Den of Mercenaries [Volume Two]

by London Miller

She wasn’t unconscious, judging from the way her hands were trembling so badly. He could see it from where he stood.

  Every manner of person had made all sorts of deals with the Kingmaker over the years—politicians trying to up their campaigns, desperate parents wanting to adopt a baby without any paperwork, and even families fighting an internal war that they hoped he could mitigate—but as Tăcut dragged the bag off the woman’s head, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman like her inside these four walls.

  Two thoughts ran through his mind the second he got his first look at her.

  She was unlike any other female he’d ever seen the Kingmaker bring in.

  Sure, she was beautiful, as they usually were, with a button nose, plumps lips, and eyes a rich shade of toffee, but her eyes didn’t shine with feigned innocence. Despite her trembling hands that she now had curled into fists, she didn’t look like she was afraid at all.

  Which brought him to his second thought—she was in way over her head and obviously didn’t know it, but that was nothing new.

  Most people never fully realized what it meant when they fell into Uilleam’s sight. Even Keanu hadn’t understood what it would ultimately mean to work for a man like him.

  This girl—woman, rather, from the shapely curves accentuated in the tight dress she wore—didn’t realize she wasn’t just knee deep in whatever this was, she was fucking drowning in it.

  Chapter 2

  Being jostled from side to side startled Ada awake, a pounding headache making her eyes water. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, but her thirst was quickly forgotten as she realized she was no longer in the office building or even a car for that matter.

  She blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision, but all she could make out through the black fabric that covered her head was concrete floors.

  The shuffling of feet and the pressure on her stomach made her realize someone was carrying her, but before she could even entertain the thought of struggling to get free, a blood-curdling scream made her freeze, her head whipping in its direction. Fists pounding against metal came next, a moment before the scream sounded again.

  She swallowed reflexively, trying to force away images of torture. If she thought about it too much, her mind would unravel long before anyone laid a hand on her.

  The temperature dropped suddenly, her confusion melting away once she realized they’d entered another room, this one devoid of any sound.

  She sucked in a breath as she was flipped upside down before being dropped into what she guessed was a chair. Whoever carried her cut the plastic from around her wrists before binding them to the arms of the chair, then her ankles to the legs. Only once she was properly restrained was the bag removed and she could finally see the room, and the man, who’d brought her into it.

  His mask was different from the one worn by the man she’d deemed the leader—a gnarled painted X where the mouth should be.

  “Who are you?” she asked, even as she knew he wouldn’t speak, but she needed to distract herself from what was happening around her.

  He didn’t answer, nor did he give any indication that he’d heard her speak at all.

  Instead, he inspected his work, made sure the bindings held and turned away. Despite her initial perception, the plastic didn’t bite into her skin, nor was it painful in any way. Odd, considering she was being held prisoner. Beyond the drug they’d injected her with, she hadn’t been harmed at all really.

  Satisfied, the man slipped from the room, leaving her alone for the first time.

  Even as she knew it was an impossible feat, she still jerked at the restraints, yanking and pulling until she had to pause long enough to take a proper breath.

  But she couldn’t give up—not when she didn’t know what came next.

  “I wouldn’t test those if I were you,” a deep voice called out from the other side of the room, alerting her to the fact that she was no longer alone—if she had ever been.

  She jerked her head in its direction, expecting to find one of the masked men, but there were only shadows at first before he stepped forward into the light.

  And seeing him for the first time, she could only stare.

  He was huge. Quite literally.

  Even sitting, she could tell he was over six feet tall—well above her five and a half feet. Beyond his height, he had the body mass of a man she was pretty sure could benchpress a car. It was all muscle, from the biceps folded across his chest, to the legs encased in dark denim.

  He couldn’t have been one of the four that had taken her from the firm—she would have remembered someone his size.

  The rumors about the Kingmaker’s mercenaries were known to most, though she’d never had the displeasure of meeting one—until now.

  Without the masks, they were still terrifying, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t wearing one.

  That couldn’t mean good things for her.

  The mercenary stepped forward, seeming to study her as closely as she did him.

  He wasn’t clean-shaven—his facial hair was shorter along his jaw and longer around his chin, but the same dark shade as the hair he had pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of his neck.

  A gray T-shirt stretched across his massive chest, thick arms now hanging at his sides, and the closer he came, the better she could see the intricate line work that took up both of them.

  She expected images, or words even, but the black ink that marked up his flesh was more tribal-like, though nothing like the thick, sharp lines that had been popular a decade ago. These were comprised of complicated patterns—patterns she couldn’t discern.

  More curious was that he didn’t look like a hardened, trained killer despite his overall size and prominent frown.

  “You’re one of the Kingmaker’s mercenaries?” she asked as the uncomfortable silence stretched between them as he stared.

  One dark brow rose, seeming surprised that she was actually asking something of him. “Occasionally.”

  Okay … What did that mean? “What am I doing here?”

  “We both know the answer to that.”

  “Did he send you here to torture me first?”

