Iris. (Den of Mercenaries Book 7)

by London Miller

  Although Iris had never been in that particular scenario before, she understood the meaning behind it. It was all about blending in with the people around them.

  Which, essentially, was what she had done all these years.

  Her clothes were bought in stores everyone had access to, and she usually strayed toward grays and blacks that never stuck out in the sea of similar shades.

  She was supposed to be happy about that—not blending in with others. Being able to be someone rather than a shell of herself, but she wasn’t yet sure how she felt about stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight.

  “Plus,” Calavera said, drawing her from her troubled thoughts. “If the focus is on you, it won’t be on Synek.”

  Because people, and men in particular, had a tendency not to suspect women of treachery.

  A woman in her mid-forties stepped out from behind the counter, her hair styled in an immaculate chignon, the red soles of her heels flashing when she turned. She was beautiful and every bit the saleswoman as she offered that same smile to Iris.

  “Always a pleasure to see one of my favorite customers.” The woman greeted Calavera with an infectious smile, walking over to gently grasp her upper arms before pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

  Calavera laughed lightly. “It’s good to see you too, Joanne.”

  “And your husband? All is well, I trust?”

  Calavera nodded even as she reached up to fiddle with the link on her collar. A nervous gesture Iris didn’t think the other woman was aware of.

  “Everything is great. But I’m not here for me this time.”

  Joanne looked disappointed by the news, making Iris wonder just how much Calavera spent in this store. Though, with just a cursory look around, she could guess the number was high.

  Not that she didn’t understand why. Inside these four walls was a woman’s paradise.

  Joanne walked them upstairs, carrying on a conversation with Calavera as Iris took a moment to better look at the selection of gowns—from cocktail to evening and everything in between and in a variety of shades. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out shopping that wasn’t strictly because she needed to be. Definitely never in a place like this.

  As they reached the second landing, on the wall where bags had been displayed below was replaced by a row of mannequins wearing dresses that were far too pretty to be worn.

  “What are we looking for today?” Joanne asked with a clasp of her hands as she faced them.

  “It’s for a charity fundraiser,” Iris replied.

  “Something that’s understated but unmistakable,” Calavera added.

  “I have a few ideas in mind,” Joanne said before slipping past them. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once she disappeared out of view, it was just the pair of them again.

  They hadn’t spoken much during the car ride, not that Iris knew what to say. She was much better at answering questions of those closest to her rather than asking. Small talk had never been her strong suit.

  “I’m curious,” Calavera said as she traced her fingers over a royal blue dress, letting the fabric slip through her fingers.

  “About me and Syn?” she asked, expecting as much.

  “About you, actually.” When Iris looked skeptical, she added, “Trust me, I know all about unlikely relationships. Imagine being married to your boss’s brother.”

  “There’s nothing really special about me.”

  She had never finished school—though she had bought enough secondhand textbooks over the years to learn everything she possibly could—but once this was over, she had every intention of finishing her education.

  But there was not much more to her than her time with the Wraiths. She could tell her about the years between one and the other, but that wouldn’t make very good conversation. Not to mention she hadn’t even gotten around to telling Syn all about it yet.

  “There’s something,” Calavera said, turning to face her. “Belladonna picked you for a reason.”

  Now, it was Iris’s turn to stare. “I don’t understand.”

  Though it had seemed important when Iris brought up the woman’s name to Synek—enough that he had brought her to the Den compound for the very first time—no one had asked her about Belladonna since then.

  There almost seemed be this code of silence when it came to her. As if just saying her name was bad luck.

  “Everybody’s blinded by something. They’re not seeing what’s right in front of them.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The first time I ever met her, Belladonna I mean, she pretended she didn’t know who I was, but she did. It was all a part of this elaborate hunt she sent me on so I could find out some things about myself. Who’s to say she isn’t doing that same thing now?”

  Though Iris had wondered if there were any ulterior motives behind Belladonna’s visit to the Wraiths, she hadn’t been able to find anything concrete. If she had thought the Kingmaker was hard to find anything on, Belladonna was even worse.

  “Maybe there’s a connection between you that we just haven’t found yet.”

  “There isn’t,” Iris said with a shake of her head.

  While Calavera’s tone hadn’t been accusatory, she didn’t want the other woman believing something where there was nothing. She was pretty sure she would remember someone like Belladonna had they crossed paths before.

  Iris was curious, and she was dying to ask how someone who looked like Calavera chose to become a mercenary for a man who was as attractive as he was powerful.

  And that was before they got to the fact she was married to the man’s brother.

  Before she got the chance to ask, however, Joanne came back, pushing a rack filled with dresses, all in jewel tones.

  “I’ll have my assistant bring up the rest of the selections.”

  The rest?

  There had to be a dozen or more in front of her already, but as she readied to protest, she remembered the envelope Synek had given her. He was buying …

  Their conversation was put on hold as Iris was ushered into the dressing room and handed dress after dress to try on.

