Текст книги "Transcending Darkness"

Автор книги: Airicka Phoenix

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

Chapter 3

If there was anything Killian truly hated in the world it was having his time wasted. Already he’d had to reschedule six different appointments and reorder his calendar just to make the drive east, which was more than a rat like Arlo Cruz deserved. But it was something that needed to be done. Oh, he could have easily sent his men to make the point for him, but something like selling guns in broad daylight, in a park full of children spurred the psychopath in Killian into taking action. Plus a part of him was actually hoping Arlo would refuse, giving Killian an excuse to rid the world of the arrogant little fuck once and for all. It was purely out of respect for Arlo’s father that Killian was even willing to negotiate the problem. Juan Cruz was a vicious, violent, and bloodthirsty member of the underworld, but he understood the laws. He, like everyone else in the business, respected those laws. It was how peace was kept. The younger generation like Arlo, they sometimes forgot the order of things.

“Why don’t we have a drink and—”

“Why don’t you cut the shit and hand over my money,” Killian cut in, feeling his nerves reaching their maximum bullshit quota.

Agitation bore into the place just between his shoulder blades like an unreachable itch. It was taking all his resolve not to just kill the fucker and leave. It would certainly solve a lot of problems, but ultimately, it would also create a shit storm Killian was in no mood to deal with.

“I think we can all agree that forty is a more reasonable solution,” Arlo was saying when Killian forced himself to pay attention once more. “It’s a win for everyone.”

“Forty?” Disgust and outrage laced the single snarled word, serrating the edges until they were razor sharp. “This is not a negotiation. You broke the rules. You came into my territory to peddle your crap. Now, I don’t do business on your streets, but if I did, I would have the decency to pay the toll. So, give me my money or we will have a serious problem.”

There was a subtle sound of movement from the men stationed around the room. Killian was acutely aware of the gun metal and powder smell that stung the air. He knew everyone there, including his own men, were armed. He knew it would be a bloodbath if things went sideways. But he also knew Arlo was too much of a coward to go down in a glorious blaze of gunfire, because he was the type to shoot a man in the back in a dark alley rather than face him. Killian didn’t need a gun to destroy a man.

“Maybe we could make it forty and I’ll sweeten the pot with a little something extra.”

Bargaining. Killian had been expecting it and yet it sent a spike through his head, making his temple pang in pain.

“What could you possibly have that would make me eat thirty percent of a ten million dollar profit?” he demanded.

The leer that twisted Arlo’s rat face made his knuckles itch with the desire to clock the other man in the kisser.

“Juliette.”

That name meant nothing to him, nor did it elicit even an ounce of interest. If anything, it only irked him all the further.

“The girl?” he said, not bothering to even glance at the door across the room. “Why would I want her?”

“Consider her a peace offering,” Arlo cajoled smoothly. “And hopefully, the beginnings of a business partnership.”

Now he really did want to hit the little punk.

“I don’t dabble in stolen women.”

Something sharp and angry flashed behind Arlo’s brown eyes that Killian recognized as outrage, but it was quickly smothered down.

“I have a shipment coming in in a week that will make us both very happy men.”

“If I let you use my docks,” Killian finished, having already had this song and dance with Arlo’s father only the night before. “I already told your father, I’m no longer in that business.”

Something about that statement seemed to amuse the other man. He shoved away from the table with a low chuckle and pivoted ever so slightly on the heel of his boots to face Killian head on.

“You say you’re not in the business and yet … here you are.”

The implication sent a white hot surge of fury rippling through Killian.

“I may not be in the business, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to let filth dirty up my streets. The north is still mine to protect.”

Arlo gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I can respect that.” His gaze roamed over to Killian’s men before dropping down to the purse laying forgotten on the ground. “Then take the girl as a token of my apologies for this misunderstanding.”

Killian tried not to pinch the bridge of his nose in impatience. He tried. Instead, his hand went up to grind four fingers into his throbbing temple.

“Why on earth would I take a girl that looks barely old enough to tie her own shoelaces over seven million dollars?” He sighed and fixed Arlo with cool, dark eyes. “I am losing my patience, Cruz.”

