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

by Airicka Phoenix

  Dimitri did. He’d done the math, but Erik’s mistake was bringing the shipment into the city, which would have ended up in the hands of young thugs with a point to prove and blood on the streets. There had already been enough of that. Plus, for the amount it took Erik to move those guns, he could have put it towards the homes that were lost in the bombing. People were still crowded in shelters and living on the street and Erik had spent almost eight million on guns. That had been the actual trigger for Dimitri.

  “The people like him,” Theresa muttered. “Even if they knew who he was, they won’t tell us.”

  “He’ll fuck up,” Dimitri joined in. “Eventually, his luck will run out and we’ll be ready.”

  “Let’s hope so. At this rate, we’ll all be broke.”

  That was unlikely, but Dimitri didn’t say as much. He nodded with the rest, going with the scheme, pretending outrage—something he was getting fairly good at. It helped a lot that he knew their moves before they made them. It helped that he knew when to strike and when to avoid. He’d been very careful not to get caught, like he had with Chan Lee. That was a disaster he couldn’t face again.

  He’d also taken to stealing from himself, which was a lot harder than it seemed. Not because he couldn’t part with the money, but he always had to be sure it was done in a way that seemed harder than it was. The efforts paid off when no one asked why he wasn’t getting his shit taken. It avoided detection and suspicion.

  Being a vigilante was a lot harder than one would suspect, especially in a world of technology and him with zero computer skills. Criminals no longer kept their blocks of cash in some dusty backroom under tripwire. It was all digital. The transferring, the making and spending of money was all done with the sweep of a finger.

  Stephen helped with that.

  Dimitri had been forced to lure the boy into his web, threatening him with what would happen if the other territories ever found out it was him helping the Devil. Stephen had practically fainted initially, but once he realized he was like Alfred to Dimitri’s Batman, things had gone fairly smoothly.

  The rest, the physical breaking and entering, Dimitri could do on his own. That was only for the shipment of things, weapons, drugs, and sometimes people. It was easier knowing what he was dealing with if he could see the product up close.

  In all, the operation was going as smoothly as one would expect considering he was a criminal fighting against other criminals for the better of the city.

  Theresa reached for her papers and shuffled through them. She found the ones she was looking for and was about to address whatever was on the docket next when the numbers above the elevator began to climb.

  Marcus noticed it first and motioned for the others. The room went silent as the tiny ball of light stopped on their floor.

  No one moved. But hands were inching into lapels for the weapons tucked out of sight. Dimitri’s own fingers coiled around the trigger of his 9mm as his vision sharpened on the doors.

  They slid open with a rumble of gears.

  The room seemed to hold its breath.

  Then a tiny figure emerged, the click of her heels entering the room before she did, a stunning sight in a sleeveless, form fitting dress the exact shade of midnight accented by a thick, gold belt and gold pumps. Hair the glorious auburn of a sunset shimmered in fat curls down a slender back and pale shoulders. Green eyes painted a seductive, smoky gray turned over the group.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  Dimitri came out of his shock first. He shot out of his chair, his concern overruling his questions.

  “Ava?” He started towards her, searching for signs of injury or that something was wrong. “What—?”

  She stopped him with just one hand being barely lifted past her hip. She offered him a look that said everything was okay. She was fine, but he remained standing.

  When she was sure he wouldn’t continue, she addressed the rest of the room.

  “I apologize for the intrusion,” she said formally, her tone even and clipped. “I hope I’m not too late.”

  “Late?” Theresa glanced at the others, as puzzled as they were. “What’s is this?” The question was directed at Dimitri. “This is a sacred location that you swore you would protect, not just divulge to any—”

  “He didn’t tell me,” Ava interrupted. She started the slow walk across the spacious room, her heels cracking in a rhythmic pace across the marble. “I’ve known for a few years where this place was.”

  Theresa looked skeptical. “How?”

  Ava smirked like that was an adorable question. “My father and my lover are both part of the organization. I listen.”

  Being called her lover had the pit of his stomach pitching, that tugging sensation that made him want to grab her and sink his teeth into her naked thighs. And she always said it in such a possessive manner, like she was daring the other person to challenge her.

  But none of those thoughts helped him fathom what on earth she was doing there, or why she was circling the table.

  She passed him and he felt the brush of her finger tips over his ass before she was gone and moving onward.

  It hit him the moment she came to a stop at John Paul’s vacant chair. When she set her palms flat on the curve of its headrest, her nails an alluring red against the buttery black.

  “Ava…”

  She spared him a fleeting glance, a look that told him to stop worrying. She knew what she was doing. But he wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t possibly understand what she was implying.

  Her gaze swept across the expanse and fixed on the only other woman in the room.

  “My father is—was the thirteenth Morel in this chair,” she proclaimed, gliding her palms along its width. “It was passed down from father to son for generations. I know, because he told me so. That tradition is not going to change now.” She pulled out the chair and lowered herself into it. Her long legs crossed. Her fingers rested comfortably along the armrest, a regal queen on her throne. “I’m taking my rightful place as head of the mainlanders.” She raised an eyebrow as she continued. “That is how this works, isn’t it? A member can only inherit the seat or be voted into it, right?”

