“But if you knew they were working together, what have you been doing all this time?”
“Besides the calls, there wasn’t any other link.”
“That was why you came by the gallery that first time,” Amber said on a hunch.
Kyrnon nodded. “It was.”
“Like, uh—what’s the word—recon?”
His eyes softened as he smiled slightly, like he found her question cute. “Aye, recon.”
“But you weren’t there long, were you? You left with me.”
His gaze shifted to the right as his fingers came up to rub over his beard—a habit of his, she’d noticed, when he was avoiding something. “True enough.”
“What aren’t you saying?”
“In the grand scheme of things, lovie, it’s not important.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Am—”
“Kyrnon, tell me.”
“The first plan was to break in, but I had you, so …”
“You could use me to get access to whatever you needed,” she supplied quietly, swallowing back the sudden lump in her throat. “So all this time, you were with me—”
One second he was across the room, the next he was grabbing hold of her leg before she could protest, dragging her down until he was standing between her legs and she could feel the tension throughout him.
“You were never a part of the job—get it out of your head. You were in my bed because I wanted you there, no other reason.”
She desperately wanted to believe him—she wanted to believe that it had all been real between them. “But, you just said—”
“I want you, Amber. Never doubt that.” He lifted a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “But I will say, I needed you in the end. It was actually because of you that I even found it.”
“How?”
“The painting was only in the building whenever you were. Otherwise, they moved it.”
“And that was why you were asking me about it the other night … but it was sold, wasn’t it? Is that what you were trying to get out of Elliot?”
“I already took the painting—which is part of the problem.”
Her brows knitted together. “When did you—is that where you snuck off to?”
He’d been gone longer than she had expected after going to secure the painting he bought. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it, but now, it made more sense.
“And no one was the wiser.”
“And now? Why did you hurt Elliot?”
“They sold your replica as the real thing.”
“Oh no.” Amber worried her lip between her teeth as she considered what that meant. “Now, whoever bought it is upset.”
“And fucking pissed off about it. Monte is already dead—found his body early this morning.” He caught her wrists before she could pull away from him. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Horror filled her at what he was saying. “The buyer killed someone over this.”
Kyrnon nodded again. “Undoubtedly, they’re looking for your boss next. And if they are, they might be looking for you too. This was why I needed to have a meeting with him.”
“That’s what you consider a meeting?” Amber asked before she could help herself.
He squeezed her side, his lips twitching. “I needed the name of the buyer. If I find them before they find you, all’s grand.”
“But why would they come after me? I didn’t know anything about it.”
“I know that, but they don’t.”
“Did you get it? The name of the buyer?” Amber asked quietly, a little afraid of what his answer might be.
“Not a name, but at least a place to start.”
She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Will that be enough?”
He sighed as he drew her to his feet, holding her close. “You have my word that I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Though she knew she still didn’t know everything about him and what he did, she did trust that he would do anything to protect her—he’d shown her that.
Already, she felt herself softening towards him. “Is your name really Kyrnon?”
His hand slipped beneath the fall of her hair, his fingers massaging the tense muscles in the nape of her neck. “I may have omitted a few things, but everything I told you was true. Had I known how close you were with this lot, I would have told you from the start.”
Burying her face in his chest, she let the heat of him soothe away her worries, finding comfort in his embrace. After some time, he finally relaxed fully.
“I have more questions, you know.”
“Ask and I’ll answer.”
“And you owe me an apology,” she said laying her hand against his chest and giving a push. “You pointed a gun in my face.”
Kyrnon pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, then tilted her face up to claim her lips. “Then let me apologize.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, she could almost pretend that they were back in his loft, and it was just the pair of them. It may have been the fear, coupled with not knowing what would happen next, but she clung to him, too afraid to let go.
* * *
“Since that vein in your temple isn’t jumping anymore, I’m wagering all is forgiven?”
Having left Amber after spending an hour showing her just how sorry he was, Kyrnon was not in any mood to deal with Red’s shite. With a keyboard in his lap, he scanned through a multitude of banking statements, doing as much as he could to find the buyer while Winter handled other things from her end.
Despite now having a name, he couldn’t find anything on the Bronson Organization, just as Elliot had said.
“I thought I changed the codes to my locks,” Kyrnon said, too distracted by what he was reading to truly care that the man had bypassed his system.
“Winter let me in.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Kyrnon said as he tore his eyes away from the screen, even as he tossed the keyboard down. “Someone needs to put a leash on that girl before she goes too far.”
Niklaus was perpetually in a bad state, so he wasn’t fazed in the slightest in the face of Kyrnon’s anger. “You might want to take a breath. Mistakes are made when you let your emotions control you. You were the one that taught me that, no?”
