“Well unlike you lot,” Luka went on. “I don’t appreciate being his dirty little secret.”
Reagan had to wonder, as she looked to the blond man sitting on the other side of the room, whether he was actually serious or whether he was touched in the head—but no matter which, either option made her just want to avoid him further.
“Does someone want to tell me what happened?” Mishca asked as he walked over to his wife, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“What the fuck do you think happened? I got shot.”
If Mishca was fazed by Niklaus’ bad attitude, he didn’t show it. “I’m more concerned as to why.”
“Same reason I was tortured for three days—they thought I was you.”
Yeah, there was definitely something she was missing, not to mention the bad blood that seemed to be between them.
“Should I go ahead and assume this is my fault too?” Mishca asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the back on a chair.
“I’m not in the mood for your shit right now, Russian. Fuck off.”
“You do know you’re Russian too, no—or are you still pretending the same blood doesn’t run through our veins?”
“How could I ever forget? I have to see your face staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.”
Reagan didn’t think this was their first disagreement, not with the easy way in which they addressed these things, as though rehashing an old argument. But Reagan could tell there was something different about Niklaus’ last statement, if only from the way Mishca’s head jerked as though he’d been struck.
“And when should I lay blame at your feet? Believe it or not, today wasn’t about me—it was about you. It would make more sense that they mistook you for me. So what if I would have had Sacha with me? Does it only matter if it happens to you and yours, Niklaus?”
Yeah, something was definitely wrong, Reagan could sense it in the way Luka sat a bit straighter, and Lauren touched a hand to her husband’s back, a statement in itself.
“Don’t you take that fucking tone with me,” Niklaus said climbing to his feet, shoving the stool back as he walked forward, but Reagan’s hand on his stomach stopped him.
With the way he was so intently focused on his brother, she was sure he would ignore her touch entirely, shoving past her to get to him, but he didn’t move, like the hand she held up was the only thing restraining him.
It was like a light switch had been turned off inside, or rather turned on. Niklaus had the tendency to act disinterested in most things, and rarely expressed emotion, but as he stood across from his twin, fury in his eyes, it was startling to see.
“Good on you, Niklaus,” Mishca said with a pitying smile. “Make another scene just because you’re in the mood for one. Sure, I’ll play along. Did something I say offend you?”
“Don’t ever say I don’t care about them.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“Stop playing fucking word games, Russian. As much as I would enjoy putting my fist in your face, I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”
“Do you? I’m amazed you even made it this long without picking another fight. Five minutes? That has to be a record considering the massive fucking chip on your shoulder.”
“Right, and it just appeared one day? You’re quick to bark accusations, but never address the part you played?”
“Not that you haven’t told me countless times already, but what’s one more? It was my fault you were mistaken for me. It was my fault your girlfriend at the time was murdered in front of you.”
“No, it was your fault you let them walk away. I stood on the other side of that fucking door thinking that you, the actual person that was meant to feel pain beneath his hands,” —Niklaus pointed over at Luka, though his attention was still on Mishca— “would want to make them pay for what they did, but one little cut over Jetmir’s eye and blinding him in it was enough for you. Would it have made a difference if it was in you that seat, Mishca? Or maybe you would prefer having to watch Lauren burn alive even as she told you she loved you.”
His words…laced with such hurt and accusation were enough to make Reagan feel a pang in her chest as she digested everything Mishca hadn’t said, and all that Niklaus had revealed.
She knew about his torture, he had told her as much, not to mention that scars those days had left behind. But he had never, not once, mentioned that he hadn’t been alone that day.
Sarah, she thought Mishca had said.
Reagan had always wondered whether there had been someone Niklaus had cared for and perhaps lost because when she met him…he had seemed so lonely.
It would also explain a lot…like why he left and why he was so guarded.
How could he have ever moved past that?
“You told me not to lay my weakness at your door, remember? It no longer is.”
“Then what will you deem acceptable, hmm? I’ve offered you everything I could possibly—”
“There’s nothing you could give me that I want—not anyone that would matter to me.”
And that cut a little deeper.
Reagan withdrew her hand from his body before realizing she had. The minute she moved, all eyes came to her, as though only now remembering that she was in the room with them.
Understanding dawned in Mishca’s eyes, but Niklaus…she couldn’t read anything from him, only that he was extremely unhappy.
He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a forced smile. “You should let her finish with your arm.”
Time stretched between them as he merely stared at her, as though that would give him time to work out how she felt and make sense of it, but she didn’t—or rather she was afraid of what she would learn.
Accepting her silence, he grabbed the stool from the floor and sat, but before Lauren could go to him, he grabbed the wipes from the pack and gently cleaned the last of the blood from his arm.
Clearing her throat, Lauren’s gaze turned to Sacha as he toddled over to her, pointing at his uncle with his little finger, then making a face. “Yeah, Uncle Niklaus hurt himself.”
