The Punishment: The Downing Family Book 3

by Wild, Cassie

  “I might be able to help there.” Dropping a quick kiss on her mouth, I murmured, “It’s going to be okay, Daria. Trust me.”

  Twenty-Five

  Daria

  The door closed behind Brooks.

  I set the alarm. He’d shown me how just before he left, and it beeped once, twice, three times before announcing, “System armed.”

  A shiver raced through me, and I went into Brooks’ bedroom, grabbing the blanket from the foot of the bed.

  Although I had no desire to watch anything on TV, the silence of the space without Brooks was just too much, so I thumbed the mute button back on, and the morning TV hosts began chatting again.

  He’d given me the rundown on the entertainment center, then opened the drawer to his huge collection of movies. Not interested just then, I’d muted the remote after he was done talking and asked where he was going.

  He’d given a vague, “I have a few things to take care of.” I had no idea what things he had in mind, but I wished I had asked to go with him. Sitting here alone, even in an apartment as lovely as his, was just too much for my already frayed nerves.

  My mind kept spinning back to the call from Nadia.

  I had no doubt that if I’d been dancing down at the club in Miami, she wouldn’t have made any attempt to reach out to INS. She’d done it because I’d gotten away the first time, or because Marcos was pissed that I’d gotten away from him a second time.

  I had no idea which one it was, but it really didn’t matter.

  She’d already taken action, and unless Brooks was right about being able to help with INS, I was living on borrowed time here in the US.

  Dismally, I wondered if it was even worth fighting to stay here.

  I could always try to get into another school, but did I have the time? Was I even good enough?

  My pride pricked at that, and I knew my depressed outlook on things, especially my ability to dance, was likely compromised.

  “Stop thinking about it,” I told myself softly.

  Remote in hand, I flipped through the channels until I found one of the superhero movies I’d come to love so much and settled back into the plush cushions of the couch. I had hopes that I could distract myself for a little while, maybe even grab a nap to make up for my lack of sleep the previous night.

  Brooks and I had stayed up well past midnight, and the ringing of my new cell phone had woken me not long after seven o’clock.

  My eyes were gritty with fatigue, and while a couple of mutants battled it out in a museum, my lids grew heavier and heavier.

  I didn’t know how long I slept. The movie I’d been watching was over when I started awake and rotated my neck to loosen up the kinks caused by sleeping in such an awkward position. The sequel to the last film was now playing on the screen. Looking around, I tried to figure out what had awoken me.

  A few seconds later, a knock thundered on the door, sending my pulse racing.

  I uncurled my legs, but before I’d even had a chance to slide from the couch, there was another knock, one so hard it rattled the door in its frame.

  Warily, I got to my feet, swearing under my breath in Russian. I shot a look at the door and then at the speaker set in the wall next to it. I noticed a small button underneath that speaker.

  I recognized the set-up because there was a similar one at the apartment I shared with Isabel. If anybody from outside the building had come looking for me, they’d have to get cleared through security, which meant they’d call up here on that system.

  Since security hadn’t called to announce a visitor waiting in the lobby, I assumed one of Brooks’ neighbors was at the door. Had I been playing the TV too loud?

  I didn’t see how that could be the case, but as I debated the issue, another knock jolted my nerves.

  Could Brooks have come back and forgotten his key? Without thinking how absurd that was, I staggered to the door and peered through the peephole.

  I didn’t recognize the man standing there. His face was averted to stare down the hall. I couldn’t make out much about him, other than he had blond hair and was probably my age or a few years older.

  After disarming the system, I opened the door a fraction but kept the security chain in place. He’d been in the middle of lifting his fist to bang on the door again when he caught sight of me. A peculiar grin split his face.

  “Brooks isn’t—”

  The rest of my words were cut off as I cried out in startled surprise, stumbling back from the broken door. The blond muscleman barreled in, his shoulders so wide, they practically filled the entire doorframe.

  He caught my arm as I tried to back away. I jerked against his hold, trying to twist free, my mind already shifting to panic mode. Adrenaline churned hard, and I wheeled my head around, trying to figure out what was going on.

  A low, smooth voice came from somewhere behind me, and every cell in my body froze with dread.

  The man who held me in fists as big as dinner plates jerked me around with a force that was sure to leave bruises. But I couldn’t even think about the man holding me.

  My eyes were fixed on the two other men who had entered the room, one quickly moving to the window while the other closed the door and took up a position in front of it.

  But even the appearance of more of these thugs wasn’t quite registering.

  I was too busy staring at the man in front of me. He held all of my attention.

  “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, Daria?” Marcos scratched at his chin as he looked me up, then down. “You just had to go and cause trouble.”

  Disbelieving words leaped to my lips, but I swallowed them down. It wouldn’t do any good to tell Marcos that I wasn’t responsible for any of this mess. He already had a fixed picture in his mind of who was to blame, and the blame fell solely on my shoulders.

  He approached me, trailing a finger down my cheek. “Nothing to say?”

