Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) (15 page)

My former co-worker was never especially
in tune with my sense of humor. Now he growls and smacks me across the face
with the butt of the gun.

Oh well. At least he didn’t shoot
me.

The pain spiking through my temple
is sharp and intense, but his awkward lurching side-punch gives me an opening to
wrestle with him. I’ve almost got him in a headlock when the momentary
advantage I gain is stolen away. The passenger door opens behind me and iron-strong
arms lock in a chokehold around my neck, dragging me backward out of the truck.

There are three of them, not
counting Ox, and between the chokehold and the gun I lose any chance at gaining
the upper hand.

It’s over before it really begins.

I’m dragged, kicking and snarling
across the parking lot, and tossed into the back of a limo parked behind the
rest area. My attackers tumble in after me, and as soon as the doors shut the
limo is peeling out, roaring onto the highway back in the direction I just came
from.

Shit.

On each side of me some asshole has
one of my arms in a deadlock. Ox sits across from me, his gun pointed at my
chest. The other goon crouches in the middle and gives me a swift combination
of uppercuts and jabs that leave me bleeding from the mouth and gasping for
breath.

“Thanks for the welcome, boys,” I
wheeze. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

When the pummeling finally stops, I
see a familiar pair of soulless eyes grinning at me through the dimly lit cab.

Shit. This I was not anticipating.

This is bad.

“Breslin,” I groan. “Ain’t it a
little beneath you to do your own dirty work?”

Fuck fuck fuck.

My head is spinning. How did he get
here so fast? He must have been on my tail all night, and now he’s here in
person. He never does things in person.

Shit.

He’s tying up his own loose ends,
which means the ending is going to be worse than I imagined.

And he’s heading in the direction
of Rusiko’s hotel.

That can only mean one thing: he must
know what I know. He must have found out about the safe house, anticipated our
movements.

That safe house is about to become
very, very un-safe.

Breslin smiles at me coldly and
snaps his fingers. Ox reaches into the mini bar and hands him a Perrier. Breslin
presses the chilled bottle to his temple before cracking it open and taking a
swig. He belches theatrically, and then breaks the bottle across my head. Shards
of glass cut me and spray against the limo windows.

When Breslin finally speaks, his
voice is eerily calm.

“I took you in when no one would,”
he says. “I gave you a home, a career, all the pussy you could want. I made
you, Knox Cole. I raised you from the dead. I can’t believe you’re such a stupid
self-destructive fuck, that you had to spread your disease and dementia to my
entire company. I can’t believe that this is how you repay me for my kindness.”

“Kindness,” I spit, the words
coming out laced in my own blood. “You don’t even know how to spell it. You got
what you paid for from me and that didn’t include loyalty. Our deal was only
ever about money, asshole. You’ve got no right to order me to kill. You’ve got
no right to hunt down and take life. You’ve got no right to ask me to support
your fucked up sadistic abuse of women.”

For that I get an elbow in the face
and a punch in the groin from my watchdogs.

“I’ve got the right to everything,”
Breslin continues. “I own everything, you moron. You don’t understand about
power. It’s regrettable that your little girlfriend turned you against me. It’s
regrettable that your bad judgment and spasm of conscience had to lead your
bumbling dick-brain into some truly damaging secrets of mine. I always liked
you Cole, but that article…leaking that info to the press...that was
unforgivable.”

I don’t bother telling him that I
never met Mystery Girl before this week. I don’t bother telling him that I am
glad the articles ran, glad that his feet of clay are crumbling. I don’t bother
telling him that I am disgusted to have ever been linked to him and his
bullshit in the first place. I don’t bother shouting that he deserves it,
deserves prison, maybe even deserves castration for how he’s made Rusiko suffer…for
robbing her of her family, her childhood, and her joy. What’s the point of
saying all that? He’d never get it, never repent. It’d be a waste of words.

Maybe I’m learning to shut up after
all.

