BEAU2Y: Part 2: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  “Gonna fuck you hard boy.”

  The words were whispered to my cheek, the foul stench of the man’s breath tainting the air. I gagged from both the foul scent and his loathsome words. My choking and heaving only riled them further.

  “I’ll give ‘im a reason to retch.”

  “I’ve got somethin’ ya can choke on.”

  My eyes flew open and dark shadows assailed me. Even though my heart was thrashing about in my chest in protest to the memories that invaded my dreams, I remained outwardly calm and still. The rocking motion, and the loud sound of an engine told me I was being moved in a vehicle. With my arms and legs tied, I assumed they thought I was helpless. I was no such thing. They’d tied my arms in front of my body which meant I could still use them to attack. With my fingers free, I could easily pick up a weapon. I wasn’t helpless, but I wasn’t ready to let the people in the van know that just yet. Taking a few long, deep breaths, I ignored the sick feeling in my stomach; it was just the remnants of the drugs and would disappear as the poison burned its way out of my body. A glass of water would be a treat right about now though. Looking around the open hull of the van, I found two men watching me, both with their guns brandished.

  “I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some water,” I politely asked.

  Of course, they didn’t answer. Simply rude.

  Without windows I couldn’t tell where we were headed, but I was fairly sure I knew. Terrebonne. Raul, Henry, Jamison and the team would be following. The moment they noticed I was missing they would have assembled and rolled out. Even though I loathed being held captive, I wasn’t too concerned. I had an army following me, and Beauty in front of me. Although this wasn’t the plan, it could definitely be molded to make a new one.

  Eventually the van came to an abrupt stop and the side door slid open. Barrels of three firearms poked through the opening, and I arched a brow. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered by this overabundance of weaponry, or insulted that they truly thought I was that dimwitted as to try and escape. Choosing to go with flattery, I stood, which caused the two men still sitting in the van to leap to their feet, raising their weapons high.

  “You are both a touch twitchy,” I observed.

  One of the men raised the butt of his gun and smashed it across my cheek. Pain blossoming like a beautiful flower sent a throb to my frontal lobe and left a resounding ache in my cheek. Shaking my head, I glanced down at my still tied feet.

  “As I said, twitchy . . . I’m not going to get far like this.”

  With the muzzle of a handgun pressed against my forehead, the ties around my feet were loosened.

  “Move.”

  Ducking down under the doorframe, I stepped out of the van and squinted at the unforgiving midday sun. The house before me was rather splendid, three sprawling levels on a large and private property. This was the house Abigail had told us about, the few pictures I’d seen on Raul’s laptop helping me to identify where we were. This way of getting here might not have been my first, second, or even third choice, but nevertheless it had been effective. Less the bindings around my wrists, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Right, shall we get this show on the road?” I suggested when the men continued to stand around pointing guns at me.

  From the arched doorway to the home, an obscenely large door was pushed open and two men stepped out. One looked decidedly military. Tall, wide like a tank, buzz cut hair, the bridge of his nose flattened, the tip decidedly crooked. His wide set jaw was clenched tight as he approached, two guns secured in a harness strapped around his shoulders and ribs. My attention was drawn to the younger man beside him. His nose was currently broken, flared bright red, and bruising stained the crescents beneath his eyes a dark, purplish grey. Jacob, Beauty’s half-brother, and from the look of the weak looking whelp, I assumed the man beside him was a guard of some sort. My lip twitched, because even though I had no idea what had happened to him, I imagined it might have something to do with his sister. I hoped so, anyway. He was definitely not a soldier, his frame lean, bordering on thin and perfectly pressed suit a stark contrast to the black combat uniforms the other six men were wearing.

  “Mr. Cordell,” Jacob spoke as he approached. “I had hoped we could do this in a more civilized manner.”

  I recognized his voice immediately. This was the person who called me requesting a meeting between Senator Kleeman and myself.

  “Well, I don’t do civilized particularly well, so this is probably for the better.”

  A woman sneaking out the front door caught my attention. She was older, of what I assumed was Spanish descent with greying hair and dark, olive skin.

