Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)

by London Miller

Kit made her feel alive.

  It took effort keeping the smile off her face now, and that was mild compared to how she felt when he was with her. His moves were always deliberate. It took weeks of careful studying to notice that he didn’t fidget.

  At all.

  Fang had a habit of drumming his fingers on any nearby surface, Aidra tapped the back of her tablet, and Invictus had a habit of turning a silver coin over between his fingers.

  But Kit … he was always so still, so when he did move, she noticed.

  It felt intoxicating being in his presence, as though he had found a way to infect her thoughts and feelings and her very being. He was a comfort without even trying.

  Despite his warning about being late—though he hadn’t cared about that considering he had taken his sweet time—they made it to the private airfield before takeoff—the same field she was sure she had landed in when Uilleam had brought her to him.

  This time, once she was in the air and the seatbelt light flicked off, she didn’t remain in her seat, but rather went to have a proper look around.

  This was her first time, voluntarily, on a plane—especially one that looked like this. Like Uilleam’s, there was a private bedroom, and this one felt far more intimate with dim lights lit up beneath the frame of the bed.

  Luna could almost imagine Kit inviting her back here with that smile of his, tempting her with promises she knew he could keep.

  Deciding it was best to close the door back and head to the front before her thoughts could take her away, she found Kit as he were, studying the file on his iPad. With his gaze firmly fixed on the screen, she hadn’t thought he noticed her until she was about to walk back to her seat before he spoke.

  “Please. Sit with me.”

  Taking the one next to him, she peeked over at his screen to see what he was reading. “Is that the file?”

  Once she was officially a part of the Den and given an assignment, Kit had explained, a file would be sent along—one that was complete with everything she could have possibly needed to know about the person she was sent after. Names of close contacts, dates, travel itineraries, and information on any properties they may have owned—not to mention everything that was public, and private, about their business.

  “Always find your own information,” Kit had told her during one of their earlier training sessions, “clients often hide vital details that could mean the difference between completing a mission and fucking it up.”

  She had often wondered what his file would look like should he ever become a job of someone’s. Sometimes, the information could span back decades. The thought of that reminded her that despite them being intimate, she actually knew very little about him.

  “How long have you done this?”

  Kit’s gaze flickered from the screen to her. “What, exactly?”

  She thought of saying kill people, but that felt too elementary compared to who he seemed to be. Sure, that was the extent of what she had seen him do, but she could tell there was far more to him than that.

  “You said you were an assassin, right?”

  “Former. And if you’re asking how long I did that, it was for little more than a decade.”

  Even as that wowed her, she wasn’t very surprised. He had a skill with weapons that was still baffling to behold.

  After she had gotten the hang of knives with Tăcut, she had thought to show him how much she had improved—at the time, she hadn’t wanted to think that she was trying to impress him.

  But what she had done was nothing compared to what he could do. He’d asked if she trusted him—she said yes—then asked her to stand against the wall where the target was.

  It didn’t take her long to realize what he wanted, not when he picked up one of the blades, her gasp making him smile as he touched the sharpened metal to his forehead, an indicator for where she was meant to look.

  In rapid succession, he launched three of them across the room, and she was too frozen in fear to move even a millimeter as they sunk into the paper around her—very close, but not a single one hitting her.

  Yeah, Kit was very good.

  “Since you were a teenager?” Luna asked.

  His frown, that turned down the corners of his lips and drew his brows together, made an appearance as he regarded her. “Yes. A bit younger than you in fact.”

  She tried to do some quick math in her head. “So that would make you twenty-seven?”

  He nodded. “A year older in April.”

  So he had just celebrated a birthday, though he hadn’t mentioned a word about it. Come to think of it, he had been gone most of that month—was it because he didn’t want to celebrate?

  “You’re younger than I thought,” Luna muttered, realizing belatedly that she had voiced that thought aloud.

  His deep chuckle made her blush. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “It was meant as one,” she whispered with a slight shake of her head.

  “When is yours?”

  It only dawned on her then just how close her birthday was.

  June 1st.

  Tomorrow.

  There hadn’t been many reasons to celebrate her life over the last three years, but now … now she was looking forward to it a little. It wouldn’t be a full year since she was free of Lawrence, but it was close enough.

  And that was reason enough to celebrate.

  “How close is it?”

  “Well … tomorrow, actually.”

  One dark brow shot up. “Were you going to tell me? Birthdays are important.”

  “Not really—it’s just another day. Besides, there’s nothing I want more than what you’ve already given me.”

  She didn’t have to explain what she meant—he knew.

  Seeming at a loss for words, Kit cleared his throat. “You said you thought I was younger than I am? What else have you thought of me?”

  His head was canted to the side, as though whatever answer she gave him would be fascinating—she was glad for the distraction. “I’d only be assuming …”

  “Then tell me of your assumptions.”

  Shifting in her seat, crossing one leg beneath her, she said, “Well you’re smart, obviously.”