A palm was lifted in some absurd display of peace. “Like I said, a peace offering. Nothing more. I will get you the money, but I can only give you forty now and thirty in a week when my other shipment comes in. The girl is … a gift.”

“Is this a game to you?” Killian growled through his teeth. “Do you think I’m here as a joke?” He drew back. “Perhaps you need an incentive.”

Pivoting on his heels, he started towards the exit. His heels cracked noisily against the concrete. His men watched as he approached, but none were looking at him; he didn’t pay them to ogle him, but to watch his surroundings.

“Wait!” Arlo called at his back. “I will have the money sent directly to your account in the morning.”

Killian stopped. He slowly rounded on his heels. “I said now. Not in a day. Not in an hour or in five minutes. Now.”

A muscle wrenched in Arlo’s jaw that had his nostrils flaring, but he was smart enough to keep it out of his tone when he spoke.

“David.”

One of the men from his crew hurriedly dug out his phone. Killian glanced back at his own man and gave a subtle nod. Max pulled away from the group and went to where David stood. The two exchanged account information while Killian waited. He checked his watch. He was already ten minutes behind.

“Pierre, the girl,” Arlo ordered.

It was on the tip of Killian’s tongue to tell Pierre not to bother. He didn’t want the girl. But the Goliath had already thrown open the door with a shriek of rusted hinges. The steel sheet swung inward to what appeared to be a bedroom of sorts. Killian could just see the girl standing in the middle of the room, small and terrified. Her thin arms were wrapped around her chest, creasing the white material of her blouse. She backed away when Pierre charged into the room with her. Even from a distance, he heard her cry out when a meaty fist closed around her upper arm and wrenched her forward. Her heels scraped on stone as she was dragged before the assembly. She was fighting him, but it was doing no good; he was three times her size.

“Juliette.” Arlo took over when Goliath relinquished his grip. He hauled her to him and forcibly twisted her around so she was facing Killian. Enormous brown eyes shot up to his, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face. “This is the Scarlet Wolf. He’s going to take you home tonight.”

The Scarlet Wolf. Christ sakes. Who the hell introduced another person as The Scarlet Wolf? It was pathetic and he would have face palmed if he could do so without looking as moronic as Arlo. Besides, that was the title he had earned. It was the name everyone in the city knew him as, at least, those on the flipside of the law. People like Arlo and Juan. People who needed to be reminded of who he was and what he was capable of. It would forever be a reminder of a past he could never forget.

Across from him, what little color had resided in the girl face bleached to nothing so all that stood out was her eyes, wide and glossy with terror. They stared at Killian as though he were the devil reincarnated. She stood rigid against Arlo, her slight frame trembling hard enough to make Killian wince.

“This is Juliette,” Arlo went on. “Juliette here owes me a favor and I would consider it paid in full if she were to help you relax.”

Juliette seemed to still before his eyes. Killian could see something churning behind her eyes, a desperate sort of realization that parted her lips in a gasp.

Behind her, Arlo smirked. “Do we have a deal?”

She was thrust forward before she could even respond. Killian watched it happen as though in slow motion. He saw her stagger as her feet caught over each other. Her hands flung out to brace her fall. His own flew out without a shred of hesitation. He caught her—all of her—and hauled her into his chest. Her small frame tucked snuggly against his chest. His arms wound seamlessly around the curve of her narrow waist. Palms flattened against a slim slope of her back as the subtle scent of wildflowers rushed over him on impact. Eyes the rich gold of caramel shot up to his face, half hidden behind a riot of dirty blonde curls. Soft, pink lips parted, revealing just the hint of a slight overbite that seemed to be the only imperfection on an otherwise beautiful face. It was the sort of face that made smart men stupid and rich men poor. Killian wasn’t immune, but he wasn’t a fool either.

He released her quickly and stepped back.

“Keep her,” he muttered, forcing himself to look away.

“Please.”

The whisper was so low, he momentarily wondered if he’d imagined it. His gaze flicked to the girl with her big, pleading eyes and pitiful plea. Blood welled where her teeth cut a gash in her bottom lip. But it was the tear clinging to her thick lashes that did him in. Something about the sight of it punched him low in the gut. It reminded him of another woman, one that had meant the world to him, one he had lost because he’d been powerless to save her.

“Get your things,” Killian told her before his common sense could kick in.