And it had been a grueling lesson, one that Kyrnon had learned himself back when he was a lad, forced to fight in Duncan’s ring until the skin of his knuckles was split open and bleeding.
He had learned how to bury that fear, push it so far down that it was no longer a thought.
“It’s too late for that. The mistake has already been made.”
“But not one you can’t come recover from.”
Resting his elbows on the table, Kyrnon rubbed his hands through his hair. “Only if we find whoever owns the Bronson Organization. Who in the hell needs this much concealment?”
Nothing.
Not in the hours he’d searched, or what little Winter had been able to provide, was getting him any closer to the answer he sought.
“Still nothing?” Calavera asked as she came in.
“Just a bunch of corporations that don’t mean shite,” Kyrnon supplied.
“Anywhere?” Calavera looked troubled. “No one’s that good at hiding … unless they have help. Have you tried contacting the Kingmaker?”
Kyrnon’s hand tightened into a fist at the reminder of his last conversation with the man. “If he does, he’s not telling me. Perhaps he’ll respond if you ask.”
“Trust me, he won’t tell me anything,” she said carefully, but in the next moment, she looked uncomfortable—an expression rarely seen on her. “I know someone, I think. He may have a name.”
“Don’t hold us in suspense,” Red said throwing a hand up. “Who is he?”
“His name is Kit Runehart. He’s a facilitator—of sorts.”
Kyrnon rolled the name around in his head, trying to recall whether or not he had heard it before, but he
came up blank. “What in the hell is he facilitating?”
He might not have known the name, but there was a possibility that he had heard of his work instead.
“A few years ago, the daughter of this judge in Massachusetts needed a heart transplant, but despite his connections, the judge couldn’t get her any higher on the list. He went to Kit who found him one for the right price.”
Kyrnon frowned. Despite the good intentions, there was one thing that didn’t sound good at all. “And what did he have to do to get a child’s heart?”
There were ghosts in her eyes as she said, “You already know the answer to that.”
Taking a heart from one to give to another … Kyrnon didn’t know what to think of that.
“What will he want in exchange for this information?” He had plenty of money and wouldn’t think twice about paying any price to get the information.
“I’ll take care of it. You’ll just owe me a favor in the future.”
Mercenaries and their debts. “You have my word.”
“Expect a call within the hour.”
Kyrnon hoped she was right as he watched her walk out the door. He had the feeling he was running out of time.
Chapter Sixteen
There were a dozen or more places many feared to tread, simply because of the danger that lurked around the corners. But the champagne bar on 22nd and Rosewood didn’t scare people off. No, with its elegance and flawless decor, it attracted a certain crowd, making the patrons feel as though nothing could touch them within its four walls.
But Luna knew what kind of secrets the place held—and knew that despite the appearance of the owner, he was the cause of some of the danger many ran from.
How long had it been since she voluntarily stepped into this place? There was always that fear in the back of her mind that should she ever enter, she wouldn’t be allowed to leave, like invisible shackles were tightening around her ankles.
But she would do this, for her friend’s sake.
She knew all too well what it was like to lose someone you loved—they all did in their own way—and if she could do something to fix that, she would.
Even if it meant making a deal with the last person anyone ever wanted to make a deal with.
Luna had barely put the Porsche in park before an attendant was hurrying around to her side, ready to perform any task if she asked. Since she had called and requested a meeting with him not even an hour ago, she didn’t doubt that he had made these preparations on her behalf.
He still didn’t understand that she wasn’t moved by any of it.
Especially now that she had her own.
But then again, having grown up with very little, she didn’t place much value in material things.
Passing her keys to the boy that looked barely older than nineteen, she started for the intricate doors just ahead, made by a man gifted in the art of welding metals.
If she remembered correctly, it had taken three months for the concept, and another six to complete them. Now, they were the perfect addition to the architecture of the building.
But he had always had an eye for those kinds of details.
Without prompting, the doors were opened, warm light brightening an otherwise darkened interior. The walls and ceiling were both painted a cream color, but the tables, and even the tall bar stools were black. It made the place look cleaner, more appealing.
Considering it was seven o’clock on a Friday night, Luna was surprised that the place was empty—and that wasn’t to say there were a couple of people dining. No one was there at all.
Taking a look around, she was tempted to walk right back out the doors, wanting to avoid any interaction with him—especially since when she had seen him last, she had made it quite clear that she would rather die than come to him for aid.
She only hoped he wouldn’t throw those words back at her.
As she was about to call out, one of the double doors leading into the kitchen swung open, a woman in a tight black dress and six-inch heels appeared, looking directly at her. Long auburn hair fell pin-straight down her back, complementing pale skin without a freckle in sight.