  His face revealed nothing as he shrugged. “Let’s hope not.”

  He sounded so impassive, as if the thought of harming an innocent woman meant nothing to him. Then again, she wasn’t all that innocent, and she suspected he knew that too.

  “Who the hell are you then?”

  He paused where he stood. “Skorpion.”

  “That’s your name?”

  “It’s the only name you’re going to get from me.”

  She didn’t get a chance to retort before the door on the opposite side of the room came crashing open and her attention was stolen by the man who entered.

  His reputation preceded him.

  What little she knew about him, she never understood.

  It had always seemed rather silly how a person could have a meeting with a man whose name they didn’t know and whose face they more than likely wouldn’t recognize. How could they possibly know who they were expecting to meet?

  In her research into him over the last three months, she hadn’t been able to find any recorded images of him and fear prevented others from even describing what he looked like. The only thing anyone willingly remarked upon were the infamous deals he made.

  The Kingmaker was more myth and legend rather than an actual living, breathing person.

  No one at the firm had ever met him either, nor did they want to talk about him. The one and only time she had ever found any evidence that he might have existed outside of people’s imaginations was an old article from nearly a decade ago with the headline: THE KINGMAKER—UNDERWORLD’S INVISIBLE KINGPIN?

  She couldn’t remember who’d written it—Karina … something—but now as she sat in the cold, metal chair awaiting her fate, she couldn’t help but remember that article, and what little it had revealed.

  ‘Concealed within the shadows of any great city, th
e Kingmaker moves without being seen, playing chess with the lives of those around him.’

  ‘His name is known to very few, and those that dare utter it in his presence aren’t allowed a second chance.’

  She’d wanted to believe the rumors were just that—rumors. Ghost tales meant to illicit fear and obedience, but for whom that fear was meant for, she didn’t know.

  And she had always doubted she would ever learn the truth.

  How wrong she’d been.

  The shadows of the room engulfed him momentarily—as they had the man who’d come before him—only his footsteps announcing his arrival. For a man who sparked fear in so many, she expected him to be physically intimidating—a man as tall as he was wide with grotesque features—but he wasn’t anything of the sort. He wasn’t even as big as the man standing across the room who’d yet to take his eyes off her.

  The three-piece suit he wore was tailored, dark as night with a crisp white silk shirt beneath, and a black tie clipped into place. A square jaw was slightly dusted with scruff—the same shade of strawberry blond as his hair—prominent cheekbones, and lips that curled up on one side giving him an almost malevolent smile.

  He didn’t have to be physically intimidating, she realized—his very presence exuded it. He walked like a man who knew he owned the world. And most surprising of all was that he couldn’t have been much older than her.

  Taking his time unbuttoning his suit jacket, he eased into the chair across from her, hooking his ankle over his knee as he appraised her lazily.

  There was no question who he was.

  The Kingmaker sat before her.

  He seemed to read her mind, his smile growing a touch, and with all the arrogance of a man in his position of power, he inclined his head as he said, “You’ve heard of me.”

  Not a question.

  She cleared her throat, hoping her voice sounded as calm to him as it did to her. “Everyone has heard of you.”

  The man across the room shifted on his feet, her gaze darting to him, but his expression revealed nothing.

  How easy it had been asking questions of him … even if she had just as much reason to be afraid of him as she was his boss.

  If you show fear, he’ll eat you alive.

  Belladonna’s words replayed themselves in her head, reminding her of what was at stake.

  No one she knew even spoke about the Kingmaker without some level of fear.

  Except Belladonna. She’d mentioned his name with a mixture of contempt and admiration—both in awe of him and disgusted by him.

  “Then hopefully that stops any lies you think to tell me. I’ll know if they are, and please understand I have very little patience for them. If you tell me what I want to know, you won’t be harmed. Don’t, and I’ll introduce you to my mercenaries. Understood?”

  His threat was blatant.

  If you show fear, he’ll eat you alive.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked, relaxing her shoulders, sitting up a bit straighter, mindful of her bindings.

  “Information on a woman you’ve done business with. She calls herself Belladonna.”

  “I don’t know very much about her,” she said easily, which was partly true. “You could have easily stolen one of the hard drives from the firm and left me out of it.”

  “I could have, yes, but if the drives leave the building without authorization, the software built into the frames of the elevators will automatically wipe them clean. Isn’t that right, Miss Edgar?”

  Shit.

  She’d forgotten about that little detail.

  His smile told her he knew she realized her error. “Did you know if you were to lose a limb, it can still feel like it’s there?” he asked. “A phantom limb, I believe they call it. God forbid you lose it in some grisly manner, that pain can linger for the rest of your natural life.” It was disconcerting the way his smile stayed perfectly in place despite his words. “Would you like to lose yours? I’m benevolent enough to let you choose which.”

  Ada swallowed, counting backward in her head until her heart wasn’t beating so fast. “What do you want to know about her?”

