Dimitri ran. He didn’t even realize it until his feet were pounding on the concrete. He elbowed his way past cops and firemen alike and down the ring of steps to the street. He leaped over thick hoses and discarded manhole covers. His side burned as though someone was pressing a white, hot poker into his flesh. But the agony of it was the furthest thing from his mind.
“Ava!”
Somehow, over the sirens, the cries, shouts, and turmoil, she heard him. Her head poked out from around Frank’s massive bulk, her face a smudged streak of soot and tears. Her hair hung in a wild, filthy mess, but she was sitting up, a blanket draped around her shoulders and an oxygen mask in her hand. It dropped when she spotted him. The blanket was thrown off. She scrambled to her feet and he caught her when she catapulted herself into his arms.
“Ava.” His hand closed in her hair. The other clasped the back of her top. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her face still buried in his shoulder. “Someone wired my apartment. It went off when I opened the door.”
Her words were in perfect English, English he understood clearly, but his brain was having an impossible time trying to decipher what she was telling him to what he needed desperately to hear.
He pulled back to take her face between his palms. He swiped at the grit clinging to her cheeks, smoothing a clean path with his fingers. His eyes searched hers, assessing for himself her wellbeing.
“You’re okay?”
She nodded. “I’m fine, but my apartment—”
He jerked her back to him, not giving a flying fuck about her apartment, not in that moment. In that moment, nothing mattered, except the physical presence of her, the warmth of her cheeks against his palms, her scent beneath the stink of smoke, her voice ringing clear and focused through all the other sounds.
He exhaled, just once, just to expel what was left lodged in his chest. Then, he kissed her, a man possessed with a need that trumped all other needs. She tasted like a fireplace and smelled like a campfire, but it didn’t matter.
He broke it a second later and rested his brow against hers. “You’re going to be the death of me, myshka.”
She actually smiled, an amused little quirk of her lips that sucker punched him in the stomach. “I’m sorry.” She tilted her chin up a notch and kissed him lightly. “I told Frank not to call you.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Your apartment getting blown up is a good reason to call, no?”
She said nothing.
He took that moment to brush back her matted hair, searching for injuries he might have missed. “But you’re okay?”
She nodded. Her smile faded.
“I’m okay.” She rubbed the tips of her fingers across her brow in frustration, leaving streaks of dirt with the assault. “Frank saved my life. He took the worst of it. I have a few bruises and my ribs won’t thank me in the morning, but they gave me aspirin and told me to ice them when I got home.” She barked a laugh that sounded mostly like a shaky sob. She waved a hand at the buildings behind him. “Kind of can’t though.” She sniffled. “Everything I owned, my entire life was in that apartment and it’s all gone.”
He glanced at the mess for the first time, really focusing outside his tunnel vision at the larger picture. He took in the chunks of granite lying strewn across the streets. A few had crushed cars with people still in them. Others had left craters in the asphalt. The heat from the explosion had blown out windows from the surrounding units and the shards lay in a glittering carpet that reflected the dance of fire and water. Law enforcement and rescue teams were hauling black garbage bags off to one side and lying them in rows while a cluster of reports stood a short distance talking rapidly into their cameras.
No, he realized with a jolt. Body bags. Rows upon rows of unmoving lumps being pulled from the rubble. Ava’s apartment was still a pillar of gleaming glass from base to stem before a black smudge identified hers. None of the other suites had been affected from what he could tell. But the explosion had caused mass panic below, forcing cars to swerve into shops and people to be impaled by debris. There were red smudges on pavement he hadn’t noticed before and people were walking around aimlessly while others sat openly weeping on the sidewalks. He hadn’t seen that kind of carnage in his entire life, which said something.
But the explosion was isolated, perfectly designed to destroy only that single suite. It was the works of an expert, someone who knew explosives and knew how to properly detonate them to only take out what was necessary.
“Ivan.”
