Den of Mercenaries [Volume Two]

by London Miller

  “Celt,” Synek called, looking far too amused. “Vacation’s been good to you, mate. I think I see a glow to that pale Irish skin.”

  Ah, so this was Celt.

  Beyond the fury in his face, he was just as attractive as the rest of them. He looked to be right on level with Synek and a shade heavier, and with the reddish beard and brown hair, he was just about what she imagined for an Irishman.

  But his anger wasn’t directed at Synek, Iris realized once they walked into the room behind him, but rather at the man who stood at the front of the room, his hands clasped behind him as he stared at six screens mounted to the wall.

  Each one depicted a photo of Belladonna, all in black and white, and unlike most surveillance photos where the subject was unaware—she stared at the camera in each one.

  “What in the hell d’you want with me, Kingmaker?” Celt said in the thickest Irish accent she had ever heard. “My lady’s waiting in the middle of the airport for me. What the bloody hell was so important?”

  The blond of the Wild Bunch with the skeletal tattoos, snorted, whispering something to the man standing next to him that sparked a half smile.

  “And he brought the Brady Bunch in too,” Red added from his seat, smirking at the four men now glaring at him.

  Winter giggled, looking as entertained as Iris felt. When Tăcut glanced down at her, she merely shrugged.

  Synek moved to the side with the other mercenaries, his arm coming around her middle to draw her back against him, making her place clear in the room.

  The Wild Bunch were to one side, the Den to the other, but Winter and Calavera both sat in the middle of the table.

  Iris didn’t have to ask which one was the Kingmaker, and not just because she’d taken his picture more than a month ago. He commanded the room without speaking, and everyone, even the quiet man standing just behind Calavera’s chair, looked in his direction.

  “You all were brought here for a reason. There’s a woman in New York City I need to find. Over the past year, you would have known her by the name Belladonna. This moment, ladies and gentlemen, was what you were trained for. Understand me when I say she is not to be harmed. If a hair on her head is hurt, in any way, I will personally see that you suffer tenfold.”

  Iris might have known who they were talking about, but she didn’t understand the dynamics of what was going on. While the Kingmaker did seem to hold some sort of animosity toward the woman he had up on the wall, there was a fierceness to his expression that made her wonder just what kind of relationship they’d had.

  “Easier said than done, I’d imagine,” Celt said as he finally took a seat, folding his arms across his chest, a black band tattoo peeking out from beneath his shirtsleeve. “Unless something’s changed, doesn’t she have that Jackal fella? He nearly made you into Swiss cheese, and Grimm could very well be the same for all we know.”

  “That’s what they’re for,” the Kingmaker said with a nod of his head toward the Wild Bunch. “While they deal with him, you all will bring me Belladonna.”

  “And how, exactly, do you expect us to get close to her?” This from Calavera. “I imagine she’s waiting for you to make a move.”

  “That’s why we have her.”

  All eyes turned to Iris, and the weight of everyone’s stare made her want to fidget. “I can’t help much.”

  “If you do as you’re told, you will. I just need everyone’s agreeance.”

  Fang spoke up for the Wild Bunch. “We’re only here for the check.”

  “I signed a bloody contract,” Celt muttered, still not appeased.

  “We’ll see it done,” Red answered for the rest of them.

  Iris would have agreed had Synek not spoken up first. “The governor first, then Belladonna.”

  He really couldn’t get any better.

  The Kingmaker nodded once, looking back and forth between them. “As we agreed.”

  Synek brushed his lips along the side of her neck, his voice whispering in her ear, “Mayhem it is.”

  Synek and Iris will return in the final book in their duet, Iris.

  February 2018

  CODA

  Episode #6

  Runehart Castle never failed to fill Uilleam Runehart with foreboding as he rode in the back seat of the Rolls Royce, watching as his childhood home grew larger as the car drove up the winding path.

  He had no fond memories of this place—not even in the gardens where he’d spent quite a bit of time with his mother. Despite his father’s authoritarian attitude, his mother had never grown cowed under him.

  Then again, she had been nearly as problematic as Alexander had been.

  She might have loved Uilleam dearly and treated him like a little prince, as she liked to say, but she’d bullied and outright abused Kit, and for that, he had never been able to forgive her.

  It was a conundrum, both loving someone and hating them at the same time.

  The easiest remedy to this was trying not to think about her at all.

  “Will you need anything else, sir?” the driver asked, coming to a stop near the front steps.

  “I’m in for the night,” he said simply, knowing the man probably wanted to get home to his family.

  He’d been having dinner, Uilleam thought, when he’d flown into Wales and called for a driver, but that hadn’t stopped the man from abandoning his meal to come see to his needs.

  As they all did.

  Because of the title he bore and the power he possessed.

  Once, the idea of that had filled him with pride, but now … it was a bane. Not because he didn’t enjoy his position in life, but because the love of his life seemed to be making a target out of everyone he cared for.