Her throat muscles worked in a deep swallow. Relief shimmered in her eyes before she lowered them and hurried to the purse a few feet away. Her hand trembled as it was twisted around the worn strap. The spilled envelope of cash was left where it lay scattered in the dirt.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Arlo called after him when Killian started to turn away.

The smug arrogance in the single comment hackled along Killian’s spine with slimy fingers. He glanced back at the boy standing in all his own self-righteous glory and almost scoffed. Arlo Cruz would be nowhere without his father’s empire behind him. No doubt he would be just another statistic on the streets, a shit ass kid gunned down for robbing a liquor store. He had no class. He had no respect. The world had been handed to him on a gold platter and he relished in his own self-worth. Men like that seldom lasted very long in their line of work.

It was true that Killian got his own empire through several generations of McClarys before him. His father had trained him from the age of five to one day rule. But he’d been alone since he was ten. He raised himself. The city he owned and ran, he had held together by himself. His father hadn’t held his hand or fixed his mistakes. Killian had done it on his own.

“Stay off my turf, Cruz,” Killian said evenly. “I very much dislike repeating myself.”

Arlo inclined his head, but Killian caught the barely suppressed rage hidden deep in the other man’s eyes. He let it go. Arlo had every right to be pissed. Juan Cruz was not going to be pleased that his son managed to lose more than half their payment for a shipment that probably cost them double that to smuggle over. But that wasn’t Killian’s problem. Arlo was lucky Killian hadn’t asked for the full profit, which was in his right to do. There would have been nothing Arlo or Juan could have done about it. They might have been the Dragons of the east, but Killian dominated the north with some deep connections in the south and west. It would have been a bloodbath and the Dragons knew it.

No one moved or spoke as Killian headed to where the girl stood, purse clutched to her stomach. She didn’t budge when he stepped around her and started for the door. Max and Jeff led the way with the others left to follow in tight formation around Killian. Killian didn’t wait to see if she would follow. If she didn’t, well, that wouldn’t be his problem either.

At the front entrance, the guard stationed there quickly jumped back when Killian’s group emerged. He said nothing as they filed out, but his eyes lingered on the seven foot giant that took the end, guiding the girl through the doorway.

Frank had that effect on most people. He was twice the size of a regular man with hands bigger than Killian’s entire head and a body straight out of a bodybuilder magazine. His very presence installed a fear in Killian’s enemies no gun ever could. Not that his men didn’t carry. They all did. Killian didn’t and hadn’t in years. It was a personal choice. He had enough blood on his hands and, while he still lived in a world that required a daily dose of violence, he tried to keep the bloodshed to a minimal.

A scuffle from behind him had him glancing back just as the girl’s ankle twisted and she stumbled sideways. Frank caught her around the middle and nimbly set her back on her feet. He held on a moment as she limped on her injured foot a second.

“I’m okay,” she said at last, pulling away. “Thank you.”

Frank did what Frank did best, he inclined his head, but said nothing.

She glanced up to find the caravan had stopped and everyone was watching her. She blushed in the pale light spilling from the grimy light above the warehouse doors. Her hands nervously smoothed down her skirt and she adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.

Killian took that as a cue to keep moving. All the while, he couldn’t help wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into and how the hell he was going to get out. Unlike Arlo who had no qualms about using and abusing the weak, Killian had no such fetish. The girl was clearly someone in way over her head, or worse, she was some girl kidnapped from her country and shipped over. The Dragons were certainly not averse to human trafficking. It was, after all, their biggest trade, next to drugs and guns. Killian had never, nor would he ever, sell a human. His father hadn’t. His grandfather hadn’t. It was not the type of business the McClary’s had ever dealt in, because, despite how good the money was, they had morals. Oh, there was a time they dabbled in guns and there was an uncle, or cousin who had gotten himself into the drugs business. But he started dipping into his own product and wound up choking on his own vomit and dying and that had been the end of that. But the McClary’s had always been shippers. Transporters. They specialized in the safe passage of cargo and took forty percent of every cut, but that was before. All that changed after Killian’s dad died. It had taken years, but the entire company had been scrubbed to a near legal cleanse. The McClary Corporation no longer did transportation of the illegal kind. The money was less, but he still made a pretty coin through his many other business ventures. In no way was he a good, upstanding citizen, but he no longer had to play two sides of the law and that was something his family had never done. His grandfather would have been appalled.

