The Debt: An Irish Mafia Romance (Downing Family Book 2) Read online

  When he smashed his mouth down on mine, I bit his tongue.

  He jerked upright, and before I could even process it, he struck me.

  The blow left me dazed for a few seconds, and I went limp. It was the sound of fabric ripping that brought me back to myself. Marcos was tearing at my tank.

  The neckline tore.

  Cruel hands closed over my right breast, and he squeezed the nipple until I cried out. He grinned and squeezed harder, and I forced my lips together, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing my pain.

  When he reached down to shove at my yoga pants, a voice called his name.

  It sounded like…

  “Duardo,” he muttered, shoving away from me. He ran his eyes up and down my body, then met my gaze. “Looks like this will have to wait. Think about what I told you.”

  He disappeared out the door and left me lying on the bed, shaking.

  I didn’t know how much time passed before I found the energy to pull myself into a sitting position. Once there, I held a hand against the torn neck of my tank top. One of the straps held on by threads.

  I had to get out of here, I realized.

  If I didn’t do it, and soon, I might not make it out at all.

  But I was too numb to think about escape right then, too numb, chilled to the bone.

  I closed my eyes against the rising wave of despair.

  “Daria.”

  I jerked at the sound of the familiar voice, turning my head toward the door.

  When I saw who stood there, I almost passed out.

  Then a hand was offered. “Come on. I’m getting you out of here.”

  I didn’t wait another second.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brooks

  It took me until well after midnight to track Duardo down.

  When I finally did, it was at their best strip club. It was a private establishment for members only.

  I was cleared through after somebody verified my connection with Duardo and relieved me of five hundred dollars, the fee for a single visit.

  I sat in the back of the club, watching everybody as I waited for Duardo to appear.

  He’d been told I was here, and I knew he wouldn’t ignore me. It wouldn’t be polite.

  But he could make me wait.

  I whiled the minutes away sipping at an eighteen-year Macallan Scotch and brooding over my next course of action if I came up short here.

  Duardo joined me after I’d been sitting there for nearly thirty minutes. He smiled as he slid into the leather seat next to me. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. I was in the middle of dealing with some business matters. This place keeps one busy.”

  I studied him over the rim of the glass.

  He looked like an upscale executive in his pinstriped suit and neatly styled black hair. Either that or a model for GQ.

  His pretty looks led people to underestimate him, a mistake I would never make. I knew exactly what I was dealing with when I talked to Duardo. He was a shark in sheep’s clothing, deadly and predatory.

  One of the scantily clad servers appeared at our booth and gave Duardo a sweet, simpering smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. I wondered if she was one of the women who had been forced, according to rumors, into working off some imaginary debt to the Castellanos family.

  Duardo ordered a bottle of the Macallan I was currently enjoying and gave the girl a smack on the ass as she turned away.

  She acted like she didn’t even notice.

  I wanted to knock the smirk from Duardo’s face. Instead, I sipped at my Scotch and waited.

  “What brings you to my club tonight, Brooks? I was under the impression you’d left Miami.”

  “I’m back.” I gave him a sharp-edged smile. I could be a shark, too, if necessary.

  “So I see.” He looked amused. “You didn’t tell me what brought you to my door, though.”

  “I want Daria,” I told him flatly.

  His lashes drooped. If he had any reaction at all, he managed to mask it well enough to keep me from seeing it. And I was watching, actively waiting for some sign, some clue, some indicator. There was nothing.

  He smiled at me calmly and said, “That sounds like something you should discuss with her.”

  I forced my lips to curve up too. “Then tell me where to find her, and I will.”

  “What makes you think I know anything?” He cocked his head to the side as he studied me.

  The innocent look might be effective for some, but I saw right through it. Maybe he wanted me to. Maybe he wanted to laugh as he made this as hard as possible. When it came to Marcos and Duardo, it was hard to guess at how they might react.

  “You were in Cuba a few days ago, and you took her.” I gave him a sharp smile as I added, “And I know you were there. I know you took her. I want her.”

  He heaved out a hard sigh and shook his head. “I can’t help you, Brooks.” He splayed a hand over his heart, sincerity all but dripping from his voice as he said, “Believe me. I want to. But I can’t. Not with this.”

  “Sure you can. Tell me where she is.”

  He rolled his eyes expressively. “I’ve already told you that I can’t help you with that.”

  “Why not?” I put the glass down and leaned forward, elbows braced on the glossy surface of the small table.

  Before he could answer, the mostly nude server reappeared, a bottle of Macallan balanced on the small tray. She braced it on her hip and gave Duardo a sultry smile. “Shall I open and pour?”

  “Please.” He gestured to the table, and as she bent over, he cupped her ass.

  His eyes stayed on mine the entire time.

  Once she was gone, he smiled at me. “She’s pretty, yes? Her name is Nikki. If you’d like, she can accompany you to your hotel.”

  “Not interested. How about you tell me where Daria is, and she can accompany me.”

  “You are like a dog with a bone,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you not heard me?”

