“Luna, don’t. Please. Please.”
“You promised you wouldn’t follow—keep this one.”
The second she was clear of the door, she didn’t wait to see how he would respond to that, nor did she really look at him as tears burned her eyes.
She couldn’t bear to see it.
Almost to the bottom of the stairs, she jerked when she heard the sound of glass shattering against the wall, quickly followed by something else breaking.
With each possession he destroyed, the lump in her throat grew, the tears she’d been holding back finally spilling over.
The sounds of rage and destruction filtered outside as she threw the door open and rushed to her bike, not caring that she was leaving everything behind—there was only one thing she would have wanted anyway.
She didn’t know where she was going, only that she knew she needed to get away from him because she was seconds from going back to him.
But Luna was tired of being weak.
For once, she had to stand on her own.
Chapter 22
Present Day …
“Breathe.”
Luna was clenching her hands so tightly her nails had left indentations in her aching palms. So engrossed in what she was saying, she hadn’t felt the pain until Kit’s voice filtered in and brought her back to the present.
She never talked about the day she left him to be anyone—she didn’t like to think about it. Because just as it had now, it only pained her in a way that it felt like her heart was breaking all over again.
As she looked at him sitting across from her, she could remember his visceral reaction at the knowledge that she was leaving him.
His anger and the ensuing rage he’d taken out on his possessions played in her ears as though it was happening all over again.
Luna wanted to feel that anger, that all-consuming rage that had lit her up inside, but she only felt tired.
Drained.
She was just ready for this to be over.
Dr. Marie was looking between them, and despite her composure, she seemed at a loss for what to say.
“A moment, please,” Kit said to her, without taking his eyes from Luna.
It didn’t matter that this wasn’t his office, that he had no right to command Dr. Marie to do anything, but in that tone of his, Luna would be surprised if anyone hadn’t heeded his command.
A part of her was eager for Donna to leave, if only so they were alone. When had she started to want that? She had been running, evading him for so long now that it all felt like a blur of unhappiness.
Not even three weeks ago, she had wanted to avoid him at all costs, to prevent herself from falling back under his spell. It seemed only fitting that it was the Den—Uilleam and everything that came with him—that brought them back together again.
She didn’t know what she had come to expect by the end of this session. No part of her since the moment they stepped into this room believed that their problems would magically resolve themselves should they make it to the end of their hour.
Yes, there was more clarity and for once she felt like she was getting a broader view into that complicated head of his.
For the last hour, she finally felt like she understood him, though the notion baffled her considering she’d thought she had known him pretty well.
Or at least known him enough to make vows on the sunny shores of a beach in Bora Bora.
Kit stood the second Donna was out of the room, the door clicking shut quietly behind her. But he didn’t cross to her and invade her space, making demands.
Instead, he sat on the table directly in front of her, hands resting on his knees as he regarded her.
She hadn’t noticed at first, too lost in the tales of their love and heartbreak to see the change that had come over him.
In his quest to get her back, he had been kinder, gentler even than he had ever been in the years she had known him. And even during this session, he had offered secrets she was sure he wouldn’t give had she asked for them.
But, just as she had when she’d swallowed her pride and gone to see him to help Celt, that darker almost demanding side of him was now bleeding through—more so than ever.
She didn’t like it, not when it felt like he was breaking her will.
“What do you want, Kit?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. She remained rooted in place, locked beneath his gaze.
“You,” he said in return, with absolute conviction. “But we both know this. The question is, what do you want, mi pequeña luna.”
How long had it been since he had used that pet name for her?
Just the sound of it made her ache for him. All the strength and resilience she had built up over the last several months undone by three little words.
Before when he had asked her that question, the answer was easy.
She wanted away from him.
She wanted to never see his face again.
And more than anything, she had wanted him to hurt the way he hurt her.
It ached when she left him, like someone had taken a knife to her chest and carved, but the spiteful side of her knew that it hurt him more.
“I didn’t know it was because of Uilleam,” she said, reminded of his words. “When I found out you had accepted a contract with my mother, I …”
“You thought I was trying to hurt you?”
Luna shook her head. “Not in the way you mean.” She knew he would never do something like that, not purposefully. “I thought you were trying to make a point—teach me a lesson—that business was separate from what we have—had.”
He noticed her slip, but he didn’t call her on it. “There are rules, even ones that I can’t break. It’s not about the enemy in front of you, it’s the one standing at your back that you can’t see. And if you think for a fucking moment that she’s not going to answer for what she did to you, then perhaps I haven’t shown you what you mean to me enough.”
No, she knew, though the notion may have slipped her mind in the midst of her hurt.
There wasn’t a single person that she could think of that hadn’t answered for the part they played in her being here, in this moment.
Not her father.
