Hating Beauty (The Vegas Titans Series Book 6) Read online

  This won’t work. I shake my head.

  “Wait,” I say, tugging on the handcuffs until he turns. “No, I have an idea. West Side Highway will have less people, and I know a place. Come on. West.”

  We’re not a minute to soon. As soon as we cross Eighth Avenue and cut northwest, I hear the sound of police sirens behind us. I start to run, but Knox pulls the handcuffs stubbornly.

  “Hey!”

  He yanks my arm around his waist, pulling my hips tight against his, and leans his face over my shoulder, his lips and hot breath tickling my ear. My belly blooms with heat.

  “Easy,” he whispers. “Walk slow, like you enjoy it, like we belong. If we run, they’ll definitely see us. Come on, play along. Kiss me.”

  Unsure what else to do, I obey, curving my body into his and tilting my face up. His mouth finds mine, his body pushing me against the bricks of a building for support. I’m wedged between solid brick and solid man, and in spite of the adrenaline pumping through my body it feels so damn good.

  He pulls back, glances subtly behind us, not noticing that I’m struggling for breath. How can he be so calm? So calculated?

  “Ok, good, let’s walk. Remember, you enjoy it.”

  The walk to the waterfront is the longest of my life, and not only because my bare feet pick up every bit of grit and grime from the sidewalk. With each step, I strain not to turn my head around to see if we are followed. With each step, I try hard not to think of the bare chest and chiseled waist of the man beside me, try not to feel the lithe movements of his muscles under the sensitive skin of my inner arm, try not to remember passionate moments from last night.

  When we finally get to the Chelsea Waterfront Park, I drop gratefully on the grass. Knox stares at me, uncomprehending. Sighing, I tug on the handcuffs.

  “Come on,” I say. “We are sunbathers.”

  He stares at me with annoyance. “This is your big plan? Lay on the grass in the middle of a park?”

  In answer, I flop down to my belly, yanking the chain. “Where else will we blend in, Sherlock? Join me. It’s quite nice. Maybe I will become tan.”

  “Jesus,” he mutters, following me.

  I close my eyes; imitating the catatonic languor of the sun-soaking people I’ve envied so many times. Who has time to sunbathe, I’d always wondered? Who has so few worries that they can smile and nap in the sun in the middle of the day?

  Maybe they were all just pretending to be ok, just like we are now.

  I sigh.

  It’s nice, pretending. I wish I could live in a fantasy for a while, believe that I am a sunbather, someone without problems. In my fantasy, Knox would not have found me. I’d still be back in my room at the Leo, working, getting closer to my goal. Breslin would not know of me. There would be no broken window, no bleeding men on the floor.

  Wait.

  If I can fantasize, why dream so small? Why not go all the way back and wipe the slate clean? If I could really live in a fantasy, I would imagine a world where my work was not necessary. I’d go back to the very beginning, before it all crumbled, and I would have made damn sure that Jasper Breslin never came anywhere near my family.

  That is the right fantasy for me. That is the fantasy I want to last forever.

  “We can’t stay here.”

  Knox’s words invade my pleasant thoughts and unexpectedly bring tears to my eyes. Angrily, I wipe them away.

  “Fuck you,” I hiss.

  He blinks at me like I’ve slapped him.

  “Oh, that’s very mature. That’s very nice,” he groans, rubbing his face. “Yeah, fuck me. Fuck me. Why not. Actually, yeah, you did fuck me—remember? Remember that? We fucked. We totally fucked. I fucked you, you fucked me. We fucked up. And then you fucked me over. And now we’re fucked.”

  Whatever amusement I might have once felt at his total lack of eloquence evaporates in a sudden burst of pent-up frustration.

  “Me fucked you over?” I can’t help it; my voice booms. A few people on a nearby bench glance at us disapprovingly. “You hunted me down! You staked me out like an animal. You were going to hand me over to a man who you know would have killed me. You were going to destroy me, destroy everything I have—for money! You have no soul. You are psams, se virissvilo!”

