The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (27 page)

“The … block…?”

Her answer was being dragged back out of the room.

They put her in white shorts and a white camisole. Both were sheer enough to be nothing more than thin layers of onion skin draped over parts of her only a small few had ever seen. She may as well have been naked, but it was a comment she did not dare make in case they took it as an invitation.

She was being sold. They may not have said as much, but she wasn’t an idiot. The man’s comments combined with the outfit, there was no other explanation. The worst part was that she knew that once she was bought, the odds of Dimitri ever finding her would drop to zero. There would be no chance of it. She would be lost forever. It was up to her now. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer. She needed a plan and she needed it before she hit that auction block.

No idea came, nor would it through the drug induced haze they put the girls under. Ava could barely keep her eyes open. The world was a blur of faces and smudged colors. Sound rolled in an endless tumble down a dark corridor. Moments seemed to flicker from one instant to another. Whole rooms appeared and vanished with every blink. She tried to focus on where she was, but everything would spin and she would be somewhere else.

Somewhere in the back recess of her mind, she knew she’d been drugged. How, was a question her mind couldn’t fathom through the fog, but somehow they had and she couldn’t even remember her own name.

Blinding lights flared and swayed. A voice boomed in the distance and she felt everything tilt as her head rolled towards it. A dry grainy sensation worked around in her mouth, making speech impossible as she struggled to swallow the spit she couldn’t generate.

“Where…?” Her voice was swallowed in a slur.

The lights were too hot. Her skin was beginning to blister. She could feel her skin melting. She gasped and threw up her arms to shield her face and the ground dipped beneath her. She tried to catch herself, but she was tumbling for what felt like forever.

Something caught her. Hands under her arms. Their cool dryness felt amazing against the burning of her flesh.

“¡Espere!”

The voice was a booming force exploding deep in the cavities of her skull. Her eyeballs rattled in their sockets. She shut her eyes, willing it all to stop.

The quiet shuffle of approaching feet had her forcing her lids open. The space around it had grown painfully silent. Ava tried to adjust her brain, tried to get it to function, but it kept dipping in and out of focus, until the tall, regal man emerged onto the stage. Handsome with a head full of wavy dark hair and eyes covered by designer glasses. He strode forward, a commanding force in gunmetal gray and a cap of dark power. But it was the glint of light sparking off the gold grip of his cane that transfixed her. Each flare exploded in the darkness that surrounded him. The steady thump of it on wood coaxed her heart to follow its beat.

But despite the comforting lull, another voice penetrated her fuzzy sanctuary.

“¿Señor Armando?”
said a voice from somewhere beyond the fog.
“¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?”

She didn’t hear the rest. Time was slipping out of her grasp and she was tumbling down the rabbit hole after it.

When she landed, it was in the dark interior of a car. The leather rubbed uncomfortably against the clammy flesh of her thighs. The air smelled of something expensive that made her stomach whimper. But it was the rush of blurring lights that did it.

She doubled over and threw up. She had no idea what she hit or how far the mess went, but it all came out in an arc that seemed endless until it finished. The relief left her feeling semi normal again, if not mildly groggy.

A white piece fabric was passed to her and she wiped at her mouth and chin without even checking to see what it was. She scrubbed at the tears and shut her eyes as the feeling of sickness retook calm in her throat.

“In here this time, please,” said a smooth voice from her left as an ice bucket was pressed into her hands.

She took it gratefully and clutched it to her writhing stomach.

“We will stop soon,” the voice said after a moment.

She was handed a bottle of water. She wrenched the cap off and guzzled half of it.

“Easy,” said the voice. “You will make yourself sick again.”

Ava didn’t care. She hadn’t had clean, cool water in … however long it had been. It all dropped into her empty stomach with the weight of rocks and nothing had felt so good.

There was a whir of gears and a crisp, evening breeze wafted against her face, the first real kiss of the outside she’d had in days. The feel of it, the openness of it blowing back her hair and cooling her cheeks, Ava almost broke into tears.

