Something Green

by London Miller

  “That’s why we have her,” he said with some finality, his gaze making it abundantly clear he was referring to the woman currently tucked into Syn’s side.

  All eyes turned to Iris, and even she seemed surprised by the statement. “I can’t help much.” She glanced up at Syn, waiting for him to agree, but his focus was on the man at the front of the room.

  “If you do as you’re told,” the Kingmaker said, “you will. I just need everyone’s agreeance.”

  Fang, who’d been quiet during the majority of this, cleared his throat. “We’re only here for the check.”

  Speak for himself. “I signed a bloody contract,” Kyrnon mumbled to himself, glancing down at his watch again.

  They’d been sitting in this room for thirteen minutes.

  Fuck.

  “We’ll see it done,” Red answered for the rest of them.

  Iris looked as if she was about to speak, but Syn beat her to it. “The governor first, then Belladonna.”

  Few men were willing to argue with someone like Syn, especially knowing what he was capable of—including the Kingmaker.

  “As we agreed,” he answered with a nod.

  That seemed to be enough to appease the cleaner. “Mayhem it is.”

  “If we’re all fucking done here,” Kyrnon called as he stood, more than ready to get out of there, already calculating the distance from the compound to the airport in his head, trying to determine the most efficient route.

  “Somewhere to be?” the Kingmaker asked, and something about the man’s tone set him on edge.

  He had always been quick to anger, though it had always seemed more like a simmering rage that always lingered beneath careful smiles and a calm, calculated demeanor. But now, ever since he had been able to put a name to the woman who had been taunting him for years now, it was as if a switch had flipped inside him.

  If someone even breathed the wrong way, the Kingmaker reacted.

  “In three days, I’ll do whatever the hell it is you want,” he told the man as he started for the door. “But not a second before. I’ve got things to see to.”

  Worst-case scenario, he’d take a later flight. Amber would still be disappointed, sure, but surely that was better than canceling altogether? She’d forgive him for being late.

  Even if it was for their wedding.

  He’d be spending a lifetime making it up to her.

  “Apologies,” the Kingmaker said with a wave of his hand, almost sounding sincere. “I was under the impression you signed my contract and not the other way around.”

  It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

  And as Kyrnon turned, more than a little ready to tell the man where he could stick his fucking contract, Red stood next, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, the force of his grip the only thing keeping him standing in place.

  Because at that moment, he would have been more than willing to risk everything if it meant wiping the smug look off the man’s face.

  “When the job is done,” the Kingmaker went on, holding his gaze, “do whatever the hell you want, but until that moment, you and everyone else in this room will do my bidding. Let’s not test my resolve today.”

  Because he wouldn’t just hurt them—that wasn’t the way men like him worked.

  No, he would make sure they felt that hurt in every way imaginable.

  Kyrnon didn’t think it was possible to hate anyone more.

  5

  A drink was what she needed.

  Something with vodka or rum in it—mixed with enough other things that she didn’t have to feel the burn of the alcohol as it slid down her throat, but she’d definitely appreciate the effect in the end.

  It was what this day deserved.

  Because as Amber had sat alone in the airport lobby, boarding passes in one hand and her silent phone in the other, some part of her had known how this day would end.

  She wasn’t sure when she realized today wasn’t the day she would get married because it wasn’t as if the feeling had loomed over her all day. Certainly not when she had woken up to Kyrnon making his special pancakes, and she’d had breakfast in bed.

  Yet some part of her had been expecting it to happen. Sure, it was a little last minute, and it was squeezed between his work and her own, but it didn’t matter because, in the end, marrying him was all that mattered.

  No.

  She did remember when her feelings had changed.

  It came as soon as Kyrnon’s phone chimed—that special ringtone telling her everything she needed to know about who was calling.

  It was at that moment she had started to doubt.

  And now, as she stood near the windows and watched the plane she was meant to be on fly off in the distance when Kyrnon was nowhere to be found, that old feeling solidified once more.

  Another time, she thought to herself glumly as she rolled her luggage back out the way she’d come in hours before.

  She was a big girl. She knew what she’d signed up for when she’d gotten with Kyrnon, but that didn’t make the reality any less painful.

  It still hurt.

  Which was why she deserved a distraction painting couldn’t quite give her. It wasn’t the solace she craved now.

  Digging out her phone, she dialed the one person she always called in a crisis. The person on the other end barely had time to get a word in before she said, “I need a drink.”

  “Lemon drop martini kind of drink?” Lauren asked over the sound of Sacha’s laughter. “Or Jäger bombs?”

  With the mood she was in ... “Both.”

  Lauren whistled, the sound low and understanding. “I’ll text you an address and meet you there in half an hour.”

  Perfect. That gave her enough time to get back to the city, considering traffic wasn’t so bad at this hour.

  Soon, she wouldn’t even remember why this day sucked so bad.

