Transcending Darkness

by Airicka Phoenix

  The thought disgusted her more than the fact that her own sister had stolen from her after Juliette had taken that money out to protect her. It only solidified her feelings towards the girl. But there was nothing to do now but get to work and hopefully get through the night in one piece.

  Marie Lopez, a maid Juliette had spoken to on the odd occasion they were cleaning the same level was waiting for her when she arrived. The woman must have just gotten off the morning shift. She was pulling her coat on over her maid uniform. She spotted Juliette and made her way over.

  “A man was looking for you,” she said, following Juliette to her locker.

  Juliette stopped and faced her. “What man?”

  Marie shrugged. “White. Dark hair.”

  Reflexively, her heart gave a leap in her chest. The sensation was foreign, but she recognized it as excitement.

  “Black eyes? Beautiful to look at?”

  Marie arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know about beautiful to look at, but he had nice hair.”

  Not Killian, she thought, excitement deflating. Marie would definitely remember a face like his.

  Juliette frowned. “What did he want?”

  Marie shrugged again. “Miss Candy Ass took a message.”

  Miss Candy Ass was Celina Swanson, the bitter hostess rumored to be sleeping with Harold Whitefield, the manager. She acted like she was hotel royalty when in fact she was the bane of everyone’s existence.

  Juliette groaned. “Great. Thanks, Marie.”

  Turning away from the direction she’d been heading, she made her way out of the change room.

  Celina was in her usual place at the front counter, her million dollar smile wide and dazzling as she passed room keys over to the couple on the other side. Everything from her sleek, blonde mane to her sapphire blue eyes was flawless and probably cost her daddy—and several rich lovers—a pretty penny to maintain. She always reminded Juliette of a soap opera star, all teeth and big boobs. Plus, she did this thing where she batted her eyelashes like a little girl every time she thanked a guest for coming to the Twin Peaks Hotel. For whatever reason, it drove Juliette nuts.

  She was also the reason Juliette could never get a hostess position no matter how hard she tried. For four years, her application had been denied and she knew it was because Harold had given Celina infinite God powers over who got the position. There were only two slots, one for day host and one for the evening shift. Celina owned the day slot so no one ever had any hopes of getting that one unless Celina mysteriously keeled over one day. The position paid double what Juliette was making as a maid and there was more to do than sit around waiting for guests to arrive. But Juliette wouldn’t mind the night position. It meant she could keep her job at the diner, quit her job at the arcade and actually get a decent day’s sleep for once. But Celina only ever hired her friends, who always wound up getting fired within a week. It was enough to make Juliette want to write a formal complaint, but since the complaint would go to Harold … it was just a waste of time.

  She waited until the couple had ambled away, luggage in tow before making her way forward to address the Queen.

  “Hey Celina.”

  The smile immediately twisted into a sneer. “You shouldn’t be here! It hotel policy—”

  “Did someone come looking for me today?”

  Glossy, pink lips pulled together tight in clear annoyance at being interrupted. But she snatched up a piece of hotel stationary and slapped it down on the counter.

  “I’m not your receptionist. Tell your friends to get their messages to you themselves.”

  Ignoring that, Juliette grabbed the paper and hurried into the back.

  Call me.

  Arlo.

  Juliette’s insides writhed. Her hands trembled. The nausea she’d been fighting back the whole way to work slammed up into her throat. She barely managed to coax it back down as she reread the note. It couldn’t be possible. She’d done everything he’d asked. When she’d left, Killian had been happy. Unless he’d called Arlo that morning and … no. No. God, was that it? Had he complained to Arlo about her behavior? Damn it. She should have just kept the fucking money. Her dignity meant nothing if she was dead.

  Heart thumping, she raced for the staffroom and the payphone. Her fingers shook as she inserted the required fifty cents and punched in Arlo’s cell number.

  He answered on the second ring.

  “Yeah?”

  Juliette swallowed audibly once to moisten her throat. “It … it’s me. Juliette.”

  “Juliette!” he sounded delighted, like they were old friends who hadn’t spoken in a long time. “Got my message, eh? How was your night?”

  Woozy, she slumped against the wall and shut her eyes. “Fine.”

  “Yeah? Did you show our friend a good time?”

  Having no idea what a good time was supposed to be like, Juliette answered, “I think so.”

  “You think so? Think so isn’t good enough, Juliette.”

  “Yes,” she corrected. “I did.”

  “Good, because I need you to do something else for me.”

  A frown tightened Juliette’s brow. “What?”

  “Yeah, it’s easy.”

  “No,” she gasped. “You said we were done. That if I … that if I did what you said, you’d forget the debt.”

  “And I meant it,” he promised smoothly. “The month you owed me is forgiven. Done. You don’t need to worry about it ever again.”

  No. No!

  She sunk to the ground under the phone booth. “No, that’s not what you said…”

  “Yes, it was.” He laughed, long and hard. “Did you really think I meant the whole debt? Jesus, Juliette, that’s crazy. But I have a way where you can get rid of the whole thing in a matter of a couple of weeks.”

  It was curdling inside her to say no and hang up, but that was just suicide.