She opened her eyes to the newly opened window and stared at the brightly lit skyline in the far distance, a beautiful glimmering gem against a dark velvet, backdrop. She had no idea what city it was, but they were moving towards it.

She faced her captor.

“Who are you?” she demanded, clutching the bucket closer.

The man said nothing as he adjusted the cuffs on his sleeves. He removed his glasses, folded the arms and tucked them into the front pocket of his blazer before lifting warm, brown eyes to meet hers from across the sliver of space.

“I am Julian Armando. I bought you.”

Dimitri had seen wealth, had been wealthy his entire life thanks to generations of cut throat ancestors not afraid to shed a little blood to make a profit. His family had been systemically getting rich off guns, drugs, gambling, and smuggling for centuries. It was always easy to recognize what type of money a person had just by walking into their home. It was an age old stereotype of new and old, and the old always recognized new. But in his world, it was blood money. It was always blood money. There was never such a thing as a victimless crime. That was something Elena always said. But the thing Dimitri took most notice of when walking into another person’s home was how their staff behaved. It was a real man’s tell. A scared staff reflected of greed and cruelty, whereas a calm, happy home reflected of a kindness and generosity.

Dimitri had yet to decide what sort of man Marcus’s cousin was.

Hector Lozano was a gracious host, accommodating and generous in making Dimitri feel welcomed. He’d offered everything he had to finding Ava and the promise that he would personally accompany Dimitri to the other two countries if necessary to locate her.

In a perfect world, that would be the makings of a good friend, someone to trust and rely on. In his world, it was someone to be wary of, because nothing was ever done from the goodness of a heart. There was a motive and it was only a matter of time before it became clear. 

It was well after midnight by the time they made their way up the sixth and final location in the city, an abandoned bar tucked against the waterfront that had been converted into a gentlemen’s lounge. Dimitri didn’t see the name when passing through the heavy, onyx doors and stepping into the sultry purr of jazz and the heavy curtains of smoke. Women in black bodysuits and mile high stilettos wove around small, round tables and chattering men. Trays of silver glinted in the dim lights cast from the chandeliers above and lanced off the crystal glasses perched on top.

Dimitri had never had any desire to attend a gentlemen’s bar. He couldn’t fathom what a group of grown men could possibly have to talk about that couldn’t be done over the phone. But there were more than a dozen men packed into the tight quarters. They faced the dark stage across the narrow space. Anticipation vibrated through the air, in the glances they kept darting forward. It made Dimitri think they hadn’t started yet.

On the left, a bar of solid oak glinted beneath harsher lights. A man stood behind it, wiping down glasses while another man sat on stools on the other side.

“Who runs this?” he asked the man at his side.

“Carlos,” Hector said, motioning with a nod of his chin towards the bar.

Dimitri saw the man, tall, slender, almost handsome if it weren’t for the shark smile stretching far across his face. He sat to one side, away from the others, flirting with a scantily clad woman holding a tray of drinks.

Dimitri started forward.

“Carlos?”

Chuckling at something the woman whispered into his ear, Carlos looked up.
“Si?”
He caught sight of Hector over Dimitri’s shoulder and his expression brightened. “Hector!” Woman forgotten, he hopped to his feet and reached for the other man’s hand.
“¿Como estás, amigo?”

Hector laughed and clapped the man’s palm hard and shook it with equal vigor. They chattered on in Spanish for nearly ten minutes, ten minutes Dimitri felt like they could have been searching for Ava. He kept checking his phone for messages from John Paul or Jarvis, just begging for those two little words telling him they had her. He knew it was unlikely. The Puerto Rico shipment was set to arrive before the other two. No doubt they were waiting for his assurances.

Stowing away his phone, he faced the two men at his side, patience at zero as he shifted his body, a not so subtle reminder of why they were there and why they needed to get a move on.

Hector seemed to notice him first. He blinked as though just remembering Dimitri’s presence. He broke off mid-sentence and grimaced with a chuckle.

