Transcending Darkness

by Airicka Phoenix

  Nerves frayed beyond repair, Juliette fumbled for the edge of the table and forced her body up. Her knees buckled uncontrollably, sending her staggering into the wood. But she remained upright, which was a miracle in itself.

  “Wolf.” Arlo set the walkie-talkie down and clapped his hands together once and kept them firmly clasped in front of him as he regarded the group. “I wasn’t expecting a visit.”

  “Weren’t you?” The man took a single step deeper into the warehouse. “Bit surprising that considering this is the third time this week your men have been caught doing business on my turf.”

  “A mistake,” Arlo said hurriedly. “I’m dealing with my crew and it won’t happen again.”

  “No, it won’t.” He moved closer, his strides unnaturally even and calm. “But that doesn’t change the facts. You owe us for using my streets to peddle your garbage. I’m here to collect.”

  A muscle jumped in Arlo’s jaw. Juliette recognized it as well concealed rage. She expected him to lash out, to throw the first punch or, at the very least, tell the guy to get out. Instead, she was surprised by the restraint tightening the length of his jaw. It made her wonder just who the newcomer was, because anyone who scared Arlo enough to curb his temper was clearly someone not to screw with.

  “Unless you’d rather I took this to your father,” the man went on. “I’m sure he’d like to know why I was forced to make this trip.”

  At the mention of his father, Arlo seemed to straighten and shrink back at the same time. Juliette noticed only because they stood a mere five feet apart. Everyone else seemed to be focused on the scattered envelope of money the man idly nudged with the toe of one shiny dress shoe. He seemed unperturbed by the fact that there was hundreds of dollars just lying across the floor. Juliette showed that type of disinterest to litter on the streets.

  “There’s no need to involve my father,” Arlo said, propping his ass against the ledge of the table and folding his arms. “I’m sure we can come up with a solution that suits us both.”

  Stepping over the envelope, the man shrugged. “All right then.”

  He drew to a stop in the strip of space separating Juliette from Arlo. That close, he was a too-close two feet from her. Close enough so that she could stretch out a hand and touch his broad back. So close that she could easily make out the fine, white lines running vertically down his suit and catch the shimmer of light playing amongst the thick strands curling over the collar of his suit. But what she noticed most was that she could no longer see Arlo and she had a feeling he couldn’t see her either. It was crazy to think it was deliberate, but she couldn’t help feeling relief at the temporary security.

  “Seventy.”

  Arlo’s short, hard laugh spoke of his outrage before he even spoke.

  “Seventy percent? That’s more—”

  “More than half,” the man cut in. “I’ve done the math.”

  “That barely covers the cost of shipment, never mind—”

  “Not my problem. That’s the cost of doing business in my neighborhood without my say so. Something you should have thought of, clearly. I don’t take well to guns being traded in my parks. You’re lucky I don’t ask for the full hundred.”

  Juliette couldn’t help herself. Curiosity and a whole lot of stupidity had her leaning an inch to the left to peer around the man’s looming frame to where Arlo stood looking like someone had just force fed him a cluster of cockroaches. His sour expression only seemed to deepen when her movement caught his attention. The anger in his eyes sharpened even as they narrowed and she knew she’d screwed up.

  “Why don’t we talk about this in private?” He bit out as he heaved away from the table and reached for her. His hand closed around her wrist and she was dragged to his side forcibly. “Pierre, take Juliette into the other room. This is no place for a woman. We’ll continue where we left off when I’m finished.”

  The notion of picking up where they’d left off churned in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze flicked to the man watching her. His expression was void of everything, but a bored sort of disinterest that assured her she would get no help from him. Not that she had expected it. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop herself from silently begging him not to leave her there. But he made no move to do anything when she was hauled away from the group towards a set of doors across the room. The grimy sheet of metal lay hidden behind a thick curtain of shadow and shrieked like a lost soul when it was wrenched open. She was shoved inside and sealed in.