“You forgot that I own you, Mr. Cole.
I own your soul. I’m smarter than you, and you are coming down with me. You’re going
to watch as I rip you apart the way you’ve ripped me, limb by limb, starting
with that slut of yours. Though if she’s anything like her sister Sunny, I
might just have to take my time, and have you watch me fuck the shit out of her.
That’s some grade-A Eurasian pussy in that family. I can’t let you have all the
fun.”

I do my damndest to stay stoic, but
he must see the rage in my face because he laughs like a maniac.

“Sure I found out who she is, your
little secret agent. I know where she is. I know where Sunny is, too. It wasn’t
hard to put it all together, just like you did. Goddard.”

I wince. So he does know. He’d
figured out what I’d figured out: his Pennsylvania Dutch butler was the only
one around long enough and with enough access to have interfered in Breslin’s
trafficking ring. Goddard was the only one who could have found out about the
girls and smuggled them to safety.

Breslin clenches his fist. “That
old coot has been with me for years and sees everything. It hit me yesterday
that he’d been hiding a conscience all these years, that he was the one behind
all the disappearances, all the girls that slipped away. It was easy tracking
down his extended family’s address in Ohio, easy to put one and one together.
But this is where it ends. Goddard has already been taken care of, and now it’s
your turn for judgment day. My parting gift to you, Knox, before you die is
this, you’ll get to watch me kill them all.”

In spite of the futility, I growl
at him like a jerk. “You’re a sick bastard. There’s no point in this—you’ve
already ruined their lives. Do what you want with me, but leave the girls
alone!”

What am I doing, pleading with the
devil for mercy? Rookie mistake. I know it won’t have any effect.

I was wrong, it does have an effect—but
the wrong one.

Breslin’s eyes grow even colder and
a sadistic grin twists his lips. He leans forward and presses the jagged edge
of the broken bottle against my throat, twisting it just enough for me to feel the
bite of the jagged glass edge.

“Here’s how it will happen, Cole.
You and I will stake out Goddard’s little halfway house. When your little whore
shows up, she’ll think everything is wonderful. She’ll find her sister and have
the reunion of her dreams. Right when she thinks her world is finally whole,
bang: first Sunny dies, then the other witnesses. Last but not least you’ll
watch your whore suffer and die before following in her footsteps yourself.”

You know? If I didn’t believe him,
if my stomach wasn’t filling with dread, I’d almost feel sorry for the guy.

“There’s no saving people like
you,” I realize. “You’re damned to hell, and that’s where you’ll pay for your
sins.”

I also realize, with a strange
exultation, that the same is no longer true about me. Because of Rusiko, I’m
determined to go out fighting on the side of right. Because of Rusiko, I know I
can find redemption. I know I can come out on the other side clean.

Because of her, I will be able to
turn this around somehow, I will be there at the critical moment and I will use
everything I’ve got to stop Breslin from hurting more innocent people.

Hell is no longer my destiny.

Chapter Twenty

Rusudan Tsetsilia Dadiana

Berlin, Ohio

Amish Country

Knox Cole’s pathetic goodbye note is crinkled on my lap as I
turn the car down off the pavement onto a dirt road, my tires popping and
crunching as I inch cautiously forward.

The address he left me for the safe
house was not easy to find. I had to stop at a few gas stations and stores,
each person I asked for help pointing me closer but unable to give specific
directions. Finally the cars gave way to horses and buggies.

Eventually people recognized the
address I have scribbled in a man’s careless handwriting: Amish country, they
say. Or, just follow this road until you find a farmer who can tell you where
you are. The last person I asked had a beard with no moustache and a coat with
no collar. He said, straight ahead! You are almost there. Keep going.

Almost there.

I am glad this little treasure hunt has required so much
concentration and effort. I am glad that finding the safe house has taken so
much of my energy. I am glad because this means it’s harder for me to think
about Knox, to think about waking up without him and finding his note, feeling
his absence in my body like a loss of blood.

