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

by Airicka Phoenix

  He stood on a square cut of pale moonbeam that had found its way through a crack in the blinds. He’d meant to shut them entirely over the open terrace doors; light fucked with the accuracy of his night vision goggles, but it still somehow came through, leaving a long slash across the marble floors of some asshole’s downtown loft. It illuminated the darkness that he required to remain hidden and he kept contemplating whether or not to make the walk back to shut them or continue onward.

  Onwards won. The alarms would reset in ten minutes and it would take most of that time to break into the vault.

  Ignoring the distracting stick of light, he crept the rest of the way around warped bits of glass and steel that may have been a table and some bit of cushion he assumed was a sofa. The place was thankfully sparsely furnished, but the pieces of art the man did have made Dimitri question his taste.

  The man was a modern style architect. Most of his funding came from condominiums and downtown business buildings. Dimitri had never heard of him until recently when his name became synonymous with senior fraud. He’d conned hundreds of elderly out of their retirement checks in exchange for an updated retirement home. Dimitri had nearly passed on the opportunity; his days and nights were already preoccupied with finding Ava, but even he couldn’t turn away from this. It took a real lowlife to steal from people weaker than them. Stealing that money back was an almost pleasure.

  He moved quickly across the room, treading carefully on the balls of his feet. His gun sat pressed into the palm of one hand while he followed the blipping dot of his scanner with the other. The screen was set to work with his goggles and he could see the dot-him moving forward with every step he took. The area the safe was located in was highlighted red and he knew he was getting close when the red began to glow.

  The layout was fairly unimpressive with most of the space dominated by a sitting area, a thin cut of kitchen, and two bedrooms at the back. It was all in the blueprints he’d lifted from the building manager. But there was one wall his scanner picked up that wasn’t on the prints. It was put up after the loft had been sold to Neil Halle and it was thicker than was necessary to separate the sitting area from the bedrooms.

  A painting in a gilded frame hung from the very center, a mishmash of colors against a sea of white. Like the rest of the room, it was placed aimlessly, an awkward attempt at artistic modernization that Dimitri found ridiculous. He liked clutter and warmth. Homey. None of this made sense to him. But it didn’t need to.

  He stowed away his gun in its holster against his ribs and tucked the sensor into his pocket before reaching for the painting. He pulled it back and peered at the smooth plaster underneath. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected to find a safe there, but he was almost relieved when it wasn’t; nothing was more disappointing than a cliché.

  Setting the painting gingerly aside, he reached for a spindly contraption of crudely fused bits of piping resting in the corner, tossed out the single blade of fake fern jutting from it, and hoisted it high. He brought it down with a sweeping blow. Plaster rained to the floor. More followed with every assault. The hole grew until he had a clear view of the solid sheet of metal on the other side.

  He paused and thought faintly how absurd it was to hide a safe behind a wall. It just seemed like so much work having to get to every time it was needed. Most criminals, the smart ones, kept them easily accessible, hidden, but still close enough to reach if needed. The only time a safe was buried was if the person wanted the contents to remain hidden for a long length of time, which could very well be Halle’s motives. It was easier to deny participation if there was no money to pin him to the crime.

  Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed, Dimitri mused, returning the pipe sculpture to its original place.

  It was a Titan UL TL-15 safe with a digital bad and lever. Average height with a reinforced bolt chamber. Not the best in the world, but certainly a challenge with all the foolproof mechanisms and antitheft precautions. He’d only ever broken into one before and it had nearly taken him five hours.

  Accepting a long night ahead, he set to work. He tore his pack off his back and was about reach for his tools when the light from behind him caught a series of numbers carved in pencil along the side of the dial pad. The sight of them momentarily stilled him. His fingers froze on the tongue of his pack’s zipper. He had to blink to make sure it wasn’t his goggles screwing around on him. But sure enough…

  “No … way,” he mumbled, reaching up to tear off the goggles.

  He dropped it and his pack to the ground and rolled up his mask to get a better look.