  “I heard you just fine. Everything you said and didn’t say. Like you haven’t once said you don’t know where Daria is, just that you can’t help me.” I took the glass of Scotch, once more holding the golden-amber liquid of the fine whiskey. I tossed it back and set the glass down with a distinctive clink.

  Duardo’s façade of charm and sophistication fell away, and he met my eyes coldly, looking more like the man I knew he was—deadly, distant and unconcerned with anything that didn’t affect his family.

  I’d known from the get-go that would be the case with Duardo. Things would be even worse with Marcos, a jackass motivated by an inner desire to cause suffering.

  If it was only Basilio I was dealing with, I might have had more optimism about things. He was, first and foremost, a businessman, but he had a soft spot for Isabel, and I could have worked with that.

  More and more it was becoming clear Basilio was taking a back seat. He let his sons handle matters for the most part, stepping in when it was clear his interference wasn’t just warranted but needed.

  My next step if I didn’t get what I needed from Duardo was to hunt down Basilio. I’d tried being polite, but that hadn’t worked. The next option—the direct one, cutting out all the bullshit, might be the only way.

  Yet that would strain relationships between the families and people would suffer.

  That was the worry that had kept me from taking that route yet. That my family, my sister, the people who relied on us in Boston would be put in peril. I was just about out of options—and patience. Long nights spent awake worrying about what might be happening to Daria had made the decision for me. I was done waiting, done trying to play the diplomat. I’d find Daria tonight, or tomorrow I’d go to Basilio.

  “Brooks…” Duardo heaved out a lusty sigh and shook his head. “You really do need to stop interfering in matters that don’t concern you. This is a matter for the Castellanos. You worry about matters that affect the Downings. Things will be much better for it.”

  I leaned
in and bared my teeth at him in a mockery of a smile. “This involves Daria and that means it involves me. I’m not leaving Miami without her.”

  “That’s really not up to you, Brooks,” he said in a dangerously low and soft voice.

  “Don’t make any bets on that,” I advised him. I tossed back the Scotch, then rose, leaving him to stare at me as I walked out of the club’s VIP section.

  Nobody so much as looked at me the entire way out.

  Turning my valet ticket over, I stood there, brooding and pondering how I would take my next step.

  Just as I slid behind the wheel of the rental car, my phone buzzed, indicating the arrival of a text.

  I pulled my phone out, but there was little hope that it was anybody other than one of my brothers, trying to rein me in again.

  However, it wasn’t one of them.

  The text was from a number unknown to me, but when I clicked on it, I saw immediately who had sent it.

  It’s Isabel. I need you to get back to your hotel immediately. Need to talk to you. Urgent.

  Had the circumstances been different, I might not have concerned myself overmuch. Isabel was flighty and dramatic, a perfect match for my brother who never quite successfully learned to pull his head from the clouds.

  But there was an urgency of sorts to the message and not just because she used the word urgent.

  I fired up the car and practically left rubber on the asphalt behind me as I peeled out of the U-shaped drive in front of the club.

  I had no idea what Isabel might want.

  I considered calling her, but in the end, I was too worried about whatever it was I might learn when we spoke. That was the only thing that kept me from dialing her number.

  Instead, I used the few minutes it took to drive to my hotel, a pillar of glass and steel that reflected the sun and sky during the day and became liquid black at night. I needed to be calm for the next little while. Calm and in control.

  I had almost managed some level of inner peace when I reached my floor.

  I used my keycard to enter and walked in to find Isabel sitting perched on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand. I recognized the bottle sitting on the table next to her. It was an eight-hundred-dollar bottle of wine that I’d picked up while out looking for Daria.

  With a polite smile, I threw my arms out to encompass the suite. “Make yourself at home, Isabel. Please, I insist.”

  “Smartass,” she muttered. Her voice was husky.

  On closer look, I saw that she’d been crying. Softly, I asked, “What is it, Isabel?”

  She put the glass down and rose. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  I followed her through the extravagant suite, stopping only when she came to stand in front of the door that opened to my bedroom. I watched as she took what looked to be a deep, bracing breath before she opened it.

  She gave me a long, intense look before gesturing inside. “Go on.”

  I almost snapped at her, almost told her I wasn’t in the mood for dramatics.

  But then I caught sight of the girl curled up in my bed. I couldn’t see her face. But at the sight of the familiar, pale gold of her hair spread around her like a banner, my heart lurched hard against my ribs.

  “Daria,” I whispered.

  She sighed softly and rolled onto her back, her long, elegant body stretching and then curling into a ball.

  I held my breath, waiting for her to wake up.

  She didn’t though. She just rolled onto her side, facing me now.

  I started toward her, only to freeze.

  There was a bruise on her cheek, darkening to a reddish-purple, indicating that the injury was recent. By tomorrow, her entire cheek would bear the signs of the blow she’d received.

  My entire body went tight.

  I was going to kill somebody.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Daria

  When Isabel gestured at the bedroom door and told me I should lie down, I’d followed her advice.