I’m sorry
, his note said.
You’re better off
without me. I don’t expect you to understand. I know you’ll find your sister. I
know you’ll be fine from here. You’re the bravest person I ever met. Thank you
Rusiko.

That’s it?

That’s all I get?

I’m sorry?

Thank you!

No. I understand completely, Knox
Cole. You are not at all hard to understand. You are afraid, and I am the one
who is sorry. I am the one who is punished. I am the one truly alone, gutted of
her secrets and rejected.

Where is the justice in this life?
Where is the fairness? Where is the love I so desperately need?

He is a fool giving me empty words.
Coward. I know he left because he is afraid of me. I know he left because he
didn’t want me. So how could he think I’ll be fine without him?

How can I ever be fine again?

These are useless thoughts, distracting me from my goal. I
have a task to complete, a race against time and evil to save my sister. If I
just find this address. If I just find Sunny, take her home to our country, we
can start over again in Georgia and leave these painful years behind us, claim
our inheritance, and rebuild. Then maybe I can begin to feel what I need to
feel in order to work towards being fine. Maybe then I can take time to grieve,
to face this strange, disappointed love that came out of nowhere and knocked me
senseless.

But not now.

Now I can’t afford to think about Knox,
or whether or not I am fine without him: I can’t afford to let my hands tremble
on the steering wheel, or let the tears fall. Now I can’t afford to be a woman
in love with a man who abandons her at the eleventh hour.

Now I must find Keto. Find my Sunny.

At last, up ahead, I see a little
white farmhouse. It looks like something out of a movie, or the past; two
stories high with shutters on the window, a grain silo with a barn behind it,
and a stable to the side. There is a swing on the porch, a horse-drawn wagon
parked out front. Trees and hedges surround the house, blocking the view of the
surrounding fields, but I don’t see any people.

Yet, this must be the place.

I park and shut off the engine,
pausing for a moment to drink in the quiet of the place. Chills run up and down
my arms as I realize that I may be only a few moments away from seeing my
sister again, only a few moments away from the fulfillment of everything I’ve
ever wanted.

Everything I’ve ever wanted, that
is, except Knox Cole.

I allow myself one moment of
weakness, leaning my forehead against the steering wheel and wallowing in the
irony of completing my mission at the cost of my heart. Then I force myself to
open the door, to get up, to take a step towards the house.

One foot in front of the other.

One breath at a time.

Out of nowhere I hear the ringing
of a bell. At first it makes my pulse race in my throat, but then the dulcet
sound makes me smile. It must be coming from the house, a solemn and repetitive
tone. It makes me think of church, of fairy tales. It carries across the still
yard until I hear an answering bell in the distance, ringing somewhere across
the fields, an old-fashioned call and response.

But what does it mean?

I don’t have much time to wonder
about the bell. Before I even take another step towards the house, the front
door bursts open and a woman in a plain long dress rushes out, grasping a
little child’s hand in hers. They are sprinting towards me as fast as they can.
As she runs the woman shouts:

“Rusiko! Shecherdith! Prtkhilad!”

Rusiko. Stop. Look out.

I freeze, my elation at suddenly seeing my sister’s face
coming toward me immediately vaporizing and turning into dread. My blood runs
cold at her words, at the shrill desperation in her voice.

“Keto?”

Just like that the serene silence
of the farm erupts into violence. There is a blast of gunfire, flashes from my
peripheral vision. I can’t really tell which direction the gunshots are coming
from but I drop to my knees, crawling in a frenzy to hide behind my car with my
arms over my head. The shock of it, the noise, makes me struggle for breath.
This must be what a panic attack feels like.

Just as I am curling myself
protectively into a ball, I feel someone dive into me and cover my body. I
tumble sideways, confused, seeing nothing but auburn hair.

“Keto,” I whimper. “Is that you?
Are you alright?”

There are bruises on her wrist, a
cut on her cheek.

