Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2) (5 page)

And now that he had one, he had something to look forward to.

“I should get going,” Calavera said finishing her drink, tossing the bottle in a nearby trashcan. “Let me know how the job goes, Celt.”

As quickly as they had all gathered, Calavera was out the door, with Celt following behind, but he was headed for Amber, and she was headed for someone else entirely.

B
ehind the wheel
of a rented Porsche, Luna ‘Calavera’ Santiago left the pub Red owned, heading back for her hotel on the other side of the city. Under the waning rays of sunlight, she whipped through traffic, wishing she had her Ducati instead. But because of the last minute phone call that had brought her to New York in the first place, she had chosen to take a flight, renting a car once she arrived.

Then again, she had always hated driving her bike through Manhattan—or maybe it was just that she hated this place altogether.

There was just something cold and unforgiving about the city—not to mention the memories it held.

Back in Las Vegas, there were no harrowing memories, nothing to keep her up at night contemplating her life decisions. At least there she could almost pretend. Be something other than the mercenary she was molded into—or the whore she had been forced to be all those years ago.

In a city like that, where people did everything they could to forget the lives they came from, there was too much time spent trying to cover up their own lies than keeping up with the secrets another held.

Things were simpler that way.

Finally making it into the heart of Manhattan, Luna pulled into the underground parking structure attached to her hotel, then took the elevator up to a suite on the thirteenth floor. Slipping the card from her back pocket, she stuck it in the lock, waiting for the sound of it disengaging before shoving the handle down and pushing the door open.

It was closing at her back when she froze in the short hallway, her senses going on alert. There was a subtle shift in the scent of the air. It wasn’t just the standard deodorizer the hotel used, hints of musk and something heady hung melded with it—a scent she recognized.

Like she could ever possibly forget it.

She only hesitated a moment before she shook it off and kept forward, turning the corner, and spotting the man immediately in his spot on the couch, remote in hand, his attention on the afternoon news report playing on the television. He was alone, from what she could see, his guards probably forced to stay behind at whatever car he was driving.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re here,” Luna said as she crossed the floor, taking the seat across from him as opposed to the one at his side. “But what do I owe the visit, Uilleam?”

When he turned the full force of his smile on her, she remembered the silly crush she used to have, back when she was just a girl and didn’t know any better—back before someone else had eclipsed him.

Dazzled, that was how she had always felt when he was near. It wasn’t his looks—even as perfect as he seemed, she had seen the cracks—but because of the air that radiated from him. Most of the men of the compound were lethal, trained to become weapons capable of things one couldn’t even imagine, but it wasn’t with his body that Uilleam inflicted the most damage, but with his words.

Fear of what he could do with a single command kept anyone from ever crossing him.

At least until it hadn’t.

As always, he looked amused by her. “I know of men twice your size that would rather take a bullet than utter my name, yet you do so with ease. Maybe you’re brave.”

“Maybe,” she said easily with just a hint of self-deprecation. “Or foolish.”

Brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he regarded her. “Your intelligence has never been lacking, Luna.”

Arching a brow, she hid her surprise well. Compliments from Uilleam were rare, if they were given at all. “You’ve always been Uilleam to me, anyway.”

“And now?” he asked with a tilt of his head, tapping the remote against his knee. “Who am I now?”

Luna shrugged. “Apparently, my handler.”

He lost that easy smile of his, his eyes shifting back to the television a moment before turning the thing off and focusing back on her. “I would have told you about him sooner, had you been near.”

Zachariah. He meant Zachariah. “I’ve been in the same place for …”

“Four months and counting,” he interrupted. “But if you recall, you asked that neither of us bother you after all of that unpleasantness the last time we were all together.”

Back when she had been a pawn for him to use against his brother.

She could still remember that hurt she felt, trying to play a game she didn’t know the rules for. They had years of strategy down, probably longer considering the legacy they were born into, so she had been in way over her head during that time.

How quickly she had learned.

“And you respected my wishes?” Luna asked skeptically. “Or were you following your brother’s orders?”

“Does it matter if you got what you wanted?”

It did.

Not to him, maybe, but it mattered when she wanted others to respect what she wanted, and not just because of who her husband was.

From the time she was fourteen, men had been telling her what to do, who to be, but she was no longer that girl.

She was no longer a victim.

“We were talking about Zachariah, yes? Let’s get back to him.” The last thing she wanted to do was further discuss Uilleam’s brother. She had spent the better part of six months trying to put him out of her mind, even if she hadn’t succeeded yet. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

“He was a message,” Uilleam said, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it was gone moments later.

