Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2) (8 page)

She felt lucky.

Climbing up onto one of the bar stools, she rested her elbows on the island and watched him work, tracing the faint scars that decorated his back with her eyes. She had seen the ones on his chest quite clearly, but she didn’t recall seeing these.

These looked a little more deliberate, as though some
one
had inflicted them on him.

As he finished removing the last few strips of bacon from the pan, turning the stove off, he moved in search of a plate. He seemed so focused on his task that she wondered if he even knew she was there, watching him. It wasn’t like she had announced her presence, but she got an answer to that when he finally plated the strips and set them down in front of her, along with a glass of orange juice.

Coming around the island, he briefly paused at her side, pressing a lingering kiss to the delicate skin just below her ear and whispered, “Morning, lovie.”

Yeah … she was putty.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t grown up around varying accents her whole life, but there was something about the way Kyrnon spoke that made her wonder whether she would just melt right through the floor whenever he said anything.

“Morning,” she said watching him circle back round to pour her a cup of coffee. She found she liked him in the morning.

When he had the mug sitting in front of her, he asked, “Did you have a good night?”

One of the best nights of her life if she was being honest, but she simply said, “I did.”

He was about to say something else, when the strong vibrations coming from his pocket stole his attention. She didn’t know what kind of settings he had on his phone, but she didn’t think she had ever heard any that loud.

His gaze on his phone, he said, “I need to take this. Give me a moment.”

Kyrnon stepped off to the side as she remained at the island, finishing her breakfast. She was about done when he rejoined her.

“I have an errand to run, boss’ orders.”

“That’s fine.”

She needed to get going anyway. He could drop her off at home, and maybe after she pulled herself together, she could get some more work done.

It took her a moment to realize Kyrnon hadn’t responded, but when she did, turning her head to look at him, she found he was closer than before.

His expression turned softer as he cupped her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “How’s about a kiss?”

It was never just simply a kiss with Kyrnon. No, he had to take over her every thought, consume her mouth like he was trying to take everything from her. The unyielding press of his lips, the lazy way in which he moved his tongue to tangle with hers, and finally just the slightest bite of pain as he nipped her bottom lip.

Putty
.

“Three days,” he said after drawing back. “Your place.”

It was a date.

T
here was
something about cleaning that Amber hated.

From washing dishes, only to put them in the dishwasher after because that was what her mother had always taught her to do, to sweeping and dusting every little thing. It might have been a bit easier had she not let her apartment get so bad.

When she had woken up that morning she decided that she was finally ready to tackle the task of unpacking her place. It didn’t help that Kyrnon was supposed to be coming over. She had been all for it, at least until she got to her seventh box and decided she needed a break.

That was an hour ago … and in that time, she had managed to do absolutely nothing but sit on her couch and go through an old photo album.

Procrastination at its finest.

Now that she was back up, sorting through the last of it, she came to a conclusion.

She liked Kyrnon.

Maybe more than she had previously thought, even if she hadn’t heard much from him in the days after she spent the night at his place. The next morning he had texted her, letting her know he’d be out of town for the next few days, but promised he would be back and even set a time for him to come over.

Everything had been good and she had been excited, at least until she hadn’t heard from him. She had texted him a couple of times, but when he didn’t respond, neither did she. Chalking it up to him just being busy, she had put it out of her mind, figuring he would contact her when he could.

But that had been three days ago.

And she still hadn’t heard anything.

Even still, she cleaned her place up as though he was still coming.

It wasn’t that her place was particularly dirty, but cluttered would be a better word. There was always something out, whether canvases stacked against a wall in the corner, books on the coffee table, or loads of painting supplies that seemed to take up far more space than she could have thought possible, but she liked it that way. It made her place feel lived in.

By the time she finished sorting through it all, it actually looked like there was some reason behind the eclectic decor that made up her living room.

It was only going on six, so she still had enough time to grab a shower and cook dinner. She had fretted over what to make, trying to guess what he would and wouldn’t like. She, at least, knew he ate meat, so deciding on steak and baked potatoes wasn’t a hard sale.

Taking her time in the shower, Amber scrubbed away the smell of pine-sol and bleach, inhaling the cool aroma of coconut and lime. And by the time she was back out again and toweling dry, she was sure she smelled like the beaches back home.

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, Amber turned back to her closet to find something to wear.

Now, the only thing she needed to do was wait.

D
isappointment was an all-consuming
, crushing emotion.

It didn’t hit her all at once, rather slowly spreading its way through her as the minutes waned on, until it was the only thing she could think of.

