Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Rusudan Tsetsilia Dadiana

“We came to the United States in 2007, eight years ago,
Deda, Keto and I. Deda is ‘mother’ in my language. Anyway, the three of us came
here like refugees, and this was even before the Russo-Georgian War. Let us
just say that my father was not a good man. Deda wanted a better life for us.
The American dream, I guess.

“She worked herself to the bone: a housecleaner, a hotel
maid, a waitress, a nanny. Never had less than three jobs, all under the table.
All our paperwork was forged because we didn’t want my father to find us. I was
only twelve when we got here. Keto was fourteen.

“Deda somehow got us into very good
schools, private. God knows how she paid. I wonder sometimes if she was the one
Breslin found first, if she was the way he found Keto, preying on the mother’s
desperation while laying a trap for the daughter.”

Knox interrupts. “You were born in 1995,” he says, sighing
in relief. “You’re twenty.”

I blink at him, dumbfounded, then incensed for the millionth
time in my short life as I realize the single-minded obsession of the male
brain with sex.

“Of course, I am an adult.” I roll
my eyes. “Is that all you heard, that you’re not a felon for sleeping with me? You
are supposed to be listening, thinking of ways to use my experience to beat
Breslin. You’re supposed to be giving me reasons to trust you, and instead you
calculating my age?”

“Sorry. Shutting up.”

“Fuck. I’ll have to make this long story as short as
possible, since you clearly have the attention span of a goldfish. Anyway, my sister
decided she wanted to be an actress. She started going to auditions without
telling Deda, lying about being in the school drama club. But she wasn’t. She
was running around Manhattan by herself.”

“Getting into trouble.”

“Not exactly. Keto was a very good girl, but she was also
ambitious. She didn’t want the kid stuff, the school plays. She wanted to make
money, to help Deda. She’d grown up watching our father beat our mother and she
was determined to make it up to Deda. So she had this crazy idea to become
famous as a surprise, a gift to her. Youthful stupidity.

“One day Keto told me she’d met a
man who said he would be her agent, get her real work, make her famous. He was
a powerful man, she said. A real man. She started acting different at home. She
cut her hair, she stuffed her bra, she put on airs.

“But it changed, slowly. At first it
was her dreamy secret, but it turned dark. I could see she was scared; the way
she looked behind her when we walked home from school, the way she laughed too
hard, and couldn’t sleep through the night.

“After a few months I got her to
confess to me that this man was also her boyfriend. She told me his name,
Jasper Breslin. Keto made me swear a blood-oath not to tell Deda. And because I
was a young stupid idiot, who worshipped her older sister, I did what she said.

“A week after she told me, Keto
disappeared.”

Knox’s face is clouded. “God, I’d never imagined him
actually trolling playgrounds for girls. That’s a whole other level of fucked
up. How old was she, when she disappeared?”

“Sixteen. It was 2009. She is the first name on the list
from his computer, maybe the first one he took.”

“Jesus.”

This next part of the story is hard to tell, and it takes me
a minute to work up the courage.

“Deda went wild with grief.” Already my voice is trembling.
“She haunted the police stations, the alleys. She called Congressmen. She wrote
newspapers. She would walk the neighborhood at night calling Keto’s name. No
one took her seriously. Hysterical woman, they called her. It was terrible to
see her like that. And I couldn’t do anything to make it right. I knew in my
heart if I had only told her everything, if I hadn’t kept my promise to Keto,
maybe she wouldn’t have vanished. I thought it was really
my
fault, that
I could have stopped it from happening. So we both blamed ourselves about Keto,
and let the guilt destroy us.

“Over the weeks and months, with no
word about Keto, Deda started drinking. She became volatile and unreliable,
retreated from the world. First her hotel job fired her for missing shifts, then
her restaurant job.

“I started working so we wouldn’t
lose the apartment, but then my grades slipped, and I lost my place in school.
That drove Deda over the edge. She felt like such a failure, like a monster, as
if it were her fault that her daughters had suffered. She gave up, never got
out of bed again.

“One day I came home from work and
Deda was dead. Hung herself with a blanket.”