“To you?”

“Of course.”

Luna leaned forward. “And what was the message?”

“The Jackal hasn’t finished with me yet.”

Having spent years with a man that easily maneuvered his way through the shadowy world they lived in, garnering more contacts than any one person needed, Luna had learned a great many things about the ghosts that plagued the Den.

Once, the Jackal had only been a myth, even to the mercenaries under Uilleam’s control. He hadn’t always existed, at least not until Uilleam had started making plays that attracted enough attention that he became a target.

Many, especially those that rivaled Uilleam and his family, feared the he was coming into too much power. It wasn’t the team of mercenaries he had, or at least that wasn’t the problem entirely. But coupling that with his family owning a number of banks around the world that entire countries were in debt to, his rivals didn’t like the power imbalance.

It made them nervous that, one day, Uilleam would have them killed and take over their businesses.

That was where the Jackal came in.

Some said the man didn’t exist, that he was just a figment of someone’s imagination that was meant to inspire fear in Uilleam and those that followed him.

But Luna knew the truth, perhaps a little better than most. So did the others of her team.

A year-and-a-half ago, one of their own had gone up against the Jackal, barely escaping with his life, though he had ultimately been confined to a Siberian gulag that, officially, didn’t exist. They couldn’t even find the place.

Then there was Uilleam’s run-in with the Jackal. Three bullets to the chest, but none had proved fatal, and after being examined by one of the doctors on his payroll, the man had speculated that the mysterious assassin hadn’t
intended
for any of them to be fatal.

A message, Uilleam had said.

“You think he’s the one that did it?” Luna asked.

But she already knew the answer to that. Everyone else might have feared Uilleam too much to make a move against him, but whoever pulled the Jackal’s strings, they obviously didn’t.

“Are you any closer to finding him?” Lucia asked next.

“Closer? Yes. Have I found him? No. It’s a process, you know.”

“And you think Elias is the answer for that?”

Uilleam blinked. “I forgot you lot gossip like children. Tell me, have they sought answers from you yet?”

“They asked, but I haven’t told them anything.”

And she wouldn’t, at least not anything that she considered his private life. Like she had said, she wouldn’t betray his confidence because of everything he had done for her, but Elias, and anything having to do with the man, she would be reporting back.

Luna knew what it was like playing a game without knowing who all was involved—she wouldn’t let them do the same.

“Should I assume whatever I say will be offered to other ears?” He asked, resting his ankle on the opposite knee.

“Depends on what you tell me,” she answered honestly.

He studied her for a spell, his gaze steady on her face, before finally electing to answer. “A fish rots from the head.”

Luna shook her head, not understanding. “Oh?”

“Elias is merely a means to an end, a man who has proved quite adept at disrupting my business. However, I’m concerned with the individual he answers to.”

“Is that what you want from me? Find Elias?” It wouldn’t be the first time he used her for something similar.

“I’ll get to him soon enough, but I
do
have a job for you.”

Yesterday was the first time he had ever spoken those words to her in any official capacity. Unlike the others that had more than a dozen jobs under their belts, Zachariah only allowed her to infiltrate and report back. She hadn’t learned until later that it was because Uilleam’s brother only allowed her to take assignments he approved of.

Unable to help herself, Luna whistled and said, “He’s not going to be happy about that.”

Uilleam’s smile wasn’t nearly friendly as it had been before. “And when did you start concerning yourself with my brother’s happiness again?”

“I’m not.” Not anymore, anyway—and maybe if she said that enough, she would begin to believe it. “But I can’t do a job if he’s at my back.”

“For this job, you won’t have a choice in the matter.”

She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Why?”

“Carmen and Ariana.”

How long had it been since she heard any mention of their names? Not long enough.

Had it only been seven years ago that Uilleam had bought her freedom?

“What about them?”

“Carmen has asked that I send her one of my own for her to use during the duration of our … negotiations. Who better to send than you?”

Growing up the way she had, Luna had learned rather quickly that it was in her best interest to keep her mouth shut, especially if Carmen was within hearing distance. Just the thought of her former prison, the cloying smell of artificial perfumes turned her stomach.

She shook her head hard before the rabbit hole could swallow her down. “Send someone else.”

Uilleam’s head tilted to the side. “Are you turning down the assignment?”

