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

by London Miller

  The shock on his father’s face as he got his answer was almost as good as the feeling of triumph that swept through Kit as he watched his father have to accept what he didn’t want.

  But now that the offer was made, he wouldn’t take it back—he was a man of his word.

  “Get out,” he snarled, looking at him in disgust.

  Zachariah nodded, his shoulders relaxing. “Kit, pack your—”

  “He takes nothing but the clothes on his back. And by the time I step foot back in this room, he’d better be gone.”

  Alexander swept out in an angry flurry, eyes narrowed and disbelieving. He also didn’t seem to notice Uilleam’s presence in the doorway.

  His brother was rather good at that—being invisible in plain sight. Moving silently and making sure he went unnoticed—it was a trait Kit had never seemed to master.

  “We should go,” Zachariah suggested. “It’s better this way.”

  He was out of the room next, but he didn’t pretend not to see Uilleam. He rested a hand on top of his strawberry-blond hair before disappearing around the corner.

  Kit barely spared the room a glance before he was leaving it as well. It didn’t hold any good memories for him. It wasn’t a place he ever wanted to see again.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Uilleam asked, his voice an octave higher than he probably meant it to be.

  Kit wasn’t the only one learning lessons in what it meant to be a man. “I am.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  Kit blinked, looking at his younger brother.

  Uilleam had always been better when it came to dealing with their parents. He knew how to play the part. He knew what it took to survive.

  Kit, on the other hand, was a different kind of survivor, but he had yet to learn how to play the game. He just accepted the punishment, whatever it was.

  “I can’t, and you know this as well as I do.”

  Uilleam didn’t show weakness—not anymore. He was very careful with the emotions he displayed and the way he responded to stimuli.

  Truthfully, Kit hadn’t expected him to react to the news of him leaving the castle at all, but now that he had … he could see the fear in his eyes, the worry, but he didn’t know whether it was for himself or Kit.

  “You’ll be fine,” Kit promised, resting a hand on his shoulder as Zachariah had always done to him.

  Uilleam had never been one for affection, rather detested it actually. Once, he had loved being under Kit, following him around wherever he went, but after this last time he’d gone, once Kit came home, Uilleam hadn’t been the same.

  Uilleam gazed at him, unblinking, and with a single shake of his head, he started down the hallway without ever looking back.

  Kit, to this day, still didn’t know what that look had meant, but he did know that Uilleam had suffered because of his absence. In some regard, he had been selfish to leave his brother there, but he hadn’t thought that with him gone, Alexander would then offer his undivided attention to Uilleam, especially with their mother there to play interference.

  But despite what he didn’t know, Kit doubted he would ever get answers—not when their parents were dead, and Uilleam refused to ever think about his years there, let alone talk about them.

  Once, the Runehart estate had been in ruins—an abandoned castle that once belonged to a forgotten king—until his father restored it to its former glory, spending well over a fortune to ensure that it reflected what it had once been.

  As a child, Kit hadn’t understood the significance of repairing a musty old place that he would have much rather never seen again a day in his life, but as he aged and grew to appreciate fine architecture and the luxuries that money could buy him, he finally understood what his father was doing.

  It was their legacy, Alexander had said with a sharp shake of his head, as though Kit had argued the point with him—but he could have very well been bantering with one of the people who lived inside the man’s head.

  Kit could count on one hand the number of days he found pleasant in that house, and by the time he was fifteen and off to the Lotus Society for training, he hadn’t bothered to count anymore.

  None were worth remembering.

  Before he’d gone, Kit hadn’t known what the Lotus Society was or what it meant to be a part of it. He had only known it offered a freedom he was happy to accept if it meant he could escape and never come back.

  To this day, he had never returned—until now, when he’d had no other choice.

  Tucked behind iron gates and a stone exterior, his brother was tucked away within the castle’s walls, unaware Kit was driving up the cobblestone toward the fountain that had frozen over during the cold, winter night. Under the cover of gray skies, the estate looked more formidable and less welcoming.

  Leaving his phone behind—he didn’t need the distraction—Kit retrieved his coat first before starting inside, mindful of the blurred shapes on the rooftops. It wasn’t a surprise Uilleam had brought extra security with him, especially after the attempts on his life, but what surprised him was how very few there were.

  Despite Kit’s disdain for this place, he had held onto a number of the keepsakes that had once graced it—including the various portraits of notable Runeharts that hung along the walls of his château.

  He didn’t know why he favored them, why they had mattered to him at all really, but since he and his brother were two of the last Runeharts living, he liked to remember his family if he could.

  On a whim, he’d had one made of himself when he was twenty-five and one for Uilleam as well—though his brother had made it a point to remove it from his home during one of his bouts of anger toward him.

  As Kit entered, he expected the same rigorous upkeep Alexander had been infamous for, but instead, he found a shell of the castle’s former glory.

  He couldn’t see any furniture, no artwork and gold flaked decorations hanging from the walls. No tapestries and expensive vases that held the day’s fresh flowers. No, he found crumbling walls, dust covered shelves, and cracked flooring.