She had been sitting on the couch, watching the wax drip from the glowing candles onto her refurbished hardwood table as she wondered, for what felt like the hundredth time, why she was still sitting there.

It was a quarter to twelve, and she had long since started doubting Kyrnon would show up. But if she was being honest, she had started doubting it hours ago. Kyrnon hadn’t struck her as the type of person to just stand someone up, but what did she really know? She hardly knew him.

And considering she had definitely slept with him the first night she spent with him, that probably wasn’t a point in her favor.

Though every bit of her rebelled at the idea of reaching out to him, she still tried calling him, hoping that maybe something had come up.

But it just rang.

And rang.

Until she had hung up and tossed the phone on the table, refusing to pick it back up no matter how she felt.

And once midnight had come and gone, she finally resolved herself to the truth as she blew out the candles and got to her feet, watching the smoke billow out in soft waves from the spent wicks.

Kyrnon wasn’t coming.

She was glad for the darkness of the room—now she wouldn’t have to see the food that would be left untouched.

Stripping out of her clothes and changing into something far more comfortable, she tossed her outfit in a laundry basket across the room, then burrowed beneath her covers, breathing in the clean scent of fresh laundry.

Closing her eyes, she counted back from a hundred, but it took a few dozen numbers before she was finally able to drift off.

T
he day
after he stood her up, she was still willing to believe it was all just a misunderstanding.

The second, she was feeling like an idiot for even considering it was anything more than it was.

And by the third, she was making it a point to not think of him at all.

Sure, the night she spent with him was great and it may take her a while to find someone that could top it, but she couldn’t bring herself to let it take over her life.

Stepping back from the painting as she wiped her brow, Amber’s gaze swept over the canvas and all the new details. After a week and a half, she could finally see it taking shape, and with the amount of work she was getting done, she would be finished by her deadline in another ten days. It would probably only take her a week at most to finish the actual painting portion of it, then she could return it to Gabriel for the aging process. As far as her job was concerned, she was only a week away from a five-figure payday.

But as she drew closer to the finish line, she was worried.

While making replicas of a famous painting was not illegal by any means, if someone tried to pass them off as the real thing… that
was
illegal. And the last thing she needed was to get arrested for something like that—she wouldn’t be able to work in her field again.

But, Gabriel had asked that she not change anything about the painting, wanting to ensure that it stood unparalleled next to the original. He was
technically
her employer for this, so it wasn’t like she could argue this with him, but the artist inside her didn’t like the idea of
not
marking them in some way.

Just in case …

Grabbing one of the thinner brushes, she dipped it in white paint, carefully scrawling her name along the very bottom, making sure it blended, though not completely, with the image at the bottom. It could easily be skipped over when one was just looking at the portrait, but easier to see once studied.

At the very least, it eased her conscious.

Cleaning her brushes, Amber made quick work of putting away her supplies and materials, then washing her hands with soap and paint thinner.

It was the nights like these when she watched the paint leech from her hands, running in colorful swirls down the drain that she felt the most happy.

She was creating something, even if it had already been done, but there was even an art to what she was doing. Not everyone could do the same.

Finished for the day, she grabbed her bag as she sent off the pick-up text, waving goodbye to the others as she headed out. Instead of going for the metro as had been her custom, she hailed a cab, riding all the way out to the Upper East Side, heading for a nightclub in the heart of the city.

Having a best friend that was married to a Russian Mob boss wasn’t something everyone could say they had, but Amber was just lucky that way. Mishca Volkov was what happened when you moved to a city and fell in love with the first man you met.

It only felt like months ago that she was sharing a brownstone with Lauren near NYU, enjoying the life of a college student, but after she had moved out—and because Amber was no longer in school—she thought it better to move and start living off her own dime instead of her parents’.

But outside the glamour that Mishca’s life presented, there were the darker, scarier parts. It was hard to know what all happened behind the scenes, but what little she had been privy to scared her.

Mishca had been shot once.

Lauren kidnapped.

All
of Luka.

Amber didn’t think she could handle that kind of lifestyle, constantly worrying that someone might try to kill her just because of who her spouse was, but so long as Lauren was happy and content, she couldn’t complain.

After paying the cabbie, Amber slung her bag over her shoulder as she climbed out, stepping up onto the curb in front of Club 221. The line was already starting to form, security in clean suits standing at the door, gradually allowing people inside.

Though she wasn’t dressed for the atmosphere by any means, the security guards barely spared her a glance as the door was opened and she was allowed entry—paid to be friends with the owner.