It’s strange, saying it aloud. It’s strange, hearing my own
words, words I’ve recited to myself in my head for years, my secret personal history
finally voiced to another person. It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, and
it’s as if a wall around my heart is tumbling down, and sunlight is bursting in
for the first time in years. In the silence, I work to regain control of my
voice. Almost there. Almost to the end.

“It was then that my self-blame turned outward. I knew I
hadn’t killed my mother. I knew I hadn’t been the one to lose Keto. Someone
took them from me, someone was responsible, and I would have revenge on that
someone. That someone was Jasper Breslin. I knew in my soul the only way I
could make things right, was to make sure he was punished for his crimes.

“I was only fifteen. I knew the
state would take me away if they found me. I knew that if they put me in a home
I would have no chance for revenge, or at finding out what had happened to
Keto. So I left my mother hanging from the ceiling, took a few things, and ran
away.”

Knox’s hand covers mine, the pressure light but warm. He is
reassuring me, comforting me.

“That was very brave of you,” he murmurs. “It must have
broken your heart.”

Tears form in my eyes but I will them to stop. I have had
enough crying today. Now is not the time to cry. Knox is right, I have to pull
myself together.

I squeeze his fingers, nod, and continue.

“Yes, but it cleared my head. I knew my life’s work was to
defeat Jasper Breslin and bring him to justice. That and, of course, finding
Keto.

“I watched Breslin for years,
studied him. Every day was about chipping away at the darkness, uncovering whatever
information I could. It was…well…hard. I was alone all the time, couldn’t talk
to anyone. If anyone found out what I was doing, it would have meant losing
everything. I knew if Breslin found out about me, about my plans, it would be
catastrophic. I knew it could cost Keto her life, if she were still alive. And
I always thought she was. So everything in my life had to be a secret. I had no
friends, no life. That’s when I started using aliases.

“For years it seemed like I’d never
find what I needed. Then finally I got lucky. I learned about Breslin’s private
records that he kept in his penthouse. I got inside, determined to get those
records, convinced they were the key. That is the night I met you, after his
party when you approached me, it was just the opportunity I needed. I drugged
you and took the computer. The rest you know.”

Knox frowns. “But what answers did
those records give you about your sister? It sounds like you still don’t really
know what happened to her.”

I swallow. “It gave me enough to
set the wheels of justice turning on Breslin. And I believe that I can guess
about Keto. I think Breslin got Keto pregnant. I think that is what the code he
wrote by her name in the list meant, that and the address he etched on his
laptop. When she wouldn’t agree to an abortion—she was a good Orthodox girl—he
must have kidnapped her, drugged her, forced her to have one at that Planned
Parenthood.”

“So that’s why we went there.”

“Yes.”

“It all sounds very possible. I’ve actually
never seen any of this kind of stuff with Breslin, the underage girl thing. It
wasn’t exactly my department to clean up his messes. But it rings true. I’ve
heard rumors. I’ve seen him knock up a couple socialites, hush it all up. This
is a lot like his standard operating procedure in those cases: fake name at the
Planned Parenthood. You might be a thousand percent right.”

I wish this were more comforting to
hear.

“Now I am afraid that she died during
the abortion, that something went wrong. Why else would they have lied about
her records today? But I needed more evidence. I need to know.”

“Right. Because you are leaving.”

The way he says it makes my heart
beat in my throat. What does he feel, thinking of me leaving him, leaving his
country? Does he feel anything?

“Yes,” I murmur, tired and emotional
at having told him my true story. “This is the end of my mission, one way or
another. I will die, Keto will be found, or my chances for redemption and
revenge will run out…and I will be deported like a criminal. One of those
conclusions is inevitable.”

Knox stares at me, his gaze
non-judgmental and caring. “Is that everything?”

I nod. “Yes. Everything.”

Almost everything.
At least,
everything I am willing to tell
.

Except…

“Actually, there is one last
thing.”

Now my heart really is beating as
if it wants to fly out of my mouth, and I can feel my hands starting to sweat.
I haven’t been this nervous since…well, since this morning, when I finally sent
the email to my press contacts. But I haven’t been this nervous about something
personal in…oh…maybe never.

