Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2)

by London Miller

  She loved that voice.

  Even as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that it was Kyrnon in that room with her boss, she had her hand pressed against the door in the next second, needing to see.

  It could have been innocent, the pair of them having a conversation that she wasn’t privy to, but another part of her—the part that had been able to see mafia guys up close and personal—knew that whatever was happening inside of that room, it wasn’t good.

  How did Kyrnon know her boss anyway?

  Even knowing that she wasn’t going to like whatever she saw on the other side of that door, she very carefully pushed it open, glad for once that Elliot had had the foresight to install doors that didn’t squeak as they opened.

  The scene unfolded itself slowly, then all at once.

  Elliot was sitting in his office chair, his hands zip-tied to the arms of it, his face badly bruised, and his lip split with blood still leaking from the wound.

  But it was the man down on his haunches in front of him that stole Amber’s attention.

  Same hair. Same build—though this could be argued considering all the gear he had on—but from what she could see, it was him.

  It was Kyrnon.

  The phone slipped out of her hand in the next second, the device clattering to the floor loudly, drawing all eyes to her.

  In the span of a heartbeat, Kyrnon was on his feet, spinning around, the gun he held aimed at her head. There was no emotion in his eyes as he stared at her, and she was sure with the quick, terrified breath she drew into her lungs, she was about to die.

  Then, he blinked, seeming to realize who was standing in front of him, his aim faltering as he lowered his weapon just slightly.

  “Amber—”

  She didn’t give him a chance to finish speaking before she bolted, running for the door, not stopping even as he shouted her name with a curse, his steps heavy behind her.

  Amber didn’t stop or look back, not when she was outside the gallery, or even down the street. Only when she saw a yellow cab did she slow, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was still chasing her, but when she couldn’t spot him through the sea of faces, she threw her hand up, already rushing toward the cab before it could even stop.

  Throwing herself in the backseat, she locked the door, telling the man to just drive—she just needed to get away.

  Her hands were trembling, adrenaline racing through her as she tried to think of what to do.

  She couldn’t go home—he knew where she lived—and there was no telling what all he already knew about her family besides what she had already offered up.

  But there was one place.

  Patting her pockets, Amber searched for her phone, but realized almost belatedly that she had left it on the floor of the gallery in her haste to get away.

  “Can I use your phone?” Amber asked.

  The cabbie, though he did glance at her through the rearview mirror like she was crazy, handed her his own, and with shaking hands, she typed in a number she didn’t think she would ever have to call—at least not for something like this.

  As it rang in her ear she prayed he answered, and the moment the call connected, and she could hear his voice on the other line, Amber breathed her first sigh of relief.

  “Mish? I think I’m in trouble.”

  * * *

  He fucked up.

  Kyrnon knew it the moment he had turned around and saw Amber’s terrified face staring back at him, that fear only made worse when he had his Sig in her face. His training had always taught him to be prepared for anything, to go into any mission and assume he was going to die, that way, he would do everything in his power to make it back out alive.

  But that look on her face …

  It had managed to break through the fog of his latest job because that was the last thing he had ever wanted to see on her because of him.

  He hadn’t known what he expected, maybe that she would stand there and listen as he explained what the fuck was happening, but the minute she bolted, he hadn’t thought of anything else than to go after her.

  But he couldn’t catch her—not because she was too fast, but because despite Elliot being tied to a chair, he was still a loose end that Kyrnon couldn’t afford to let out of his sight.

  It was time for Plan B.

  Turning the locks to the gallery, Kyrnon made quick work of covering his tracks, making sure that everything was in order before he headed back to the office where Elliot waited. On his way in, he noticed the phone—her phone—still in the mouth of the door.

  Grabbing it, he tried to unlock the device, but a four-digit code was needed to get to the home screen.

  “What are—”

  “Shut up, before I have a mind to do murder.”

  He was already annoyed that he even had to track the man down in the first place, but now that Amber was just here and practically fled from him in terror, he was ready to take his anger out on someone.

  Plus, he needed to think.

  People were predictable, and whether they realized it or not, any password or code needed to add a layer of security to something was created with something that was significant to them.

  A birth date.

  An anniversary.

  Dog’s name.

  Spouse’s name.

  Or a combination of the four, but once you knew the intimate details of a person, it was rather easy figuring these out.

  Since her phone only needed four numbers, Kyrnon automatically thought ‘year’. First, he tried her birth date, and when the phone vibrated, telling him to try again, he entered the four digit code he knew she used as her ATM pin. But again, same results.

  He only had one more try before the phone would lock him out, and while under normal circumstances, those minutes would mean nothing to him, it was different when he was under the clock.

  Then he thought of her, Amber, and everything he knew about her—the secrets she had spilled, the promises she had uttered. Then he thought of her in his greenhouse, painting away in the wee hours of the night.

  The moon cycle …

  Kyrnon cast his mind back, trying to remember the year in which that painting was done, and once he had the answer, he punched it in, blowing out a breath once it unlocked and went to the home screen.

