As Reagan turned away from them, looking around the space, she wondered why Niklaus had never bothered to mention her, or really, any of the people he was supposed to be meeting with today.
It was only a reminder that he was still hiding things despite how honest he had been.
But she could have moved past that if she hadn’t looked up and her gaze seized on the painting that was proudly hung.
If it had been of anyone else, she would have loved it. The detail was immaculate, and had probably cost thousands of dollars to have produced, but as Reagan stared at the woman and man in the portrait—particularly the man—one that she had pined for years, one that had made her feel like no one else ever had ...
She was fucking pissed.
“You’re married?”
Niklaus’ gaze swung to her, a look of shock crossing his features before his eyes shifted to the painting that had held her attention for so long.
“Reagan, it’s not what—”
She was on her feet in a second. “It’s not what I think? Is that what you were about to say because it sure a fuck looks like it’s exactly what I think, Niklaus!”
“No, wait—”
“What’s all the yelling about?” Luka asked, reappearing with a sleepy toddler at his side.
And if anything, the sight of him only made it worse.
He looked just like Niklaus.
Just. Like. Him.
It didn’t matter that the adorable little boy couldn’t be any old than a year—give or take a few months—the similarities between them, a perfect blend of both Niklaus and Lauren though the boy did favor his mother a little more, were too obvious to ignore.
“A child?” Reagan asked, turning watery eyes to Niklaus, feeling like her chest was cracking open. “How could you do this?”
She couldn’t even face Lauren—how could she when she didn’t know what Niklaus had told her?
“I haven’t done shit!”
“Language,” Luka said, covering the baby’s ear with his giant hand.
Niklaus glared at him. “Don’t start with me, Luka.”
“Hey, now. Don’t blame me for this. You should have warned her about who Lauren was before you brought her here.”
Even Luka had known …
She was an idiot. A fucking idiot.
“Luka, stop before I tell Alex you’re causing problems,” Lauren snapped at him, but it didn’t look like it fazed him in the slightest.
This was a joke to them.
“I’m leaving,” Reagan told Niklaus. “Just leave me alone and don’t ever come near me again.”
She had every intention of walking away, to get away from him and the lies he’d made her believe, but as she spun around, readying to do just that, he grabbed her hand before she could.
And the moment he did, when she felt his touch on her, she swung without warning, cracking her hand across his face.
“Ouch.”
The new voice came from behind her, the words colored with an accent that Reagan wasn’t very familiar with. She was expecting another of his friends, one that would be too amused by it all as Luka had been, but when she got a good look at the new person, all the anger that had taken her over fled just as quickly.
“Oh.”
Reagan was staring into Niklaus’ face, or rather his twin brother’s, and there was no question about it. And unlike Niklaus, the twin wore a three-piece suit, and wore his hair longer.
“Oh,” Reagan said a second time, wincing as she turned back to look at Niklaus. “Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”
He was still glaring at her as he made the introductions. “Reagan, meet the Russian. Mishca, this is Reagan. Careful though, she seems to be in a slapping mood today.”
“Strong right hand,” Luka added from his position on the couch.
Reagan was definitely thinking that she didn’t like him. “But he said—”
“I said that he should have told you who Lauren was, and I stick by that. She is the wife of his twin brother, anyone would have been confused.”
“That was unnecessary,” Mishca said, leveling a stern look on Luka. Despite his age, there was a certain air of authority that hung around him.
“Well unlike you lot,” Luka went on. “I don’t appreciate being his dirty little secret.”
Reagan had to wonder, as she looked to the blond man sitting on the other side of the room, whether he was actually serious or whether he was touched in the head—but no matter which, either option made her just want to avoid him further.
“Does someone want to tell me what happened?” Mishca asked as he walked over to his wife, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“What the fuck do you think happened? I got shot.”
If Mishca was fazed by Niklaus’ bad attitude, he didn’t show it. “I’m more concerned as to why.”
“Same reason I was tortured for three days—they thought I was you.”
Yeah, there was definitely something she was missing, not to mention the bad blood that seemed to be between them.
“Should I go ahead and assume this is my fault too?” Mishca asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the back of a chair.
“I’m not in the mood for your shit right now, Russian. Fuck off.”
“You do know you’re Russian too, no—or are you still pretending the same blood doesn’t run through our veins?”
“How could I ever forget? I have to see your face staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.”
Reagan didn’t think this was their first disagreement, not with the easy way in which they addressed these things, as though rehashing an old argument. But Reagan could tell there was something different about Niklaus’ last statement, if only from the way Mishca’s head jerked as though he’d been struck.
“And when should I lay blame at your feet? Believe it or not, today wasn’t about me—it was about you. It would make more sense that they mistook you for me. So what if I would have had Sacha with me? Does it only matter if it happens to you and yours, Niklaus?”