Luna could feel the panic she first felt as a girl when that first man entered the room, but she tamped it down. She wasn’t that girl anymore — and though she didn’t want to admit it, she knew that Uilleam’s brother would never let that happen to her again. “Not her. You can’t make me work for her.”

“Are you turning down the assignment?” He repeated, expression never changing despite her outburst.

“Why me?” she asked. “After what she did, why would you want to send me back? You of all people know why I would never go near her.”

Sometimes, she could still remember the way that coarse carpet felt beneath her knees …

The way she had been leered at and gawked over from the various clients that came in and out the door, not caring in the slightest that she had been a child …

“Enough!” Uilleam said suddenly, fiercely, in that way that brokered no arguments. “This is not a debate, nor a negotiation. The day I spent a quarter of a million dollars buying your freedom from a brothel, you fell into my debt. You should be happy that this assignment actually requires skills that don’t include you needing to be on your back.”

She didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t—not in front of him.

There was no declining an assignment. You either followed orders, or you were done. There was no in between. Luna had almost forgotten that rule, remembering the camaraderie she once shared with the man sitting across from her.

How foolish of her.

It had been years since her control was taken away. It seemed only fitting that it would be by another of the Runehart brothers that took that away from her yet again.

Grinding her teeth, she met his gaze. “Fine.”

“I’ll have someone forward you the details,” he said as he stood, coming over to kiss the top of her head, but before any part of him could touch her, she moved away. “Don’t run from your demons, Luna. Meet them head on.”

Buttoning his jacket, it was like that moment of kindness he just displayed had never happened. His thoughts were already elsewhere as he prepared to leave.

Before he left however, he added, “Your problem was never with me. Kit chose to do business with the woman you despise. Should you ruin her, it will hurt him as well. Two birds, one stone. Don’t forget who he trained you to be.”

D
espite having been
out with Kyrnon for hours the night before, Amber was still up at six the next morning, heading down to the pool on the first floor of her apartment building—one of the excuses she used to justify how much she was paying for rent. After a few grueling laps, and feeling far more awake than she should have, she headed back upstairs to shower and get ready for the day.

She wasn’t a morning person by any means, and she lived for waking up in the later hours of the day, but with the work she knew she was going to have to complete for the replica, she had to implement her old college routine.

Back when she was still attending the Art Institute, she had been far more active in the mornings—especially since that was usually when her classes were held. She would get up, workout, shower and get dressed, along with grabbing a cup of coffee, and that was all before seven in the morning.

Now, she thought it was hell on earth trying to get up that early.

But with what awaited her at the completion of the work, it was worth far more than a few lost hours of sleep.

Twisting her hair up into a big curly puff at the top of her head—her hair was too rebellious to do something as tame as a messy bun—Amber didn’t bother much with makeup since no one would really be seeing her face in the back of the gallery.

Neither did she pay particular attention to the clothes she wore, selecting another over-sized flannel and skinny jeans.

Besides her satchel, she brought along her bag of paintbrushes, a number of them in which she’d had for years. She could have used the brand new set gifted to her by Elliot, but there was something about using her own tools that made her feel more secure.

The distance from her apartment to the metro seemed shorter this time, though that could have been because of the faint flutter of anticipation that thrummed through her the closer she came to the station.

She knew there were slim odds that Kyrnon would be on the very same train she planned to board, but that didn’t stop her from hoping he would. By the time it came rolling in, her reflection staring back at her from the shifting train cars and windows, she couldn’t help scanning, wondering if he would be amongst the sea of faces.

Even as one crowd walked off, she and the others boarding after, Amber still looked for him. It was only after the doors came to a close and they were on the move did she finally stop hoping.

The first to arrive at the gallery, the doors were still locked, but Elliot had given her a key once she officially started on the replica. If she wanted to arrive in the early hours of the morning, or leave in the late hours of the night, she was free to do so, as long as she let them know in advance. For whatever reason, Gabriel made sure the painting was taken to and from the gallery each day, only allowing the canvas to stay so long as she was in the building with it.

It was strange, but what did she know about a rich man’s paranoia?

Before she headed back to get started, she turned on all the lights, preparing to open just as she would on the infrequent chance she was called in to open. Luckily, Tabitha was coming in and once she did, Amber could get started.

She was just sorting through the receipts from the night before when Tabitha appeared, whipping the trench coat she wore off, heading back toward the pseudo-break room they used during the day.

“So, who was the guy?”