  I spit in his face, which goes purple with anger. His jaw clenches and he lunges forward, stopping with his face inches from mine. I can smell his scent and see him trembling, a vein bulging in his forehead.

  “You –” but he stops himself, grits his teeth, takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I have no idea what you just called me, but you’re probably right. I am. I am that.”

  And he rolls over onto his back, staring up at the sky, blinking back what looks like tears.

  “I wasn’t always that,” he whispers. “It wasn’t always just the money.”

  Now I am the one who is stunned. Is this some trick? Do men in this country cry in front of women?

  “You’re sorry? What is that supposed to fix?”

  But I find myself relenting, not wanting to push him. What would I do if he cried? I know in an instant what would happen—I’d try to calm him, to make him laugh, just as I used to do with Madlena Ketevan.

  Oh, Keto, I miss you…

  I stare at the water, willing myself to bury the tangle of emotions that spring up at the thought of her. Emotions will not help me find her. Only my brain and my smarts can help me do that. Only the dwindling time on the clock is left, and I have to use what little I have left to outsmart Breslin one last time.

  I have only my brain, my smarts…and maybe this man, this man who knows Breslin, who has worked for him, who may have the missing pieces I need.

  I turn back to Knox. His face has grown calmer, but he is still staring at the sky.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I begin, careful that I don’t sound like a beggar. “Breslin already thinks you are working with me, and he will treat you like an enemy. You might as well help me. You might as well work with me. I will pay you double whatever he is paying you, if you help me finish my work before he catches us. I am almost there, I just need time; one day maybe two, and your help.”

  Knox doesn’t look at me, and the impassive expression on his face doesn’t change. I wonder if he plays poker in his free time. If not he should: his poker face is top of the line, almost as good as my father’s used to be.

  When he finally speaks, it doesn’t even seem like he moves his lips.

  “What exactly is your work, Katja?”

  My heart pounds. This is a question I have never answered, not for anyone. But I need his help, and he’ll need to find out one way or another.

  “I will have to show you, it is too much to explain. Let’s just say I am looking for someone, someone Breslin doesn’t want me to find. You might as well work with me, because I will not stop, and now you are chained to me in more ways than one. You cannot go back to them, can you? I am your only choice.”

  Now he shakes his head, a ghost of a grin spreading over his lips.

  “You don’t even know what he pays me, Mystery Girl,” he drawls. “Where would a kid like you get that kind of money?”

  I say nothing. I wait.

  Sure enough, he is interested. He props himself up on his elbow and studies me. I meet his eyes, not wavering for a second, and I know that he sees I am serious.

  “Who are you?” Knox asks. “Really. What the hell is this all about?”

  I shake my head, extend my hand. “First, we must agree to work together against Breslin. You are helping me. Yes?”

  When he takes my hand and shakes it, I try to suppress the excitement. So close, Keto, chsheni chirime, I take your troubles upon me…

  “Good,” I say, making sure my handshake with Knox is firm. I make him look me in the face. “You should start by calling me Tatiana. Katja is not my name.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Knox Cole

  I’m not going to lie: my brain is spinning.

&n
bsp; Going on the lamb was not exactly what I had in mind when I woke up this morning. It wasn’t my plan to turn my entire world upside-down. If I had a plan at all (and honestly I don’t think I did) it was to try to salvage a bad situation as quickly as possible. But then, I got…distracted.

  Normally after amazing sex like last night’s, I’d have gone for a little post-coital-coitus, maybe some coffee and a croissant if I were feeling magnanimous (and not totally bored with the lady in question). Then again, normally I wouldn’t have slept over, or gotten myself handcuffed to the woman. Also, normally I wouldn’t have fucked the person I was supposed to track down for my boss.

  Nothing about this morning was normal.

  It is the opposite of normal. Here I am: in my underwear, lying in a park, handcuffed to my Mystery Girl. I’m unsure whether I should be most worried about the police, or my former co-workers hunting me down first.

