Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) (2 page)

“No one will bother us here,” I
say.

She trails after me into the
darkened room and I can feel her presence like a soft breeze.

“Good.”

As soon as the door shuts behind us
she’s on me like a cat in heat, her body colliding with mine and propelling me
a step backward until I’m leaning up against the door, supporting our weight.
Her body is soft against mine, her lips eager and tantalizing on my mouth.

I let my hands roam around her
back, holding her firmly in place so she can’t pull back when I plunge my
tongue into her mouth. I’m coming on strong, I know, but I’m just so fucking
turned on. Pressing my entire body into her, I kiss deep and hard. And I hold
her there, making her take it, making her know how much I want her, what it’s
going to be like. She can’t get away.

She tastes like fucking honey.

The kiss makes her moan, and I feel
my dick throb in jealousy. Emboldened by the press of her flesh against me I
let my hands mosey south, cupping her ass, kneading her thighs. I’d swear it on
a stack of bibles—that’s the best ass I’ve ever groped. Firm in the right
places and soft in the right places.

“You feel amazing,” I murmur.

I stick my knee through her legs,
opening them, just to get her used to the idea. Is it just my imagination or do
I feel her wet already, a warm glow where her hips arc over my thigh?

“You kiss so good,” she gasps.

She answers my question for me a
split second later, jumping off the ground and twining her legs around my waist
like a vine. Just like I’d imagined it. No, better. God, she is wet—I can feel
her through her skirt and my shirt.

“Oh, baby,” I moan.

I stumble away from the door, turning
us around so that she’s pinned up against it, her fingers in my hair, and her
legs wrapped around me. I pull back from the kiss to fumble with the buttons of
her shirt, and that’s when I feel one of her feet shift. She’s raising it
behind me, squeezing. It feels pretty awesome. Her foot is somewhere near my
ear now, like something from a porno film.

“Damn, girl, you’re flexible,” I
chuckle. “I like that. We’re gonna have some fun, you and I.”

She smiles up at me, and though I
can feel her wetness and see that she’s breathless with desire, her face is
inscrutable. “Yes,” she whispers. “Flexibility is pretty useful. For lots of
things.”

I feel her slide something out of
her boot and, lightning-fast, there’s an odd pricking sensation in my neck—like
a mosquito bite.

“What the –”

But my tongue can’t finish the
sentence. It’s gone suddenly heavy, and thick, and numb. I stare at Katja,
uncomprehending, as a cold tingly sensation sweeps from my head to my toes. Now
my legs are wobbly. The room spins and flickers darker.

“Kat-”

I’m losing my balance, and stumble.

“Sorry, handsome,” I hear Katja whisper,
her accent lengthening the words and filling them with extra breath even as my
own breathing speeds up. “But kissing is as far as I go on a first date.”

“You –”

Bitch
.

She drugged me. I’m passing out. Or
dying. I feel her arms guiding me gently to the floor as I collapse, and her
hands brushing my hair tenderly out of my face. Like a lullaby.

The last thing I see before the
room goes black are her eyes shimmering in the dark, luminous and puzzling. I
feel her uncurling my fingers from the key-ring.

“Goodnight, handsome. Thank you for
the keys.”

Chapter Two

Knox Cole

Even before I can open my eyes, I’m
aware of a pounding headache and a burning, aching sensation all over my skin, as
if all my body hair was set on fire and then extinguished with piss. Whatever that
demon bitch gave me, I don’t want seconds.

“Ow,” I groan. When my eyelids
finally flutter open, the room is dark and quiet. It takes me a long bumbling
moment to peel my body off the floor and feel my way onto all fours. And then I
promptly bang my head on the desk.

“Ow, ow.”

Rubbing the spot of impact doesn’t
really help—that just makes me dizzy and queasy. Resting my head on the ground,
I take a few deep breaths.

This would be the time to shake
it off, Knox. Look alive. Assess the situation. You were an Army Ranger, for Christ’s
sake. Get it together. Be a security guard. Secure!

The lights flip on overhead, which
makes my eyes sting and my head throb.

“Ow!” I shout angrily, objecting. “Light,
bad!”

“What the hell happened here?”

Oh, crap, I know that voice.

It’s Breslin, and judging by his tone
he’s not at all happy. Since I haven’t fully opened my eyes yet, I don’t know
why. My moment to assess and plan an explanation is gone, a delicate butterfly
vaporized by a nuclear fucking bomb. Goodbye, little butterfly of hope. Guess
I’ll have to save my own ass now.