  “What?” Even to her own ears, the single word sounded jagged and hollow.

  “I knew you’d like that.” She heard something crack in the background. Pool balls maybe. “I need you to see Killian again.”

  “Killian? Why?”

  “Because he has something I need and only you can get it for me.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry about that right now. Just get yourself back in his good graces and I will tell you what when the time is right.”

  “Wait. How do I—?”

  “Oh come, come, Juliette. You’re a woman. Aren’t you guys hardwired with the ability to lure men into your web?” He laughed when she said nothing. “Okay, look, you’re at work, right? What time do you get off?”

  “My first shift ends at midnight,” she choked out.

  “Great. Call me when you’re done.”

  With that, he hung up.

  Chapter 7

  Killian studied the bank slip Juliette had left behind and thought of the woman who had evaded his men and risked her life to tell him to take back something most people would have never questioned. Money was the thing that turned his world. It was something everyone worked very hard to obtain and keep, including murder. Yet she had thrown it back in his face even though it was obvious from her bank slip that she had none. With his amount gone there would be nothing in there. So why had she given it back? Why all of it?

  He set the slip down on his desk and stared at it some more, determined to make sense of the mystery that was Juliette Romero, because it made no sense. She made no sense and the more he thought about her the less sense she made.

  “Sir?” Frank darkened the open doorway of Killian’s office, hands clasped neatly in front of him. He regarded Killian with cool, black eyes. “The car is ready.”

  “Already?” Automatically, his gaze dropped to his watch.

  “Yes sir.”

  Jesus, it was already after eleven. Where the hell had the time gone?

  He glanced at the mound of papers spread out across the expanse of his great grandfather’s favorite desk. None of it was f
inished. He had started, but at some point his mind had wandered back to that morning and Juliette and hadn’t returned.

  Juliette.

  He eyed the slip just sitting there, mocking him and shook his head. Damn if that didn’t just prove his theory about her.

  Dangerous. Definitely. Absolutely. No doubt about it.

  Dragging the slip into the top drawer of his desk, Killian rose. He fastened the button on his blazer and made his way to where the other man stood. Neither said another word as Killian made his way downstairs and out the front doors. The limo and BMW had been switched for a simple town car in gunmetal gray. Marco stood at the door, holding it open. He tipped his head forward slightly in indication when Killian approached.

  “Would you like to make any stops before we hit the club, sir?”

  Killian shook his head. “No, thank you, Marco. Straight there, please.”

  Marco bowed his head again as Killian took the backseat and the door was shut behind him. Frank crammed his large frame into the passenger’s side, rattling the frame and making the little pine air freshener swing beneath the rear view mirror.

  Killian drew out his phone and scrolled absently through the emails he would spend the night combing through. There never seemed to be a shortage in crap people sent him. He made a mental note to get someone to go through the mess for him. It was time consuming and he already had too little of it to waste.

  “Sir, would you like me to double security at the house?” Frank broke through the silence, attention fixed on the tiny phone in his massive palm. “I think after the incident this morning—”

  “No,” Killian said, pocketing his phone and turning his gaze to the window. “If Juliette returns, I am to be informed immediately.”

  Frank lifted his head and turned it ever so slightly over the seat. “Sir, that is not advisable. To be lax about security—”

  “She is not a threat,” he cut in and almost laughed; she was nothing if not the biggest threat Killian had ever faced. “I want to be informed.”

  Frank inclined his head once before keying the instruction into the phone. Killian knew it would be sent to every member of his security team as an update.

  “Max has just informed me that the money transfer you requested be sent this morning was returned.” Frank paused to scroll more carefully through the message. “Perhaps there was an error with the bank or the account numbers Domino retrieved. Would you like him to resend or look into the matter?”

  Killian shook his head. “No.”

  Frank sent the message to Max.

  There were no more questions as they drove into the heart of the city and Killian’s brand new nightclub. Ice was only one of fifteen, but so far, it was his favorite. The glass and steel motif reminded him of living in an ice castle. The place was spacious with three full floors for dancing, a fully stocked bar and menu and a bartender that could make just about every drink under the sun. Plus it was the first establishment he’d bought with money that didn’t belong to his family. It had come from his own hard work and that alone made it special.

  The car was pulled up behind the building and Killian climbed out before Marco could get the door for him. The night was humid with the promise of rain. Already the streets glittered like black diamonds and crunched beneath his soles as he made his way inside.

  The backdoor opened just behind the dance floor and was guarded by a beefy bouncer who kept people from sneaking inside without paying admission. He gave Killian a fleeting glance before turning narrowed eyes back on the crowd.

  Marco took lead, paving a path along the edges of the packed floor towards the stairs tucked in a corner towards the back. Beneath their feet, lights blasted neon tones that reflected off the glass tables, walls and ceilings. Strobe lights pulsed in time to the heavy thunder of bass and swung wildly over sweaty skin and glittering dresses. The place was full and he knew outside would already have a lineup. He paid no attention to anyone as he followed the stairs to the third floor. Frank was at his back, moving with a quiet sort of grace a man his size should never possess.