  Theresa stole another glower at Dimitri like this was his fault.

  “Stop looking at him.”

  Ava’s sharp command startled everyone, Dimitri included, even though she never raised her voice. The authority in it sent a powerful shiver through him that made him painfully aware of the bulge forming in his pants and the fact that he was still standing. Thankfully, no one else seemed to be paying him any attention.

  “As a strong business woman I would think you would understand how clever we can be without the aid of men. Now,” she leaned back, sexy as fuck, in Dimitri’s opinion. “I am John Paul’s daughter. I will fight you tooth and nail on that, and this chair. As sole heir to his estate and business holdings, it’s mine and that is my territory. Is that a problem?”

  Theresa’s mouth opened. It shut. It was the first time any of them had ever seen her speechless.

  “Great.” Ava smiled. “It’s settled.”

  She stared from face to face, pausing at Dimitri to offer him that little smirk she normally reserved for moments she was about to do something that would send his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

  He was already hard enough to embarrass himself, but that look … it had his molar grinding together with the barely suppressed urge to fuck her right where she sat.

  Her grin broadened knowingly.

  Fucking woman.

  “Now, that we’ve settled that.” She peered at the others. “What’s next on the docket?”

  Dimitri lowered himself back into his seat. It was across from hers, across a table that had never seemed so massive than it did in that moment.

  She didn’t glance at him again and when she did, it was neutral, professional. No one would have ever guessed she’d spent that morning being plowed in the ass against the shower tiles. The image had h
im biting the inside of his cheek. Her cool indifference when he knew what a dirty, foul-mouthed siren she could be was the worst sort of turn on, the painful kind, the kind that physically hurt his balls.

  He didn’t hear a word of anything that was said throughout the entire meeting. He made a passable attempt to make a mental reminder to ask Marcus or Erik later. Much later, he thought as everyone rose out of their chairs almost an hour later, his eyes fixed firmly on the woman smoothing delicate hands over her skirt.

  Theresa said something to her and Ava nodded, her curls bouncing lightly on her shoulders. The two shook hands. Then more handshaking between her and Marcus, then her and Erik.

  Dimitri stayed back, casually at ease in his chair, one leg bent over the other. His elbow rested on the armrest, his hand balled loosely against his mouth.

  Then it was just them. Him and the woman who exhaled loudly the moment the elevator doors closed behind the others.

  “That was intense.” She laughed, hand pressed to her belly. “I was so nervous. Did I do okay?”

  “You were perfect.”

  She bit her lip, still grinning. “I thought they could see my hands shaking. I kept trying not to wipe them on my dress.” She blew out another breath. “And that Theresa woman … wow! Scary.”

  “You were better.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “You’re such a liar, but I love you for it.”

  He ran a tongue over his bottom lip. “What made you decide to do this? You never mentioned wanting the mainland before.”

  Her expression became serious, thoughtful. “I’ve been thinking about it quite a bit since the funeral. I kept wondering who would take over and would they be good enough? Would they be fair? Would they help the people or themselves? Then I wondered what John Paul would want, who he would pick, and I couldn’t think of anyone. So…” she gave a little shrug. “I thought, why not me? I’ve been part of this world since I was nine. Between you and John Paul, I was basically groomed for it. I know my territory better than anyone. I love the people and I know what John Paul would have wanted.”

  Christ, he loved her.

  “This is a conflict of interest now,” he reminded her. “You’re basically sleeping with the enemy.”

  Her eyebrow lifted even as her eyes darkened. “Is that right? What do you suppose we should do about it?”

  Dimitri’s answer was to push to his feet. He moved around the table, his strides slow and even. He watched as her lips parted and her breathing quickened.

  By the time he’d reached her, her panties were already around her ankles and her skirt twisted around her hips. Her pussy winked at him, pink and wet.

  He tore the flimsy bit of material over her shoes and stuffed them into his pocket. Then he had her hips, his hands biting as he forced her on the table, her legs wide around his hips.

  She freed him, her small hands yanking apart his trousers and fishing him out. She stroked the painfully stiff length of his erection, making him groan and buck into her palm. The head leaked. He was already so fucking close, he almost stopped her.

  But she pulled away and dropped back on her elbows. Her grin was mischievous as she peered up at him through dusky lashes.

  “You know what we’re about to do, don’t you?” She rolled the hem of her skirt higher on her stomach so he had a clear view of her swollen clit and the puddle beneath her ass. “We’re on the most powerful table in the city.” She dropped back fully. Her hand went to her lips, pulling them apart and reaching in the center to insert a finger. She gasped, a sultry sound that made his toes curl in his shoes. He watched, cotton mouthed, as she pushed another finger past the tight ring of her soaking sex. “This is where every decision is made, where lives are decided, and you’re going to fuck me on it.”

  Fucking right he was.

  He tore her hand free and replaced her fingers with a bruising thrust of his cock. Her cry raked over the walls, down his back and tightened around his balls. The sweet shrill of it fueled him, drove him. He beat into her with an abandon that should have broken the fucking table. The thing groaned and rattled and he kept fucking his woman until she came screaming his name and clutching his ass. Her nails bit into the flexing muscles of his cheeks as her back bowed off the table.