  Then he called Winter.

  “Who’s number is this?” she asked once he had her on the line.

  “Doesn’t matter. Dump everything and tell me anything interesting you find.”

  “Uh, okay? When do you need it?”

  “Now.”

  “Seriously? I—”

  “Now.”

  “Dickhead.”

  Winter hung up in his ear, and he didn’t doubt that she was going to make him pay for the attitude he had with her in some way, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he stuffed the phone in his pocket, then crossed the room to Elliot.

  “Listen up. I can stand here and continue to punch you in the face until you give me the answer I want—it’s easy going for me. But now I have other shite I need to deal with, so to can the ‘I don’t know what to tell you’ discussion, how about I give you a little incentive.”

  Snatching the bowie knife from his belt, Kyrnon cut one of Elliot’s restraints free, grabbing hold of his wrist and planting the man’s hand flat against the desk.

  Slamming the knife down in a wide arc, Kyrnon watched it sink into the desk with little resistance while Elliot screamed out in terror.

  “Either give me an answer or lose a finger. The forgery, who did you sell it to?”

  It was the same question he had been asking the man since he found him in his office, pacing the floor, his phone in hand. After the Kingmaker’s warning, he knew that he had to get to Elliot first before whoever the man had managed to piss off. If he didn’t, Amber would be as good as dead.

  With Gabriel very dead, Elliot was his only other option.

  “The Bronson Organization.”

  Frowning, Kyr
non asked, “Who in the hell is that?”

  “We never found out,” Elliot said, swallowing loudly. “A representative of the company came to the auction, that’s all we know.”

  For fuck’s sake …

  That was going to take him even longer to track down. People that used shell corporations were good at covering their tracks, and it would take him more time than he would have wanted to get a name, especially when they already had a couple days’ head start over him.

  And now, Kyrnon realized something else.

  Whether she was afraid of him now, or not, he was coming for her. There was plenty of blame to be cast around, but none of it was hers, and she didn’t deserve to get hurt over something she had no control over.

  Now he just had to find her.

  Retrieving his knife from the desk, Kyrnon looked to Elliot, quickly thinking through what he would do with the man.

  “Are you letting me go?” Elliot said as Kyrnon cut the other tie that bound his wrist.

  “Not quite.”

  Swinging a fist, he knocked him out with one hit. He grabbed and lifted the man over his shoulder as he headed back out the back toward the truck he’d rented.

  Stuffing the man in the back, he hopped into the driver’s seat and raced back to his loft, only to find Calavera there waiting for him. She couldn’t have been there long—she was still on her feet, gaze roaming the place, but when her eyes swung back to him, he could see the question in them.

  “What did you do?” she asked, knowing without him having to say that something was wrong.

  He didn’t have much time. “I’ve got a problem.”

  “Wouldn’t happen to be because of the female that’s staying here?” Calavera guessed, her gaze skirting to the pair of heels on his living room floor.

  “Not necessarily.”

  The problem wasn’t because of Amber, but because of his own errors.

  “Then how can I help?”

  He waved for her to follow behind him as he headed down into his War Room. Stuck in the elevator with her, he gave her the condensed version of everything that had happened, leaving out details of his personal relationship with Amber as that had no bearing to the problem he was dealing with right now.

  Once he finished, he gave Red another call, demanding that the Russian bring his arse right that second. With the way the man drove, he didn’t think it would be long before he was showing his face.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Calavera asked as she stepped off the lift, folding her arms across her chest as she stared him down.

  Kyrnon, though knowing she meant well, didn’t like her tone—and he was in no mood to explain himself. “Leave it.”

  “Even if we ignore the immediate threat to her life, what was your plan for the long run? Were you going to tell her what you do—what we all do? And to make matters worse, Celt, you don’t exist.”

  That was a truth that no one outside of his team knew. Whatever record there was on Kyrnon Murphy had been wiped, leaving no trace that he had ever been born. It also helped that he had come from travelers, making his past easier to get rid of.

  This wasn’t something Kyrnon had considered much of a problem, especially since he could have someone make him a birth certificate and anything else should he have need of it.

  “I was figuring it out.”

  He would have found a way to ease her into the truth about who he was and what he did for a living, but this wasn’t how he had wanted her to find out.

  Not like this.

  “Have you thought of the consequences if she decides to go to the police?”

  Just that thought made his hands twitch.

  It wasn’t because it would harm him—though that would cause a problem—but if anyone, meaning the Kingmaker, learned of her cooperation with law enforcement, they wouldn’t hesitate in killing her and making it look like an accident.

  And it wouldn’t matter that she meant something to Kyrnon—they would kill her anyway, even as a lesson to him to not make the same mistake twice.

  He had to get to her first—her life depended on it.

  His phone’s ringing dragged Kyrnon from his thoughts. “Speak, Winter.”

  “You’re in the War Room?” her voice sounding loud even as he held the phone away from his ear.

