Skorpion. (Den of Mercenaries Book 5)

by London Miller

  “I want many things. I want to watch your world implode. I want to see the expression on your beautiful face when I snatch that cold, dead thing out of your chest just to see if you’ll bleed or not. And when there’s nothing left of you, then, and only then will I decide when to kill you or not.”

  Men twice her size had never threatened him—they hardly breathed wrong in his direction—yet she did so with ease and a certain conviction that might have made him afraid if he were a lesser man.

  “Let’s not make empty threats, poppet. You won’t like how I respond.”

  Not even Kit, who vexed him more than anyone in the world could, got under his skin the way she did. Already, his temper was spiking and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

  “Empty? You underestimate me, Uilleam. I suspect you always have. Don’t forget, I know your secrets.”

  “Pillow talk won’t aid you. So unless you’re here to put a bullet in my head, then what is your purpose? Perhaps in your absence, you’ve forgotten who I am.”

  “Of course, I haven’t. You’re the Kingmaker—the man with the team of mercenaries ready and willing to do his bidding at a moment’s notice. The ones you call on to ensure your seat on that throne you covet so much. But, would they be so loyal if they knew the truth about you?”

  He set his glass down, his hands flattening on the table as he leaned toward her. “I don’t—”

  “I imagine they don’t know just how much you’ve manipulated their lives to get them here, do they? That it was all because of you that Niklaus Volkov was taken so you could extract a favor from his father. Or that you gave Kyrnon Murphy’s address to his enemy so that the woman he fancied would be taken and you could extend his contract by offering your aid. Do any of them know your particular aid comes with strings?”

  For a moment, his lungs forgot how to work.

  It wasn’t possible.

  It wasn’t fucking possible that she knew this much.

  “Luna already knows what you’ve done, but she took the brunt of her anger out on Kit, didn’t she? But could you trust that she’ll do as she’s told if you sent her after me? Or would a piece of you wonder if she’ll give me a warning that you’re coming?”

  Whatever she saw in his expression made her laugh. Fucking laugh as if his surprise was comical.

  As if she hadn’t voiced his thoughts and doubts aloud.

  “You pride yourself on predicting the moves of others. You wouldn’t be the infamous Kingmaker without that kind of foresight, but I don’t need to know what others might do, my love. I only need to predict what you’ll do. And two years warming your bed gave me everything I needed to learn just how to read you.”

  In that moment, he could have burned the entire fucking city down without blinking an eye with the rage coursing through him.

  In that moment, he could have wrapped his fingers around her pretty little neck and squeezed the life out of her.

  But before the rage could consume him, he shoved it back down into the pit of his stomach where it belonged.

  He didn’t yell. He didn’t lose his cool.

  She knew him, or at least thought she did. He’d given her everything during a time when he’d needed her most. That was then. Now, he would show her the other side of him he never had.

  He was the fucking Kingmaker and he would give her that lesson.

  “Is that what you did then?” he asked, nearly smiling at the flicker of emotion in her eyes. “You whored yourself to me so you could, what? Kill me? Ruin me? I would see you dead long before I ever let that happen.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to speak again before he was shoving the table aside, not giving a second thought to the crystal glasses shattering as they hit the floor, or the momentary surprise in her eyes as he ripped her from that chair and pinned her to the wall.

  He curled his fingers around the underside of her jaw, forcing her to look at him. She didn’t resist him and she wasn’t afraid, but that was nothing new. She’d never been afraid of him, even when she had reason.

  Karina might have appeared calm and in control, but her body didn’t lie. He could feel her heartbeat drumming beneath his fingertips, and if the way her eyes dilated as she stared up at him, lips parted, was any indication—she wasn’t as entirely unaffected by him as she pretended to be.

  “Understand me, poppet. I might have loved you in a way I’ve never loved anyone, but don’t ever think I would let love ruin me.”

  Nothing he’d said in their short period of time together had inspired a reaction in her. Her amusement had only grown until he’d grown frustrated enough to snap.

  Not now.

  Not when he’d mentioned his love for her.

  “Don’t delude yourself, Uilleam. The only thing you’ve ever loved was your stupid bloody title.”

  He blinked, resisting the urge to brush the pad of his thumb over her pouty bottom lip. “Then you’re doing this because I didn’t love you enough?”

  She shook her head. “Clueless as always. Only your arrogance would make you believe I’m doing this for you.”

  “Then why?” he finally snapped, wanting an answer—needing an answer.

  But she wouldn’t, he knew before she opened her mouth. It wasn’t time yet. “We both know you’re not going to kill me, Uilleam, so you might as well let me go. Once you do, the game can start.”

  “You don’t want to play my games. They won’t end well … for you.” He released his hold on her, taking a step back. “Run, poppet. As far as you can, because if I get my hands on you again, I’m not letting you go.”

  Even now, he was tempted to haul her back to him, to keep her within his sights in case he lost her again.

  Her gaze lifted to his, lingered long enough that he wondered what she was thinking.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon, Uilleam.”As quickly as she’d walked back into his life, she was gone again.

