Den of Mercenaries

by London Miller

  “I’ll be around should you need me,” he said as he got back to his feet, “but this is your op. I'm not meant to interfere.”

  “I understand.”

  “Regardless,” he said stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  She believed him, with every fiber of her being.

  “One last thing, however.”

  She watched as he retrieved another case, this one slimmer and more delicate. When he opened it, revealing the gold jewelry inside, she chanced a look up at him, but his expression was unreadable.

  It was a necklace, but not like any Luna had ever seen before.

  It wasn’t until he was slipping it out of its holding and unscrewing the clasp at the back of it did she realize that the metal didn’t hang freely, but rather wrapped snugly around the column of her throat.

  Luna was struck mute as his fingers drifted back around, making a shiver work through her as he gifted her with a dark smile.

  “I could tell you that this will work in your favor, that Lawrence Kendall notoriously covets what isn’t his, but that’s not why I want you wearing this.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant, not completely. Even so, she asked, “Then why did you want me to have it?”

  “Because I wanted there to not be any confusion.”

  “As to what?”

  “As to who you belong to.” He punctuated the words with a quick, but lingering kiss to her lips.

  Oh, but every part of her melted at his words.

  It wasn’t too much longer before they were leaving, and before she knew it, they were parked outside the private residence where Lawrence was holding his party.

  “Careful,” Kit said with one last squeeze of his hand before she was exiting the car, starting up the pathway to the front entrance.

  Luna didn’t notice, not until she was well enough inside and had a very good look at the others in attendance that unlike the vast majority of the people there, her mask was far more elaborate. Most wore little scraps of lace that were more for aesthetic as opposed to concealment as hers was.

  It was more like a headdress she thought, with feathers that arced back over her hair.

  Lavish parties had always seemed so exciting from the outside looking in, and she didn’t doubt that had she not known the person behind this one, she might have thought it amazing.

  The decor was decadent, the wait staff trotting around with trays laden with food. It was almost like stepping into a dream.

  Or a nightmare.

  Perching on the edge of the bar stool, Luna looked out toward the floor, scanning what little the masks didn’t hide as she tried to find Lawrence in the crowd.

  She had almost given up, thinking that he was probably in a back room and would have to wait until he reappeared, when she caught a glimpse of him.

  He was hard to miss.

  He didn’t come with the sudden recognition that filled her with butterflies—like with Kit—but rather revulsion, her lips turning down into a frown with hated remembrance of him.

  It also didn’t take long for him to catch her staring at him, his gaze dropping to the heels she wore, and up to the choker around her neck, but he didn’t bother to venture any higher than that.

  But she smiled all the same, playing the part expected of her.

  He was already whispering to the guard that stood at his side before she had even bothered angling her body in his direction, passing off his drink as well.

  As he started in her direction, Luna swiveled on her bar stool, watching his approach in the reflection of the liquor bottles behind the bar.

  Adjusting in her seat, there was something comforting about the feel of the knives strapped to her thigh—another reassurance that tonight wouldn’t end as so many others had.

  She could already imagine plunging one into his neck, but timing, Kit had drilled into her head, was everything.

  So no matter how ready she was to end Lawrence’s life, she refrained.

  It was only moments later that she felt a hand on the small of her back, the unease she felt growing as his hand slid down until it rested along the curve of her hip as he circled around to her front.

  The fact that she had yet to forcibly remove his hand from off her was a testament to her newfound control.

  “A succubus,” he murmured, looking down the front of her dress, as though he had any right.

  Never mind the man was a pig, his arrogance was offensive.

  Instinctively, Luna reached up with careful fingers to ensure her mask was still in place, and for the first time, she thought he was actually looking at her face, and not her body.

  There was a curious glint in his gaze, like the wheels of his brain were turning, but she needed to ensure they didn’t catch up too fast.

  That glint vanished when she smiled, brushing the shorter strands of her brown hair with her fingers.

  Then, his gaze dropped right back to her breasts and the way they nearly spilled out of the cups of her dress.

  Easily distractible.

  “And to think I was going to leave early,” Lawrence said with a click of his tongue. “My mistake.”

  He lifted a hand, but instead of groping her as she anticipated, he touched a finger to the gold around her neck, pressing the pad of it against one of the sharpened spikes.

  “Who do you belong to?”

  She remembered Kit’s half-smile as he whispered words that made her want to kneel at his feet. He had known exactly what he was doing when he put it on her.

  Unbidden, her gaze searched the floor of the house, hoping to spot … there he was, looking every bit as foreboding as he meant to.

  Just the sight of him there was enough to ease any worry she had.

  Noticing where her stare had gone—though he didn’t seem to recognize Kit—Lawrence stepped in front of her, blocking her view. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private,” he suggested with a gesture of his hand, his smile curling slow and mocking as though he meant to challenge her claim.

  Luna risked one more glance in Kit’s direction. He still watched them, a peculiar look on his face, but when he caught Luna’s gaze, he tipped his glass in her direction.

