Beautiful No More Read online

  Beautiful No More

  Book 4 of The Bounty Hunters (The Marino Bros.)

  By

  MJ Nightingale

  Beautiful No More Copyright © 2015 MJ Nightingale

  Kindle Edition

  Published by MJ Nightingale

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: MJ Nightingale July, 2015: [email protected]

  Editing: Keriann McKenna

  Cover Design © Melissa Gill at MG BookCovers

  This book is intended for a mature audience of eighteen and older.

  Dedication

  To all those who have a dream. Never give up.

  To those who feel the weight of the world on their shoulders, don’t lose hope.

  To those suffering alone, know you are not.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue – Six months earlier . . . (April 2015)

  Chapter 1 – Six months later . . . (November 2015)

  Chapter 2 – The Nightmare

  Chapter 3 – Business as Usual

  Chapter 4 – Obsession

  Chapter 5 – Another Day

  Chapter 6 – They Burned

  Chapter 7 – The Tampa Madame

  Chapter 8 – Family Meeting

  Chapter 9 – And Then There Were Two

  Chapter 10 – Yearnings

  Chapter 11 – Holy Shit!

  Chapter 12 – Exploring the Attraction

  Chapter 13 – Business and Pleasure

  Chapter 14 – Rage

  Chapter 15 – A Kiss

  Chapter 16 – Exposed

  Chapter 17 – Behind Blue Eyes

  Chapter 18 – Thanksgiving

  Chapter 19 – Giving In

  Chapter 20 – Q & A’s

  Chapter 21 – Outing

  Chapter 22 – Getting In . . . Deeper

  Chapter 23 – Tit for Tat

  Chapter 24 – The Fight

  Chapter 25 – Promises to Keep

  Chapter 26 – Revenge is Sweet

  Chapter 27 – A Pencil?

  Chapter 28 – Release

  Chapter 29 – Wherefore art thou?

  Chapter 30 – Go Get Her

  Chapter 31 – In My Arms

  Chapter 32 – The Best of Times

  Chapter 33 – The Worst of Times

  Chapter 34 – Intel

  Chapter 35 – Home Sweet Beautiful Home

  Chapter 36 – Alvarez Security

  Chapter 37 – A New Day

  Epilogue – One year later . . . A New Beginning

  More Books by MJ Nightingale

  What is Next for MJ Nightingale?

  A Note from Maryann Jordan

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Six months earlier . . . (April 2015)

  She. Was. Beautiful.

  Still is, he thought.

  He scooted closer to the wall, repositioned himself for comfort, and then once again brought his face to the small hole he had made in the closet. Placing his eye over the peephole he watched, and remembered.

  Catarina Stone was standing before her mirror brushing out the tangles in her thick black hair as she blow dried it to make it smooth. His palms itched to touch her hair. He felt himself getting hard.

  She wore a simple white nightgown that reached her knees. Her feet were bare. What he could see of her legs showed him she was still fit. Perfect. He adjusted his erection choking back the groan that threatened to escape from his lips.

  He had to sit back for a moment, collect himself.

  He counted to twenty, and then leaned forward again to watch.

  She had unplugged her blow dryer, then disappeared into the bathroom, and he cursed his impatience. He watched until his eyes began to water, trying not to blink so he wouldn’t miss her coming back into the room. He’d be able to catch a glimpse of her face then.

  It seemed like forever. But ten minutes later she emerged from her ensuite, and grabbed the remote off her high boy dresser.

  He nearly choked back a sob at her beauty. The whore. That’s what she had been, still was. Yet he loved her. She had been kind to him once. That was when it began, twelve years ago. Catarina was thirty-one now. But he still remembered her at nineteen. He’d been just a few years older, only twenty-two. She’d disappeared. Vanished. Then everything had come crashing down around him. His father still rotted in jail, but he’d managed to escape. But for two years he’d yearned for her. Her smile. Those eyes that glowed grey with flecks of gold. She hadn’t smiled much then. But for him she had. They had been friends, he’d thought.

  He’d brought her extra food, books to write in. She was always writing in her little books. He’d asked her about them once. She said they were her diaries. But they were all in Dutch. Her language. She was born in Amsterdam. She’d told him that.

  He got bits and pieces out of her when he brought her treats. But he never dared to stay too long in her presence then. He didn’t want his father to find out, plus she was a working girl. One of his father’s many slaves.

  Catarina stood, legs slightly apart by her bed. She was close enough to touch. He wanted to touch her. He’d never dared. He sniffed at the wall trying to inhale her scent as he imagined stroking her thighs, cupping her.

  His cock hardened even more, and it became so painful. Yet he resisted.

  Not yet.

  Catarina settled on Bay News 9, a local twenty-four hour news program. She always did that. She’d surf the local stations, but always chose the news. She set the timer on the remote so the television would shut itself off in forty-five minutes, and placed it on her night stand. She quickly crawled into bed. She always slept in the middle. On her back, then in the night she would roll to her side away from him.