Hands buried deep in the bowels of his pockets, Killian stalked to the limo waiting for him just were the gravel smoothed out to solid concrete. Most of the warehouse district was designed the same way, with gravel used as an almost alarm to forewarn the guilty of an oncoming presence. It was a pain in the ass and it left streaks of white on his best pair of trousers.

He glowered down at the white powder marring his hems and ruining his shoes.

That was his punishment for dealing with the matter himself, he thought miserably.

From his right, Marco hurried forward and yanked open the back door and held it.

Like Frank, Marco was one of the trusted employees Killian had kept on even after the purge. Everyone else had been fired the moment Callum McClary had been lowered into the ground. Their inability to protect his father had not been tolerated. But Marco was simply a driver. His father hadn’t trusted him with his life and Frank hadn’t been there that afternoon. His father had taken to dragging Killian everywhere since his mother’s death. Killian wasn’t sure if it was just to keep him close or because looking at Killian reminded his father of the woman he’d lost. But he’d sent Frank off to handle a different matter. It was an unusual move. His father rarely ever went anywhere without the giant. Sometimes Killian couldn’t help wondering if his father would still be alive had Frank been there.

A cool evening breeze swept through the group. A shiver passed through him that he brushed off with a roll of his shoulders. Behind him, the group stopped when he did. Without their feet disturbing the gravel, silence quickly followed.

He turned to face them and the girl. His gaze moved over their heads to squint at the looming structure and the anxious guard watching them with apprehension. But it was the snake he was guarding that prickled the sixth sense Killian had inherited when stepping into the family business. The one that warned him to be cautious.

“Call Jacob,” he told Dominic. “Tell him to be prepared.”

The dark haired man on Killian’s left inclined his head, but his brows were furrowed. “Think he’s stupid enough to double cross you?”

Killian gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “I think he’ll do what he can to avoid having to explain this to his father. Not that it will save him.” He smoothed a hand down the front of his suit. “I have every intention of letting Juan know exactly why I’m taking his money.”

“Arlo won’t like that.” While it was said with a straight face, there was amusement in the statement.

“That’s just too bad for him isn’t it now?” He rounded his attention to the other men waiting for instructions. “Take the car. I need a word with our guest.”

The girl flinched as though he’d reached out and smacked her. Her grip on her purse intensified until he was sure the cracked and peeling fabric might pop. But she didn’t run, or back down when their gazes met. He held hers for a full second before focusing on the figures fanned out behind her.

“Not you, Frank,” he said when the giant began to turn his massive frames in the direction of the SUV parked just ahead of the limo. “Ride up front with Marco.”

The giant gave a curt bob of his bald head before ambling to the passenger’s side door of the limo. But he didn’t get in, nor did the others make a move towards the SUV. He knew they were waiting for him to get into the limo first.

He faced the girl. “Ladies first.”

Her gaze darted past him to the open door then back, filled with a trepidation that almost made him arch a brow.

“Are you going to sell me?” she blurted.

No accent, he noted. Her English was clear, but that didn’t mean anything. Not all kidnapped girls were foreign.

“I don’t sell people,” he said evenly.

She licked her lips and he was momentarily distracted by the wet sheen across the plump curve. It took him a second to realize she was speaking once more.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

He regarded her calmly, taking in her hollow cheeks, the darkness beneath her eyes and the exhausted slump in her too thin shoulders. She had the look of someone who had once been healthy, but unavoidable circumstances had sucked the life from her body. He wasn’t overly picky about the physical appearance of his women. Big or small, they served the same purpose. But this girl … there was something in her eyes that made him want to stuff her full of food.

He derailed that thought before it could grow roots. For all her big, doe eyes, she wasn’t his problem. He refused to make her his problem. He would drive her to the bus station, buy a one way ticket to wherever the hell she wanted to go and never think of her again. That was the plan.

“Are you going to give me a reason to?” he said at last with an almost challenging quirk of his dark eyebrow.

He wouldn’t. He’d never hurt a woman in his life. But she didn’t need to know that. Maintaining order sometimes required fear, a subtle reminder that he was in control.