  Chapter 3

  If there was anything Killian truly hated in the world it was having his time wasted. Already he’d had to reschedule six different appointments and reorder his calendar just to make the drive east, which was more than a rat like Arlo Cruz deserved. But it was something that needed to be done. Oh, he could have easily sent his men to make the point for him, but something like selling guns in broad daylight, in a park full of children spurred the psychopath in Killian into taking action. Plus a part of him was actually hoping Arlo would refuse, giving Killian an excuse to rid the world of the arrogant little fuck once and for all. It was purely out of respect for Arlo’s father that Killian was even willing to negotiate the problem. Juan Cruz was a vicious, violent, and bloodthirsty member of the underworld, but he understood the laws. He, like everyone else in the business, respected those laws. It was how peace was kept. The younger generation like Arlo, they sometimes forgot the order of things.

  “Why don’t we have a drink and—”

  “Why don’t you cut the shit and hand over my money,” Killian cut in, feeling his nerves reaching their maximum bullshit quota.

  Agitation bore into the place just between his shoulder blades like an unreachable itch. It was taking all his resolve not to just kill the fucker and leave. It would certainly solve a lot of problems, but ultimately, it would also create a shit storm Killian was in no mood to deal with.

  “I think we can all agree that forty is a more reasonable solution,” Arlo was saying when Killian forced himself to pay attention once more. “It’s a win for everyone.”

  “Forty?” Disgust and outrage laced the single snarled word, serrating the edges until they were razor sharp. “This is not a negotiation. You broke the rules. You came into my territory to peddle your crap. Now, I don’t do business on your streets, but if I did, I would have the decency to pay the toll. So, give me my money or we will have a serious problem.”

  There was a subtle sound of movement from the men stationed around the room. Killian was acutely aware of the gun metal and powder smell that stung the air. He knew everyone there, including his own men, were armed. He knew it would be a bloodbath if things went sideways. But he also knew Arlo was too much of a coward to go down in a glorious blaze of gunfire, because he was the type to shoot a man in the back in a dark alley rather than face him. Killian didn’t need a gun to destroy a man.

  “Maybe we could make it forty and I’ll sweeten the pot with a little something extra.”

  Bargaining. Killian had been expecting it and yet it sent a spike through his head, making his temple pang in pain.

  “What could you possibly have that would make me eat thirty percent of a ten million dollar profit?” he demanded.

  The leer that twisted Arlo’s rat face made his knuckles itch with the desire to clock the other man in the kisser.

  “Juliette.”

  That name meant nothing to him, nor did it elicit even an ounce of interest. If anything, it only irked him all the further.

  “The girl?” he said, not bothering to even glance at the door across the room. “Why would I want her?”

  “Consider her a peace offering,” Arlo cajoled smoothly. “And hopefully, the beginnings of a business partnership.”

  Now he really did want to hit the little punk.

  “I don’t dabble in stolen women.”

  Something sharp and angry flashed behind Arlo’s brown eyes that Killian recognized as outrage, but it was quickly smothered down.

 
“I have a shipment coming in in a week that will make us both very happy men.”

  “If I let you use my docks,” Killian finished, having already had this song and dance with Arlo’s father only the night before. “I already told your father, I’m no longer in that business.”

  Something about that statement seemed to amuse the other man. He shoved away from the table with a low chuckle and pivoted ever so slightly on the heel of his boots to face Killian head on.

  “You say you’re not in the business and yet … here you are.”

  The implication sent a white hot surge of fury rippling through Killian.

  “I may not be in the business, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to let filth dirty up my streets. The north is still mine to protect.”

  Arlo gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I can respect that.” His gaze roamed over to Killian’s men before dropping down to the purse laying forgotten on the ground. “Then take the girl as a token of my apologies for this misunderstanding.”

  Killian tried not to pinch the bridge of his nose in impatience. He tried. Instead, his hand went up to grind four fingers into his throbbing temple.