Bleary-eyed and somewhat stunned by
the light, it takes me a few minutes to locate Breslin’s shape in the doorway
behind me, and a few more seconds to focus my eyes enough to see his face
twisted in a cold, livid mask.

Yup, he’s definitely not happy.
Still don’t know why.

“Hey boss,” I groan. Squinting up
at the desk, I see the digital clock blinking. It’s 6am. I’ve been conked out
for hours. “Good morning.”

He’s not amused.

“Shit,” Breslin curses. Then his
shape disappears only to be replaced an instant later by Goddard, his valet,
and Marta, the maid.

“Get him up,” Breslin commands from
somewhere behind them.

I’ve probably got fifty pounds on
Marta and Goddard combined, but after a few uncomfortable minutes and only one
accidental boob graze, we manage between us to heave my unwieldy, uncooperative
body into a chair. Cold sweat is standing out on my forehead and my head is
throbbing, but at this point I don’t think it’s only because of Katja’s drugs.

It’s also because of the dread.

“Oh shit,” I groan.

From my new perch in the chair, I finally
know why Breslin is so pissed. The room has been pretty thoroughly ransacked: papers
are strewn all over the floor, the trash can has been up-ended, the cigarette
tray has been dumped onto the white carpet and ground into the fibers with
someone’s heel. The glass bookcase has been shattered, pointlessly—there was
nothing valuable in it, just books and knickknacks. Even the whiskey decanters
have been broken, the amber liquid still visible as crusty puddles scarring the
carpet. There doesn’t seem to be much point to the wanton mess, just an act of
malice.

“Shit,” I say again.

But then I notice the desk in front
of me has been thoroughly despoiled. The usually pristine surface is littered
with paper and ink, the desktop computer and printer have been smashed. But worst
of all Breslin’s top drawer, the one usually locked and secret, is open.

And empty.

“Shit,” I repeat. It’s all I got.

Breslin regards me with icy eyes.
“Goddard, Marta, thank you. You may kindly leave Mr. Cole and I to ourselves
for a moment. Marta, bring us that pot of coffee. You can clean up this mess later.”

Goddard and Marta glance at me,
clearly glad they’re not in my shoes, and scurry past Breslin. We both wait,
the silence taut, until Marta returns with the tray of coffee, sets it on the
desk in front of me, and curtsies herself out of the room.

“Sober yourself up,” Breslin
orders.

Mechanically, I reach out and pour
myself a cup of coffee. It’s strong and black and I guzzle it like its medicine.
Finally the door clicks closed behind the Marta and we’re alone.

“I’m not drunk, sir.”

“Fascinating. Then what is your
excuse? I’m curious.”

What am I gonna tell him, that some
kid stripper stabbed me in the neck with a roofie? That my dick got me
outsmarted?

There’s nothing to say, so I don’t
bother. I just stare at my hands around the coffee cup, waiting to hear the
rest of Breslin’s reaction. I know he’s not done with me yet.

“What the fuck do I pay you for? Retired
Army Ranger, ex-UFC champ. You’re supposed to be the best of the best. I
resurrected you, gave you a new career when no one else would touch you, and
this is how you repay me? A six-figure salary I pay you, and you can’t safely
lock up after a party. I ought to shoot you right now. Do you at least know who
is responsible for this?”

Of course he would need me to identify
the thief. Breslin doesn’t use security cameras. It’s in his best interest to
have no footage, no proof of what goes on in his apartment behind closed doors.

Wincing, I nod. “Yes, sir. I’ve got
a pretty good idea.”

“Wonderful. Enlighten me.”

“I don’t have a name, just a face
and a needle-bruise.”

“I hope she was a good lay, Cole.
She might be your last.”

Again, I have nothing to say. I
pour another cup of coffee and drain it dry, then refill it.

Breslin exhales violently and shoves
his hands into his trouser pockets. He’s still wearing the same suit as the
night before, somewhat disheveled, the smell of sex and alcohol wafting from
him in waves. Great. A lack of sleep sure won’t incline him to leniency or
reason.

Then again, nothing would. Not with
a serious fuck-up like this. I close my eyes, briefly cursing myself. This
would be the second career I’ve ruined. Possibly the last career I’d have any
chance to ruin.

Breslin crosses the room, picking
up a lighter and uncrushed cigarette from the floor, and leans against the
window as he lights and puffs, staring out over the darkened city.