  “Marisol, father would like to see you.”

  Following my gaze, Jacob ordered the woman back inside before returning his attention my way. The woman looked decidedly disappointed, her shoulders dropping low. Obediently, she returned into the house.

  “Once he is done with Marisol, he would like a word with you.”

  Grinning, I nodded. “I expect he would. Lead the way ol’ chap, let’s get this done.”

  Distrusting eyes met mine. I guess they didn’t expect someone like me to be quite so accommodating. They were waiting for something to happen. A sudden burst of violence, manic screaming, insults. It would all come, eventually. Patience is a virtue and can often lead to the beautiful melody of death. Today it most definitely would.

  The house was quite breathtaking, with a mix of marble, natural stone and timber finishes. A wide sweeping staircase led to the upper floors, and a grand entrance with high ceilings greeted me on the other side of the doorway. My Beauty was here . . . somewhere. My heart was pounding hard and fast, my fingers twitching with anticipation. She was close, I just knew it. So close. Soon we’d be together again, and the world would be right.

  I was ushered through the living room and past a kitchen where I once again caught sight of the distraught looking Spanish woman. She looked terrified, but still held her shoulders back proudly as she glared at me and did a quick Hail Mary. Astute woman.

  A shove to my back almost tripped me up as we approached a door that led into the basement. Another fucking basement. So cliché, I’m quite sure my eye roll nudged my brain.

  Downstairs we stepped through a big, heavy, wooden door and into what was quite obviously a sex room, or erotic dungeon of sorts. These depraved rapist fucks and their sex dungeons were a dime a dozen. The walls were painted black, the instruments of sexual torture displayed in bold, dark, timber shelving. It smelled faintly of sandalwood, and for all the unwilling sexual encounters that no doubt took place in this room, it was surprisingly clean.

  With such a sublime selection of bindings, cuffs and chains, they chose to shove my ass into a flimsy wooden chair. The rope around my wrists was untied and repositioned behind me with a gun pointed at my head the entire time. My ankles were bound again, this time to the legs of the chair. Amateurs. For starters with enough force, I could easily break the flipping thing. Then I could use one of the shattered pieces as a weapon. It wouldn’t be much use against the guns that surrounded me, but the number of weapons was quick to dwindle as four men left, leaving three soldiers, as well as the older, bulked up one with the obvious broken nose, and the welp otherwise known as Jacob.

  Jacob, such a weak looking specimen. I imagined he wasn’t exactly Kleeman’s pride and joy, no doubt brother number two, Christopher, was more befitting to take a position at Edward’s side. From the photos I’d seen, Christopher was taller, wider, his eyes holding a little more crazed darkness. I wondered why he wasn’t here instead. It wasn’t long before my staring got the better of the younger brother, and he began to shift with nervous tension. He wasn’t made for this kind of life. He was pitiful, of both mind and body. Leaning forward, I grinned and enjoyed the moment his eyes widened with alarm.

  “Did Beauty do that to you?”

  Blue eyes, not unlike Beauty’s darted to the other men in the room. They all seemed comple
tely indifferent to any words exchanged. Hired hands, they didn’t really give a shit. Jacob rubbed his palms on the legs of his suit pants. Sweaty palms, such a nervous tell.

  “Who’s Beauty?”

  “Oh, sorry, I forget things have changed since you last saw her. Beauty is your half-sister, Lucy.”

  “She’s not my sister, she’s nobody, a trashy whore.”

  My smile disappeared.

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” I growled, any humor I’d been entertaining gone. Jacob continued to shift nervously, his fidgeting finally catching the attention of the other men in the room. Noticing their attention now on him, he stilled and pressed his chest forward in an attempt to look more confident.

  “Well, this isn’t exactly what this room was intended for, but I guess sexual torture isn’t much different from every day torture.” Kleeman entered the room oozing prideful arrogance.

