White Rabbit

by London Miller

  The first hour was easy.

  He’d lived with himself long enough to justify his actions when it called for it. For him, the end always justified the means.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her not to use the information she’d overheard in her article. He’d specifically told her not to because he knew it was wrong.

  Could he truly be blamed in the end if she chose to act on her own accord?

  Uilleam hadn’t thought so, not for those first sixty minutes when he had been just as frustrated as she’d been by this turn of events.

  In the end, he had delivered what the client expected of him and got her everything she had wanted … but at what cost?

  Despite what Karina thought, he hadn’t intentionally gotten her fired, and had he known it would have come down to that, he would have attempted to lessen the impact it had on her, but once again, he’d underestimated her need to help the good guy.

  If she possessed any flaw, it was that big heart of hers.

  She would have to learn at some point that she couldn’t save everyone—that even if everything was done correctly and above board, it still wouldn’t matter in the end because men like him existed.

  Men who would do deplorable things for the right price.

  Yet even as Uilleam was antsy, wanting to yank at the knot of his tie and pull the fabric undone, he restrained himself, keeping one hand clenched around his mobile and the other on the armrest of the door.

  He needed something to occupy his thoughts—something that would keep him busy long enough that he didn’t think about the fact that he wasn’t sure whether Karina would be waiting for him when he arrived back home.

  A place that wouldn’t be home if she wasn’t there.

  Bishop cleared his throat again, the sound making Uilleam close his eyes, willing down his urge to see something go up in flames.

  That would certainly make him feel better … or at the very least, ease some of the dark thoughts currently clouding his brain.

  “If you have something to say …”

  “Far be it for me to tell you how to handle shit.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “But when you fuck up, you apologize. Sounds like the easiest shit in the world to me.”

  “Thank you for such insightful knowledge that I hadn’t possibly considered.”

  His darkening mood didn’t seem to faze the man whatsoever. “An apology ain’t an apology if you’re making excuses for your shit. You have to own it.”

  He did fucking own it, but that didn’t erase the fact that there was a reason for the things he did.

  He’d warned her, hadn’t he?

  Fuck if he couldn’t hear himself telling her not to do exactly what she had done anyway.

  That thought comforted him for as long as it took a niggling thought to worm its way into his thoughts. Because he knew her—the way she thought and the way she worked. He knew the moment the idea took root, she wouldn’t be able to leave it.

  Warning be damned.

  “As much as I appreciate your insight,” he replied dryly because they both knew he didn’t, “I don’t have any desire to discuss this.”

  It was too personal.

  He had never been very good at sharing anything about himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to start by discussing Karina with anyone.

  And as far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to discuss.

  All would be fine soon enough.

  She was gone.

  He knew it before he ever stepped foot back into the townhouse—as if her absence had left a void that nothing could fill.

  She was gone.

  From one room to the next, Uilleam ventured through them all, checking behind doors and in the bathrooms, glancing inside the showers even as no water was running.

  She was gone.

  He still remembered the way he felt the day Kit had left with Zachariah and the years that had passed before he saw him again. He remembered the aching loneliness that had plagued him for so long, he had been sure nothing could possibly hurt him the way that had.

  She was gone.

  For a moment, he stood there in the middle of the floor, trying to tamp down the flood of emotion that was threatening to take him under. Because the only thing he wanted to do was bring her back. To go out and find her.

  Time.

  He just needed to give her time.

  Heading back downstairs, he barely spared Bishop a glance as he headed for the door. “We’re leaving.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I won’t say it again.”

  Because he didn’t think he was capable of saying another word.

  Karina was gone.

  Two weeks later …

  Uilleam had been in a shite mood for so long, he was surprised he hadn’t burned something to ash already, but at least the gray skies over London reflected his mood.

  Fucking New York. Its blue skies and refreshingly cold weather—the way it had turned into a winter wonderland in the span of weeks. As beautiful as it was pure—all but making a mockery of him. He’d been glad for a distraction.

  If he couldn’t have her for the moment, he might as well not waste time and actually get work done. At least if he saw results, he wouldn’t think losing her for a spell was worth it in the end.

  Which was why he was on a flight out of the country for another recruitment. This one he’d only agreed to come on because he was curious about the man they were pursuing.

  Certain men were born to unfortunate circumstances that led them down the paths they currently followed—Uilleam knew that well.

  He knew the weight of it sitting heavily on his shoulders, even as he could do nothing to change it. Not that he particularly wanted to—he hadn’t fought against the life that was all but handed to him. He embraced it.

  Fully.

  Even during the days when he wondered if he would be a different person entirely if he hadn’t grown up under Alexander.

  Would he then not have hurt those closest to him?

  Did it really fucking matter now?

  Annoyed by his own change in thoughts, he forced himself to think of anything else.

  Like the reason he was in London in the first place.

