Skorpion. (Den of Mercenaries Book 5)

by London Miller

  Uilleam nodded. “For now.”

  He stood, pocketing the envelope, looking back at him. “Should I be expecting another call?”

  “Not from me, I don’t imagine. But soon.”

  Keanu didn’t doubt that for a second.

  A war was coming, and whether he was under a contract or not, he was part of it. It was only a matter of time before Belladonna was standing at his doorstep and he had no choice but to pick a side.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Skorpion. Give your family my regards.”

  He nodded, fully intending on leaving, but before he could, he had a thought. “Maybe it was never about her.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s been pretty clear from the start that Ada never had anything substantial on Karina. You equated her worth to that of what she had from the firm.”

  “And?”

  “Obviously, Karina knew that. If she wasn’t leading you to information about her, maybe she was giving you information on Spader.”

  What were the odds that the governor he’d heard rumors of had an account with the very person Karina had practically laid in their lap?

  Either she was a terrible criminal, or she leading them toward something much bigger.

  “Interesting.”

  Yeah, Keanu thought so too, but for now, it wasn’t his job to bother about a governor or anyone else.

  “Watch your back, Uilleam. I don’t think you should sleep on her.”

  Keanu didn’t look back as he left.

  “Something’s troubling you.”

  Keanu glanced up at Ada standing in the doorway, watching him with that soft expression she always wore after she put Soleil to bed.

  He waited until he was back home to turn the envelope over and open it up, pulling out the bundle of papers inside. A picture was tucked between the folds, several of them in black and white, shot from a distance with the subjects unaware.

  “What’s this?” Ada asked coming up behind him.

  “A gift,” he answered without having to read a single word of any of it.

  “I didn’t think the Kingmaker was the type of man to give gifts.”

  He wasn’t, or at least he wasn’t the type of man to give a gift if there wasn’t something in it for him. But it wasn’t going to matter this time if whatever was inside the envelope came with strings, he wasn’t giving Uilleam the chance to pull them.

  For a moment, Keanu considered tossing the thing into a drawer unopened, but before he could talk himself out of it, he flipped it over and dumped out the contents, confused by the set of pictures he found.

  At least, until he went through each of them one by one, and the corresponding death certificates.

  “This is rather morbid,” Ada said, still looking over his shoulder. “Who are these men?”

  He could have told her who they really were, that they were responsible for making Soleil an orphan, but that, compared to what he actually knew, wasn’t entirely the truth. “They’re meant to ensure I pick the right side.”

  Uilleam was transparent that way.

  Belladonna might have hinted at truths that he didn’t know, but Uilleam would ensure he still had Keanu’s loyalty for as long as he was able.

  And he’d known just how to get it.

  Three days later …

  Humble beginnings.

  They were nothing to be ashamed about—perhaps more special because of them.

  Ada couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to her childhood home, even when she still lived in London. When she thought of it, she always imagined a little hut tucked in the middle of nowhere—a place unfit for four people—but now, as they rode toward Gravesend, her heart in her throat, she wondered if it would look the same.

  Gravesend was an ancient little town untouched by time. The cobblestone streets were still just as old and beautiful as they’d been when she was a girl.

  “But we’re driving on the wrong side of the road,” Soleil said to Marie in the backseat, repeating the same concern she’d had since they arrived.

  “It could be argued,” Marie said with a knowing smile, “that it’s the Americans that have it backward.”

  As they bantered, Keanu reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. “You okay?”

  “Nervous,” she confessed. “You’re the first man I’ve ever brought home to meet my parents.”

  High school was spent with her nose buried in a book and after, there had never been anyone she was serious enough about to bother.

  “It’ll be fine,” he said easily.

  She hoped so.

  In the weeks since everything had settled, she’d grown to love Keanu more now that she saw him outside of his role as a mercenary. He was wonderful, thoughtful, and undoubtedly the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  Now, after just a few short months, she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

  Though he’d told her to unpack her luggage, she hadn’t a chance to get around it before he’d already had it done, making it abundantly clear he wanted her with him.

  She hadn’t complained.

  As the hospital came into view, Ada’s heart skipped a beat.

  There was no avoiding it now.

  Marie and Soleil were out of the car first, oblivious to her inner turmoil.

  Keanu was next, walking around to her side to open the door. “They’re going to be happy to see you,” he said, even knowing her father had yet to wake up.

  She wanted to believe that—she had to believe that.

  Hand in hand, she walked with him through the front doors, stopping by the front desk to check in before heading down the hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic.

  By the time they reached her father’s room, she drew in a breath, preparing for the worst even as she hoped for the best.

  Ada didn’t bother knocking as she eased the door open and stepped inside.

  Edna was sitting at Charles’ bedside, brushing his hair into place before turning to look at them. Her smile appeared a moment later.

  “So good to see you, love,” she greeted with open arms and the sort of smile only mums could give that made your throat feel like it was clogging up. “It’s about time you came for a visit.”

