Den of Mercenaries [Volume Two]

by London Miller

“I said you’re beautiful,” he answered, rubbing his latex covered cock over her. “But there’s not gonna be anything pretty about the way I fuck you.”

  Jesus.

  He didn’t give her a chance to process those words before he gripped his cock and eased inside her.

  There was no rush.

  No haste.

  Like he wanted her to feel every inch.

  “Jesus fuck.”

  How he could make those two words sound like a prayer and a curse, she didn’t know, but she knew what he was feeling.

  She felt it too.

  Never in her wildest dreams had she thought it would feel like this. That he could make her crave every dark bit of him.

  He was trying to go slow. She could tell from the way his muscles had bunched and tightened—how his eyes had closed as he sucked in a breath.

  But it was only once he was seated fully inside her that her eyes closed, and her head tipped back. She was full. Impossibly full.

  And God, the stretch was better than she could have ever imagined.

  He was perfect.

  Everything about him was perfect.

  This time, it was her rearing up to kiss him.

  She needed to anchor herself. She needed more of him.

  The kiss seemed to wake up whatever primal urges he’d denied himself because at the next moment, he drew his hips back and slammed back into her.

  Hard.

  Jagged.

  Iris was a goner.

  “Say it,” he demanded once he dragged himself away from her mouth, though he never stopped thrusting into her.

  “Say my name,” he whispered in her ear, his hand coming up to wrap in her hair.

  Later, she would be embarrassed by how quickly she gave him what he wanted.

  Now, she just wanted to please him.

  The first time she said his name, his strokes became jagged. The second, the hand on her ass squeezed tighter as he fucked her harder.

  The third, he bit her. Right at the tender spot on her neck. And even as she knew he was leaving a mark—claiming her—she couldn't bring herself to care.

  Right then, at that moment, he owned her.

  She turned away, the sight of him nearly as overwhelming as the way he was fucking her, but Synek didn’t let her run for long.

  He turned her back to face him, his hand gripping her face before he kissed her.

  It started as a tremor, the feeling too good to ignore. He coaxed it forward, though, taking her higher and higher until—

  “Just like that. Fuck, come on my cock.”

  And it was as if those words were the only thing left she needed.

  She shattered, hard and fast, riding the wave until he gave another thrust then stilled.

  Perfect, she thought again as she came down. Everything about him was perfect.

  She could feel his wild heartbeat beneath her palm, see the glistening sweat on his chest, as she came down, the high making her float. She could already tell she would be sore in the morning, but it almost felt worth it as she caught her breath and met his gaze.

  Almost, because the moment didn’t last.

  Almost, because Synek’s entire expression shut down as he eased free of her and grabbed his shirt where he’d carelessly tossed it before.

  Then, without a word, he got to his feet and walked away, leaving her sprawled on the carpet, her face flaming with humiliation.

  Chapter 20

  If he thought fucking her would help get her off his mind, Synek was shit out of luck.

  When he closed his eyes, he still saw her face. And even during the dead of night when he still couldn’t fucking sleep, he could hear her—the whisper of his name, the hushed pleas for more.

  He didn’t have to worry about nightmares plaguing him when the only thing he could think of was her.

  But he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Figuring there was no point in lying there any longer with a hard cock and a restless brain, Synek grabbed a shower instead, waiting until he had himself under some semblance of control before he stepped out and dried off.

  He might not have thought so thirty minutes ago, but now, he felt surprisingly steady on his feet and without the baggage that was usually weighing him down.

  For once, his thoughts were at ease.

  As he entered the kitchen from the back staircase, his gaze was immediately drawn over to the living room. The table was still where he’d kicked it out of the way, and he could almost feel the friction of the carpet on his knees as he remembered the night he spent with Iris.

  Fucking hell.

  He needed to get his shit together.

  Walking over to the cabinet, he rifled through the assorted offerings until he found a box of tea, then he went in search of a mug and kettle. He couldn’t have been in there more than a handful of minutes before he heard Iris’s door opening and the accompaniment of footsteps.

  He could still remember the look on her face when he’d left her—surprised and a little hurt.

  That was what he’d wanted, though—her pain. For her to feel a tenth of what he had while locked in that room. At least, that had been the plan.

  But walking away had only managed to annoy him because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  The moment she was in the kitchen, he expected her to lash out, hand him his arse for the way he’d treated her—and maybe a small part of him was looking forward to that—but she didn’t, not even when he turned to look at her.

  The silent treatment, was it? He’d been prepared to tell her that wouldn’t work on him, but he was too busy ogling her to even formulate a response. From the tiny shorts showcasing mile-long legs to the sports bra she wore that he was already having fantasies of cutting off.

  Her hair was in two thick braids, and judging from the trainers on her feet and the slightly frazzled state of her, she had gone off for a jog. He hadn’t even heard her leave.

