Den of Mercenaries

by London Miller

“So … this is your boss?”

  And the man that currently held his debt.

  The Kingmaker, for whatever reason, hadn’t hesitated in accepting an unnamed favor in exchange for his interference. Kyrnon may not have hesitated in agreeing to whatever The Kingmaker wanted, thinking back on it now, he didn’t like it.

  There was nothing good about owing a man a debt, especially when one didn’t know what that debt would ultimately be. It could be as simple as running another job, or as complicated as performing a hit on a government official.

  With The Kingmaker, there was no guarantee.

  But that was a worry for another day. And if he were honest, he would agree to do it again.

  “He is.”

  “Some boss.” Amber was quiet a moment before asking, “Are we going back to your loft?”

  He had brought her to another of his safe houses, this one outside of the city and right in the middle of a residential neighborhood where no one was the wiser that there were mercenaries that crashed there.

  “Not right now.”

  And not until he went over his security again.

  He also needed to find out who gave up his safe house. The loft wasn’t listed anywhere. He was always careful to cover his tracks, so someone that knew its location had given it to Elora.

  Kyrnon would find out who soon enough.

  Reaching for him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight as she buried her face in his chest. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Resting his chin on top of her head, he weaved his fingers in her hair, holding her close. “Don’t thank me for that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  He tilted her head up to better see her face. “Maybe so, but I only care whether or not you’ll stay.”

  Amber pecked his lips. “You know I love you, right?”

  “Of course you do. What’s not to love?” He caught her hand as she attempted to hit him, stealing a kiss. “And I love you, Amber.”

  “I guess that means you’re stuck with me.”

  And he would have it no other way.

  Six weeks later …

  “In other news, two weeks have passed since the burglary at the Metropolitan Museum of Art where a priceless Vermeer painting was stolen. Said to be worth over four million dollars, the FBI is offering a reward for any information about the theft …”

  Amber hardly paid attention to the news report as she stared at the duffel bags on Kyrnon’s bed. Ever since he suddenly announced to her that they would be taking a vacation, she had been rather giddy at the prospect, glad to be escaping New York for a while.

  It had only taken Kyrnon a day after the incident with Elora to ask her to move in with him. She didn’t even get the chance to agree before he was packing up her place and bringing it all over to his place.

  Not that she had minded.

  His loft had always felt like home.

  And once she had agreed to stay with him, he didn’t hide his work like he’d done before. More than once she had watched as he, and sometimes someone else, disappeared down into the War Room. But no matter what she saw, she never knew the details, and no matter how she asked, he didn’t divulge anything.

  For the last week, whatever he had been working on had taken him away to a nameless country, and when he got back, there was a change in him, and for the first time she saw what his occupation could do to him.

  After a long night spent trying to work out his frustration with her, he had finally announced the next morning that they were taking the trip to Ireland.

  Except, while she had busied herself packing for it, he had been in and out of the place, but not adding a single piece of clothing to the luggage.

  Finally figuring that it was up to her to do it, she grabbed some clothes for him as well and tossed them in. It was hard packing, especially when she had no clue exactly where in Ireland they were going, but she made it work.

  When she heard a door slam, she yelled, “Were you planning on packing anything, or running around naked?”

  “Come on out,” he called back, ignoring her question entirely.

  “What are—” She cut off when she saw what he was standing beside with the stupidest grin on his face. “You didn’t …”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

  She should have known that he would do something like this, especially when she had told him how excited she had been when the Vermeer painting had gone on loan to the gallery.

  “I’m not sure if these things are for me or you,” she said, still in awe as she came closer to the painting.

  Kyrnon wasn’t shy about giving gifts, always having something new for her every time he was gone for any extended period of time. Sometimes, they were things he bought, other times they were items he boosted from underground places that specialized in glittering baubles … those she only brought out on special occasions.

  But this …

  This was bigger than anything he had brought before it.

  And undoubtedly, much harder for him to get his hands on.

  “If you don’t like it,” he went on, “I can take it back.”

  Return the painting that he had taken in the first place? “I’m not saying I don’t like it.”

  “Are you worried it’ll be found?” Kyrnon asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her further into his hold. “Because you shouldn’t. Another will replace it soon enough. All’s grand, lovie.”

  There was no point in arguing it with him. Besides, this was just another way that he said “I love you.”

  “I love you, Kyrnon.”

  He smiled slow and steady a moment before he kissed her lips.

  A promise, and an answer.

  FIN

  A Little After …

  Twenty minutes until the start of the most important day of her life and Amber Lacey was dangerously close to panicking.

  Here she was, standing in her gallery, surrounded by her work and yet, she couldn’t full appreciate what this all meant because the one person she was dying to see was not here.

  Yet, as he’d told her when she’d called yesterday to see if he could still make it.