With all the careless grace of a child, he went over to Niklaus, grabbing on to his leg as he reached up with the other arm and waited.
Niklaus, whose body was taut with tension, relaxed a bit as he tossed the wipes on the ground to pick up his nephew. Sacha didn’t waste a beat, reaching up to rub his hand through Niklaus’ hair, and giving him a few pats on the head before pressing his mouth to Niklaus’ cheek in a wet kiss.
His job done, he slid back to the ground, leaving Niklaus smiling in his wake. But it wasn’t to Lauren that he walked, but to Mishca, who was already reaching for him before he got close.
When he was settled in his lap, Sacha did the same to him, as though trying to erase the pain his father must have felt.
In moments, he had calmed the near raging storm between them.
And all it had taken was a pat on the head from the smallest person in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Leaving the penthouse, Niklaus knew he had fucked up somewhere during that whole argument with Mishca, if the way Reagan was acting towards him now was any indication. She had hardly said two words to him after they had boarded the elevator, and not even before then.
He tried to cast his mind back, think of everything he had said in the heat of the moment, but none of it had been about Reagan, and most of it had just reflected his feelings for Mishca, but he hadn’t been particularly cruel…at least in his opinion.
But he didn’t attempt to ask about it yet, not until she calmed down.
Back at her place, she disappeared into her bedroom as he stopped in the bathroom, grabbing his bag along the way. Hunting for a new shirt, he dropped it on the toilet before carefully reaching up to remove the bandaid off his shoulders, then replacing it with a new one.
After, he washed the dried blood on his chest and hands, scrub
bing the flecks from beneath his nails. By the time he finished, and splashed water on his face, carefully pulling the clean material on, Reagan was coming back out, heading in his direction.
One thing he had always loved about her was the way she never backed down from him, how fearless she was in that regard, but now she looked almost afraid to speak.
It was selfish of him, he knew, to be afraid of what she might say next and how it would affect him. If she asked him to leave, though he might have even wanted to leave her in peace, he didn’t think he would be able to.
The last he wanted to hear her say was goodbye.
She almost looked like she was changing her mind until her eyes darted to where he was reaching for the charm that hung around his neck, pulling it free from the inside of his shirt.
“What was her name?”
He knew exactly who she meant the moment the question left her lips, but even still, he said, “Who?”
“The woman you loved and lost.”
God, when she put it like that…
“Do you want to talk about this here?” he asked.
Without an answer, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the living room, taking up residence in the arm chair she had in the corner of the room, a little ways away from the only other place to sit—the couch.
The entire short journey from bathroom to couch, Niklaus thought of how best to broach the subject.
He had always meant to tell her, she wouldn’t be able to understand him, not completely, until she knew the story of how he came to be the person she met.
This, he realized, was what she had grown upset about back at the penthouse. Sometimes he forgot that she knew so very little about him because he had never had the urge to share this side of him.
With Mishca? It was different. His words were an accusation, were meant to harm and make sure that the Russian understood that he was to blame for all the shit Niklaus had gone through.
But with Reagan…with her, they would be a confession.
To her, he would finally tell his truth.
“I met her when I was sixteen—her name was Sarah. We were different, but we liked each other and that was all that mattered. I was twenty-one when I knew I wanted to marry her So I flew her to New York, planned this big proposal, and even had the ring, but before any of that could happen, we were kidnapped.”
Reagan had already looked sad the moment he started speaking, but now, there was a fear in her eyes, like she knew where this story was going.
He could practically see the dots connecting in her head.
From the time between he was kidnapped and when they met, of the scars on his body, and probably to his occupation though she could only have guessed.
But he needed to give her this, even if it hurt to do so, because just as much as she wanted to understand him, he wanted someone to finally purge to.
“For three days we were kept in this old barn or mill, or whatever the fuck that thing was, and for three days, Luka tried to extract information out of me because he thought I was Mishca. Don’t blame him,” he was quick to say when he saw the expression in her face. “You can’t always blame the man that’s only following orders—after all Mikhail Volkov was said to only have one son, considering we’re twins, it’s hard to believe there were two instead of one.”
Niklaus sat forward, telling more. “On the third day, Luka’s boss, Jetmir, he brought in gasoline and a lighter,”—Niklaus realized almost belatedly that when he spoke those words, he tapped his pocket.—“and he asked me if I would cooperate, if I would tell him what he wanted to know. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but at this point, as he’s dumping gasoline on Sarah’s head, I’m willing to tell him anything if it means he’ll let her go.
“But he didn’t, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. He was more than happy to drop that lighter and burn her alive, just to teach me—the Russian—a lesson. Except he taught me one instead. I learned that even those that are innocent can fucking lose out in the end.”