Yeah, something was definitely wrong, Reagan could sense it in the way Luka sat a bit straighter, and Lauren touched a hand to her husband’s back, a statement in itself.
“Don’t you take that fucking tone with me,” Niklaus said climbing to his feet, shoving the stool back as he walked forward, but Reagan’s hand on his stomach stopped him.
With the way he was so intently focused on his brother, she was sure he would ignore her touch entirely, shoving past her to get to him, but he didn’t move, like the hand she held up was the only thing restraining him.
It was like a light switch had been turned off inside, or rather turned on. Niklaus had the tendency to act disinterested in most things, and rarely expressed emotion, but as he stood across from his twin, fury in his eyes, it was startling to see.
“Good on you, Niklaus,” Mishca said with a pitying smile. “Make another scene just because you’re in the mood for one. Sure, I’ll play along. Did something I say offend you?”
“Don’t ever say I don’t care about them.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Stop playing fucking word games, Russian. As much as I would enjoy putting my fist in your face, I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”
“Do you? I’m amazed you even made it this long without picking another fight. Five minutes? That has to be a record considering the massive fucking chip on your shoulder.”
“Right, and it just appeared one day? You’re quick to bark accusations, but never address the part you played?”
“Not that you haven’t told me countless times already, but what’s one more? It was my fault you were mistaken for me. It was my fault your girlfriend at the time was murdered in front of you.”
“No, it was your fault you let them walk away. I stood on the other side of that fucking door thinking that you, the actual person that was meant to feel pain beneath
his hands”—Niklaus pointed over at Luka, though his attention was still on Mishca—“would want to make them pay for what they did, but one little cut over Jetmir’s eye and blinding him in it was enough for you. Would it have made a difference if it was you in that seat, Mishca? Or maybe you would prefer having to watch Lauren burn alive even as she told you she loved you.”
His words … laced with such hurt and accusation were enough to make Reagan feel a pang in her chest as she digested everything Mishca hadn’t said, and all that Niklaus had revealed.
She knew about his torture, he had told her as much, not to mention the scars those days had left behind. But he had never, not once, mentioned that he hadn’t been alone that day.
Sarah, she thought Mishca had said.
Reagan had always wondered whether there had been someone Niklaus had cared for and perhaps lost because when she met him … he had seemed so lonely.
It would also explain a lot … like why he left and why he was so guarded.
How could he have ever moved past that?
“You told me not to lay my weakness at your door, remember? It no longer is.”
“Then what will you deem acceptable, hmm? I’ve offered you everything I could possibly—”
“There’s nothing you could give me that I want—not anyone that would matter to me.”
And that cut a little deeper.
Reagan withdrew her hand from his body before realizing she had. The minute she moved, all eyes came to her, as though only now remembering that she was in the room with them.
Understanding dawned in Mishca’s eyes, but Niklaus…she couldn’t read anything from him, only that he was extremely unhappy.
He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a forced smile. “You should let her finish with your arm.”
Time stretched between them as he merely stared at her, as though that would give him time to work out how she felt and make sense of it, but she didn’t—or rather she was afraid of what she would learn.
Accepting her silence, he grabbed the stool from the floor and sat, but before Lauren could go to him, he grabbed the wipes from the pack and gently cleaned the last of the blood from his arm.
Clearing her throat, Lauren’s gaze turned to Sacha as he toddled over to her, pointing at his uncle with his little finger, then making a face. “Yeah, Uncle Niklaus hurt himself.”
With all the careless grace of a child, he went over to Niklaus, grabbing onto his leg as he reached up with the other arm and waited.
Niklaus, whose body was taut with tension, relaxed a bit as he tossed the wipes on the floor to pick up his nephew. Sacha didn’t waste a beat, reaching up to rub his hand through Niklaus’ hair, and giving him a few pats on the head before pressing his mouth to Niklaus’ cheek in a wet kiss.
His job done, he slid back to the floor, leaving Niklaus smiling in his wake. But it wasn’t to Lauren that he walked, but to Mishca, who was already reaching for him before he got close.
When he was settled in his lap, Sacha did the same to him, as though trying to erase the pain his father must have felt.
In moments, he had calmed the near raging storm between them.
And all it had taken was a pat on the head from the smallest person in the room.
Chapter 28
Leaving the penthouse, Niklaus knew he had fucked up somewhere during that whole argument with Mishca, if the way Reagan was acting towards him now was any indication. She had hardly said two words to him after they had boarded the elevator, and not even before then.
He tried to cast his mind back, think of everything he had said in the heat of the moment, but none of it had been about Reagan, and most of it had just reflected his feelings for Mishca, but he hadn’t been particularly cruel … at least in his opinion.
But he didn’t attempt to ask about it yet, not until she calmed down.