  Her cue.

  Sliding off the bar stool, Luna straightened the front of her dress, mindful of Lawrence’s eyes on her. The thumping bass of the sound system faded as they started down a private hallway toward a room off to the right in the hall.

  It wasn’t a bedroom they entered, rather an office that was nearly as big as one. Luna didn’t pay much attention to the decor of the space, only took in the window that was closed with the shades drawn, and the position of the desk in relation to the door.

  Venturing further into the room, she stopped at the desk, leaning back against it as she rested her hands on either side of her.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, hunger reflecting there before he finally dropped it even lower, lingering on her legs.

  Not once did he bother to actually look at her, and she was thankful, because had he, she was sure he would recognize her.

  He shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it aside as he came toward her, and by the time he was standing directly in front of her, her spine had to be made of steel with how straight she was standing.

  She imagined he was Kit.

  That was the only way she could stomach feeling his hand drift down her stomach, rushing to the hem of her dress. For once, there was no nausea churning at the feel of him.

  But there was no fury either.

  There was nothing because for once, by the end of this night, it would be his turn to be the victim.

  Before he could get ahold of her dress however, she grabbed his wrist, not hard enough to scare him away, but just enough that he looked at her eyes in surprise.

  “Get on your knees,” she said, releasing him as she placed her hand back on the desk.

  How many times had he uttered those words?

  How many tim
es had she been forced to do his bidding though she had wanted to do anything but?

  Now, it was his turn, and as she watched him sink down, she felt a thrill at the flare of temper in his eyes. He would make her answer for this, she knew.

  “I’m not one to follow commands,” Lawrence said with a bit of an edge to his voice, “but I’m willing to make an exception for you.”

  Removing her heels, Luna circled him until she was at his back. Then, she finally removed her mask and opened the clutch she carried, removing the Beretta from inside it.

  “Will you do something else for me?” she asked sweetly, running her fingers up the curve of his shoulder and through his curling blond hair. The moment she felt him relax, she fisted her hand hard enough to make him hiss out a curse before pressing the barrel of her gun to the side of his head. “Tell me where Cat is and I won’t kill you.”

  That was a lie—her job was to kill him after all, and she would gladly do as she’d been instructed … but only after.

  He was confused a moment, jerking his head around to try and see her face, but a mirror hung on the other side of the room, and as she forced him to his feet, he saw who she was all too clearly.

  “Luna?” There was genuine surprise in his voice before he masked it with an arrogant smile. “You couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  Luna wasn’t fazed. “Where is she?”

  “I’ve missed you,” Lawrence went on, as though he didn’t feel any fear, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

  Instead of feeding into his game, she cocked the hammer back, and could almost hear him swallow as the sound echoed between them.

  “I guess The Kingmaker found use for you after all. In this, I assume, you’re good at doing what you’re told.”

  Luna didn’t respond.

  “Oh, but she was a sad little thing once you were gone. After all, I had to find someone new to keep my interest. No one could hold a candle to you, I’m afraid. Not even your precious Cat, though she has been of good use.”

  Her grip on the gun tightened, but she was careful, very careful, not to react to his goading.

  “I won’t ask a second time.”

  “You’ll never be anything more than a whore,” Lawrence spat at her. “The only difference is now you’re a whore with a gun.”

  Luna struck without warning, sending the butt of the gun into Lawrence’s face, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage.

  Now, it was her turn to smile. “That makes all the difference in the world.”

  Barely catching himself with his hands, his grunt of pain masked by mocking laughter. Looking back at her with hate-filled eyes, he said, “By the end of this eve, I’m going to fuck you bloody.”

  Aiming her gun lower, “The first one will go in your cock.”

  “Fine,” he said, a bit too agreeably. “I’ll take you to her.”

  Lawrence struggled to his feet, holding his hands out when she raised the gun a little higher, but he didn't try anything. Not yet. Instead, he pushed a rolling bookcase out of the way, revealing a door behind it.

  He didn’t hesitate in entering, bright light spilling out, but Luna was a bit more hesitant as she followed, not sure what to expect.

  But what she found …

  Now the nausea returned, bile clawing its way up her throat.

  She couldn’t help but notice the smell first—the sharp tang of blood mixed with the foul odor of someone soiling themselves—but once she found the source of it, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

  There was a woman tied up with intricate ropes, binding her limbs to her body, hooks pierced so deeply into her skin that purpling bruises outlined them, and the rope twining between them all kept her suspended in the air.

  Not a single inch of her was bare of bruises or cuts or dried blood.

  And though it had been a year, and even as her hair had been crudely shaven, Luna could tell it was Cat hanging from the ceiling.

  Shock had settled over her, but she was snapped back to the present as Lawrence laughed, the sound a bit manic.

  “She was a masterpiece,” he said almost reverently, as though he expected her to take as much enjoyment in this as he did.

  He was fucking sick.