  The moron had written down the fucking passcode right on the door. It was right there, clear as day, just glaring back at him

  He considered ignoring it, in case it was a trap that got the safe to lock down on itself. It was definitely a possibility, because no one was that stupid. It wasn’t possible, especially when this guy was apparently some criminal mastermind.

  But Dimitri couldn’t help wondering … what if…? Being able to scam the elderly out of their money didn’t take brains. It just took a fast talker.

  Muscles tight, he reached for the pad. His gloves gave a faint squeak with the flex of his fingers before he hit the first number. Then the second. Each one beeped piercingly loud over the sound of his own breathing. He held it, growing increasingly annoyed by the hiss of it between his ears as the last digit was punched in.

  He froze, hand hovering inches off the circular disk. His heart drummed against his ribs, the unsteady cracks making his chest hurt. He drew back his hand an inch, paused, and then reached for the lever.

  It opened.

  The heavy door swung open with an ease he wasn’t prepared for. He just stood there, staring at his own luck and wondering if that was some kind of record. Did it even count as a proper burglary?

  Deciding not to look a gifted horse in the mouth, he reached for his flashlight. He unhooked it from his belt and flicked it on. The sharp beam pierced through semi darkness, capturing bits of dust as it sliced into the safe.

  Empty.

  The light skirted over the clean layers, glinting off the metal and nothing else.

  “What—”

  “Not so smart, are you?”

  The slow, lazy drawl had Dimitri reaching for his mask. He tore it down over his face before whirling to face the tiny man standing behind him.

  He was Asian, short and thin with neatly cropped hair and a smug grin on his face. He stood in his silk pajamas in the center of the room, his hands behind his back like a bratty child. Dimitri glanced past him, scanning the room for others, but it was just them.

  He faced the stranger. “Who are you?”

  It had taken him years to learn how to conceal his accent. He still had to be careful when he said certain words with R’s in them, but he was better now than he had been before, unless he got the shit scared out of him.

  The man continued to smirk. “Didn’t you think it weird how easy I make it?” He chuckled what sounded more like a giggle. “I been waiting for you.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I am Chan Lee. I live here.”

  Dimitri’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Neil Halle lives here,” he corrected.

  Chan Lee shrugged. “They lied.”

  Dimitri straightened as it all began to make sense; he’d been tricked. This pint-sized brat of a man had set a trap and Dimitri had walked right into it.

  “There were no elderly people getting scammed, were there?”

  Chan Lee rolled his shoulders up around his ears. “Could be. Somewhere.”

  Accepting that he’d been played, Dimitri bent, keeping his movements slow as he gathered up his pack and slung it on. He picked up his goggles as well and gripped them close. Once he had everything, he faced the man once more.

  “Was there something you needed?” he asked, not caring if he sounded annoyed.

  “I like your work,” Chan Lee said breezily. “I am a fan.” He snickered at his
own joke. “I want you to work with me.”

  It took him all of a minute to realize the man was honestly offering him a job. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but none of the others had gone through the efforts of actually trapping him. That almost made him respect the guy, while at the same time, smack him upside the head.

  “I work alone.”

  Chan Lee clicked his tongue. “You not even consider?”

  Dimitri shook his head slowly. “Don’t need to. I’m not interested.”

  “Is too bad,” the man said with a sad little shake of his head. “I pay good money.”

  “I’m not interested in money.”

  Chan Lee’s thin chest lifted and dropped with his sigh. “Then maybe something else I can do for you, hmm?” He raised his eyebrows. “I am very powerful man.”

  Ava’s face flashed through his mind. Just as quickly, he dismissed it; what were the odds of this man having any knowledge of her whereabouts? Getting random criminals involved would only insure he never saw Ava again.

  “No.” He tightened his grip on his goggles. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Chan Lee said nothing for several long heartbeats. He stared at the terrace doors where the light continued to slice through, where a slight breeze was toying with the ends of the blinds, making them sway and flutter. Dimitri calculated his distance while the man was distracted in thought. He glanced down at the goggles and the flashlight still clutched in his hands and tried to mentally prep himself for his escape plan.