  Let’s recap, shall we? In the last hour I’ve:

  Shot Rex,

  Smacked the shit out of Ox,

  Jumped out a second-story window,

  And firmly planted myself at the top of Breslin’s most-wanted list.

  And why? Why, this second, catastrophic fall from grace in my young and notorious life?

  It’s just because I had a boner for some sweet young thing.

  It’s ironic, almost predictable: sex, the alpha male’s classic Achilles heel, bringing me to my knees professionally for the second time in my brief twenty-nine years. You’d think I’d have learned by now. You’d think I’d know better. You’d think I’d be able to think past the lust and make a rational decision like a god damn adult.

  Stupid, stupid, dick move.

  Ok, ok, it wasn’t just my dick. To give myself some credit, it was slightly more complicated than that, this time.

  Much as I’d like to pretend it was just sex, I can’t lie to myself, not in the bright light of day with a bunch of violent trained guerillas on my trail. I mean…I was all set last night! I had done my job, I’d tracked down the girl with some time to spare. All I’d needed to do was bring her and the laptop in to Breslin.

  And I choked.

  And I know why. Splayed out in the grass at Chelsea Waterfront Park, I know all the way down to my core that I am in this mess because I had a boner for some sweet young thing compounded by an attack of conscience with a dash of an existential crisis.

  Which all adds up to one hot fucking mess.

  Instead of choosing to do the smart thing last night when I found Katya, instead of focusing on my own survival, I hesitated. I lost my head. I let myself feel something for this girl, and defaulted to Knox Cole’s tried-and-true pattern of self-destruction. As if the first time I ruined my own life wasn’t enough.

  Shit.

  And now, when this girl accuses me of not having a soul, it cuts me deeper than I thought possible because I don’t want her to be right. For some reason, I can’t stand her being right.

  And I can’t stand myself.

  It’s not a good sign. Since when do I care if I have a soul? Shit, the entire concept of a soul hasn’t been in my wheelhouse for decades, not since before I got kicked out of the alter-boy rotation for drinking the sacramental wine. Why do I suddenly care now? Some girl’s opinion of my character shouldn’t bother me one way or another.

  She’s just a mark. She’s just a one-night stand gone wrong.

  Isn’t she?

  Never mind the fact that she’s right—I was going to trade her life for mine, there’s no denying that. When she says it aloud, it makes me feel sick to my stomach. It’s one thing when it’s all a big party, fun and games. Then I don’t have to think about it. Then nothing matters but the rush and the thrill, the whispered words and clandestine couplings. Then it’s easy to stay numb, to laugh, to take Breslin’s money and perks.

  But when someone’s life is on the line, someone young and interesting, and I’m the one responsible…

  I didn’t want any more blood on my hands. I’d wanted so badly to leave that part of my life back in the mountains of Afghanistan where it belonged: but it followed me back to the US and into the ring as a fighter, against my will, and to my unending shame. When the adrenaline cleared from that fatal knockout with Bruiser Butch, I knew it was over for me. I’d left the ring, for good. Then the sex scandal broke, the dead husband, the mess that Breslin hushed up. But I’d thought that was all behind me now, all the death.

  Then came the order from Breslin to catch Katja, with the unspoken murder between the lines. I’d trailed her, found her, and finally watched Katja in her room, going about her routine, thinking she was safe.

  And I’d choked.

  Bad timing, Knox. Why develop a moral compass now?

  I’ve never choked before. I can’t afford a conscience in my line of work. And all my existential crises need to happen OFF the clock, not in the middle of tracking down a mark. It’s not like I’m fresh off the bus. I know this shit.

  Jesus. What is happening to me? I’ve royally screwed myself over this time, and at the moment, I am having trouble seeing a way out. Breslin will kill us both when he finds us. He will find us, it’s just a matter of time.

  Now she wants me to work with her, with no awareness of how crazy that sounds. What is her deal?

  Katja. Jana. Tatiana.

  How many damn names does one girl need? She can hardly be out of high school. How the hell did she get herself into so much trouble?

  And not just herself—me!

