Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) (7 page)

Chapter Ten

Katja/Jana/Mystery Girl

Impact on the street is shockingly
hard, but Knox takes the brunt of it. I land on top of him, his body and arms shielding
me from the concrete.

“Gah!”

I wail as the air is forcefully
knocked out of my lungs, making my sides and throat burn. My senses are
scrambling to keep up with all that is happening, but it’s too surreal. I feel
Knox pull me in tighter as he throws our bodies sideways.

Now we’re rolling, rolling along
the ground, the hard scratchy surface of the sidewalk alternating against my
skin with the hard, warm yield of Knox’s abs. We don’t stop the crazy careening
roll until we slam into something cold and hard.

“Jesus,” Knox groans.

It’s a fire hydrant. We’ve jumped
out a second story window and rolled into a fire hydrant.

Of course.

Why not.

Typical day.

“Oh god. Are we dead?” I rasp. “I
wish we were dead.”

And then we lay there, agonizingly
still, as the numbing shock gives way to sensation. Pain fires through
everywhere. Knox groans, takes in a shuddering breath.

“I’m getting too old for this
shit,” he moans.

“Was there a time where you enjoyed
this kind of thing?” I groan, “You’re sick.”

I force myself up. My skin is
peppered with cuts from the broken glass, my bare feet are scuffed, and an
ankle seems to be sprained. But somehow, other than that, I am all right. It’s
a miracle.

Knox isn’t far behind me. He sits
up and I slide awkwardly off his chest, bumping onto the ground, dazed. He
grimaces and sucks in his breath as he forces himself to stand, blinking at the
street. A few people are staring at us while others continue their blind New
Yorker walks, painstakingly minding their own business.

“Let’s go,” he grunts.

I stare at him. “What are you,
Rambo?”

“We can’t stay here.”

“No? But I’m so comfortable.”

He only grimaces at my sarcasm and
pulls his handcuffed arm until mine rises, dragging me a step or two behind him
like a limp doll. My ankle pops when I try to put weight on it. Knox looks at
it angrily, but doesn’t stop walking.

“We gotta move,” he growls. “Cops.
Assholes. Guns. They’re all coming here, and I don’t want to be around for the
party.  Son of a bitch thinks I turned on him and now I’ve gone and shot Rex.
What a clusterfuck. We’ve gotta lay low, find somewhere quiet.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Ok, genius,
since you know so much about them and what is going to happen, got a hideout in
mind? Another brilliant idea, like jumping out a window? Or hiding in another
girl’s closet and ruining her life?”

“Not really. At this point, I’m
basically winging it. Or couldn’t you tell that fucking my mark and getting
half the blame was not in the plan!”

“Wonderful.”

“All because I had to think with my
dick.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask you for your
dick, or your help. You came for me, remember?”

“Well fuck, sugar. You don’t have
much of a choice at this point. I don’t wanna die just because Breslin got the
mistaken impression that I’m on your side, but at this point, that’s what’s
gonna happen if I don’t fight back. So you’re stuck with me, and my bright
ideas. Now shut the fuck up and help me blend in.”

Mad as hell and limping after him,
I suddenly can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “We’re
not exactly inconspicuous.”

Once I start laughing I can’t stop.

“What’s your problem?”

Knox shoots a look over his
shoulder, taking me in. I’m in my bra and underwear, and that’s all. There was
no time to get dressed between waking up and getting attacked. Knox somehow
managed to pull on boxers at some point, but that’s it. We are both barefoot
and covered in scratches, our hair wild, our faces groggy.

As if that wasn’t enough to attract
attention, there are the handcuffs.

I jingle the chain between us to
prove my point.

“We’re handcuffed together,” I say,
as if I was talking to a child. “How far do you think we’re going to get before
a cop stops us?”

He shrugs, continues marching. “It’s
New York. They have better things to do.”

But I notice his eyes darting
around as he leads us toward Seventh Avenue, eyeing the passersby and frowning.
 He winces every time someone looks at us. It makes us look even more
suspicious.

This won’t work. I shake my head.

“Wait,” I say, tugging on the
handcuffs until he turns. “No, I have an idea. West Side Highway will have less
people, and I know a place. Come on. West.”

We’re not a minute to soon. As soon
as we cross Eighth Avenue and cut northwest, I hear the sound of police sirens
behind us. I start to run, but Knox pulls the handcuffs stubbornly.

“Hey!”

He yanks my arm around his waist,
pulling my hips tight against his, and leans his face over my shoulder, his
lips and hot breath tickling my ear. My belly blooms with heat.