His brother was the only person Dimitri knew who was this perfect at demolish. It was his art, his talent. For as long as Dimitri could remember, Ivan had been tinkering with homemade pipe bombs. Anything that exploded and caused suffering. He used to throw firecrackers into the girls’ locker room and stand back laughing as the girls would run out screaming. The other boys liked that most of the girls would be in towels or their underwear. Ivan liked it because of the terror he evoked. Dimitri had seen him more than once, tucked away from the crowd, a solitary figure off to one side, watching the mass panic he’d caused. His blue eyes would shimmer with a sick sort of triumph, reflecting the subtle twist of his mouth. No one could ever prove it was him, even if they could, no one was stupid enough to point a finger at the son of Elena Tasarov. Every year, he’d up his game, making the bangs louder, the hysteria bigger, the components more lethal until he’d blown up half their school. Eight students had died. Ivan had been tried as an adult and sent to prison, but Elena had used her connections and had him out in four years, bigger, meaner, and deadlier than before. He threw himself into the art of explosives, creating and testing until he’d perfected his talent, until he was an unstoppable phantom taking lives in the blink of an eye.
He’d never been close with his brother … half-brother. Dimitri hadn’t been bloodthirsty enough. He hadn’t grown hard at the idea of causing terror. He hadn’t been a proper criminal. Not by the standards Ivan considered normal. To Ivan, killing was a release. He didn’t care who died, just so long as he watched it. Dimitri was more selective. He killed those who deserved it, those who were a threat to his city, to his people, to those he cared about. Senseless slaughtering held no appeal to Dimitri and that had always been a thorn in Ivan’s side.
But it also may have been why Elena preferred Ivan. His lack of conscious made him the perfect killing machine. She never had to ask him. His ruthlessness made him the perfect second. The west was more afraid of Ivan than they ever had been of Elena. In return, for that single act of kindness of getting Ivan out of prison years before, Ivan had become enduringly indebted to her, which might have been her plan, because when Dimitri had gone to prison briefly, there had been no connections to tug on for his release. Granted, he’d only been sentenced to six months for carrying an unregistered weapon, but Elena hadn’t been concerned about it. Whereas, with Ivan, she would have moved heaven and earth to get him freed before the cuffs were snapped into place.
It never bothered Dimitri, the love Elena had for Ivan, the love John Paul had for Ava. At some point in his life, he’d grown to accept that he was the unnecessary spare part, the spare tire in the trunk that was only brought out when neither had a choice. In a lot of ways, he was grateful for Elena’s dismissal. He didn’t think he’d be as mentally put together if he had to endure half the things she made Ivan commit. Elena’s love could only be bought through the amount of blood one spilled for her. It was too high a price for Dimitri. John Paul had always been a different matter. He hadn’t been unnecessarily cruel and the unconditional love and affection he showed Ava had made Dimitri curious … and a little lonely. Not that he ever told Ava, or anyone. He was too old to have daddy issues.
But that didn’t matter now. None of it did. They had a bigger problem. If Ivan was behind the explosion, that meant he would stay close to watch his handiwork. He would tuck himself into a corner, out of sight, and enjoy every moment until the last straggler was gone and the streets were calm once
more. Every second would be precious. He wouldn’t notice anything else. It may have been the only chance they had of getting out of there without Ivan realizing his plan had failed. He wouldn’t have yet, Dimitri was certain of it; had Ivan seen Ava leaving the apartment, he would have completed his mission already. The crowd, the horde of police would not have stopped him. This was their only window.
“Frank.” He motioned the bigger man closer with a jerk of his chin, careful to keep his features neutral even as he drew Ava tighter against him. “We need to get Ava to the car. Quickly.”
“What? Why…?”
He gave Ava’s middle a gentle squeeze to keep her quiet. His gaze remained level with Frank’s willing him to recognize the situation.
