still won’t accept it.”

Her heart sank all over again. Her shoulders stooped.

It hadn’t been as hard as one would think to find the parents of a missing thirteen-year-old girl. With modern technology and money, it had only taken Ava a week to locate the Schulze family in Frankfurt, Germany, who had lost their daughter, Ilsa. The only problem was their lack of communication after her initial attempt.

She’d started with a phone call, thinking it might help ease them into a possible visit in the near future. The woman who had answered had sounded weary, slightly drugged maybe. Her words kept slurring, fading in and out as Ava tried to keep her focused.

“I’m Ava Emerson,”
she tried to tell the woman.
“I’m calling from Canada … about your daughter. Ilsa.”

The woman had said nothing for a long stretch of time.

“Ilsa isn’t here.”

“No, I know, but I knew her…”

She’d stopped there, because what could she really tell them? Their daughter is dead? Her tiny body brutalized and lost somewhere at sea? That Ava had survived, but their daughter hadn’t?

She’d written a speech, a wordy run on about how sorry she was and what an amazing girl Ilsa had been and how Ava had done her best to bring her home. But looking at it then, she realized how incredibly ridiculous it was. This woman didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t care how remarkable her daughter was. She already knew that. She wanted her daughter back and that was the one thing Ava couldn’t do. And she couldn’t say a word about having been on the boat with Ilsa. That was the thing Dimitri and Robby had both agreed on when she’d initially read them what she’d planned on saying.

“You tell them you were there and they’ll want you to meet the police and give them names,”
Robby had pointed out.
“It’s just too risky.”

Everything was too risky, but coming from her best friend, even she had to agree it would bring up questions she had no way of answering.

Ultimately, she’d just told the woman she had met Ilsa once and how the girl had changed her life. Then, as an afterthought, because it really was the only thing she could do, she’d offered them money.

The woman had broken into tears and told her the only thing she wanted was her daughter back. Then, she’d hung up and Ava was left staring at the receiver, feeling like she’d failed Ilsa yet again.

“Hey.” He brushed the side of her cheek before tucking his fingers beneath her chin and lifting her face to his. “You did all you can.”

It didn’t feel that way.

“Can he try again? Please? Just tell him to slip it into their mailbox or tell them they’d won a contest or something.”

The corner of Dimitri’s mouth twisted downwards, not in impatience, but pain for her. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

She kissed him lightly. “Thank you.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze before stepping back and taking her hand.

Together, they left the estate. Saeed waited for them by the SUV with Phil and Jefferson. She wasn’t sure if those were their first names or their last, but she liked them.

They’d been recommended by Frank after he’d resigned. Ava tried to get him to stay, but the man insisted he was too old for the job and wished her well.

She’d been sad to see him go. They hadn’t said much in the short time they’d been together, but they’d been through things and that formed a strange kind of bond. At least, she thought.

Nevertheless, Phil was a wonderful bodyguard. He wasn’t like the others. Not like Jefferson, who always looked like he could scare the paint off the walls if he glowered at it hard enough. But Dimitri liked him, so Ava had graciously allowed him to keep Jefferson and took Phil for herself.

He was handsome with his lean swimmer’s body and kind face. He could have passed for someone’s father with his dark hair salted gray and laugh lines crinkling around his eyes. They appeared a lot more on his face than any of the others Dimitri had hired.

The whole bodyguard idea still made her uncomfortable. Being followed around, protected, it was daunting, but Dimitri insisted she needed it and she partially agreed after everything.

Phil got into the SUV first and went right in the back.

“Ma’am.” Saeed inclined his head as he held the backdoor open.

She thanked him and accepted his hand as she climbed in. Dimitri followed and the door was shut behind them.

Jefferson took the passenger’s side seat.

The meeting place they’d agreed on was on the very corner where the bottom sliver of the north kissed the mainland. Shops, boutiques, cafés, and the occasional theater goer made up the majority of the traffic. The cobblestone streets and string of lights connecting the row of buildings reminded Ava of Paris. It reminded her of afternoons she’d spend people watching from the patio of some fancy bistro, sipping on a latte and thinking of where to go next.