Back at her place, she disappeared into her bedroom as he stopped in the bathroom, grabbing his bag along the way. Hunting for a new shirt, he dropped it on the toilet before carefully reaching up to remove the bandage off his shoulder, then replacing it with a new one.
After, he washed the dried blood on his chest and hands, scrubbing the flecks from beneath his nails. By the time he finished, and splashed water on his face, carefully pulling the clean material on, Reagan was coming back out, heading in his direction.
One thing he had always loved about her was the way she never backed down from him, how fearless she was in that regard, but now she looked almost afraid to speak.
It was selfish of him, he knew, to be afraid of what she might say next and how it would affect him. If she asked him to leave, though he might have even wanted to leave her in peace, he didn’t think he would be able to.
The last thing he wanted to hear her say was goodbye.
She almost looked like she was changing her mind until her eyes darted to where he was reaching for the charm that hung around his neck, pulling it free from the inside of his shirt.
“What was her name?”
He knew exactly who she meant the moment the question left her lips, but even still, he said, “Who?”
“The woman you loved and lost.”
God, when she put it like that …
“Do you want to talk about this here?” he asked.
Without an answer, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the living room, taking up residence in the arm chair she had in the corner of the room, a little ways away from the only other place to sit—the couch.
The entire short journey from bathroom to couch, Niklaus thought of how best to broach the subject.
He had always meant to tell her, she wouldn’t be able to understand him, not completely, until she knew the story of how he came to be the person she met.
This, he realized, was what she had grown upset about back at the penthouse. Sometimes he forgot that she knew so very little about him because he had never had the urge to share this side of him.
With Mishca? It was different. His words were an accusation, were meant to harm and make sure that the Russian understood that he was to blame for all the shit Niklaus had gone through.
But with Reagan … with her, they would be a confession.
To her, he would finally tell his truth.
“I met her when I was sixteen—her name was Sarah. We were different, but we liked each other and that was all that mattered. I was twenty-one when I knew I wanted to marry her So I flew her to New York, planned this big proposal, and even had the ring, but before any of that could happen, we were kidnapped.”
Reagan had already looked sad the moment he started speaking, but now, there was a fear in her eyes, like she knew where this story was going.
He could practically see the dots connecting in her head.
From the time between he was kidnapped and when they met, of the scars on his body, and probably to his occupation though she could only have guessed.
But he needed to give her this, even if it hurt to do so, because just as much as she wanted to understand him, he wanted someone to finally purge to.
“For three days we were kept in this old barn or mill, or whatever the fuck that thing was, and for three days, Luka tried to extract information out of me because he thought I was Mishca. Don’t blame him,” he was quick to say when he saw the expression in her face. “You can’t always blame the man that’s only following orders—after all Mikhail Volkov was said to only have one son, considering we’re twins, it’s hard to believe there were two instead of one.”
Niklaus sat forward, telling more. “On the third day, Luka’s boss, Jetmir, he brought in gasoline and a lighter”—Niklaus realized almost belatedly that when he spoke those words, he tapped his pocket—“and he asked me if I would cooperate, if I would tell him what he wanted to know. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but at this point, as he’s dumping gasoline on Sarah’s head, I’m willing to tell him anything if it means he’ll let her go.
“But he d
idn’t, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. He was more than happy to drop that lighter and burn her alive, just to teach me—the Russian—a lesson. Except he taught me one instead. I learned that even those that are innocent can fucking lose out in the end.”
He could see it, even as far away as he was, the dampness in her eyes—the way she was fighting tears. But the last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him, not when he didn’t deserve it.
“I had to watch every second of it, until she had finally stopped screaming, and even afterward, it still echoed in my ears.”
“I’m so sorry, Niklaus.”
“Luka called Mishca, and the Russians got me out. I thought they were crazy, those fucking Albanians, but I realized that it was Mishca they were after. I figured he would want revenge against them, but he was under orders not to—you learn things as the years go by.”
“Is that why you’re angry with him?” she asked, her voice soft.
“No,” he said, and told her something he would never tell another, “because he was everything I should have been. Every time I see our face staring back at me, I always think about how I lacked in comparison. My hatred for myself is why I can’t stand to be around him.”
“But it wasn’t your fault, Niklaus. You couldn’t have done any more than you did.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“No, Niklaus. It was not your fault. It was never your fault.”
“I needed to make it right,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t know how the fuck I was going to do that when the guy approached me, but in seconds he offered me a way. And he turned me into the very thing I needed to be to answer for what they did.”
He didn’t stop there. “These lines.” He shifted his hair to show the black tattooed lines on his neck. “Each one represents a person that was there and played a part.”
“And you hurt them?”
He shook his head, staring directly at her. “No, I killed them. There was only one that made it out alive, and that’s because he and I came to an understanding. Once Jetmir was dead, I could finally sleep, at least for the most part.”
Den of Mercenaries Page 22