He did. His giant hand closed around Ava’s upper arm. Together, they wedged her between them and shoved their way through the crowd in the direction of the SUV. Ava kept her head down and didn’t speak until they’d cleared the courtyard.
He had no idea if she was allowed to leave, but he took her anyway. They propelled her to where Saeed stood, head tipped far back, peering up at the building overhead. He caught sight of them approaching and quickly straightened. He hurried to the back and yanked open the door.
They climbed in, Ava and Dimitri in the back and Frank in the passenger’s side seat. Saeed got in behind the wheel and gingerly pulled out backwards.
“What happened?” Ava asked, peering at Dimitri.
“Ivan’s here,” he told her, staring out the window at all the faces, trying to see if he could spot the one grinning at his own handiwork. “He wouldn’t miss this. He would want to see what he’d caused.”
“Oh my God!” Ava gasped.
“Backroads, Saeed,” Dimitri said. “Keep an eye on our tail.”
The boy’s face was set in a grim line. “Sure thing, boss.”
Dimitri sat back, mostly to elevate the burning pulse along his side. With nothing to do and nothing to really preoccupy his mind, all he could think about was the wound and how it honestly felt like it was on fire.
“Dimitri?” Ava’s quiet murmur of his name had his attention turning away from the rolling scenery. He found her studying him, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed as she assessed him. “You’re hurt.”
“What?”
Instinctively, his gaze dropped to his side, half expecting his stitches to have ripped open and for him to be bleeding out where he sat. But despite the pain that was letting itself be known with a vengeance that was nearly unbearable now that the adrenaline had worn off, it wasn’t visible through his clothes. The entire area felt wet beneath his clothes, but he couldn’t tell if that was just in his head or actual blood. He opted not to check. He’d do it later and deal with the damage then.
But it was too late. His momentary lapse in judgment was all Ava needed to realize she was right.
“Are you hurt?” She reached for him, her voice holding a tinge of panic. “Let me see.”
He caught her wrists before she could yank his top up. “I’m fine, just an accident.”
She didn’t believe him. He didn’t expect her to, but she did stop fighting him. Her big, green eyes watched him, threatening a long talk once they were alone.
Dimitri didn’t mind. No had ever cared enough to worry, never mind try and strip him in public to see to his injuries. It was still a mystery how she always seemed to know. It wasn’t as though he’d been doubled over, gasping through the agony. But for as long as he could remember, she had always just sensed it. He’d asked her once, but her answer had been a shrug and a simple, I love you.
He reached for her, even though she was already as close as she could possibly get in the cabin. “I’ll fix this,” he told her quietly. “I’ll get it all back for you.”
She peered up at him, her gaze weary, her mouth tugged down at the corners. “I just want it to end, Dimitri. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
That was the thing he couldn’t promise her until Elena was caught. He couldn’t guarantee no more lives would be lost or that it would end any time soon. Elena was clever. She wouldn’t be captured easily. She wouldn’t give up. The only connection they had between Elena and her plan was Ava. The former territory leader was hell bent on killing her and no one could tell them why.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Ava asked after almost three blocks. “Robby and John Paul will have heard what happened on the news and they’ll be frantic.”
She took the phone he handed her and dialed John Paul first. Dimitri listened to the tired murmur of her voice assuring the man she was all right and she’d be there in a few minutes. Then again when she called Robby, repeating over again that she was okay. But even to his ears, she sounded false and hollow.
She was still talking when his phone chirped, signaling an incoming call. She lowered the device just enough to study the screen.
“It’s Penny,” she told him quietly. “She wants to know where you would like to meet her.”
He thought about telling her to head over to John Paul’s estate. That was after all where they were going, but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Everywhere Ava went, Elena seemed to be one step ahead. She had known about Ava being at Robby’s the night Ava was kidnapped. She’d known about the restaurant with Robby. She had known Ava would go to her apartment. She would know, the moment it hit the news that Ava wasn’t dead, that the only place Ava had left to go was John Paul’s, and Ava would be cornered.