“Pardona me.”
He said, twisting his body so the other man in their trio could see him properly. “Carlos, we’re here for one of your girls.”

That seemed to baffle Carlos. He peered at Hector, then at Dimitri and gave a shrug.

“My girls are your girls.” He gestured to the room and the leggy women sashing around tables, filling drink orders and getting their asses groped by men. “Help yourself.”

“From the shipment,” Hector corrected smoothly.

“A redhead with green eyes,” Dimitri added. “Tall, slender.”

Carlos frowned. He sucked on his teeth, a grating sound that almost had Dimitri punching him in the mouth. He tapped a finger on the bar, sending sparks every time the light caught the gold rings adorning each knuckle.

“Not many redheads this trip. Manuel brought me six girls. They’re in the back. You can see.” He gestured to the door next to the stage.

Hector thanked him, but Dimitri had already lunged forward. His wide strides ate up the vast portion of the room in five determined steps. He shoved open the door and charged in.

The back resembled the organized chaos of any theater with ropes, bags of sand, props, stools, and electrical equipment. Narrow corridors splintered off on either side with a bigger main area directly behind the curtains. That was where the girls were, barely conscious in large dog cages all lined in a neat row. Some were upright, slumped against the bars. Others were dumped in an awkward angle on the floor. Some were big, some small. Some had dark hair, one was blonde. But the thing they all had in common was that none of them were Ava. Dimitri checked each one carefully, going over them again and again as if somehow he’d missed her, that if he checked one more time, maybe she’d mysteriously just appear there.

“She’s not here.” He faced the men hovering by the door. “Are you sure this is it?”

Carlos nodded. “These are the girls from this shipment.”

“She’s not here,” he repeated, desperation tangled with a building panic he couldn’t bottle back.

He could feel his heart thumping, could hear his blood roaring between his ears. He wanted to scream, to punch a hole in the wall, to do something, anything rather than stand there useless. But that was all he could do. This had been his final hope. The last place she could have been. All he could think was, maybe John Paul or Jarvis will get her. Simultaneously, he couldn’t stop the secondary voice prodding back with, what if they don’t?

“Where are the private sales?”

Hector shook his head. “There are none.”

“There has to be!” He was beginning to lose his temper. He could feel himself losing his grip on his sanity. “She was on that boat. She has to be here.”

“We have checked everywhere she would be,” Hector said with a gentleness Dimitri knew he wasn’t accustomed to.

“Take me to the booking house.” He straightened, filled with a new purpose. “I want to talk to the guy who selects the girls.”

Hector didn’t argue with him. They set out of the auction house and made their way back to the car. The night had grown cool, but his clothes continued to cling to the sweat collecting along his spine. Puerto Rico harbored the type of heat Dimitri wasn’t accustomed to. The humidity was almost wet, the kind that hung in the wilderness in the heat of summer after a rainfall. Hector seemed unaffected by it as he started the car and broke through the night.

They drove in silence down a long stretch of farm road, and came to a stop before an old paper mill. In the dark, it sat huddled on its haunches, a predator waiting for prey to snap up. Its dark windows leered down at them from a face cracked with age. A rotted plank rattled beneath their feet as they made the climb to the door.

Hector didn’t knock. He tugged open the metal door and motioned Dimitri down a long, steep flight of stairs.

Darkness swelled through tight corridors choked with the stench of machine grease and the muggy fog of a bathhouse. Squat walls divided the structure into compartments. It was quiet, but a loud sort of quiet. The kind that seemed to be screaming without ever making a sound. It reminded him of trapped souls wailing to be seen, reaching through the living for even a glimmer of warmth. It was a heavy sort of quiet.

“They must still be at the auction houses,” Hector decided after a sweep of the most desolate place Dimitri had ever been in turned up with nothing. “We can return in the morning.”

Dimitri didn’t like that idea. That gave the bastards too many hours to pack up and take off before he could get their hands on them.

