“I’m sorry,” he said without inflection, forcing his gaze to her. “You were saying?”
It seemed therapy had served them well, considering how different they acted around each other now. There was no lingering resentment in Luna, it appeared, nor did she seem to want to escape the room as quickly as possible.
There was no amount of money Uilleam wouldn’t pay to have Karina look at him the way Luna looked at Kit again.
“Elias will no longer be a problem for you,” Kit said, instead of Luna. “But I do believe this Belladonna woman, whoever she is, will be.”
Uilleam tossed back another shot of vodka, already deciding that it was time he stopped relying on the drink to get him by. After tonight. “What’s another enemy to add to the legion I already possess?”
For once, his brother didn’t look so easily swayed. “I don’t think you’ve encountered someone quite like her,” he said. “From what Luna tells me, it sounds like she’s the one who Elias answered to.”
“Right, and you want me to believe that it’s Karina who’s the mastermind behind all of”—he gestured around them—“this. Should I assume she tried to have me killed as well?”
“Actually,” Luna said cutting in, “she knew nothing about it. That was one of the reasons she had the Jackal kill Elias.”
If this were anyone else, he would have dismissed the conversation outright. It wasn’t just the fact that it didn’t seem plausible at all to him, but the thought of Karina targeting him for any reason was absurd.
He’d loved her, and he’d never doubted she felt the same for him.
“Then this Belladonna is the Jackal’s handler, I wager.”
They might not have been willing to separate the two, but he would.
Though now with Elias dead, it felt like he’d taken one step closer while simultaneously taking two steps back.
“That’s what it looked like,” Luna said with a shrug. “But she also wanted me to give you something.”
She pulled out a black envelope, sleek with no lettering or adornments of any sort along the front. There was, however, a wax seal along the back of it with a rabbit’s head in the very center.
He wasn’t sure why the sight of it sent a wave of anxiety coursing through him. The image meant nothing, and their questions were only making him believe something that wasn’t true.
But that didn’t stop his hand from shaking as he turned it over.
It wasn’t possible.
He just needed to keep reminding himself of that fact and all would be fine.
“The offices,” Uilleam said, his gaze still on the envelope in his hands. “Where are they?”
He might not have known what the truth was, but it was about time he figured it out for himself.
Kit readily rattled off an address, though he didn’t look as disbelieving as Uilleam felt. “If you go seeking answers, you need to be prepared for whatever you might find.”
“As I’ve said, brother mine, it’s not possible.” He moved to his feet, smoothing a hand down the front of his shirt. “Enjoy your vacation.”
They had earned it after everything they’d gone through, and he owed it to Luna to give her a break after what had transpired with her mother.
Besides, this was something he wanted to handle alone.
Because the truth, whatever it might be, would determine his next move now that Elias was dead.
This wouldn’t be the first time someone attempted to play games with him. It wasn’t even a bad strategy.
It had been clear for anyone to see that he had disappeared off the face of the earth when he lost Karina, and though his business hadn’t suffered much for it, he still had taken a hit—however minor it might be.
Uilleam was a man of logic and reason—a believer in facts.
Until he was able to see something for himself, he refused to believe in it because he knew how easily the truth could be skewed and manipulated.
It came down to two possibilities. Either Karina was alive—and the antsy, unsure part of him desperately thought this wasn’t true—or someone was trying very hard to make it look as if she was.
The reason was clear—ever since the possibility had come up, he’d been distracted, and he’d come dangerously close to making mistakes. The last time, he’d lost himself in his own misery and his business, and his very being had suffered for it.
Psychological warfare was by far one of the best battle strategies to implement.
And now, Uilleam wasn’t sure if he’d ever played a game quite like this one without knowing whom he was playing against.
The streets of New York were a blur as his driver expertly navigated through the late day traffic until they arrived at the address Kit had given him.
As he stepped out of the chauffeured car, he tried to let go of his preconceived notions as he stared up at the expanse of the building in the heart of the city. He knew New York realty pretty well, and renting the space, let alone buying the building, would come at a significant cost.
Karina had merely been a journalist and an orphan at that—she couldn’t afford a place like this.
Blood coursed through his veins as he walked through the front doors, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder what he would find when he made it upstairs.
Nothing?
Everything?
His mind was swimming with possibilities, but as the doors to the lift opened on the thirteenth floor, his eyes adjusting to the darkness that greeted him, Uilleam was unsure he would find any answers at all.
The floor was entirely empty.
And not empty in the way that said the tenants would be returning, but empty in the regard that all the desks were gone, light fixtures removed, and even pieces of the drywall had been cut away.
As if no one had ever been here at all.
Uilleam, refusing to believe what was directly in front of him, started forward, trying to find anything, any clue as to what had once been.
But as he walked through, he found ... nothing. Fucking nothing.
No, he realized as he turned to head back the way he came, there was something after all.
A glowing light—very much like the ones used by construction workers—had been left on the floor, the brightness drawing him in like a beacon.
Uilleam moved toward it, his senses on high alert—his desire for answers making him throw caution to the wind.
But once he found what the light was shining on, his breath seized tight in his lungs, his thoughts blanking over.
Resting on the floor was a single blue rose, its petals luminous and plump.
Uilleam had to blink just to reassure himself he was seeing correctly—that the flower at his feet wasn’t a figment of his imagination, though he desperately wanted it to be.
He knew that rose.
He knew what it symbolized.
Karina had adored roses. They were delicate and remarkable in appearance—very much like she had been—but they weren’t easy to cultivate. It took determination and a careful eye to get the perfect ones to bloom.
And she hadn’t been interested in just any roses.
Anyone could get the purest of whites, the daintiest of yellows, and the bloodiest of reds.
She’d wanted something unique, and in a bid to win a date with her—because she’d intrigued him in a way no one else had since—he had found a florist that specialized in the unique blue of these roses, and he’d bought her enough to fill up a room.
Only then had she agreed to let him take her away.
Only then had she allowed herself to fall in love with him.
And seeing it sitting there brought it all back. Those feelings he’d attempted to bury came back with a vengeance.
They robbed him of breath because he knew then.
No matter how impossible it might have seemed, the truth was now staring back at him because had it been anything else, he might have been able to excuse it.
He’d never
told anyone about the very particular roses he liked to give her—it was a secret held only between the two of them.
And as he stood there staring down at it, he remembered the envelope Luna had given him—the one from Belladonna.
He turned it over in his hands, flexing his fingers as they started to tremble as he ripped it open to find the card inside.
Four words.
Four words in elegant, familiar script that made the world fall away around him.
Four words that made his mind crack.
Did you miss me?
* * *
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THE KINGMAKER SAGA
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Red. Sneak Peek
2012
Shouldering his duffel bag, Niklaus kept his gaze at his feet, even with the opaque sunglasses concealing his gaze. It only took a single person, or the right angle of a security camera, to catch his face, and blow up his carefully crafted identity. Thankfully, most people by nature were unobservant, too lost in their own lives to remember someone that excelled at remaining forgettable.
Usually the jobs he took were sanctioned, preplanned ops that only required him to show up, pull the trigger, and disappear with the help of an entire organization.
But today’s job? This one was his alone. Though it was the middle of the day when most people were roaming the streets, Niklaus couldn’t put it off any longer—not if he wanted to end the man’s life on this side of the Pacific.
Careful not to brush anybody as he moved, Niklaus slipped like a ghost through the crowded streets, heading for the five-story building a block away. Before turning the corner, entering the alley that had the sharp scent of rot and garbage clinging to it, he checked the time on his watch, making sure he was on schedule. Even a few seconds could mean the difference in success and failure.
Fingering the key in his pocket, Niklaus pulled it free, slipping it into the lock, twisting until the door popped open. Heading up the back stairwell, he made it to the roof. Dumping his bag, he moved to the edge, just close enough so he could see over. At least a hundred feet down, stuck on one of the street signs that stood there was an orange flag taped to one side, one he had placed there weeks ago. He waited, watching as it barely fluttered in the brief winds that blew. For now, conditions were perfect.
Stowing his glasses away, Niklaus crouched, unzipping the duffel, carefully removing the piece of rifle inside. A year and a half of brutal training, another six months of shadowing his mentor, Celt, and finally a year of working on his own had prepared him for this very day—the day he would take the life of a man for no other reason than because he wanted it ended.
Artem was no innocent, not like some Niklaus had needed to hunt down in the past. He was knee-deep in human trafficking, sold guns to anyone that was willing to buy, and had a plethora of men that were willing to kill for him at a snap of his fingers. But it wasn’t for these crimes that Niklaus had decided to put a bullet in his head.
No, it was because two years ago, before Niklaus had become the well-trained soldier he was, Artem had helped take something from him. Someone that had meant more to Niklaus than words could do justice.
For Sarah, Artem would die.
No, Artem hadn’t been there that day, but he had been part of the long line of men that had made that day possible, which meant he shared just as much responsibility as the others.
For all intents and purposes, the man was getting off easy compared to the hell Niklaus had rained down on others, and for what he had planned for the main three that had been in the room with him.
Jetmir, Valon, and Fatos.
After he had learned their names, he never forgot them.
The first would die slowly, painfully, and in every way that he didn’t know he feared until Niklaus was too spent to do anything more. For him, he would take his time and savor every minute. The second, he would be tortured as Niklaus had been, then he would die too. The last? A combination of the two.
But those three were for another day.
If not for the lot of them, Niklaus didn’t think he would be on the rooftop, ready to take Artem’s life. Perhaps Artem only had himself to thank for his own death.
Assembling his rifle, Niklaus checked the scope before moving to the edge of the roof once more, his back to the brick fixture on his left.
Staring across to the restaurant, Niklaus clocked every man milling about the place, oblivious to the danger they were all in. He, especially, paid close attention to Artem, who looked to have gained a hundred pounds since the last time Niklaus had seen him. He held a glass of brown liquor in his meaty fist, the fat around his neck jiggling as he laughed boisterously at whatever one of his men was saying to him.
Seeing him so happy when Niklaus was plagued with guilt made anger simmer to life inside him, but there was no place for that. Not anymore. Exhaling, Niklaus centered his thoughts, concentrating on the present, letting his training take over.
For men that prided themselves on being untouchable, a large number of them stuck to the same routine every day, making it far too easy to learn their schedule and track them down. Niklaus had only just decided to go after one of them when he was sent to New York on an assignment and saw Artem walking the streets with his security detail. As soon as the job had ended, Niklaus had reached out to a few contacts he’d garnered over the last year, trying to get as much information as possible. Two weeks later, he knew every move Artem made and would make.
It was almost laughable how easy it had all been.
Snapping to attention, Niklaus’ gloved finger slipped around the trigger as he watched and waited.
The security rose first, keeping a uniformed line as they headed out the door first, checking for any threat on the street before their boss was to exit. Niklaus didn’t withhold his smile. The idiots never bothered to look up.
No one ever did.
Artem stepped outside, tugging at the bottom of his suit jacket as though that may help it move further down over his girth. He was smiling, gesturing wildly as his truck was pulling up.
Niklaus didn’t get anxious, just waited until Artem was lined up exactly where he needed him, the target now on his forehead.
One breath in …
Artem waved to someone …
Niklaus exhaled.
He pulled the trigger.
The rifle recoiled as the bullet shot through the chamber and out of the barrel, moving with lightning speed across the distance to land in the center of Artem’s forehead.
Pandemonium erupted as Artem’s security whipped out their guns, searching for an enemy they couldn’t see, civilians screaming as they ran for cover.
Niklaus didn’t stick around to admire his work. Disassembling his rifle in seconds—a talent he had learned from one of the best—he dropped the pieces into the bag and took off, leaving nothing behind, not even the shell casing.
Forty-five seconds from rooftop to alley …
Blood rushing in his ears, Niklaus ignored the cries of alarm, focusing more on the men barking orders in Albanian, on the hunt for him.
He’d almost cleared the alley when two of the Albanians finally caught sight of him. Niklaus kept moving, pretending like he hadn’t heard them call out. Adrenaline and rage coursed through him, a combination that didn’t prove well for the two confronting him.
This organization had taken so much from him …
He was no longer afraid.
Reaching for the gun holstered at his back, he had his finger on the trigger before the two comprehended that he was the one they wanted. He put two bullets in each of their chests before either could reach for their weapons.
Two blocks down, his car was waiting, the keys already in the ignition. It hardly looked like it ran so the
re hadn’t been any worry someone would try to steal it while he was on the roof.
Tossing his duffel into the back seat, he started the car, the engine roaring to life. He didn’t pull off right away, letting the comfort of his car calm him a moment before he finally put the car in drive and eased out, following the flow of traffic.
One hand on the wheel, he used the other to brush the damp strands of his hair back out of his face.
Glancing over at the digital display that lit up the dash, Niklaus still didn’t let himself enjoy the satisfaction of another job well done.
Not yet.
A bell chimed as Niklaus entered the diner in Hell’s Kitchen, a few curious eyes shifted in his direction before turning back to their own menus. Pushing back the wet hood of his jacket, he shrugged out of it as he headed for an empty booth in the back, one that was near the windows and still proved a decent vantage point to see the rest of the place. Thankfully, the weather had turned to shit after he’d finished with Artem. He was a good shot, but rain would have made the job a lot harder than it needed to be.
When he had left his motel room earlier, needing a minute away from the place, and had found the diner not very far away, the light drizzle had turned to heavy rains, nearly soaking him through, but he didn’t mind it. He found comfort in it.
Reaching his booth, he tossed his jacket on the vacant side, taking his own seat as he picked up the laminate menu that looked like it had been printed in the late seventies, scanning his options. He wasn’t much of a picky eater. There was something about greasy food and tacky decor that had drawn him to this place.
It reminded him of home.
He had only begun to read the other side of the menu listing every kind of sandwich they offered when he noticed someone moving towards him out of the corner of his eye.
While he didn’t sense a threat, he tensed up anyway, swinging his gaze in that direction.
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