BEAU2Y: Part 2: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #2) Page 9

  “Did you know, that right at this moment he has his own daughter held captive somewhere and intends to gift her to a rapist trafficker in exchange for silence about his little fetish?”

  I tossed the pictures into the woman’s lap, and she tried to scamper further away. Tears flowed freely now and I was losing my patience. Time for talk was gone, time for bloodshed was nigh.

  “Where would he take her?” I demanded, leaning over her body in a threatening manner.

  “H-He told me Lucy was cared for, that she was adopted out to a good family. He made payments and gave them money to make sure she was provided for.”

  “He did no such thing,” I shouted, causing the woman to flinch. “Lucy was hidden away from the world. She meant nothing to him. He made sure her life would be little more than one long torturous nightmare!”

  Snapping my hand out, I wrapped it around the woman’s throat. The pressure was pale in comparison to how I would normally handle an interrogation. The fear in Abigail’s eyes was so tangible I could almost taste its tangy odor.

  “Because of your sick husband’s neglect, Lucy was taken, stolen, sold and spent years being tortured and abused by another sick pedophile fuck in Lithuania. The only reason he went looking for her to bring her home is because he needs her. But he was too late! I already found her, I saved her, and now he has taken her from me. I intend to make him bleed. Perhaps a drop of blood for every second that Beauty suffered, hmmm?” I was lost now, my anger and frustration boiling well and truly over, my legendary composure gone. Before I squeezed her throat and snapped her neck, I snatched my hand away, and Abigail clutched at the red mark left around her throat. Taking a few deep breaths to try and rein it back in, I paced back and forth before the sofa.

  “M-Maybe,” Abigail murmured with a sniffle. “Maybe, he’s at the Oregon ranch. We have a property in Terrebonne, E-Ed told me it was being treated for t-termites.”

  My gaze snapped to Raul who was already on his laptop.

  “Address?” He demanded.

  A teary Abigail rattled off the address.

  “Whose name is the property in?” Raul took the question right from my mouth. It wasn’t listed as a property owned by the Kleemans.

  “My godmother, she passed away and the property was left to me. I’m an only child, nobody else was alive to contest the will, we never bothered to put it in our names. I haven’t even been there in several years, any time I’d suggest it Ed would come up with a more exotic location or some reason why we couldn’t go.” A humorless bark of laughter escaped Abigail’s lips, almost hysterical in sound. “Ed thought it would be handy to have the property off the books.” She shook her head with disappointment. “Perhaps this is why.”

  “Of course it is,” I snapped, moving to stand beside Raul. Even though none of this was her fault, I couldn’t help but hold anger towards her for being so fucking naive. Raul already had a satellite image of the property up and was searching for a way in.

  “Five hour drive, jefe, time to gear up.”

  I glanced at Henry. As it turned out, I wasn’t so pissed at him after all. Offering him a thankful nod, he replied with a lift of his chin.

  “Let us hope they are there,” I growled, turning back to Abigail. “Because if they are not, I will burn every single thing he owns and destroy every single thing he loves, to get my Beauty back.”

  ***

  We were back in the house nestled into the forest, the wraparound porch empty with all the men inside preparing for our next mission. Taking the steps two at a time, I stalked to the trees, leaving the noise behind and giving myself a chance to calm the fuck down. My hands shook like a junkie that needed a hit, sweat beaded my brow, and my heart galloped like a frantic beast. I was slowly falling apart, and I didn’t need the team to see me like this. Killing Kleeman’s message-bearer the previous day had been barely enough to wet my monster’s appetite. It was hungry for more. Memories assailed me and I leaned into a tree, pressing my forehead against the rough bark. Whippings, unforgiving hands, excruciating intrusions into my body, images that riled my temper and threatened my stability tried to tear down my quickly, shredding composure.

  “Fuck off,” I growled, thumping my head against the tree.