“I will make certain they speak to you,” Hector promised when Dimitri hesitated. “They will not leave.” He motioned Dimitri to follow. “Let’s get some rest.”

He didn’t want rest. He wanted Ava. He wanted to fist his fingers through her hair. He wanted to crush her to him until she was fused into him. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her to forgive him for all the pain he’d caused her. He wanted to see her smile just once more, even if from a distance and not meant for him. He would never forgive himself, not for this, not for leaving her the way he had, not for not being able to protect her. He would die wearing those thorns. But he needed to find her.

“Come, my friend.”

He allowed himself to be guided back to the car and back to Hector’s manor. He texted John Paul. Each press of the buttons seemed impossibly too hard, each word too heavy.

“Not here,”
he wrote.

John Paul didn’t answer straightaway. There was a full five-minute gap where Dimitri knew the man had seen his message, but either had nothing to say or couldn’t think past the letdown.

“Okay.”

No assurances. No questions. But the disappointment was crippling.

The car was abandoned at the base of the grand staircase leading up to a set of twin, ivory doors. They opened the moment Hector reached the final step at the top. The man in the black suit inclined his head when they passed over the threshold into the magnificent marble foyer. It must have been a family trait, having a million sitting areas. Hector’s estate wielded as many, if not more collections of sofas, settees, and loungers as Marcus’s. Each one a soft, buttery cream color to compliment the gold accents around the room. All the windows were thrown open to the night, allowing in the fragranced breeze while spilling patches of light out. As far as Dimitri could tell, Hector lived alone, except for the staff. But the place was lit up as though a party was about to take place. 

“¡
Señor
!”

Evita hurried into the foyer, hands twisted in a dishrag, a sort of panic twisting her pretty features. She said something in rapid, aggressive Spanish and gestured frantically into the next room.

Dimitri didn’t understand a word of it, but whatever it was had Hector stiffening and fine lines had begun to splinter around his pursed mouth. His brown eyes jumped past his housekeeper to the open archway leading into what Dimitri assumed was the formal parlor. He hadn’t been given a tour during his initial arrival five days prior, but it was the one with the most crystal and gold.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“A hindrance,” Hector muttered tightly.

He started past the tiny woman. Dimitri waited a heartbeat before following.

There was a man sitting in the room, a commanding force folded in a gray suit and a heavy blanket of power. He sat with an almost air of royalty in a velvet armchair. His long pianist fingers curled regally around the armrests. His chiseled features were turned slightly sideways as he regarded the wall of glass overlooking the rippling landscape of ocean and pristine gardens pathed in subtle twilight. Dark, wavy locks were swept back from a prominent brow, exposing an angular, poetic nose and firm lips. There was a distinct air of danger around him that came from a very large cat lying in wait in the cool shade of the jungle.

He was a man to be feared.

“You’ve arrived.” Warm, brown eyes slipped gracefully away from the windows and peered across the distance straight at Dimitri. “You are Dimitri Tasarov?”

Dimitri took a measured step closer. “Who are you?”

With the grace of someone born to lead, the man rose. A slender walking stick was produced from the side of the sofa. The gold handle caught the light as the end settled against the worn carpet.

“I am Julian Armando, and we have a matter to discuss. A private matter,” he concluded, casting Hector an almost impatient sidelong glance.

A muscle bunched in the other man’s jaw, a hostile wrench that converted his mouth to an ugly white line. Dimitri expected him to refuse. The man was a stranger, it was almost one in the morning, and it was Hector’s house. But to his eternal surprise, Hector inclined his head in a stiff little bow, turned on his heels and marched out.

Julian watched the doorway until the clip of Hector’s footsteps had faded. Then reverted his unnerving attention back to Dimitri.

“Forgive the late hour, but it seemed imperative we speak immediately,” he began in that cool, fluid demeanor. “Please.” He gestured to the armchair across the crystal coffee table, adjacent to his. “We have very little time.”

Dimitri accepted the offer and lowered himself gingerly on the plush cushion. He watched as Julian did the same and set his cane against the side.