  “What’s the point?” I said, my voice wooden.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe if you beg me nicely enough, I can make this all quick and easy.” He leaned in close and pressed his lips to my ear. “You’re going to have to beg very nicely though, Daria. It will probably take you getting down on your knees…”

  He paused a moment to make sure I got his point. As if the look in his eyes and his words weren’t enough, he reached up and traced a finger over my lower lip.

  “But maybe, just maybe, you’ll be lucky enough to satisfy me. That would make everything so much easier on you.”

  He rocked back on his heels, eying me with intensity. “What do you say? Are you ready to beg for mercy?”

  “No,” I said shortly.

  The fingers on my arms dug in, but I swallowed back the cry of pain.

  “I had a feeling you would be trouble,” he said, shaking his head. “I told Nadia that very thing, and she said you would fall in line. You should have done that, sweetheart.”

  I’d tried not to react to hearing my former teacher’s name, but I couldn’t quite keep my face completely blank.

  Marcos grinned at me. “You know, Nadia had you marked to come down and be one of our girls almost from the start. You making friends with Isabel complicated matters, but that friendship won’t help you now.”

  “One of your girls?”

  The smile on his face took on a sharp edge. “Nadia has been helping us bring girls into the club for a few years now. She’s tired of waiting around for scraps from my father. When I approached her about my new enterprise, she was more than happy to help me out.”

  “Your enterprise,” I echoed. “Forcing girls to dance and whore for you is what you call an enterprise?”

  His eyes, so cold and hard, roamed across my body. “And a very profitable one at that. You should have just cooperated, Daria. You would have gone back to New York after a couple of years having made a nice bit of money, considering the club where Duardo decided he wanted you.”

  “Shove your money up your ass,�
�� I said without thinking.

  For a second, I thought he might hit me.

  But the moment passed. “That mouth of yours will cause you even more trouble before this is all over.” He leaned in, as if deliberately invading my personal space. “Your time is up. You won’t be causing me any more problems. I know all about the call Nadia made to the INS. You’re going to disappear…and everybody will just assume you were deported.”

  I cringed back from him as far as I could, although that put me in closer contact with the silent man at my back. “I guess that’s why you didn’t hit me. You don’t want to leave any blood or anything that might make Brooks suspicious.”

  “You’re a smart one,” he murmured. He shook his head before continuing. “You’ve caught Brooks’ interest for now, but once you’re gone, and he realizes you’ve been sent out of the country, he’ll shift his attention elsewhere. He can get a piece of ass anywhere.”

  “Brooks won’t believe I was deported,” I said, my voice shaking. I waited a few seconds, telling myself that if I made him mad enough, maybe he would hit me. If Brooks saw evidence of a fight, he was that much more likely to dig deeper into what happened. “He’ll see through this, the same way he’s seen through all of your other bullshit.”

  “You’re overestimating your worth to him,” Marcos said.

  “Am I?” Now, as I recalled the discussion I’d had with Brooks—it had been just hours ago, although it felt like an entire lifetime had passed—I let myself smile a little. Meeting Marcos’ gaze, I forced as much bravado into my voice as I could. “If you think so, you don’t know much about Brooks Downing.”

  I thought I saw a brief flicker of doubt enter his eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as it had formed.

  Marcos caught a handful of my hair, rubbing my blonde locks with his thumb as he returned my stare. “I think you are the one who doesn’t know Brooks Downing, sweet Daria. You don’t know him at all.”

  “I know he waltzed into your house, right past your security, and got me out without so much as blinking. He flew from New York to get me, so maybe you should reevaluate what you think you know.”

  At those words, a flicker of hot anger lit the depths of his dark eyes. Face going tight, he slowly wrapped the strands of my hair around his hand, moving in closer as he did so.

  I was now pinned between the two men, and Marcos held my head in a grip that felt like a mockery. Brooks had done this same thing, wrapping my hair around his hand, staring down at me with our bodies so close, they nearly touched. But there was nothing possessive and passionate about the way Marcos looked at me.

  The ugly light of rage grew brighter, and I swallowed, the fear inside me churning like a storm.

  I didn’t back down. I couldn’t, even if it meant getting hurt. In the back of my mind, although every instinct of self-preservation warned otherwise, I thought maybe it would be better if Marcos did hurt me here, as long as he left a trail of some sort, something that would paint a picture for Brooks. One that would make it very clear that this wasn’t a simple case of the INS breaking in and hauling me away to deport me.

  “He’ll never believe I was taken by INS,” I said again. “I’m going to assume you bribed your way in here, but he’ll talk to the doorman. Did you pay him enough to stay quiet? Did you pay him enough to lie to Brooks and tell him that it was INS?”

  “Be quiet,” Marcos warned.

  I wasn’t about to do that, though. I couldn’t afford to.

  “Do you really think he’ll just let it go, knowing what he knows?” I cocked a brow at Marcos, continuing to challenge him.

  “He won’t have much choice,” Marcos said gently. “His father won’t allow him to pursue it if it endangers the union between our two families.”

  “I think you endangered that union when you arranged to have him shot.”

  For a brief moment, stark surprise was written across his face. It faded, replaced by rage. He whipped out a hand and grabbed my chin, squeezing as he forced me to look up at him.