“Easy,” he whispers. “Walk slow,
like you enjoy it, like we belong. If we run, they’ll definitely see us. Come
on, play along. Kiss me.”

Unsure what else to do, I obey,
curving my body into his and tilting my face up. His mouth finds mine, his body
pushing me against the bricks of a building for support. I’m wedged between
solid brick and solid man, and in spite of the adrenaline pumping through my
body it feels so damn good.

He pulls back, glances subtly
behind us, not noticing that I’m struggling for breath. How can he be so calm?
So calculated?

“Ok, good, let’s walk. Remember,
you enjoy it.”

The walk to the waterfront is the
longest of my life, and not only because my bare feet pick up every bit of grit
and grime from the sidewalk. With each step, I strain not to turn my head
around to see if we are followed. With each step, I try hard not to think of
the bare chest and chiseled waist of the man beside me, try not to feel the
lithe movements of his muscles under the sensitive skin of my inner arm, try
not to remember passionate moments from last night.

When we finally get to the Chelsea Waterfront
Park, I drop gratefully on the grass. Knox stares at me, uncomprehending.
Sighing, I tug on the handcuffs.

“Come on,” I say. “We are
sunbathers.”

He stares at me with annoyance.
“This is your big plan? Lay on the grass in the middle of a park?”

In answer, I flop down to my belly,
yanking the chain. “Where else will we blend in, Sherlock? Join me. It’s quite
nice. Maybe I will become tan.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, following me.

I close my eyes; imitating the catatonic
languor of the sun-soaking people I’ve envied so many times. Who has time to
sunbathe, I’d always wondered? Who has so few worries that they can smile and nap
in the sun in the middle of the day?

Maybe they were all just pretending
to be ok, just like we are now.

I sigh.

It’s nice, pretending. I wish I
could live in a fantasy for a while, believe that I am a sunbather, someone
without problems. In my fantasy, Knox would not have found me. I’d still be
back in my room at the Leo, working, getting closer to my goal. Breslin would
not know of me. There would be no broken window, no bleeding men on the floor.

Wait.

If I can fantasize, why dream so
small? Why not go all the way back and wipe the slate clean? If I could really
live in a fantasy, I would imagine a world where my work was not necessary. I’d
go back to the very beginning, before it all crumbled, and I would have made damn
sure that Jasper Breslin never came anywhere near my family.

That is the right fantasy for me.
That is the fantasy I want to last forever.

“We can’t stay here.”

Knox’s words invade my pleasant
thoughts and unexpectedly bring tears to my eyes. Angrily, I wipe them away.

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

He blinks at me like I’ve slapped
him.

“Oh, that’s very mature. That’s
very nice,” he groans, rubbing his face. “Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me. Why not. Actually,
yeah, you did fuck me—remember? Remember that? We fucked. We totally fucked. I
fucked you, you fucked me. We fucked up. And then you fucked me over. And now
we’re fucked.”

Whatever amusement I might have
once felt at his total lack of eloquence evaporates in a sudden burst of
pent-up frustration.

“
Me
fucked
you
over?”
I can’t help it; my voice booms. A few people on a nearby bench glance at us disapprovingly.
“You hunted me down! You staked me out like an animal. You were going to hand
me over to a man who you know would have killed me. You were going to destroy
me, destroy everything I have—for money! You have no soul. You are
psams,
se virissvilo
!
”

I spit in his face, which goes
purple with anger. His jaw clenches and he lunges forward, stopping with his
face inches from mine. I can smell his scent and see him trembling, a vein bulging
in his forehead.

“You –” but he stops himself, grits
his teeth, takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I have no idea what
you just called me, but you’re probably right. I am. I am that.”

And he rolls over onto his back,
staring up at the sky, blinking back what looks like tears.

“I wasn’t always that,” he
whispers. “It wasn’t always just the money.”

Now I am the one who is stunned. Is
this some trick? Do men in this country cry in front of women?

“You’re sorry? What is that
supposed to fix?”

But I find myself relenting, not
wanting to push him. What would I do if he cried? I know in an instant what
would happen—I’d try to calm him, to make him laugh, just as I used to do with
Madlena Ketevan.

Oh, Keto, I miss you…

I stare at the water, willing
myself to bury the tangle of emotions that spring up at the thought of her.
Emotions will not help me find her. Only my brain and my smarts can help me do
that. Only the dwindling time on the clock is left, and I have to use what
little I have left to outsmart Breslin one last time.

I have only my brain, my smarts…and
maybe this man, this man who knows Breslin, who has worked for him, who may
have the missing pieces I need.