  Kit wasn’t even sure the place was safe to walk in, let alone live in.

  Deciding it was best not to linger, he didn’t bother to pause to look into his old room, wondering if it would look the same, nor did he care to examine the portrait of his father that still hung in the great room with what suspiciously looked like bullet holes through it before he was finding his way into the office on the main floor.

  The only place Uilleam could possibly be.

  As he had expected, his brother sat inside, transfixed by the fire before him as the flames danced and lit up his otherwise dark gaze. For once, he looked to be in a somber mood—lost in his thoughts. But he wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t notice Kit’s entry.

  Uilleam had always been a rather open book, willing to share and uncaring of the emotion he displayed. When his brother’s eyes cut to him, Kit saw nothing but malice and contempt. “I told them to shoot you on sight. Yet here you are.”

  Kit shrugged, just a casual lift of his shoulder as he claimed the seat opposite him. “Stronger men than you have tried to kill me. If I wasn’t able to evade your pathetic excuses for security, I would be a dead man.”

  Having spent the last decade accumulating enemies over the course of his life within, and outside, of the Lotus Society, plenty attempts had been made on his life.

  “In a mood still?” Uilleam asked with a bored lift of his brow. “Let’s reconvene in the morning—I don’t think I’m in the mood for your dramatics tonight.”

  “Thoughts of Karina keeping you awake at night?” Kit asked, recognizing his distant, almost haunted look.

  He imagined he’d looked the same when Luna left him. It had almost felt like he had a hole in his chest that couldn’t be filled.

  And if he were honest, very few could put that look on his brother’s face—there weren’t many people he cared for in this world.

  Kit knew what it felt like to love and lose so
meone, but unlike his brother, he still had the chance to fix his mistakes.

  I want you to fix it, Luna had said with tears in her eyes—the only thing he had ever needed from her—permission.

  Permission to touch her.

  Permission to kill for her.

  Permission to love her—though, he had never needed her permission for that.

  “If there was ever a time when I wanted you to stop talking, it would be now. Besides, where is your army?” Uilleam asked, making a show of looking around. “The last time we spoke, you promised a war. Can’t have a war if it’s just you, can we?”

  “I’ve only just learned my grievances with you were unfounded.”

  Now, Uilleam looked a mix between curious and amused. “Are you actually admitting you were wrong about something? Now, I’m curious why you’re here.”

  “You didn’t tell Luna about my involvement with her being given to Lawrence Kendall.”

  Uilleam’s face screwed up in annoyance. “Is that what your grievance was? How on earth could you make it through counseling—your methods of communication are severely lacking.”

  Luna had said something similar.

  It was something he had heard all his life.

  The muscle in Kit’s jaw clenched as he shook his head. “Let’s not act as if you don’t make a living disrupting people’s lives.”

  “But only on my terms. Luna would have found out the truth about her family in time—I had already accounted for that—but your actions caused things to get beyond my control.”

  Of course, his brother wouldn’t find fault in his actions. Knowing him, he had probably already allotted time for Luna to grieve once she learned the truth.

  Then again, Uilleam rarely found fault in his own actions, preferring to cast the blame on anyone other than himself.

  But he wasn’t there to argue that point with him—he knew it was something that would never change.

  Luna knowing wasn’t going to change the past but finding out how could change the present.

  “There would be no reason for me to tell her, considering I was trying to cover it up,” Kit said, making sure to stress what he was saying and trying to penetrate the drunken fog Uilleam seemed to be under.

  But the alcohol had muddled his brother’s brain making him slow on the uptake. Rubbing his brow, Uilleam squeezed his eyes shut. “What are you getting at?”

  “If you didn’t tell her, as I’d originally believed, and I didn’t either—then who told her?”

  The hand he’d been using to rub circles above his eyebrow froze, and finally, it seemed as though Uilleam was catching on.

  Over the course of their session with Dr. Marie, Kit didn’t expect to be surprised by anything Luna would share—he wasn’t clueless as to why she left him. Even if he didn’t like it, he could still understand why she’d done it.

  But he had been surprised when she mentioned Belladonna—a name he wasn’t familiar with, and that alone was more shocking than anything.

  Kit knew more people than he didn’t.

  He could even name the owner of shell companies covered in enough obscurity it would take years before a name would be found.

  But Belladonna?

  He knew nothing.

  If there was one thing Kit was sure of, he knew how much Uilleam valued his privacy and anonymity above all else. And despite his predilection for boasting, what happened with Luna was not a thing to be prideful about.

  He wouldn’t have shared something so private with a virtual stranger, especially with Kit’s involvement.

  Would he have gone to Luna himself? Yes.

  Would he have set up an elaborate scheme to ensure that Luna knew what had happened to her? Absolutely.

  But he would never allow someone else to do his dirty work for him.

  Even as he saw the wheels turning in Uilleam’s head, Kit said, “I have a question for you.”

  “Then ask,” he responded rather impatiently.

  “Who told you that Karina was dead?”

  It was rare that Uilleam was ever struck mute. He had an answer for everything, even when there couldn’t possibly be one.

