As he was shoved into another room, this one full of light and at least had a chair, Synek’s clarity came rushing back, and while he didn’t feel entirely guilty for what he had done to whoever had fallen into his path, the other side of him knew he’d fucked up.
The mercenary who had pulled him off left the room without a backward glance, but before long, Synek heard voices out in the hallway a moment before the door opened again and a familiar face stared back at him.
Grimm hardly blinked at the rough state of him. Instead, he asked, “They must have really fucked you up.”
They?
He didn’t know the half of it.
If he thought Synek’s problems began and ended with the Wraiths, he didn’t realize just how mentally fucked up he was.
“Don’t lock me in a fucking windowless box,” he returned, his tone just as flat.
He wouldn’t apologize for who he was, not when they knew what they were getting when they asked him to sign on.
Grimm’s expression shifted. Not in a way that suggested he was pissed with Synek, but rather like he understood his pain. “You’re gonna have to get over that shit if you want to survive in this place. No one gives a fuck about your issues. Trust me,” he said with a shrug, “we all got problems.”
Synek came awake with a start, the final dredges of the dream slipping away as awareness crept in. The ceiling fan spun lazily, momentarily distracting him—grounding him, rather—until he was able to take a breath with relative ease.
Iris was still asleep, her back to him, her hair fanning out over the pillows. He was glad his restless sleep hadn’t woken her.
He could still hear Grimm’s voice in his head as though the man was currently in the room with him. He could even recall the perpetual frown on the man’s face whenever he was called for something he deemed unimportant.
Those were the good days—the easy ones. Back when Synek was still training, Winter was in school in Arizona, and he hadn’t been juggling the kind of responsibility weighing on him now.
Killing was easy; it was what he was good at. But trying to navigate shit without using knives and weapons was hard. The hardest thing he’d ever had to face.
And it still wasn’t over just yet.
Synek thought of waking Iris as he slipped out of the bed, but one glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it would be better if he didn’t. She wouldn’t complain about the hour, he knew, but it was early as fuck—too early even for him—and if somebody was going to be awake to head in, it would have to be him.
It was what he signed up for, after all.
He walked into the bathroom, foregoing the light switch entirely to go for the shower, the moonlight bleeding in through the window enough to take the edge off. The cold water was enough to further wake him up, and by the time he was back out again and fully dressed, nearly half an hour had passed.
Iris was still asleep when he came around to her side of the bed, and for a moment, he watched her. Her eyes closed, her face soft. At least, when she dreamed, the ex-governor couldn’t touch her there.
Synek pressed his lips to her forehead before leaving as quietly as he could.
The sun hadn’t risen yet as he made his way to the Kingmaker’s prison, rolling the windows down to feel the cold air on his skin as he breathed the night in. While he wasn’t sure what his handler had on the agenda for the day, he only needed to concern himself with one thing, and that was the ex-governor.
It was important, he thought, to keep a level head because the last thing he needed was someone else to take his place. No one else would give a shit about the ex-governor or Iris or anything he had planned.
And he was wearing his favorite shirt. He didn’t want to get blood on it.
Once he arrived at the facility, he reached over and opened the glove compartment, finding the pack of smokes he’d left inside and flipping them open to pluck one out.
He gripped it with two fingers, letting the slight weight comfort him before he tucked it behind his ear.
It would be a long day.
The war room was empty save for Red. Tucked in the corner, he held his phone to his ear, wearing a pensive expression on his face. When Synek entered, he jerked his chin up in greeting, ending the call.
“You seen Celt?”
“I thought it was your job to keep up with the Irishman,” Synek said absently, walking over to the monitors. He knew fuck all about computers and the complicated system Winter had set up, but he was able to at least get the feeds going.
One for Belladonna and one for the ex-governor.
“Probably still apologizing,” Synek said as a joke, but while it eased some of Red’s worry, there was still dark contemplation in his gaze. “The sooner we get this job done, the sooner we can all get back to our lives, yeah?”
Red seemed to think over his words a moment before he nodded. “What’s happening now?”
“Now, I go in and pay the ex-governor a little visit. Are you coming?”
Red grimaced. “You’re on your own. You get a little too happy with a knife in your hands.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
Chapter 14
Red
Niklaus Volkov wasn’t used to quiet nights.
Even before he had ever ventured into the Den, back when he was just a teenager living in Florida trying to make it, something was always going on outside his bedroom window. He hadn’t lived in the best neighborhood, and if it wasn’t the sound of bottles breaking in the alleyway, it was screaming neighbors or yowling cats.
The past seven years had consisted of nothing but endless days and constant jobs, one after the other, not giving him nearly enough time to sleep, let alone try to sleep when it was peaceful. He slept when he was too exhausted to do anything more, and for a while, that had been enough. He’d grown to love keeping his thoughts occupied on something other than the pain he was living with every day.