  I can still feel the tingle of touching her skin, long after I release the handshake. It’s like a low-level electric pulse, running from our last point of contact straight to my cock. God, she’s something. Here we are at the bottom, and she’s negotiating with me. Where’d she learn this stuff?

  “First, we must agree to work together against Breslin. You are helping me. Yes?”

  She can’t be more than eighteen, nineteen. Whatever her story is, it must be pretty fucked up to have taught her how to stay so cool and collected when the shit hits the fan. She’s danger, sex, and innocence wrapped up in one pretty difficult package, and at the moment I am having a hard time caring that whatever crusade she is on might cost both of us our lives. I’m having a hard time being upset about being handcuffed to her.

  I’m even having a hard time being angry with myself for saving her life.

  If it weren’t for the handcuffs, I could have left her on the street. I could have made a run for it on my own, moved faster, gone further. But then what? It’s not like Breslin would believe me if I told him what had happened. Sticking with Katja—fuck, I mean Tatiana—is my best bet.

  And it’s no secret to me that the handcuffs might be the only thing keeping her around.

  But she’s raised a legitimate point, Breslin will definitely assume I’ve been working with her. So until I can think of something else, my best bet to get through this ordeal alive is to try to stay one step ahead of him. That’s why I figured I should throw my chips in with Katja. I mean Tatiana.

  At least…for now.

  Yeah. If I hold out, maybe I’ll figure a way to beat the game. If I stick close to Tatiana, and make sure she sticks close to me, maybe I’ll find a way to patch up my mistake. Maybe I won’t have to pay with my life.

  That’s right! People don’t develop souls in a matter of seconds. I probably still don’t have one. So sue me.

  I roll over onto my side again and stare at her. And when I do, I promise myself that if there’s a way to get her out of this alive, I’ll find it. That’s the best I can do, the only concession I can make to my burgeoning conscience. Other than that, I’ve got to concentrate on #1. I’ve got to be smart.

  “Alright Tatiana, if that is your name,” I purr. “If you want me to work with you, don’t you think you’d better explain to me what the hell it is you’re after with Breslin? And we need to get his laptop. I know it wasn’t in your room. We need to get it, that’s what he’s really after, and that’s why he’s so pi
ssed. I need you to explain why you took it, and what you’re trying to do with it. If I’m going to be able to help you, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

  She rolls to face me, her eyes challenging.

  “One thing at a time.” Her gaze travels down the length of my body, her face registering nothing but a wry smile. “You know, we’ll never get anything done like this; practically naked, chained together.”

  The way she says it is a clear come-on. She raises her free hand and runs her fingertips lightly over my chest.

  “How can a woman concentrate with that right in front of her?”

  God, she’s good. If I try to count the tactics she’s used to persuade me just in the last five minutes, I can’t even keep up. And damn, the seduction is working.

  In spite of myself, I lean in closer to her face until I can feel her breath, and then her lips, and then her tongue rolling under mine. I’m like a moth to the flame.

  “Katja,” I groan, “You’re killing me.”

  “Tatiana.”

  “Whatever.”

  My body is aching, and not just from jumping out a goddamn window; her kiss is stirring me up, and I keep having flashbacks to last night. She’s lying so close to me in the grass, her beautiful body exposed in the soft spring sunlight. It’s all I can do to stop myself from running my tongue along the tantalizing skin of her belly, over her thighs, towards her pussy…just another taste…god I want another taste so bad…

  It’s all I can do to keep our situation, our danger, and our survival in mind. With an effort that deserves a fucking medal, I pull myself away from her embrace, to let the salty breeze from the Hudson air out both of my brains.

  “Cool it,” I mutter. “Last thing we need right now is to get busted and thrown in jail for having sex in public.”

  She stares at me, eyes wide. “Who said anything about sex?”

  I grimace and cock an eyebrow. “Believe me, sweetheart, it’s never not the topic of conversation. Especially around you.”

  Her gaze slides down over my body, and then pauses over my suddenly lively nether bits. Her eyes widen even more, but with more knowing this time.