  “A little bird told me about a firm of money launderers that were so good, their method of moving it all couldn’t be tracked. That little bird also told me that this particular firm was hired by the lovely Belladonna approximately one year ago and that she uses you, specifically, to handle her financial affairs. Do I have that right?”

  “Yes.”

  The firm did business with some of the highest ranking criminals in the underworld—with the exception of the Kingmaker—and their reputation for discreet trafficking afforded them the luxury of repeat business, even if the majority of the fees went to her boss, Roger Fitzpatrick.

  Which was why Ada had needed to steal in the first place, but that wasn’t important now.

  “But I’m not sure what you want to hear,” she went on quickly, rotating her wrists to keep the blood flowing. “I don’t know her personally.”

  He didn’t blink. “Inconsequential. Tell me of her accounts and where I might find the information you procured for them.”

  “She kept three,” she said before taking a breath. “Two through Switzerland, the other in the Cayman Islands. I can give you the dollar amounts in each, but I’m not sure it will matter very much now. She had her accounts emptied before you took me.”

  A plan set in motion months ago, Ada had realized soon after their meeting.

  Even if she had wanted to stop it, there was nothing she could do about it now.

  The mercenary in the corner made a noise in the back of his throat, one she didn’t quite understand. The Kingmaker didn’t look nearly as self-assured as he had a moment ago.

  “Then I fail to see what use I have of you,” he said, standing.

  He said it with such finality that she knew if he were to leave this room, she wouldn’t.

  Before he could take a step in the opposite direction, she spoke up. “You want to make a deal with me.”

  His expression reverted back to his earlier amusement. “I don’t believe you’re in any position to make a deal with me, Miss Edgar. I quite literally hold your life in my hands.”

  “I have something you want, but the only way I’ll tell you anything is if you give me something in return. Isn’t that the way of your deals, Kingmaker?”

  A deal or death was what he offered—one just had to choose wisely.

  For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a hint of a genuine smile on his face, as if he were proud of her answer. “Ada Edgar, born October first, 1992 in Gravesend of Kent, England to Charles and Edna Edgar. Gifted student, graduated with high marks before attending Cambridge to major in mathematics and finance. How am I doing so far?”

  Though she dug her nails into her palms, it took everything in her not to let her expression shift and give away her thoughts.

  She’d tried so hard to cover her tracks, yet in the span of a few seconds, he’d revealed more about her life than she had ever shared with a single soul in this world.

  Yet, he knew.

  “Understand me, Miss Edgar. I’d hoped you would make my life easier, but don’t fool yourself into believing that I need you. With time, I’m sure I can find the information I need. Besides, as you’ve said, her accounts are no longer active.”

  Ada drew in a breath and blew it out. “On the fifteenth of June, Belladonna moved one-point-five million dollars into an account owned by a politician named Michael Spader. One week later, another two was forwarded back into her account from the same man. I have his account number if you’d like to verify what I’m saying. It’s quite possible that you can find whatever you’re looking for in time, yes, but I can give you information now. So, would you like to make a deal or not?”

  “A photographic memory then?” he asked, sounding mildly impressed.

  Not quite, but close. She didn’t correct him. “I am the best at what I do.”

  He met her gaze for a long
while, seeming to consider whether he wanted to accept what she was offering. “If what you say is true, I’ll consider your offer. If it’s not …”

  Ada nodded toward the other man in the room. “You’ll have him or one of your other mercenaries kill me. I understand.”

  “Glad to see we’re on the same page.” He nodded to the other man. “Skorpion.”

  He turned once more, and this time, she didn’t attempt to stop him from leaving the room. Instead, she watched him go, the other man dutifully following behind.

  Ada didn’t take a proper breath until they were both out of sight and the door had shut behind them.

  * * *

  For once in his life, Keanu didn’t know what to make of a subject.

  He’d had his first impressions and assumptions—which he was partly right about—but during her conversation with Uilleam, he expected her to beg and plead her case. Instead, she’d turned it back on him and did a great fucking job of it.

  Once they were out of the room and away from prying eyes, Uilleam cursed viciously, yanking at the tie around his neck before he sank into a chair. It wasn’t defeat on his face that she’d gotten the upper hand, but fury.

  “This is her,” he spat out. “I know it.”

  Crossing his arms across his chest, Keanu leaned against the wall. “Seems like it.” He could have left it at that, but he found himself curious about Ada Edgar. “What’s your plan?”

  Uilleam didn’t answer right away, his gaze unfocused as he lost himself in whatever idea he was coming up with. He didn’t doubt, given time, he’d find a reasonable solution. That was the way he worked.

  He had never seen him so worked up about a person he was going up against—the man didn’t falter, not in all the years he’d known him. It was almost unhealthy the way he went through life, not letting anything or anyone affect him, or even get close enough to try.

  Then again, the first person he had allowed himself to care for seemed to be waging a one woman war against him.

  “I assume you searched her car?” Uilleam asked, looking from the painting across the room back to him. Probably considering burning it. “What did you find?”