Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel

by Charmaine Pauls

  Russell pats my shoulder. I give him a nod before I put a foot on the first bar of the service ladder fixed to the side of the tower. I wiggle the tip of my boot to find my footing and shift my weight onto the first step. The metal groans.

  To his credit, Russell spares me the worried look. Instead, he tests the link to my watch and ear pod, making sure both are connected before giving me the thumbs up.

  The ladder rattles under my weight. The steps are far apart and the space between the ladder and wall just big enough to fit the toe of my boot. The backpack is heavy and the ascent grueling. The wind doesn’t help. Aside from the noise in my ears, my body is rocked every time a gush of air rushes through the skyscrapers. It’s a typical autumn day with a clear blue sky. The sun reflects directly off the concrete, making it feel as if I’m mounting an oven. By the time I’m a quarter of a way up, my T-shirt is drenched with sweat despite the cooler morning temperature of fifteen degrees Celsius that my watch shows.

  A long time later, I’ve only reached the halfway mark. I stop to catch my breath. I’d kill for a sip of water. Below, the buildings are a maze of concrete and the people mere dots of movement. Wiping my forehead on my sleeve, I carry on with my ascent. It’s a damn good thing I don’t suffer from vertigo. I’m not going to lie. It’s fucking scary. Especially when I reach the flat bottom level of the six floors that requires horizontal climbing for a short distance. Thank God I’m in good shape. It’s the one plus that came out of my imprisonment. I don’t think I would’ve pumped iron as hard if I remained a free man.

  I’m reaching for the step at the first-floor windows when my leg starts cramping. Motherfucker. My calf contracts into a painful ball. Catching the step above me, I flex my foot, trying to alleviate the pain. It hurts like a bitch. I’m hovering like that, all but balancing on one foot, when a gust of wind rips around the tower. It flings my body sideways. My footing slips. I’m barely holding on with one hand. My sweaty fingers slip as I try to swing myself back and find leverage on the step with my feet. Fuck, I should’ve worn gloves. I grunt with the effort but manage to steady myself. It takes a few breaths before I’m ready to move on.

  “Everything all right?” Russell’s voice asks in my ear.

  “I’m at the bottom level of the floors.”

  “Not far to go.”

  I catch my first view through the glass. The floor is an open space of broken chairs and bar counters. The second is empty. The third and fourth, too. It’s the next level where I have to be careful. If I make a noise or Dalton spots me, Lina is dead. When I clear the concrete foundation that forms the floor, I rise slowly. My heart hammers not only from the exertion, but also from fear. I can’t screw this up for Lina. It’s my fault Dalton took her. If I didn’t take the mine, this wouldn’t have happened. I’m not going to let her down.

  Holding my breath, I lift myself just high enough for a visual. The floor is in less of a shamble than the others. There are sofas that Carte Blanche probably used when they broadcast their program. I scan the space until I spot them on the far side. My heart slams to a stop in my ribcage. A spell of lightheadedness threatens to overwhelm me. Lina sits on a chair, her hands and ankles tied. Dalton has his back turned to me. Another man stands next to Dalton, a gun clutched in his hand. A rush of relief replaces the lightheadedness, but the danger is far from over. In less than fifteen minutes, Russell will have no choice but to email the contract to Dalton. I have little time to make it past the windows and onto the terrace.

  I pray my movement won’t attract Lina’s attention. I don’t want her reaction to alarm Dalton. They’re talking. Lina is saying something, her face too far and too much in the shadows to make out her expression. Moving as fast and quietly as I can, I climb past the windows, praying for the first time in my life, bargaining with gods and angels and demons I don’t believe in.

  Almost there. One more step. Thank fuck. I’m about to pull myself onto the terrace when a rusted bolt securing the ladder rips straight out of the wall. Bits of concrete flake around the hole. One of the bigger pieces hits the window with a sickening noise before it falls to the network of streets and buildings that looks like a Lego land below. The step swings on one hinge, hitting the wall with a clang.

  I stand dead still, shaking in my boots, but it’s too late. From directly below, a frame creaks as someone pushes open a window.

