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

by Airicka Phoenix

  They were led clear across the entire lot to a dining area placed before an open section overlooking the backyard and a thriving garden. The cool morning breeze swept around them, ruffling the paper that was folded neatly next to a cooling mug of coffee and a buttered biscuit.

  “We interrupted your breakfast,” John Paul remarked regretfully.

  Marcus waved away the non-spoken apology and motioned them with his free hand to sit.

  “I eat better with friends anyway.” Marcus said.

  He turned to a quiet woman standing a short distance away, half hidden behind an enormous clay vase overflowing with some plant with giant leaves. Dimitri hadn’t noticed her until she quickly stepped forward and bowed slightly at the waist. Marcus said something in Spanish Dimitri didn’t understand.

  “No, no!” John Paul said quickly. “Really. We are fine with just coffee.”

  Marcus silenced him with a look. “My father would never forgive me if I did not properly welcome his oldest friend into my home.”

  John Paul chuckled, but didn’t interrupt again.

  Orders given, the woman bowed again and hurried from the patio, disappearing down a winding path along the side of the house.

  Marcus turned back to them. “Sonya, my cook, makes the best tortilla Española I have ever eaten.”

  “Spanish potato omelet,” John Paul translated for Dimitri.

  Marcus chuckled. “We must teach you Spanish, my friend. The ladies love it.”

  A server poured Dimitri and John Paul cups of coffee. They offered sugar and milk, but both were waved aside. Dimitri tried not to notice that he took his coffee the exact same as John Paul.

  “Now, while we are waiting,” Marcus folded his hands on the table and fixed them with even stares. “What brings you?”

  “We’re looking for a girl,” John Paul told him.

  Marcus blinked. He sat back. “A girl?” He paused a full second before bursting into a belly rumbling laugh. “My friend, I have lots of girls. What kind do you want?”

  “No,” Dimitri cut in. “It’s a specific girl. A redhead. She was taken about three days ago.”

  Marcus’ eyes widened. “By my men?”

  John Paul shook his head. “We don’t know.” He dug out his phone and flipped through it until he found a picture of Ava. “Her.”

  Marcus took the phone and studied the image closely. Finally, he shook his head and returned the device.

  “I don’t know her.” He pursed his lips. “But I can ask. A shipment left here about three days ago. If she was on it, my men will know.”

  Dimitri’s stomach dropped. It sank so low between his knees that he felt it hit the ground. The very idea of Ava on that boat, headed to God knew where, surrounded by men who…

  “Where is the boat going?” he blurted, his sickness and desperation making the question coming out in a snarl.

  The corners of Marcus’ mouth twisted downward. “Mexico? Cuba…? Maybe China?” He shook his head sadly. “The girls are separated during transport. I don’t know.”

  A hand settled on Dimitri’s arm. He hadn’t realized he’d been pushing to his feet until the contact jolted him back to the present and nightmare unfolding before them.

  “How soon can you find out?” John Paul sounded collected, but his complexion had gone a sickly white. “This is urgent. She’s my daughter.”

  A flicker of surprise flittered across Marcus’s face. But just as quickly, it was gone, masked in a steely determination.

  “I will do it now.”

  Marcus rose immediately and stalked out of the room, phone already in hand.

  “The Syndicate doesn’t know about Ava?” Dimitri asked, needing something to preoccupy his mind.

  John Paul never so much as glanced at him, but stared unseeingly across the manicured lawns. “It is my business.”

  They dropped into an uneasy, and almost queasy silence broken only by the taunting whisper of the wind and the soft tinkle of wind chimes somewhere in the distance.

  The woman returned with a tray of steaming eggs baked into a pie shape. Triangles were cut and set into plates, but neither touched them. Neither had the appetite when thoughts of Ava on that boat clouded everything else. Dimitri couldn’t even breathe. All the air had become a rusted, jagged lump of dread clogging his chest. He tried to swallow it down, tried to expand his lungs around it, but it remained firmly lodged in place until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Steel shrieked across red brick when he shot out of his chair. He paced away from the table, going out as far as he could without leaving the patio entirely. Part of him had thought that if he got out from beneath the canopy, the air would somehow be different. But no matter how far out he went, he still couldn’t shake the noose from around his lungs. Sweat was beginning to collect at his temples and plaster his clothes to his skin. The uncomfortable chafing made him want to strip naked and jump into the pool he could see in the distance, glittering a pale blue against the carpet of lush green.

  “This is your fault.”

  It took several seconds of floundering through his own mind to realize the voice wasn’t in his head. That it was coming from an outside source.

  He glanced over his shoulder to find John Paul standing just there, hands behind his back, face set as he stared across the yard.

  “I warned you this would happen,” he went on so quietly it was almost impossible to hear. “I warned you, you would destroy her.”

  Dimitri didn’t even pause to think, to consider his actions. He whirled with a speed that startled even him and shoved the other man. He’d wanted to punch him, but his fists had connected with John Paul’s chest instead, sending him back a full three feet. The flicker of surprise on John Paul’s face mirrored his own before rage took over.