  “Not an assumption—I’ve told you of my schooling.”

  That was true enough. “You speak at least five languages.”

  “Why five?”

  “Well …” Luna thought on how best to answer that. “English, for one.”

  “Does that really count?”

  “It should,” Luna said with a laugh, remembering how hard she had found it to learn the language. “Welsh, obviously. There was that man that came to see you a couple of weeks ago—I think he was Italian? Spanish, for another, and French.”

  His smile said he was impressed. “Your observation skills are serving you well. All true, but I also speak Swedish, Russian, and Gaelic, though only when I’m in the mood.”

  “How did you learn all of them?” she asked.

  He regaled her with stories, one where he spent weeks in a Mexican jungle, hunting down an arms dealer that had thought to escape into the forest—it hadn’t ended well for the dealer. Another where he was in Spain setting up contracts with people known only as The Family.

  She didn’t think she could ever get tired of hearing him speak, the smooth, lulling cadence, or the way the tales were embellished with details that she hadn’t asked for, but liked to hear all the same.

  She liked him.

  “Pyotr was one of my first assignments in the Lotus Society, and despite finishing the job mostly unscathed, I still had to remain in the country for another two months before I could be extracted. A local man had been all too willing to teach me the language should I pay him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “How many did you do before you retired? Assignments, I mean.”

  “One-hundred and thirty-six.”

  Luna blinked. “That’s … wow.”

  He shrugged. “It’s merely a number. Others have don
e far more.”

  “Was it hard in the beginning?”

  “No,” he said without hesitation. “Does that surprise you?”

  “A little.”

  Kit seemed genuinely curious now. “Why?”

  “You’re taking someone’s life. I can’t imagine that was easy for someone as young as you were.”

  “When you’ve already experienced trauma, it no longer matters. Many often find freedom in vindication. This is not me saying that it’s easy, or that everything will be the same once you take a life, but the payoff was worth it—at least to me. It was like being reborn.”

  She thought of the wings on his back. “Did you choose your name, or was it given to you?”

  “It was given.”

  “Fang and the Wild Bunch too?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the Kingmaker?”

  Kit lost his smile. “Believe me, no one would call him that if they had a choice—his was self-appointed.”

  “Will I get a name?”

  “In due time.”

  “How does that work exactly?”

  “That’s a question you’ll need to ask one of the Den, I’m afraid. I don’t know how their process works.”

  Luna kind of hoped it would be something memorable—something that stuck out amongst the sea of others there were.

  “But enough of that,” Kit said as he passed her the iPad. “You have work to do.”

  Accepting it from him, she settled in to read all about Kit’s target for the night.

  By the time they were landing, Luna was sure that she could recite back every detail of that file if Kit were to ask.

  She had grown rather used to the black SUVs that were always parked near the château, but as she stepped off the plane, shielding her eyes with her hand, there was another car just off in the distance—one that had her staring in open admiration.

  It sat close to the ground, and looked as if it were better suited for a race track than at a hangar. Painted a light shade of cream, the car was pristine, with darkened windows that prevented anyone from seeing inside.

  Luna might not have known what kind of car it was exactly, but she could guess it was very expensive—but seeing Kit’s château, she wasn’t surprised.

  Kit handled their bags before walking her over to the car and opened the passenger door for her.

  The leather was the same shade of cream as the exterior, and Luna was almost afraid to touch anything with how pristine everything looked—as though the car had been made and delivered minutes before they landed.

  Glancing over at the steering wheel, she tried to make sense of the logo—what looked like a backward E and a B—but it was unfamiliar.

  Once Kit was next to her, dawning a pair of opaque sunglasses, she asked, “What kind of car is this?”

  He smiled at her as he started the car up, the low purr of the engine sounding. “Bugatti Veyron. Do you like it?”

  Like was a bit of an understatement. “It’s a surprise, I guess.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought you would drive something more … I don’t know, classic?”

  “And what does classic mean to you, Luna?” There was a slight smile on his lips as he looked back to the road, his hand wrapping around the gear shift.

  “Something a bit less …” she grappled for the right word. “Ostentatious.”

  He shrugged. “But most don’t go from zero to sixty in two-point-four seconds.”

  “Wow. Does it really?”

  He didn’t answer her question, merely showed her. One minute they were shifting lanes, the next she was jolted back against her seat as his foot pressed harder against the gas.

  With the windows down, her hair whipped around her face, making her laugh as she shoved the strands out of her eyes, wanting to make sure she saw everything.

  Like with most things, Kit seemed to handle the car like he was born to do it, expertly navigating them through traffic at a ridiculous speed.

  Her heart in her throat, Luna had never felt more alive.

  Though he had been able to gun it through the streets of whatever barren place they had flown into, he eventually slowed when they got to the city proper.

  Luna didn’t think she had ever seen so much traffic.