  At the top, Killian opened the metal door leading into his office and stepped into the box overlooking the entire club. Most of it was one sided glass that glinted a deep purplish blue that matched the plush carpet tucked beneath the leather sofa and glass coffee table. There was an onyx bar pushed up against the right side with glass shelving built into the wall behind it. At the head of the room sat a desk with a computer.

  It wasn’t the most original or fancy club he owned, but it was his.

  He moved to the wall of glass and peered down at the moving figures below. Beautiful women with glistening bodies barely covered by scraps of fabric swayed and sashayed to music he couldn’t hear in the soundproof confines of his haven. He could have any one of them, he thought. He wasn’t ignorant to his looks or the fact that he was one of the wealthiest men in the country. Women liked both and he had used both in the past to get what he wanted. But money hadn’t worked with Juliette. Nothing he did seemed to impress her and he wasn’t sure what that said about him or her.

  Below, a red head in a slinky green dress grinded against a brunette. The two were drawing a lot of male admirers and Killian couldn’t blame any of them. The pair were beautiful, young and drunk. He was half tempted himself to join them. Tempted, but not exactly motivated to follow through. Not even when the redhead slipped her hand up the brunette’s skirt and had the brunette catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Who’s manning the floors?”

  Frank checked his phone. “A new guy, Brock. Why?”

  “Tell him to get the two porn stars off the dance floor before we have an orgy on our hands.”

  He heard Frank heave himself off the sofa and walk up behind Killian’s shoulder. He found the two and shook his head. Without a word, he turned and left the room. Killian watched as his head of security hit the main level and cut a wide path through to where the girls stood, passionately lip locked and oblivious of everything until they were torn apart. They pouted. The men around them booed. But the two were still escorted off the floor towards the exit.

  Killian shook his head.

  As fun as it all was to watch, he didn’t run that type of business. Sure he knew it happened. He knew there would be discarded condom wrappers in the bathroom by the time the night was over, but it didn’t mean he turned a blind eye to it.

  Show over, he turned his attention to the rest of the place. He watched the waitresses, the bartender, the DJ. He took note of the lighting and the way the customers moved around the glass tables. There was still plenty of work that needed to be done, but so far nothing that caught his immediate attention.

  Distractedly, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was still fairly early, yet he had no desire to be there. After a sleepless night, part of him wanted to head home and attempt a few hours of shut eye, not that it would do him any good. He knew he would merely toss and turn until frustration propelled him up and pacing the estate. Occasionally, he got lucky and managed an hour or two. Those nights were rare and usually disturbed by visions of blood, screaming, and death. There were times he forced himself to stay awake just to not have to see that.

  That night, he was exhausted. His head felt full of cotton and lead and he had no sense to concentrate like he knew he ought to.

  Maybe he should go home, he decided vaguely while glancing at the eight new messages flashing across his screen. A few he knew he needed to respond to immediately while the rest could wait until morning. But it was the text message from an unknown number that gave him pause.

  It was a series of seemingly random letters and numbers that were mashed together to form two paragraphs. Anyone not familiar with the secret language he and Maraveet had spent an entire summer inventing as children would automatically assume the sender’s phone had accidentally pocket texted him. But Killian knew exactly who the sender was and what the message said and it made him snort in response.

&
nbsp; “I hate ducks,” it began in true Maraveet fashion. “Vicious, unlikable creatures. Why couldn’t they go extinct instead of the white tigers? Oh, that’s right, because they are useless. I bought new shoes from a little store in Paris and stopped at a café for some coffee and one of the little fuckers stole my box. Snatched it right up from under the table and took off. It was lucky I wasn’t carrying or I would be having duck for supper.

  What is this I hear about your insane idea to open a nightclub in New York? Nothing ever lasts there, except questionable road conditions and those hotdog venders. I’m telling you, I’m not convinced they’re all beef. Still can’t believe you bought one that summer we went there to see The Statue of Liberty. I thought Mother was going to die right there on the street. Don’t be too much of a brat, hm?”

  Maraveet was the closest thing he had to a sibling. They shared no blood, but their parents had been close friends and Maraveet was the only child of his parent’s business partners that he was allowed to play with. He had never minded. She’d been a pain most days, but she had also kept him company, which was a big deal when there was no one else.

  But all that changed when her parents were killed and Maraveet was brought to live with them. They’d only been seven, but she had been devastated. For months, she’d wandered the estate, crying at the drop of a hat. He hadn’t understood it at the time, he’d had his own parents so her loss was something he couldn’t relate to. But when he lost his mom, then his dad in the span of a few short years, he understood it too well. That was the year Maraveet considered them cursed and told him to stay away from her. That as long as they kept apart, they wouldn’t be used as pawns against the other.

  “If it looks like we have no one, we won’t have to go to another funeral.” That had been her logic.

  Killian had let her go. He couldn’t keep her even though he’d tried. She’d already made up her mind and on the night of her seventeenth birthday, she’d packed her bags and left for Paris to take over her family’s obtaining business. She was good at it and it made her happy. Occasionally, she would send him an encrypted text message with clues to her newest adventure, but he hadn’t liad eyes on her in years.