Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)

by London Miller

  “As I said, you—”

  “How? How was I supposed to tell you anything? They could have killed you, it’s not like they’re shy about hurting someone. I’ve seen the things they’re capable of, but despite how much of an asshole you can be, I didn’t want to see you hurt because you were trying to protect me.”

  There was a sudden moment where his eyes lit up with an emotion she couldn’t read at first—it took over his whole demeanor.

  “Do you think I can’t protect you, Reagan?”

  “What?” she asked frowning, confused his words. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s a simple question—yes or no?”

  “What does it matter?”

  One minute he was across the room, the next he was directly in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.

  “You feared for me. You even put yourself in between me and that fucking idiot because you were trying to protect me. My question is do you think I need you to protect me?”

  She couldn’t for the life of her understand what he was getting at. “Nikl—”

  “You knew,” Niklaus said, his voice gone low, sensual in a way that he probably didn’t try to do. “Some part of you, however small, knew exactly what I was. Even before. Every night you came to my room and climbed in my bed, you knew.”

  Maybe on some subconscious level, she had known. She had already rejected the idea of his involvement in sanitation, even if she never admitted that fact to herself. And how could she not recall just how strong his muscles felt beneath her hands.

  “But there’s only so much your strength can do,” she voiced the thought aloud. “Against a bullet? Nothing. I can’t have you dying because of me.”

  It wasn’t the first time she had said similar words during this conversation, and just like before, he had a reaction to them that puzzled her.

  “What would you prefer me do? Leave you to fight alone?”

  “If that’s what I want, then yeah.”

  He was shaking his head before she could even finish. “That’s not how this works.”

  “Niklaus, you can’t just—”

  “You want him gone, no? I can make that happen far quicker than you can. I’ll make it where he never sees another day if that’s what you wanted. Just say the word.”

  “He’d kill Jimmy,” she said softly, her fear and trust rolled into one simple statement.

  “Jimmy?”

  “My brother.”

  “Where is he?” Niklaus asked.

  “I don’t know. He took off—which he tends to do on occasion, the reason why you never met him before. Liam is looking for him too.”

  “I’ll find him first.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t know that for sure. Liam has been looking since before you know about Jimmy at all.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Nik—”

  He shut her up with a bruising kiss, one that took her breath away and grounded her at the same time.

  His fingers slipped through the damp strands of her hair at the nape of her neck, his hold possessive and firm, keeping her exactly as he wanted. She shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as she did, but she had always been weak when it came to him.

  Where was her fight?

  How long had she thought about the next time they would cross paths, and what she would say once they were face-to-face? Years had passed, and she had moved on, not with Liam, but emotionally. She had gotten over her feelings for Niklaus…or at least that was what she thought until he walked back into her life.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “It’s almost midnight, it can wait until the morning. I’ve been tracking Liam and have bugs in place, if there’s any mention of him trying to make a move I’d know it.” But he wasn’t finished. “I want you,” he said when her gaze lifted to his, making sure she could see the sincerity there.

  Coming from anyone else, the words might not have had the same effect, but from him, in that rough, angry voice of his, it sent a shiver through her, reminding her that was still in nothing more than a towel.

  Despite what he made her feel, she still resisted. “I’m not yours, Niklaus. You can’t just say that.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  The hand he had at the small of her back drifted around and dipped, his too hot touch suddenly on her thighs, slipping even higher, and now beneath her towel. She moved too slow to stop his ascent, and by the time she had ahold of his wrist, his hand was between her legs, his fingers stroking over her, delving between her folds.

  Digging her nails into his flesh, holding tight, she didn’t even know whether it was to pull him away or keep him in place.

  His lips fell to her ear as he said, “Your pussy is mine, or do you want to deny that too?”

  She couldn’t, not when he could feel the evidence of the affect his words had on her.

  Another protest was on the tip of her tongue, and the only thing she had to do was say it, but her through scattered when he stroked her.

  With just a brush of his fingers, she was putty in his hands, already bending to his will.

  And in that next second, she gave in.

  Grabbing hold of him, she pushed into his body, reveling in the feel of his hands as they closed around her, but before she could lose herself in him, she pulled back, gazing up at him.

  That old fire had returned, the same one she had longed to see for years.

  “Make it worth it,” she said.

  Worth the pain.

  Worth the hurt.

  Worth her starting this back up again when she couldn’t be sure how it would end.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I wondered if I had dreamed it,” Reagan said softly, almost as though the words weren’t meant for him, but were a soft musing.

  But even still, Niklaus answered her as though she had addressed him. “I’m really here.”

  “Yeah,” she said, sounding wry, “I was afraid of that.”

  For the last hour he had lain beside her, listening to her even breaths as she slept. With her beside him, he had finally had a good night’s sleep for what felt like the first time in years.

  Reagan was able to calm his anger in a way he couldn’t do for himself. With her, he found peace.

  “Nah, don’t say it like that.”

  “Or what?”