“That desk drawer in front of you…” Breslin says, trailing
off.

Swallowing, I imagine all the ways that Breslin might have
me killed. The guy doesn’t do empty threats. He’s got a lot of contacts, money,
and power. But there’s no sense showing my fear, so I muster every nonchalant
bone in my body and sip my coffee as if my life depended on it.

“Yeah, it’s empty.”

Breslin slams his palm against the window, his back muscles
tensing, and then takes a deep drag on his cigarette. His voice is inordinately
soft.

“You will rectify that,” Breslin states. “Within twenty-four
hours.”

Yeah, that’s not impossible. Not in
a city of eight million.

“Yes sir.”

He doesn’t need to explain to me
why he can’t just file a claim with his insurance. Whatever is missing was
uninsured, officially off the record, and very important. Like most of
Breslin’s true business assets, it was probably linked to something
black-market and illegal. Something he wouldn’t want leaked into the wrong
hands. Something incendiary.

As long as I’ve worked for him,
there are still some secrets of his I don’t know, and don’t want to find out.

Breslin turns, fixing his piercing
black eyes on me. “And you will see to it that the person behind this burglary
is brought back to me personally, Cole. Alive. Intact.”

“Yes sir.”

He doesn’t need to tell me twice,
or fill in the subtext: bring in the thief alive, so that Breslin can
personally and permanently make sure that their status changes from intact to
in pieces in the most excruciating, vengeful way possible. Bring them in alive,
so word can spread that no one crosses Breslin and survives. Bring them in
alive, or you won’t be alive yourself.

“Have I made myself inescapably
clear?”

I nod. Twenty-four hours. That’s
not much time.

“Sir,” I say, “What was in the
drawer? So that I know what I’m looking for.”

A puff of smoke flares out of his
nostrils, giving me the impression that his intestines are on fire. They just might
be. That’s how pissed he is.

“My private laptop.”

It’s a long, hard moment as that
sinks in. His private laptop, locked in a drawer. Is he stupid enough to save
his illegal info in a laptop? Is he that cocky?

I know the answer to that.

“Let’s just say, if the information
contained in that laptop is compromised, don’t bother coming back.”

My stomach sinks. How the hell am I
going to recover and contain a laptop? Everything in it could be all over the
internet already. It could be up for sale to his enemies. It could be anywhere.

“Don’t bother coming back without
the laptop and the thief. If the information in that laptop is compromised,
Cole, I’m coming for you.”

As calmly as I can, I finish my
coffee, stand, salute, and exit. My mission is obvious: kill or be killed.

Damn you, Katja. I don’t care
how young or hot you are. You can’t do this to me. I’m getting you back for this.
I won’t let my life fall to pieces again. I’m coming out on top this time.

Chapter Three

Knox Cole

The little piggy man, with the
pit-stains, lifts easily out of his chair and slams against the wall of the
dingy office of Flash Dancers with a satisfying smack. It feels real good to
take out my frustration on something slimy. It feels real good to pummel
someone, even if that someone barely qualifies as human.

“What do you mean, there’s no Katja?”
I roar. “I heard the other dancers call her Katja. Katja, with the short black
hair and amazing ass, Katja. Katja, one of the three girls from your agency who
worked at Breslin’s penthouse last night, Katja. Katja, with the sweet little accent,
Katja. Don’t play dumb with me.”

I give him a shake that makes him
sweat a little more and squeal in fear. If I wasn’t so disgusted by him, I’d
almost feel sorry for the bastard. The red strobing lights leaking in the
windows from the adult video store below us make him look even more like a
scared, pink, sweaty pig.

“I told you, mister, I got no girls
on the roster that go by that name. Last night I only ever sent two girls over
to Mr. Breslin, not three. I don’t know no Katja. I swear! What we sent over
was Tricia and Coco, that’s all. They had been prescreened and personally
preapproved by Breslin’s assistant. I can show you the records. Honest to god.”

Something stinks, but it’s clear
that I’m not going to get anything more useful out of this pathetic bundle of
nerves. I think back, distinctly remembering the other dancers chatting with Katja,
splitting their tip money with her. They wouldn’t just do that with some rando
they didn’t know. Clearly the dancers had something going on their boss isn’t
privy to, some under-the-table deal.

“Bring me Tricia and Coco, then. Bring
them in here. Now.”

“It’s their day off, both of them.”