  Chapter 24

  Lina

  There’s a thud on the window, as if a bird hit the glass, and then a louder clank, like metal on concrete. I jerk in my bounds. Harold spins around, reaching for the gun in his belt. His partner joins him. I stretch my neck to see past Harold as he rushes to the window, but there’s only blue sky. Harold grips the window handle and shakes. It’s stuck. I rise awkwardly for a better view, trying not to fall over. The frame gives. The window doesn’t open far, but cool air rushes into the stale interior the sun has quickly baked hot through the expansive windows.

  Harold leans out and looks up. He pulls his head back into the room with a curse. “There’s someone on the service ladder.”

  “Cop?” his accomplice asks.

  “I only saw his boots.” He turns, waving the gun at me. “Untie her.”

  “What are you going to do?” the man asks as he starts working on the knot at my wrists.

  “We’re going up. You stay here and secure the floor. Make sure nobody else comes up that ladder.”

  Life flows back into my arms with painful pinpricks when the constraints come free. I rub them to aid the blood flow while my assailant works on the rope around my ankles. My heart beats fast with fear, but also with hope. Someone came for me.

  “Do you have the contract?” the man asks.

  Harold takes his smartphone from his pocket and checks the screen. “Not yet.” He motions for me to come closer. “Call that son of a bitch and tell him I want it now. Tell him to call off his man or she’s dead.” Nudging the gun between my shoulder blades, he says, “Walk.”

  We exit via the fire escape next to the broken elevator. My legs are shaky from being tied up for so long, but also from frightening, sickening panic. We mount one level and walk out on a rooftop terrace. Sucking in a breath, I grab the balustrade. We’re so high the closest rooftops look like Monopoly pieces. The horizon is a convex with smog pollution framing the edge.

  In the distance are the Ponte and Auckland Park Tower landmarks. Oh, my God. We’re on the Hillbrow Tower.

  “Walk,” Harold says, giving me a push from behind.

  I stumble a step. Putting one foot in front of the other, I inch closer to where he’s forcing me—to the edge.

  My whole body starts shaking when we reach the rail. It’s waist-high and in bad shape. The metal is rusted and bent in places. The protective net that once covered the open space is long gone. The wind whips my hair around my face, the cold penetrating my bones. I shiver in my coat. Frantically, I search the terrace for the person Harold saw, but the more I squint into the sun, the more I think he’s mistaken. There’s no one. The longer I stand on the edge of the most horrific drop, the more certain I become about why we’re here, but I’m not ready to face it.

  I chance a look at Harold over my shoulder. The wind is loud. I have to shout to make myself heard. “What are we doing up here?”

  My foolish heart hopes for a good answer, but my body knows better. My legs already go into convulsions of shock, barely carrying my weight.

  Harold keeps the gun trained on me, his demeanor alert as he scans the terrace. “Quiet.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “This is where it ends.”

  This is where I die. I feel like crying, but my eyes are dry. My heart won’t grant me tears. There’s no space for anything but the terrifying, dry fear. To set me free from my miserable existence would be a mercy, but I’m not ready to let go of life. I cling to it with everything I’ve got. I don’t want to die.

  My voice cracks. “What have I ever done to you?”


  “You know too much.”

  I know about his criminal business dealings. I know he traded me to a sadist in exchange for mining rights. I know he planted the diamond on Damian to get him out of the way so he could exploit Damian’s discovery. I know he cheated his partners. I know he organized my abduction. Still, he knows things about me, too. He knows I shot Jack. He can use the information to make sure I keep my mouth shut. This isn’t about me knowing too much. It’s about something entirely different.

  Pushing back my windblown hair, I turn to face him. “It’s because my mother didn’t love you.”

  The truth flashes over his face for just a second before his expression turns into a mask of disgust. Ignoring me, he looks right and left.

  “Are you going to push me?” I ask in a strangely calm voice.

  “You’re going to jump.” He offers me a fleeting smile while continuing his scanning of the surroundings. “You’ve always been suicidal.”