  “Why on earth would I take a girl that looks barely old enough to tie her own shoelaces over seven million dollars?” He sighed and fixed Arlo with cool, dark eyes. “I am losing my patience, Cruz.”

  A palm was lifted in some absurd display of peace. “Like I said, a peace offering. Nothing more. I will get you the money, but I can only give you forty now and thirty in a week when my other shipment comes in. The girl is … a gift.”

  “Is this a game to you?” Killian growled through his teeth. “Do you think I’m here as a joke?” He drew back. “Perhaps you need an incentive.”

  Pivoting on his heels, he started towards the exit. His heels cracked noisily against the concrete. His men watched as he approached, but none were looking at him; he didn’t pay them to ogle him, but to watch his surroundings.

  “Wait!” Arlo called at his back. “I will have the money sent directly to your account in the morning.”

  Killian stopped. He slowly rounded on his heels. “I said now. Not in a day. Not in an hour or in five minutes. Now.”

  A muscle wrenched in Arlo’s jaw that had his nostrils flaring, but he was smart enough to keep it out of his tone when he spoke.

  “David.”

  One of the men from his crew hurriedly dug out his phone. Killian glanced back at his own man and gave a subtle nod. Max pulled away from the group and went to where David stood. The two exchanged account information while Killian waited. He checked his watch. He was already ten minutes behind.

  “Pierre, the girl,” Arlo ordered.

  It was on the tip of Killian’s tongue to tell Pierre not to bother. He didn’t want the girl. But the Goliath had already thrown open the door with a shriek of rusted hinges. The steel sheet swung inward to what appeared to be a bedroom of sorts. Killian could just see the girl standing in the middle of the room, small and terrified. Her thin arms were wrapped around her chest, creasing the white material of her blouse. She backed away when Pierre charged into the room with her. Even from a distance, he heard her cry out when a meaty fist closed around her upper arm and wrenched her forward. Her heels scraped on stone as she was dragged before the assembly. She was fighting him, but it was doing no good; he was three times her size.

  “Juliette.” Arlo took over when Goliath relinquished his grip. He hauled her to him and forcibly twisted her around so she was facing Killian. Enormous brown eyes shot up to his, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face. “This is the Scarlet Wolf. He’s going to take you home tonight.”

  The Scarlet Wolf. Christ sakes. Who the hell introduced another person as The Scarlet Wolf? It was pathetic and he would have face palmed if he could do so without looking as moronic as Arlo. Besides, that was the title he had earned. It was the name everyone in the city knew him as, at least, those on the flipside of the law. People like Arlo and Juan. People who needed to be reminded of who he was and what he was capable of. It would forever be a reminder of a past he could never forget.

  Across from him, what little color had resided in the girl face bleached to nothing so all that stood out was her eyes, wide and glossy with terror. They stared at Killian as though he were the devil reincarnated. She stood rigid against Arlo, her slight frame trembling hard enough to make Killian wince.

  “This is Juliette,” Arlo went on. “Juliette here owes me a favor and I would consider it paid in full if she were to help you relax.”

  Juliette seemed to still before his eyes. Killian could see something churning behind her eyes, a desperate sort of realization that parted her lips in a gasp.

  Behind her, Arlo smirked. “Do we have a deal?”

  She was thrust forward before she could even respond. Killian watched it happen as though in slow motion. He saw her stagger as her feet caught over each other. Her hands flung out to brace her fall. His own flew out without a shred of hesitation. He caught her—all of her—and hauled her into his chest. Her small frame tucked snuggly against his chest. His arms wound seamlessly around the curve of her narrow waist. Palms flattened against a slim slope of her back as the subtle scent of wildflowers rushed over him on impact. Eyes the rich gold of caramel shot up to his face, half hidden behind a riot of dirty blonde curls. Soft, pink lips parted, revealing just the hint of a slight overbite that seemed to be the only imperfection on an otherwise beautiful face. It was the sort of face that made smart men stupid and rich men poor. Killian wasn’t immune, but he wasn’t a fool either.