She missed Paris, but not enough to live there again.

The restaurant Penny had chosen for the occasion—God bless that girl—was an elegant blend of middle east and French. The combination was spicy, but refined. Ava had gone there a couple of times with Dimitri and loved their curry duck and the posh way the waiters maneuvered the floor with their noses up and yet managed not to walk into each other.

It occurred to her that they could have had Julian meet them at the estate. It would have been simpler, but she recognized Dimitri’s insistence to make the meeting somewhere public, somewhere away from their home. Julian may have saved Ava’s life, but he was in the business of crime. And she had a vague recollection of the auctioneer recognizing him, despite her drug induced hue. They had known him. He was a regular in those places that sold young girls. Whatever he may have done for her, he was not innocent.

As dark and gorgeous as she remembered him, Julian Armando was already seated at their table when the
maitre d
led them through the main area. He rose, graceful and beautiful in his pinstripe suit, his dark hair combed back, his face cleanly shaven. His cane hung from the armrest of his chair, the ornate, gold grip glinting in the soft light.

He offered his hand to Dimitri. “Thank you for coming.” He extended the same hand to Ava. “I won’t take up very much of your time.”

Dimitri helped Ava into her chair before taking his own. Phil and Jefferson took a table nearby and began flipping idly through the menu.

“I hope everything is all right, Mr. Armando?”

“Julian, please, and I hope to make it all right … with your help.” Dark eyebrows lifted in question. “Would you like to order first? I haven’t eaten and the conversation can be had over a meal. Seeing as we’re already here.”

“I could eat,” Ava lied, offering him the smallest of smiles.

The sweet aroma of blended sauces, the tangy spices made Ava’s stomach whimper. She ordered her usual, ignoring the protest of her insides and waited for the man to get to the point.

“I want to thank you for coming,” Julian started once the menus had been cleared away and their orders placed. “I understand you’re both very busy.”

Dimitri shook his head. “We’re in your debt. It’s the least we can do.”

“No, you are not. I do not expect or want anything for what I did, but I would like your help. Your experience makes you a unique, powerful individual, Ava. I wish for you to utilize that.”

“Utilize how?” Dimitri interjected.

Ava set her hand over his on the table, her gaze staying trained on the man across from them. “What can I do for you, Julian?”

His answer was momentarily stalled by the arrival of their drinks. She’d ordered a
Pinot Noir
, but she didn’t touch it, wanting a clear head during their conversation.

Julian picked up his scotch. The ice rattled against the glass, but it was only moved from one side of the table to the other, untouched. He stared at it a long time before he spoke.

“Millions of men, women, and children are sold every year.” His dark eyes lifted and fixed on Ava, bright with a fire that edged his words, despite his attempts to keep them even. “Millions. Some never get seen again. Most are killed. Some during transportation. Some after they’re sold. Some get sold into prostitution, but others are put into factories and other forced labors. Children as young as five years old are sent into fields without water or shade for ten hour days to farm. People think it’s all about sex, but that only makes up twenty-eight percent of trafficking.”

Ava’s stomach curdled at his words, at the blunt slap of it. Suddenly a drink didn’t seem so bad.

“What can I do?” she asked, voice oddly hoarse.

Julian lowered his gaze again. “I don’t pretend to be a good man. I have done terrible things. I have hurt innocent people. I have taken things that do not belong to me. I have become very wealthy on the blood of others.” His eyes lifted through his lashes and met hers again. “I regret nothing. At least, I didn’t, until recently.”

She started to ask what happened when he paused to take a sip of his drink, but Dimitri squeezed her fingers, willing her to wait. She didn’t understand why until she saw the tremor in Julian’s hand when he set his glass down.

“Someone I loved dearly was taken from me the same way you were.” He shifted in his seat and rubbed the tips of four fingers over his mouth. “I have searched … everywhere … for two years…” He shook his head slowly, his eyes focused on something away from their table, something only he could see. But there was pain in them, deep, crippling sorrow that cut into her. “I have visited every auction house, every currier, every … for two years I have done everything. Even I have to accept…”