  “If I’m dead, Damian will come at you with everything he’s got. He’ll have nothing left to lose.”

  “He can’t come at me if he’s dead.”

  “Oh, my God. You’re pure evil.”

  “I know you’re there,” he screams over the wind. “Come out wherever you are or she walks the plank.”

  A shadow extends from behind the staircase room. A man steps out with his hands raised. Damian. I feel sick. I feel sick and happy. My feelings are jumbled up. I can’t make out my fear from my relief. I can’t sacrifice him.

  My gaze locks with Damian’s as he pulls a pair of goggles from his eyes. The truth reflects in those dark brown depths. Harold can’t shoot us both at once. He’ll take out the biggest threat first. He’ll shoot Damian, which will give me time to run. Oh, my God. Damian is going to sacrifice himself to save me. My soul screams no. My heart shrivels. If Damian believes I’ll get away, he’s not alone. He brought reinforcements. Someone must be close on his heels. I scan the terrace that stretches beyond Damian and spot the electric rope reel attached to rail at the same time Harold calls, “Stop where you are.”

  Damian stops. “You have what you wanted. Let her go.”

  “Put the backpack on the ground. Gun too. And don’t bother to deny it. I know you have one.”

  Damian slips the straps from his shoulders and lowers the backpack to the ground. “Gun’s in there.”

  Yanking me by my arm, Harold flings me in Damian’s direction. “Open the bag, Lina.”

  I stare up at Damian, hoping to God I can tell him everything I need to with my eyes. There’s an eternity of love in my heart, and only a second to show it.

  “Now, Lina,” Harold says behind me.

  Damian gives me a small nod. As I crouch down, his lips lift in a reassuring gesture. Even while being held at gunpoint, he offers me comfort.

  My fingers shake on the buckle of the bag. It takes a few seconds to get it open.

  “Kick it over,” Harold says.

  Straightening, I nudge the bag with my shoe. It slides over the concrete to where Harold stands.

  “Search him,” Harold says. “If you find a weapon on him, you throw it my way. Don’t even think about trying to use it. I’ll shoot him before you have time to cock a gun.”

  Doing as I’m told, I pat Damian down.

  “Anything?” Harold asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Must I come over there and check? If I find a weapon on him, I’ll shoot off his kneecap. Get my drift?”

  I swallow and nod.

  He pulls his phone from his pocket, keeping the gun trained on Damian, and flicks over the screen.

  The wind ruffles Damian’s hair. He looks both eternal and destructible. The sun makes a halo around the needlepoint of the tower. If I squint a little, I can see the portrait of Mary and Jesus painted in a sudden appearance of clouds across the sky. My losses peel away as I see the face of another baby in Jesus’ place, and the man-boy Damian used to be returns to me. This very moment, right here, is how we would’ve been if Damian had stayed on the terrace with me instead of going to Harold’s study. It was love at first sight. We both knew. It was too big not to. We lost six years and forever, but when love is this great, even a moment is enough.

  A satisfied smile spreads over Harold’s face. “Glad to see you kept your end of the bargain, Hart.” His trigger finger curls.

  My shaking stops. My fear dissipates. Suddenly, it’s startling clear. All the events of my life led me to this moment. To this purpose. It only takes one step to put me into the path of the bullet.

  Damian’s voice rings out with alarm. “Lina, no!”

  The shot goes off. Pain explodes in my side. My knees give out. I fall forward, knocking Harold to the floor. The gun is sandwiched between us.

  “Sniper, now!” Damian says. “Ambulance.”

  My blood is wet and warm, soaking our clothes. I’m dead weight. Harold struggles to roll me over. He points the gun, but Damian is already there. Bones snap from the impact of Damian’s boot as he kicks the weapon from Harold’s hand. The gun flies over the edge of the terrace. Harold’s scream rises to the sky. Pressing a hand to my side, I try to stop the steady pump of blood that seeps through my fingers.

  Damian is like a demon. Grabbing hold of Harold’s feet, he drags him to the rail.

  “Damian, no,” I croak, reaching for him with one hand. “He’s not worth it.”