  A rustling of leaves from somewhere behind me had me spring into action. The figure that ran at me was fast, but years of training made sure I was faster. Ducking the knife that swung at my stomach, I grabbed one leg and pulled it out from beneath him. Without even thinking, I brought up my hand and punched the attacker’s throat, causing the knife to tumble from his hand and a strangled gurgle to come from his lips. Perhaps it was my raging state of mind, or the lack of sleep, but I was so preoccupied with taking out the threat, I missed the other one at my back. I stumbled away from a stinging slap to my neck and scooped up the knife my attacker had dropped. Standing to face my new enemy, my eyes began to blur. The sting had been a needle and whatever he pumped into my body was taking over fast. Did one man stand before me, or two? Deciding I’d fight them both, I staggered forward and swung the knife, the pained grunt telling me I’d made contact with someone. It was the last sound I heard before the world around me blurred, and darkness took me to the ground.

  13

  BEAUTY

  “I like balloon art, I mean, how awesome are balloons, but then you go and twist that freaking thing into a doggy, or a swan . . . so cool.”

  “You like balloons?”

  Ruby’s softly spoken question seemed to boom off the walls of the otherwise empty barn. Her chin rested on her knees, her arms wrapped around her legs as her engrossed stare remained focused on me.

  “What’s not to like? They’re colorful, they fly, and you can make them into swans! I remember Marisol filling my bedroom with them once. They covered the entire room to my waist. It was fucking awesome.”

  “Who’s Marisol?”

  I thought about how best to answer, and the only response I could think of was, “My mother.”

  “That man said he killed your mom.”

  Nodding, I continued to fiddle with the bolt holding the chain around my ankle. I’d shuffled my hands under my buttocks, so they were now positioned in front of me, but I’d been unable to make any leeway on getting free of the stupid fucking chain.

  “Yeah, that was my biological mom. I can’t remember her, I think I was pretty young when that happened. Marisol took over caring for me and we lived here.”

  “With him?” Ruby asked with a shudder.

  “No, not really, I didn’t see him that much. As you can see, we don’t really get along.”

  “I love my dad, I miss my dad,” Ruby confessed after a short silence. “And my mom, and big brother.”

  She sounded so forlorn, as if she were already dead and there was no chance she’d ever see them again. I was far more optimistic. We were getting the hell out of this hot mess, and soon.

  “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?”

  Ruby looked me dead in the eye.

  “Shower,” she whispered, her cheek falling to her knees, her teary eyes now hidden. “I need to get them off me.”

  Them. The filthy, unwanted touches. Something I was well acquainted with.

  “I killed the man in Russia.”

  Surprise filled her features as her neck snapped back to look my way.

  “Dirty fucking rapist shit,” I spat out. “We hung him up like a dead pig, and I pierced his nipples with a nail gun, then I shot a nail through his dick before I slit his wrists and watched him bleed out.”

  Ruby didn’t shy away from my violent words. Instead, she looked somewhat relieved.

  “You, and Hart?”

  Hearing Hart’s name brought a wave of tenderness with it. My heart felt like an empty cup, and each time I thought of him, or heard his name, it filled back up just a little. Then it would slowly drain again until I got my next hit.

  “Yes, me and Hart.”

  The lock on the barn doo
r rattled, and the door was pushed open, Marisol’s worried face peering around the edge of it.

  “Chiquita?” she whispered before stepping into the barn.

  The door was swiftly slammed shut behind her, trapping us all inside.

  “What the fuck did he do to you?” I growled, taking in Marisol’s appearance. She’d been beaten, her eye swollen, jaw darkened and she walked gingerly over the concrete.

  “What did he do to you?” I hissed, climbing to my feet when she didn’t answer me.

  She brushed away my question with a brisk tsking sound and dropped a heavy bag to the ground beside us.

  “What is that? Are you moving in?” I wondered out loud.

  A small smile cracked Marisol’s pain-filled face and she shook her head, her gentle hand tentatively examining my own assortment of injuries.

  “Señor wants me to clean you girls up.”

  She sure as hell didn’t look happy about it, disgust curling her lip. Raising my bound hands, I touched the dark bruise on her jaw, hating the way Marisol winced.