I turn back to Knox. His face has
grown calmer, but he is still staring at the sky.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I begin,
careful that I don’t sound like a beggar. “Breslin already thinks you are
working with me, and he will treat you like an enemy. You might as well help
me. You might as well work with me. I will pay you double whatever he is paying
you, if you help me finish my work before he catches us. I am almost there, I
just need time; one day maybe two, and your help.”

Knox doesn’t look at me, and the
impassive expression on his face doesn’t change. I wonder if he plays poker in
his free time. If not he should: his poker face is top of the line, almost as
good as my father’s used to be.

When he finally speaks, it doesn’t
even seem like he moves his lips.

“What exactly is your work, Katja?”

My heart pounds. This is a question
I have never answered, not for anyone. But I need his help, and he’ll need to
find out one way or another.

“I will have to show you, it is too
much to explain. Let’s just say I am looking for someone, someone Breslin
doesn’t want me to find. You might as well work with me, because I will not
stop, and now you are chained to me in more ways than one. You cannot go back
to them, can you? I am your only choice.”

Now he shakes his head, a ghost of
a grin spreading over his lips.

“You don’t even know what he pays
me, Mystery Girl,” he drawls. “Where would a kid like you get that kind of
money?”

I say nothing. I wait.

Sure enough, he is interested. He
props himself up on his elbow and studies me. I meet his eyes, not wavering for
a second, and I know that he sees I am serious.

“Who are you?” Knox asks. “Really.
What the hell is this all about?”

I shake my head, extend my hand.
“First, we must agree to work together against Breslin. You are helping me.
Yes?”

When he takes my hand and shakes
it, I try to suppress the excitement.
So close, Keto, chsheni chirime, I
take your troubles upon me…

“Good,” I say, making sure my
handshake with Knox is firm. I make him look me in the face. “You should start
by calling me Tatiana. Katja is not my name.”

Chapter Eleven

Knox Cole

I’m not going to lie: my brain is spinning.

Going on the lamb was not exactly
what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. It wasn’t my plan to turn my
entire world upside-down. If I had a plan at all (and honestly I don’t think I
did) it was to try to salvage a bad situation as quickly as possible. But then,
I got…distracted.

Normally after amazing sex like
last night’s, I’d have gone for a little post-coital-coitus, maybe some coffee
and a croissant if I were feeling magnanimous (and not totally bored with the
lady in question). Then again, normally I wouldn’t have slept over, or gotten
myself handcuffed to the woman. Also, normally I wouldn’t have fucked the
person I was supposed to track down for my boss.

Nothing about this morning was
normal.

It is the opposite of normal. Here
I am: in my underwear, lying in a park, handcuffed to my Mystery Girl. I’m unsure
whether I should be most worried about the police, or my former co-workers
hunting me down first.

Let’s recap, shall we? In the last
hour I’ve:

Shot Rex,

Smacked the shit out of Ox,

Jumped out a second-story window,

And firmly planted myself at the
top of Breslin’s most-wanted list.

And why? Why, this second,
catastrophic fall from grace in my young and notorious life?

It’s just because I had a boner for
some sweet young thing.

It’s ironic, almost predictable: sex,
the alpha male’s classic Achilles heel, bringing me to my knees professionally
for the second time in my brief twenty-nine years. You’d think I’d have learned
by now. You’d think I’d know better. You’d think I’d be able to think past the
lust and make a rational decision like a god damn adult.

Stupid, stupid, dick move.

Ok, ok, it wasn’t
just
my
dick. To give myself some credit, it was slightly more complicated than that,
this time.

Much as I’d like to pretend it was
just sex, I can’t lie to myself, not in the bright light of day with a bunch of
violent trained guerillas on my trail. I mean…I was all set last night! I had
done my job, I’d tracked down the girl with some time to spare. All I’d needed
to do was bring her and the laptop in to Breslin.

And I choked.

And I know why. Splayed out in the
grass at Chelsea Waterfront Park, I know all the way down to my core that I am
in this mess because I had a boner for some sweet young thing compounded by an
attack of conscience with a dash of an existential crisis.

Which all adds up to one hot
fucking mess.

Instead of choosing to do the smart
thing last night when I found Katya, instead of focusing on my own survival, I
hesitated. I lost my head. I let myself feel something for this girl, and
defaulted to Knox Cole’s tried-and-true pattern of self-destruction. As if the
first time I ruined my own life wasn’t enough.

Shit.

And now, when this girl accuses me
of not having a soul, it cuts me deeper than I thought possible because I don’t
want her to be right. For some reason, I can’t stand her being right.

And I can’t stand myself.