  “Don’t you think I fucking know that?” he roared, composure gone. “I don’t need for you to remind me that if anything happens to her … that if…” He broke off as the words tangled with the ball in his chest. “I would give my life to have her back.”

  Carefully collected, John Paul glowered at him. “It might just come to that if anything has happened to her. Your life will mean nothing if I don’t get her back.”

  Struggling to regulate his breathing, Dimitri bared his teeth. “Do you think I care about my life? Do you think I could go on without her? There is nothing you could possibly do to me that I wouldn’t welcome.”

  John Paul studied him. Dimitri would have counted the heartbeats in between, but his was pounding too hard.

  It didn’t matter. Marcus returned then, head bent over his phone, strides quick.

  “I may have found something,” he said, oblivious to the serrated tension sawing around him. “I don’t know if it’s your girl, but a redhead was dropped off that night. My man remembers, because she was the last one brought in.” Marcus raised his head and peered from John Paul to Dimitri, then back. “Only problem is, they don’t know which boat they put her on. My main hand thinks San Juan, but he can’t be sure.”

  “How many boats were there?” John Paul asked, tension hardening his question.

  Marcus peeked at his phone quickly. “Three, all heading in different locations—Puerto Rico, Brazil, Bangladesh.” He raised his head. “The auction in San Juan will happen in five days. The rest will be held for buyers at a private sale.”

  Hope became a jagged wire twisting around his heart. It was the most beautiful pain he’d ever felt; they weren’t any closer to finding her, but at least they had something.

  “Can you stop them?”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, but I have men at each port to oversee the shipments. You’d have to be there to confirm it’s her, but—”

  “Set it up.” Dimitri was already stalking to the doors. “All three of the ports. Tell them I’ll be there in a few hours.”

  “But the boats haven’t arrived yet!” Marcus called after him.

  “I don’t care!” Dimitri yelled back. “I’m going to be there
when she docks.”

  “Dimitri!” John Paul called after him. “You can’t be in all three places.”

  Dimitri’s strides faltered. He slowed, and then stopped and turned.

  John Paul faced Marcus. “Give us the addresses.”

  With a few quick keystrokes of his fingers, Marcus sent John Paul the addresses. The phone buzzed in John Paul’s pocket a second later. He didn’t check, but nodded his thanks.

  “I hope you find her,” Marcus said as John Paul started towards Dimitri.

  Neither Dimitri nor John Paul answered as they left the estate.

  “What’s the plan?” Dimitri demanded before they even reached the bottom of the steps, his anxiety at an all-time high.

  “We split up,” John Paul said simply. “We each take a location and wait. When the boat comes in, we check for her and bring her home.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “He’s dangerous, Ava.” The hands gripping her thin arms tightened as the voice urged her to understand. “You’ll get hurt.”

  Ava did understand. She may have only been ten, but she knew there were two sides to the world. Everything was either good or bad, black or white. Occasionally, John Paul mentioned a gray area, but she hadn’t seen it.

  “But why is he dangerous?”

  John Paul must have realized he was hurting her. He released her at once and straightened, pulling his long, lean frame to its full height. Ava was tall for her age, almost taller than the girls in her class, but she barely came to his stomach when he stood over her.

  “Because he is,” he told her softly. “His kind are.”

  His kind.

  Ava had an inexplicable image of the boy from the carnival running through the forest, naked as his body transformed into a ferocious beast under the full moon.

  “Is he a werewolf?” she’d wondered aloud and earned a softening of John Paul’s face, a subtle curl of his lips.

  “No, darling.” He lowered himself, bending all that height until he was eyelevel with her. “But I need you to promise me you won’t go near him again.”

  It was a rare thing for John Paul to make her promise anything. He always said children needed room to make mistakes and making them promise not to be children was unfair. But it also made her wonder who this boy was and why he was such an exception.

  “I liked him,” she said with all the justification she could muster. “He talked to me, and it wasn’t to laugh.”

  Sadness crept into John Paul’s handsome face. “I’m sorry your birthday wasn’t what you expected.”

  Ava shook her head. “It’s wasn’t your fault. You tried. I just don’t think those are my kinds of friends.”

  Amusement shimmered in his yellow eyes. “No? What is your kind of friends?”

  She wanted to say the boy. He’d been normal. He hadn’t been dressed like the others. He certainly hadn’t talked like the others. But she knew John Paul wouldn’t like that.

  “I don’t know yet,” she said instead. “I’m still trying to find my people.”

  The smile spread across his face, tugging on his mouth until he was grinning. He raised a hand and lightly swept back a lock of hair. It was tucked behind her ear.

  “You’ll find them. I know you will.”

  He hadn’t made her promise to stay away again. Maybe he’d forgotten. She didn’t bring it or the boy up again. But he remained on her mind at the oddest times. She found herself wondering where he was and what he was doing. Several times, she found herself walking through the halls of her school, searching faces in hopes of spotting him. He was never there. She really hadn’t expected him to be, but she always hoped. Every time she saw a boy with dark hair, her stomach would clench and she’d hurry forward only to realize too late it wasn’t him. Her obsession with him had reached a level she knew wasn’t healthy. It was made worse by the fact that John Paul refused to talk about it. It was as though those few minutes behind the game booth had never happened. It was maddening. All she wanted was a name. Just one name. Something to call him other than boy.