  “This is my fault, it’s because I stuck a fork in Christopher’s throat, right?”

  “Chiquita, this is not your fault, and it is not the first time su padre has hit me, it won’t be the last.”

  “He’s not my father, and I can promise you this will be the last time.”

  “They are demons,” she whispered. “All of them.” Marisol pressed her cold hand over mine, holding my touch close. Her words triggered another memory.

  “You once told me that by knowing a demons name, it gives me power over them.”

  With a hopeful but sad expression, Marisol nodded.

  “I remember them all, all the men who came to stay in the home, the men who took the women to their rooms. Isabella . . .” Memory of a fragile looking girl with dark olive skin and a sheet of glossy black hair filled my mind. She helped in the garden, but when Eddie turned up with guests, she would vanish for days, sometimes weeks at a time.

  “Bonita, Sarah . . . Lynette . . . Lynette didn’t come back.”

  A single tear slipped over Marisol’s lashes and tumbled down her cheek.

  “Mr. Gregory Emmerick, he took her to his bedroom, and she didn’t come back down the next day.”

  Another nod.

  “Valarie, she went with Mr. William Carter, the next day she had to go to the hospital. One of Eddie’s drivers took her, but she didn’t come home.”

  Another tear.

  “I remember all the demons. I’m going to kill them all,” I said with a nod. Marisol’s eyes brimmed with such pain. “And you need to stop wearing this guilt on your shoulders. It’s not your fault, not any of it, least of all what happened to me. Understood?”

  Her replying smile was weak. This unwarranted self- reproach she carried needed to be vanquished. It was just another enemy that needed to be destroyed.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she murmured, her voice tight with emotion.

  “Ruby first, do you have any food, she’s starving?”

  With a subtle nod and a sniffle, she picked up the bag she’d dropped to the floor and handed me an apple and muesli bar. Then she turned and approached Ruby in the horse stall across from mine. I watched as Marisol softly cooed and whispered gentle words to the timid girl. She wiped down Ruby’s face, arms and legs, and tried as best she could to treat the raw wound around her neck from the thick, steel collar. All the while Ruby sat nervous and still, doing her best to eat her own dry muesli bar. The soft humming of a familiar tune had more memories tumbling out of the now open doors in my mind.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “What is what?” Marisol calmly replied.

  “The song, what are you singing?”

  Marisol smiled as she continued to brush out Ruby’s hair.

  “Esta niña linda, I sang this song to you when you were very small.”

  A memory of being curled up on my side into the furthest corner of my tiny bed, the blankets surrounding me with only a small gap to peek out filled my mind. I remember feeling afraid, but when Marisol started singing, my heart slowed down and the fear ebbed away. Those sweetly sung words were like a balm to my fragile mind. It made me feel at peace. The only other person to ever impart such a feeling on me was Hart.

  “What was I like as a child?” I found myself asking.

  Marisol paused in working through Ruby’s knots and gave me a quizzical look.

  “You don’t remember?”

  Tapping the side of my head, I explained, “I’m a bit messed up, up here. I have some memories now, and more keep coming back, but I don’t remember what I was like. I don’t remember what I liked.” Wrapping my arms around my knees, I thought about what I really wanted to know. “Was I a girly girl? Or a tomboy?”

  Marisol smiled. “Chiquita, you were a girly girl. You loved pink, loved to dance, you wore your hair long, and you loved pretty clothes.” Her wistful expression became distant, and her smile dropped ever so slightly. “But . . .”

  “But what?” I prompted when she didn’t continue.

  “There was anger in you, anger he put there?”

  “Eddie?”

  “Si! Your father is a bad man.” Marisol cursed in Spanish before moving her attention back to Ruby.

  Perhaps my monster wasn’t all courtesy of Algis. Maybe it had always been there and had just grown with each volatile injustice committed against me, starting with the sperm donor.

  “Do you remember my mom?”

  Marisol stilled, and gave a barely discernible nod.

  “What was she like?”

  “Young, chiquita, too young,” she murmured. “But she was brave, she didn’t hold her tongue with your father, which meant she was punished often.”