  The first was a beautiful champagne color, floor length with a fitted bodice. Nice, but too much. The next was white with crisscrossing panels and dipped a little too low in the front.

  But once she got to the third, a jade green dress made of silk, she knew this was the one.

  “Jesus, if I was going to rob this place, I would’ve worn different shoes.”

  Iris would recognize that voice anywhere. Finishing the last of the ties on the front of her dress, she pushed the gauzy curtain back and stepped out of the dressing room, feeling all eyes swing to her as she stopped in the middle of the floor.

  Calavera might have smiled and Joanne announced she was off to find the perfect pair of heels, but for all the attention Iris paid them, they might as well not have been in the room.

  Unlike Calavera, Winter was dressed as every bit of grunge as she always did. Her leather jacket had spikes running along the shoulders, her silver hair braided beneath a black beanie, and unlike Calavera’s choker that was slim and gold, hers was made of black leather with the word, “Kitten” across the front of it.

  She carried a black Starbucks cup in her left hand.

  Needless to say, she didn’t look like she would ever step foot inside a place like this, which probably explained why the doorman was still glaring at her as he traveled back down the stairs and disappeared out of view.

  “I thought you were helping the boys?” Calavera asked as Winter took a seat in the chair beside her.

  “I’ve been relieved,” she answered with a shrug. “Apparently, my skills weren’t needed today.” Winter tilted her head to the side as she lifted her circular sunglasses. “I like the green.”

  Iris glanced at herself in the mirror, getting a better view of the dress Calavera had selected.

  The top was fitted, the straps narrow, with strings
laced up the front and tied into a neat bow. The skirt was light as air, made of gauzy fabric that was sheer and pooled at her feet, though a high slit exposed plenty of leg.

  It was a touch risqué while still being chic.

  It really was a great dress.

  “But maybe Syn would like the black one better.”

  Iris had always been good at concealing what she was feeling. Maybe not to Synek, but with everyone else, she was a closed book. Now she was thankful for the talent so Winter couldn’t see what she was thinking.

  It wasn’t that she had said anything wrong, or even that her suggestion wasn’t correct, but that didn’t mean it didn’t rub Iris the wrong way for reasons that were too ridiculous for her to even think about.

  Of course, Winter would know more about him—she’d had years with him. Years when it had just been the pair of them and that was the way they liked it.

  Iris understood that, but something about the way she made the remark, as if she knew more about Synek and preferred it that way, made Iris force herself to smile despite how badly she wanted to frown.

  It didn’t help that she too thought Synek would like it better in black.

  “We’re not dressing for Syn,” Calavera said as she stood and walked a slow circle around Iris. “It’s for the fundraiser and the women who’ll be there. I can almost guarantee one of them will recognize the designer and voila, conversation started. I’m sure you can take care of the rest.”

  Yeah, she knew all about how Iris had lured Synek out of the Hall, but her words weren’t malicious or judging; they were just matter-of-fact.

  “You’re the expert,” Winter mumbled, though she still didn’t look convinced.

  “Do you do this much worrying when it’s Tăcut going on a job?”

  “Yes, actually. But I’m watching his back. Syn’ll be alone.”

  “No,” Iris said, her voice a touch more firm than she meant it to be. “He won’t be.”

  Winter shook her head, swirling the contents of her drink. “You’re not a mercenary.”

  Now it was Calavera’s turn to frown. “Wint—”

  “No, I’m not, but like it or not, I was a Wraith.”

  “Which means I should trust you even less than I already do. Syn might have gotten over the part you played in his torture, but I don’t have to.”

  “Why not?”

  “What?”

  Iris turned, mindful of the dress she was wearing as she stared down the other woman who cared about Synek. She understood, or at least she tried to, the bond between them. It was forged first out of necessity, then out of a love for each other that she didn’t question.

  But that didn’t mean she would allow Winter to walk all over her because she thought she knew what was best for Synek.

  “You said it yourself, Syn has forgiven me for what I did, and I did my damnedest to make up for it. So what’s your deal? If he’s happy, if he’s fine with me, why aren’t you?”

  “Because I don’t trust you,” she said plainly, her gaze level on hers.

  Iris shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if you do or not. Syn does, and his opinion is the only one I care about.”

  Winter didn’t have a response to that, or maybe her anger was so great that she couldn’t formulate a response. Instead, her cheeks grew ruddy, and it was clear even before she spun on her heel and left as quickly as she came in that this wasn’t over between them.

  Not when they both felt strongly about the same man, even if it was in two different ways.

  Synek could count on one hand the number of times he and the other mercenaries of the Den had ever been called in at the same time for one particular job.

  Usually divided by their specialties, it was rare that an assignment overlapped unless they were in the same city at the same time. And even if they were, sometimes Syn still wasn’t called in because he could be a liability at times.

  A liability.

  He was offended.