  And even those he didn’t.

  It was because of her that Uilleam found himself hopping onto his jet and flying to the only place he had ever considered home when he was needed in New York. There was business to attend to, meetings to be had, but the only thing he could focus on for more than a few minutes at a time was the woman who currently eluded him.

  She might have been able to taunt him when he was in Los Angeles or Manhattan, considering their last meeting, but when he’d sat in his office, he’d remembered that as many times as he’d traveled to the castle, Karina had never ventured there. Nor had she sent any of her little servants to do her bidding.

  Here, he could finally take a much-needed breath.

  Sending the man on his way, Uilleam ventured inside the castle, bypassing the staff that resided here year-round as he traveled up the grand staircase that was still in need of repair until he reached the new master bedroom on the second level.

  He hadn’t been able to stomach taking over the former room where his parents slept, so instead, he’d gutted everything and had something new built that was uniquely his own.

  And in this room, he kept his secrets.

  If one were looking for the key to his downfall, it wouldn’t be found in a safe tucked away in an office in one of the various cities he did business, nor was it particularly well hidden.

  The only thing someone needed to bring him to his knees was resting in an old suitcase in his closet.

  It was to that hiding nook that he ventured, crouching to reach inside and find the handle before dragging the brown leather case out. Most would have mistaken it for common luggage, but it was far more important than anyone realized.

  He walked it over to the sitting area, leaving it on the floor before heading over to the wet bar and pouring himself a healthy amount of scotch.

  He’d need it for what he was about to do.

  Uilleam didn’t make it a habit to revisit the past—any wrongs he committed, and he committed many, belonged there. He approached each new day with a clean slate, but with Karina, to understand who she was now, he needed to understand who she hadn’t been then.

  Kit had told him once that it would be better for him if he got rid of any trace of Karina from his life. It had made sense at the time. Uilleam hadn�
�t been … coping well. But now he was glad that he’d hung onto as much as he had.

  If he hadn’t, he would be woefully unprepared.

  Though in many ways, he still was.

  Even as he dropped into the armchair and pulled the case closer to him, he knew that everything inside would only be a fraction of the truth—the things she had wanted him to see.

  She’d shaped their reality to fit her narrative. She’d made him believe in a fairy tale of her own making.

  Had it been anyone else, he might have applauded her skill, but it wasn’t nearly as admirable when he was the one who was duped.

  From the case, he pulled old photographs—snapshots of their life together.

  One of her in his bed during a trip to Paris. She’d been smiling at him, one arm draped across her face, even as her lips were clearly visible. Seeing her like that, remembering what he’d always thought of as fond memories brought a pang to his chest.

  What happened that caused her to look at him with such disdain?

  There were more, dozens of them, all across the world, from business trips to the cities he’d taken her just because she wanted to go. Some were of the home they’d shared in New York—one he’d watched go up in flames because he couldn’t stomach the idea of it standing when he’d seen her blood coating the floor.

  The memory played out in his mind in stark relief. He could even feel the phantom pain in his chest as he had that day, but now, questions plagued him.

  How had she gotten so much of her blood there? It wasn’t as if it had been a mere pint—there had been enough there that suggested she’d died in their living room.

  Yet she stood across from him months ago without a scratch as far as he could see.

  He needed answers.

  Uilleam was nearly to the bottom of the case when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was tempted to ignore the call, figuring it was no one of importance, but wanting the distraction, he pulled it out anyway.

  “What?”

  “You never did know how to answer the phone properly.”

  Hearing her voice was a blissful sort of agony he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to end. “What do I owe the pleasure of this phone call, Karina? Care to taunt me further, or am I getting close?”

  Now that he knew she was alive, and that she was coming after him, he’d sent his entire team after her, and until she was found, they wouldn’t be getting a break.

  There was a smile in her voice as she said, “But not close enough. How’s Wales? Of all the places you took me, you never took me to the castle.”

  Because before her, he’d hated it here and everything this place stood for.

  After her … it became the only place he felt like he could breathe.

  Uilleam blew out a breath, draining his scotch. “You hate the cold. I can’t imagine you would have been happy here.”

  “I might have,” she responded a moment later. “You would have been there, after all.”

  “Careful,” he said, closing his eyes against the emotions swelling inside him. “It almost sounds as if you care.”

  “I’ve always cared, Uilleam,” she answered, her voice lighter than usual. “Even when I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He couldn’t be sure, not until he heard her hesitate that she’d slipped and told him something she shouldn’t.

  “It doesn’t matter now. We can’t change what happened.”

  “Of course not because I don’t remember what happened. You disappeared off the face of the earth, and when I do find you, it’s not even you.”

  It had been just a pool of blood on the floor.

  “That’s your first mistake, my love. One of many, I’m afraid.”

  He rubbed his temples, staving off his temper. She spoke in riddles and half-truths nearly as badly as he did when he spoke to his mercenaries. Was that her game then?

