The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (28 page)

“I know why you are here, Mr. Tasarov,” Julian began. “I have known of your arrival and the reason behind it before you boarded the plane. I believe I may have the thing you are seeking.”

Something leaped in Dimitri’s chest, a flutter of something he had to smother before it could show on his face.

“You have her?”

“The girl?” Julian sat back. “Ava?”

Dimitri sucked in a breath. The sharp sound pierced through the room.

“Where is she?”

“Safe.”

He was having trouble regulating his breathing. Each breath came out in an almost pant he couldn’t control.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then where is she?”

Julian waved towards the door, and for a split second, Dimitri looked, half expecting her to be standing there. Nothing but an empty doorway greeted his searching gaze. He was about to snap, could feel his anxiety devouring his senses. There was a clawing beast working up his chest.

“Where—?” His snarl died with a suddenness that was the equivalent of a switch being flipped. All speech died the moment he caught the movement, saw the spear of darkness creeping along the floor through the doorway. Then, there she was, a beautiful sight so incredible, he couldn’t breathe. Golden light shone through unbound strands of auburn, spilled down the lines of her tiny frame draped in a man’s oversized blazer. Her legs and feet were bare, but it was her. It was really her.

“Ava…”

The gasp of her name could have been in his head. It may have been nothing more than his desperate thoughts attempting to regain its sanity, but it repeated over and over again, growing louder and louder until it did burst out of his chest.

Her head snapped around. The ferocity would have caused a normal person severe whiplash, but if she felt the pain, it was overlooked, forgotten in her wide eyed amazement.

“Dimitri?”

There was a sob from her that splintered the distance a split second before she was tearing through it at a run. He was already there, mere feet from her when she launched herself straight at his chest.

They collided with a force that cracked through the days and hours she’d been missing. It smothered the nights of absent sleep and mind numbing terror. In that moment, the second she became a folded part of him, finally returning to him, he submitted to his weakness. He allowed the savage tear of his soul as he hit the ground with both knees, her legs still coiled around him. His breath rocked out of him, a choked sound of disbelief as he clasped her tighter still.

“Ava.”

His fingers twisted into her hair, her soft, beautiful hair and he turned his face into the tender stretch of skin along her neck. He inhaled her, pulling in the smell of her skin mixed with sickness and fried meat.

“Ne magy zhit’ bes tebya—I can’t live without you,”
he gasped into her skin, meaning it more than ever. “God, I can’t.” His voice broke. “I can’t.”

Her arms squeezed him, blocking him of air, but he didn’t ask her to loosen her grip. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t tight enough.

“You came.” Her thin back heaved. Her voice shattered into a million heart wrenching sobs. “You came. I knew you would. I knew you wouldn’t let me die there.”

“Never.” Fabric tore, whether under his fisted hands or hers, he couldn’t be sure. “I would never have stopped looking. I would have found you. I will always find you.”

He held her until her wails became sniffles. He held her until her trembling no longer rattled his bones. Even when she raised her face, puffy, red, and wet from his shoulders, he kept her fused to him, unwilling to release her for even a second.

“I want to go home,” she whispered. “Please, Dimitri. Take me home.”

He wiped at her face, brushing away the tears, the bits of plastered hair, the lines pulling down the corners of her mouth. Unable to stop himself, he traced the lines and curves, not trusting his eyes and mind that she was really there.

“I will,” he promised. “Tonight.”

Fresh tears spilled. She gave a weak, hoarse sob that shook her shoulders, but she nodded. Her arms unraveled with a reluctance he felt course through him. She rose unsteadily from his lap and waited for him to get to his feet before grabbing his hand. He laced the fingers and gripped her tight.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

A movement from the corner of his eye reminded him they weren’t alone. Everything had faded at the sight of her, but it all came roaring back now.

He turned to the man in the doorway of the parlor.

“Thank you for bringing her back.” He stalked the distance with Ava by his side and extended Julian a hand. “I am in your debt.”

Julian accepted with the hand not gripping the cane. “We will meet again.” He broke the shake and glanced back at Ava. “It has been a pleasure.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

“Keep it,” Julian said when she started to remove the blazer from her shoulders.

She stopped, but offered him a solemn nod. “Thank you again, and I’m sorry about your car.”

A ghost of a grin flittered over the Spaniard’s face. “It was not mine, but I will pass your apologies along to the owner.”