  Karina Ashworth would be the death of him.

  Twenty-year aged whiskey was the only therapy Uilleam needed. Far better than the psychiatrist that billed him an obscene amount of money for an hour to listen to him rant.

  Especially when he had no intention of taking the woman’s advice.

  Not even a full day had passed since his moment with Karina and already he was close to a mental break. He’d already burned useless mementos just to see something blacken and turn to ash, but he was still dangerously close to doing something far more drastic to purge the confusing emotions swimming inside him.

  He held the tumbler of whiskey in one hand, letting it lull him in a sense of false calm as he contemplated everything he needed to accomplish before he could allow himself to entertain Karina’s threats.

  He needed to focus on anything but her.

  Anything but the way she’d stared him down as if they were strangers.

  Not strangers … there was too much animosity intermixed for her not to care anything about him.

  “This looks rather depressing.”

  Uilleam didn’t bother looking up as his brother entered the room. He closed his eyes, willing his presence to be a figment of his drunken imagination, but when he opened them and glanced over his shoulder to find Kit still there, he knew he wasn’t that lucky.

  “Remind me to fire my security. They’re useless.” If they couldn’t keep his brother from breaking in, what the hell would they do against anyone else. “In the meantime, run along. I’m not in the mood for you tonight, dear brother.”

  In typical Kit fashion, he overstayed his welcome. “She hasn’t aged a day, has she?”

  Of course that would be the thing he wanted to discuss. “I’ve never been fond of being spied on.”

  “You gave up your right to privacy when you sat in my restaurant. You might have ended your lunch with Karina, but we both know it wasn’t because of her you were there in the first place.”

  Again, he didn’t respond.

  There was no point in lying, especially when Kit would know
the truth.

  It had been business that brought him to the restaurant in the first place, though he’d forgotten all about his observance of the prospective governor once Karina had interrupted him.

  “If you hadn’t seen the body in person,” Kit went on, “I’d have thought you’d hallucinated her death.”

  Yesterday had made him feel the same way.

  He’d known many a man who faked their deaths—had even helped a number of them do it himself—but he hadn’t seen any work as good as what he’d seen that day.

  “Perhaps there was a twin she never mentioned?” Uilleam mused, tossing back the last of his drink as he contemplated how she could have pulled it off. “That would fool anyone.”

  Even him.

  The body hadn’t just been a corpse one could pick out of a morgue and call it a day, it had felt like her. He’d even had the body x-rayed, remembering a story she’d told him of breaking her arm, finding the broken bone depicted on the scan.

  How the hell could she have faked that?

  “Or perhaps you can admit, if only to me, that she’d bested you.”

  He scoffed. “She won a battle, but battles are not wars. Don’t treat them as such.”

  “One day, you’re going to have to face that the Karina you knew might not be the same one that’s come back. Bloody hell, she’s not even a journalist.”

  Uilleam might not have responded aloud, but he did consider his brother’s words.

  Especially because he was right.

  He hadn’t considered the notion before, in part because he’d never wanted to consider someone—especially someone who he’d allowed to get so close to him—had fooled him.

  But the evidence was hard to ignore now.

  Even if she hadn’t been a journalist, the background check he’d had on her should have revealed something. Since it hadn’t, she had to have had help—a benefactor of some sort. The real culprit behind the plots against him.

  He just needed to find that person.

  He was one step closer with the accountant’s aid, and if Karina was coming out of hiding to face him, he was getting closer. It was only a matter of time.

  Kit’s gaze shifted to where the other armchair once sat, though it was long gone now. The last thing he’d wanted was for his brother to think he was invited to linger during these little chats.

  Yet, there he stood and would continue to stand until he was finished.

  “Is the difference really important now?” Uilleam finally asked. “Whoever the hell she is, she’ll be dealt with.”

  And he would make her pay, even if it hurt to do so.

  Canting his head to the side, Kit stared at him, assessing in a way only assassins could manage. “What’s your plan?”

  “First, I need to get rid of the security she keeps with her. If you’ll recall, he nearly killed me.”

  The only person who’d ever gotten close to succeeding.

  It didn’t matter if Karina hadn’t known Elias would use the Jackal without her consent—and the question of how they could possibly come to work together was a question for another day—he couldn’t trust that if her back was against the wall, she wouldn’t use him again.

  “How could I forget?” Kit asked dryly.

  No, he wouldn’t, would he?

  He’d been forced to make a deal with Elias in exchange for Uilleam’s life, and not only that, he’d nearly lost his wife in the process.

  He wanted the Jackal nearly as badly as Uilleam did.

  “If I want to get to her, I’ll have to go through him.” And once he was out of the picture, there would be no one left standing in his way.

  “How do you propose we do that, exactly? I’ve searched for him for years, and the only time he’s seen is when Belladonna makes her presence known. If we can’t find her, we won’t find him.”

  “But I know someone who can, potentially.”

  “Do tell.”

