“Why don’t you turn in, Ava?” He stopped when he was three feet from them. “It’s been a long night.”
Ava didn’t argue. She couldn’t leave fast enough. A rebellious part of her wanted to kick her shoes off into a corner, just to infuriate her mother, but common sense kept her grounded.
She made it to the security of her bedroom. It was only after she’d stripped, showered, and climbed into bed that she remembered Patrick. By then, she opted to leave it for the morning. There was no point waking him up now to say … what? I’m sorry? He’d ask for an explanation and she was too exhausted to make something up. So, morning it was.
Sleep evaded her that night. It toyed with her, giving her glimpses of rest only to snatch it away with images of blood, of Dimitri’s ashen complexion, of the tension in his shoulders when his own father had turned him away. His pain had been a physical pang she could feel. It always had been. Even as children, he had been so careful not to let John Paul’s rejections break him. He’d been so set, so resolute that she had hurt for him. She had ached for him, because she knew what it was like not to have anyone. Her father hadn’t wanted her. Her mother had kept her out of obligation. She had no friends, no grandparents, no family she could turn to. But she’d had John Paul and it had been enough. He had no one. She wondered if that was still true, or if he’d married, if he had children.
That thought was what kept her awake the rest of the night in the expanse of her canopied bed, watching the slow sway of the gossamer drapes playing with the cool breeze coming in through the open window. The night was a patch of silver across the hardwood. It had begun to rain and the moist air felt wonderful across her skin. But it wasn’t enough to still her mind.
Abandoning all hopes of waking up semi rested, she rolled out of bed. Her gaze flicked to the alarm and she groaned as the digital numbers snapped to a little after three. The world outside the bay windows hummed with the early morning. The manor echoed with its usual silence. Ava padded out of her room and started down to the kitchen. Sleep wouldn’t be returning and there was nothing to do, but get a late night snack. Part of her hoped the caterers had left a few of those tiny salmon sandwiches she’d seen during the party. Every year, she’d pack away half a tray before her mother would order them off the floor.
“Do you want people to think you’re starving?” she’d hissed.
But she had been starving. Despite being to die for, the sandwiches were tiny, barely big enough to fit the palm of her hand. She’d have needed twenty just to make a full sandwich. Nevertheless, every year, she would restrain herself from sneaking into the kitchen and loading up a massive plate. Now that her mother was sleeping for the night, there was no one to stop Ava.
It took all of two seconds to realize she wasn’t the only one with the idea to raid the fridge. The glow from the appliance illuminated a square patch across the polished floor and the silhouetted figure stooped half inside. Judging from the silk, navy blue pajama bottoms, it wasn’t a burglar.
Ava snapped the lights on and watched in twisted amusement as the figure jolted violently.
“Aren’t you on a diet?” she teased as John Paul scrambled to shut the fridge door and face her.
His terrified expression dissolved into one of relief at the sight of her. He huffed indignantly and smoothed down the front of his matching robe.
“Only when your mother’s awake.”
Ava chuckled. She crossed the distance to where he stood and pulled open the fridge door. The cool air whispered over her flushed skin. She peered inside at the rows of neatly labeled containers.
“Have you seen the salmon sandwiches?”
John Paul leaned past her and pulled a blue lidded container out and pressed it into her hands. He pulled out three more containers for himself before kicking the door shut with his slippered foot.
“Hungry?” she said, eyeing the boxes he set down on the island.
“Starving,” he grumbled. “Your mother thinks that, just because she eats like a bird, the rest of us do so as well.”
Pulling herself up onto a stool, Ava pried open the lid and retrieved one of the neat triangles of heaven from inside.
“Well, you do have to watch your girly figure.”
Grabbing a fork from a drawer, John Paul snorted. “That ship has sailed.”
He shoveled a wad of pasta into his mouth and chewed.
Ava took a bite and moaned. “God, these are good.”
John Paul reached over and stole one of the sandwiches. “I don’t think I’ve tried these.”
Ava clutched the container closer to her chest. “That’s the only one you’re getting.”
He ignored her as he stuffed the whole thing into his mouth. “These are good.”
“Hey!” Her protest came too late as another sandwich was liberated from her container. “Don’t you have enough food there?”
He jabbed his fork in her direction. “You are a mean child.”
“And you’re a food thief.”
He shot her a feigned glower and turned away. He pulled down two glasses and set them on the counter.
“Juice, milk, or water?”
It didn’t seem to matter how old she got, he always offered her those same three choices.
Ava grinned around her sandwich. “Juice.”
He opened the fridge. “You should drink more milk. It’s good for you.”
“I think my bones have stopped growing.”
Jug in hand, he walked back to the island. “It’s not only about growing bones. It’s about keeping them strong.” He filled both glasses. “You need strong bones, especially when you get to be my age.”
“Thirty?”
He paused and looked up at her. “This is why I love you.”
Ava laughed.
He grinned and slid her glass over to her. “Tell me what you’ve been doing. How’s work? Everyone treating you good there? Do you need anything?”
“Fine, yes, and no.” She set the sandwiches down. “I have to drive out to Williamsburg for a journalist convention tomorrow, which I had hoped my boss would forget about, but she texted me this morning to remind me.”
“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.”
<
br /> 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.
Chapter Three
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.”
The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) Page 4