Not the men that had taken her to the warehouse.
Not Lawrence and his friends.
Uilleam too.
Even Kit, though it was she that was punishing him for his part, though now she wondered if he was punishing himself by keeping his distance.
“Who told you about the contract?” he asked, gaze searching her face.
“Does it matter?”
“To me? Yes.”
“Why?”
“Humor me.”
Though she wasn’t sure why it mattered, Luna told him anyway. “Someone of the Den.”
“Luna.”
“I don’t remember his name,” she said quickly, hearing the thread of impatience in his voice. “And he didn’t tell me, per se. He was talking about working a job out in California and happened to mention ‘the facilitator’ being out there as well working with the Contreras Cartel. I just happened to overhear him.”
“A coincidence then,” he stated, but he didn’t sound like he believed that at all. “So you’re not still in contact with Belladonna?”
Belladonna.
She hadn’t heard the name in years, not that she had given the woman much thought after the last time she saw her. Too lost in her own raging emotions.
“Why are you asking about her?” Luna asked. “You want to punish her for leading me to the truth?”
“I find it curious that she knew the truth at all, don’t you?”
No, Luna had never considered how the woman knew. Despite how vast their world seemed to be at times, it was also incredibly small.
“But no, to answer your question, I don’t plan on harming her for telling you. You would have found out soon enough if Uilleam had had his way.” Kit took a breath, his phone’s vibrations cutting into their moment, but
he ignored it.
That ache that had always been there where he was concerned flared again. “Kit.”
He looked at her when she said his name, and before she even had a mind to do it, she was reaching for him, finally giving in to her desire to touch him.
Over the span of an hour, she had relived every wonderful and terrible moment they shared together. When he had asked for permission weeks ago when she walked into his restaurant, kissing her in a way that reminded her that her heart was not her own, her guard had still been firmly locked in place.
Now, she felt naked. Exposed. Bare for him.
The anger was gone, she realized. Her annoyance with him had ceased somewhere along the way and now she just hurt.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, taking her hand in his and turning it over, running the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin at her wrist.
“I want you to fix it,” she answered, giving him the very thing he had asked of her before she had walked away.
“I will,” he said. A promise. “But I can’t promise in my quest to do it, you won’t get hurt again.”
“What?”
He held fast when she tried to pull away, his strength irresistible. “You have a job to do,” he said, “and I have my own.”
“But why does that matter now?”
That was the point of this therapy session, she thought. It was to resolve this.
“Uilleam has set things into motion that can’t be stopped—deals have been made. This, whatever this is with Carmen, needs to be seen through. And right now, we have to play the game the way it was set up.”
“But why?”
Kit’s lips quirked at the corner, almost a smile. “There are more players on the field.”
Luna sighed, collapsing back against her chair. “I’m so fucking tired of the games.”
“It’ll end soon enough.”
But not before she, or he, or they both got hurt by the end of it.
With all games, there was always a loser in the end.
CODA
In the cold hours of the night, I think of you when sleep evades me. I'd once believed there was no cure for my insomnia until you came into my life.
I didn't want to believe, not at first, but during those many nights I spent with you, my mind was quiet, my thoughts clear.
Do you remember the nights we spent on Efate Islands—you asked me for a truth I had never told another person? I told you about my desire to sleep as I had when I was a boy.
Now, my answer would be different.
I wish I could sleep as I did when I was with you. Is it selfish of me to say I wish you were here—that you were the only thing keeping me sane?
You were a great many things to me—a lover, a consort, and often a confidante, but I miss you because out of everyone in my life, you were my friend, and I have very few of those.
Yours,
Uilleam
The minute he’d finished the note with a scrawl of his name along the bottom, Uilleam tossed the pen on the desk, watching some of the ink splatter along the dark wood. He sat back with a sigh as he scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling a bit restless as he tried to focus.
The ease in which he worked was lacking as of late, the pressure he was under making him feel as though he were drowning beneath the weight of it. It was in these moments that he drew out the small square of black paper and penned another note to a woman that would never read them.
Once the ink was dry, he tucked the page away within a small box in his desk, locking it back when he finished.
It was unhealthy, he knew, this obsession he had with penning his fleeting thoughts, but the need to keep her alive, if only in his own mind was too great to ignore. And it almost, almost, made him feel like the black thing in his chest could beat once more.
So for now, he entertained the foolish notion that this act was helping him—that it allowed him a brief reprieve from the grueling tasks he had ahead of him.
Even in death, she was like a balm on his soul.
“Sir?”
Shifting only his eyes to Dominic, the lone man willing to engage him when he was in one of his moods, Uilleam nodded for him to continue.
“Someone is requesting to speak with you.”
In his current state, he would have much rather played another game of chess alone, matching wits with himself than to entertain another sniveling man complaining about his lack of power.