She shook her head a little too quickly, sending loose tendrils of hair swinging wildly around her ashen face. “I won’t. I promise.”

He motioned her forward with a sweeping brush of his hand. “Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”

With a reluctant jerk of her head in a nod, she started for the gaping hole waiting for her to climb into. Around her legs, her skirt twisted with the breeze. It lifted her hair around her face in a tangle. Her knees shuddered visibly with every step. But she made it to the door when Marco stepped forward. Killian had been expecting it. The girl had not.

She jumped and scrambled back away from him.

“I just want your purse,” he told her in an almost gentle murmur.

Rather than abide, her gaze shot to Killian’s. “Why do you need my purse?” she asked. “I don’t have any money.”

“I don’t want your money,” he told her. “It’s merely a precaution.”

She hesitated a full second longer before gingerly unhooking the strap off her shoulder and passing it over. Marco wasted no time tearing it open and rifling around inside. Killian had a suspicion there wouldn’t be much in there, especially not a gun. Somehow he doubted Arlo armed his whores. But he had learned from experience to never trust a pretty face.

As he expected, the purse was returned to her.

“Against the car, please,” Marco said, motioning with his chin towards the side of the limo.

“Seriously?” Juliette blurted, horrified. Her wide eyes jumped back to Killian. “I’m not carrying.”

“Precaution,” he said again.

Visibly biting back the retort he could see shining in her eyes, she moved to where Marco pointed and set her purse down on the ground. Then she planted both palms on the hood, smudging the spotless black paint with sweat. But even while she braced herself for his hands, she jumped when they lightly brushed her shoulders and started down her sides. Her eyes squeezed shut tight when they moved along her hips and down her legs. Then back up the inside to her thighs. Marco was quick. It ended reasonably fast and she jerked away the moment Marco stepped back. She snatched up her purse, her face bright with the first sign of color Killian had seen on her.

She glared at Killian. “I don’t like guns,” she told him sharply. “I’m not a threat.”

Unconsciously, the word threat drew his eyes to her mouth and he almost snorted at her outright lie. Everything about her was a threat and made even more dangerous by the fact that she clearly didn’t realize it.

“Precaution,” he said yet again, oddly fascinated by the fire reflecting in her eyes. He found he preferred it to the fear and emptiness he’d seen there so far. “You can never be too careful.”

Her gaze slanted to where his men still stood, silent and watchful. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled anxiously before returning her attention to Killian. Lips he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of opened only to be snapped shut by the resounding bang of metal that split the evening silence. The explosion sent a flurry of chaos into motion. Killian leapt into action without even pausing to consider.

He grabbed the girl. His bruising hands cut strips into her skin as he jerked her forward into his chest. One arm closed firmly about her middle as the other lifted to thread rough fingers through her hair and cup the base of her skull. Her face was shoved into the soft fabric of his dress shirt even as he whipped them around in a fluid and powerful twist of his body. Her back slammed up against the side of the limo and held there by the solid length of him as he tried to shield her from whatever was happening in the background.

“Whoa! Easy. It’s just me!” someone shouted into the chaos they’d created.

Killian pulled back from the girl just enough for a quick once over to make sure she was all right. He was met with those big eyes of hers and parted lips. Even with heels, she barely came to his shoulders and the slightness of her affected him far more than he was comfortable admitting. But it was the feel of the rest of her that had him jerking away. It was the graze of her taut little nipples through both their clothes that temporarily made him forget why he didn’t pick girls like her. He tried not to let himself look, knowing full well that it would end with her flat on her back across the limo floor and him tearing at her clothes like some starved animal.

Christ, what was wrong with him? Sure it had been a while since he’d been with a woman, but it hadn’t been that long.

He turned away, quickly and struggled to assess the situation. His men stood in a half circle around him and the girl, guns drawn and aimed at a kid barely eighteen, waving a white envelope in the air.

“Arlo wanted me to give this to her.”

He gestured at the girl. Her eyes flicked towards Killian, uncertain and dark. He stepped aside and let her accept the envelope the boy handed to Dominic, who passed it to her. She took it with a quiet murmur of thanks and frowned. Her gaze shot up to the boy, questioningly.