Annoyed, I throw him across the
room and send him crashing over his desk into the filing cabinet. Then I throw
a file at him. Then another. With each fluttering piece of paper, piggy man
twitches and cries. Pathetic. Paper can’t hurt you.

“What part was unclear? You’ll
bring them in. There’s no other option.”

With a sigh, I ease myself to sit
in his chair and take my bowie knife out of my boot and begin to methodically
pick my nails with it. You know, for show. It’s effective. The piggy man curls
into a squealing, screaming ball, covering his face with his hands. Let him
think I’d carve him to pieces. I shake my head, amused for the trillionth time
at the gullibility and cowardice of the human race.

“How the hell you stay in business
is beyond me. Call them in. Get them here. I don’t care how. Just do it. Now.”

It eats up forty-five precious
minutes, but slime-ball finally tracks down Tricia on her cell and convinces
her that she has to come in the office to sign and submit an important,
time-sensitive tax paper. Another precious hour later, she’s standing in the
doorway giving me a sidelong look that’s anything but trusting. She’s got to be
six feet tall, blonde, freckled, and gorgeous: exactly the type I’d like to
bend over a desk and kill an hour with.

Not that I have the time to think
about that right now, not with a pissed-off, homicidal Jasper Breslin to answer
to. I don’t have an hour to kill. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s
already one o’clock.

I’ve only got fifteen hours left to
fulfill Breslin’s ultimatum.

“Come in, Tricia, honey,” I say.
“I’ve got some questions for you.”

“What the hell is this,” she drawls
with a Texan twang, furious eyes snapping from me to her boss and back. “Wait,
he’s the security guard from last night. What’s this really about, Walter? Why
is he here? I didn’t take anything! Why you bringing me in for this? There’s no
tax paper is there?”

Walter. Of course piggy’s name is
Walter. He looks like a Walter.

“Relax Tricia. I just need your
help with something.”

Walter just trembles in the corner,
adding nothing to the conversation. It smells like maybe he’s pissed himself.

Tricia snaps her gum loudly and
crosses her arms, giving me a half-flirty, half-defiant leer. “Alright baby. What
do you need that was so god-damn urgent I had to reschedule my Brazilian? It
better be important. Because you’re one wasted second of my life away from
crazy-bitch-mode.”

I don’t rise to the bait. All
business, that’s today’s Knox Cole. I smile professionally, calmly taking my
time.

“See, Tricia, last night at my
boss’ party there was a third dancer. Katja, I remember you calling her.”

As soon as I say the name Tricia
stiffens, glancing guiltily at her boss. Jackpot.

“My boss really liked Katja, and
wants to hire her back. So I came here looking for her. Only, Walter and I are
confused. There’s no Katja on the roster, Tricia. Now, what does that mean, I
wonder? Who is Katja, and where did she come from? We know she was there. The
only question is, who got her in? And why?”

I pause, letting her sweat.

“Your boss Wally here doesn’t know
anything about her. She doesn’t work for him, it turns out. Apparently somebody
else invited her along for the ride. Isn’t that against Flash Dancers’ company
policy? Couldn’t you lose your job over that? Hiring someone on your own?”

Tricia licks her lips. “Look –”

“Your boss and I were both
wondering who the hell Katja was, and how she came to be dancing at a private
party last night. A private party at a secured location, that trusted Flash
Dancers enough to provide entertainers with cleared background checks.”

“I can explain.”

“You’d better, because it just so happened
that there was a burglary last night after the party. Ain’t that an amazing
coincidence: the same night a random stripper gets pulled in off the street,
there’s a burglary.”

No Walter rallies enough to pipe
in.

“Look, Tricia, honey, these are
important, powerful guys, these clients. If you know anything, you gotta tell
them.”

I silence Walter with a look, then
fix my eyes back on Tricia, who is visibly trembling.

“By the way, Tricia, my boss can
hold Flash Dancers and their employees criminally responsible for last night’s
theft. We have your names on file. If you want to keep your job here, or keep
this ramshackle operation afloat, I think you’ll want to tell us all about Katja.”

As I finish my spiel, the smug
flirty look falls off Tricia’s face and she looks appropriately panicked. I can
almost see the wheels turning in her mind, as she scrambles to figure out how
to claw her way out of the corner.

“Look, I swear, I don’t know
anything that can help you with Katja. I just met her last night at the party.
I thought Walter sent her, really. Maybe Coco knows something, I don’t. And I
sure as hell don’t know anything about a burglary. At the end of the night we
split our tips and I hauled ass out. That’s all. Swear.”