  “Then tell me what mistake I made with you.” He needed the chance to fix it.

  Not because this dance they were doing was affecting his business, but because it was her. And he’d move mountains for her.

  “It was August,” she said, surprising him by actually answering. “I wanted to see you, but you said you were busy with a meeting. Do you remember?”

  “That’s not telling me anything.”

  “I’m telling you everything.”

  “Jesus, Karina …”

  “Think,” she said, her tone surprisingly sharp.

  After a moment, he cast his mind back, trying to recall the day she meant. As vague as she was being, it wasn’t often that he declined to see her in favor of a meeting. But no matter how hard he tried to remember that day, he drew a blank.

  “If you felt slighted that I didn’t return a phone call, I could have apologized for that.”

  It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it the moment he heard her heavy sigh.

  “No one holds you accountable. To the world, you’re the Kingmaker—the man who offers a deal or death depending on the mood you’re in. And God forbid someone crosses you; you have a team of mercenaries at your disposal, ready to do anything you ask. Worse, you don’t even hold yourself accountable for your actions.”

  “What are you on about?”

  “The end never justifies the means, my love. If no one else has taught you that, I promise you, I will.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” he said sitting up, feeling the effects of the alcohol, glad that it was starting to numb him. “The way I see it, my only crime against you was loving you.”

  “Not even remotely. But I didn’t call to venture down memory lane. I called to ask a question.”

  “Of course, you did.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I’m growing weary of this, Karina.”

  “It’s a simple question. Do you want to play the game? Yes or no?”

  No, he was in no mood to play whatever this was. He wanted it to end, but as he readied to say no, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it. She was arrogant, whether because she thought she had him over a barrel, or because she thought she was better at chess than he was. Either way, he intended to prove her wrong.

  “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

  “Great. There are a few rules.”

  “Let’s hear them.”

  “First and foremost, you are not to send your mercenaries after me. I’ll come to you when I’m ready.”

  Not bloody likely. “Agreed.”

  “There’s only one other rule, but it’s the most important one. Michael Spader cannot die.”

  Uilleam had long since stopped being surprised that she was aware of every move he made. Now, he hoped for it. Because if she was watching him, she wasn’t watching for his mercenaries.

  But now, he wondered what her interest in the man was. “Why not?”

  “Where’s the fun in revealing my secrets, Uilleam? The only thing you need to know is that he cannot die.”

  “And if I follow these rules?”

  “Then I’m yours.”

  He frowned, disbelieving it could be that easy. “Is this a joke?”

  “Not at all. If you do as I ask, you can name the location and I will be there. No Jackal. No tricks.”

  Uilleam had no doubt it wouldn’t be as easy as she proclaimed it to be, yet still he said, “I’m looking forward to our reunion.”

  “You always leap before you walk. You haven’t asked what happens if you fail.”

  “Because I won’t.”

  She ignored that. “Should you not follow my rules to the letter, then the game is over, and once it is, I will crumble your empire to dust, brick by brick.”

  A train sounded in the background, the foghorn as familiar as his own reflection. “Haven’t left New York, I see.”

  Her smile was back as she said, “I look forward to seeing you, Uilleam.”

  “Next time, I’m not letting you walk away,” he warned her, gazing down into his case, knowing the key to who she really wa
s was lost in old memories.

  “No, I think our next time will be the final time, my love. For better or for worse.”

  She hung up without waiting for a reply from him.

  He tossed the phone aside, picking up the photo of her he’d been gazing at before she called.

  For better or for worse indeed.

  Power is finite. It is something gained and lost, but love … love is more than that.

  Karina Ashworth

  Prologue

  The rain was as familiar to Synek as his own reflection.

  Every important decision he had ever made from the moment he left his childhood home in London’s East End, every path he had ever walked, had always been accompanied by heavy showers.

  He had resigned himself to it.

  Yet the sky was a clear expanse of blue today. The sun shone a little too brightly.

  Funny, only moments ago, he had signed his life away to a man he didn’t know, and instead of gray, dreary weather, it was a beautiful day.

  But as Synek sat in the back of a black panel van, running a hand through his messy blond hair—hair he planned to shave off the first chance he got—there wasn’t much fear left inside him as he rode toward the unknown.

  He had already suffered enough for three lifetimes. Seen things that gave even him nightmares. There wasn’t much else the Kingmaker could do to him that he hadn’t already suffered at someone else’s hand.

  Across from him, the mercenary who had been there the day the Kingmaker introduced himself sat with his back against the side of the van, wearing a blank expression. Now that Synek’s mind wasn’t clouded with alcohol and he could think clearly, it was as if he was seeing the man for the first time.

  The mercenary was in the same gear as before—cargo pants and a bulletproof vest with an assortment of weaponry strapped across his body—but unlike the other killers Synek knew, he didn’t look like one.

  There was no question he resembled one, though.