  It never took her long either. She was usually out in fifteen minutes, and then came the turn. Away from him. Just like before.

  He watched. He waited. And just like clockwork, she fell asleep.

  After she turned, only then did he grasp his cock in his hand after fishing it out of his pants, and jerk off. He came quickly, but wanted to scream her name. Catarina. He silently lifted his closed fist, and pretended to smash the wall that separated them. After cleaning himself up, he got ready to go to work. The white putty he used to cover the hole could be removed tomorrow—and he could watch her again. But now there were hallways to vacuum, mirrors to clean, and banisters to polish. The Trump Towers in Tampa did not clean itself and he needed to hurry. This wasn’t even his floor.

  Salvatore shut the closet door, and padded out of the empty apartment. The owners were snowbirds, and they were gone for eight long, beautiful months of the year. That gave him time—plenty of time. He hummed softly as he hit the stairwell taking him back down to the seventh
and eighth floors.

  He immediately got to work upon finding his cart.

  Ah, Catarina. He’d missed her. And she brought back those urges he thought he’d been able to suppress. A plan began to form. He hadn’t done anything bad in nine years. Nine long, lonely years. And she had made him do it when she disappeared.

  Twelve years ago, this beauty had escaped him. She wouldn’t do that again, he vowed. Never again. If she tried, she would be beautiful no more.

  Chapter 1

  Six months later . . . (November 2015)

  Andreas opened the door and immediately loosened the tie at his collar. It had been a long day. He climbed the stairs two at a time, his shoes making soft noises up the wide marble staircase on his way to his bedroom. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

  Ever since his brothers moved out, the huge house on Anna Maria Island seemed too large. He still loved it though. His business and solid investments made the purchase possible within the first year of his move to Tampa.

  The hallway was dark, but he didn’t need the light. He knew where he was going, past the four large bedrooms, two on either side of the long hallway, each with their own bathrooms, to his own master suite. He opened the door, and flicked on the light. Soft tones illuminated the room. The grey walls, and midnight blue décor soothed him immediately, and the stress of the day and long night faded away. All his brothers were married now, settled down.

  He shook his head at the thought. All of them younger than him. All of them had found their soul mates, and he was happy for them. He looked forward to having more than just the one nephew. The house would be full on Sundays at least. But he had no plans to settle down. Soul mates were not for him. No woman had ever been able to capture his heart. Not even the one he had been engaged too. He’d proposed back then because she pressured him to do it, and he felt it was time. But at thirty-five, he was older, wiser.

  He went to the dresser that faced the wall across from the sliders that opened onto his balcony overlooking Tampa Bay. The waves soothed him. So different from the street sounds that had come in through the windows of his New York apartment.

  That had been another time. Another life. One he didn’t regret leaving behind. Except for one thing. There was only one. Not catching his parents’ murderer.

  * * *

  He removed his cuff links, placed them in a drawer of his dresser designed for his jewelry.

  He finished undressing, setting his tuxedo garments carefully on a chaise longue in the corner of his room. His decorator had assured him it was manly, but the piece came in handy to lay out his attire before and after special occasions. He thought about the event he just left. His brother Nikko’s wedding to his fiancée Ronnie. She was a beautiful bride. All his brothers and their wives stood up for Nikko. All newly and hastily married. Blaze had wed his Bella over the Labor Day weekend in a small ceremony and announced they were pregnant. Gio and Lisa got hitched right here a few weeks earlier, on their son’s birthday. And Nikko married his Ronnie just six hours earlier.

  With all the weddings hastily planned, Ronnie hadn’t minded in the least that Nikko’s brothers married while she was planning her own event. It had been quite a year for the Marinos. And they were all blissfully happy and well-suited to each other. He was pleased for all of them.

  He walked towards his bathroom, flicked on the overhead lights, and quickly made his way to the shower. The wedding, held at The Pelican, had been spectacular. Outdoors, in autumn, the beautiful gardens and beach views had been impressive and festive. The weather in early November was comfortable enough that the guests enjoyed the outdoor ceremony and patio reception under the stars.

  He enjoyed himself as well. His date had been more than willing to come home with him tonight and finish the evening off right, but he’d turned her down. He’d taken Annie to way too many events of late. She was great in bed, and their no strings attached relationship was working, but after tonight he knew he needed to cool his heels a bit with her.

  She was a well-known realtor, and although a bit older than his thirty-five, he found her New York attitude refreshing, and her candor entertaining. She cursed like a truck driver, and everyone enjoyed her company. But six months was long enough. He’d met her while helping Lisa and Gio house shop. It was time to move on. Annie had plenty of other companions; she wouldn’t remain on the vine long.

  His shower done quickly, and methodically, Andreas stepped out of the overly large steam shower feeling refreshed. Toweling off, he then wrapped the same towel around his hips and walked back into his large bedroom.

