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

by London Miller

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Uilleam said, “I saw the body.”

  Kit looked amused. “Then you’re not the only one playing a game, brother.”

  No, it seemed he wasn’t.

  Calavera.

  “We all make our own choices, but our choices have consequences.”

  Luna ‘Calavera’ Santiago

  Preface

  Despite all the art in the room, which included an assortment of inkblots hung in identical frames above a mantel on the other side of the dimly lit room and a number of Soviet-era statues rested on bookshelves, Luna Runehart’s gaze never strayed from the man seated next to her.

  Something was particularly enthralling about the way he drank his tea.

  Maybe it was the way his strong hands handled delicate china, or how he wrapped lips that she loved around the rim of his cup and drank, that had her undivided attention.

  But whatever the reason, she looked at him as if it was the first time all over again. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been watching him eat and drink for the last eight years or so—it wasn’t as though she didn’t know all the little nuances that made him him.

  Luna knew Kit like the back of her own hand—from the way his eyes narrowed when he was close to losing his temper to the slight change in the way his hand wrapped tight around her throat that told her whether he was going to be gentle with her or whether he needed to fuck her harder.

  She knew him that well.

  But despite this, she couldn’t help watching him as he brought the cup to his lips again, blew across the top, and then took a sip, his face screwing up before he smoothed the expression away as he set the cup back down again.

  There was too much sugar, she knew, but Kit was too much of a gentleman to complain.

  His tea was replaced by his phone as he concentrated on whatever message was coming in. He read it, his brows drawing together a moment before his gravelly voice filled the room.

  “Is there something on my face?” he asked, hardly looking at her. “I can feel you staring.”

  Luna was tempted to smile. “Maybe ’cause you’re nice to look at?” she offered, dropping her gaze to follow the lines of his suit down to the hand he had curled around her thigh.

  She had asked once whether he would ever dress down, lose the suit for a day—even on the many vacations they had taken—if he wasn’t in board shorts to hit the water, he was still formally dressed—but he had given her a look, one that told her his answer without having to open his mouth.

  With an arch of his brow, Kit glanced down at the expensive gold watch adorning his wrist—the mate to the one she wore. “It’s a bit early for you to be feeding me compliments, isn’t it?”

  “It’s never too early for that.”

  Kit smiled then, a subtle tilt of his lips that did nothing but make the butterflies in the pit of her stomach flutter to life. Sometimes, it amazed her how he could inspire such a feeling despite how much time had passed—and despite how much they had been through together.

  She remembered the last time they were here in this office. The tension had been palpable between them to the point that she had barely wanted to be in the same room with him, let alone have him touch her.

  Things had changed.

  Far more quickly than she had anticipated, but her love for him had never been in question.

  Dr. Marie entered her office in a flurry with her leather notebook tucked beneath her arm, with her own mug in hand. Her silver hair was perfectly styled, but her signature cat-eye frames were missing.

  As she sat across from them in the same dove gray wingback chair as their first appointment, her gaze moved to them. Unlike last time, they weren’t seated separately, but rather, close enough that it was obvious that something had changed between them.

  There was no longer any distance between them, or tense silences, nor was Luna trying to avoid looking at Kit.

  The most notable was the new ring that currently adorned her finger, one that had been absent for far too long.

  “I’m glad to see things are on better terms for the two of you since our last visit,” Donna said with a pleasant smile as she regarded them with an expression that was both mildly curious and reserved. “I trust everything is going well?”

  “Everything is fine,” Kit said, almost absently, still studying his phone.

  “And, Luna?” she asked, turning her attention to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “If you’re asking whether I’m planning to keep the Runehart name, that all depends on whether Kit can put his phone down for the next hour.”

  Almost immediately, Kit blinked, shifting his finger to the button at the top of his phone and shut it off. He made a show of tucking it away as he gifted her with another half-smile.

  Donna made a note. “I’m glad to hear it. Tell me, what brings you both here today?”

  “I like to remind Kit of the details—he has a shitty memory.”

  He scoffed. “No, Not even a little. You just want to see if I’ve withheld anything from you in regards to the time I spent with your sister—there’s a difference.”

  “With the way you acted because of my date, you really have no room to talk.”

  “Are you finally admitting it was a date?”

  “It wasn’t a date. This is why we’re here, you know. To clarify the details.”

  “And what details would those be, Luna?” Donna asked.

  “It’s a bit of a story, really,” Luna said with a shrug of her shoulder.

  Kit smirked. “It always is with you.”

  Luna gave a sarcastic frown as she glanced over at her husband. “I don’t think I interrupted you last time. Manners, Kitten.”

  His gaze shot up to the ceiling, making her laugh. There was nothing he hated more than that nickname.

  “I think it might be best if I start this one.”