  Her voice had dropped when she asked that, making him glance in her direction and take in the flushness of her face, and how even without words, she was begging for the very thing he would happily give her.

  “I need a shower,” he said, following the curve of her hip outlined by the sheet. “Will you actually get in with me this time?”

  She didn’t hesitate, not for a second.

  One minute she was glancing back at him as she walked to the bathroom in the hallway, and the next she was kneeling at his feet, his cock in her mouth.

  He wrapped a fist in her hair, guiding her movements as she took him deep. Reagan had never been shy again with him after their night together, always giving as good as she got.

  Even now as kept him exactly as she wanted him, his body going tense with the need to come, she looked like she was getting off on sucking his cock just as much as he was from her doing it.

  He didn’t even get the chance to say her name before she was pulling away, now staring up at him with hungry eyes.

  Niklaus didn’t hesitate in hauling her up, pressing her hard against the wall of the shower. The minute he had a hand around his cock, and she was pressing back against him, he shoved in, drawing her up onto her toes as a cry spilled from her lips.

  With each thrust, he tried to remember his own name, even slowing as he tried to hold off his release, at least until he had made her come.

  One hand at her throat, the other slipping between her legs to rub at her clit, her response was immediate and absolute, robbing him of breath as he pussy clamped so tight around him he nearly saw star
s, and by the time he was seconds later, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, he thought he had.

  Rinsing them both off, Niklaus let Reagan go ahead of him as he lingered a bit longer beneath the hot water. Once he was out, he dressed rather quickly, though he did leave his gear packed inside his duffel bag at the door. Even if he wasn’t ready for Reagan to see that side of him yet, he still couldn’t go out on the street dressed that way without drawing attention.

  Dropping down on the couch, as he shoved his feet in his boots, lacing up the strings, Niklaus said, “I need you to stay out of trouble.”

  Reagan folded her arms across her chest, frowning. “It’s not like I’m seeking it out, Liam always comes to me not the other way around.”

  “But you came to me, remember?” It was almost impossible not to smile at the look of indignation that crossed her face.

  “I can’t just stay in here all day. I have the pub, and my parents worry when I don’t visit for a while. And even if Liam is busy with everything that happened yesterday, there’s no guarantee that he won’t send someone to check on me.”

  And he could tell, though she had yet to say anything, that she was still worried about her brother.

  “I’ll have someone come round and look after you while I get to the bottom of all this shit with McCarthy.”

  While she had slept on beside him the night before, he had still been awake, going back and forth with Celt as to what, exactly, happened at the McCarthy warehouse.

  Motive was easy, practically everyone hated the McCarthys, yet finding the who had been rather difficult. And had taken far longer than he would have liked, but he had a name and a place now, and that was all he needed before he went to make his point.

  “Then what will you be doing?” Reagan asked, dropping down on the couch beside him. “If you’re not there with me…”

  “Couple stops to make before I go in search of your brother. If McCarthy is worth half his fucking balls, he won’t wait long before going after whoever blew up his and his brother’s trucks.”

  She worried her lips between her teeth, her fear for him prominent. “Be careful, Niklaus.”

  He pulled her closer with a hand curved around her neck, first kissing her forehead, then pressing another lingering one to her lips.

  “Always.”

  *

  It hadn’t been hard to find the Irishmen, not when he had Celt around for help. Running a fight club in a secret level of an abandoned warehouse, Celt heard things about any and every one. And that knowledge came in handy, especially when Niklaus needed to find Declan Flanagan, a man that was practically a ghost.

  After yesterday’s episode, Niklaus knew he had to have a conversation with the man, whether he wanted to or not. That was also the reason why he’d had to come clean with Reagan about exactly who and what he was. She could have been killed if he hadn’t stepped in. And now that she’d told him exactly what her relationship was like with Liam, he was ready to put an end to it.

  Now he was glad that his assignment directly involved the McCarthys, he could both end them and solve Reagan’s problem with one stone.

  But first he had to make sure there wouldn’t be anymore incidents like the one that had happened yesterday.

  And for once, Niklaus left his mask behind though he was on assignment, heading towards the barbershop at the end of the block where he knew the Irishmen did business in a back room. No one would have expected it, not when the place was owned by an older man with silver hair who looked rather harmless.

  But it made for a great hideout.

  Though he had left his mask behind, Niklaus hadn’t come fully unprepared. Heading into a dangerous situation like this, especially with men that had nothing to lose, he knew the risks.

  And worse was the fact that he was showing his face—his face would be enough to warrant a bullet to the face without a word being spoken.

  His vest was strapped on, hidden beneath the shirt and jacket he wore—and it wasn’t like he was unarmed, but there was no guarantee of who all was inside. And while Niklaus would always put the odds on himself, there was no guarantee he would get away unscathed.

  Getting shot hurt.

  Reaching Rory’s Barbershop, Niklaus put a hand to the door and pulled it open, the small bell above it ringing at his entrance. Music played from an old radio resting by a sink, something that reminded him of a song Celt might play.