I frown and nod. “That’s right, you
left right away. Had to send the babysitter home didn’t you? Those
motherfuckers charge a mint for all-nighters.”

My change of subject drains the
last color from her face.

“Your son, he’s what, three?” I
squint up at her, letting my eyes go cold and dead the way I used to do to
psych out opponents in the ring. “Just about done submitting all those early-admission
high-performance preschool applications, aren’t you? Denton. Carlsberg.
Montserrat.”

“H-h-how do you know about that?”

Walter and Tricia are both staring
at me in terror. Tricia’s stammer of fear is almost cute. I just smile.
Mercenary rule number one is, always do your homework. It’s the only way to keep
your head above water.

“Those are tough schools to get
into, lady. I applaud your ambition. That’s the American dream at work right
there, isn’t it: trying to give a better life to your kids than what you had. You
sure wouldn’t want to piss off anyone on any of the financial committees, like
Breslin. My boss. You sure wouldn’t want to jeopardize your son’s bright future,
because his dumb mom wouldn’t answer a few simple questions. You sure wouldn’t
want to lie to me right now.”

Deflated, Tricia collapses against
the door. Her eyes are weary and furious.

“Fine,” she hisses. “I’m the one
that brought her. I didn’t think there was any harm in it. She’s just a kid
trying to work her way through college. I figured she could use a break, some
extra money. Reminded me of me, you know?”

“Touching.”

“That’s all I know, really.”

“I think you’ll come up with more
than that, Tricia. What college? Where’d you meet her? How old is she? What’s
her blood type? I think you want to tell me these things. Come on, you can do
it.”

“I don’t know what college! I only
know she pretty much just started and has to pay her own way. That’s all she
told me.”

So I was right about Katja being
young. A college kid. Obviously she’s smart—she’s already bested me once. It
won’t happen again.

Next time Katja and I meet, I’m
taking charge and not letting go. I’m bending her to my will. I’m showing her
that no one fucks with Knox Cole.

I let my eyelids drop for a moment,
indulging myself in a brief fantasy…

I’d follow Katja through campus
until she went in to the library, and then I’d wait, watching her. She’d look
damn sexy in her glasses and a school uniform. She’d take off her heavy
backpack, plop into a desk in the library to study. She’d frown in
concentration and I’d think about biting her lip. Soon we’d be the only ones left
in the library, it would be dark outside and quiet. I’d wait until she saw me,
wait until her eyes widened in surprise.

Then I’d come up to her desk, slam Katja’s
books shut, back her against a bookshelf. I’d pin her with my body, gently
remove her glasses, and kiss her hard. I’d bite her lip. I’d bite her neck. I’d
kiss her throat.

I’d pull up her skirt and touch the
soft skin of her thighs until I couldn’t wait anymore. Then I’d fuck her up
against Euclid, Socrates, and Plato. I’d fuck her hard and sweet and long. I’d
fuck her under the dust and knowledge of centuries. I’d fuck her until we both
knew everything there was to know.

Down, boy. Don’t get personal. All
business today, remember?

Right. I’ve got to find Katja. Got
to get Breslin off my ass. Got to concentrate.

Got to trade her in for my own
life.

Somehow, that thought leaves a sour
taste in my mouth. My mind flickers back over the memory of Katja’s young, wise
face, the steady way she met my eyes, and didn’t back down. She seemed…unique. It’s
a shame she had to screw with the wrong guy, draw the wrath of Jasper Breslin.
It’s a shame it’s either her ass or mine.

But why should that bother me? It’s
business, not personal. I’ve ruined peoples’ lives dozens of times. This should
be no big deal.

Just business.

Tricia is still talking. I snap
myself back to attention.

“Ok, this is really all I know
about Katja. She’d been asking me for help getting dancing gigs for months. I
figured we could use her last night, since you never know what to expect with
those rich house parties. Another body in go-go boots can be a real lifesaver.”

I nod. “And you found this
lifesaver where?”

Tricia sighs, reluctant, but she
knows she’s trapped.

“Katja works the late-night,
early-morning shift at this diner. I go there for coffee sometimes after work.
I was there the day before yesterday and mentioned the Breslin gig. She
recognized his name, knew it meant big money,
begged
me. So I brought
her along.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. The
net is closing around my prey. I can almost taste Katja’s lips again and smell
her incredible scent.

“Tell me the name of the diner.”