Текст книги "Transcending Darkness"

Автор книги: Airicka Phoenix

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

Chapter 7

Killian studied the bank slip Juliette had left behind and thought of the woman who had evaded his men and risked her life to tell him to take back something most people would have never questioned. Money was the thing that turned his world. It was something everyone worked very hard to obtain and keep, including murder. Yet she had thrown it back in his face even though it was obvious from her bank slip that she had none. With his amount gone there would be nothing in there. So why had she given it back? Why all of it?

He set the slip down on his desk and stared at it some more, determined to make sense of the mystery that was Juliette Romero, because it made no sense. She made no sense and the more he thought about her the less sense she made.

“Sir?” Frank darkened the open doorway of Killian’s office, hands clasped neatly in front of him. He regarded Killian with cool, black eyes. “The car is ready.”

“Already?” Automatically, his gaze dropped to his watch.

“Yes sir.”

Jesus, it was already after eleven. Where the hell had the time gone?

He glanced at the mound of papers spread out across the expanse of his great grandfather’s favorite desk. None of it was finished. He had started, but at some point his mind had wandered back to that morning and Juliette and hadn’t returned.

Juliette.

He eyed the slip just sitting there, mocking him and shook his head. Damn if that didn’t just prove his theory about her.

Dangerous. Definitely. Absolutely. No doubt about it.

Dragging the slip into the top drawer of his desk, Killian rose. He fastened the button on his blazer and made his way to where the other man stood. Neither said another word as Killian made his way downstairs and out the front doors. The limo and BMW had been switched for a simple town car in gunmetal gray. Marco stood at the door, holding it open. He tipped his head forward slightly in indication when Killian approached.

“Would you like to make any stops before we hit the club, sir?”

Killian shook his head. “No, thank you, Marco. Straight there, please.”

Marco bowed his head again as Killian took the backseat and the door was shut behind him. Frank crammed his large frame into the passenger’s side, rattling the frame and making the little pine air freshener swing beneath the rear view mirror.

Killian drew out his phone and scrolled absently through the emails he would spend the night combing through. There never seemed to be a shortage in crap people sent him. He made a mental note to get someone to go through the mess for him. It was time consuming and he already had too little of it to waste.

“Sir, would you like me to double security at the house?” Frank broke through the silence, attention fixed on the tiny phone in his massive palm. “I think after the incident this morning—”

“No,” Killian said, pocketing his phone and turning his gaze to the window. “If Juliette returns, I am to be informed immediately.”

Frank lifted his head and turned it ever so slightly over the seat. “Sir, that is not advisable. To be lax about security—”

“She is not a threat,” he cut in and almost laughed; she was nothing if not the biggest threat Killian had ever faced. “I want to be informed.”

Frank inclined his head once before keying the instruction into the phone. Killian knew it would be sent to every member of his security team as an update.

“Max has just informed me that the money transfer you requested be sent this morning was returned.” Frank paused to scroll more carefully through the message. “Perhaps there was an error with the bank or the account numbers Domino retrieved. Would you like him to resend or look into the matter?”

Killian shook his head. “No.”

Frank sent the message to Max.

There were no more questions as they drove into the heart of the city and Killian’s brand new nightclub. Ice was only one of fifteen, but so far, it was his favorite. The glass and steel motif reminded him of living in an ice castle. The place was spacious with three full floors for dancing, a fully stocked bar and menu and a bartender that could make just about every drink under the sun. Plus it was the first establishment he’d bought with money that didn’t belong to his family. It had come from his own hard work and that alone made it special.

The car was pulled up behind the building and Killian climbed out before Marco could get the door for him. The night was humid with the promise of rain. Already the streets glittered like black diamonds and crunched beneath his soles as he made his way inside.

The backdoor opened just behind the dance floor and was guarded by a beefy bouncer who kept people from sneaking inside without paying admission. He gave Killian a fleeting glance before turning narrowed eyes back on the crowd.