  She’d understood the sacrifices she’d had to make when she fell in love with a mercenary—and knowing the kind of man he worked for—yet she couldn’t shake the disappointment she felt that Kyrnon hadn’t arrived yet.

  The worst part was the not even knowing where he was.

  Some jobs were different than others, where they could actually talk at night or she’d at least be able to hear from him once during his trips away.

  But this one, and so many others like it, Kyrnon went radio silent and she didn’t know anything about where he was, who he was with, or what he was doing—not that she really wanted to know any details.

  She had only managed to talk to him yesterday because as he’d said, he had five minutes to spare and he wanted to spend that five minutes talking to her.

  That had been more than enough to make her smile and melt into a puddle in their bed, but the anxiety had came rushing back as soon as she woke up this morning with him on her mind and the show she was holding a close second.

  They might have only been together for less than a year, but she was starting to feel the stress of what it really meant to be in a relationship with a man who broke the law for a living.

  “Are we almost ready?” Margot asked, peeking inside the room, her professional smile in place though the showing had yet to begin.

  Margot knew she was stalling for time considering this was her third attempt at coming back to her office to get Amber to come out, but she probably thought it was nerves.

  She didn’t have the heart to say what it really was.

  “I’ll be right out,” she promised, a moment before she was checking her phone again, hoping for any message from Kyrnon.

  As much as she wanted to stall, she couldn’t any longer.

  It was time to start.


  One last glance at her reflection in the floor length mirror on the other side of the room, Amber started out of the room, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

  This wouldn’t be her first time speaking in front of a crowd, but that didn’t make it any easier, even as she rubbed the ring on her finger for comfort.

  The quiet murmur of conversation fell silent as she entered the main room of the studio.

  Bulbs hang in intervals from the ceiling, dim light illuminating the space in an intimate glow. A table was set up across the room with glasses of bubbly champagne, three waiters in black pants and button-downs circling the room with trays topped with delicious finger foods.

  It was perfect.

  Everything was perfect.

  Clearing her throat, Amber pasted on a smile and started her speech. “Good evening, everyone. I’m so happy you all could make it to celebrate the opening here at Ómra.”

  Her smile turned a little more genuine as she thought of the name Kyrnon had started using for her. She hadn’t known what it meant at first, just the way he said it made her smile, but once she realized it was simply her name in Gaelic, she’d thought it was perfect for the gallery.

  A piece of her and a piece of him.

  Almost to the second she finished speaking, the curtains dropped, unveiling nearly a year’s worth of her work.

  Once people dispersed around the room, Amber finally took a much needed breath, plucking a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

  “Have I told you how proud I am of you?” Lauren asked, bumping her with a shoulder, her hand resting on her swollen stomach.

  Baby number two was only months away.

  “Maybe once or twice.” Her gaze swept the room, lingering on a painting in the back of the studio that was still mysteriously covered. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  Lauren shook her head. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  Of that, Amber had no doubt.

  She was the best friend any person could ask for.

  They made small talk for a little while longer until a potential buyer stole her away, and even as she offered details and inspiration behind the painting, she was distracted.

  Not just about Kyrnon’s lingering absence, but the painting that had yet to unveil.

  She knew what was meant to hang there—Sunsets of Primrose—that she had only recently completed. It was her favorite of all the paintings and a part of her hadn’t wanted to part with it.

  By the time Amber finished, she couldn’t keep her confusion at bay any longer. She’d only just wrapped her fingers around the edge of the cloth when a voice spoke behind her.

  “I wouldn’t want to show that one off, lovie. Might not get the reaction you expect.”

  “I really hope this isn’t one of those surprises we can’t talk about,” she said turning. “Because that would be bad.”

  There he stood, looking as unapologetically sexy as he had the day she met him.

  Kyrnon’s hair was longer now, not quite long enough to pull into a bun, but long enough that she enjoyed running her fingers through it. Tonight, his usual uniform of jeans were replaced by a nice three-piece suit, his jacket probably hung in the front closet.

  She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t happy to see him. “When did you get here?”

  He held a bouquet of white roses, a smile tugging at his lips. “Come now,” he said walking toward her, “you didn’t think I would miss this, eh?”

  She didn’t want to think that, no, but she knew the reality of the work he did.

  As she reached him, she sighed as his arms came around her. She’d missed this, being engulfed by him.

  There was no place she’d rather be.

  A few hours later, after the studio had emptied and it was just the pair of them, Amber walked back over to the painting still hidden beneath the sheet and pulled it away.

  She didn’t recognize the artist, or even the painting, but it was beautiful all the same.

  “What’s this?”

  Kyrnon’s arm slid around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. “We’re taking a trip, lovie.”

  She turned to look back at him. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to the home land.”

