“Luna, leave it.”
“Why would—” The answer seemed to hit her all at once without him having to say a word. “No.”
“Don’t,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound as apologetic as it did.
Because that was only further confirmation that he hadn’t been the only one responsible for what had happened to her.
Kit shared in the blame as well.
Luna didn’t give him a chance to respond before she fled, leaving him staring after her wondering just how badly this was going to ruin everything.
30
Red.
As the sun descended across the late day sky, Uilleam knew it was time.
He might have had his reasons in keeping his distance from the mercenaries of the Den—electing a more observational role while Zachariah ran the day to day—he didn’t have a choice anymore. He could no longer ignore the threats against him.
Especially when people had started to disappear without a trace. Despite having some of the best trackers in the field, he had yet to receive any answers about where Grimm had disappeared to or even what had happened to Zachariah.
It was all still a puzzling mystery, and he hated that.
But he couldn’t wait in the shadows and let this play out, giving his enemies a chance to reveal themselves before he struck. It was time to play offense.
And to do that, he would need not just mercenaries—but the best ones money could buy.
The world could have descended into chaos around him, and Uilleam wouldn’t have noticed.
Sitting in his favorite chair with his fingers steepled in front of him, he pushed it all away.
All his thoughts and feelings.
Anything that could distract him from what was currently weighing heavily on his mind.
He hadn’t been able to see it before—not when he had been entirely too focused on his mercenaries and Grimm’s sudden disappearance—but someone was plotting against him.
Someone whose name he didn’t know, yet he was starting to feel their presence like an unwanted shadow hovering over him.
It was a wonder it had taken him this long to even notice.
Whoever it was, they were exceedingly clever. Not only because they had managed to not garner his attention before now, but because now that he took a moment to think back, there were also a few other incidents that made him pause.
They were all small, relatively minor offenses.
Like L’amant Flétrie—The Withered Lover that had been taken out of Brussels, and the fact that the men responsible refused to talk.
Or the business deal he’d initiated in Hong Kong that had fallen through at the last minute.
His distraction had cost him because only now was he seeing the effects of someone’s plot against him.
Even now, he knew they were still out there waiting for him to make another move so they could counter it.
Drawing in a breath, Uilleam opened his eyes, staring out at the world around him with a different perspective.
Now wasn’t the time to consider what he was about to do. It was just time to act on it.
There was only one very important question he had to ask himself before he began: how do you find a person without a name?
He didn’t even have a picture to reference or details about who they were or their business practices.
For once, he wasn’t the ghost so many searched for. He was the one doing the chasing.
“Kingmaker.”
Uilleam blinked, glancing in the direction of the door, only to find one of Zachariah’s subordinates standing in the entryway.
When the man didn’t immediately speak as he turned to look at him, Uilleam arched a brow, wondering how long he’d continue to stand there in silence.
Realizing that he was prompting him to speak, the mercenary cleared his throat, appearing far more uncomfortable than when he’d first entered the room.
“Would you just spit it out already? What is it?”
“It’s Z.”
“What about him?”
“He’s … well … he’s missing. He’s been off the grid for sixteen hours.”
Normally, Uilleam would have dismissed it and moved on. This was Zachariah’s way, after all. He’d disappear for any length of time without a word, and then he would pop back up as if he’d never left.
Except the thought of him being absent made Uilleam feel uneasy.
Because he’d once thought the same of Bishop, and that had been over a year ago now.
Something was wrong, and he was the only one who could fix this.
“Get me everything Z has worked on for the past two years.”
“But—”
“Do I really need to repeat myself?”
“No, sir.”
“And once you’ve finished with that, I need you to get me the location of the mercenaries listed on this sheet of paper,” Uilleam said, holding it up and handing it over once he reached for it.
Because while he had been mostly hands off with the mercenaries up until this point, he would need them now, and it was about time he introduced himself to them, considering they would all be working very closely together in the coming months.
Starting with the name at the very top of that list.
Red.
His mercenary had changed considerably from the man he’d been when he was first brought into the Den.
There’d been an unrefined quality about him—a loose cannon if he had ever seen one. Not that that had been much of a surprise, considering how he’d been brought into the organization.
After all, he knew far too well what it was like to lose your lover, but unlike Red, he hadn’t had to watch up close and personal. He’d only seen what came after.
But a year of training and more that followed on the actual job, Red had become more than just a broken boy from a family he had never known. Now, he was one of the best snipers money could buy.
After all, Uilleam was the one employing him.
Dominic cleared his throat in that delicate way that indicated he was about to speak. “Red isn’t like the others, sir.”
“No?” Uilleam asked, watching the mercenary in question from the comfort of his car as the man currently dumped black bags full of Jetmir Besnik’s body parts into the dark, murky water below. “What’s he like?”
“He has a problem with authority figures and is ill-mannered.”
Why didn’t that surprise him?
It could have been because he’d watched the man’s intake video—saw the days of training he’d gone through in the very beginning to determine whether the man made it another day.
But couldn’t the same have been said about him? He couldn’t imagine that he had made the best company in the months following Karina’s death, let alone the first week.
Which was why he’d sequestered himself away so he wouldn’t have to deal with people.
Red hadn’t been given the same choice.
“I’d imagine he’d be a touch more agreeable now that the man responsible for the death of his lover is currently sinking to the bottom of that water out there.”
Or ... at least the man who was partially responsible for her death.
After all, it had been Uilleam who’d pointed the Albanians in his direction, and even he knew it wouldn’t matter that he hadn’t intended on getting the woman who’d been with Red murdered—it still wouldn’t change the fact she was dead.
“Where’s the Irishman?” Uilleam asked. “We’ve Celt with us, haven’t we?”
Dominic nodded. “In one of the other cars, yes.”
Good enough.
He would have to do.
Mercenaries were mistrusting by nature, but despite that, the men and women who made up his Den had formed their own connections with each other.
Especially the team he’d put together.
Red and Celt.
Luna and Skorpion.
Synek and Winter.
Grimm.
/> It would ultimately make his life easier if he could use those relationships to his advantage.
Touching a finger to his ear, Uilleam uttered three words. “Bring him in.”
Red was only now turning away from the bridge, his grisly task done, and all too quickly, his gaze settled on them. Despite the fact that he’d deliberately had them park in the shadows of the alley to avoid detection.
Zachariah hadn’t been considered the best for no reason.
At first, Red moved freely, willingly walking alongside the masked men Uilleam had instructed to bring him over, but when one attempted to make him walk faster by shoving him, he didn’t respond too kindly.
He spun with alarming speed and disarmed him, using the butt of his newly acquired rifle to hit him in the stomach.
He’d forgotten, in his absence, just how much of a hair trigger these mercenaries had.
But before Red could do too much damage, Celt stepped in, defusing the situation before he held up the black hood Uilleam had given to him before they’d left the compound.
Instead of meeting him out here, however, Uilleam had them drive nearly half an hour in the opposite direction, parking beneath an overpass in the middle of Brooklyn.
Though they would undoubtedly be working closely in the future, if there was one thing he knew about mercenaries, even as loyal as they could be, that loyalty only stretched so far.
If he didn’t want his own weapon to be used against him, he couldn’t afford to get close to any one of them.
Which was why it wasn’t until they were parked and he climbed into the back of the truck opposite Red that he said, “There’s no more need to keep that on.”
He all but snatched it off and tossed it aside, his gaze flat as he looked at Uilleam, making it clear that whatever he saw, he wasn’t overly impressed by him.
It was quite uncanny seeing the Volkov boy in front of him—so very much identical to his brother, yet something about the expressions on their faces told them apart.
Red looked as if he’d known suffering. Mishca had had the privilege not to.
“Niklaus.”
His mouth twitched at hearing his name. “Klaus.”
All the same. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.”
“Who are you?”
“Your new handler,” Uilleam replied evenly.
He didn’t have the luxury of delving into it at the moment.
“And my last one?” he asked.
“Dead,” Uilleam said simply, the easiest answer to a vast and complicated question. “But that isn’t of any importance. I need you for a job.”
Because he was the only one with the Irish connection that he needed to see this done. The mercenaries might have left the Den behind after their training was complete and relocated elsewhere, Zachariah had still tracked them everywhere they went.
Monitored the relationships they had, even the ones that only lasted a night.
There wasn’t a single bit of information about them that they weren’t following in some way.
It made moments like these easier.
“Listen,” Red said dryly, his hands on his knees. “I don’t know where you’re from, but I just finished a contract, and I have some downtime before I need to report in. Catch me later.”
Uilleam appreciated his daring.
There were some that were so in fear of him, they never spoke out of turn for what he might do, but Red didn’t seem to feel such fear.
It was why Uilleam had wanted him in the first place. He’d always seen the potential.
But if he thought Uilleam had come here for any reason other than to hand over the details of what he wanted done, Red was sorely mistaken.
“I would have thought that after you killed Rayne, you might be a little more inclined to listen to reason.”
Uilleam hadn’t known the mercenary personally—she’d been a freelancer, though last he’d checked, she’d been working with the Albanians—but it hadn’t escaped his notice that Red had done something his contract specifically was against.
But in the end, Uilleam hadn’t cared very much who or why he killed anyone so long as it didn’t jeopardize his business.
Besides, it always helped that he could use the knowledge against him.