Marco took lead, paving a path along the edges of the packed floor towards the stairs tucked in a corner towards the back. Beneath their feet, lights blasted neon tones that reflected off the glass tables, walls and ceilings. Strobe lights pulsed in time to the heavy thunder of bass and swung wildly over sweaty skin and glittering dresses. The place was full and he knew outside would already have a lineup. He paid no attention to anyone as he followed the stairs to the third floor. Frank was at his back, moving with a quiet sort of grace a man his size should never possess.

At the top, Killian opened the metal door leading into his office and stepped into the box overlooking the entire club. Most of it was one sided glass that glinted a deep purplish blue that matched the plush carpet tucked beneath the leather sofa and glass coffee table. There was an onyx bar pushed up against the right side with glass shelving built into the wall behind it. At the head of the room sat a desk with a computer.

It wasn’t the most original or fancy club he owned, but it was his.

He moved to the wall of glass and peered down at the moving figures below. Beautiful women with glistening bodies barely covered by scraps of fabric swayed and sashayed to music he couldn’t hear in the soundproof confines of his haven. He could have any one of them, he thought. He wasn’t ignorant to his looks or the fact that he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. Women liked both and he had used both in the past to get what he wanted. But money hadn’t worked with Juliette. Nothing he did seemed to impress her and he wasn’t sure what that said about him or her.

Below, a red head in a slinky green dress grinded against a brunette. The two were drawing a lot of male admirers and Killian couldn’t blame any of them. The pair were beautiful, young and drunk. He was half tempted himself to join them. Tempted, but not exactly motivated to follow through. Not even when the redhead slipped her hand up the brunette’s skirt and had the brunette catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Who’s manning the floors?”

Frank checked his phone. “A new guy, Brock. Why?”

“Tell him to get the two porn stars off the dance floor before we have an orgy on our hands.”

He heard Frank heave himself off the sofa and walk up behind Killian’s shoulder. He found the two and shook his head. Without a word, he turned and left the room. Killian watched as his head of security hit the main level and cut a wide path through to where the girls stood, passionately lip locked and oblivious of everything until they were torn apart. They pouted. The men around them booed. But the two were still escorted off the floor towards the exit.

Killian shook his head.

As fun as it all was to watch, he didn’t run that type of business. Sure he knew it happened. He knew there would be discarded condom wrappers in the bathroom by the time the night was over, but it didn’t mean he turned a blind eye to it.

Show over, he turned his attention to the rest of the place. He watched the waitresses, the bartender, the DJ. He took note of the lighting and the way the customers moved around the glass tables. There was still plenty of work that needed to be done, but so far nothing that caught his immediate attention.

Distractedly, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was still fairly early, yet he had no desire to be there. After a sleepless night, part of him wanted to head home and attempt a few hours of shut eye, not that it would do him any good. He knew he would merely toss and turn until frustration propelled him up and pacing the estate. Occasionally, he got lucky and managed an hour or two. Those nights were rare and usually disturbed by visions of blood, screaming, and death. There were times he forced himself to stay awake just to not have to see that.

That night, he was exhausted. His head felt full of cotton and lead and he had no sense to concentrate like he knew he ought to.

Maybe he should go home, he decided vaguely while glancing at the eight new messages flashing across his screen. A few he knew he needed to respond to immediately while the rest could wait until morning. But it was the text message from an unknown number that gave him pause.

It was a series of seemingly random letters and numbers that were mashed together to form two paragraphs. Anyone not familiar with the secret language he and Maraveet had spent an entire summer inventing as children would automatically assume the sender’s phone had accidentally pocket texted him. But Killian knew exactly who the sender was and what the message said and it made him snort in response.

“I hate ducks,” it began in true Maraveet fashion. “Vicious, unlikable creatures. Why couldn’t they go extinct instead of the white tigers? Oh, that’s right, because they are useless. I bought new shoes from a little store in Paris and stopped at a café for some coffee and one of the little fuckers stole my box. Snatched it right up from under the table and took off. It was lucky I wasn’t carrying or I would be having duck for supper.

What is this I hear about your insane idea to open a nightclub in New York? Nothing ever lasts there, except questionable road conditions and those hotdog venders. I’m telling you, I’m not convinced they’re all beef. Still can’t believe you bought one that summer we went there to see The Statue of Liberty. I thought Mother was going to die right there on the street. Don’t be too much of a brat, hm?”