“I need the phone,” he told Ava.
She said goodbye to Robby quickly and passed it over to him.
He called Stephen.
The boy picked up almost immediately.
“Yeah?”
“I need a hotel room. Don’t use my name. Something low key.”
That last part must not have registered properly, because when they arrived at the hotel where Stephen had rented a room for the next two weeks and Dimitri got the key from the front desk, the low key room was a presidential suite on the top floor, overlooking the entire northern part of the city, including a sprawling park. Dimitri stood in the foyer and surveyed the expanse, the gleaming marble, the grand piano, the wall of glass, the crystal dripping from the ceiling, and figured the boy was deaf.
“Why are we here?” Ava asked, standing next to him, small and pale faced beneath the streaks of dirt.
“Because Elena would never think to look here,” he told her. “She would know you would head to John Paul’s and that is where she would hit next.”
Her eyes widened. “Is John Paul going to be okay? I should call him.”
He gave her the phone and wandered away to survey the rest of the two story suite.
The girl at the front counter had eyed him when he’d lied about having lost his key. He clearly wasn’t the president, and since Canada didn’t have a president, he couldn’t figure out why there was a presidential suite, but he didn’t ask. He’d accepted the card she offered him and led their battered little party upstairs. He texted Penny in the elevator and gave her the address to meet them. Then he’d contemplated getting food sent up; his stomach was beginning to remind him he hadn’t eaten yet.
“Dimitri?” Ava had returned, phone held out to him. “John Paul wants to talk to you. I’m going to go up and shower,” she added once he’d accepted the device.
He didn’t stop her.
He put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“You should take her out of the country.”
Dimitri frowned. “I can’t leave and I’m not sending her alone.”
“So, what is your plan? Keep her there forever? Elena will find out.”
“I honestly have no plans beyond this,” Dimitri confessed. “I just know that if I bring her to your place, we’re basically handing her over on a silver platter. This might not be the best idea, but it gives us a day or two to think of something else.”
John Paul sighed. “This is getting ridiculous. How far could she have possibly gone?”
&n
bsp; “Far.” Dimitri moved to the terrace doors and peered out at the city line. “This is Elena we’re talking about.”
John Paul spat something in French.
There was a stretch of silence that extended almost fifteen heartbeats.
“Are you still coming with me to see Marcus?”
Dimitri had forgotten all about their plans to find out more about Julian Armando. The whole matter seemed small in comparison to their much bigger problem. He couldn’t bring himself to care why Julian did what he did or what his motives were or what he wanted later. All Dimitri wanted was to fix the problem in front of him and worry about the rest later.
“No.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the stairway and the second floor where Ava had disappeared. “I’m not leaving her alone again. You go and tell me what you learn.”
John Paul agreed and they hung up.
Dimitri stowed away his phone and faced the other man in the room, the giant, silent ghost that stood impossibly still on the other side of the sitting area.
“You saved her life,” he said. “I owe you.”
Frank shook his head. “That’s my job.”
Dimitri looked the other man over closely, something he hadn’t done when he’d arrived on scene. He took in the dirty, dusty, slightly tattered suit, the cleaned gash on his smooth, round head, and felt a twang of guilt.
“Are you all right?”
He should have asked sooner. He wasn’t sure what sort of employer that made him. A bad one, most likely.
Frank gave a curt, stiff nod. “Yes sir.”
“Do you need time off? Do you have any injuries?”
“No sir, none that will affect my performance.”
Dimitri sighed. “I keep trying not to think what might have happened if you weren’t there. She may not have gotten off with just a few bruises. Thank you.”
Frank only inclined his head again, his expression unreadable.
“This situation with Elena is getting out of hand.” Dimitri moved several steps closer. “I need to find her. I need to know what you know about her. You said she killed someone you cared about, that means you would have information on her. I need to know what you know.”
The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) Page 39