  A week passed and the desperate clawing in her chest hadn’t abated. She expected it never would. She had never been fond of mysteries. She hated not solving puzzles. But she had reluctantly begun to accept the conclusion that she would never learn his name or get answers for any of her questions. It would be one of those things she’d have to live with, like why her father couldn’t be bothered with her or why her mother was such a self-absorbed idiot. She would simply have to come to terms with it.

  It was misting. The heavy rain of that morning had dwindled to an awkward spray that dampened everything and made her uniform cling heavily to her. Other students bowled out of the school, shouting and scurrying to their cars in a stampede that was bound to get someone killed going down the slick steps.

  Ava didn’t rush. John Paul’s estate was a block away, barely a five-minute walk down a curving street lined with enormous houses and mile high walls. Even the school was heavily fenced by iron bars. It was the type of neighborhood that lived in constant fear that someone might break in and steal their original Monet’s, while terrified that no one would see just how grand their lives were. Ava had been subjected to that fickleness her entire life and had no desire to become one of the mindless—except for John Paul. He was the exception. He wasn’t like the others, hung up on the things he could show off. He wasn’t worried about other people’s thoughts when he jumped into the snow with her or if he made the walk to her school to pick her up rather than send a car. That had scandalized several of the parents. Rich people didn’t walk. They certainly didn’t pick up their children themselves. It had been the best day of Ava’s whole life, especially considering the traumatic first day she’d had.

  New schools didn’t bother her. New people, new faces, new names, they were all part of some cosmic wheel she just had to live with. But this had been worse. The children had been worse. The teachers had been horrible. Everyone had looked down at her because she wasn’t one of them. It didn’t matter that her father and mother were both rich, influential people in society. They weren’t the right kind of rich and influential. There was a difference. Her mother and father couldn’t afford that school. But John Paul could and that only made matters worse.

  “You’re like a charity case,” they’d told her. “One of those kids who get in on a lottery.”

  She wanted to tell them the word was scholarship, but hadn’t bothered.

  By the end of the day, she’d been barely holding back tears. All she’d wanted was to run home and hide under her covers until graduation. Then she’d walked down the front steps, looked up … and there he’d been, just standing inside the iron archway in his dark trousers and dress shirt. His sunglasses had glinted on his face when he’d turned his head and spotted her. He’d grinned and Ava had almost lost the war with her emotions.

  It didn’t matter who’d been watching or what they’d say, she’d broken records tearing down the path to him. He’d caught her when she’d thrown herself full throttle into his chest and held her tight enough to cut off air.

  “Long day?”

  She’d only nodded into his shoulder, the material under her cheek wet from her tears.

  “Want me to buy the school and kick them all out?”

  Ava had laughed.

  It was that moment she knew she loved him like she had never loved anyone in her entire life. It was why she would never do anything to disappoint him, why she would die if anything ever happened to him. It was why she was so torn when she looked up and found the boy standing just on the other side of the street, half concealed by the shadows of the shrub wall.

  He looked exactly how she remembered him, tall, too thin, but with a fierce sort of determination that made him appear bigger than he was.

  He wore dark jeans over scarred boots and a black t-shirt with some band she’d never heard of. Almost as an afterthought, he’d pulled on a leather coat. The front was left open despite the fact that he was get
ting wet. His sullen expression was half concealed by the dark glasses and the wet tangle of hair that crept around his face in waves, but she knew he was watching her.

  She stopped walking and stared back, partially wondering if she had finally lost her mind. But when he didn’t dissolve into thin air, she sucked up her courage, hoisted her bag higher on her back, and marched over.

  “You’re not allowed to be here,” she told him. “You’re going to get into trouble.”

  He dragged off his glasses, neatly folded the plastic arms, and stuffed it carelessly into his front pocket. He peered up at her. A glimmer of something shone in his eyes, like he was laughing at her, but his lips never lifted.

  “Are you going to tell on me?”

  “Yes,” she stated firmly. “John Paul says you’re dangerous.”

  He made a quiet humming sound and lifted his gaze over her umbrella. “John Paul,” he said the name quietly, contemplatively. “I suppose he’s right.”

  “That you’re dangerous?” she clarified.

  He hummed again, a soft, almost musical sound if it wasn’t so deep. “Yes.” His gaze lowered to her once more, watchful and still shining. “Are you scared of me?”

  Ava had thought about it. She studied his face and the way he never seemed to blink. But it was that very thing that solidified her rationality. He never looked away the way people did when they lied. But it was more than that. There was honesty in his eyes, a deep, profound sort of wisdom that made her curious, and loneliness. She recognized that one. She saw it in the mirror every morning.

  “No,” she whispered.

  His dark head tilted to one side. “And why not? I’m older, bigger, and you don’t even know my name.”

  He was right.

  “Okay, what’s your name?”

  His mouth did lift then. It was a gradual thing. It kind of reminded her of the cat from Alice in Wonderland, slow and mischievous. The kind of smile the boys at school got just before they shoved her into the puddles.