Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6)

by Loren, Celia

  But I chose the hard fall to nowhere. The gutter.

  Instead of a second chance, Breslin came. What he offered was not redemption, it was stasis. It was treading the morally ambiguous waters of the underbelly, hiding from the light, burying the truth that I was guilty as deep down as I possibly could. The truth was that I knew I had done wrong, that I was capable of more, capable of changing for the better. I hadn’t lived up to my potential and I never forgave myself.

  Rusiko is the first person that seems to know that I am capable of more, and it’s fucking terrifying. I’m not in the habit of believing in myself anymore.

  Now the dawn is breaking over eastern Ohio, and I blink my eyes open to stare into it steadily. We’re almost back to Pennsylvania. I’m well on my way to facing my self.

  This time it’s different. I’m ready to look into the light without flinching. She’s given me that, Rusiko, and I owe it to her to follow through, to change.

  I promise, Rusiko. I will be different.

  I’ll be better.

  I will do the right thing.

  I am here in this stranger’s truck facing a new dawn, because I refuse to kill the light in that girl’s eyes, because I refuse to let her think I am some kind of hero. I refuse to use her. I refuse to lie to her. I refuse to slowly disappoint her over time, as my fucked up past and messed up mind take their toll, letting her down and puncturing her dreams, until I’ve sucked her dry and used her up. I refuse to make her life worse than it already is.

  I refuse to be that guy again, destroying everyone and everything around me. I refuse to open myself up to someone like Breslin again, creating a vacuum for darkness to fill. I just refuse to be that weak, that shortsighted ever again. She’s already changed me, I can feel it. I am ending this vicious cycle.

  Actually, the cycle is already broken.

  I broke it when I set her free.

  Now the driver raises his voice and I realize he’s talking to me.

  “Need a rest stop,” he grunts. “Won’t be long.”

  I grunt back a monosyllable, man-language for acknowledgement.

  As he pulls the truck onto the exit ramp I settle in and close my eyes, figuring I’ll use the stop to nap. Maybe I can sleep until he kicks me out somewhere. Maybe I can sleep off my fixation with Rusiko, sleep off my shame.

  I hear his door open and feel the truck cabin shift as his hefty weight clumsily exits. I can hear muffled sounds of the highway in the background, and it’s starting to lull me to sleep when I feel the cabin shift again and sense a presence beside me in the driver’s seat.

  But instead of the sound of the ignition starting, I hear the cocking of a gun.

  Even before I open my eyes, I understand what’s happening: the radio. The driver was on the radio talking in code. There must have been some alert out, some price on my head, and he must have called it in.

  Breslin really is an indefatigable bastard.

  I should have seen it coming: should have expected this, should have been keyed up for a struggle.

  But I’m rusty and bone-tired, so instead of risking a badly aimed accidental shot, I deliberately wake myself up and blink down the barrel of the Glock 43 pointed at my nose. My eyes flicker up to the face of the man holding it and I can’t stifle a chuckle.

  “Hey there, Ox,” I grunt. “Fancy meeting you here. What’s a good little boy like you doing in a truck stop like this?”

  He snarls like a Neanderthal. It’s like having a conversation with a Rottweiler, but I press on. I never did know when to shut up.

  “How’s Rex, his shoulder healing ok? This is the first time I’ve seen you without him, you must feel damn near naked. What’s new in your life, besides the bruises I gave you? Don’t know if you heard the Breslin house of cards is crumbling down, I’d start sending out my resume if I were you. Man, that’s a shiny new gun. Going-away present from the boss? You know they probably won’t let you take it with you to Attica. You could always try hiding it up your ass.”

  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 bot
her 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?”