But that was before Reagan. Before he had learned what it meant to breathe again. And now, he didn’t just have a wife. He also had two beautiful children.
He had a family.
Something he had long taken for granted until the moment it was ripped away from him.
Niklaus didn’t know, which was why no matter what happened or where he was, he made it a point to come home every night. He didn’t accept as many jobs as he once had. He didn’t want to risk not making it back in one piece or for something to happen to one of them.
He wouldn’t survive it.
Which was why he needed to get out.
It went beyond his dislike of the Kingmaker. It wasn’t personal, his feelings against the man, but he didn’t like the idea of someone who could pull his strings whenever he wanted. That fucking contract was the bane of his existence.
It had almost been three years ago now when he told the Kingmaker he wanted out. He wanted to step away from the Den. His contract was almost at its end anyway, and with his new relationship with his twin brother, he didn’t mind the idea of joining the family business so much.
But the contract stipulated that he work for no one else until its conclusion. And even after it was over and done, he would be free to leave.
In the three years since he’d made the request, however, he had still been called in on jobs that, if he didn’t have access to private jets and planes, he would not have accepted because there was no chance of him getting home in time.
He didn’t mind so much, considering most of the requests weren’t for the Kingmaker himself, but rather his team and the people they loved. Niklaus understood all too well the sacrifices a person was willing to make for love, and it hadn’t been that long ago that this very same team of mercenaries had been there when he needed them most.
He couldn’t turn his back on that.
But things were different now.
The job—Belladonna—was something else.
Something he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of.
Niklaus had
no doubt they were good at what they did, would even wager that they might be the best, but that didn’t mean Belladonna wouldn’t have her own team somewhere watching and waiting.
You didn’t go up against a man with an army unless you had a trump card.
And while the Jackal was a fucking ace card to have, him taking them all at once was unlikely.
That thought was enough to keep him up at all hours of the night, wondering what Belladonna had up her sleeve. She might be contained at the moment, but he doubted she would remain that way with the building tension in his handler.
The Kingmaker looked as if he was moments from blowing his top at all hours of the day.
Which was why Celt suddenly not showing up had him fucking nervous.
For the fifth time in as many hours, Niklaus pulled out his phone and called the Irishman, waiting for the other man to pick up, yet feeling disappointment once more when he didn’t answer. As the voicemail began to play, he hung up and tried Amber.
He hadn’t panicked too much in the beginning because if Celt hadn’t gone home, he was sure he would have heard from Amber at some point the night before. But now ... he was starting to wonder if he was wrong.
Dragging a hand through his messy, too long hair, Niklaus climbed out of his ’67 Chevy and walked up the stairs to the front door of his brownstone. He might have grown up in a rough neighborhood and frequented shitty motels for years after that, but he had wanted something different for his wife and their children.
A place they could actually call home.
As he let himself inside the front door, Niklaus blew out a breath, letting the stresses of the day slide off him. It was important not to bring his work home with him, so he left it somewhere in the entryway before he stepped foot inside the foyer.
Almost over, he reminded himself as he started up the stairs, careful to keep his steps light.
One thing he was looking forward to was the downtime, when it would just be them and the twins, spending some much-needed quality time together after his lengthy absence.
It was long overdue.
Niklaus locked his gear and weapons away in the trunk he kept in the spare room, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
Tomorrow, he thought as he climbed the stairs, he’d deal with everything he’d put off.
On his way to the bedroom, he stopped at the nursery, slipping inside without making a noise.
Both Ilya and Keira were asleep, their beds side by side because they’d scream bloody murder if they weren’t close to each other.
For two-year-olds, they were extremely close—closer than he had ever been with his own twin. But things had been different over thirty years ago. Hell, he and the Russian hadn’t known the other existed until they were twenty-one. They never had the chance to be close.
Niklaus smoothed his hand over Ilya’s head, and the curly wisps of hair that didn’t seem to know if they wanted to take after his mother or his own hair. He clutched a Captain America blanket in his tiny fist.
Unlike her brother, Keira laid on her side, both of her tiny hands tucked beneath her head and her lips slightly parted as she breathed slow, even breaths. She was the spitting image of her mother, though she had his eyes. And he knew if he dared to wake her, she would smile up at him with the sweetest of grins, and he’d be right back under her spell.
He lived for those moments, and the quiet ones like this, when he could take a moment and unwind—remember that his days weren’t just bloodshed and schemes.
He wasn’t at all who he used to be.
Bending over to press a quick kiss to Ilya’s head, he did the same to Keira before slipping back out of the room and walking down the hallway to his bedroom. Before he even cleared the doorway, he unlaced his boots and toed them off, leaving them in the corner before he stripped out of his shirt.
By the time he was at the foot of his bed, he was in nothing more than a pair of dark boxer briefs.
Reagan was already asleep, her red hair vibrant even in the darkness of the room. She faced his side of the bed, her hand resting on his pillow.
