Owning Beauty (Taking Beauty Trilogy 3)

“Oh, Bear,” I said, looking up to him through tear-filled eyes.

He kissed me, gently, tenderly, his arms holding me close and tight. I melted into him, overwhelmed by the love that he showered me with.

Footsteps sounded behind us and we turned. Mr. Rousseau was standing there by the table, a polite smile on his face.

“Dinner is served, monsieur,” he said.

“That’s perfect, thank you, Mr. Rosseau,” Bear said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the table.

We sat down and for the next hour, we had the loveliest meal of Coq au vin and escargot and the most amazing creme brûlée I’d ever tasted, all under the watchful eyes of the Rebellious Slaves.

By the time we were finished with dinner, I’d declared this night the most magical of my entire life.

“I feel like I’m living a dream,” I said to Bear.

“Me, too, Beauty,” he said, his eyes sparkling with love. “Perhaps we are…”

“Perhaps we are,” I agreed. We sat there, lovingly staring into each other’s eyes, the happiest two people on Earth.

As we left that evening, hand in hand, totally sober and yet completely intoxicated by the magic of the night, I took a last glance over my shoulder at the two slaves, a little piece of my heart remaining in the room with them. I knew I’d never forget them, for as long as I lived.

“I want to come back here,” I whispered to Bear, knowing I couldn’t stay away too long.

“Of course, darling,” he nodded. “Anytime you want.”

“Is tomorrow too soon?” I asked.

He laughed, winking at me.

“What Beauty wants, Beauty gets…”

Bear

As always, Paris didn’t disappoint. By the time we returned home, we were both exhausted from happiness. We’d barely slept, spending long luxurious hours making love in our hotel room, wandering through the rainy streets night after night, slipping into tiny little speakeasies, laughing to ourselves as we watched bawdy burlesque shows, ducking into any dark corner we could find to make out or make love, whichever was convenient, as long as we could touch each other.

Instead of quenching my thirst for her, our honeymoon had only left me with an undying appetite for Chloe. I needed her close to me, whether that meant merely walking by my side, or completely wrapped around me, it didn’t matter. As long as she was there.

I’d done a halfway decent job of letting go of my grief. Once I was able to do that, I dove into her. Or maybe diving into her allowed me to let go of the grief.

I made her tell me every childhood story she could remember, I wanted to know about every friend or boyfriend she’d ever had, I wanted to know every food she refused to eat and every sweet treat that she ever craved. She’d patiently consented to my million questions, humoring me when I asked for every detail. We’d spent so much time getting to know each other’s bodies, I was suddenly thirsty to know every inch of her mind, as well.

Coming back to New York had been a bit of a wake up call. I was back to work, but I was also back to the realization that my best friend was gone forever. The fact that I’d never see Bruce’s face again hit me like a ton of bricks, sending me reeling all over again.

I’d put everything on hold until after the honeymoon, but now it was time to find answers.

The first thing I did when I got back to the office was call Jeffrey. He showed up in my office to tell me what he’d found on the CD I’d given him.

“It’s a recording of a conversation between two men,” he said. “I converted the file and sent it to you via email right before I came up here.”

I pulled it up on my computer and pushed the play button once I’d retrieved his message.

“Listen,” a man’s voice snarled.“The girls are ready to go. We’ve got sixteen of them, from twelve on up.”

“And the johns?”

“Ready and waiting to receive the cargo.”

“You get the money?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Alright, make sure it all goes down smoothly. I can’t afford any fuck ups.”

“Don’t worry, boss, it’s all under control. There’s a few extra women, some that they rejected. Too ugly, too fat…What do you want me to do with them? You want them?”

“Fuck no. I’m getting too old for this shit. Just find someone else to sell them too.”

“You got it, Rio.”

The tape cut off.

I looked over at Jeffrey.

“Is this all that was on there?” I asked.

“Yes, sir, nothing else at all.”

“Alright, thanks Jeffrey. Any other identifying information? Anything?”

“It was recorded on a cell phone, but there’s no other data to identify the number or anything like that.”

“I see. Okay, thanks,” I said. “And Jeffrey, remember not to mention this to anyone.”

“Of course,” he said, walking out.

I sat back in my chair and pushed play again and again…

What did this mean and why was this hidden in Bruce’s house? None of this made sense. But maybe that’s because I didn’t have any answers, all I had were questions.

I pulled up a search page and began searching through information on Bruce’s last case. At the time, I had no idea it was going to be his last case, so I hadn’t paid too much attention. He made a point not to talk about work too much and I never pressed him for information. I knew what it was like to have to take your work home and I knew that he didn’t want to talk about it. He’d rather talk about the killer run he had on the slopes instead of the killer he was trying to put behind bars.

An article in the New York Times popped up and I began reading it. It was a detailed account of Bruce’s last case and when I saw the name of the defendant, I froze.

Rio Santiago.

I played the recording again and nodded. The man on the recording had called the other man Rio. I read on.

Rio Santiago was a high-level sex trafficker that had gotten busted after years of suspicion by the NYPD. They’d never been able to pin any charges on him, despite their best efforts, until this case. They’d lucked out when one of the girls they’d arrested with a john was brave enough to testify against him. She’d insisted he was the ringleader of a huge group of men that trafficked dozens of women and girls every month, bringing them up from the South and promising them modeling jobs in New York. Of course, as soon as they arrived they were drugged and sold and pulled into the dirty world of evil men. Bruce was the prosecutor. He’d brought heavy charges down on Santiago, hitting him with the full force of the law. The case had been highly publicized and t

he trail dragged on for months. In the end, Santiago got off with a light two year sentence after the jury decided there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. Bruce had been devastated and in the end, he decided he’d failed in his mission to make the world a better place. If guys like Santiago were given a slap on the wrist on his watch, he’d told me, then he wasn’t doing his job. He’d resigned, not even finishing out his term, much to the dismay of the Governor and the team of Assistant DA’s he’d assembled that looked to his experience for guidance.

I spent over an hour combing through articles about the trial, wondering if there was any connection to Bruce’s death. Once I realized there was video of the trial on youtube, I eagerly pulled it up.

In an instant, there was Bruce. Alive again. Standing in the courtroom, literally holding court, the jurors, the judge, all the players hanging on his every word.

He had skills, that was for sure. He had a way of charming you while he showed you exactly how smart he was, all at the same time.

“Cocky bastard,” I whispered, laughing softly as I watched him play to the jury. The women smiled at him, subtly blinking at him, and the men nodded like he’d just told them he was giving them a million dollars. He was so damned confident, it dripped off of him.

He was overly prepared and extraordinarily self-assured.

He was one of those men that you’d believe when he told you the sky was red. You wouldn’t even look up. You’d just agree and go on with your life, never questioning the color of the sky again.

“Fuck, I miss you,” I said to my screen. “Wait a minute…”

I froze, sure I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was. I stopped the video and rewound it. Bruce was standing next to the defense attorney’s table, Rio sitting next to him. But it was who was behind Rio that gave me pause.

“It can’t be…”

I rewound it two more times, freezing it on that frame. It looked like her. She even moved like her, tossing her long red hair over her shoulders. It was her signature move.

“But why in the hell would Ruby be there?” I wondered out loud to my empty office.