  He held on to his own release, hell bent on pumping every last tremor out of her first before filling her with everything he had.

  Their combined fluids trickled across the glass in a hot, wet mess, and Ava sobbed, a violent shudder squeezing around his pulsing cock as she came a second time just from the sight of it. She fingered her convulsing clit, her eyes hot and hungry on his until the last second before collapsing back on the glass, wheezing.

  “When’s the next meeting?” She closed her hand in his tie and yanked him over her for a deep, passionate tangle of tongues and wiggling hips. “I want to be naked on here next time and I want to ride you.”

  “Fuck, Ava!”

  His hands closed in her hair and he yanked her head back. He bore into her flushed face, into her eyes. God, he fucking loved this woman.

  She smiled up at him. “Take me home, cowboy. I’m not done with you.”

  He was fine with that. More than fine. He was already easing her gingerly back onto her feet when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  She laughed at him as he fumbled between pulling it out with one hand and trying to stuff his penis back into his pants with the other without smudging their juices all over his screen. He shot her a glower that went ignored as she fondled him, patting his sides for her panties. He slapped her hands away.

  “Mine,” he told her and grinned when her laugh deepened.

  “Such a pervert,” she said with a shake of her head. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss. “I love that about you.”

  He was still smirking with his own smug arrogance when he pressed the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah?”

  There was a hollow sound of too much open space, the roar of crashing waves, a seagull’s agitated caw. Then a voice, unfamiliar at first.

  “Hello Mr. Tasarov. This is Julian Armando.”

  Dimitri stopped moving. His fingers tightened around the phone, all good feelings evaporating.

  “Mr. Armando, hi.” He caught Ava’s startled gaze. He lowered the receiver and hit the speaker phone. “What can I do for you?”

  “I am in the city for business,” the man said over the rush of wind, his voice filling the emptiness of the room. “I would like to meet with you and Ava, if you have a moment to spare.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you both in private.”

  At Ava’s shrug, Dimitri replied, “Yes, of course we can meet you. When?”

  “I do not wish to impose. At your earliest convenience will be fine.”

  They set a time for later that afternoon. Both parties agreed and the connection was severed.

  Dimitri stowed his phone away and faced Ava. “You okay?”

  The smooth column of her throat flexed with her rapid swallowing. “I think so. He seemed like a decent guy. I don’t think this will be a problem.”

  He nodded, partially agreeing with her. The man he’d met in Puerto Rico had been decent. He’d been overly generous. There was a flaw in that that made Dimitri unease.

  “Whatever it is, we will deal with it, yeah?”

  Ava took his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ava wasn’t entirely certain how was she was supposed to feel about meeting the man who’d bought her. As far as she knew, no one had paid Julian Armando back, did that mean she still belonged to him? Was that why he was coming to meet them? To tell them she was his and had to go with him?

  The idea chilled her, but it wouldn’t happen. Never mind that Dimitri would never allow it, Ava wasn’t about to go anywhere with the guy. Nevertheless, the fear thickened the closer the hour drew to when they would meet Armando. The knot i
n her stomach tightened, making it impossible to hold her mascara wand steady.

  “It’ll be okay,” Dimitri murmured coming up behind her, his hands warm, comforting stamps against her sides as he leaned in to kiss the back of her head. “Whatever he wants, I’ll take care of it.”

  In the vanity, she studied his face, his eyes that still hurt to look into sometimes without thinking of the other man she’d loved. She never dreamed it could be possible to love someone half as much as she loved him. Some days, the worries, the nightmares were so fierce she was sure she’d go mad. But then she’d look up and their gazes would lock and that madness receded back into the vast ocean that had become her life. It calmed the waters. It chased away the overcast. It righted her world back to order.

  He was her anchor.

  He was that deep breath that slowed the chaos.

  She didn’t know what she’d do without him, especially the last month.

  It still hurt to think about John Paul. The last thirty days hadn’t numbed the pain. She wasn’t sure why she thought it would. Someone must have told her time was the thing she needed. Maybe more time than this. She wasn’t sure.

  But each morning she woke up and went downstairs expecting him to be there. It was almost reflex to have her gaze dart to his chair, now empty except for the square of light from the windows. And no matter how many times she braced herself, the sight of it still socked her in the stomach.

  She hadn’t gone in his office or bedroom. Both doors were shut. They would stay shut, probably forever. She would never be strong enough to venture into either. She wouldn’t be able to stand seeing an open file that he’d been working on, or a shirt that had been tossed on a chair, waiting to be picked up.

  So, she left them. She let them collect dust. Not even the maids were allowed in there. She wanted nothing disturbed. Maybe a part of her still hoped he’d return and it would all be just like he’d left it.

  Maybe she needed help.

  The hospital had suggested a therapist, a woman by the name of Francine Wilder. They told Ava she was brilliant. The best in her field. She’d helped refugee women overcome their horrors and live normal, peaceful lives.