  As Synek drove through the gate, he spotted the familiar cars.

  ’67 Chevy Impala for Red and a rented Mustang GT for Skorpion.

  The only thing missing was Calavera’s Maserati.

  A set of four bikes sat on the other side of the lot. Each with a foot of space between them—all matte black with chrome detailing.

  The Wild Bunch was back.

  Synek parked and climbed out, leaving his car behind as he spotted Celt pulling in, the rumble of his motorcycle as familiar as the scowl on his face. He wasn’t happy to be back.

  “What’s got you in a state?” Synek asked as he stood off to the side, clapping him on the back once he was close.

  “I don’t know if she’ll still have me if this doesn’t end soon,” he said with an annoyed frown on his face. “Not that I can blame her, mind you. You can’t marry a woman, promise a honeymoon, then don’t take one. It’s just not done.”

  “That’s good, though, that is. At least she still agreed to take your ring, mate. Means she actually loves you. I would have left you years ago and taken half your money.”

  The remark managed to get a semblance of a smile out of the man.

  “The end is near, as they say,” Synek said with a slap on Celt’s back. “Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

  Heading inside the compound, they walked toward the war room where the team was waiting for them. As Celt went on ahead, Synek lingered outside the door.

  When he saw Tăcut standing at the entrance of the gun room, Synek didn’t feel the same level of animosity as he usually did. There were no bitter feelings. No need for violence.

  That didn’t make them friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he did feel indebted to the man for the help he’d provided in getting Iris back.

  Tăcut tipped his head up in greeting as Synek approached before turning his attention back to whatever he was watching in the room.

  The Kingmaker wasn’t dressed in a freshly pressed suit. In fact, he looked as if he had stayed here at the compound all night and hadn’t slept since Synek saw him last.

  It made him wonder how a man who seemed in constant control of everything around him managed to lose it.

  Celt, who had been in a perpetually bad state since he was called in, glared at the Kingmaker as he crossed to the front of the room. “You rang?”

  The Kingmaker was in rare form because, leveling a dry look on the man, he continued forward until he stood in front of the control panel. After hitting a few keys, he was able to insert a disc and the projector flickered on.

  “I received this last night around four a.m. According to the security present at the time, it was a woman who handed over the package it came in.”

  “Belladonna?” Synek asked, wondering if the woman was completely mental to show her face here.

  Then again, she hadn’t been caught, had she?

  “No,” the Kingmaker responded. “Someone who works for her, I imagine.”

  The screen went dark before the video finally cut to a man who wore little more than a tattered shirt and jogging pants with a hole in one knee.

  He was on his knees, and his gaze was fixed to the ground with his arms shackled in front of him. Synek rubbed his own wrists, remembering the way the shackles had felt.

  The man’s hair was dirty and cut unevenly as if someone had tried to clean him up for the purpose of this video.

  Or maybe, as Synek leaned forward and got a better look at the screen, they were trying to make sure he was recognizable.

  Grimm had a very familiar face—not to mention the rare genetic mutation that made one of his eyes a stark blue and the other one a light shade of green.

  There was no mistaking it was Grimm even with the dirt and matted hair.

  Synek would know him anywhere.

  Even as the video feed filled him with relief, glad for the knowledge that he was alive and it wasn’t just rumors, it didn’t help that there was nothing of value around him but snow.

  Blankets of it. From the white that
covered the trees behind him to the ice and snow that was a few inches deep.

  “Tell them your name,” a man off camera said, the sound of his voice making Synek stiffen.

  He wished he was as good with voices as he was with faces.

  He rarely forgot a face, but voices eluded him.

  Grimm finally looked up at the camera, the overgrown hair on his jaw just as matted as the rest of it—but there was no mistaking his eyes. They hadn’t bothered to conceal those.

  When Grimm spoke, he didn’t just give his name. He gave his rank in the Den along with the seven digits that signified who he worked for. Always the Marine.

  No one spoke as the video unfolded—not even the Wild Bunch, who couldn’t possibly know who the man was and why he was so important to them.

  Grimm looked back at the snow beneath his knees before a gloved hand holding a newspaper postmarked three days ago appeared in front of the screen.

  If there had been any doubt that Grimm was alive—at least, he had been three days ago—it was gone now.

  Once the paper moved away from the camera, another man entered the frame—one who made everyone staring at the screen sit up straighter.

  He didn’t wear the standard military green uniform like the others. Instead, his was black—from the war vest strapped across his chest to the pants on his legs and the combat boots on his feet.

  Even the black mask covering the lower half of his face was the same shade of obsidian as the rest.

  Like a dark spot in the otherwise flawless snow.

  The Jackal.

  Rumor had it that Grimm was the only mercenary—the only person—to go up against the Jackal and live. Which had never made sense to Synek. What reason did the assassin have to let Grimm live?

  Whatever the answer was, it was just another clue that led back to Belladonna.

  “Pause that.”