  He released her quickly and stepped back.

  “Keep her,” he muttered, forcing himself to look away.

  “Please.”

  The whisper was so low, he momentarily wondered if he’d imagined it. His gaze flicked to the girl with her big, pleading eyes and pitiful plea. Blood welled where her teeth cut a gash in her bottom lip. But it was the tear clinging to her thick lashes that did him in. Something about the sight of it punched him low in the gut. It reminded him of another woman, one that had meant the world to him, one he had lost because he’d been powerless to save her.

  “Get your things,” Killian told her before his common sense could kick in.

  Her throat muscles worked in a deep swallow. Relief shimmered in her eyes before she lowered them and hurried to the purse a few feet away. Her hand trembled as it was twisted around the worn strap. The spilled envelope of cash was left where it lay scattered in the dirt.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Arlo called after him when Killian started to turn away.

  The smug arrogance in the single comment hackled along Killian’s spine with slimy fingers. He glanced back at the boy standing in all his own self-righteous glory and almost scoffed. Arlo Cruz would be nowhere without his father’s empire behind him. No doubt he would be just another statistic on the streets, a shit ass kid gunned down for robbing a liquor store. He had no class. He had no respect. The world had been handed to him on a gold platter and he relished in his own self-worth. Men like that seldom lasted very long in their line of work.

  It was true that Killian got his own empire through several generations of McClarys before him. His father had trained him from the age of five to one day rule. But he’d been alone since he was ten. He raised himself. The city he owned and ran, he had held together by himself. His father hadn’t held his hand or fixed his mistakes. Killian had done it on his own.

  “Stay off my turf, Cruz,” Killian said evenly. “I very much dislike repeating myself.”

  Arlo inclined his head, but Killian caught the barely suppressed rage hidden deep in the other man’s eyes. He let it go. Arlo had every right to be pissed. Juan Cruz was not going to be pleased that his son managed to lose more than half their payment for a shipment that probably cost them double that to smuggle over. But that wasn’t Killian’s problem. Arlo was lucky Killian hadn’t asked for the full profit, which was in his right to do. There would have been n
othing Arlo or Juan could have done about it. They might have been the Dragons of the east, but Killian dominated the north with some deep connections in the south and west. It would have been a bloodbath and the Dragons knew it.

  No one moved or spoke as Killian headed to where the girl stood, purse clutched to her stomach. She didn’t budge when he stepped around her and started for the door. Max and Jeff led the way with the others left to follow in tight formation around Killian. Killian didn’t wait to see if she would follow. If she didn’t, well, that wouldn’t be his problem either.

  At the front entrance, the guard stationed there quickly jumped back when Killian’s group emerged. He said nothing as they filed out, but his eyes lingered on the seven foot giant that took the end, guiding the girl through the doorway.

  Frank had that effect on most people. He was twice the size of a regular man with hands bigger than Killian’s entire head and a body straight out of a bodybuilder magazine. His very presence installed a fear in Killian’s enemies no gun ever could. Not that his men didn’t carry. They all did. Killian didn’t and hadn’t in years. It was a personal choice. He had enough blood on his hands and, while he still lived in a world that required a daily dose of violence, he tried to keep the bloodshed to a minimal.

  A scuffle from behind him had him glancing back just as the girl’s ankle twisted and she stumbled sideways. Frank caught her around the middle and nimbly set her back on her feet. He held on a moment as she limped on her injured foot a second.

  “I’m okay,” she said at last, pulling away. “Thank you.”

  Frank did what Frank did best, he inclined his head, but said nothing.

  She glanced up to find the caravan had stopped and everyone was watching her. She blushed in the pale light spilling from the grimy light above the warehouse doors. Her hands nervously smoothed down her skirt and she adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder.