Den of Mercenaries: Volume One (The Mercenaries Book 1)

by London Miller

  Not sure why it mattered, Luna chose to answer anyway. “Him.”

  “And how long have you known him?”

  Did they really have to do this? “Years.”

  “I don’t recall anyone by that name associating with you until three years after you went to Zachariah.”

  Ran from him was the better way to phrase that sentence, but Luna didn’t bother to correct him. “You asked me how long have I known him, not how it compares to my relationship with you.”

  Carefully, he set his fork down, clasping his hands in front of him as he leaned towards her. “Is that how you want to play this, Luna?”

  “Ask the question you want an answer to,” she said meeting his unwavering gaze, repeating back words he had once said to her.

  “You’re my wife and you avoid me like the plague, yet you’ll come because your friend requests it. Why?”

  Luna shook her head. “I came because he needed me to.”

  “Didn’t I need you?” he asked, and almost looked wounded.

  Almost.

  Looking at him just then, she could almost fool herself into believing he meant those words. Despite herself, she could still remember the day she left him.

  He had made her a promise once that should she ever want to leave him, he wouldn’t make her stay.

  And that day, despite how loudly he demanded she remain in his home, he didn’t stop her from walking out the door. The minute she was out of the house, the doors closing at her back, she could hear the destruction he wrought as he destroyed everything within reaching distance.

  She heard his anger.

  She heard his frustration.

  But the sound of it had only made her run faster, crying all the way, if only because she would have gone back to him if she hadn’t.

  Focusing back on the present, Luna ignored his question and asked one of her own. “Will you give me the name?”

  “Are you asking as my wife or my brother’s employee?”

  The latter was at the tip of her tongue, but she held those words back, trying to figure how he would react to either answer. He had always been more empathetic towards her than others, and usually more times than not, he and Uilleam were in the middle of a disagreement.

  “Can I not be both?”

  “No,” he said with a shake of his head. “You came here for my assistance, you play by my rules. You should know them better than anyone, right, love?”

  “Kit, I don’t have time for this.” And while it only felt like a short time, she couldn’t be sure how long it had been since she was with Celt and Red.

  “Then answer the question.”

  “Your wife,” Luna said on a rush. “I’m asking as your wife. Now, please. Give me a name.”

  “A name in exchange for permission.”

  As his words penetrated, she felt a flush of desire, but it was overshadowed by her disbelief. “Don’t do that. Don’t use this against me.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  She wouldn’t accept that. “Pick something else.”

  “That’s the only payment I’ll accept. So tell me, how much are you willing to give for that friend of yours?”

  He wasn’t holding back anymore, that temper of his flashing in his eyes. She had underestimated him … again.

  “The choice is yours, Luna,” he said softly, though there was no one around to hear—but he had always treated her like she was the only person in the room. “Don’t allow your misplaced loyalty to force you into something you don’t want.”

  “And it’s not you that’s putting me there?” she asked, pushing her plate away. “It’s about your need for control over everything—even me.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “You’ve never made it a secret, Kit.” And there was a time when she had loved it—loved everything about him really—until he had turned that control into a weapon.

  “The Bronson Organization—founded about two years ago and used to move antiquities around the globe,” Kit said almost conversationally. “She’s very good at working without drawing attention to herself, but she did learn from her father, or whichever male figure she was sleeping with at the time.”

  She?

  They were looking for a woman?

  That was at least an answer to one of their problems. All this time, they had assumed it was a man.

  “Her name?”

  “Agree to my terms. It’s simple.”

  It was like playing with fire, except she knew she would get burned—the only question was how much could she take?

  “Fine. A name for permission.”

  He was on his feet in seconds, like whatever restraint was holding him back had finally lifted. One moment he was still on the other side of the table, the next she was on her feet with her back to the wall, his body pressed against hers.

  She had to remember how to breathe.

  He was so close, heat radiating from him as he pressed closer still, making sure she felt every hard ridge of his body. And the moment his fingers came into contact with the exposed skin of her throat, she felt like she was drowning all over again.

  Then he was kissing her, but not as deeply as he would have normally. This was lighter, sweeter, just a taste of what he was offering. Before she knew it, her hand was clenched in his shirt, holding him in place.

  For a moment she allowed herself to forget all the bad and relished in the memories his kiss invoked.

  But as quickly as his kiss was gentle and coaxing, the next he was taking more, dragging his mouth from hers, skimming over her jaw until his lips rested on the pulse in her neck.

  It was just the tip of his tongue at first, then the flat of it, until he was sucking on that spot, and only when she was shaking did he bite down, hard enough to tear a gasp from her throat.

  But not from pain.

  Or at least not the bad kind.

  She knew when she looked in the mirror, there would be a mark there, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care, not when she was aching for him to leave more.

  “Kit, please.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  She could feel his reaction to those words, to her begging. That had always been what got under his skin the most, when she begged for him because he knew, in that moment, he could do whatever he wanted to her as long as he eased the ache between her legs.