  “I am saddened by your decision,” Chan Lee said at last. “I am reasonable man, very good employer. Together, we can have everything—Chan Lee and The Devil. We could take whole city for ourself.”

  Something in the air had shifted. There was a lingering tension vibrating around them that had all the hairs along the back of Dimitri’s neck prickling. He judged his chances of going for his gun, but abandoned the idea. There was no way to do that without letting go of the light or the goggles and he knew he’d never make it.

  The gun Chan Lee lifted from behind his back didn’t surprise Dimitri. Its predictableness only offered comfort to an unpredictable situation. He stared at the long barrel of the silencer attached to the head of a .45, then at the man wielding it.

  “You’re going to kill me because I refuse to work for you?”

  Chan Lee jerked up one shoulder. “Yes, I am not so good with rejection.”

  Dimitri nodded slowly. He glanced down to where the flashlight had spilled a pool of gold across his scarred boots. He tapped his hands against his thigh thoughtfully and watched the flicker, the shimmer reflecting off the smooth marble beneath his feet. It was a stalling tactic he knew he needed to utilize carefully.

  He exhaled grudgingly and lifted his head. “What is it you want me to do?”

  The gun wavered. It visibly lowered a notch from Dimitri’s head to mid chest.

  “You are reconsidering my offer!” Chan Lee cheered, beaming. “I knew you would.”

  Dimitri frowned, though the man couldn’t see it, but he heard it when Dimitri spoke. “Well?”

  The nozzle of the silencer lowered to the ground, and that was all Dimitri needed.

  He swung up his own arm. The beam from his flashlight slashed through the dark in a glowing arc and slammed into Chan Lee’s face with deadly accuracy. The man cried out and flung up both arms to shield his wide, brown eyes. He stumbled, hit the glass table behind him and the two crashed to the floor.

  Dimitri didn’t wait to see what would happen next. He jammed on his goggles and, as an afterthought, dug out his signature rose from the side compartment of his pack and tossed it down next to the debris before bolting.

  In exactly fifteen steps, he was across the room to the terrace doors and out into the crisp night. The rope he’d used to propel himself down swayed in the breeze just inches from the top of his head. He grabbed it and hoisted himself up the side of the building towards the roof, one hand over the other.

  Below, he heard the shout of voices, the tinkle of breaking glass, then Chan Lee was there, face a pale ghost in the darkness. He screamed something the wind and distance caught and distorted. Dimitri reached the roof ledge and hauled himself over just as the first bullet whizzed past his left leg. He hit the gravel and rolled, taking the rope with him and blocking Chan Lee’s attempts at following him.

  The pops continued, spraying into the night in useless frustration. Dimitri had already cleared the roof to the other side and the second length of rope propelling him down into the alleyway and his escape.

  Going down was always easier than climbing up. He practically slid to the bottom, grateful for his gloves and knowing he would need new ones before the night was over.

  He hit the pavement with both feet, the sound muffled. He threw glances in all directions, searching through the tint of green for signs of life and finding none. Certain he wasn’t followed, he ripped off the goggles, stuffed them into his pack and raced to the edge between the two buildings. The concrete glistened like an oil slick despite the lack of rain. His boots crunched on broken glass and grit as he reached his parked bike and jumped on. The sound of its engine revving to life splintered the darkness.

  He shot off, taking each turn, each street with a single minded determination. He didn’t slow until there was a full block between him and angry little Asian man.

  How could he be so stupid? He should have realized something like that would happen eventually. Hadn’t the Syndicate been plotting the exact same thing only days before? He needed to be more careful. He needed to…

  A sleek, black SUV swerved out of nowhere and clipped him. It was barely a tap and yet the world blurred as he flew four feet into the air and slammed down on unforgiving concrete. The blow jarred his teeth loose. They rattled in his mouth as the sickening crunch of his own bones echoed between his ears. There was a crunch and he knew his bike was finished even before he stopped rolling.