  “Are you completely mental?” he asked, the first to break the silence.

  She might not have snapped at him the moment she saw him, but it was obvious she was pissed at him from the way her face turned to stone as she regarded him. Iris didn’t even give him a response to his question, merely arched a brow as if she was willing to tolerate his conversation for as long as she had to.

  “You think the Wraiths won’t have eyes out searching for you?” he asked, “While you’re off jogging about. Do you want them to find you?”

  With one hand on her shapely hip—a hip he was itching to dig his fingers back into—she regarded him lazily. “I take it you’ve never been here.”

  Nothing.

  No anger colored her tone.

  No inflection that might have made him think she was still upset.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If you had, you would know there’s a gym a floor below this one. You know, where you can run on a treadmill in private?”

  Now there was a bit of resentment in her tone, and despite himself, Synek smiled, the expression made all the broader when a flash of anger crossed her face. She’d kept the mask on longer than he would have been able to manage.

  But, at least, she wasn’t out where anyone could spot her. “Tea?” he asked, holding up the empty mug in his hand for her to see.

  “I’m assuming you have something else planned for today?” she asked, ignoring his question outright.

  “You’re not going to ask about last night?” he replied, if only so he could see her react. He’d much rather have her taunting him, furious with him, or something other than … this.

  “I prefer not to dwell on my mistakes.”

  “Is that how you think of it? As a mistake?”

  “You’re the mistake, Synek. All of you. Last night was a lapse in judgment, and it won’t happen again.”

  He saw the moment she regretted her outburst, but it was too late for her to take it back. “How sure are we on that never because I’d hate to make
a liar out of you.”

  “I’m done with this conversation.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Why not? You got what you wanted right? Why can’t we leave it at that?”

  Because one night had not nearly been enough.

  He wanted more. Craved it like an addict.

  “It was a mistake.”

  She deflated, and maybe it was wishful thinking on his part that had him seeing the disappointment on her face. “Well, I said—”

  “To walk away,” he finished before she could continue.

  Iris swallowed, looking away from him. “It was a moment. Even if … even if it could have been something else, this could never work.”

  Before he could respond, Synek’s phone rang, the sound making them both glance at the offending device. He had a mind not to answer it—let it go to voicemail at the very least—but seeing the blank screen where a name or phone number was supposed to be told him that he didn’t have a choice.

  He had to answer.

  “This isn’t finished,” he told her before grabbing it.

  “Yes,” she said as she turned to walk away. “It is.”

  * * *

  Fucking Kingmaker.

  Nothing annoyed him more than being summoned like a well-trained dog, especially if he was in the middle of something else he found more important.

  It instinctively made him want to fight back and make it clear he was no longer anyone’s pet. The feeling was only made worse because it was Iris he’d been in the middle of something with when the Kingmaker decided to pull his fucking rank and drag his arse in.

  Synek had only been waiting a few minutes before a chauffeured car pulled into the parking lot.

  “This better be the single most important conversation of your life, mate,” Synek told his handler as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.

  The Kingmaker rarely tolerated disrespect in any way, but he merely arched a brow at Synek’s remark. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

  “Got a bit tied up,” he answered simply.

  “I’m assuming you’re here for Spader?” he asked. “That is what I’m paying you for—not to entertain the Wraiths and a bounty hunter.”

  Before, Synek had wondered how the man could possibly know all he did about everyone else when it was impossible for him to be in multiple places at once. He’d even suspected that Winter was relaying information back to him, even knowing it would piss him off, but that thought had lasted only so long as it took for him to realize it wasn’t just his business that the Kingmaker knew.

  He knew everyone’s.

  It went beyond having cameras everywhere and his finger on the pulse of everything happening around him—the Kingmaker didn’t allow anything to go on without his knowledge. Whether it be the mercenaries who worked for him, or the targets he looked into before sending them out on jobs.

  Then again, he couldn’t be in his position if he didn’t have dirt on everyone he came into contact with.

  “Are you going to watch me fuck too?” Synek asked, folding his arms across his chest. “I charge extra for that.”

  His attempt at getting a rise out of the man was met with a blank stare. “I had Winter look into her long before I knew you’d developed an interest in her.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Why else would you be standing here avoiding the conversation I clearly want to have?”

  Synek lost his good humor. “She’s none of your business.”

  The Kingmaker studied him. “You came with your distraction—I didn’t think you’d find another one.”

  “I don’t like to repeat myself. Besides, she’s not a distraction.” He just didn’t know what she was exactly.

  “Then do your job. Because by the looks of it, she knows more about the governor than you do, considering the amount of surveillance she does on him.”

  “We made an arrangement,” he said, steering as close to the truth as possible. “But before I can get to your governor, I have to take care of my Wraiths problem.”