He started around them with a faint limp that was barely perceptible.

Dimitri stopped him. “I will transfer whatever you are owed to your account. Just send me the information.”

Julian paused, half turned away, watching the open doorway where another man stood. Dimitri hadn’t noticed him, but he wore the uniform of a very muscular driver. He didn’t move. His gaze was as impassive as his expression as he waited for his employer to join him.

Julian glanced back. “Take your woman home, Mr. Tasarov. Nothing else matters right now.”

Then he and his driver were gone.

“I need to call John Paul.” Dimitri dug out his phone. “He and Jarvis are in Brazil and Bangladesh.”

Ava blinked. “Bangladesh?”

Dimitri paused to glance at her. “What?”

She stared off at something over his shoulder a long moment before giving a faint shake of her head. “Nothing. Just something I heard. Can I call him, please?” she said before he could ask.

He gave her the phone.

Her eyes gleamed with excitement and a fresh flood of tears. Her chin wobbled despite the grin on her face as she brought the phone to her ear.

“Dad?” Her voice broke. Her fingers tightened in Dimitri’s.

There was a second, a full tense second where there was nothing, then,
“Ava?”

Even whole countries away, John Paul’s broken gasp of her name was as clear as though he were right there in the foyer with them.

“Where are you, Ava? Are you hurt?”

Sniffling, Ava shook her head. “I’m okay. I’m coming home.”

“Where are you?”
he asked again, loud and urgent now.

“Puerto Rico,” she told him. “I’m with Dimitri.”

John Paul breathed a long prayer in French, his voice fraught with a tangle of emotion.

“Are you hurt?”
he asked again.
“Are you safe?”

“We’re both okay. I don’t know where we are, but we’re okay.”

John Paul exhaled.
“Dieu merci.”
He inhaled sharply, a little wet.
“Come home. I will be waiting.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too, ma petite chou.”

Neither hung up, seconds extended into minutes. Finally, Ava gave a wet chuckle, said
I love you
once more and hit the off button. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“I need to call Robby. He’s probably beside himself—”

Dimitri stopped her with a hand over the one holding the phone. “There’s something I need to tell you—”

Hector stepped into the room, followed closely by Evita. The pair seemed in a hurry, like they were afraid if they were gone too long, someone might set fire to the drapery. Hector looked from Dimitri, to Ava, and then glanced in the direction of the parlor.

“Armando…?”

“Gone,” Dimitri said.

Hector nodded slowly, then focused once more on Ava. He blinked and his eyes widened.

“Is this…?”

“Ava.” Dimitri tugged her slightly forward. “This is Hector Lozano, Marcus’ cousin. He’s been helping me try to find you.”

Ava extended her free hand. “Thank you.”

Hector nodded, still studying her carefully. “So … Armando found you?”

Evita spoke up. She pointed at Ava, then pointed an accusing finger at Hector, who actually shifted in discomfort.

“She’s angry that I don’t show better manners.” He translated. He looked to Ava. “She would like to know if you are hungry.”

Evita nodded briskly, confirming.

Ava shook her head. “No, thank you. Mr. Armando fed me on our way here.” She looked up at Dimitri. “He was very kind to me.”

He squeezed her fingers lightly. “We will thank him properly when we get you home.”

She gave a small nod of her head and faced the two once more.

Evita said something, softer this time.

Hector nodded. “She want to know if you would like to clean up.”

“Yes!” The word blurted out of Ava before Hector finished speaking. “Please.”

Evita stepped forward, small hand extended. She said something and motioned to the gleaming, marble steps.

“She will take you,” Hector translated, though it wasn’t necessary.

Thanking him, Ava followed the woman with an iron grip on Dimitri’s hand. No one spoke the whole way down a long, lavish corridor or when they finally reached a set of high, arched doors. Evita pushed them open and waved them through first.

The room was an extravagant display of feminine and class. Everything was a light brush of fine, pure white and delicate pink. A princess bed in lace and satin sat hugged by a pair of end tables a polished ivory. A matching dresser was tucked against the corner, next to a doorway that led into what looked like a sitting area. A wardrobe stood next to the bathroom, just adjacent to the vanity. Twin French doors stood open to a terrace overlooking the gardens. Sheer, white curtains swayed with every breath the night took and seemed to shimmer in the golden light of the chandelier.

Evita hurried across the room and pushed open a door half hidden by the wardrobe. She moved aside to let them in.