  But just her name had that effect on him.

  The woman he’d loved and lost.

  That, too, was something Kit had never understood before Luna.

  Several years ago, before Luna had ever come into the picture and before Kit had left the Lotus Society, Uilleam had fallen in love.

  Truthfully, Kit had never thought him capable of the emotion, not in the freely offered sense. He might have favored Kit, treated him better than he did most even, but Kit had always thought it was out of some sort of familial obligation.

  But Karina Ashworth—no, Uilleam had completely and irrevocably loved her.

  As beautiful as she had been young, she was taken rather viciously from this world, and neither of them had any idea why.

  Kit had only met her on a few occasions, and from what he could make of the reporter, he could understand, though not completely, why his brother had been so taken with the woman.

  She had a kind smile, delicate features, and a sharp intellect that surprised him.

  It didn’t matter though what Kit saw or didn’t in Karina, though, because Uilleam had thought the world of her—still did, despite her death.

  Kit remembered his brother’s grief far too well—it had been the first time in years that he had seen him look so broken for so long, and if her name was even uttered in his presence, he was prone to violent outbursts that never ended well for anyone around him.

  But Kit couldn’t concern himself with that, not if he was right in his assumption.

  “No.” The word was as much a warning as it was a statement. Uilleam no longer had the slight drowsiness to his words—they were sharp and direct. “There was a body.”

  “A journalist, wasn’t she?” Kit kept on, mindful that his brother’s temper was rising. “You once told me of the investigation that had spurred your interest in her. Death by the poison belladonna, wasn’t it?”

  Kit didn’t remember all the details—it had been a long time ago after all—but he had remembered that tiny detail like a fleeting thought in the back of his head the first time Luna said the woman’s name.

  That, coupled with his knowledge of just who Uilleam would have confided in during that time had brought his mind around to the one woman who had seemed to disappear without any answers.

  It seemed, he had found one.

  Plus, she had been an investigative journalist that sought the truth—to vindicate the victims, as she’d once said.

  Kit couldn’t think of a better candidate than Luna.

  “Luna told me she’d taken a job around the time you were shot, says the client’s name was Belladonna,” Kit supplied. “She was too furious with me to question it at the time, but she didn’t understand the significance. I took it upon myself to spend the last three nights looking into her, and yet I’ve found nothing—she doesn’t exist. So tell me, brother, how can someone who doesn’t exist manage to fool you enough to accept a contract?”

  Uilleam’s gaze was distant as he disappeared into his own head for a moment. “I wasn’t behind the contracts at that time—Zachariah was.”

  And because of a deal gone wrong that ultimately resulted in the man’s death, there was no way they could learn the truth as to why Zachariah had taken the contract.

  What role had their uncle played in this?

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Uilleam said with a sharp shake of his head. “I saw the body.”

  Such vehement denial yet Kit could see the hint of disbelief Uilleam was trying very hard to conceal. “Then you’re not the only one playing a game, brother.”

  Uilleam was quiet a moment, staring at him as though trying to gauge whether he was serious. He didn’t want to believe what Kit was implying, that was obvious, though Kit hadn’t expected otherwise.

  “What are you suggesting?” Uilleam asked, sitting up a litt
le straighter, his thumb tapping away against the side of the chair he sat in. “You believe Karina confided in this Belladonna woman?”

  “No,” Kit said carefully. “I believe Karina and Belladonna are one and the same.”

  Now, Uilleam was starting to understand exactly what Kit was trying to tell him, but he didn’t look pleased with the allegation.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve been saying? I saw the body.”

  “Then it’s simple. Give me whatever file you have at the Den on her, and I’ll look into it myself.”

  “You know my files are confidential.”

  “They’ve never been that way for me.”

  “They’ve always been that way for you.”

  “Are you afraid of the truth?” Kit asked.

  “There is no truth,” Uilleam shot back. “Is this repayment for Luna leaving you? As you’ve said, that had nothing to do with me.”

  Kit was starting to believe it wasn’t that Uilleam didn’t believe what he was saying—he didn’t want it to be true. “What would it hurt?”

  Uilleam exploded out of his chair, running his fingers through his short hair as he paced in front of the fire. “Let’s say you’re right—though I highly believe the opposite—what do you expect to do once you find her? Confront her about faking her death? Hurt her for revealing a truth you were trying to bury? What?”

  The way he spoke, with a slightly mocking air, told Kit that Uilleam didn’t truly believe that Karina was alive. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked that at all. Because if he truly believed she was, Uilleam would stop at nothing short of violence should anyone, including Kit, mean that woman harm.

  “That isn’t the question, is it? The question is what else did you tell Karina about me? If, for the sake of argument, Karina really is dead, then that can only mean that she confided in someone else, and that someone isn’t just targeting me, they also have a vendetta against you.”

  His suspicion didn’t stop at Belladonna—if that was what Karina was going by now—having only told Luna the truth about her abduction. It could have also meant she was the one behind Uilleam’s shooting.

  The Jackal’s strings were being held fast by someone, and the arrows were quickly pointing in her direction.