  I had no intention of sleeping, but I did want someplace quiet where I could be alone, hoping to convince myself that I didn’t need to be afraid, that I didn’t have to rush out of this posh hotel and flee like the hounds of hell were chasing after me.

  Isabelle had come into my room back at the strip club and all but dragged me out of bed. She froze when she saw the forming bruise on my cheek.

  She reached out and touched the sore area, a question in her eyes.

  I averted my gaze to avoid answering that silent question. I had no idea how to tell her that it was her brother, Marcos. I should have. I knew that. But I couldn’t make myself say it. I knew their family was far from perfect, but she loved them. I didn’t want to hurt Isabel that way. If I told her the truth…

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand to be the person responsible for hurting her with this cold, ugly knowledge.

  Luckily, there had been no time for an interrogation. Quick as lightning, she grabbed my hand and steered me out of the club.

  A few people deliberately turned their backs at our approach, and I wondered what she’d done to be able to walk through here, with me at her side, unmolested.

  I didn’t dare ask her, though. I was almost afraid to even breathe for fear of calling attention to myself.

  She’d hurried me into a car that was parked at the back, then still without speaking, she started the car, and we took off into the night.

  I didn’t start to shake until a good ten minutes had passed. By the fifteen-minute mark, I was shaking so hard, my teeth chattered. I was freezing. Isabel must have noticed because she turned the air condition off and hit the button to roll the windows down. In a breath, the warm night air flooded around me.

  It didn’t help.

  The cold I felt was from deep inside, and I didn’t know what it would take to alleviate this kind of chill.

  After almost thirty minutes, we came to a stop.

  I looked around, dazed, not certain where we were. I found myself staring at the doorman and the man behind the valet stand as comprehension grew. A hotel. Isabel had taken me to a hotel.

  A little voice whispered, He can find you here. He found you in Cuba.

  Isabel had just gotten out of the car, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to silence the sob.

  My door opened.

  I flinched away from the valet standing there.

  Isabel waved him off and came to crouch by the door. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go inside. We’ll get you a nice, big blanket and you can warm up.”

  I couldn’t make myself move.

  “Daria,” she said gently. “You can’t stay in the car all night.”

  I had to force my body to move. It was hard. I felt like somebody had replaced my bones with blocks of cement. I was sluggish, almost as if coming out of a deep sleep.

  She steadied me when I wobbled on my feet, then slid an arm around my waist.

  “Good girl,” she said. Her voice was soft, almost as if she was talking to a small child or scared animal.

  The scared animal was probably pretty close to my current mental state.

  She led me inside and over to an elevator. We didn’t go to the front desk, so I realized she must already have a room.

  The elevator took us to the top floor, and she had to tug on my hand to get me moving.

  A few minutes later, I curled up in a big bed as she tucked a blanket around me. The shaking hadn’t gone away, and she hovered there, eyes worried. “Can I do anything for you, Daria?”

  I shook my head and squeezed my eyes closed. “I need to sleep,” I said, my voice husky from the tears I was holding back.

  “Okay. You just stay there and…” she seemed not to know what to say next until she said, “rest. Just rest. It’s okay now. It’s over.”

  I wanted to believe that.

  The door clicked shut behind her, and I flinched at the sound.

  The tears came pouring out then. I rolled onto my belly, muffling my sobs against the soft pillow. />
  At some point, the exhaustion and stress of the past few days caught up with me.

  I slid into a deep, uneasy sleep where I found myself running down an endless hall with Marcos chasing at my heels and the sound of Duardo’s voice echoing behind me.

  You’ll never get away until you pay your debt.

  A noise woke me.

  I curled up into a tight ball as I lay on the bed, looking around without moving my head.

  It was like I was a small girl again, hiding under the covers, motionless. If I moved, the monsters might find me.

  The cobwebs in my head clouded my memory, but as I lay there, bit by bit, I recalled what had happened.

  Isabel had come for me. She got me out of the club. We were at a hotel.

  And…somebody was in the room with me. Terror choked me, but I made myself turn my head to look.

  A tall frame filled the doorway, light shining in behind him, obscuring his face.

  He moved, and I sucked in a breath.

  If it was Duardo…

  He flicked the light on.

  My heart reeled against my chest at the sight of the man standing there. It was Brooks.

  He closed the distance between us in seconds.

  He knelt by the bed, opening his mouth to say something. But he snapped it shut almost immediately, not saying a word.

  He was shaking.

  The words I’m sorry danced on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t find the voice to say them.

  He reached out, his eyes cold and hard, and I flinched.

  He hesitated a moment, then continued, brushing the bruise on my cheek, an echo of Isabel’s tender touch earlier that night.

  “Who hurt you?” he asked, voice emotionless.

  I shook my head. How could I tell him and risk Isabel finding out?

  She already knows, the voice of reason told me. She’d found me, after all, hadn’t she?

  She had found me.

  For the first few days, every time I heard a heavy tread outside my door, I’d tensed, hoping against hope that it was Brooks.