The bathroom was a room all on its own with a sunken tub cut in the middle and everything else circling around it. The counter space stretched the length of two walls with two sinks and a multitude of cupboards and drawers underneath. A shower was fixed against the opposite wall with a sheet of frosted glass as privacy. A few feet from it, another opening and another sitting area.

Evita turned on the tub. The roar of water filled the room. She left it running as she hurried around grabbing bottles and lotions from the drawers and cupboards. Several were dumped into the rushing water, sending an array of floral scents up into the air. The rest were set along the stone edges. She set two towels on a nearby bench, stepped back, surveyed her work before turning to them.

“Here,” she said, the word coming out gruff. She motioned Ava to get in. she said something else, paused, and then tried again in broken English. “I bring material…” she realized that was the wrong word, frowned, tried again. “Clothes.” She tugged on her pale, pink t-shirt in emphasis.
“¿Si?”

“Gracias,”
Dimitri murmured, utilizing the extent of his understanding of the language.

Evita smiled kindly, inclined her head, and hurried from the room, shutting the door behind her.

No sooner had he turned his attention back to Ava when he found her already in his arms. He wasn’t sure which of them made the move, but she was there, head tucked beneath his chin, arms around his middle.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she choked out into his chest. “Or maybe I’ve lost my mind.”

“I’m here,” he promised quietly.

Her next inhale was an unsteady rattle of breath that caught around her throat. “I was so scared I would never see you again.”

He didn’t tell her that had been his fear as well. He didn’t tell her that he’d nearly gone half mad with the thought of losing her forever. He didn’t know what to tell her, so he held her. He combed the tangles from her hair as water filled the tub. He stroked her back and took in the shape of her through the soft fabric of the blazer. She seemed smaller, but that may have been in his head.

“Will you stay?” she asked into his collarbone.

Dimitri nodded. “I’ll stay.”

She pulled out of his arms, started to turn away, and hesitated with her hand still balled up in the material of his top. Her throat muscles worked in a swallow. Her shoulders lifted with her deep inhale. Gradually, she released him. She turned away fully.

“I’m here,” he told her quietly.

She said nothing.

The blazer struck the ground. Underneath it, her shorts and tank outlined perfectly the lines of her body. There was very little fabric and what of it there was hid nothing. All her parts were left exposed, put on display beneath a teasing allure. He wondered how many had seen her this way, how many had admired what didn’t belong to them. He wondered where he could find those responsible and put an end to their miserable lives.

The shorts slid to the ground. The top quickly followed. She stood at the edge of the bath, her body a pale landscape of exhaustion and strife. Purple blossoms marred the back of her left thigh. Another exploded across her ribs. In the light, there was one beneath her jaw he hadn’t seen earlier. More littered her arms in a ladder of handprints alongside the graze from when she’d been shot. Stripes cut across her skin in varying shades of yellow, purple, and blue. When she moved, it was with the hesitance of the elderly hazarding a sheet of ice. She lowered herself into the frothing, foamy water and sank until it was over her head. She remained submerged until concern had him closing a step.

She broke the surface with a gasp. Dimitri hadn’t realized he’d been holding his own breath until that moment. He exhaled and slumped back against the counter. Ava leaned back against the inner walls and shut her eyes. Her head hung back and she didn’t move.

He wanted to say something, wanted to get her talking, to fill the eerie silence the absence of her usual chatter had left behind. But she was the one who typically started conversations. She was the one who had him opening up. He didn’t know what to say.

Evita arrived with a bundle of fabric. She knocked lightly twice before pushing the door open a crack and peeking in. When it was clear that no one was doing anything inappropriate, she hurried in, said something in Spanish that sounded vaguely like an apology and pressing the bundle into Dimitri’s hands. She left just as quickly, shutting the door behind her.

He set the items down on the counter and turned back to the woman in the tub. Her eyes were open, but she seemed a million miles away.

“Ava?”

She jolted violently. Water slapped against the edge with the ferocity. Big, green eyes jumped over to him.

“What?”

He went to her and knelt. “Did they hurt you?”

“Me?” Her chin twisted straight once more. “No.” Her gaze lowered. “No, they didn’t hurt me.”

He peeled a bit of hair away from her temple and tucked it behind her ear. “Tell me what happened.”

Her face lifted. Her gaze met his. Her chest rose, the nipples slick and pink rising over the suds.