The sight of her like that brought a pang to his chest, reminding him that it was time, beyond time, for him to finally hang it up and officially retire. For a while, he had blamed the contract, believing that if he did not honor it, the Kingmaker would make his life a living hell, but with time, he knew that it wasn’t just because of that.
This was all he knew—it was what he was good at. And a part of him couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he didn’t have this to look forward to.
Reagan was warm, her body soft and familiar as she settled into his side. This ... this was what he looked forward to most after the job was done. When he left the Den to come here.
Right here, with her settled against him, her dainty hand clasped in his, this was home for him.
His peace.
“Keira missed you today,” she whispered sleepily, her eyes still closed, though she now wore a ghost of a smile on her face.
Niklaus couldn’t have fought his smile even if he tried. While Ilya dutifully toddled behind his mother or his uncle Jimmy when he came around, Keira was a daddy’s girl. From the moment she had opened her eyes in that hospital room, dazed and confused, she had wanted to be up under him ever since.
“We’ll take them somewhere this weekend,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along her side in slow strokes.
Days from now, this latest job with the Den would be over, and he would get back to being around more often when they needed him.
It was something to look forward to.
As Reagan’s breathing slowed, Niklaus closed his eyes, counting backward to calm himself enough so he could get some sleep.
His eyes hadn’t been closed long, a handful of minutes at most, when he heard it. Faint, but there.
The creak of wood.
Footsteps that realized too late they had been heard.
The way he stiffened made Reagan stir, but she didn’t speak as she blinked her eyes open, looking at him. He had never thought someone would be stupid enough to try to get to him in his home, but he had been prepared regardless.
She was scared—he could see it reflected back at him—but she was careful, very fucking careful, not to make a sound.
Niklaus should have been calm—his heart shouldn’t have been beating a tireless cadence in his chest. He shouldn’t have been nervous.
That wasn’t who he was anymore. He didn’t get afraid. He didn’t get nervous because he had trained for this until nothing but calculations and prime precision existed in his head.
But it all went out the window when he had more than just himself to consider. When his family needed him to protect them. Because even as they might be aiming for him, there was a chance they could miss. And if they missed ...
Niklaus shook his head, banishing the thought.
It wouldn’t come to that.
He’d make sure of it.
“On me,” he whispered in Reagan’s ear before pulling back to meet her gaze.
Making sure she understood the next few seconds were crucial.
Hoping she saw that he would do every fucking thing he could to protect them.
She nodded.
Niklaus eased off the bed one limb at a time before Reagan did the same, but while he moved over to the door of their bedroom, she slipped into the bathroom where another door to the twins’ room was.
The twins had spent the first year of their life in their room until Reagan had finally given in and used the nursery he’d painted and put together, but that hadn’t stopped him from adding a new door to the bathroom so they could easily go in and out of the room.
Precaution, he’d told himself then and was now more than glad he had.
Niklaus pressed himself against the wall, waiting and listening until he heard the telltale sign of someone walking outside his bedroom wall. That was the thing about these old floors. Unless you knew exactly where to st
ep, your footsteps would always be heard.
Stepping back, he didn’t think before he aimed at the wall and pulled the trigger just as the door to his bedroom splintered open.
Distantly, he could hear Reagan’s shout of alarm. The twins’ distress.
That only made his rage worse.
Fear made his rage worse.
It turned him into a savage of a man.
The only thing he saw was the shape of a man in black to know who was standing across from him. Already Niklaus’s mind had turned from the man he’d shot through the wall to focus on the one standing across from him. While they had never met in person before this moment, Niklaus felt as if he knew him.
Here was the man he had been told to fear.
The Jackal.
And as dead as the man’s eyes were, Niklaus wasn’t sure if it was a mask or muzzle that covered the lower half of his face.
“Vino cu mine.” Come with me.
His brain translated the words before the rest of him caught up to the fact that he was speaking Romanian.
“You picked the wrong house.”
Niklaus didn’t care that the official order for the Jackal was to bring him in alive—his family was on the line.
As he aimed, the Jackal struck without warning, knocking his arm wide before he could fire off a round. Then before he could even think to turn, the man landed a well-placed punched to his chest that had him stumbling back and choking on air.
It felt like taking a cinder block to the chest.
Niklaus didn’t recover quick enough to dodge the Jackal as he came toward him faster than any man should be able to, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight.
Yet even as he fought back, he realized something very quickly.
Despite throwing his aim off and that first punch to the chest, the Jackal wasn’t trying to fight him. Not really. But when there was a shot available to take, he didn’t.
For whatever reason, the Jackal wasn’t trying to hurt him.
What the fuck was going on?
Niklaus had no intention of finding out what before he struck, putting as much power behind the hit as he possibly could. He felt the hard metal of the man’s mask, and even the flickering awareness of flesh covered bone, but before he could take satisfaction in the hit, Keira’s piercing cry made him freeze.
Iris. (Den of Mercenaries Book 7) Page 16
