Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2)

by London Miller

  “I would love that.”

  “And you?”

  She thought on her answer a moment before saying. “Silver Car Crash.”

  “By?”

  “Andy Warhol.”

  Kyrnon nodded. “Fair enough. He does good work.”

  Amber loved his work, and that painting was definitely her favorite. “So yeah, if I had endless amounts of money, I would buy one of his works.” She sighed. “But sadly, I’m not that rich, and even if I were, there’s not many of his works left that aren’t in galleries or lost.”

  “I’ll look for it.”

  Amber’s brows drew together. “What, the Warhol painting?”

  “Aye.”

  “It was sold in a private auction a few years ago. No one even knows the name of the buyer.”

  Kyrnon shrugged like that didn’t matter at all. “I’ll find it.” This time he sounded more sure.

  The rest of the ride was spent in a comfortable silence. Thirty minutes later, they had finally arrived.

  The Tuscan-inspired estate they pulled into was extravagant. Unlike the concrete jungle of the city, the mansion felt more like it belonged in the hills of Italy as opposed to its current neighborhood.

  As they rolled up to the gate, a man wearing a dark suit with a wire in his ear held his hand up, stepped around to Kyrnon’s window. Letting it down, he presented their invitations. It only took a moment for him to check it before he was nodding and signaling for someone to open the gate.

  Rolling up the cobblestone driveway, Kyrnon pulled around toward the front doors where a podium and carpet was set up, a valet attendant standing behind it.

  Placing the car in park, Kyrnon grabbed his suit jacket from the backseat, and was out and circling around until he could get the door open for her. After slipping on her heels, she accepted his hand, carefully climbing out.

  As the attendant came over, Kyrnon passed him the keys. “Take good care of her. Make sure she’s in good hands, eh?”

  “Yes sir,” he rushed to say. “We take them around the house for safe keeping.”

  Patting the man’s shoulder, Kyrnon sent him on his way and they started toward the doors, but he lagged a bit, watching the path the man took.

  If she had his car, she’d probably do the same.

  “This is amazing,” she whispered once she had a foot in the door, trying to take everything in, though it was nearly impossible.

  Between the varying textures, enough priceless art and fixtures to keep her eyes occupied forever, there was so much, yet it didn’t take away from the rest of the decor.

  “Still not better than my cabin,” he whispered back.

  “Of course not, but you have to admit, it’s pretty nice.”

  Kyrnon grumbled his agreement as they followed behind a couple as they headed into another room.

  Rows of chairs were set up in arcs, designed for optimal viewing of the stage up ahead. Gabriel Monte was standing at the front of the room, head bowed as he had a quiet conversation with a woman in a red dress.

  Kyrnon, too, seemed to be focused on the man, his gaze unwavering, making her wonder if he knew the man, but she didn’t get the chance to ask about it before they were in their seats and the auction was starting.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Gabriel said as he stepped behind the podium, pulling on a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses. “I would like to thank you all for attending. Please note that all bids are due in full at the completion of this auction. First up, we have a beautiful hand-carved statue from the Chechen Republic.”

  With each item that was brought out, men in white gloves handled them preciously, giving the audience the opportunity to gaze upon them. As the bidding wars started, Amber was just thrilled to see it all happening.

  Only once had she gone to an auction, and that was back when she was still living in California, and her father had brought her along after two minutes of pleading. Though her father hadn’t bought anything at the time, she still cherished the memory.

  “Graciously provided by one of our generous benefactors is the L’amant Flétrie, a priceless work of art. We’ll start the bidding at one-million dollars.”

  Amber’s brows shot up as she heard the price. Unlike the rest of the art works that were being sold all evening, this one had the highest starting asking price. Kyrnon looked to her when she sat up a little straighter, but his expression was unreadable.

  Back and forth, people put in their bids, and very soon, the price was so high that she wasn’t surprised Gabriel had been able to pay her twenty-thousand for one replica. The painting was worth millions.

  Finally, a man seated at the front of the room with a phone to his ear put in the winning bid: Twenty-seven million.

  As the handlers came forward to remove the painting, it was Kyrnon now that was sitting up a little straighter.

  “And next we have Nocturnal by Adelaide Moreau.”

  Amber gasped softly as the painting was brought out, Gabriel’s words going right over her head as she stared at the painting that inspired the tattoo she had.

  The painting was huge at eleven-by-fourteen feet, and needed three people just to bring it out. It was simple really, the moon’s cycle depicted in excruciating detail, balancing lights and shadows, making it look more like a photograph as opposed to a painting. Amber had fallen in love with it from the second she saw it a few years ago. Back then, it had been on loan to the Madison Institute.

  Now here it was, up for auction.

  It almost felt like destiny.

  “The bidding will start at one-hundred thousand dollars.”

  At that price, destiny could wait.

  Kyrnon’s fingers danced down her spine, drawing her gaze to him. “This,” he said with a soft tap on her back, “for that?”

  Of course he would get it right off. “One of my favorites.”

  He nodded. “D’you want it?”