  “How did you know about that?” he asked, his voice low and threatening.

  “I heard you talking about it. Bragging about it.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Think your friend Raymond will talk when the police go to question him?” I jerked my chin away, fueled by the rush of anger that washed over me as I remembered seeing Brooks on the ground, his blood spilling out onto my hands. Marcos continued to stare at me as though I was a bug he wanted to smash. I met his gaze levelly, refusing to back down. “I’m curious, Marcos. Does Basilio know you’ve got underage girls dancing for you? That you whore them out?”

  He went still. So very still. He watched me the same way a snake watched its prey, and I tried very hard not to shudder under that cold, dead stare.

  “You should learn to listen, Daria,” he finally said.

  A moment later, something cold and hard pressed against the underside of my chin.

  A gun.

  It had to be.

  “Really?” I laughed weakly. “How are you going to make it look like the INS grabbed me if you shoot me here in Brooks’ apartment? How is that going to fly?”

  “Boss.”

  The man behind me spoke for the first time.

  Marcos didn’t even breathe.

  One of the other men spoke up, “Marcos, you know we can’t do her here. There are cameras all over the fuckin’ lobby. If we do her here, there’s a chance we could get caught.”

  The second man took a step closer. “We wouldn’t want that now, would we…boss?”

  Marcos abruptly released my hair and stepped back a pace. I saw his hand coming up, but I couldn’t even flinch away in an attempt to lessen the blow’s impact.

  He backhanded me so hard, my head spun around and black dots danced in front of my eyes.

  “You’ll be begging to die once I’m done with you, Daria,” he said. The dispassionate tone had returned.

  Through the curtain of hair swaying in front of my eyes, I saw him straighten his jacket, then slip his gun inside, tucking it away.

  “Domingo, I want you to contact some of our people here in the city. Figure out what you can do to get any security tapes in the building disposed of—quietly.”

  One of the men behind Marcos—Domingo, I assumed—replied, “Yes, boss.”

  Marcos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he looked at me and smiled. “You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for, aren’t you, Daria? But you’re not going to push me into acting out of anger.”

  Twenty-Six

  Brooks

  “Good morning, Mr. Downing.”

  I nodded at the doorman. It was Ted Pulliam. He handled the door on weekdays, from six in the morning until three in the afternoon. During his lunch break, a backup took over, opening the door for residents or contacting various people inside the tall building that housed several hundred apartments, including mine. Visitors had to get past Pulliam, and I knew from experience the middle-aged man took his job seriously.

  Before Pulliam could open the door, it swung toward me as somebody inside the building came out.

  The man wore a uniform identical to Pulliam’s, and I met his gaze briefly before glancing at Pulliam. “Another new guy?”

  Pulliam flashed me a grin. “Yes, sir. This is Roger Eckhart. He’ll be taking the weekend shift once I get him up to speed. Roger, this is Mr. Downing. He lives on the penthouse level.”

  I nodded at Roger.

  He stared back at me with a dumb expression on his face. Something that might have been surprise or nervousness flashed through his eyes.

  I glanced over at Pulliam, but then started for the door. Pulliam cut around me and opened it for me with a tip of his hat. “Have a good morning, Mr. Downing.”

  In the reflection of the glass on the inner doors, I caught sight of Roger’s face.

  He was scowling.

  It put my nerves on edge. Employees of the building never re
acted to me with anything less than the extremes of graciousness and deference. Why the shock?

  The elegant waterfront where I’d elected to buy my condo several years back was actually owned by my father. Declan and I had convinced him to branch out into real estate, and my father, being my father, hadn’t started out small.

  Both Declan and I regularly oversaw the properties that the Downing family had acquired. We required the same standards of performance by the staff as we did in all our business ventures. So naturally, even if I had just moved in, I would have known how the staff was required to treat the residents and their guests. Nothing less than a cheerful attitude projecting a desire to please was acceptable. That was not what Roger had registered.

  But at that moment, I was more concerned about seeing Daria and letting her know how my morning had progressed than worrying about an employee’s work attitude. I’d take care of that minor problem later.

  The elevator doors had no sooner closed than my phone rang.

  I pulled it out and was tempted to ignore it when I saw DS Security on the screen, the security desk downstairs. While I tended to avoid doing business at my own residence, sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. Consequently, the doorman and security team had my number on speed dial so they could contact me if an after-hours visitor showed up.

  Other than to announce an occasional client, I’d never received a phone call from security. With all that had happened lately, the call set off a red flag. I decided to answer it as I punched in the floor and access code for my penthouse.

  Doug in security came on the line. “Mr. Downing, I’ve got Mr. Pulliam in front of me, and it seems we might have a problem. Are you on the penthouse level yet?”

  My nerves were instantly on red alert as I eyed the panel on the elevator wall. “Just about.” The doors slid open as I asked, “Just what is this problem?”

  “I’m going to contact the police, sir, just to be safe. It would appear that a new employee broke the rules and admitted a couple of visitors without clearing them first. Gave him some cock and bull story about you expecting them. This was roughly twenty minutes ago. They haven’t exited the building to my knowledge.”