“How did they find us?” She is chattering
hysterically like a monkey, spouting a million words a minute. “How did you
find us? And the same day! Rusiko, Rusiko, my sister, I can’t believe it’s you.
I can’t believe this is happening. After all this time, all the secrets and
fear, he found me anyway. I can’t believe he’s here—him—he’s found me again,
he’s come to get me, Rusiko, just like a nightmare come to life, and now he’ll
hurt you too.”

“Who?” I ask, but I know.

“Breslin! He is here! They came
this morning and tied us all up in the basement like hostages. We just managed
to break the ropes, and Brother Ethan and his family used their shovels to lock
our guards in the basement, but there were the others, others hiding outside here
with guns prowling around like the KGB, and I saw you and ran outside with my
baby to warn you. I can’t believe it’s you. Oh Rusiko, how will we escape?”

“Shhh,” I rasp over the gunfire,
“It’s alright, Keto, it’s alright!”

Our hands clasp together, trembling,
and the tears in our eyes are from both fear and wonder. It’s amazing, all of a
sudden, to have her in front of me. The gunshots only make it more surreal,
more difficult to believe. The child, a little girl, is crushed between us
wide-eyed and crying. Keto doesn’t have to tell me it’s her daughter. The
resemblance is uncanny.

“You said others inside—your
friends, are they alright?”

“Yes, yes, the family inside will
be alright. They rang the bell and help will come from the neighbors. The Amish
do not fight, but they are strong, they will keep the bad men in the basement
until someone can get the police.”

“So they won’t shoot these bastards for us.”

“No, they are non-violent.”

“Then we’re on our own.”

My mind revolts against the
situation. This can’t be right; this can’t be the end. I can’t find Keto again,
after all this time, only to lose her to senseless violence at the hands of the
very man I thought I had defeated.

No. This cannot happen.

“If we can get in the car,” I
begin, but before I can even finish the sentence a barrage of bullets shatters
the windshield and sinks the tires. Shots ping into the metal body of the car
and I hear a burst of fluid gushing, something ticking. My hair stands on end
and I have a flash of foresight.

“Move,” I shout, shoving Keto and
the child forward towards the trees. “Away from the car as far as you can go! Now!”

We sprint, ignoring the volley of
shots around us, as the ticking culminates into a sonic boom. A burst of heat
radiates behind us and I am lifted off my feet, circling in the air until I
crash in a heap on the ground.

My ears are ringing. My vision is
spotted. My body doesn’t want to move, throbbing with heat and pain and
confusion from where I’ve fallen. For a terrifying minute I can’t hear or see
anything but blackness, nothing but the hammering of my own heart, and I worry
that I’ve gone blind or died.

But that is silly, because now I am
coughing as if I’m about to hack up my lungs. The smoke—it’s so thick and
greasy, clogging my throat, tasting like moldy rubber.

“Keto,” I choke. “Are you here?”

She doesn’t answer but I hear her
and the child coughing too, close by. I grope with my hands, looking for her. Over
the ringing in my ears I hear a thin crunching approach.

Footsteps.

Blinking away the nausea and spots
in my vision, I squint and stare at the ground near my face until it begins to
come into focus. I see feet.

“Keto?”

Well they are not feet, they are shoes—men’s shoes. My
vision is blurry; it looks like six pairs of shoes but I must be confused. No,
wait, that’s right: six pairs of shoes. Three men. It’s painful but I force
myself to lift my head, staring upwards to identify who it is that has come to
tower over me.

“You,” I groan.

I almost laugh because my world has
come full circle for me in this moment. There are three men but one of them stands
out beyond the rest. And it is not who I had expected.

Jasper Breslin is there of course, staring down at me with
triumph and hate. But he is not the one I spit at defiantly. He is not the one
whose presence confirms my worst fears, my deepest paranoia. He is not the one
that makes every ounce of my being throb in recognition and in pain. He is not
the one my eyes and my soul latch onto.

At Breslin’s side is Knox Cole.

“You bastard,” I hiss. “You betrayed me.”