  Ridiculous man, he couldn’t even talk the talk . . . every day torture? There was no such thing. Torture wasn’t so simple, it had purpose and meaning which could make it complicated for a novice, which I was sure Kleeman was. Torture required skill, and really good torture required the touch of a true artist, of which I absolutely knew Edward was not. Bringing a man to the brink of death and holding him there for hours, days, even weeks, that took fucking genius. Coming to stand before me, hands on his hips in a satisfied pose, Kleeman grinned.

  “Kreshnik Erjon is looking forward to claiming his gift. He’s excited at the prospect of taming Lucy; it’s all the man can talk about.”

  At the mention of Kreshnik, my blood ran ice cold. Kreshnik was known well amongst the scum of the earth. The Albanian was a human trafficker who held auctions all over the world, and he dabbled dangerously close to all-out war with the Los Zetas on more than one occasion.

  “Kreshnik came here once, he needed help getting some firearms and flesh offshore, two things I do love to indulge in. He was very taken with Lucy, and she was all of six years old. Shifty fuck ended up screwing me over, threatened to expose me to the world if I didn’t give him Lucy. As you can imagine, I was only too glad to be rid of that thorn in my side, but the arrogant bastard didn’t have the patience for a child. He wanted to wait until she was sixteen. Sixteen fucking years with that rotten excuse for a being living under my feet! I actually considered approaching Charlie Decena for help, I knew Kreshnik was not a friend to the Los Zetas and thought maybe I could pay him to take care of my problem.”

  This had to be the worst interrogation ever. I wasn’t sure if he was hoping to gain information from me, but the silly old fuck was happily spewing his own dirty laundry, all while I was comfortably tied to a chair. With every confession, he was digging a deeper hole. With Kreshnik, with Decena, with me. He was throwing about some big names who would be insulted to think such a spineless fuck would assume such familiarity.

  “In the end, all’s well that ends well. Lucy is home, Kreshnik is on route, and you are my captive. Today is when I clean up this whole unfortunate mess.”

  Burying all the hate and anger that was stirring inside of me, I managed a smile, albeit somewhat of a grimace too.

  “Actually Kleeman, I think you are batting well above your pay grade. That’s the saying, isn’t it?” I asked. My words hit their mark, denting the senator’s easily wounded pride. “You are associating yourself with men that you really know nothing about. Want to know how I know that? Because you lack respect for them. No man who has had intimate dealings with the likes of Kreshnik or Decena would talk about them so casually, it’s a rule we have, one you are unaware of because you don’t belong in our world.” Shaking my head, my gaze left the stupefied senator and settled on his son. “She broke your nose, didn’t she?” Jacob flinched, imperceptibly. “Who else did she get at? I’m assuming she’s killed at least one of your men. Or is it more?”

  Kleeman’s cheeks deepened in color and his eyes narrowed, rage uncoiling as he slowly strolled forward.

  “She tried to kill my brother!” Jacob spat out, his temper less controlled than that of his father.

  “Quiet Jacob!”

  Smiling, I shook my head. “If Beauty wanted someone dead, they would be. I’m guessing she was just playing with him, much like a cat might play with a mouse.”

  Smack.

  My already injured cheek throbbed with heated pain following Kleeman’s closed fist. As far as punches went, this one was average. His wrist was weak, and the power behind it unpracticed and feeble. Shaking it off, I turned back to face the incensed man.

  “If Kreshnik tries to touch Beauty, she’ll kill him too.”

  Kleeman grinned. “You obviously haven’t met the man.”

  “Oh, I’ve unfortunately had the pleasure. Let me see if I get this right . . . a sadistic old fart, bald, a mole on his right cheek, three chins and a big fat stomach. Heck, he probably needs Viagra to get it up these days. I know him rather well. I think the problem here is you don’t know Beauty, at all.”

  “Enough,” Kleeman yelled, backing away. “I was willing to offer you another girl in exchange for Lucy. One just as lovely, younger, less used.”

  I was assuming the younger less used girl he was referring to was Ruby. If so, it was the second time I’d been offered the teenager in exchange for my perfect little monster.

  “But I’m guessing you are not interested in such an exchange.”