He could see it, even as far away as he was, the dampness in her eyes—the way she was fighting tears. But the last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him, not when he didn’t deserve it.
“I had to watch every second of it, until she had finally stopped screaming, and even afterward, it still echoed in my ears.”
“I’m so sorry, Niklaus.”
“Luka called Mishca, and the Russians got me out. I thought they were crazy, those fucking Albanians, but I realized that it was Mishca they were after. I figured he would want revenge against them, but he was under orders not to—you learn things as the years go by.”
“Is that why you’re angry with him?” she asked, her voice soft.
“No,” he said, and told her something he would never tell another, “because he was everything I should have been. Every time I see our face staring back at me, I always think about how I lacked in comparison. My hatred for myself is why I can’t stand to be around him.”
“But it wasn’t your fault, Niklaus. You couldn’t have done any more than you did.”
“You wouldn’t—”
“No, Niklaus. It was not your fault. It was never your fault.”
“I needed to make it right,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t know how the fuck I was going to do that when the guy approached me, but in seconds he offered me a way. And he turned me into the very thing I needed to be to answer for what they did.”
He didn’t stop there. “These lines.” He shifted his hair to show the black tattooed lines on his neck. “Each one represents a person that was there and played a part.”
“And you hurt them?”
He shook his head, staring directly at her. “No, I killed them. There was only one that made it out alive, and that’s because he and I came to an understanding. Once Jetmir was dead, I could finally sleep, at least for the most part.”
“Because you finally got revenge for Sarah?” she asked.
There was no judgment in her tone, or any bitterness in her gaze. It was like stating a fact she wanted confirmed, but, her answer wasn’t true, not entirely.
“Do you remember the man that was shot and killed in Hell’s Kitchen around the day we met—police blamed a gang war?”
“Vaguely. What about him?”
“He was one of the men that was there that day. I killed him. It was also the day I met you.”
Whatever she was about to say, she held it in as she looked to him, waiting.
“I won’t tell you that my reasons for pursuing you weren’t selfish. I wanted to use you to get off, to remind myself that I was still fucking alive. And you gave me that, everything I could have hoped for. But I didn’t realize that you had given me more until I left the first time.”
He faced her, wanting her to know just how true that statement was. He needed to explain that he had never stopped thinking about her over those six months, thoughts of her plaguing him constantly to the point that he had stopped feeling so fucking bogged down.
Niklaus had in fact felt alive again in the short three days they had spent together than in the entire two years before they had met.
“But you left again.”
“Because it wasn’t over. I wasn’t free of that burden yet. It felt wrong being with you when I had yet to prove that I even deserved you. Once I finished with Jetmir, it was the key. I proved that I wasn’t weak, that no matter who thought to hurt someone I cared about, I could find them and make them pay. I needed to know that if it ever came to it, I would be able to protect you the way I couldn’t protect her because you mean every fucking thing to me and I would lose it if something happened to you.”
There was a glimmer of something akin to hope in her eyes, and maybe it took seeing it to fully grasp the one thing he had yet to tell her. “I loved her, that’s not a secret, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
“Niklaus—”
“It does
n’t mean I love you any less,” he spoke over her before she could finish whatever thought had popped into her head. He wanted her to know this, to understand, so when he said it in the future, there would be no doubt in her mind that he meant them. “Because I do love you, Reagan, and now I know I can give you everything you need.”
And that was why he left.
Why he needed to get away and handle his own shit before he came back for her.
Now he was finally able.
This time, she came to him, her hands going up to cradle his face. “I love you, Niklaus. You know that.”
No, she had never hidden the way she felt about him, not even when she couldn’t be sure he felt the same.
Later that night, after Reagan had fallen asleep, Niklaus climbed back out of bed, grabbing his keys and slipping out the front door.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Niklaus asked as they made their way into the warehouse where the screams of whatever poor bastard who had shot at them echoed throughout the space—though nothing could be heard out on the street.
Mishca was texting, a common habit of his as he had hundreds of men he needed to keep track of. But even as he seemed to be focused on his task, he still heard Niklaus’ question. “What?”
“Sending him to do this shit,” Niklaus said with a nod of his head towards the heavy metal doors they were walking towards and the scene he knew would be waiting for them on the other side. “The Albanians really fucked him up.”
A little over a year-and-a-half ago, the truth had come out about Luka, and the role he’d played in Niklaus’ abduction and torture, and his role in the Organization—the Albanian Mob. Five years prior, he had walked away from it, and everything else, reinventing himself—even going as far as changing his name from Valon to Luka—though not entirely since he used the knowledge learned from a life with the Albanians to do his job.
But in a bid to save his sister and Luka’s new wife, Alex, Mishca had sent Luka back to his homeland, only so that he could get the Albanians—at least those he cared about—in the same place at one time.
Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1) Page 22