  “What?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel announced, pointing to a man sitting not too far from them. “I have one-hundred. Do I hear one-twenty-five?”

  “If you want it, let’s get it,” Kyrnon said, even as he raised his paddle, just enough to get Gabriel’s attention.

  “Kyrnon, you don’t have to buy it,” she rushed to say, even as his bid was noted.

  “Why not? If you want it, it’s yours.”

  “But—”

  “Three-fifty? Do I hear four?” Gabriel looked back to Kyrnon expectantly.

  Kyrnon nodded again, uncaring to the fact that the price was nearly double the asking price. He was too busy focusing on the man across the room that was continuously trying to outbid him.

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”

  “Now what kind of man would I be if I didn’t keep you happy?” That question was enough to shut her up. “Six-hundred-thousand,” Kyrnon suddenly announced with a wave of his paddle.

  The suit he was going up against glanced back at them and whatever he saw made him smile mockingly as he said, “One million.”

  Kyrnon didn’t even blink. “Two.”

  Two. Two million dollars.

  She was starting to realize that maybe Kyrnon was a bit crazy, but she liked it.

  “Sold,” Gabriel said with a brilliant smile as he slammed the gavel down.

  It was the highest bid—outside of L’amant Flétrie—so far, and from the way the soft murmurs started up, it was an impressive one. She was still reeling that he even had that much money to spend on a painting, let alone that he was doing it for her.

  “Give me ten minutes,” he said in her ear as he stood, kissing her cheek as he did.

  As he disappeared back out the door and down the hallway where others had gone after successfully winning their bid, she could only sit there with a smile, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

  * * *

  “And how would you like to make your payment, sir?”

  Kyrnon was rethinking his earlier worry that Amber might compli
cate the job—in fact, she made it easier. His buying her a painting not only made her happy, it gave him an excuse to venture back toward where they were storing the art.

  Two birds, one stone.

  Rattling off the series of numbers for one of his accounts in the Cayman Islands, his gaze drifted over the office he stood in, then back out the door toward the other side of the hall where workers were carefully moving in and out of the room.

  The question now was how was he going to get into the room and back out without getting caught?

  He needed a distraction.

  Once his transaction was finished with Emanuel, Kyrnon asked, “Where can I find the facilities?”

  “Down the hall and on your left.”

  Back down the hall, he slipped into the restroom, grabbing one of the hand towels next to the sink, he stuffed it into one of the toilets and flushed, stepping back as the water rose and spilled onto the floor.

  Just as quickly, he exited, finding one of the attendants walking by. While all of them wore suits, a badge was clipped to their waists, differentiating them from the rest of the guests.

  Adopting an American accent, Kyrnon said, “Something’s wrong with the toilet in here.”

  As he quickly apologized and stepped around Kyrnon to head into the room, Kyrnon slipped the badge from him with deft fingers, continuing on as if nothing had happened.

  He didn’t have a lot of time, but he didn’t let that worry him.

  This was what he did.

  Slipping on a pair of gloves similar to those in which the others used, he flashed his badge as he entered the room where all the pieces were being held. There was one man inside with a clipboard in hand, instructing movers on where each piece was meant to be taken.

  “The Withered Lover,” he said to no one in particular. “That should be stored in the observatory.”

  Kyrnon had not a fucking clue where the observatory was, but he merely nodded, letting the man know he would take care of it before he was crossing the floor to find it.

  He found it, and its replica, quickly assessing the differences between them. Now that the canvas was aged, it was much harder to tell them apart, but Kyrnon remembered what Amber had told him, about the signature she added. It took a bit of staring and searching on his part, but he finally found it, right there at the bottom edge where she said it would be.

  Carefully moving them both, he did, in fact, find the observatory, but he left Amber’s replica there, wrapping the other and taking it out back under the guise of having it loaded for one of the buyers.

  Once he had it safely stored in a hidden compartment in the trunk of his Ferrari, Kyrnon pocketed his gloves and headed back to the auction that was already ending.

  He glanced down at his watch.

  Five minutes, fifty-four seconds.

  A personal best.

  And would be a job well done once he got the hell out of there.

  As he stared across the distance at the woman he had never meant to have a relationship with, he knew that even as the job was done, he wasn’t letting her go.

  Not even close.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kyrnon was definitely a night owl.

  This was the third time over the last couple of weeks when she spent the night with Kyrnon that she woke up and he wasn’t beside her. Usually he wasn’t far away, but she did start to wonder what made him get up every night.

  Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, glancing over at the clock. Four in the morning, a few hours later than his usual. Sliding out of his bed, she kept the blanket wrapped around her as she went in search of him.

  Though the TV was on, he wasn’t on the couch, and only a cup of tea on the table told her he had been there recently. As she wandered about, she found a staircase toward the back of the loft, and her curiosity got the best of her as she started up.

  It wasn’t until she got to the next landing did she realize that the best part of his place wasn’t the loft below, but rather the greenhouse that made up the highest floor. She’d barely taken a full step before she could feel the cool tile beneath her feet, and even the spongey feel of moss. It was significantly warmer up here than it was below, and more impressive was how vibrant the night sky was from this view.