  Delightfully savage in the worst of ways—Synek Jønsson was a force to be reckoned with. Capable of a level of viciousness other killers aspired to be.

  A man like that should have been fearless—all but able to conquer the world, considering no one could stand in their way.

  He would be perfect to have as his own personal weapon.

  But as fearless as he was, Synek was a prisoner to his own mind. The rumors about him were true.

  That much he could see as he watched the footage back, watching a rather docile Synek remain sitting and silent as a pair of men argued right beside him. Not even when they sneered at him, dangling their drinks in his face, did he react.

  Just sat there and stared at ghosts only he could see.

  Until one of them, braver than his friends, decided to take his taunting further. Until he jumped to his feet with a cocky little grin on his face and dropped his hand onto Synek’s shoulder to attempt to turn him around bodily.

  For the life of him, even as he watched the film, he wasn’t sure how the man moved as fast as he did. One second, he was sitting idly, and the next, he was on his feet and smashing a bottle over the man’s head in a show of aggression.

  But the man could hardly stumble at all before Synek palmed the back of the man’s neck, then slammed him face first into the bar top, blood and a tooth left behind as he crumpled to the floor.

  The calm was gone.

  Replaced by a rage so profound that even Uilleam admired how brutal it all was. He couldn’t take his eyes off it all—not after he immobilized the first one, or even when he made his way through the rest of them.

  Synek didn’t blink when he was punched; he merely absorbed the blow and smiled through the pain with his red-stained
teeth.

  “I can see why you want him,” Bishop remarked dryly, leaning the chair back on its hind legs, using his booted feet against the table to keep his balance. “The potential, anyway.”

  Unlike Uilleam, he didn’t let his fascination show. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, wanting an opinion when he usually wouldn’t care for one.

  Talking kept him distracted, and it was proving to be the only thing keeping him sane.

  “He’s a wild one,” Bishop said with a jerk of his chin at the screen, folding his arms across his chest. “Great to have at the moment, but they’re hardwired to watch their own ass first.”

  “Perhaps,” he relented, looking back at the screen. “But that’s what I’m offering him anyway. Either way, if I only wanted soldiers, I would have found them.”

  He shook his head. “Soldiers aren’t what you need.”

  “No?”

  “War Dogs,” he said, not a second later. “Not soldiers. Not mercs. Something … else.”

  Uilleam had heard of the men—ones who longed to return to fighting and protecting. After so many years in service, it was the only thing they knew.

  “One day,” he answered thoughtfully, “I might be in need of them, but for now, I need the mercenaries.”

  The end needed to justify the means.

  He really did make quite the sad sight sitting alone next to the giant trash bins, a bottle of something he didn’t need to be drinking clutched in his right fist.

  A man with a death wish.

  And one who didn’t care whether that death was yours or his …

  Uilleam could use a man like that.

  Someone who didn’t fear death.

  Someone capable of truly heinous work.

  He certainly could use a man like that.

  But something was always incredibly damaged about that lot, he’d found. After all, there had to be something rather traumatic to turn them into killers.

  And Synek … he almost didn’t want to know what the man had suffered. He doubted he had the stomach for it.

  Even from where he stood, Uilleam didn’t miss the blade he held, a gleaming metal that looked extremely sharp. He turned that knife around and around in his hand, never nicking his fingers or slashing his palm.

  It was as if it was just an extension of himself.

  And just as Uilleam thought he was about to launch it through the air, Synek moved it to his own arm as if he was readying to dig it into the veins beneath his flesh.

  “I took you for many things, Synek Jønsson, but a coward was never one of them.”

  He knew the allure of wanting to end it all because it seemed impossible to keep going. He didn’t want that for Synek though the man clearly didn’t care for his interference, his drunken gaze sliding in his direction.

  “Fuck off,” he muttered, the Cockney accent unmistakable.

  Uilleam didn’t think twice about stepping forward, even as he could practically feel Bishop’s unhappiness with that decision.

  But he needed to know what sort of man he was.

  Because if he wanted to end his life, nothing Uilleam did would be able to stop him, but if he needed a reason to keep going … Uilleam might have what he needed.

  “Nothing to see here,” Synek continued with a nod of his head back toward the mouth of the alley.

  “If you die, that puts a bit of a wrinkle in my plans, you see, so before you decide that all hope is lost, let me make you an offer.”

  Synek studied him as if he hadn’t expected him to linger for so long. “Listen, bruv, it’s me doing you a favor here. You get me? If you think you know me, then you know who I work for, and trust me, they ain’t going to be nearly as nice as I am. Understand?”

  Unlike most, Uilleam didn’t fear the Wraiths.

  But as he readied to tell him just that, Synek’s expression morphed, going with drunken curiosity to a rage so profound it was a wonder he hadn’t killed him outright.