It’s not a good sign. Since when do
I care if I have a soul? Shit, the entire concept of a soul hasn’t been in my
wheelhouse for decades, not since before I got kicked out of the alter-boy rotation
for drinking the sacramental wine. Why do I suddenly care now? Some girl’s
opinion of my character shouldn’t bother me one way or another.

She’s just a mark. She’s just a
one-night stand gone wrong.

Isn’t she?

Never mind the fact that she’s
right—I was going to trade her life for mine, there’s no denying that. When she
says it aloud, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. It’s one thing when it’s
all a big party, fun and games. Then I don’t have to think about it. Then
nothing matters but the rush and the thrill, the whispered words and
clandestine couplings. Then it’s easy to stay numb, to laugh, to take Breslin’s
money and perks.

But when someone’s life is on the
line, someone young and interesting, and I’m the one responsible…

I didn’t want any more blood on my
hands. I’d wanted so badly to leave that part of my life back in the mountains
of Afghanistan where it belonged: but it followed me back to the US and into
the ring as a fighter, against my will, and to my unending shame. When the
adrenaline cleared from that fatal knockout with Bruiser Butch, I knew it was
over for me. I’d left the ring, for good. Then the sex scandal broke, the dead
husband, the mess that Breslin hushed up. But I’d thought that was all behind
me now, all the death.

Then came the order from Breslin to
catch Katja, with the unspoken murder between the lines. I’d trailed her, found
her, and finally watched Katja in her room, going about her routine, thinking
she was safe.

And I’d choked.

Bad timing, Knox. Why develop a
moral compass now?

I’ve never choked before. I can’t
afford a conscience in my line of work. And all my existential crises need to
happen OFF the clock, not in the middle of tracking down a mark. It’s not like
I’m fresh off the bus. I
know
this shit.

Jesus. What is happening to me?
I’ve royally screwed myself over this time, and at the moment, I am having
trouble seeing a way out. Breslin will kill us both when he finds us. He will
find us, it’s just a matter of time.

Now she wants me to work
with
her, with no awareness of how crazy that sounds. What is her deal?

Katja. Jana.
Tatiana
.

How many damn names does one girl need? She can hardly be
out of high school. How the hell did she get herself into so much trouble?

And not just herself—me!

I can still feel the tingle of
touching her skin, long after I release the handshake. It’s like a low-level
electric pulse, running from our last point of contact straight to my cock.
God, she’s something. Here we are at the bottom, and she’s negotiating with me.
Where’d she learn this stuff?

“First, we must agree to work
together against Breslin. You are helping me. Yes?”

She can’t be more than eighteen,
nineteen. Whatever her story is, it must be pretty fucked up to have taught her
how to stay so cool and collected when the shit hits the fan. She’s danger,
sex, and innocence wrapped up in one pretty difficult package, and at the
moment I am having a hard time caring that whatever crusade she is on might
cost both of us our lives. I’m having a hard time being upset about being
handcuffed to her.

I’m even having a hard time being
angry with myself for saving her life.

If it weren’t for the handcuffs, I
could have left her on the street. I could have made a run for it on my own,
moved faster, gone further. But then what? It’s not like Breslin would believe
me if I told him what had happened. Sticking with Katja—fuck, I mean Tatiana—is
my best bet.

And it’s no secret to me that the
handcuffs might be the only thing keeping her around.

But she’s raised a legitimate point,
Breslin will definitely assume I’ve been working with her. So until I can think
of something else, my best bet to get through this ordeal alive is to try to stay
one step ahead of him. That’s why I figured I should throw my chips in with
Katja. I mean Tatiana.

At least…for now.

Yeah. If I hold out, maybe I’ll
figure a way to beat the game. If I stick close to Tatiana, and make sure she
sticks close to me, maybe I’ll find a way to patch up my mistake. Maybe I won’t
have to pay with my life.

That’s right! People don’t develop
souls in a matter of seconds. I probably still don’t have one. So sue me.

I roll over onto my side again and
stare at her. And when I do, I promise myself that if there’s a way to get her
out of this alive, I’ll find it. That’s the best I can do, the only concession
I can make to my burgeoning conscience. Other than that, I’ve got to
concentrate on #1. I’ve got to be smart.

“Alright Tatiana, if that is your
name,” I purr. “If you want me to work with you, don’t you think you’d better explain
to me what the hell it is you’re after with Breslin? And we need to get his
laptop. I know it wasn’t in your room. We need to get it, that’s what he’s
really after, and that’s why he’s so pissed. I need you to explain why you took
it, and what you’re trying to do with it. If I’m going to be able to help you,
you need to tell me what’s going on.”

She rolls to face me, her eyes
challenging.