  “You don’t mean that,” he whispered in her ear. “Not really.”

  “But I do.”

  Kit drew back, though not very far. “I made you a promise, wee one. I don’t intend to break it.”

  That name made the blood in her veins race, but the mention of broken promises cooled her just as fast. “It wouldn’t be the first.”

  “But I don’t intend for there to be another. I won’t take you until you’re freely given.”

  Once, she had thought those words a protection, but she had learned how quickly they could become a punishment.

  Cooling rapidly, and coming back to her senses, she pushed him away, putting distance between them. “You got what you wanted, now—”

  He scoffed, the sound short and annoyed. “Not even close, Luna.”

  The conviction in his words made her swallow, more than the bulge in his trousers. “Give me a name.”

  “Elora Coillette,” Kit said immediately. “She has an office on Fifth Avenue if you need to meet with her in person.”

  “Thank you.”

  And she meant that, more than she thought she would.

  As she turned to leave, however, he called out her name. Glancing back, she waited for him to speak again.

  “What’s this I hear about you meeting with my brother?”

  “And how did you hear about that?”

  He ignored her question. “What was it about?”

  “A new assignment.”

  “The target?”

  “Carmen.”

  She didn’t have to say the woman’s full name for him to know who she re
ferred to. Just the first would have been enough.

  His temper flared again, but she knew this time, it wasn’t aimed at her. “That isn’t smart.”

  “Why? Because I can’t handle it, or because she’s your client?”

  And the reason why she could never forgive him for what he did. His betrayal had broken her in a way she hadn’t been able to recover from.

  “Luna—”

  “I don’t know what his plan is,” she said, and she was glad she didn’t know in that moment because she may have told him if he asked her to. “But I suggest you find a new client.”

  With that, she turned her back on him and walked away, refusing to look back to see if he was watching her go, but as she was pulling out her phone, ready to dial Celt and give him the name he’d been searching for, she had to wonder about her new assignment.

  Was the job about bringing down Carmen, or was The Kingmaker trying to hurt his own brother?

  Chapter 17

  “Elora Coillette,” Calavera had said in his ear, her voice crackling over the phone. “That’s your buyer. I’ll send you an address for where to find her.”

  Better words had never been spoken.

  Once he had the name, it had been easy enough finding the woman that was behind Monte’s death.

  A black widow, she was.

  But Kyrnon didn’t worry about this, not after reading about her business practices over the last couple of years. Whereas she enjoyed humiliating men at every opportunity, she cared more for money and how to acquire more. A fickle creature who cared for nothing more than monetary goods—it would be easy enough making a transaction.

  He just had to offer what he did best.

  It had taken no time at all for him to get a meeting with her, simply because of who he was. While his name might not have always been familiar, the jobs he pulled off were infamous.

  As Kyrnon stepped off the elevator to a business office on Fifth Avenue, designed in shades of gray and white, he came to a stop as two burly men that looked rather trigger happy, put hands up, refusing to allow him in any further.

  With a roll of his eyes, he stretched his arms out, giving them the opportunity to search his person for any weapon he might be carrying.

  Besides his vest, he hadn’t brought anything along with him … except for a pencil.

  Once, during a stretch in Germany, he had found himself in a pub on the outskirts of the little town he was in, and just happened to find his target inside. He hadn’t had anything on him, at least not in the traditional sense, but when an opportunity arose, he used what he had on hand … a pencil.

  Anything could be a weapon in the right hands.

  “State your purpose,” one said, narrowing his eyes on him.

  “That’s a bit above your pay grade, eh? You’re not the man I should be talking to.”

  “Then I suppose you mean to speak with me,” a feminine voice called from the glass doors.

  She was as Kyrnon had expected. Dark hair, luminescent skin, and a body that oozed lust while smiling as though ready to kill anyone if the mood struck her. Attractive, but treacherous.

  Her stance as the one in charge of this building came loud and clear as the men parted to let her by.

  Once they finished searching him, they stepped back.

  “Who are you?”

  “Celt.”

  “Irish,” she said almost wistfully, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “I’ve always had a thing for Irishmen.”

  He didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

  “My mystery caller, I presume. I feel like I know so much about you already, yet I never had a name. Curious.” Her heels clicked on the ornate floor as she circled him. “I once had a friend that contracted a Celt. Interesting name, I think. How about we finish this conversation in my office?”

  She waved for him to follow behind her like he was one of her well-trained dogs, and while it rankled, Kyrnon did as he was bid.

  “I have to admit, I’m quite a fan of your work,” she said once she was behind her desk and seated. “You’re one of The Kingmaker’s … how do I say … pets, right?”

  Women like her liked to challenge men, just to see what all they could get away with before one snapped and they had an excuse to kill them.

  It was a game for her.

  But Kyrnon had once played someone else’s game, and that had taught him better than to have a go at chance.