  Looking in his direction, seeing the satisfaction that oozed out of him, the first pinpricks of red spotted her vision.

  Tossing the gun away, she didn’t watch it clatter to the floor, sliding across until it was nearly on the other side of the room, but Lawrence did. He was practically calculating the time it would take him to get it before she did.

  She only watched him.

  “Do you know why I like knives?” Luna asked, drawing in a deep breath as she pulled one of the blades gifted to her from Uilleam free, flipping it open with a quick twist of her fingers. “It’s harder to kill with them.”

  Kit hated the plan the moment he’d heard it.

  He understood the need for it—men like Lawrence were easily panicked and should he have arrived with Luna, the man would have been less likely to go off with her alone.

  Lawrence had to make sure that his future prey wouldn’t be escaping him as opposed to one that might have a significant other looking for them.

  No, every part of Kit understood the reasoning—even knew that Luna could handle herself.

  It was that fucking dress.

  A dress that she didn’t need to be wearing unless it was in the privacy of his bedroom. Yet, there she went, hips swaying in that natural way of hers that had his cock hard and his need for her pounding away in his head.

  But beyond his desire for her, he was more concerned with how well she would process the events of the night.

  Aidra had already shaken her head at him earlier saying, “She’s distracted you,” before they had even left the penthouse. Kit would be the first to admit that he was distracted, but not enough that it compromised what he knew needed to be done.

  But what a lovely distraction she was.

  He didn’t think there was anyone that captivated him as much as Luna.

  “I don’t see why you’re so worried,” Aidra said glancing at him. “If I recall, you sent me to take out a Columbian drug lord. Alone.”

  “If I recall, you nearly died in the attempt, and I decided it was best to avoid unnecessary hindrances. This assignment, as personal as it is, is already enough of a challenge for even the most experienced.”

  Aidra was silent a moment before she said, “She’ll never walk if you only let her crawl.”

  Kit glanced at his watch again. “You’re missing the point.”

  “And you’re making excuses,” Aidra returned.

  “You don’t think I made a mistake in pushing you so far so soon?”

  “If you hadn’t, would we be here? All I’m saying is give her a chance. Besides, you won’t always be there to save her. Learning to stand on your own is a part of one’s growth.”

  Instead of responding, Kit glanced down at his watch. Fifteen minutes had already passed since she was escorted in. If she were to follow his instructions to the letter, she would be coming out within the next five.

  But there was something that wasn’t settling well with him—and his instincts had never been wrong before.

  Except, Aidra was right.

  He couldn’t step in unless absolutely necessary—not if Luna expected to make it out alive. He could never guarantee, no matter how he wanted to, that he would be there to help her out of a bind.

  But after these five minutes wound down, he was going in whether Aidra liked it or not. For this first assignment, he would make an exception.

  Each one of those minutes passed with agonizing slowness, and by the time the fourth arrived without any sign of Luna, he set his untouched drink on the bar and started across the floor.

  “You have two minutes, Nix,” Aidra called after him, the familiar warning ringing in his head.

  It was a lesson he had drilled into many heads during his bout at the firm. The deviation of
two minutes from the scheduled extraction time was the longest he would permit for others. And should they not make it out in time, then they were burned and left to get out on their own.

  If he and Luna weren't back in the required time, Aidra was out the door—though after a distraction, Kit was sure.

  For now …

  Kit, very carefully, snuck up behind one of the guards that had trailed Luna and Lawrence to the empty hallway. When he was sure no one else was standing watch, he struck, snapping the man’s neck with one brutal twist of his hands.

  With his phone, he opened a covert app on his home screen, sifting through other contacts before he got to the one he needed. In seconds, a red icon glowed on his screen before it grew smaller as it pinpointed Luna’s location.

  The collar he had given her wasn’t just for him, but there was also a tracking chip embedded in the metal.

  It didn’t take more than thirty seconds before he was in the private study, his gun now in hand as he followed the sniffles he heard coming from the other side of the room.

  What he found as he stepped into the hidden room …

  For years he had seen the worst life had to offer. The blood of children, lives lost in the quest for power and fame, but it was nothing compared to the sight of Luna on her knees, cradling the broken, bruised body of a woman he could only guess was the girl she often talked about.

  There was blood everywhere, her skin and dress saturated in it. The metallic odor assaulted his nose even as he scanned her for the source of it all.

  But besides a number of shallow cuts and newly forming bruises, there was nothing about her appearance that spoke of this much bloodshed.

  At least until he got to the pathetic excuse of a man that was left of Lawrence Kendall. His eyes remained wide and unblinking, fixed on a distant spot on the wall—or had it been Luna that was his final sight?

  She had made good use of the knives with the sheer number of stab wounds Kit could make out along the man's front. And one curious glance down at his open fly had him quickly looking away—she’d castrated him.

  “Luna—”

  She flinched, like her own name was hard to hear, but she didn’t release the hold she had on the girl, nor did she turn to look at him. “I should have cut her down sooner.”