Maraveet was the closest thing he had to a sibling. They shared no blood, but their parents had been close friends and Maraveet was the only child of his parent’s business partners that he was allowed to play with. He had never minded. She’d been a pain most days, but she had also kept him company, which was a big deal when there was no one else.

But all that changed when her parents were killed and Maraveet was brought to live with them. They’d only been seven, but she had been devastated. For months, she’d wandered the estate, crying at the drop of a hat. He hadn’t understood it at the time, he’d had his own parents so her loss was something he couldn’t relate to. But when he lost his mom, then his dad in the span of a few short years, he understood it too well. That was the year Maraveet considered them cursed and told him to stay away from her. That as long as they kept apart, they wouldn’t be used as pawns against the other.

“If it looks like we have no one, we won’t have to go to another funeral.” That had been her logic.

Killian had let her go. He couldn’t keep her even though he’d tried. She’d already made up her mind and on the night of her seventeenth birthday, she’d packed her bags and left for Paris to take over her family’s obtaining business. She was good at it and it made her happy. Occasionally, she would send him an encrypted text message with clues to her newest adventure, but he hadn’t liad eyes on her in years.

“Maybe the duck smelled that revolting perfume you’re so fond of and thought you were its mate,” he wrote back, grinning to himself. “And there is nothing wrong with New York. That hot dog tasted delicious, even if it might not have been beef. Also, I can be a brat all I want. It’s not like you’re here to stop me.”

Hitting send, Killian pocketed the phone and glanced at the glass again. He knew Maraveet wouldn’t answer again. Not for several months, maybe even years. But at least she wrote. It eased his mind that one of the criminals she was always hanging around with hadn’t killed her. It really was a matter of time, especially when she spent her time smuggling hot goods from country to country and encountering drug cartels and murderers. And telling her to quit was out of the question; she had a criminal nose like her father and refused to acknowledge the possibility of being double crossed. She was too good at what she did, and there was the fact that she knew dirt on just about everyone. Her connections were limitless and kept her well protected, which gave him some peace of mind.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, momentarily surprising him. He knew it wouldn’t be Maraveet even before he fished it out, but a part of him hoped it was. It was ridiculous and pitiful, but he hadn’t had anyone to talk to in years. Sure, he talked plenty of business with many people, but he hadn’t had a normal conversation with a normal person in so long, he couldn’t even remember it. Maybe it was with Maraveet before she left. Maybe it was with his dad before he died. Both had faded into the double digits. No one really understood just how lonely an island of one really was.

As quickly as the thought penetrated, he shoved it aside. The serrated fingers of weakness and doubt cut into flesh before it was forced back into the deep recesses of his mind. He focused instead on the new message and the many more waiting for his attention.

It was on the forefront of his mind to spend the remainder of the night going over correspondences when a flutter of white caught the corner of his eye. Flashes of color in a club full of people and lights wasn’t so uncommon, yet it was compelling enough to catch his attention and coax his gaze down to the dance floor.

Amongst the sea of oversexed women, she practically glowed with a radiance that seemed to outshine every single person there. It was as though she had her own spotlight gleaming down over her, following her as she cut through the throng of people in the direction of the bar. In the semi darkness, her pale dress radiated an almost purple. Her tied back hair shone a soft gold. Strands had escaped to frame her flushed face and the anxious look in her eyes.

For several confounded moments, Killian could only stand there and stare with open mouth wonder. His brain couldn’t seem to comprehend whether or not she was an illusion conjured by the state of his unstoppable need for her or if she had somehow found him. Both filled him with a certain level of dread and excitement. He watched as she slid into a corner and looked out over the floor. He waited to make sure she wouldn’t move from the spot before making his way out of the office and down the stairs. Marco glanced up from the bottom. He straightened when Killian drew closer.

“It’s fine,” he told the other man as Killian moved past him towards the front of the bar.

He spotted Frank making his way back, saw the confusion on the man’s face as he caught sight of Killian. But he didn’t try to stop him, nor did he—as Killian expected—let him go alone.