  Damian will go back to prison, this time for murder, and they’ll never let him out again. My plea is for nothing. Damian hoists Harold head-down over the rail and shakes him over the abyss.

  “Where is he?” Damian screams. “Talk, you bastard.”

  My vision starts swimming. The scene goes in and out of focus. The noise of a helicopter rises from the distance. Another face appears above mine. Russell?

  “Shit. Fuck. I’ve got you, Lina.” He rips off his jacket and presses it on my wound. It hurts. Badly. “A helicopter is on the way. You hold on, do you hear me?”

  It’s Damian’s voice I try to hold on to, the same phrase repeating itself.

  Where is he?

  I fight to remain conscious. “Don’t let him kill Harold.”

  Russell only shakes his head, as if it’s too late.

  When I turn my gaze back to Damian, coldness envelopes me. He’s empty-handed. His arms are stretched out over the edge, fingers splayed as if he’s giving a blessing, and his eyes are trained below.

  My breath catches. It hurts to swallow. It hurts to move and speak, but I grab Russell by his T-shirt, bringing him closer. “I killed him. I pushed Harold.”

  He frowns as he seems to battle with my meaning, and then his face contorts with denial. “Lina—”

  “I killed him.” I shake him as hard as my waning strength allows. “I killed him. Do you understand?”

  His eyes brim with tears. His face dissolves and comes back into focus.

  “Please, Russell. Promise me.”

  He wipes the hair from my face. “Don’t talk.” He breathes out through his nose. “Fuck. Damian! Get over here.”

  “Please.” I beg with all my being, with everything I’m capable of. “Please, Russell.”

  “Yes, damn you.”

  His voice is breaking, or maybe it’s my hearing that’s slipping away with my sight.

  “Tell me you understand.”

  He forces a smile. “I understand.”

  I sag back on the floor, suddenly too tired to hold myself up. “Thank you.”

  “Lina.” Damian kneels beside me.

  The hurt lifts, and for a moment I feel fine. My senses are sharper than ever. I see Damian clearly, every line on his face. I feel his breath on my lips as he cups my head. I smell his skin, sweat mixed with citrus.

  “I’m sorry, Damian. I’m sorry for everything we did to you.”

  His lips part. They move, but he’s not making a sound. His tears drip on my cheeks and run down my neck. I want to tell him it’s all right. I don’t need him to tell me what I already
know. We don’t need wasted words.

  Cupping his cheek, I whisper what’s on my heart. “It was perfect.”

  I feel it in my body and in my soul. I feel it in my smile as I let go.

  Chapter 25

  Damian

  I wanted Lina’s smile for so long, and now that picture will haunt me forever. Rubbing my hands over my face, I hang my head to relieve the ache between my shoulders. My eyes burn from a lack of sleep. I haven’t moved from the hospital chair since they brought Lina from surgery.

  It’s been a day and night. The surgeon reckons she’ll be fine. No organs were damaged. She was damn lucky. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a guardian angel. Angels would definitely watch over someone like her. Her words come back to haunt me.

  It was perfect.

  I don’t deserve her. I gave her a prison. She gave me her life. She gave me her smile. Her fucking smile. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes until I see white spots.

  The door opens. Russell pushes inside with two Starbucks cups and puts one on the nightstand next to me.

  I still feel like strangling the motherfucker. I hope he can see it in the killer look I’m giving him. No matter what I threaten him with, he won’t budge. He won’t change his statement. He hard-headedly maintains Lina pushed Dalton off the tower after he’d shot her. I got the best lawyer in the country, who said Lina would’ve been charged with manslaughter and gotten off with self-defense under normal circumstances, but since she’s officially classified as mentally unstable—a nicer term for insanity—she can’t be put on trial. Did she realize that before she convinced Russell to lie for her? Is that why she took my guilt on her shoulders? I have an inkling it’s got nothing to do with getting off scot-free with murder, and everything with her heart. It’s just how Lina is. It’s how she’s always been. A physical pain lodges under my breastbone as every time I think about what I need to do.