“Boss said to hang on to this,” the boy answered with an airy shrug.

It was clear from the bemused line crinkling the place between her brows that she had not expected the gesture. She turned it over in her hand and froze. Killian couldn’t see what she’d spotted, but whatever it was had her head jerking up and her eyes going as round as the O shape of her mouth in surprise. She forgot the boy and turned her attention towards Killian. Part of him wanted to ask, while the other determined they’d been in that driveway long enough and his skin was beginning to itch.

“Get in the car,” he told her, his hand already on her elbow, propelling her.

She didn’t fight him. She let him nudge her into the leather seat. Killian followed her as she abandoned the bench and moved to the one adjacent. The harsh halo of light spilling over them from the single bulb overhead shimmered through her unbound hair and illuminated the bleakness of her face. It intensified the rings beneath her eyes and the smudge of dried blood still staining her lip from her earlier nibbling. She wedged herself into the seat, perching rigidly on the edge with her purse stuffed into her lap and her back unnaturally stiff. She watched him the way most people watched a chainsaw wielding maniac.

Not far off, the voice in his head said dryly, and was ignored.

The door was shut behind them and they were alone in the semi silence. Somewhere ahead, he could just hear Marco and Frank climbing into their seats in front.

“What’s your name?” he asked as the car started its smooth departure.

“Juliette,” she whispered.

“Juliette what?”

“Romero.”

A dark eyebrow lifted. “Juliette Romero?”

She met his gaze with a warning he found immensely amusing. “My mom really liked Shakespeare.”

She seemed to think of something and quickly dropped her gaze. Her hands trembled as she stuffed the envelope into her purse.

“Where are you from?” he pressed.

She zipped the top of her bag before lifting her eyes to him. “Yorksten.”

Surprise flickered through him. “That’s only twenty minutes from here.”

Juliette nodded.

Clearly not kidnapped then, he thought, sitting back.

“How much are you in with Arlo?”

She blinked as though he’d caught her mid thought. “I’m sorry?”

“How much do you owe him,” he clarified.

Genuine offence pursed her brow. “Why does that matter?”

“Because I said so.”

She looked like she was ready to argue, but thought better of it. She grudgingly averted her eyes when she spoke.

“Hundred thousand.”

He knew to most people that would have been shocking; a hundred grand was a lot of money. But in his world, that barely sparked an ounce of surprise. The crackheads and dope fends ran that bill up easy.

“Drugs?”

Juliette shook her head. “It’s not my debt.”

Curiosity had his head tilting a notch to the side. “Whose is it?”

His question seemed to bother her. Her lashes lowered to her lap where her hands were twisting restlessly into the strap of her purse. Her teeth assaulted her already brutalized lip, uncaring that she was agitating the wound. She stayed that way for several long minutes. Killian waited, refusing to budge on the question.

“My father’s,” she murmured at last. “He got in deep after my mother passed away from cancer. He started playing the tables and the machines and…” she trailed off with a twist of her lips. “Anything that promised a big payout really.”

“He gambled,” he finished for her.

Juliette nodded. “And he drank heavily. I didn’t know about Arlo until he showed up at our house after my dad was shot during a drive by and demanded money or my sister.”

He said nothing for a damn long time. Instead he studied the woman across from him, traced the beaten lines of her body. She had a very nice body. He was certainly not immune to it. She had long legs and curvy hips. Truthfully, there was nothing about her he found remotely unattractive, nor could he deny his own body’s awareness of her.

He wanted her.

It was jarring because he didn’t normally find girls like her remotely appealing. The women he was used to were professionals, clean and carefully selected by him. They knew what he wanted. They knew the role. Girls like Juliette, girls who came off the streets and gave themselves to men for whatever little money they considered themselves worth, were a risk. They were dangerous.

“Are you lying?” He squinted at her through the shadows, scrutinizing her every movement carefully. “Because if I find out you’re lying…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. She struck him as a clever girl who would get his meaning without him needing to paint a picture.

Instead, she frowned at him like he just asked her to reenact Swan Lake.

“Why would I lie about having a sister?” she wondered with a hint of annoyance.

“You’d be surprised the things people lie about,” he stated evenly. “But I meant about why you owe Cruz. Is it drugs?”