She was exactly where she’d been when he’d first seen her from the office, tucked alongside the bar with her purse hugged to her midsection and her eyes moving rapidly over the crowd. Killian paused to study her, taking note of the fine lines knotting the place between her eyebrows and the restless gnawing of her teeth along her lip. It was clear she was waiting for someone and he couldn’t help wondering if it was him. Had she somehow found him? More importantly, what did she want? She had already made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing from him, not him, not his money. He wasn’t sure what else he could possibly offer. Unless she was there for another night of intense, mind blowing sex. He normally didn’t bed the same woman twice, but he knew he wouldn’t say no to her if that was what she wanted. Truth be told, he couldn’t stop wanting her either.

A man broke away from the dancers and meandered his way over to where Juliette stood. His approach wasn’t expected. Juliette tensed and narrowed her eyes as he approached. Her grip on her purse tightened as the man stopped mere feet from her. He said something that had her shaking her head and backing up a step. He followed her retreat and Killian stiffened. Sharp blades of anger crawled along his spine. It curled his fingers into fists at his sides and tensed the lines of his shoulders in a sensation Killian hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

The man continued to grin as Juliette unsuccessfully tried to sidestep around him. She said something and he shrugged, slow and deliberate. He moved into her space again and Juliette lifted one hand against his chest, holding him back even as he ignored it. He captured her wrist and used it to jerk her into his arms. His hands went around her, gliding and stroking her back, sides and arms while he swayed his body against hers in grinding rotations. Juliette twisted and finally shoved him back. She said something and, even from the distance, Killian recognized the heat. The anger. Not many women could pull off sexy when they were pissed. The way her eyes lit up when she was furious was the same fire that shone in her eyes when she was aroused. It was hot and intense and it fueled him with a powerful surge of adrenaline he knew could either be really good or really bad.

He reached for her again. This time with an insistence that had even Frank stiffening at Killian’s back. He reached for Juliette and was met with a resounding crack of her palm across his cheek. The snap echoed over the music, drawing the attention of a few dancers, but no one made any move to intervene. No doubt in their minds, the two were having a lover’s quarrel.

Killian knew better.

He charged forward before the guy had a chance to react. He got there just as one arm was being drawn back in retaliation. His hand closed around the wrist and, in the same momentum, dragged the arm back and around. He twisted it against the man’s back and shoved him forward, slamming him into the corner of the bar. Taken by surprise, he had no chance to react before Killian’s free hand had grabbed hold of the back of his head and slammed his face into the table.

“I really hope you weren’t about to do what I think you were,” he hissed low into the man’s ear. “Otherwise, I might need to teach you a lesson about raising your hand to a lady.”

Arm restrained, face mashed against the table, the man had no room to struggle, but he gasped.

“You’re going to leave,” Killian went on. “And if I see you again, no one will ever find your body.” And he meant it.

Not bothering to wait for a response, he shoved the man. A few dancers nearby scuttled back as he hit the floor at their feet. No one seemed particularly interested by the scene as they shifted further away and resumed their evening. Frank grabbed hold of the guy struggling to his feet and dragged him out of sight.

Killian turned to Juliette. She stood staring at him with a look of wide eyed confusion.

“Killian?” She glanced around them as though something in their surroundings might explain what was happening. Finding nothing, her gaze returned to him. “What are you doing here?”

It was clear that she hadn’t come looking for him, but it did make him all the more curious.

“Friend of yours?” he asked instead, gesturing with his head towards the direction the asshole.

Juliette shook her head. “I don’t know him.” She licked her lips and the plump curves glistened tauntingly under the light. “What are you doing here?”

He almost laughed at the question. “I own it.”

“You own…?” She trailed off as her gaze lowered to the piece of paper in her hand. She studied it a long moment before something seemed to click and her shoulders slumped as though she were afraid of that. “You own the place,” she mumbled with a sad sort of acceptance.

“Aye.” He studied her, trying to pinpoint what exactly she was thinking, but the lights and shadows kept shifting on and off the lines of her face, distracting him. “Come upstairs.”

