Maybe he’d been more intimidating in his younger years, Killian mused.
“What exactly is it you want?”
Jacoby pursed dry, cracked lips, clearly annoyed by the lack of focus Killian was giving him. “I have a shipment coming in,” Jacoby repeated slowly, and Killian prayed to God he didn’t start his story over again. “All the main highways have upped their security after that incident a while back. I need a safe transpo and I was told you were the man to talk to.”
Normally he would be. Since the incident where a truck full of cocaine over turned right in the middle of Highway 1 between Alberta and Saskatchewan, the authorities had upped their security by about a hundred percent. People in Jacoby’s line of business were forced to find new and more creative ways to transport their cargo. Most turned to Killian. What with his family owning one of the largest port in the west plus several private cargo planes, there really was no one better.
“And what type of shipment are you looking to transport?” he countered.
There was a time in his ancestry that it didn’t really matter what was in the container so long as the money was green. Killian didn’t run his business like that. He needed to know exactly what was in each container, right down to the last straw, and something told him Peter Jacoby wasn’t transporting melons.
True enough, Jacoby shifted. “Just a few odds and ends.”
“What kind of odds and ends?” Killian pressed. “If you want to use my ships, I need to know just how hot the merchandise being moved actually is.”
“Just a few kilos of angel powder,” Jacoby said with a casual shrug.
“Cocaine.” Killian clarified and waited for the man to give a nod before rubbing the tips of his four fingers over his mouth. “Mr. Jacoby, I don’t—”
A movement from the open doorway caught his attention. His head jerked up just as a small, pale figure stepped onto the threshold. Brown eyes met his from a face that had been haunting his every waking hour and all his thoughts scattered. Everything faded, but how the sun from the wide windows seemed to halo her, turning her white dress nearly translucent and her hair a riot of spun gold. The silky strands were unbound, spilling in curls around bare shoulders to stop teasingly over firm breasts. She’d parted it differently, with half being tucked behind her ear while the rest hung deliberately over one side of her face. But it was her mere presence he noticed above all else and the purpose behind it.
She reached into her monstrous purse and pulled free the envelope he’d given her. Color worked into her cheeks as she held it in front of her for him to see. But the euphoric bliss that rushed over him was short lived by the off coloring on her face. How the one side hidden by hair was darker and how she seemed to be … smaller, like she had somehow shrunk into herself overnight. He didn’t for a second believe it was her decision to accept his terms that had her looking so shaken and defeated.
Jacoby started to rise from his seat. “Mr. McClary?”
“Leave.” he said without a shred of care as he shot out of his chair and marched to where Juliette stood. His hands found her face before it even registered that he was reaching. He tipped it up to the light behind him and swept back the hair.
There was no telling just how bad the injuries were when she had about ten pounds of makeup slapped down over it. But he could see enough of it to make his nostrils flare.
“Who did this?” Even to his own ears, the words hummed with barely suppressed fury. It vibrated with rage and a type of danger that he could feel crackling up his spine. “Who put their fucking hands on you?”
He saw the fear in her eyes, the tremor in her chin before she pushed it behind a shaky smile.
“I brought the agreement,” she whispered, putting the envelope between them. “I do have some questions—”
He ignored her pathetic attempts to misdirect his focus and dragged her into his private bathroom despite her protest. He shut the door behind them and reached for a clean washcloth.
“Killian—”
“Quiet!”
He dampened the cloth and reached for her once more. One hand cupped the base of her skull while the other swiped gingerly at her face, rubbing until every last bit of makeup was removed all the way down her throat where the smooth skin was a maze of red, purple, green and yellow welts the exact shape of a man’s violent hands. Every new mark filled him with a new color of red that was making it impossible to breathe. Every time she winced, every time he saw pain in her eyes, it was all he could do to keep the need for blood at bay.
“Take it off,” he bit out, giving her the option before he tore the clothes off her back with his bare hands.
“Killian, please—”
“Take it off, Juliette, or so help me I will.”
She was trembling and God help him, but he didn’t care if it was from fear of him. In that moment, all he cared about was seeing just how far her injuries went. From there, he was going to hunt the bastard down and kill him like a rabid dog.
Carefully, her clothes were removed and she stood before him in her plain bra and panties. Any other time, the sight of her body naked would have driven him mad with lust. But all he felt instead was a choking rage every time she removed an article and her breath caught with pain.
He turned her around, taking careful consideration not to hurt her further. His gaze roamed up the backs of her legs to the blossoming smear of hues splashed across her shoulder blades. Skin had been peeled away, leaving the spot jagged and scabbed. There was torn flesh along her right elbow and right knee, but nothing else.
“Who did this?” It took all his strength to keep his touch gentle when he made her face him once more. “Tell me.”
She shook her head. “I fell.”
“Bullshit!” His snarl made her jump. “I know a man’s hands, Juliette. Tell me his name.”
“Killian, please, don’t—”
He kissed her. There was nothing remotely gentle or warm about the vicious grind of his mouth over hers. It was brutal and merciless. But it was either that or shake her and he couldn’t trust himself with the latter.
“I will find him,” he vowed against her lips. “And I will end him!”
He kissed her one last time before throwing open the bathroom door. He shot her one last glance before closing it behind him and marching across the office.
Frank met him at the door as though summoned by the mere power of Killian’s mind. Jacoby, Killian noted absently and without much care, was gone.
“Sir?”
“Get the car,” he bit out, charging past the other man and storming down the corridor. “We’re going to pay the east a little visit.”
Frank didn’t ask. He fell into step alongside Killian while he dug out his phone and made the call. Killian knew Marco would already be outside, waiting.
“We need to make a stop first.” He told Marco before climbing into the back. He paused closing the door to peer up at Frank. “Make sure she doesn’t leave.”
Inclining his head, Frank pressed his phone to his ear again and muttered instructions quickly as he rounded the trunk of the car and climbed in next to Killian.
Killian preferred doing his business from home, but Juan Cruz did his from the front parlor of the Dragon’s Palace. The eight story hotel of ivory and gold had been gutted into a lavish palace equipped with gilded stairways, priceless art, and the entire Cruz family, blood related or not. Three of them patted Killian down upon entering the sprawling foyer. They weren’t exactly gentle about it, but Killian let it go as he was ushered through the entrance towards a room swept into one corner of the main floor.
Juan sat on a velvet settee with one leg reclined across the scarlet expense while a girl of sixteen knelt on the floor and rubbed the other. He looked up when Killian was brought in. The copper tone of his complexion seemed even darker beneath the black cap of wavy hair. It was swept back to expose deep lines on a face that could have once been considered handsome before time and prison took over. Six teardrops inked his right cheek just beneath the contours of his dark eyes. More tattoos colored his throat and disappeared beneath the buttoned collar of his shalwar kameez. It wasn’t traditionally something worn on the streets of Mexico, but Juan had a love for the loose trousers and baggy top and wore it everywhere.