Amber followed the familiar pathway to the back office where she found Lauren on the floor with Sacha as he walked from the desk, to her, and back again, each time bringing one of the pencils along with him like a gift.

“He knows Friday nights are daddy’s night,” Lauren explained with a soft smile. “So if Mish is late, he throws a fit.”

Ah, he was nearing the terrible two’s. She had enough cousins with children so she knew how epic some of those meltdowns could be.

“If you want to reschedule—”

“Of course not,” Lauren said quickly. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, and we need to catch up. Mish should be here soon.”

Smiling broadly, Sacha toddled over to her, holding his hand high as he waved. “Hi.”

Feeling like her face was going to split open from her own smile—she really did love kids at this age—she sat down so they were eye level. “Hi, Sacha.”

He pointed to himself, making her laugh.

“Yeah, you’re Sacha.”

He pointed to her.

“I’m Amber.”

“Amber. Amber. Amber. Amber,” he said over and over again, going back to his trek across the floor for more pencils.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Lauren said with a light laugh. “The baby fever is written all over your face. Just remember that they’re not always this cute.”

Sacha made that hard to believe. Whenever she was around him, he was always in the best of moods with the sweetest smile.

“If you’re really feeling the urge, you can babysit for a night and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.” Lauren shook her head. “But then again, he’d probably be good for you.”

Amber had a cousin that had been like that as a baby, drove her mother crazy.

“But tell me about the guy! Don’t hold me in suspense any longer.”

Now Amber was kind of regretting that phone call. Earlier in the week, when she had called to arrange this hangout, she had slipped and told Lauren where she had been the night before, and since it was with a man, Lauren had demanded details.

Then, she had been rather giddy to share. Now, not so much.

“There’s not much to tell, really. It was only like a one-time thing.”

“It didn’t sound like a one-time thing,” Lauren said with a frown. “Did something happen?”

Amber quickly ran through everything, which was mostly nothing since she hadn’t actually talked to Kyrnon, but she did tell her everything that had happened between them up until this point.

“And you said his name is Kyrnon? That’s an interesting name.”

“He’s Irish.”

Lauren’s smile returned. “Oh, an Irishman? Besides Reagan, the only other Irish person I know is C—”

“Daddy!”

The exclamation came from Sacha as the office door came swinging open, revealing both Mishca and Luka Sergeyev on the other side.

The former, and her best friend’s husband, was just as intimidating as he had been the first time she met him. Except now, he seemed even more so. He still wore his customary three-piece suit, scruff on his jaw, and hair that always looked like it was in need of a cut.

The latter, however … he was much harder to describe.

There was always that one friend in the group, the risk taker, the one that loved to make jokes, and smiled a lot. But Luka was an enhanced version of that.

His risks included guns and knives.

His jokes were usually at another’s expense.

And his smiles were always a bit manic, and one could never tell if it was friendly or threatening.

The Mad Hatter always came to mind.

Questionable goodness. A small streak of evil. And a hell of a lot of madness.

Mishca caught his son, smiling down at the toddler as he brought him up in his arms with a brilliant smile. “How’s my boy?” Sacha smiled in return at his father. “And were you good for your mama today?” That, too, was answered with a smile. Smoothing a hand over Sacha’s head, Mishca’s gaze turned to her. “Amber, it’s nice to see you.”

“And you, Mish. How’s the, uh, other side treating you?” she never outright asked, but she didn’t pretend like she didn’t know.

“I can’t complain.”

“Enough about him,” Luka declared stepping further into the room. “Let’s talk about me.”

Laughing, Amber asked, “And how are you, Luka?”

“Don’t encourage him,” Lauren cut in before Luka could get out a word. “You’re asking how he’s doing, the next he’s telling you about the time he cut a man open to make him talk.”

Luka waved her words away. “I had a bad childhood.”

“See what I mean? Besides, we were talking about Kyrnon.”

“Kyrnon? Who’s Kyrnon?” The question came from Mishca.

Well that canceled out him being in the mafia, or at least he wasn’t a part of one in this state. And considering him and his brother ran in similar circles, that probably meant he wasn’t a mercenary either.

“He’s nobody,” Amber said. “Just a guy I met.”

“Did he do something wrong?” Luka asked, sounding a bit more serious than he had moments prior. “Because I’ll fuck him up, just give me the word.”

She believed that.

Wholeheartedly.

And not because he had done something wrong to
her
, but just because he liked doing it.

“It was nothing like that, Luka. Simmer down.”

“Well you’re no fun.”