He didn’t wait to see if she would follow. He turned and started back the way he’d come. It was only at the stairs that he paused and waited for her to catch up. Marco stepped aside as Killian offered Juliette his hand. At the top, he held the door open and waited for her to pass through first before following and shutting them in.

She groaned the moment the door sealed shut and silence descended. “That’s so much better.”

“Don’t like music?”

He moved to the bar, needing a drink. Or six.

“I love music,” she answered, stepping up to the glass wall and peering down. “I just don’t want to be deafened by it.”

“Then a nightclub is clearly not the right place to be,” he deduced, reaching for a bottle of whiskey.

Her chuckle made him glance up.

“Maybe,” she mused.

Drink forgotten, he found his gaze tracing the soft curves of her back, the womanly shape of her hips, the long, slender lines of her legs. Even scooped up, her hair reached the small of her back. It seemed darker in the dimness of the club. Then, as though sensing his eyes on her, she turned her head over her shoulder. Her brown eyes met his from across the room and held. The innocent gesture pierced through him with an intensity that shook him straight to the core.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she said quietly. “The lights look great off all the glass.”

He fixed his focus on pouring the drink. “Who are you here to meet?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice even. “A lover?”

The dry look she sent him was unnecessary. He knew what a stupid question that had been before he’d even spoken; of course there was no lover.

“There is no lover,” she answered anyway.

“Boyfriend then,” he corrected.

She shook her head. “No boyfriend.” She faced forward. “Last night would not have happened if there was one.”

“Of course,” he mused quietly. “He would never have allowed it.”

Her eyes found him once more over the smooth curve of her shoulder. “I would never have allowed it.” The corner of her mouth quirked. “And no, he wouldn’t. Would you?”

His drink paused midway to his mouth. “If you were mine?”

Color darkened the contours of her cheeks, but she held his gaze firmly. “If the person you were with was in my position.”

He didn’t even attempt to consider his answer. “Never. I would have skinned Cruz alive. But also, my woman would never have been a virgin.”

She did avert her eyes that time. Killian threw down a much too large gulp of whiskey and refilled his glass.

“Would you like a drink?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

Nerves calmed, he circled the bar and made his way to where she stood.

“You don’t drink.” He twirled his own drink absently. “You don’t carry a gun. You don’t have a lover. You don’t like loud music. Do you smoke?”

She shook her head.

He stopped when there was a full foot between them and peered down into her upturned face.

“Just what do you do, Juliette?”

“Work,” she murmured quietly.

His gaze drifted over the top of her head and settled on his desk without seeing it. He took a sip of his drink and contemplated his next question. He had so many.

“What kind of work?”

She drew in a breath that made her breasts swell against the material of her dress. She held it a moment before releasing it in a rush to answer.

“I’m a waitress at Around the Bend,” she said evenly. “And a maid at the Twin Peaks hotel. On weekends, I work at Fun Time Arcade and Fun Pit.”

“Jesus.” He lowered his glass. “When do you sleep?”

She gave a wry smile. “Coffee and I are very close.”

“Surely you don’t only always work,” he cajoled.

“Pretty much,” she stated with a small shrug. “What about you?”

He met her gaze. “Do I work or do I do all those things?”

“The latter.”

He glanced at the glass. “Yes, I drink. In moderation. I do carry a gun. Yes, it’s registered and, yes, I do know how to use it. I used to smoke.” He threw back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down on the coffee table. “It was a nasty habit I picked up after my mother died. It was either smoke or drink and…” And he had needed all his senses to do what needed to be done. “Smoking was an easier habit to kick,” he finished.

She watched him with those eyes that seemed to see too much and he looked away.

“Why did you quit?”

“My father’s death, ironically.” He felt his mouth twist into humorless grin. “He hated that I smoked and begged me to quit for years. When he died … I quit.”

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Ten when my mom died and sixteen when I lost my dad.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I lost both my parents around that age as well.”