  Ada didn’t have the right words to say that would make this easier—that would help calm the tears that were already forming despite her best efforts.

  So much time had been wasted as she chased a dream that wasn’t worth having, then ultimately trying to fix the very thing she’d broken in the beginning. But even as that thought saddened her, on the heels of it came the reminder that she now had time to fix it.

  That she no longer had an excuse as to why she needed to stay away.

  All because of Keanu.

  She owed him far more than she could ever say.

  She could feel him at her back as she released her hold on Edna to step back. The severed contact only made it easier for her gaze to drift up and widen slightly, even as her smile did the same.

  “And you’ve brought a man.”

  “Mum, this is Keanu,” she said with a proud tilt of her head in his direction.

  She looked over him in obvious interest before turning her gaze on Soleil who was smiling broadly.

  “And who is this lovely little one?”

  “I’m Soleil. Ada helped me pick out this dress. See?” She did a little spin, happy to show off the bright yellow sundress she wore.

  “Nearly as pretty as you are,” Edna gushed in the way all mothers did when it came to children. “Come now, I’m sure I can find you some sweets.”

  Ada was quickly forgotten as Edna swept Soleil away, their hands intertwined. Marie walked over to their father, assuring herself his condition hadn’t changed before she joined their mother.

  Tears burned in her eyes as Ada made her way over to her father’s bedside, reaching out rest her hand on top of his. He was thinner than she remembered, more gray in his dark hair, but there was no mistaking the stubborn
chin and the prominent jaw.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered for only him to hear. “I was awful to you when you never deserved it.”

  She stroked the back of his hand as she fought back the emotion clogging in her throat.

  “But I won’t ever leave again,” she promised, “and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and them.”

  For a moment, she thought she felt his fingers twitch, but when she looked up at his face, his eyes were still closed.

  Ada looked back at Keanu, still standing near the door, a soft look on his once hard face. She knew what was important now, and she would never lose sight of that again.

  She loved him all the more because of it.

  “Let’s go see if I can win your mother over,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Ada didn’t doubt she would love him.

  It was impossible not to.

  CODA

  Even the most brutal events rarely imprinted themselves on Uilleam Runehart.

  Since he was a boy and watched a man get shot to death right in front of him—had even felt the fine mist of blood on his face—nothing tended to make him react. A thousand dollar an hour therapist had once told him he was desensitized to violence, that the part of his brain meant to process the ugliness of it all couldn’t discern it.

  It wasn’t until years later that he realized that doctor was wrong. He’d learned rather quickly that he wasn’t as emotionless as he’d thought.

  First came the day Kit had murdered their father.

  Alexander had been a tyrant his entire life, and while Kit had suffered the brunt of his abuse he liked to inflict, Uilleam had still relished the day he finally stopped breathing. Uilleam had a tendency to look back on that day with a certain fondness that probably wasn’t healthy.

  Second was the day ‘the Kingmaker’ became more than just a title—when everything he’d hoped and strived for came to fruition. The day when he no longer lived in the shade of his father’s legacy.

  Third, and notably the day when he had changed the most was the day he’d come to find the love of his life beaten to death in a pool of her own blood, nothing left of her face but brain matter and broken bits of skull.

  Even now, sitting on the terrace of Kit’s restaurant, he could still smell the coppery scent of her life’s essence mingled with the cloaking smell of death.

  His chest tightened at the memory of the all consuming grief and disbelief, and even the way his knees had felt when he’d hit the ground, struggling to breathe.

  Nothing in his life had ever affected him quite like that.

  They paled in comparison.

  The pain of it had been worse than anything he’d ever felt. He could still remember the heartache—the agony. Cutting his heart out would have been less painful.

  In the years he’d spent building an empire, nothing had wounded him quite like that day—not even the day when a hired assassin put six bullets in his chest.

  The day he’d lost Karina and whatever humanity he had left at the time, the jagged pieces left behind had never been put back together properly.

  But the tiny, delicate note tucked away in his trousers’ pocket was another reminder that the pain he’d felt and let consumer him had been for nothing.

  Did you miss me?—K

  An innocent question, yet it burned all the same.

  Most assumed the initial tattooed on his finger was an homage to himself—that his arrogance called for it. He’d never bothered to correct them.

  Karina had been his strength and his weakness, one he had never wanted to give another the chance to exploit. He’d thought he’d be able to keep her safe from the myriad of enemies who would harm her if they knew it would affect him.

  But he’d never suspected she was the one plotting against him.

  Losing her had been enough to send him spiraling for years, wracked with guilt until he’d returned with a vengeance, swearing to avenge her, but all of it—the scheming and plots of murder—had been for nothing.

  Karina was alive.

  Alive and targeting him.

  He should have been furious at her deceit, but his foolish heart only felt relief that she was still alive and unharmed.