  The best thing about having Lauren for a friend was no matter what time she called—morning, noon, or night—Lauren would always answer if she could.

  Even now, with two kids and a husband, she still made herself available when needed.

  During her ride to the club on the corner of 5th Street—one of many Mishca owned in the city—she tried not to feel too guilty about calling her knowing how hectic her life was at the moment. But she also knew that no matter how she tried to downplay it, Lauren would want to talk it out with her anyway.

  Once she made it to the club, she paid the cabbie before unloading her suitcase out of the trunk herself, mindful of the curious gazes shifting in her direction. But it only took one look from the bouncer—the one who she was sure she’d seen working in another of Mishca’s clubs—to step away from the door and let her in through a side entrance.

  She had only just walked in when she saw brownish-blond hair coming toward her. Lauren was only one of three people she could see who was wearing jeans, so she didn’t feel as bad about being dressed down.

  A private booth against the back wall was waiting for them as they weaved through the throng of bodies in the club. Amber tried to imagine what it was like to have this much power over a place that the moment she even drew near, it made people stand a little straighter and had security closing in.

  That was one of the many ways that Kyrnon and Mishca were different, even as they walked opposite ways down the same line.

  Kyrnon was far more behind the scenes—his face wasn’t at the forefront of any criminal organization—but with that came the reality that he wasn’t as well protected. That he was the first to be sent into danger because, in their eyes, he was expendable.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t until they were at their secluded table that Lauren said, “I thought you were going to Ireland this weekend.”

  A part of her had wanted it to be a surprise. To just come back home a married woman and celebrate later when things weren’t so crazy with the Den.

  She tried to think of a way to explain, but trying to summarize it all into simple
words wasn’t possible.

  Instead, it all came spilling out of her before she could help it. She told her about the endless jobs and the impossible hours—about him leaving that morning and ultimately not showing up at the airport.

  Or calling.

  Beyond the actual act of standing there waiting, that had been the worst part. He hadn’t called or texted saying he was going to be late—or that he wouldn’t make it all.

  By the time she finished speaking, Lauren had looked as apologetic as she felt.

  “At this point, I’m convinced we’re not going to get married at all.”

  Not even ten seconds later, Lauren ordered them both a drink. And by the time Amber found her way to the bottom of her glass, she still didn’t feel any better.

  Drinking was supposed to help her forget her troubles, yet she still felt as sad as she had before getting here.

  “I severely doubt Celt would let that happen,” Lauren replied, being the voice of reason.

  “I know it’s not his fault.”

  And she did.

  That blame rested squarely on the shoulders of the man who had offered him a place in the Den.

  “The Kingmaker … is he really as bad as they say?” Lauren asked, stirring her drink.

  She thought back to what she knew about the man in question, then to what little Kyrnon had revealed over the years. “Probably worse.”

  He was capable of things Amber didn’t really want to think about, but he wasn’t completely awful, she had to say. It had been because of him that she hadn’t been killed, but she also couldn’t help but wonder when that sort of debt was repaid.

  How much longer would Kyrnon have to pay for that day?

  How much longer would he have to put his life on the line for someone who didn’t seem to value it?

  “You don’t need me to tell you that’s where the problem really begins and ends. Kyrnon should have done better,” she added quickly, “but one thing I’ve never doubted is his love for you.”

  The only problem was, this wasn’t a problem she thought they would be able to solve.

  And that was what she feared.

  Kyrnon owed that Russian a favor.

  When he’d made it back to the loft and found it empty, he’d had a flashback of the conversation he’d had with the Kingmaker, but even as that unease slammed into him, he still dismissed it altogether.

  After a quick check of their tickets and a moment to think, he’d shot off a message to Mishca Volkov, thinking she’d be with his wife.

  A few minutes later, he had an address.

  All the way there, he wondered if he should call her, but he also knew this was a conversation they’d need to have in person.

  Because an apology over the phone wouldn’t convey the depth of how much he’d fucked up.

  The lad at the door, who couldn’t be more than twenty-one, put his finger to his ear, listening intently before his gaze found Kyrnon, and he waved him in.

  “Corner booth in the back,” he yelled over the heavy bass, gesturing with a nod of his head.

  The rest of the room practically slipped away as he focused on the blue hair in the distance that seemed to glow from the way the light hit it.

  Lauren noticed him first, her gaze slightly narrowing on him in that way that said she knew what had happened, and she wasn’t too pleased with him.

  Amber had her back to him, her attention on the glass she held as she pushed at the shards of ice with her cocktail straw.

  He touched her shoulder, tracing over the stretch of skin there until his hand was on the nape of her neck.

  She didn’t flinch but turned slowly, her gaze finding him as if she’d known he’d be the one standing there.

  Neither of them spoke, though he didn’t know how to even begin.

  He hated her silence even as he knew he was the reason for it.