  Uilleam tapped his fingers against the side of the glass in his hand. “I had a mercenary once, Grimm, we called him—he was the only one to ever go up against the Jackal and live.”

  Outside of Uilleam, that was. But the attack on him had never meant to end with his death. It had been just a warning.

  “American, wasn’t he?”

  “Z had given him an assignment, but it wasn’t one he’d offered to share with me.”

  As much as he’d loved and respected him uncle, Uilleam had also been annoyed by his lack of communication and transparency when it came to the Den. It didn’t happen often, but more often than he liked, Z had elected to do what he wanted with informing anyone of his decisions.

  Once, it had been a point of contrition between them, but after the man died, there was no point in hanging onto that anger. He could only work to find out what the man had been hiding.

  “From what I’ve gathered, he’s being held at a black site somewhere in Eastern Europe—Romania, I believe—but this is all unconfirmed. Winter is working on it, but considering where the search is, I was hoping your Wildlings will help.”

  “They do have names, you know.”

  “I have more than a dozen mercenaries on my payroll, I have enough trouble keeping up with them.”

  “I’ll speak with them, but if your mercenary is being held at a black site, how exactly do you plan to get him out of there without causing backlash?

  “That’s a problem for another day. For now, I need to focus on actually finding it.”

  Which was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. Besides, Nix wasn’t wrong.

  Most government agencies frowned on someone, ‘extracting,’ a prisoner they never admitted existed anyway, but there were still rules, and none of the agencies on his payroll had ever confirmed they were holding Grimm.

  Which made him wonder if it was a government black site at all. But if it wasn’t, how was the governor connected?

  “I’m assuming you have a way of finding this out?”

  “I do,” Uilleam said with his first genuine smile of the night.

  He might have been dormant for six months, paralyzed with the new reality that Karina had returned to him, but there was only so long he would stay down.

  “Care to share?”

  “The accountant was meant to be a distraction,” Uilleam said glancing back at his brother. “It worked for a while, but most of the information she had on Karina was useless, but she knew far more about others she’d worked with.”

  Until she’d given him information on a man he hadn’t anticipated.

  “Michael Spader,” Uilleam went on.

  “Running for reelection, isn’t he? How is he important?”

  “Someone knows where the black site is, and if I’m correct, the governor’s servers will have that information.”

  Kit didn’t look surprised at what he was implying. He was probably used to Uilleam’s way of getting information by now. “I’ve always hated politics.”

  Uilleam hated politics too, but the game wasn’t over.

  There were still more moves on the board.

  The Den of Mercenaries series continues with Syn., Book 6 in Spring 2018.

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  Chapter One

  “You know, you’re doing that wrong,” a thoughtful voice said from behind him.

  Christophe hung from his ankles; a knife clutched in his hand as he tried unsuccessfully to cut himself free. A fine layer of sweat coated him, the muscles in his abdomen straining from holding the position for so long and trying to get himself free.

  But the interruption broke his concentration, and he was forced to drop back down, blood rushing back down as he blinked a few times to clear his vision and make sense of who was standing behind him.

  First came an impressive set of legs, tan and toned, with a figure-hu
gging skirt practically molded to her thighs. Even upside down, his eyes started a slow trek up her body, lingering on shapely hips, a tiny waist, and breasts that were barely contained in the sheer shirt she wore.

  He had never believed in love at first sight before, but that must be what this was.

  She—whoever this woman was—was beautiful, and despite the little notch between her brows as she regarded him, he could still see the hint of interest in her eyes.

  For six weeks, he had been training here at the Lotus Society facility, yet he had never seen her before. She had the same polished accent as Nix, but it was definitely nicer to hear coming from her.

  “Yeah?” he asked, deftly turning the knife between his fingers as he watched her. “You want to help me out then?”

  A smile touched her lips, gone as quickly as it formed. “That’s not in my job description.”

  “No? I don’t even know who you are.”

  But he wanted to know—he wanted to know everything about her.

  For a moment, he thought she looked unsure, but as she turned to walk away, heading down the hallway she’d come from, she called over her shoulder, “Aidra. I’m Nix’s assistant.”

  The thought of her leaving before he got more out of her forced him into action.

  For a half an hour, he’d been suspended from the ceiling, left with nothing more than a box cutter and luck to get himself down. He’d been content to take his time with the assignment … until he saw her.

  Using every bit of strength he had left, he forced himself up, slicing as quickly as he could at the ropes binding his legs. Not even thirty seconds later, the rope snapped, sending him spiraling to the floor where he landed on his back, the air knocked from his lungs.

  Even with pain radiating through his entire body, he didn’t care.

  He merely got up, brushed his jeans off, and started in the direction Aidra had taken.

  Jerking awake, Christophe tried to get his bearings, his gaze darting around the sweltering room.

  Where was … right. The apartment—his home for the last five months, and the one place he’d remained to spend his days drinking himself into oblivion. But even as he sought refuge away from the never-ending thoughts of her when he was awake, Aidra still found her way in his dreams.