  ‘Nothing but a weakling,’ Alexander would have said if he’d seen him now. ‘Always have been.’

  Uilleam had strived to scrub that description from his mind—had become ruthless in the process—a hardened veneer covering the kindness he used to possess.

  But she had always been his weakness, even from the very beginning when she’d challenged him with a smile on her face that never failed to thaw the ice around his heart. He hadn’t minded then.

  After building the image of what others saw, she’d made him feel human again.

  “I’ve never liked that look on your face,” a voice called thoughtfully as it approached.

  The voice—her voice.

  After he found her on the floor of their brownstone, he’d heard it within the chords of songs, a whisper in the wind, even in his own head until he was sure he’d gone mad from it, but he’d never thought he’d hear it again.

  Until now.

  A small part of him had wanted to believe this wasn’t real, that someone—who would die painfully—was attempting to play a game with him and Karina hadn’t come back from the dead.

  But as he turned, his gaze finding the woman in the white dress walking toward him, he knew once and for all the rumors, the speculation, all of it was true.

  As beautiful as the day he saw her that very first time standing in front of her old office building, Karina Ashworth stood before him. Her face had been free of any makeup, her ears and throat clear of adornments. She’d been in a pair of tight white jeans, a grey tank top, and an oversized red cardigan.

  Innocent and corruptible had been his first thought, like the journalist she’d pretended to be.

  Nothing like the woman standing in front of him now.

  Just as Luna had said, she wore all white—from the pantsuit that clung to every curve, to the white lace peeking out from beneath the labels, and even the towering heels she wore, a flash of red along the soles as she walked.

  Maroon colored her lips, and the long, sable-colored hair he’d loved to run his fingers through wasn’t in the messy bun she’d loved to wear. It was straight as a pin and spilling down her back.

  He didn’t recognize the woman she’d become.

  Was this all part of the new role she’d stepped into all those years ago.?

  Was this Belladonna?

  The Karina he’d known had never shied away from color of comfort—she’d hated heels and only wore them when absolutely necessary—the woman standing behind him now did.

  She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him. “Did you miss me?”

  Those words …

  The note she’d written him felt like it was trying to burn a hole right through his pocket to reveal that he’d still clung to it like a prized possession over the six months since he’d received it.

  He clenched his hand into a fist in his lap—not because she was here and he was finally seeing her, but because of how desperately he wanted the curiosity in her voice to be genuine.

  He shouldn’t have cared at all.

  Calling on years’ worth of practice, he smoothed his expression, following her with his eyes as she stepped closer, wrapping her manicured fingers around the neck of the champagne bottle resting on ice at his table before refilling his glass, then pouring one for herself.

  “What look would that be, Karina?” he asked, ignoring her question entirely.

  Would she be annoyed by his use of her name? If she was, her expression didn’t change at all.

  “Frustration,” she answered. “You always get this little wrinkle between your brows when you encounter a problem you don’t have an answer for. Am I that problem?”

  How calm she sounded, as if there weren’t lost years between them—as if for the last seven years, he
hadn’t felt her loss like an open, festering wound.

  As if there were mere friends running into each other.

  “Considering you’re supposed to be dead, you can see why your being here would be a problem for me.”

  She took the seat opposite him, crossing her legs before folding her hands in her lap. Every bit the proper lady. “Did you mourn?”

  “What game are you playing, Karina?”

  Her smile grew. “Did you mourn?”

  “It’s only proper to mourn the dead.”

  “I’m not asking about the dead, Uilleam. I’m asking if you mourned me.”

  Her smile made a muscle in his jaw jump, but he disguised the reaction by reaching for the glass she’d poured, even if he had no intention of drinking it.

  Karina had always had a lovely smile—disarming and slightly tilting higher on one side than the other. It was her smile that had enthralled him.

  “It’s like admitting to a weakness, is it not?” she asked when he didn’t answer. “But if you’re worried I intend to use what you say against you, I’m not. I’m genuinely curious.”

  “Yes,” he said, the answer practically ripped from his throat. “I did mourn you.”

  “For how long?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because that’s how I know you’ll lose, my love. For every year you’ve mourned me, my hatred of you grew. I prepared for this moment—the day we would inevitably come face to face again and I could tell you that I’m going to take everything you hold dear.”

  She looked so reserved, so in control, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t.

  He ground his teeth, reeling back his temper. “I’m not afraid of you, Karina, if that’s been your goal all this time. Stronger men have tried to destroy me, yet here I sit.”

  “Yet, your hand is trembling,” she pointed out with a nod of her head. “I’m under your skin and that makes me a lot closer to you than they could ever manage. So tell me, darling, do you want to play a game?”

  This again … “What do you want, Karina? What could you possibly hope to gain by attempting to take me on? You know this can only end one way.”

  Her smile faded. There, then gone seconds later as her own mask fell into place. Hers wasn’t made up of indifference, however. Now, he was seeing a hint of the woman known as Belladonna staring back at him.