  Amber laughed. This wouldn’t be the first time he took her to Ireland. “When are we going?”

  “Tomorrow.” His smile was a little more rueful now. “You will need a dress though.”

  It was ridiculous the way her heart fluttered. “A dress?”

  “Unless you want to tie the knot in nothing but your skivvies, I’m not against that.”

  “Kyrnon—”

  He cradled her face in his hands. “I know I’ve been gone a lot, so before you change your mind about me, best to lock you down.”

  “Nothing would make me leave you, Kyrnon. Nothing.”

  And after tomorrow, it would be official.

  She was never letting him go.

  Nix.

  Freedom is a burden, but you learn to bear it.

  Kit Runehart

  Preface

  On a late Sunday night, while most of the city was sleeping, Luna Santiago hadn’t expected to be riding the elevator up to the nineteenth floor of a building in midtown where Dr. Donna Marie’s office was located. And despite the woman’s unassuming photograph next to her biography on her website—Luna didn’t think she was any ordinary therapist.

  Not when it had taken a security guard that was far more skilled than he pretended to be to key her up—though not before taking a copy of her ID and calling her name up. Only once he had gotten the all clear from someone upstairs did he walk her to the bank of elevators on the other side of the building and let her through.

  The doors pinged once she reached her floor, opening to a lobby, the receptionist’s desk the first thing Luna could see. Dr. Donna Marie, MD was inscribed in bold chrome letters along the front of the dark wood.

  A woman seated behind the desk, red hair twisted into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, pearl earrings dangling from her ears, and a black dress that conformed to her shape, looked to Luna with a blink, smile already forming. Maggie, her name was, from the nameplate at the corner of her desk.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Runehart,” she greeted as she moved to her feet—she couldn’t have known how much Luna had grown to despise that name. “If you would please have a seat, Dr. Marie will be with you shortly.”

  There was a waiting area, directly opposite of where she was standing, but one glance in its direction told her it was the last place she wanted to be.

  Especially since her husband—estranged, she should say—was already seated, a newspaper in hand as he read the classifieds. Since she could remember, he made it a point to do this on the second of every month.

  The listings, he had told her once, and old habits.

  At least it wasn’t the obituaries again.

  He was early—earlier than even her as their appointment wasn’t for another half hour at least—but that wasn’t much of a surprise.

  Kit Runehart was punctual to a fault.

  And whether she liked it or not, unless she wanted to stand in the middle of the floor, she had no choice but to go over to him.

  Crossing the floor, she sank into a chair opposite him, picking up one of the magazines that she wasn’t really going to read, just to give herself something to do.

  His gaze had yet to lift from what he was reading, but she had noticed the slight stiffening of his body as she’d walked past.

  She knew what he was thinking—undoubtedly wondering why she hadn’t taken the seat at his side. It used to be second nature to her when she was with him.

  Next to him was where she loved to be.

  But she couldn’t give in to him, not yet, and she knew that if she fell into temptation now, she would be back at square one.

  It was a desire she had to fight with every last bit of her being. Worse, she was further annoyed with herself because she actually wanted to
be sitting next to him. Feel the brush of his leg when he moved, or the way his fingers would curl around her thigh whenever she was next to him.

  Patience, one of his infamous lessons, had never been her strong suit.

  The tangible silence stretched on between them until Maggie announced that it was time, then ushered them into a back office, offering to fetch them tea as they waited.

  Luna tried busying herself by looking around the spacious room, from the books lining the built-in shelves along the walls, to the awards and accolades hung up.

  She had been determined not to be the first to break, but after seeing what a few of those awards were for, she forgot all about that.

  “Marriage counseling?” she asked, her surprise bleeding through her voice. “Are you serious?”

  Finally, finally, he looked at her, and when he did, she was reminded why she had avoided him at all costs.

  Long before now, he had crawled beneath her skin and embedded himself there. Most days she felt comfort in that knowledge—other days she just wanted to take a knife and dig him out.

  His eyes softened the way they only did when he looked at her—as though she was the only thing that mattered to him.

  It was that look that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.

  “My attempt at appeasing you,” he answered, draping his arm across the back of the love seat he sat on.

  To anyone else, that might have sounded reasonable—and maybe if they were two other people, she might have gladly accepted this—but they had the type of problems that a counselor couldn’t fix.

  Luna shook her head, disbelieving. “And you think this is the right answer?”

  Kit nodded with the barest shrug of his shoulder. “It’s a start, no?”

  Before she could respond, Dr. Marie appeared, Maggie at her heels carrying a heavy silver tray. “Good evening to you both.”

  Kit was the first to ease to his feet, all predatory grace and ease, first assisting Maggie with the tray, then greeting Donna with a charming smile.

  Manners maketh man.