It’s concerning: controlling my
emotions is supposed to be my specialty. Harnessing my fears, directing my
focus—isn’t that what I’ve practiced all these years? How is it that this man
can reduce me to such a nervous wreck so easily?

Knox squeezes my hand and pulls me to face him, cupping my
face. “What is it? You can tell me Tatiana. It’s ok.”

“Well, see, that is the problem. My name is not Tatiana.”

Knox groans, theatrically throwing his head back and banging
it against the seat cushion. The groan turns into a laugh.

“Fuck me,” he bellows. “Of course it’s not. Mystery Girl
strikes again.”

“Tatiana is just easier for Americans to say. My mother
started signing my papers with that when we came here, but it’s not my real
name. I want to tell you my real name now if that is all right. I swear this is
my real, real name. No more aliases. I promise. Can you believe me, one more
time?”

Somehow my arms have twined around his, traced over his
neck, pulled his face close to mine. Somehow my need to confide, to be truly
close to him, has also become physical. Knox reciprocates, tracing his fingers
up my waist. His touch sends chills all over my skin.

“Ok,” he rasps. “Shoot. Lay it on me, baby. Who the fuck are
you?”

Who are you?

Who am I, without them? Who am I, with him?

Who am I, now, with everything at last coming together—or
coming apart?

Breathe, just breathe. One truth at a time.

“My name is Rusudan Tsetsilia
Dadiana. My family…they always called me Rusiko. You don’t have to, you can call
me whatever you want. You’ve called me so many things already, but I wanted you
to know who I am. This is who I am. Not really Katja, Jana, or Tatiana. Those
were parts of me, disguises for a time, but I am really Rusiko.”

I feel so naked. Utterly exposed. For the first time,
someone else knows my real story. My mission. My name.

For the first time, I am not alone
in the whole world, not the only one who knows these things about myself. For
years I’d kept it locked tightly away in my heart, afraid that if anyone knew,
that if my inner truth got out, they would use it against me…stop me…become an
enemy…hurt me…reject me.

Suddenly I am terrified. What if
Knox Cole, with all his rough edges and unpredictability, doesn’t believe me?
Or, what if he does believe me, but can’t accept me as I truly am? What if he
dislikes me, exploits my weaknesses?

What if he uses it against me, or
turns away?

As the seconds stretch out, I begin to panic, but I force
myself to keep my racing heart and fearful thoughts buried far under the
surface. I can’t read his face, and it’s killing me.

He might reject me. I couldn’t bear
it.

He might think I am a fool,
pathetic, small, obsessed. He might see through everything and really know me
now…know how little I have thought or experienced of life…of anything except my
mission to find Keto, and avenge Deda. He might think me so pathetic and tiny
that I am no longer worthy of his help or time. If he does, it might break me.

If he walks away now, I will be
lost forever.

I hadn’t realized I’d feel so
exposed, so helpless, once I was truly seen.

But Knox’s eyes soften and he
shakes his head, amused. Is that a look of affection? He believes me. I can
feel it in his touch as his hands pull my body over to his, as his lips close
on mine.

“Rusiko,” he whispers, trying it out. “It’s nice to meet
you.”

I laugh, a tear escaping, and he traces its path down my
cheek with kisses, his eyes traveling down my cheek, my neck, my body, and back
to my face.

He shakes his head. His eyes gleam,
the way they do when he is thinking. I can see how he could be a hard man, a
frightening man, when he looks like this. I wouldn’t want him as an enemy, now
that I know him better.

“Driver,” he barks, the sudden volume of his voice startling
me. “When you get off the bridge, head to Astoria Blvd, the 114
^th
Precinct.”

Turning back to me, Knox gives me a grin. It’s confident,
cool, clear.

“Rusudan,” he says, “Your story has given me an idea. You
said you never knew for sure if your sister is still alive, and you’re running
out of time. Well, you want evidence about your sister? I’ll get you evidence.
You’ll finally know one way or another if she is alive or dead. I can do that
much to help you, at least.”