Unlike some of the girls at the gallery, Tabitha wasn’t afraid to ask the questions others were wondering. If she was curious about something, she voiced it.

Standing at the counter, she reached for the box of Keurig pods in the cabinet above the coffee maker, digging one out and replacing the old one. Placing her mug down and pressing the start button, she looked to Amber expectantly.

“What guy?”

Tabitha didn’t believe her innocent act for a minute. “The one from last night. Tall. Beard.
Delectably
Irish.”

There was really no need for her to describe him, not when she hadn’t been able to get Kyrnon off her mind, even before last night — he just had a face worth remembering.

Not to mention their breakfast at the diner. It already felt like so long ago that she was sitting across from him, that soft smile of his when he dropped her off at home hours later.

And that was all it had been.

Mere hours ago.

“You left with him, didn’t you?” Tabitha continued, trying to pry an answer out of her. “One minute you were here, the next you were gone.”

Well, there was no point in her denying it. “We went to breakfast at this diner—he’s a nice guy.”

“Nice? Is that all you’re going to give me?” she asked with a laugh, tearing open packets of raw sugar to pour into her coffee. “Did he ask you out? What’s his name? Is he good in bed? If you can only answer one, answer the last.”

“There’s nothing to tell really,” Amber said. “We just talked for a while. His name is Kyrnon, if you must know, and I have no idea if he’s any good in bed.” Though he looked like the answer to that was a strong
yes
.

“So you like him then?” Tabitha asked with a smile and a sip of her coffee. “At least more than the last one.”

The last guy Amber had been on a date with was an accountant, one that worked for wealthy investors, and while he had been nice to look at, he had proved utterly boring. It almost felt like he was talking
at
her all night as opposed to
to
her.

Needless to say, there hadn’t been a second date.

Was it presumptive of her to think Kyrnon might want to see her again? Probably, but then again, he
had
left his jacket with her.

“Then call him up,” Tabitha suggested like it was the simplest thing in the world. “If you like someone, there’s no shame in letting them know—even if it’s purely physical. Because seriously? That man would make me confess some things if it meant getting him alone.”

Laughing out loud, Amber headed back for the studio. “I’ll see you later.”

Back in the room, she removed her flannel, tossing the material across her stool, pulling on the smock she usually wore when she worked. And despite the task at hand, this was not any different than what she did when she was alone in her apartment, transforming ideas to expressions with the paint on a canvas.

In fact, this was quite easier to do.

There was more to it than just passion. It was about the technicalities, the sharp and blurred lines, elements she had been taught in school.

The minute she picked up her first brush, time became a fluent thing, the hours slipping by as she engulfed herself in what she was doing, blocking everything else out.

It wasn’t until she had finally decided to take a break and check her phone did she see she had a message from Kyrnon. Surprise and giddiness flared to life inside of her as she eagerly opened it, wondering what he would say.

What time d’you get off work?

Such an uncomplicated question filled with infinite possibility, but before she could dwell on it too long, she replied back with a time and set the device down, getting back to work.

On weekdays, especially if they weren’t hosting a showing, Cedar closed its doors at five. Tabitha had already popped her head in to say her goodbyes, not blinking an eye that Amber was staying later. Though she worked there, she didn’t know very much about art, so she didn’t realize the priceless painting Amber was working with.

And then, once it was quiet beyond the walls of the studio as well, she was able to submerge herself further.

By the time she called it a day around eight, about the time in which she told Kyrnon she would be getting off, she sent a quick text to Gabriel to let him know she was finished and he was free to pick it up whenever he was ready—which wouldn’t be much longer—and gave him the time in which she would be back in the morning.

As she was finally leaving, walking out of the gallery with keys in hand as she thought of what all she would need to complete the following day to stay on schedule, she realized she wasn’t alone.

Kyrnon was half-leaning, half-standing beside his motorcycle, looking every bit as drool-worthy as he had the last time she’d seen him.

“You never said you were coming,” she said as she finished locking up, turning back to face him.

Had she thought there was a reason behind him asking what time she would be off? Sure. But she hadn’t expected to find him waiting out here once she came out.

“Ach, and where’d the fun be in that?” Kyrnon asked, stepping up onto the sidewalk. “Ruins the surprise.”

She didn’t fight the smile curling her lips. “And what’s the surprise?”

Plucking the helmet off the seat of his bike, Kyrnon said, “We’re going to Coney Island.”

“Are we?”