  She tried to contain her wonder as she looked out the passenger window as they slowly passed buildings and parks alike. The city felt narrow, like everything was on top of each other—and even with all the cars honking and edging forward, there were just as many people walking on sidewalks, hurrying to their destinations.

  Some slowed, doing double-takes as they passed, others more bold, taking out their phones to snap pictures.

  It really was a nice car.

  Another forty-five minutes passed before Kit pulled over in front of a building made of mirrored glass and steel. He had barely put the car in park before two men came forward, one opening the door for each of them.

  “Mr. Runehart,” the one with hazel eyes and a sharp smile greeted respectfully.

  How often did he come here?

  Kit passed him the key, coming around the front to join Luna on the sidewalk. After passing the keys to one of them with a rather telling stare, he led the way inside and through the brightly lit lobby until they were at a bank of elevators.

  Twenty-seven floors later, the doors were opening once more and she had to contain the awe she felt as she took her first step into the penthouse suite. Directly ahead of her was a wall of windows, allowing an unobstructed view of the city below. She could see the tops of trees, birds flying overhead, and a bridge in the distance.

  Just outside, there was a wrap-around balcony, one that housed a rather large seating area and a swimming pool that appeared to be made of glass.

  Unlike Kit’s château, this place was far more modern, with all the luxury fixtures one might expect.

  “Our room is through there,” Kit said pointing, distracted by the phone call he’d received on their way up.

  Our, he said.

  Why did that thrill her so much?

  Unlike his room back at the château, this one was more neutral with shades of cream and white. There was even a balcony that overlooked the city below, the sheer expanse of it breathtaking from this far up.

  She wondered if it would always be like this. The jets, mansions, and penthouses that seemed almost unreal.

  She wondered if she would always have Kit.

  Robert Morrison was a man that loved fast cars, quick money, and women that were willing to give him the time of day—and sometimes those that wouldn’t. For the past seven years, he worked for the Adeline Construction Company in west Philadelphia as the lead accountant.

  It was a family owned business, one that had been around for more than three generations. The CEO, a man whose name Luna didn’t know—it wasn’t in the file—had only hired him after his daughter fell in love and agreed to marry him. After a slew of affairs, one with her former best friend, she had quickly regretted her choice in a husband.

  “What’s the job, exactly?” Luna asked as she tugged the hem of her dress down a bit more, an action she was sure she would be doing all night—the thing refused to stay in place.

  Besides several documents filled with information about the man, his business, and his finances, she hadn’t seen anything that told her what they were supposed to be doing at the casino.

  “D’you want me to tell you, or would you rather I show you?” Kit asked as he kept a hand at the small of her back, leading her down into the private rooms that were off limits to everyone except those that had the password.

  A part of her wanted to know now, so she could be prepared for whatever was to come. The dress she wore was entirely too tight to hide a gun, but carefully concealed in the messy bun she wore were two pins that were sharp as razors.

  Security waited for them at the bottom of the staircase, a wire wound around his ear. He touched a finger to it, his eyes darting as he listened, before he allowed them by
.

  “You’ll do fine,” he murmured before they walked into the room.

  Yeah, she hoped so.

  A table was set up in the center of the room, a bar against one wall, the bartender standing behind it carefully wiping down the polished wood.

  Men in tailored suits were sitting around the table, drinks within reach as they all talked amicably until Kit and she walked into the room.

  Now they were looking at them, and Luna understood all too clearly what her role was to be this night.

  Eye candy.

  Sure, the men spoke to them both, but their eyes lingered on her, never going any higher than the low cut neckline of her dress that did wonders for her cleavage.

  Some weren’t ashamed at all by their staring, even with dates at their sides.

  “Leave it to Nix to bring the most beautiful woman in the room,” a man said with a chuckle, and as her gaze shifted in his direction, she saw that it was Robert—Kit’s target.

  It didn’t seem to matter that the woman sitting in his lap frowned, glaring at him, though Luna didn’t feel much sympathy for her since she was pretty sure that wasn’t his wife.

  Robert Morrison was much shorter in person that she was expecting, five-five, if an inch. He wore wire-framed glasses that were propped at the end of his nose. And despite the way he wore his hair, she could still see the bald spot he was trying to conceal.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, Dick,” Kit lied smoothly as he pulled out a chair for Luna to sit in before claiming his seat at the table.

  It was clear that Robert didn’t like that name, but he was smart enough to not call Kit on it. Then again, he seemed too interested in looking Luna over to say much of anything.

  “We landed a new contract at the firm,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder and a squeeze of the woman’s ass sitting in his lap. “I thought I’d celebrate.”

  “By losing all your money?” Kit asked with a quirk of his lips, “Doesn’t seem very much like a celebration.”

  Robert laughed boisterously. “Am I losing to you? Don’t forget Nix, you may have a mind for business, but your poker face is shit.”

  Luna’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly she was wondering if they were talking about the same man.

  Kit’s poker face was better than anyone she knew.