  “I’d always warned you they’d be back for their pound of flesh. You should have taken care of them then.”

  That had been the original plan, after he’d left the bar that night with Winter in tow. Once he’d met the Kingmaker at the prearranged location, he agreed to the man’s terms without ever hearing them. His only concern had been safety for Winter and himself.

  He hadn’t known that “training,” meant being locked in a dark room for days at a time, feeling like the walls were closing in around him. He hadn’t understood that despite the years since he’d spent his childhood days being beaten in his bedroom when the lights went out, he still hadn’t kicked his fear of the dark.

  Plunged back into it, he hadn’t responded well when those lights came back on and the door was finally open.

  He had only known that he didn’t want it to happen again.

  Synek couldn’t remember what happened after, and the next time he was aware of his surroundings, he’d been told he had killed a man and injured more than a dozen others before another mercenary by the name of Skorpion had to restrain him himself.

  That was the day he made the decision to avoid the Wraiths at all cost. He wanted to avoid reminders of his past that would send him into a rage.

  He wanted to forget everything about that time, so he had.

  Convinced himself that no problem would ever present itself if he went back to London and stayed there.

  He didn’t want to admit the Kingmaker was right. He should have handled them then.

  “If they want it, they’ll have to fight me for it.” And he wouldn’t fight clean at all.

  The Kingmaker nodded. “Finish this. We’re on a deadline.”

  The man had never been specific about what he was coming, nor when, only that he had a feeling whatever was going to happen would do so soon.

  “Belladonna has a direct hand in this, and once Spader is out of the equation, I’ll have her.”

  And she was the only one he truly seemed concerned about.

  Synek wondered what the story was there.

  “If we’re done,” Synek said, glancing down at his watch, “I’ll get back to work.”

  The Kingmaker waved him off. “Glad the torture didn’t make you useless.”

  Nosiest bastard in the world.

  As Synek slipped back into his car and took off, he started in the direction of the brownstone before he thought better of the decision. He needed answers—answers Iris wasn’t yet ready to give him.

  But if he wanted to get to the bottom of her, he had to have them, whether she liked it or not.

  * * *

  Synek had been gone for more than five hours before she heard him come in again—not that she was counting.

  Iris waited, expecting to hear him head upstairs, but instead, her door came bursting open moments later. Had she not been annoyed with him—or at least trying to be annoyed with him—she might have laughed at the sight of him kicking off his boots and stripping out of his jacket before he threw his body onto the bed.

  “I don’t remember inviting you into my bed,” she commented dryly, peeking at him out the corner of her eye.

  She hoped he would get the hint that she wasn’t interested in him staying, but instead, he dragged the cover off her legs, then settled himself between them, resting his face on her thigh, one of his arms around her waist.

  “I don’t see you kicking me out of it.”

  He couldn’t be serious. “I was thinking you’d voluntarily leave. You’re good at that.”

  She could feel his smile. “I can be a dick at times.”

  Iris opened her mouth to respond, but she was caught off guard by the confession. She’d thought he would make an excuse. Instead, he did the opposite.

  “At least, you’re willing to admit it.” She shrugged. “Where were you all day?” she asked.

  “Had a meeting with my handler, then I needed to get something sort
ed.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Being a mercenary.”

  “It has its days,” he answered earnestly. “Couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else, to be honest. This is what I’m good at.”

  Iris frowned. “There’s more to you than what you can do with a knife, Syn.”

  His laughter made her a bit sad. “I don’t know about that, dove.”

  “When you’re not working, what do you do?”

  “Train.”

  Okay, not the answer she was expecting. “When you’re not doing anything related to being a mercenary …”

  “I drink.”

  As sad as that answer made her, she understood it all too well.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she had done something other than working for Rosalie and gathering information on the governor.

  Outside of that, she lived as a ghost.

  He’d said before that they were alike. She was just starting to realize how much.

  “That’s the problem. You need something other than a vice.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  She glanced away. “What about me?”

  “What do you have outside of your plans for the governor?”

  She had … nothing, she realized a moment later.

  There wasn’t anything beyond that because that was the only thing she could focus on. Every decision she had ever made since the day she left that courthouse had served her vendetta and nothing more.

  She hadn’t given herself a chance to even consider having a life outside of that.

  Why should she?

  Her father was rotting away inside a prison cell, and she was the only hope he had of getting out of there.

  “It’s the only thing I want,” she said softly, coiling a strand of his hair around her fingers.

  For such a hard man, he had the softest hair—a deep shade of brown and slightly wavy.

  “How d’you know it’s the governor who’s responsible for your dad?”

  “All roads lead back to him. That much I could find. Why he had to frame him, I don’t know.”

  That was the last piece of the puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. Because as it stood, none of it made any sense.