Aidra, her name was.
The woman didn’t age. For all Luna knew, she could have still been in her late thirties, but it couldn’t be seen in her youthful features. In what little time they had spent together, she had never bothered to ask the woman’s age—not that she thought she would have gotten an answer.
Not only did Aidra not share the secrets of her employer, but she never revealed a single thing about herself either.
Sometimes Luna wondered whether the conversations she remembered had truly happened, or if they were just a figment of her imagination.
“Kit is waiting for you,” Aidra said, her expression unreadable—or perhaps Luna wanted it to be unreadable because she wanted the other woman to actually show emotion.
Taking a calming breath, Luna started in that direction, counting each step she made just to have something to focus on other than the quickened tempo of her heart.
How long would it take before the mere mention of his name no longer had an effect on her?
How long would it be until she could move on from him?
The kitchen smelled of cleaning supplies and the lightest trace of lemons, but that all faded to the back of her mind as she got her first glimpse of him across the room at a special chef’s table set up specifically for certain clientele. It provided an unobstructed view of the food being prepared, and because of its position and the extra vents in place, it stayed moderately cool.
Unlike his brother, Kit Runehart didn’t often wear color, choosing black silk shirts to go along with his black suits. It was understated in intention, but it spoke volumes about him.
Whether he knew it or not.
The closer she came, the more she felt that familiar tether that had always drawn her to him—that invisible force that refused to let her go. There were times, very much like this one, where she felt like she was helpless but to obey whatever he asked of her, even if it went against everything she wanted.
And for the life of her, she didn’t understand it.
He was so different from his brother. He didn’t dabble in affairs. He didn’t use people like pawns to further his own empire. But then again, the very things that made them different were the same traits that made them the same.
Kit, too, was skilled in the art of fixing otherwise bad situations, but his specialty was supply and demand.
If there was something one needed, he could procure it.
Cars.
Mansions.
Kidneys.
Murderers.
No matter its hiding place, he could find it.
He was the facilitator, and he was damn good at what he did.
Upon first glance, Kit looked rather unassuming. He had rather kind features, though with a rugged jaw, and piercing eyes that could see into the depths of a person. His eyebrows, which arced down and made him look perpetually curious, also softened what would otherwise be hardened features.
But looks were deceiving.
As much as he could look innocent, there was something far darker that simmered beneath the surface.
She knew what those hands of his were capable of, the pain they inflicted when he was inspired.
He was six and a half feet of muscle and lethal power.
An eclipse, she always thought.
Though he was aware that she had joined him—Aidra having disappeared back out the door—he didn’t look to her just yet. He was too busy reading a message on his phone, his thumb flying over the screen as he typed a message in return.
But when he did finally look up, and those gray eyes of his snared her, she was held captive there, waiting to see how he would react.
Six months was a record for them, she thought.
Kit could be possessive, sometimes to an overbearing degree, so the fact that he had left her alone over this period of time was a testament of his c
ontrol.
Or perhaps it was another of his games—he always was the best at playing them.
“Luna,” he said her name softly, like a prayer, and she hated the way she felt when she heard it. She wasn’t supposed to be affected by him, not after what he did, but she missed him.
More than she ever wanted to admit.
“Kit.”
She was glad for once that her voice didn’t waver, that her emotions didn’t betray her. Having spent so long trying to show that she was more than just an extension of him, she didn’t want to crumple the moment she was back in his presence.
“Please,” he said getting to his feet once she reached the table. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”
He didn’t touch her as he gestured to the other side of the booth for her to slip in—he never touched her without her consent. One of those many rules of his, but it was one that was more for her than him. It gave her some control, even when she felt she had none.
As she glanced down at the place setting in front of her, she was tempted to decline, but knew there was no point in denying him. Somehow, he usually got what he wanted.
“I could eat.”
Kit studied her a moment before calling out to someone, this time a man in a waiter’s outfit came strolling in, pushing a cart along with him. There were a number of covered plates on it. As he went about explaining the dishes that he was now setting before them, Luna tuned his words out, dropping her hands to her lap to keep herself from fidgeting.
She could feel his eyes on her, like a physical touch as he looked at her like it was the very first time. Finally, once the waiter was on his way after pouring them both a glass of wine, Luna could finally ask, “Why are you staring at me?”
“Am I not allowed to look at my wife?”
God, how those words used to turn her into quivering goo. It wasn’t just the accent, she had grown used to that, it was also that Welsh charm.
“Nothing has changed since the last time we were together,” she said, picking up her fork, realizing too late what her words would have sounded like to him.
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