  He must have realized Uilleam called him by the name no one was supposed to know.

  As far as the world knew, his name was Syn.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Uilleam smiled, slow and steady. “A friend, should you want one.”

  “I have no use for those,” he replied with a shrug. “How d’you know my name?”

  Because that was what he did. “I know a great many things about you, but I’ll tell you what you want to know in due time. To answer your other question, they call me the Kingmaker.”

  “Right,” he replied, not impressed at all. “Why are you here?”

  “I told you. I’ve come to make you an offer.”

  “Yeah? And what sort of offer is that?”

  “Freedom,” he said.

  It was what the man wanted most.

  It wasn’t a question that he would give anything to get it.

  “You think you can take me from the Wraiths, do you? At what cost?”

  Nothing in this world was free.

  At least he understood that.

  “Consider it a bonus on my job offer. Should you choose to work for me, I can give you what you want most.”

  He lowered his knife finally. “You don’t know shit about me, mate. You don’t know what I want.”

  “I know you never wanted to suffer at the hands of your mother,” he said carefully. “I know she’s who haunts you most.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  And he knew the moment it registered with him.

  Synek forgot all about potential deals and merely flipped the knife around in his hand and prepared to stab him until Bishop grabbed his wrist before he could.

  But he wasn’t one to give up that easy.

  No, he struck with his free arm, going back and forth with Bishop with a certain ease that said he had been fighting all his life, but his mercenary had formal training as well, and Synek didn’t stand a chance.

  In the future, however … he’d be a force to be reckoned with.

  Once Bishop had him on his knees, subdued for the moment, Uilleam continued.

  “Let’s not fight, shall we?” he suggested. “I wager you’re upset because I know about your mum? Don’t be. I know a lot of things about a lot of people. What I know won’t be used against you; it’s merely my way of saying I understand who you are.”

  His brother had suffered the same.

  His gaze was still guarded. “You know fuck all about it.”

  “I know far too well what it’s like to live with a woman who despises your very existence, and the way it eats at everything you think you know. She was supposed to love you, wasn’t she? Your mother. But she didn’t give you that. She showed you how cruel this world could be before anyone else could get their claws into you.”

  Yes, he understood Synek very well.

  “The Wraiths aren’t any better, I imagine. You’re only as useful to them as your latest victim. I can give you more than that should you want it.”

  The longing was written all over his face. “You don’t ever walk away from the Wraiths with your life. That’s not how it’s done.”

  Maybe not for him.

  But he could.

  “The question is never and will never be what you can do. It’s what I can. If you want to be free of them and have his training,” Uilleam said with a nod of his head to Bishop. “I can give that to you … for a price.”

  “What price?”

  He had him.

  “In exchange for your loyalty, I’ll give you the skills only my mercenaries are capable of. For your service, I’ll pay you more than you could ever dream.”

  “And my life?” Synek asked, not missing the distinction. “What are you offering for that?”

  He leveled his gaze on him. “Vengeance.”

  “Right. And where do I sign for this?”

  “That comes after,” Uilleam said with a nod, but that was not where it ended.

  Not anymore.

  He wanted something more from these deals. />
  Something that would hurt those who sought his service as he had been hurt because of them. It seemed only fair.

  “My offer is yours … for a price, as I said. If you want it, you have to do something for me in return.”

  “What’s that?”

  Uilleam’s smile grew, that dark emotion he’d stoked only deepening. “You have to betray your brotherhood.”

  The one thing that meant the most to him.

  30

  Lost

  Karina woke up to the sound of cabinets closing, wondering what on earth Uilleam was attempting to make this early in the morning.

  But as the room slowly began to filter in, she realized all too quickly she wasn’t back at the townhouse. There wasn’t any chance of Uilleam being downstairs in his office plotting mayhem or him finding her here, considering she had left her phone behind.

  There were a couple of security cameras outside of the house, so she knew he wouldn’t have to worry about whether something had happened to her since he’d see for himself that she had climbed into the cab willingly.

  They were just … apart.

  But if he wasn’t here, then who was in the kitchen?

  As she sat up, a sharp pain flared to life, making her clutch her head and squeeze her eyes shut. This was mild, all things considered, for a hangover, but that didn’t make the pounding in her skull any less painful.

  If the person had come to kill her, they would have certainly done it by now, so she didn’t give them another thought until after she came back out of the bathroom and got herself cleaned up.

  To her immense surprise, Isla was in the kitchen when she rounded the corner.

  Even more surprising was the fact that she was in a pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt without a stitch of makeup on.

  “Morning,” Isla called over her shoulder, concentrating on her task.

  “When did you start getting up this early?” she asked before she thought of a better question. “What are you doing here anyway?

  “I get a notification when someone accesses this room, and considering only two people besides myself have the key to this place, I thought it was important.”