  He grabbed the remote and flicked on the news, Bay News 9, a twenty-four hour news network that covered the local scene. He’d catch up quickly on the day’s events as he prepared his tuxedo to be brought to the cleaners. He had another black tie event coming up next month, a charity fundraiser for the General’s passionate cause, and a charity he also supported, Fight for the Fallen. He liked the General, respected his hard work in the community, and had attended for the last two years.

  Done with prepping his tuxedo, he began to shut the lights and was about to crawl into bed when a story on the news caught his attention.

  “Police continue to investigate the murder of a Clearwater college student, Crystal Smythe, whose body was discovered by her roommates yesterday. The young woman was mutilated, and tortured before she was raped and killed. Police have no leads, but believe this murder may be linked to an Orlando woman’s death three weeks ago. Fatima Perez, a recent graduate of The University of Central Florida. If anyone knows of a connection between the two, or has any information on these murders, please contact your local police department or call the tip line number on the bottom of your screen.”

  Andreas felt his gut twist into a knot. He hated these kinds of stories. They always brought it all back. They always made him want to jump right back in to police work. But his family was growing and needed to be kept far away from the vile crimes he dealt with in his past when he had been working vice and sex crimes in New York.

  But, like always, he’d call his contacts tomorrow and see if he could find out what the connection was between the two victims. He’d never stop looking for Romeo. The one who got away. Until Salvatore Mazzelli was caught, Andreas would never rest. Until the Rosedale Romeo was rotting behind bars, or burning in hell, he would always check with his contacts to see if he had reemerged.

  Sighing, he flicked off the television and although tired, faded off into a restless sleep. One filled with his worst nightmare.

  Chapter 2

  The Nightmare

  “Andreas, man! Head to your parents’ place. Stat.”

  The voice on the phone was his partner’s. The tone told him it was serious. “What’s the matter, Ricky?” he barked in return while slamming his foot on the gas pedal. Fear began to gnaw at him. Had something happened to his father? A heart attack?

  “I’m sorry man. It’s your parents. I’m on my way too. Romeo got them!”

  The squeal of wheels in his unmarked car rent the night air as he made a sharp turn at high speed. He was thirty minutes away. “What the fuck do you mean, got them?” He screamed into the phone. His heart was in his throat.

  “Nikko called. He found them. Came home from a party late. I’m five minutes away. What’s your ETA?” He could hear the panic in his partner’s voice although he was trying to hide it.

  Andreas felt a cold chill seep through him. Salvatore had struck. He had threatened it months ago. He knew it had to be the worst case scenario. The thought of Nikko discovering them, almost made him lose control of the car as a darkness enveloped him. The kid was just sixteen. “Fuck, fuck! Fuck!” The words coming out of his mouth didn’t even sound like him. It sounded like a wounded animal, and he had to get control of himself. Whatever it was, he needed to face it. Man the fuck up and face it for his brothers. He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. But despite his internal monologue, the pain that swept through him was piercing. No! His
mind screamed in blinding pain. Not my parents! The tears threatened but he pushed them back. “Twenty minutes. I’ll be there in twenty,” he panted through his clenched jaw trying to get himself under control. He hated to do it, knew the answer before he asked, but he had to know, hear it. “Are they dead? Both of them?”

  His partner let out a long drawn out breath. “Yeah, man. Both of them. I’m so fucking sorry, Andy.” Another long breath. “I’m turning down your block. I see Nikko. He looks okay. He’s with paramedics now.”

  “Fuck, fuck!” came his garbled cry. He pressed the accelerator to the max, his lights flashing and his siren already blaring.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, his tires squealed on the pavement as he screeched to a stop in front of all of the other emergency vehicles. His sole thought during the drive was get to Nikko, and get the bastard who did this. He was going to put a bullet in Romeo’s brain. Salvatore got away once, but now it was personal.

  Andreas flew out of his car, racing to Nikko. He could see him by the ambulance. “Nikko?” he called out to his sixteen year old brother. The vacant eyes of his youngest brother by nearly a decade swung towards him. They sparked, then faded, but then he, too, was running, breaking away from the paramedics. He flung himself at Andreas, the tears streaking down his ruddy face.

  “They’re dead. So much blood. Andy, mom . . . and dad . . .”

  Andreas held on to his brother with a steel grip. “I’ll get the bastard, I’ll get the bastard, I swear,” he promised to Nikko, and to himself.

  “They’re gone, they’re gone,” he repeated hysterically crying into Andreas’ shirt.

  Andreas blinked back the tears once more. He needed to hold it together . . . For Nikko. For him, Blaze, and Gio. They would all need him now.

  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Ricky Sylvester emerge from his parents’ front door. He was holding a handkerchief over his nose. He removed it, and wretched into his mother’s bushes. Bile rose in Andreas and threatened to come up. He needed to see them for himself. Grabbing a hold of Nikko’s shoulders, he pulled back and shook him until Nikko made eye contact. “Nikko, listen. I need you to go back to the ambulance with the paramedic. Stay put until I come get you. Got it.” Nikko’s expression showed confusion, dismay, despair. “Got it?” he repeated.