“What could it hurt?” he asked, closing the distance between them, his eyes drifting over her front. “We could be eating funnel cake. Riding a Ferris wheel. It’ll be grand.”

Laughing, she remembered the last time he said that. She probably should have been more hesitant, especially since she had spent the night in a bed with Rob—that was clue enough that she hadn’t been making the best decisions—but with that boyish smile on Kyrnon’s face coupled with the mischievous look in his eyes, how could she say no.

She was reaching for the helmet before she even agreed to go.

There was something about the shining lights, the way the city seemed to light up with new life that made Coney Island seem all the more wondrous at night.

Amber might have lived in New York for the better part of six years, but she had only come out to the theme park a handful of times, and those had all been during the day.

The sweet smell of promised funnel cake hung heavy in the air as they parked near the pier. And once Kyrnon had mentioned it, she was all for it.

Just like before at the diner, he offered that scarred, calloused hand of his, closing his fingers around hers once she accepted. There was no hesitation in his step, nor any tension in his hold.

He didn’t care that this was only their second time going out together—nor had he even cared the first.

He didn’t care that others glanced in their direction, sometimes even twice, but that could have also been because he was worth looking at twice.

They were just passing a gaming booth, one with netting hanging along the doors where giant panda bears were put up as prizes. Though she had always felt like the games were rigged somehow, that had never quelled her desire to try and win one. Once she had played against a kid—and you
never
take the win away from a kid—and the few times she came with Rob, he had never wanted to try his hand at one.

She was twenty-five, she didn’t even have a place for that damn stuffed thing, but the idea of walking away from that panda was hard.

“Want to have a go at it?” he asked, nodding his head in its direction, even as he steered her toward the booth.

The attendant, with a name tag that read Tony, barely spared them a glance as he muttered, “Ten for the first game, five for the next. Three hits for a small prize, ten for the big ones.”

“Have you ever beaten one of these?” she asked in return as he dug into his pocket, pulling out a twenty and slapping it down in front of the man that looked like he was three sheets to the wind.

There was something about the way his lips twitched that made her curious. “Not exactly.”

Kyrnon had one of the toy guns in his hand before she could respond, seeming to test the weight in his hands before holding it out in front of him, his gaze trained straight ahead.

He looked effortless like that, as though it was second nature to him. That nagged at the back of her mind, especially since she knew some
interesting
people in Manhattan, but she ultimately chalked it up to men and their guns.

Kyrnon looked ready to take out the spinning targets when he paused and looked to her. Holding his hand out, he beckoned her over, pressing the gun into her hands once she was close enough.

“I don’t—”

“It’s easy,” he said, cutting her off, his lips next to her ear. “You just aim…” His arms circled her, drawing her into the position he wanted, staying close. “… and pull the trigger.”

His finger found hers on the trigger, and only once she inhaled did he pull it. It wasn’t nearly as intense as a real gun, Amber was sure, but she could still feel the kick as the small pellet ejected, speeding through the air and hitting the target dead center.

He kissed her right where her jaw and throat met before stepping back, the hand he had at her waist lingering moments longer. “Easy.”

Amber could feel the flush in her face, even the path his hand had taken as it slid off her.

Yeah, there was nothing easy about Kyrnon Murphy.

Focusing, she closed one eye, trying to see the small, spinning circles better. She waited until she thought she had one in sight before she aimed, took a breath, and fired.

Missing the target entirely.

“What’s this?” Kyrnon asked. “You’re supposed to be winning me a prize. I’m a hard man to please, darlin’. Do me proud.”

Laughing, she aimed and shot again, barely grazing the metal, but did actually hit it. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Fair enough. Let’s wager on it then.”

Thinking back on the first shot he took, Amber scoffed. “I have no doubt that you can hit all of them.”

“Of course,” he said, not even a little ashamed at his arrogance. “I’m betting on
you
, though.”

Eyeing him as she turned the weapon over in her hands, she considered it. “And if I lose.”

“I’ll take you home after we leave.”

“And if I win?”

He rubbed a hand over his beard, a smile kicking is lips up. “We haven’t discussed parameters, lovie. First thing’s first.”

She waved him on. “Let me have them.”

“You hit the next seven of eight.”

Amber shook her head, knowing there was no possible way she could do that. “Five.”

“Six.”

“
Fine
.” How could she possibly argue with him? “Now, tell me. What do I win?”

His next words were low, guttural almost, spoken in a language she didn’t understand, but there was a heat to his gaze, one that made her feel terribly alive.