He started to tell her it wasn’t the same thing. That her mother’s cancer wasn’t the same as how his mother was brutally beaten, raped, and tortured, nor was her father’s gambling problems anything like watching his father die in his arms after taking a bullet meant for Killian. Yes, they had both lost their parents at a young age, but her loss was nothing like his. Yet there was something on her face, a shadow of pain he recognized that made him stop.

“You have your sister,” he reminded her instead.

Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and she turned away. Neither spoke for several long moments.

“I love my sister,” she said, but it was the way she said it, like she was reminding herself that made him glance her way. “Sometimes it’s just hard to remember why.” She seemed to remember he was still standing there, because her head jerked up and she faced him with a sheepish little grin. “Sisters can be a pain, that’s all.”

He said nothing.

“Do you have siblings?” she asked when the silence deepened for too long.

“Sort of,” he said, thinking of Maraveet. “We’re not related though and I haven’t seen her in years. She’ll drop by occasionally, unannounced, but it’s a hard thing getting a hold of her otherwise.”

Something in his tone, maybe a note of wistfulness had her peering back at him, a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes he did not appreciate.

“Does she live very far?”

Killian shook his head. “She travels a lot.”

Thankfully, she didn’t push. Instead, she glanced at her watch.

“I should go. My second shift starts in an hour.”

He turned as she started away from him. “Second?”

Juliette paused to glance back. “I have two hours between shifts and I’m down to the last hour.”

“When do you get off?”

She adjusted the staple on her purse. “Six.”

“Where?”

“The Twin Peaks hotel on—”

“I know where it is.” He had no recollection of moving until he found the space between them gone and he was standing a mere foot away. “But you never told me why you’re here.”

Juliette hesitated. Her lashes lowered to the gap between their feet. Her fingers knotted in her strap. The knuckles blistered white before she released them and lifted her eyes to his face.

“Arlo sent me. You have something he wants and he’s trying to use me to get it.”

The declaration collided square with his gut, expelling all his oxygen and making his insides ache. At the same time, it filled him with a familiar sort of rage he hadn’t felt in a long damn time. The latter had him turning away from her. It had his clenched fists sliding into his pockets as he moved to put an entire room between them. It wasn’t because he doubted his restraint. He just chose not to test himself.

“I see,” he murmured quietly. “And what does he want?”

Juliette shook her head. “He never told me.”

He glanced at her. He took in her doe brown eyes and weary expression. She stood so small and determined. But it was the way she was watching him back that had his curiosity bristling.

“What do you want?” he wondered out loud. “Were you hoping that by telling me, I would hand over whatever it is that little fuck wants?”

“No.” She held his gaze squarely. “I don’t want anything.”

Irritation spiked up the cavity of his body. He twisted around to face her fully, all the while, resisting the urge to march over and shake her.

“So, you’re telling me out of the goodness of your own heart.”

“No,” she said again. “I’m telling you so you know to be careful.”

That only seemed to intensify the burning coil winding up inside him. But it was the jagged thorns of something else, something foreign and deadly that had him tensing.

“And why would you do that, eh?” He edged around her carefully. “Why would I be a concern of yours? Were you hoping I would owe you? Were you hoping you could play me?”

For the first time since her confession, Juliette’s face twisted into one of absolute disgust.

“Play you? What on earth do you have that I would want?” she threw back at him. “I’m trying to get away from the lot of you, not get in deeper.”

That intrigued him enough to let go of some of his anger. But he kept a firm grip on his suspicion.

“What then? What would you like for this wee bit of information?”

He thought he had her when her gaze broke away from his and lowered to her feet. He thought for sure that she would ask him for money or protection. Part of him secretly hoped she would ask him to kill Arlo and end her problems. That was something he would do without hesitation. He still might depending on how the night ended.

“I don’t want anything,” she murmured at last with a weariness that made her voice come out strained. Her chin lifted and she peered at him once more. “But I don’t want Arlo to get what he wants either. Maybe it’s suicidal and stupid of me, but I realized something today after I talked to him, that I would never be free of him. That he would never let me go. He already lied once and I don’t believe he won’t do it again if it means getting what he wants. I know telling you was dangerous, but if I have to pick the lesser of two evils, I pick you.”

With that, she turned on her heels and slipped out the door.