  “Punished how?” I snarled, enraged on my mother’s behalf.

  Marisol shrugged and winced. “I don’t know. She would disappear behind the door to the basement, and when she finally returned, she was quiet . . . too quiet. But she was tough, tu madre, and when she found out she was pregnant with you, she ran.” María’s smile was pained and full of sorrow. “She tried to escape, but nobody can escape the Devil.”

  “Eddie isn’t the Devil,” I said with an indignant tone. “That’s Hart’s position, and if I don’t get to Eddie first and kill him, Hart will fuck him up in ways you never even knew possible.”

  Imagining all the glorious ways I could make Eddie bleed took my mind away from the present, it was a nice break from the gloom of the barn and the constant pain in my body. My ribs ached, but I didn’t think they were broken. My face felt hot and swollen, and the rest of my body littered with deep bruising.

  You’re a hot mess.

  “I’ve had worse,” I murmured.

  “There is a man here.” Marisol’s whispered confession snapped me out of my musings. “He was bound, in the back of a van.”

  “What did he look like?” I asked, curiosity sending my mind into a whirl.

  “Tall, strong.”

  “Sounds like most of the men here,” I casually pointed out.

  Marisol shrugged. “He doesn’t sound like the men here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She put the brush down and her eyes squinted, her face turned slightly upward in thought.

  “Inglés.”

  “English? What does English sound like?” My heart had taken a lurch at the simple word, but Marisol was Spanish, so English could mean anything.

  “Like Harry Potter?” Ruby whispered.

  “Si! Like the wizard!” Marisol triumphantly agreed.

  Slowly, I moved off my buttocks and onto my knees. British? Tall? Strong? It wasn’t possible. Nobody could capture Hart.

  “Did he have a name?” I whispered.

  Marisol seemed oblivious to the turmoil I had suddenly been thrown into.

  “I have no doubt he did, chiquita.” She looked up from playing with Ruby’s hair and frowned. “But I do not know it. He was a bad man, I could sense
it, I could see it in his eyes. He was terrifying, like he was dead inside, or maybe like he didn’t have a heart, which is loco because all the men kept saying heart this, heart that.”

  Anything else Marisol said was lost, the sound in the world disappearing as my heart hammered so loud it was all that could be heard. My Hart. He was here . . . captured. Without thinking, I jumped to my feet and ran for the door, only getting a few scant feet before the chain pulled taut and I slammed back to the ground hard. My chin ricocheted off the floor, again, this time so hard I knew it had split. My tongue throbbed without mercy, having bitten it hard enough to draw blood.

  “Lucy?” Marisol sounded worried. She should be. Eddie had my Hart. My Hart!

  “Marisol,” I growled, pushing to my hands and knees and ignoring the throbbing aches in my body. “You need to find me something to get this chain off. Now!”

  14

  HART

  “Look at that skin, so creamy.”

  “He’s fresh alright.”

  “Fresh for the taking.”

  The men laughed and a shiver invaded my body. With my arms and legs bound there was no way to cover my nudity, or protect myself. Helpless. It was a word I’d become intimately acquainted with since my mother’s death. There was a small piece of me that hated her for dying and leaving me behind. Leaving me with him. Then there was a larger part of me that was glad she was free. Her sweet soul was far too gentle for this world. Dying had been a giant fuck you to the man who had tried to corrupt her soul. My stepfather, though I’d never call him as such. He was no father, neither biological nor otherwise. He was nothing, and one day I’d make him such when I killed him.

  A rough hand touched me down there, in the place mum told me nobody should ever touch. My body shriveled at the unwanted attention and I flinched, which earnt another round of laughter from the men who stood around me, watching me with sick lust in their eyes. At fourteen, I was quite accustomed to the vile tastes of men, and I’d come to understand the disease that consumed those who abused me. They were inflicted with the heady scent of weakness and the tangy bite of a depraved soul. There was a cure, it was called death. But even though I’d shot up in height over the last six months, my lean body was yet to fill out, their numbers and size still too much for me to take on alone.