  “Again?” Luna asked.

  “As usual, when it comes to what goes wrong in my life,” Kit said, his words making her chuckle. “It starts with Uilleam.”

  “Then by all means,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Let’s begin.”

  Chapter 1

  There were some places that, no matter how much time had passed, were haunted by the ghosts of years past.

  The Runehart estate was one such place, and it didn’t hold fond memories for Kit Runehart, even if it was his childhood home—or rather because it was his childhood home.

  Days and nights had been spent cowering in fear, wondering when the next punishment would come or when the next “game” would start.

  That was what his father liked to call them—his games.

  Alexander Runehart wasn’t used to things not going the way he wanted, and when he was in a particular mood, he liked to challenge others around him just to figure out if they were as smart or as dumb as he thought they were.

  It wasn’t as simple as a round of chess or an attempt at strategy—that was far too easy.

  No, he wanted to make sure his opponents could hold their own.

  And in his warped mind, his best opponents were the boys that he, also in his own mind, had loved and raised to become mirror images of himself.

  Kit, as the oldest, had suffered the most under the hand of his father. There was a level of greatness that came with being the eldest. He was to be groomed to take over the family business, but even in his early fifties, Alexander hadn’t been ready to hand over the reins to his empire nor did he plan to make it easy for Kit to acquire.

  No, he had to complete the tests first.

  Tests that would ensure he knew just how to deal with the men and women he would one day cross because of the name he bore.

  Once, Kit had wanted the job, had wanted to prove his worth to his father, but as he grew older and more scars decorated his flesh, Kit learned there was no pleasing a man like Alexander.

  Perfection was unattainable, and he didn’t intend on killing himself to try to prove himself.

  That wa
s why when he was first made the offer by Zachariah, he had mulled the decision over in his head. It hadn’t been one that came easily to him nor had it been one that he immediately agreed to.

  As always, his father had made the decision for him without ever uttering yes or no.

  He could feel the ache in his bones—the way his skin felt too tight in certain places. It was a pain he had grown all too familiar with even as he was only fifteen years of age. But that felt like a lifetime ago—as though he had lived well beyond his years.

  But Kit didn’t bemoan his fate.

  He didn’t cry for the constant agony he was in.

  He bore it because that was what men did, and despite what his father liked to think of him, he was nothing if not resilient.

  Echoing chimes sounded throughout the castle, making Kit’s eyes dart to the door before they went back to the ceiling well above his head. It was his new favorite pastime when he was home from boarding school. It was what kept him sane.

  A sad fact that a boy could only find enjoyment in darkness and silence.

  He could hear the servants moving with a purpose outside his bedroom door, but he wasn’t keen on going out to check on what they were doing. If someone needed him—and he really hoped they didn’t—they would have to come and get him.

  Earlier, he had made the mistake of venturing outside of his bedroom, just to have a look around since he had only been home a few days and things always changed when he was away at boarding school. He’d barely been out there more than a handful of minutes before one of his father’s men had caught sight of him and informed his father.

  The punishment for walking around aimlessly? Grueling exercise that had left his body weak. His arms still shook when he raised them.

  No, he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

  Closing his eyes, Kit tried to distance himself, not just from his bed but from his body as well, envisioning being anywhere but here.

  He had always had dreams of traveling the world, of getting away from Wales and the hell that welcomed him when he was here. But he had no money, and without his father’s aid, he had no means of getting away.

  It was all just a dream.

  A dream that he longed for and craved, but one that he couldn’t nourish because it was impossible.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Kit opened his eyes once more, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he prepared to get up, but was brought up short when he heard voices, louder this time, outside his door.

  His heart skipping a beat, he tried to mentally prepare himself, push the pain he was already in to the back of his mind. That way, the fresh agony he was sure he would suffer wouldn’t add to what he was feeling.

  Only seconds later, the door came swinging open and in the threshold stood Alexander, barrel chest covered by a fine gray sweater, his dark hair gelled into place. It made the planes of his face stand out more, all sharp lines and contours.

  But, it was to the man behind him that Kit directed his gaze—and it was the sight of him that had Kit exhaling in relief.

  Zachariah Runehart didn’t often spend time at Runehart Castle—he and his brother rarely saw eye to eye on most matters. They were polar opposites in every regard—particularly with their business practices and the way they handled their children.

  His uncle had had a son and a daughter, though both had died tragically on their sixteenth birthday for reasons Kit didn’t know.

  No one in the family talked about it, and Kit wouldn’t be the one to ask.

  Since the accident, as his father liked to call it, Zachariah had taken an interest in Kit and Uilleam, but because of Alexander’s temperament, he was only ever allowed to see Kit for any extended period of time.

  He was to teach him discipline and respect, both of which Zachariah had in spades, but despite his request, Alexander didn’t particularly like the two of them spending so much time together anymore.