They never understood the sacrifices once they had the very power they craved.
Uilleam waved his fingers, a silent command to reject the call—or just hang up as he was prone to do when he wasn’t in the mood.
Dominic didn’t heed it. “The caller says his name is Elias, sir.”
Finally.
Finally.
The moment he’d been waiting for.
This time when he lifted his hand, he was eager for the feel of the mobile phone hitting his palm. It was only a matter of seconds ago that he had contemplated venturing somewhere to ease the rage he was feeling, but now delighted anticipation thrummed inside of him.
“I believe I gave you too much credit,” Uilleam said when he had the phone to his ear. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this soon.”
There was silence, then, “Well, you couldn’t have thought I would ignore your blatant disregard for proper business, could you? Truthfully, Uilleam—you don’t mind terribly if I call you Uilleam, do you?” the man asked, his tone dripping with condescension—the sound of it making the urge to do murder rise in Uilleam. “As I was saying, you’re not nearly as interesting as you presume yourself to be. But now that you have my attention, I thought it time we met, wouldn’t you?”
That was exactly what Uilleam wanted.
How long had he waited now just to learn the man’s name, and even then, it had taken one of his mercenaries to find that out. But once he had it, there was much that could be done with a name.
Elias was good at covering his tracks, only allowing few deals to be linked to him, but those Uilleam had found, he had made it a point to get the other man’s attention.
And once he grew tired of playing, Uilleam was going to have him killed viciously.
“Give me a time and a place.”
No matter what answer Elias threw out, Uilleam would agree. There wasn’t really a question as to his safety—he had a number of mercenaries on call.
“The Royal Eve at seven fifteen tomorrow evening. I’ll have someone find you.”
He ended the call before Uilleam could get another word in, and had he not passed the phone off the second he heard the trio of beeps in his ear, he would have launched the fucking thing across the room.
Control, he had to remind himself.
It was all about control.
And with the progress he’d made, he couldn’t afford to lose it now.
He knew why that particular restaurant had been chosen. It was where he had gone with Karina during his attempt to glean information from her in regard to an investigation she was launching into one of his clients.
It seemed only fitting that his thoughts of her had also resulted in him venturing back to a place that he had once shared her company.
Had he not remembered the way she loved the place, he might have burned the place to the ground just so he wouldn’t have to think about it being there that he had last seen her.
“Dominic, ready the jet. I have a stop to make before tomorrow’s meeting.”
“Right away, sir.”
Sand was sinking into his shoes with every step he took, the gritty feel of it a nuisance, but Uilleam didn’t complain. No, he was too focused on the man he had come to see.
Dealing with someone like him, Uilleam had to be prepared for whatever mood the man would be in.
Most of his mercenaries flocked to cities, disappearing within the crowds, and the one he had come to see was no different. If one didn’t know any better, they might have thought him like any other beach bum that sp
ent their days in the water.
At least until they took in the sheer size of the man.
After his retirement, Uilleam hadn’t made it a point to call on the man for any favors, not needing his particular expertise—back when he was still under a contract and obligated him to follow orders.
Skorpion had never done well with following authority.
As Uilleam cleared the side of the rather large beach house, coming around to the front, he could just see the man he had come to talk to coming up the beach, a surfboard beneath his arm.
Even at a distance, the man looked like a threat. He was big and imposing, whether he wanted to be or not, and had Uilleam not gotten a few assurances beforehand, he might have worried how his unwelcome intrusion would make him react.
“Whatever it is,” Skorpion said the moment he was close, “the answer is no.”
“Are you always in such a welcoming mood?” Uilleam asked, standing his ground.
“For you? Yes. You weren’t my handler then—you sure as shit aren’t my handler now, so leave before I have a mind to do it myself.”
“I thought we made quite a team, you and I, all those years ago.”
“Yeah?” Skorpion stuck his board in the sand, walking over to a small booth that worked as an outdoor shower and turned it on. “That was then.”
It had been Skorpion that travelled with him—his personal security until the very end when he’d fallen in love with a Parisian girl, only to lose her soon after. Uilleam hadn’t known her, never cared to, but whatever hold she’d had over Skorpion had caused him to sever his contract and walk away.
“It’s only one meeting,” Uilleam said, wanting to clarify. “You’ll even be home in time for dinner.”
“Still not interested.”
Head cocked to the side, Uilleam asked, “Is it a matter of getting a babysitter on such short notice?”
The shower cut off then, the door creaking open as Skorpion came out from behind it, his mouth set in a grim line. He didn’t address the fact that Uilleam knew his secret—that shouldn’t have been a surprise considering who he was—nor did he threaten him should he ever share that information with anyone.
Den of Mercenaries Page 78