  Two men were seated by the door, one on his phone, the other with his eyes in a magazine, but if from the way they tensed when Niklaus entered, he doubted they were fully invested in what they were doing.

  An older guy with a beer gut and meaty jowls was sitting in a chair getting his hair cut, eyes on the television mounted to the wall, and out of the eleven people inside the shop, Niklaus could see that he was the only one not there with Declan.

  Funny thing was, from what Niklaus could see, Declan was nowhere to be found. At least not immediately.

  As he walked further into the shop, staying aware of the men at his back, all eyes turned to him with the exception of the man watching television, the tension climbing.

  If he were anyone else, the men might have been wary, but willing to hear him out, but because of the face he shared with Mishca, they were far more than a little wary—they were openly hostile.

  It might have been because Mishca had shot one of their own back during his days as a soldier for the Bratva. Then, there was the whole rivalry thing they had going on, at least up until Declan had disappeared off the face of the earth for reasons that were still unknown.

  Even Celt hadn’t been able to find that information.

  “Come on, Paulie,” Rory, the owner of the shop, called to the man watching television. “I’ll finish you up in the back.”

  “Come on,” the man said gesturing to the TV with an outstretched arm. “The game is on.”

  Rory clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll watch it back there too.”

  Grumbling beneath his breath, Paulie hoisted himself up, barely sparing Niklaus a glance as he followed behind the barber and disappeared through the doorway, the door closing behind them.

  At his back, one of the men lowered the blinds, then twisted the handle so that it was impossible to see it, or rather, to see in.

  Still, Niklaus didn’t panic. He’d faced worse odds over the years.

  Most of the men in the shop were purely muscle, that much he could tell from the way they glared at him, but had yet to move from their respective spots, but one man who’d been standing by that same door Rory and Paulie had disappeared through pushed off the wall, coming towards him.

  Unlike the others who were mostly clean-shaven with their hair styled, this one had a good amount of facial hair, a silver ring through his nose, along with at least three rings on each hand. His hair was longer than the lot of them, and pulled back from his face, and the closer he drew to Niklaus, it became clear that his hair was actually twisted into what looked like dreads.

  He was tall, about Niklaus height, even had about fifty pounds on him, but Niklaus still wasn’t worried.

  But it wasn’t he who spoke. No, another man who was sitting in the furthest chair sat up, forest green eyes staring at Niklaus as though he would rather see anyone else but him.

  It was clear, however, as he got to his feet and swiped a hand over the front of his vest that he was the one in charge, Declan.

  What was it with mafia guys that made them feel the need to wear a suit every day?

  Niklaus much preferred a good pair of jeans and his boots, but Declan, very much like Mishca, had on a three-piece suit, sans jacket, and even had a pocket watch peeking out from his vest.

  “You’ve got a set of balls on you, Volkov,” he said, lacking the accent that Celt sported so proudly. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your head right now?”

  Like that question was the ammunition they needed, the others withdrew their guns, all trained on Niklaus from every direction.

 
; Bending his arms, he raised his hands, not looking bothered in the slightest as he shrugged a shoulder. “Wrong Volkov.”

  Sometimes, especially when he was in New York on business, Niklaus adopted the Russian accent that had taken him years to master, that and learning the language during the times when his face was exposed. It had even made it easier to get into certain places because his brother’s face was so well known.

  But at the moment, it wouldn’t pay to pretend to be Mishca, not with these men.

  Sure enough, Declan’s anger shifted to confusion. “Bullshit. Volkov doesn’t have a brother.”

  “Especially not a twin,” the other at his side added.

  “Oh?” Niklaus glanced around. “I’m standing right here.”

  Declan still looked skeptical. “You live anywhere long enough, you can adopt the accent.”

  “Fair enough.” Niklaus dropped his hands. “As much as I’d like to stand here and argue this point with you, I have better shit to do. I’m going to need you to back off the McCarthys…for now.”

  Now, Declan’s skepticism tuned to ire. “Made a deal with the Russians, did they?”

  It was clear that he wasn’t about to accept Niklaus at his word—though that was fair enough considering the whole twin thing. And maybe if he didn’t have such a time restraint, he might have been less annoyed by this whole situation, but with a mysterious deal going down, with Reagan in the middle of it—even if she didn’t want to be—he needed to make his point.

  And quickly.

  Out the corner of his eye, Niklaus could see one of Declan’s men drop his gaze to the floor. It was only for a moment, a heartbeat’s time at most, but it was all Niklaus needed.

  Shifting his body, he lunged at the man, catching him off guard as he locked his hand around the man’s hand and the gun, twisting them both so that Niklaus was shielded by the man’s body in case they decided to start shooting.

  “As fun as this has been,” Niklaus said when he had everyone’s attention. “I don’t have the time. You,” he went on gesturing to Declan with the gun. “Need to backup. At least for the next week and a half. After, I couldn’t give a shit, but one of your bullets nearly hit someone that means something to me—and I get a little antsy when that shit happens. So unless you want to die, back the fuck off.”