  Lauren looked back and forth between them a moment before she gave an understanding nod. “If you have your bike, I can drop her things off tomorrow.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Another time, he might have made a joke—lingered there with Amber for a bit longer—but he could feel the tension between them even though she hadn’t said a word yet.

  He needed to talk to her.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Lauren,” Amber said softly as she moved to her feet, taking the hand he offered her.

  Not knowing how much it meant to him.

  She willingly walked alongside him until they were out of the club, and the music had gradually faded as the doors closed.

  Standing in front of his bike, he passed her the helmet he kept for her.

  A smile touched his lips as he watched her struggle with the helmet momentarily before she gave up. He plucked it from her hands and carefully maneuvered it over her hair, buckling the chin strap into place.

  “These things keep getting smaller,” she muttered, looking up at him.

  “Can’t blame the helmet makers for the size of that head, can we?”

  She slapped his arm as she always did when he said that. And for a moment, everything was right between them again.

  But all too quickly, that light dimmed in her eyes, and he was reminded that today had been anything but simple.

  “Let’s go home,” he said, helping her onto the bike before he climbed on himself.

  On the journey home, she sobered up some, her grip around his waist becoming a little tighter with each mile they gained. Yet during the entire drive, as he weaved through the traffic back toward the loft, he still couldn’t find the right words to explain.

  The apology resting on the tip of his tongue just felt … inadequate.

  It wasn’t enough to just say sorry after he’d left her standing in an airport alone, hoping and waiting for the moment he came to meet her.

  The right words still evaded him.

  He almost wished the short drive home was longer because then, at least, he would get a chance to think. To enjoy the wind on his face and the way it almost drowned out everything around him, and he could pretend they were just out for a late night ride.

  But avoiding the problem wouldn’t make it go away—and he knew better than most it would be in his best interest to face it head on.

  The silence only grew more deafening once he parked and killed the engine on his Harley.

  Amber took his hand when he offered to help her off, but her gaze didn’t quite meet his as she then tucked her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

  She lingered there until he climbed off, then turned and headed for the side door and the lift that would take them upstairs.

  Never had things been more tense between them. He could very nearly cut through it with a knife.

  He hated every second of it.

  And once he had her on the lift and they started ascending, he pressed the button to stop the car, causing red light to flood the interior.

  It might have been easier for him if she was angry. He could deal with anger because he knew how to coax her down.

  But her sadness?

  It ate at him until it was the only thing he could focus on. It made his chest feel tight especially since he was the cause of it.

  And fuck if he didn’t understand.

  He’d made a living providing the impossible for the unworthy, yet he still hadn’t given her the one thing she deserved.

  Them.

  She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, looking everywhere but at him. “Kyrnon, you don’t have to—”

  “I want to explain,” he said back just as quickly, hating that they were in familiar territory.

  She loved him enough not to ask questions, and he loved her more because he wanted her to have the answers even as he knew they probably hurt.

  “The Kingmaker, right?” she asked with a nod as if she already knew the answer. And in many ways, she did.

  She knew about the contract he’d signed, and even the amended one after he had called on the Kingmaker to hel
p in a problem he hadn’t known how to fix that wouldn’t result in Amber getting hurt.

  “When he calls, you have to answer,” she continued without inflection.

  A statement and nothing more.

  “Am—”

  “I understand that, I do, but you could have called, Kyrnon. You could have said you weren’t going to make it. I was expecting that anyway. But you left me—”

  Her voice caught there at the end, the emotion she’d been fighting bubbling up to the surface.

  Instinct drove him forward, had him closing the distance between them until he was there to catch that first tear. He didn’t care that sorry wasn’t good enough for what he had done; he said it anyway.

  Whispered it.

  Again and again until he felt her hands curl into the front of his shirt—the contact making his lungs expand as he took a breath. “In the grand scheme of things, it’s not that important,” she murmured, still not looking at him. “You need to focus—”

  “Nothing is more important than you.” And he should have never given her a reason to think otherwise.

  He felt her sigh, a great breath that shook her shoulders, but before he could decipher the meaning behind it, she pulled away just long enough to press the button that sent the lift up.

  She stepped out first, leaving him to look after her as she went.

  Fuck him.

  More tired than he had ever been, he went over to the couch and closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of it as he listened to her move about.

  Kyrnon wasn’t sure how long he was sitting there before he heard her footsteps grow closer. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, not wanting to hope that she was coming to him rather than ignoring him entirely.

  But just as he thought she was moving past him, he felt the dip in the leather beside his hips and opened his eyes in time to see her straddle him and feel her weight settle on his lap.

  His hands instinctively went to her waist, holding her there—not ever wanting to let go.

  Her eyes were sad, he saw it the moment he looked into them, and fuck if he didn’t want to wipe that expression off her face. Which was why he needed to make this right. Another apology would only be insulting.