  While he had a terrible temper, Alexander also had a jealous streak that could get particularly ugly.

  Kit hurried to his feet, standing with his feet together, shoulders squared, and head held high as his father entered the room first, quickly followed by his uncle. Though he waved his hand, a silent command that meant Kit could stand down, he didn’t dare budge.

  “Zachariah wanted to speak with you,” Alexander said in that brusque way of his that had Kit’s gaze darting back and forth between the pair of them. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Though he started back for the door, his gaze told Kit that he would be expecting answers on his return.

  Once the door clicked shut behind him, Zachariah removed his hat, holding it against his chest as he surveyed the room with a twist of his head. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Two years,” Kit said immediately, his guard lowering only slightly.

  While he didn’t have to be the perfect little soldier that his father preferred when he was around his uncle, he was never completely comfortable with letting his guard down altogether. He was too used to his father’s spontaneous appearances.

  “Have you been counting?” Zachariah asked with a half-smile, one that was knowing but nonjudgmental.

  “Was there something you needed from me?” Kit asked instead of answering his question, though he didn’t think it was possible for the man to want anything, not when he was hardly around as it was.

  This was probably another test, one impossible to pass, though he hoped he would.

  “What has Alexander told you of what I do?” Zachariah asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Not surprising—he never had an eye for it, after all. He likes to call it blood work, you know. In his mind, he can always hire someone to kill a man, but it takes a special skill to manipulate events that lead to a man’s death.”

  Kit had long since realized that it ran in the Runehart bloodline to speak in codes and riddles, making it nearly impossible to follow what they were saying unless you were paying close attention.

  “What are you saying?”

  “How would you like to leave this place?”

  No other words had ever made him feel quite so warm inside, as though a fire had started burning inside of him and he was close to combusting. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than that.

  But he knew that could never happen, not when his father refused to let him do anything he didn’t approve of. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have an opportunity for you—one I think you will appreciate.”

  Kit studied him. “What is it?”

  “Has your father ever told you about the Lotus Society?”

  “No …”

  “It’s a private organization that specializes in recruiting those who can perform certain tasks that others may not be comfortable with.”

  That sounded rather ambiguous, but something about it intrigued him. “What role do you play?”

  “Recruiter, mostly. Sometimes trainer, depending on what’s needed.”

  “But what exactly would you be recruiting me for?” Kit asked, finding he had far more questions with every bit of information Zachariah supplied.

  “The question is, are you interested.”

  Kit still knew nothing about the Lotus Society or even what his uncle did there, but if there was a chance that he could leave this hell behind and be free of the people who constantly hurt him, he would much rather be in a place he didn’t know than the one he did.

  “What about my school?”

  “I’ll take care of that. Worry about packing your things.”

  “My father isn’t just going to let me go,” Kit said. “Even for you.”

  “Let me handle Alexander. I’ve always had a way of bending his will.”

  Kit wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t argue as his uncle left the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

  Despite his telling him to pack, Kit remained exactly where he was, waiting with bated breath for his uncle to come back … or his father. Depen
ding on how their conversation went, there was no telling which of the two would be coming through that door.

  He only hoped it wasn’t his father.

  Kit didn’t know how long he stood there, staring at the solid wood, but when he heard the raised voices coming from the other side once more, his fear renewed.

  A part of him was tempted to run, to hide somewhere his father wouldn’t find him, but that only ever made the punishments worse, ensuring that his father beat him within an inch of his life.

  No, he remained rooted in place and waited.

  If he was going to be beaten, he would take it like a man and not complain.

  Or cry.

  Or make a sound.

  He’d learned this particular lesson the hard way.

  The door came flying open, slamming into the wall so hard that the sound echoed throughout the room, but Kit didn’t flinch.

  “What’s this I hear about you wanting to leave?” Alexander asked with wild eyes, but there wasn’t fury in his gaze. There was hurt. “Have I not done well by you?”

  That was the thing about Alexander Runehart—the man thought what he subjected people to was anything but torment.

  His lessons, as he liked to say.

  In his own twisted mind, he was doing them a favor.

  Kit especially.

  “I—”

  “They have to grow up at some point,” Zachariah spoke up, folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t shelter them forever.”

  The way that Zachariah said this made Kit wonder if he really meant to say that, or perhaps, he was projecting his own thoughts.

  “Then let’s hear it,” Alexander demanded, stepping even closer to Kit to the point of purposely invading his personal space. “If you want to leave, then you hold your head up like a man and you say it. There won’t be anyone to coddle you, boy. You walk out these doors, and you lose everything.”

  Meaning his money and protection, and everything that came with being a Runehart.

  Kit would gladly give up both. “I want to leave.”