  Though he didn’t like the way she worded it, he still said, “I am, but that’s not why I’m here. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest as amusement danced in her eyes. “I’m sorry? You called me, if you recall. What on earth would make you think I needed something from you?”

  “L’amant Flétrie. You bought the fake.”

  Very soon, anger was replacing that amusement. “And how would you know of this?”

  “Because I took the original.”

  Surprise flickered over her features at his daring. “Do you think I won’t kill you simply because you answer to The Kingmaker? I’d mail him your head if I was in the mood to get bloodstains on my floor.”

  No. She wouldn’t.

  He could hear the false promise behind her words, but because she thought he didn’t understand the score, she meant to intimidate him.

  She wouldn’t be the first to try it, and she wouldn’t be the last.

  “And how do you think he would respond should you do that?” They both knew the answer to that. “If you were going to kill me,” Kyrnon said easily, “I’d already be dead. Yet, we’re here having this conversation.”

  “You’re mistaken,” she said as she came around her desk, leaning over him, wanting to remind him that she was the one in charge. “You’re breathing only because I would rather have you do something for me than to watch Donovan chop you into pieces. This is why you came to me, yes? So I will spare your life in exchange for something I might want more?”

  “Aye. I’ll grant you a boon if you back off the painting.”

  Her head tilted to the side as she considered his words. “Then I wager this isn’t just about you, is it? The artist, whoever it was that painted the forgery, you know who they are.”

  “I know of everyone involved,” Kyrnon said, not giving anything else away.

  “Interesting.”

  There was an inviting note to her voice, meant to make him ask what she meant, and for the sake of time, he did. “Interesting?”

  “If you truly were the one to steal my painting, that would mean you were at the auction—Gabriel was kind enough to clue me in as to when the original went missing,” she clarified when Kyrnon just stared at her. “You would have known about the fake, and only the artist would have been able to tell the difference between the two without having them examined.”

  Now that she thought she was back in control, her smile reappeared. “And here you are, offering your services with all the conviction of a man putting his life on the line for the person he loves. I presume it’s a woman? Men. Such predictable, stupid men.”

  “I care,” Kyrnon spoke up before she could go off on a tangent, “about my bottom line. If you continue to kill off my people, that means bad business for me. So, either you want me for a job, or you don’t, but either way, I’m walking out in thirty seconds.”

  He didn’t bother counting, merely took a breath before he started backing toward the door.

  “Very well.” Elora stood up a little straighter, eyeing him carefully. “Last year, Amanda Washington bought a mansion at auction in the California hills for well over sixteen point five million. No one thought anything of it until an underground safe of valuables was found. During the few days I spent with her husband, I asked that he give me the necklace he found inside it—he didn’t. Sadly, I had to make his wife into a widow because of that, but that’s not important now. I spent some time in Europe and forgot all about it, but who better to bring it all to me now than someone with yo
ur skill set? Inside the safe, you’ll find Snowflakes on the Wind. If you deliver it to me within thirty-six hours, I’ll call my men off.”

  Kyrnon didn’t react to the name. While he didn’t know what Elora was asking for off the top of his head, he did remember hearing something about a wealthy heiress having bought something for that amount, whose husband had been found poisoned. The police had suspected the wife of it, but with no evidence, no charges were brought.

  She had gone out of the spotlight then, living in seclusion in the Hills.

  Easy enough target.

  And if he called in a few favors from his team, they could get this done in no time.

  “I’ll see it done.”

  Elora smiled brightly, extending her hand. “Then we have a deal.”

  Taking her hand, he did his best not to crush the delicate bones there when he squeezed, only releasing when she gave a wince of pain.

  “Oh, and, Celt?”

  He had his back to her, heading for the elevators when she called out to him. Pausing, he glanced back.

  “I do hope you get back in time before I find out where you’re hiding Amber, our mystery forger. You know what I’ll do to men, just imagine what I’ll do to her.”

  “Is Kyrnon okay?” Amber asked when she got to his place and was greeted by Niklaus.

  Unlike his twin brother’s tousled hair, Niklaus kept his tamer, though strands in the front were a little more manageable. When Kyrnon had left her phone with her, promising to call the first chance he got, she had accepted his word and believed that he would, but as the hours ticked by, she grew more nervous.

  “Don’t worry for him, he can take care of himself.”

  She didn’t doubt that, but she worried regardless. “Then why are you here?”

  “Kyrnon,” he said this with a sardonic smile, as though he found the name amusing, “wanted me to babysit until he got here. He won’t be long.”

  That had also been something Niklaus mentioned on the phone when he told her she would be coming here. While Kyrnon hadn’t minded her staying in the penthouse with Lauren and Mishca, he had preferred having her stay at his place since his was further off grid than theirs was.

  “He was the one who trained me,” he said when she still didn’t look convinced. “Taught me everything I needed to know. Wouldn’t be here without him. Don’t tell him that though.”