  “No exchange, I’ll just take both, thank you.”

  Kleeman chuckled.

  “Arrogant fucker, aren’t you.”

  “You mistake my confidence for conceit. I will take them both, it’s a simple fact you will soon come to terms with.”

  “He can’t be reasoned with Dad, just shoot him.”

  “Well, well, well, Jacob, I sincerely didn’t think you had it in you. So, you do own a set of balls under that ridiculously expensive suit, hmmm?”

  “Fuck you,” Jacob spat out, and it was really quite laughable. He might as well have stomped his foot like I’d witnessed Beauty do a time or two. She looked far more adorable doing it though.

  “You still have a chance to walk out of here, Cordell. Forget about Lucy, she’s a crazy fucking bitch anyway, I’ll be doing you a favor by taking her off your hands. I’ll untie you now and have my men drive you to the closest airport.” Kleeman was trying to reason, and I could think of no other response than to laugh, loudly. “I would really prefer that Charlie Decena were not involved in this,” he went on through gritted teeth. “Therefore, I am prepared to make a deal with you. Name a price, money? Property? I’ll give you whatever you want, however, the girl is mine.”

  “Oh, Eddie, the girl is most definitely not yours. And I’m a little offended that you’re worried about Charlie. I’ll let you in on a secret.”

  The room was silent and the corner of my lip twitched. It took everything I had not to grin.

  “Charlie is the Devil reincarnated . . . but I am his right-hand man. Do you know what that means?”

  Kleeman stared me down, defiantly.

  “It means, you silly little man, that I can be just as fucking terrifying.”

  With a nod to the muscled-up guard standing to one side, Kleeman moved back with jerky movements that indicated his temper was barely contained, and the older military goon, came to stand before me.

  “Jacob, go wait in my office, I’m expecting a call from Kreshnik’s people.”

  Jacob obediently left the room, and I snickered.

  “Your boy not got the stomach for a little torture, Eddie? Perhaps you should invite Beauty down, she loves it.”

  “This is Thomas, he is head of my security and has stood loyally by my side for over thirty years.”

  “He’s too old, you should put him out to pasture, no offense,” I added with a grin.

  “Thomas, shut him the fuck up,” Kleeman growled.

  “Tom, old chap, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Are we now going to compare how much we can lift?” I wondered out loud, turni
ng my attention to the overinflated thug. From his back pocket, he produced a knuckle duster, sliding it over his fist. “Don’t like to get your hands dirty? Brittle bones in your older age? A diet rich in calcium and vitamin D can help with that.”

  Then he hit me, and fuck if it didn’t pack the power Kleeman was lacking. For an older man, he still obviously had it. The resounding sound of flesh on flesh filled the room with the occasional gasp or oomph from me. My head only took a couple of hits, my stomach, ribs, and kidneys taking the rest. The only part saved from the beating was my legs. The physical pain was intense, but tolerable. The psychological torture of not being able to defend myself was almost crippling though. Helpless. Eventually the hits stopped, and my ears were left ringing, blood dripping down my face, my vision a little blurred.

  “Is your plan to beat me into submission?” I asked with a rough voice. “Because it won’t work.”

  Another punch to my ribs and a crack followed by lancing pain told me I now had a broken rib.

  “Too scared to do this yourself, Eddie? Afraid you might break a nail?”

  Another punch to my jaw, threw my head back. Shaking off the burn, I spat blood to the floor beside me.

  “If you kill me, you will have no choice but to deal with the Los Zetas.”

  “As I said, I’d rather not, but I do have people who can help me out with that if necessary.”

  Scoffing, I shook my head. There wasn’t a man alive who would dare cross Charlie Decena, not even Kreshnik.

  “Like Bear?” I wondered out loud. Kleeman frowned. “Oh, I forgot to mention, I know Bear, quite well. How do you think I found you? And a word of warning, he’ll gut you like a fish before he helps you fend off Charlie.”

  Taking a step forward with his fist curled, Kleeman’s momentum was brought to an abrupt stop the moment we heard a thundering crash from somewhere above us.