  “Ay—”

  Before he could finish the statement, the call cut off, and the projector came down from the ceiling, turning on as the image reflected off the bare wall in front of them.

  Despite the varying ages within the Den, Winter was the youngest by far. Only sixteen, she could do more behind a laptop than some of the mercenaries Kyrnon knew. But despite her talent with numbers and the darker bits of their lifestyle, she still retained her innocence.

  And perhaps that was because Syn made sure of it.

  While they could call on Winter for her talents, they were never to show her anything remotely bloody. The last time somebody had, Syn had made it a point to show them exactly how wrong they had been.

  When it came to Winter, there were certain things he didn’t bend on.

  So despite his short temper at all he was facing, Kyrnon was careful to keep his tone in check. “What do you have for me?”

  Silver and gray dyed hair up in two buns at the top of her head, Winter looked every bit the computer geek she was, but usually where a smile was gracing her face, she was openly glaring at Kyrnon. “There was nothing remotely special that I could find—seemed rather mundane compared to what you guys normally send me. Of course—”

  Slapping his hand down on the table as he took a seat, Kyrnon said, “Get on with it, Winter.”

  Pushing her glasses up her nose, Winter didn’t look bothered in the slightest by his surly tone. “Unless you want me to drain every account of yours I can find—and even the ones you think I can’t—I suggest you watch yourself there, Celt. I don’t work for you, remember?”

  Fucking hackers. “Please, get on with it.”

  Realizing that was the best she was going to get, she moved on. “The owner of the phone, however, does know the Volkov family. I don’t know how well you know them but they’re a Russian crime …”

  “Aye, I know of them.”

  Fucking. Hell.

  Calavera raised her hand with a frown. “I’m clueless. Who are they?”

  Ignoring her question, Kyrnon asked, “What d’you mean by know? How close are they?”

  “She’s like …”

  “Best friends with the Russian’s wife,” Red said as he entered the room, his gaze landing straight on Kyrnon. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. You should have said you were messing around with Amber.”

  “How in the hell do you know her?”

  Dropping down in a seat, Red asked, “You heard a word I said? Amber, the woman you’ve been fucking for weeks now, is best friends with Lauren. Where do you think she went when you put a gun in her face?”

  He cringed at Red’s wording. “That’s not how it happened.”

  Red rolled his eyes as he sat back. “Semantics. Either way, you have the girl fucking terrified, and that’s trouble for you. She means something to Lauren, and you’ve seen that Russian. He’d give her your head if she asked for it.”

  Winter cleared her throat. “Aren’t you Russian, Red?”

  As though everyone was trying his patience, Red reiterated, “Semantics.”

  Kyrnon didn’t care about any of that. “Where is she now?”

  “At the Russian’s club. She’s under his protection after all.”

  At least there he knew she would be safe.

  And, it might make it easier for her to accept what all he was going to say. Kyrnon was on his feet without a word, heading back upstairs.

  “You may want to calm down a bit before you go in there so heavy,” Red suggested, gesturing to all of the gear Kyrnon had yet to take off.

  “Now’s not the time, Red.”

  “Need I remind you that there is a crazy ass Albanian k
eeping her company who delights in the chance to inflict pain? He gets a bit twitchy when he hasn’t maimed something in a while. I’m not in the mood to get between the two of you today—I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”

  Kyrnon had never had a problem with Luka—there was never any reason for one—but should he try to stop him from getting to Amber in any way, he would make his point loud and clear.

  * * *

  The first hour—or was it the second?—had been a blur after she arrived at Mishca’s club, disappearing inside with one of the bouncers at the door. The man she had come to see was in his office on a call when Amber made it to him, but once he got a look at her, he ended it.

  She hadn’t known what to say when he asked what was wrong and had she already contacted Lauren. How did she explain Kyrnon? How did she explain everything she had seen and her connection to it?

  But as she stumbled over her words, telling him everything she possibly could, he understood enough.

  It wasn’t long before Niklaus had shown up. And while she wasn’t overly fond of the evil twin—as she had dubbed him a long time ago—she was glad he was there. Between him and Mishca, she was the safest she could possibly be.

  “Don’t worry,” Niklaus said as he dropped down beside her. “The Russian likes to fix shit. He’ll take care of it. But in the meantime, tell me what you know.”

  Before, she would have gushed, telling him everything, but now she wasn’t so sure that anything she told him would do any good. There was no way for her to gauge what was true and what wasn’t.

  But she did tell him about everything she had seen, and even Elliot’s strange phone call.

  Yet even as she tried to explain, Niklaus got a look on his face that she couldn’t read, but whatever thought he was having, he seemed to think better of voicing it.

  “He’s probably not much of a threat if …”

  “He didn’t seem like hired muscle.”

  Not entirely, at least.

  He seemed too organized.

  “And it wasn’t that he was beating Elliot up—I think he was searching for something.”

  Another curious look crossed his face. “You work at an art gallery, no?”

  “I do. Why?”