  He gasped, the most he could do as all the air left him on impact. His vision distorted. He wasn’t fast enough blinking away the blur before the hands had him. They grabbed him brutally and heaved him to his feet. The mask was torn from his face and he was shoved into the back of the car. The door slammed shut behind him and he was trapped, trapped with the pale figure seated next to him on the smooth leather bench.

  John Paul studied him from beneath the faint interior light. His features carved from the smoothest, coldest stone. He was dressed casual … for him, in slacks and a light sweater. Their dark tones made his complexion almost ethereal.

  “You weren’t answering my calls,” he said evenly. “I thought I would come to you.”

  Winded, aching all over, and furious, Dimitri glowered back at him. “So you run me over?”

  John Paul never so much as batted an eyelash. “We clearly missed.”

  Dimitri shook his head. He adjusted his torso, rolling his bruised shoulder and checking for broken bones. There weren’t any. He partially wondered what that snap had been. No doubt his goggles were finished.

  Self-assessment complete, he faced the man again. “What?”

  Chilling, brown eyes lifted and bore into Dimitri. “Where is Ava, Dimitri? Why haven’t I spoken to her in two days?”

  He’d known that was what it was. Nothing brought out John Paul’s psychopath like the thought of something happening to Ava, and going two days without speaking to her was unacceptable. Dimitri understood. It was how he felt in that very moment, not knowing where Ava was, if she was all right, if he would ever find her. The idea of anything happening to her drove him half mad with rage and desperation. But he had nothing. He had found nothing. In two days, he was no closer to getting her back than he had been the day she went missing. It was enough to make him want to slam a fist into concrete.

  “Where is she?” John Paul said again, louder, fiercer, with an authority laced in razor blades.

  Dimitri dropped his chin, guilt, shame, and self-loathing devouring his insides. “I don
’t have her.”

  Nostrils flared in a barely repressed surge of fury that glimmered dark and feral in the other man’s otherwise calm demeanor.

  “Where is she?”

  A hand lifted, unsteady and damp to Dimitri’s face and scrubbed. “I don’t know.”

  There had never been a time in Dimitri’s life when he’d been scared of his father. Their paths had never crossed enough for anything beyond resentment, and the occasional disappointment. But Dimitri was terrified. And the longer the silence strained between them, the tighter the knots in his stomach became. A cold, slimy sensation formed in his throat. It clogged the path for any further explanation. Not that he had any.

  “What happened?” The words were shredded through carefully stiff, unyielding lips.

  It dawned on him in that moment that he’d been wrong that morning in Robby’s apartment. There was one person he could have called, one person who was as dedicated to Ava’s survival as he was. He should have realized that, just because John Paul couldn’t be bothered where Dimitri was concerned, didn’t mean he wouldn’t have dropped everything to find Ava.

  “Someone took her.”

  He told John Paul everything, oddly relieved to finally have someone who would understand the pure, raw hell he’d been living in the last two days. It was an eerie feeling. He was so used to keeping everything to himself, bottling it all up inside until he felt on the verge of exploding. Even when he’d been with Ava, he could never uncork his misery on her. He couldn’t bring his darkness into her world. He’d simply swallowed it all up and gone on.

  He released it all now. Not everything, but everything from the moment he found Ava at the hotel bar. He described the shooting and being on the run with Ava, and Ava getting shot. He didn’t stop until he reached finding Robby unconscious in his apartment. Only then did he allow the words to die and the whisper of late night to fill the car. The air conditioner buzzed faintly, swallowing the low murmurs of the man outside on his phone, waiting for orders.

  John Paul was a man carved from the very purest clump of marble. The world could have shattered in an explosion of fire and ice and still, he would have remained firmly frozen in his seat. Dimitri began to wonder if he’d died, if the news had been too much. He was beginning to think about calling the man outside when John Paul blinked.