  “Like being on top of the world,” Kyrnon said softly, a stream of smoke spilling from his lips as he spoke. She was almost halfway across the room when he added, “I tore down the roof and had this done—makes me feel like I can breathe.”

  She didn’t realize it until she was closer that he was lying in a bed of grass beneath open windows above him. His legs were crossed at the ankles, his arm cocked, hand beneath his head, revealing one side of the V-lines at his waist he possessed.

  “Why?” she asked when she was settled next to him, running her fingers through the grass at her sides and the slight dampness she found there.

  “I spent a lot of time outside when I was a lad. See, whenever we set up camp, we always found a spot right under the stars.”

  He sounded somber, like the memory saddened him. “And you miss that,” she guessed, then asked, “What changed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What made you stop being able to sleep at night?”

  Kyrnon didn’t answer her question right away, still staring up at the cloudless sky above them, taking another drag from his cigarette. “My childhood wasn’t a pretty one.”

  “If you want to tell me, I want to hear it.”

  Whatever he was willing to give, she would take it.

  And she had assumed as much. Between the scars, and the way he only seemed to talk about his life in recent years as opposed to the one he led back in Ireland entirely. Besides where and little details about it, he had never spoke of his life there.

  Grinding out his cigarette on the tile, Kyrnon got to his feet. “I’ll be needing whiskey for this.”

  He didn’t hesitate in grabbing hold of her hand, walking them back downstairs where he left her to get settled on the couch as he rattled around in the kitchen for the bottle of whiskey he kept in a lower cabinet.

  Unlike last time, he merely twisted the top off, tossed it on the counter, then took a few healthy swallows before he crossed back to her. Instead of settling on the couch, he got comfortable on the floor, stretching out on the fur pelt that looked incredibly soft.

  With a deep sigh, Kyrnon said, “It all started when I was thirteen …”

  * * *

  The sun on his face was nearly blistering hot, but Kyrnon didn’t care as he raced across the field, but he could only get so far, especially when he heard the squeal of tires as the truck gunning across the land drew closer.

  He only had seconds—seconds before they were on him, but he didn’t slow, even as his heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest.

  His mam had warned him not to go past the trees, and more, not to bother the men that dwelled on the other side of them, but at thirteen-years-old, he hadn’t understood the need for the precaution, not when there were more than fifty people traveling with their caravan.

  That was both the beauty and the curse of living the way he did—he had more freedom than he needed.

  But despite his mam’s warnings, he had done specifically what she forbade, venturing across the line, and out of sight where any of his kin may have called him back.

  Expecting another pavee family, he had been surprised to find that there was no one living in the trees like he had expected. As far as he could see, there were only the trees for miles.

  Kyrnon was stubborn, however, and refused to believe that he would leave without some kind of thrill, that his mam’s rules had been for nothing.

  Instead, he ventured farther, and farther, until he was so deep in the woods that he couldn’t remember how to return. He couldn’t have walked for more than another thirty minutes before the densely packed forest was giving way to a clearing where there were a row of houses, a building set at the end of the lane.

 
It was here that Kyrnon thought he understood his mam’s worries. City people were quite unforgiving when it came to Kyrnon and his family, not liking the idea of them setting up their camps so close to their own homes.

  Quite often, they treated them as though they were worse than the dirt beneath their feet. Once, that had saddened him, made him wonder what was so wrong with the way they lived. So they chose to live more freely than others—that their customs weren’t the same … did that make them so different? But he had quickly grown out of those feelings, that disparity shifting to annoyance.

  If they thought him less than, he would be better—but he would make sure they never said any shite to his face.

  His cousins were skilled at bare-knuckle boxing, teaching him everything he needed to know to defend himself should the need ever arise.

  And that was a good lesson to have.

  But it wasn’t better than learning how to become good at slight of hand. That had taken him no time at all to get the hang of, and having the lessons since the time he was a lad, he rarely got caught anymore.

  That had ended this day.

  There weren’t many people about, not that he could see, but that didn’t stop him from perusing what he could, and after he had looted everything his pockets could carry, Kyrnon had started back the way he came, determined to get home and share the wealth, but just as he reached the tree line, his gaze had shifted to the building that wasn’t too far off.

  Kyrnon still wasn’t sure what he thought was inside—he doubted anything better than what he had already confiscated—but even still, he started for it.

  It was supposed to be easy.

  Just a way to appease his curiosity, but it had become much more than that very fast.

  He didn’t realize until he was much closer and could hear the voices echoing from the windows that this place was where everyone had to be.

  Two men were seated outside, one wearing a sweat-stained and slightly dirty shirt with a hat atop his head, and the other was shirtless, wearing a pair of trousers with a hole ripped in the knee.

  As usual, once their eyes shifted to him, their lips curled in distaste, but the one wearing the hat was the first to give a sardonic smile. “If it isn’t one of the little tinkers from across the way.”