“There were fifty of us in that metal coffin,” she whispered so low, he nearly didn’t hear her. “By the time we arrived, they had killed and disposed of thirteen of the girls, including a thirteen-year-old girl I really cared about.”

“Ava…”

She ignored him, too wrapped up in whatever memory had noosed around her thoughts. “Thirteen,” she said again, softer still. “Tiny, and so scared. Practically a baby and they took her and they never brought her back.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

“Her name was Ilsa.” Her voice cracked around the name. “A German girl who didn’t speak German, who was raised in the US all her life with her mom and dad and had a crush on a boy named Alois who had freckles and glasses.”

She burst into tears.

“Ava.”

Grabbing the towels, he pulled her out of the water and swaddled her tight before dragging her into his lap.

“They took her,” she sobbed into his chest. “I tried to stop them. I tried so hard, but they still took her.” Air wheezed in her lungs as she gasped for breath and words. She clutched at his soaked shirt front, the caps on each knuckle bleached white. “She was just a baby and they used her in the most … then they discarded her like she meant nothing. None of the girls meant anything. How could anyone do this?”

Dimitri had no answers. Human trafficking had never been something he or his family had ever done. Out of principle for Dimitri. But Elena found the risks too high and, even with the sizable payout, the cost was too extensive for the payout. Guns were easier to move and, if caught, the penalties weren’t nearly as high. Nevertheless, Dimitri was familiar with the process. He understood the game. Most of the girls would be lucky to survive a full year after being sold.

But there was nothing anyone could do about it. Most didn’t want to believe something so disgusting could possibly exist in their city. Others were willing participants. The remainder tried, but with every operation taken down, twenty more always took its place.

Most were held in warehouses. Others were held at private properties for the very wealthy. Those ones, in Dimitri’s opinion, were the worst. People with money could afford not to be human, to not feel compassion for the girl they were destroying. To them, they were property, bought and paid for. If the girl ended up dead, it made no difference. No one would ever know and another would replace her before the day ended.

Those were all the things he couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry,” was the best he could do. “I’m so sorry.”

She wiped at her eyes with the corner of the towel. “I want to find Ilsa’s family. They deserve to…” She faltered. “They should know, right? So they can stop looking and … and bury an empty casket, or…” Her entire body shook with her long, rattling breath. “I promised her I would get her home.”

He kissed the top of her head. “If that’s what you want.”

She began to nod. Her lips parted only to have the words snatched away by the muffled crash of glass breaking somewhere inside the estate. It was loud enough to carry up from downstairs and reverberate down the corridors. It was followed by a female scream, then the distinct pop of an automatic revolver, the splinter of wood, the tinkle of precious glass shattering across marble.

Ava drew out of his arms. “Dimitri—?

He was already on his feet, body braced as the sounds grew louder. “Get dressed.”

Leaving her to follow through, he sprinted to the door. It creaked despite his attempts for silence. The knob rattled. It clicked when he released and peered around the edge into the bedroom.

The calm was unnerving when a war was taking place on the other side of the walls. Dimitri tried to visualize the exact proximity of the attack, but that was impossible with the sheer size of the place; there were too many echoes.

Ava joined him, towel replaced by a light, pink dress and bare feet. Her hair hung in damp ringlets around her blotchy face. She met his gaze, hers bemused, but alert.

“What’s—?”

“Stay behind me,” he told her quietly. “Whatever happens.”

Not waiting for compliance, he took her fingers and pulled her out behind him. He had no weapons, nothing he could bring with him across international borders. It was just him and whatever he could get his hands on once they left the security of the room.

They made it across the hardwood when the door flew open. The unexpected blur had Dimitri shoving Ava behind him, blocking her with his body as the figure lurched in. 

“There are men in the house.” Hector slammed the door behind him with the hand wielding a revolver. “They killed Evita.” He shoved upright, swiping a sleeve across his sweat beaded brow. “They’re looking…”

He broke off as though something had just occurred to him. His brows furrowed. He blinked, then lowered his chin. Dimitri followed his gaze and the three of them watched in stunned horror as a red blossom appeared across the silk front of his shirt, just at his midsection and expanded. He sucked in a sharp breath and swayed back into the door. Both hands clamped over the flood in some desperate attempt to staunch the flow, but it bubbled over his fingers and trickled to the floor.