“One thing at a time.” Her gaze
travels down the length of my body, her face registering nothing but a wry
smile. “You know, we’ll never get anything done like this; practically naked, chained
together.”

The way she says it is a clear
come-on. She raises her free hand and runs her fingertips lightly over my
chest.

“How can a woman concentrate with
that right in front of her?”

God, she’s good. If I try to count
the tactics she’s used to persuade me just in the last five minutes, I can’t
even keep up. And damn, the seduction is working.

In spite of myself, I lean in
closer to her face until I can feel her breath, and then her lips, and then her
tongue rolling under mine. I’m like a moth to the flame.

“Katja,” I groan, “You’re killing
me.”

“Tatiana.”

“Whatever.”

My body is aching, and not just from
jumping out a goddamn window; her kiss is stirring me up, and I keep having
flashbacks to last night. She’s lying so close to me in the grass, her
beautiful body exposed in the soft spring sunlight. It’s all I can do to stop
myself from running my tongue along the tantalizing skin of her belly, over her
thighs, towards her pussy…just another taste…god I want another taste so bad…

It’s all I can do to keep our
situation, our danger, and our survival in mind. With an effort that deserves a
fucking medal, I pull myself away from her embrace, to let the salty breeze from
the Hudson air out both of my brains.

“Cool it,” I mutter. “Last thing we
need right now is to get busted and thrown in jail for having sex in public.”

She stares at me, eyes wide. “Who
said anything about sex?”

I grimace and cock an eyebrow.
“Believe me, sweetheart, it’s never not the topic of conversation. Especially
around you.”

Her gaze slides down over my body, and
then pauses over my suddenly lively nether bits. Her eyes widen even more, but
with more knowing this time.

“I see what you mean.”

I roll over onto my stomach for
obvious reasons, ignoring her chuckle—both amused and aroused. I don’t want to
admit it to myself, but I enjoy the sound of her laughter. Then I feel her arms
around my shoulders, her lips on my neck.

“I’m sorry, Knox Cole. I can’t just
leave you like this, all excited and nothing to do. What kind of business
partner would I be? Come, I have an idea.”

Her last idea was coming here,
mostly naked, to hide in plain sight just a few blocks away from all the cops
and robbers. I’m not so sure I’m a big fan of her ideas. I shake her off of my
back and give her a look.

“Does your idea involve any more
misdemeanors? Maybe a felony or two, or a suicide pact, perhaps?”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t you be
disappointed if it didn’t?”

“You think you know me so well.”

Her face quickly drains of its
lighthearted smile and grows serious. “I don’t think I know you at all.”

I instantly regret saying anything
that would bring down the mood and remind us of our tenuous standing with each
other, but it’s too late. With a grunt, I push myself up to sit and take a good
hard look at her face. She’s so young, simultaneously guileless and fiercely self-possessed,
like a little hurt kid trying to be brave and not cry. I think of the picture
of her I’d seen back in her room, her younger self in the family portrait,
surrounded by a mother and sister.

What happened to them? What
happened to her? How long has she been on her own, flirting with disaster?

Why is she after Breslin?

It’s frustrating. I simultaneously
want to fuck her and protect her, and those two desires seem like they should
be mutually exclusive. At least, they always have been before. Shit, I’ve never
wanted to protect anyone before. And this is a hell of a time to start, because
even if I try my hardest to help, I know in my gut she can’t beat Breslin. That
she’ll get hurt.

Ruefully, I chuck her under the
chin. Guess I’m going for the brotherly angle now?

God, Knox,
lame
.

“There’s nothing to know about me,
sweetheart,” I say. “What you see is what you get.”

She stares, her cinnamon-colored eyes
veiled and cautious. For the life of me, I can’t tell what the hell she’s
thinking. And god help me, I want to know.

“I don’t believe that,” she says.
“I don’t believe you are just this. I believe you have more to you, if you let
yourself. If you are brave.”

Again, her fingertips brush my
chest, but this time the touch is not sensual. It’s somehow heartbreaking, and
I find myself snatching her fingers away, breath catching, confused. It makes
me angry, the intense reactions she seems to stir up in me so easily. It’s like
I’ve lost my balance, tossed from one uncomfortable thought to another. She’s
made me care enough to defy Breslin. She’s made me care enough to risk
everything. She’s made me care enough to question myself.

And caring is exactly the thing in
life I’ve always tried to avoid.

I don’t want it. Not now. Not ever.

“Believe what you want,” I grunt.
“But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With an effort, I stifle the
roiling drama going on in my brain and paint on an indolent grin. Then I drag
her hand south toward my cock, laughing at her when she blushes and tries to
snatch her hand away.