Red worked his jaw, contemplating his answer. “I was on the job. Not much I could do about that.”
“Interesting. I don’t believe I asked for an excuse,” Uilleam said with a lift of his brow.
Because in the end, it wouldn’t matter.
They both knew that.
“Who’s the target?” he asked reluctantly.
Uilleam reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a single photo, the lone face depicted circled in red ink.
It was almost comical, watching the varying emotions that crossed over his face in a span of seconds.
Uilleam could understand why. It wasn’t every day that you were handed a photo of your father.
But unfortunately for Mikhail Volkov, he’d never garnered any good will with this son.
“How much, and how do you want it?”
The Russian mafiya boss could have been a dead man just that quickly, and he didn’t even realize the biggest threat to his life was still breathing.
“You misunderstand. I don’t need him dead—though what you choose to do with him after is entirely up to you.” The decision wasn’t his to make. “Six months ago, he brokered a deal that garnered him around seven-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars. I need the name of the man behind the deal.”
“Right.”
“And I’ll need this handled quietly. If you require assistance, only look to those within the Den. If anyone stands in your way, kill them.”
Because not only did he not need what he was doing to spread too quickly, he also couldn’t afford any more distractions.
If he wanted a name, he couldn’t allow anyone to prevent him from finding it.
Red was silent a moment before asking, “What do I call you?”
The door to the truck opened right on time, indicating that it was time for him to leave, but Uilleam wouldn’t let him before he answered his question.
“You can call me the Kingmaker.”
31
Warnings
With thick gardening gloves on her hands, Karina carried her caddy of tools outside to the greenhouse, picking up her spray bottle of water along the way.
The gray overcast had finally succumbed to rain, soaking everything in sight within minutes. Puddles splashed around her feet as she darted from the back door to the open one of the greenhouse.
There was no way to describe the calm that came over her as she walked in, inhaling the fragrant scent of flowers.
Every day, she tended to her midnight garden, a wide variety of flowers in the deepest shade of violet that they were all nearly black, and right off to the side of them were her poppies.
She mourned the most when those flowers were out of season, but the moment she saw the faint green stalks begin to pierce the earth once more, she came alive again.
Fixing the small chalkboard that bore the flower’s name, she looked on to the belladonna, the black berries at the end ripe and shiny.
They reminded her daily of who she was.
Karina had only just picked up her pruning shears when she heard the unmistakable sound of feet on the stone pathway that led to the greenhouse. She could only see a shadowed form through the glass because of the rain, but she could already tell by the man’s slight run who he was.
Elias.
Unfortunately.
Had he been anyone else, she would have continued with what she had come out here to do, but she had never felt comfortable giving this man her back.
It was only a matter of time before he attempted to stab her in it.
Elias stepped in without an invitation, rainwater darkening the fabric of his overcoat. He appeared minutely annoyed that he’d had to venture out here to find her, but now she was glad
she had come when she did.
It was the little things in life.
“Mr. Harrington,” she greeted, slipping off her gloves and setting them on her workbench. “What an entirely unwelcome surprise.”
“Yes, well … Katherine relayed that I answer to you when it comes to Uilleam Runehart, so I’m here merely to abide by her wishes.”
“What about him?” she asked, coming around the table. “I was under the impression you were dealing with a problem with that Irish family.”
She hadn’t looked too deeply into it, in part because it hadn’t dealt with her, and because she didn’t care what Elias did for her mother.
“Silly girl, have you been paying attention?” he asked. Removing his hat, he slung water across the floor, nearly reaching her shoes from the force of his swing. “Your old lover isn’t as clueless as you believe him to be.”
“That’s the problem, Mr. Harrington, I’ve never thought for a second that he was anything other than what he is. You’ve chosen to underestimate him despite everything I’ve said.”
It had only been a matter of time before Uilleam started digging into them, or into Elias, rather. Not only because Karina had made it so, through carefully orchestrated events, but also because she saw what Elias tried to hide and exploited it.
For whatever reason, he thought Uilleam was beneath him and acted as such. Instead of seeing him as an opponent, he treated him as if he were mere dirt beneath his shoe.
That would inevitably prove to be his mistake.
“Regardless, he’s becoming a problem for the business, or would you rather I share my concern with Katherine?”
Karina smiled, a light laugh slipping out. “If you haven’t told her already, you wouldn’t be here. Or are you forgetting who holds your leash? In the end, it’s still my decision, so resolve yourself to that fact. As far as he’s concerned, you answer to me. So please, Mr. Harrington, learn your place.”
He deserved credit for how hard he tried to conceal his expression, that contempt bleeding over just so. Before, she hadn’t understood why he seemed to dislike her so much yet wanted to work for her mother and hopefully secure a place within the family business.
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