Den of Mercenaries: Volume One (The Mercenaries Book 1)

by London Miller

  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 of 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 back up. 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.”

  While the other men in the room took a step back—except Declan, who only managed to look mildly surprised by the demonstration—that wasn’t what he had come here for.

  “I’m not in the habit of doing favors for those undeserving,” Declan added after a moment.

  “Then do it for Reagan.”

  There was a moment of suspended silence as Declan stared at him, and finally, Niklaus was seeing an emotion in him that wasn’t indifference or anger.

  Or at least not complete anger.

  “That a threat, Russian? Because know that should any harm come to her, I’m going to be the least of your problems.”

  Niklaus didn’t bother to even consider what he meant by that. “I can help get her out of it entirely if you stop being a problem for me.”

  Declan was quiet for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Alright, I’ll grant you a boon—I owe her brother a debt after all. You have seven days before I start making noise.”

  That wasn’t much, but it was what he needed. Trying to keep his business with the McCarthys and Reagan separate was hard enough, only made worse when the two constantly intertwined. He didn’t need Declan Flanagan to become an added issue.

  “Noted.” Before Niklaus turned to leave, he asked, “Where’s Jimmy?”

  “Jimmy who?” Declan asked in return, though it was quite clear from his expression that he knew exactly who Niklaus was asking about.

  “She wants to talk to him. Set it up before I go after him. I can guarantee that whatever the fuck you have him doing won’t be easy if I’m there to drag his ass back here.”

  It was the only warning he would give.

  Chapter 25

  When Niklaus said he was going to send somebody, she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but when the burly-toned Irishman came strolling into her pub making himself at home on one of the barstools, she knew it hadn’t been him.

  “So you’re Reagan, then?” he asked giving her a once-over, resting his elbows on the bar top, leaning forward.

  “And you are?” she asked in return. While she knew Niklaus had somebody coming to drop in on her, he hadn’t bothered to mention a name.

  And what were the odds that the someone he was sending was also Irish?

  “Celt is what they call me. Red mentioned you were a looker, I shouldn’t have doubted him.”

  Reagan wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so instead she thought to ask him questions. “How long have you known Nik—Red?”

  “Long enough to know everything and nothing about him.”

  “Seriously?” she asked as she sat a pint of Guinness in front of him. “Do the two of you always have to speak in code?”

  “Rules of the trade, doll.”

  She could believe that. Even she had to recall the way Niklaus had often told her so much about himself, and yet she still felt like she hadn’t known him at all.

  And though things had changed, and she felt like she was seeing more of him than he had ever revealed before, Reagan still felt like he was holding something back from her.

  “He fancies you, ya know,” Celt said after taking a long drink of his Guinness, setting the glass down in front of him. “Didn’t think when I first met him that he would ever recover from whatever the feck brought him into my path, but here we are.”

  “How so?”

  “Because you, unlike so many, know his name. And the wee fact that he brought me to you. Had he not given a shite about you, you would have never known I existed.”

  She didn’t doubt that. With
just one look at him, Reagan had to remind herself that he was on Niklaus’ side, that he was there to protect her and not to harm her.

  Unlike Niklaus, Celt sported a full beard, had cool green eyes bracketed by laugh lines, and had an undercut, the longish strands down the middle pulled into a small man bun. He didn’t look like he moved within the shadows, but rather right in front of someone, with little care as to who witnessed it.

  But while Reagan contemplated the differences between the pair—and the similarities in their personalities—she also thought of how she was going to manage getting over to Jimmy’s place to have a look around.

  She knew for a fact that Niklaus wouldn’t have wanted her to go—and probably for good reason—but she couldn’t wait any longer, needed to find something on where Jimmy was. It would probably be easier to do once she had the pub closed up, then she could head across town, have a look around, and be back before Niklaus came around.

  But what about Celt?

  She didn’t doubt for a second that Niklaus had probably told him to stay with her until he came back from whatever he had needed to do earlier.

  So how exactly was she going to give him the slip?

  Reagan had plenty of time to think about it as the hours went on, and though he had to be bored to death, Celt remained diligent on that barstool, leaving only in brief respite to head to the restrooms in the back. By the time they made it to “last call,” and the last few patrons were heading out the front doors, Reagan had finally made a decision.

  Once they were outside, and he was walking her to her place, she had already spied the motorcycle he had left parked back in front of the pub.

  “Are you staying until he gets back?” she asked when they were in front of her door. Fitting the key into the lock, she twisted, then pushed it open, but before she could go in, Celt swept past her.

  “Aye,” he answered as he went walking through her home, like he had every right to.

  “But I’ll be fine here by myself.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No, I will. This isn’t the first time something has happened that Liam wanted to get revenge for. Like then, he’s probably going to forget I even exist for a few days.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” he said taking a seat, folding his arms across his chest as a corner of his mouth tilted up.

  She was almost sure she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him when his phone chimed. Reagan was hoping it would be Niklaus, telling him that he was close, or that he was no longer needed, but from the way he frowned, she could tell it wasn’t Niklaus at all.

  Turning away from her, he accepted the call. “Yeah?” It was several seconds before Celt spoke again. “Right, you need a meeting right now? Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  The minute he was done with that call, he was placing another. “Red, problem. The Kingmaker called me in—wants to meet in twenty minutes.” He glanced back at her. “I can probably stall him—”

  Reagan might not have known who The Kingmaker was, but he sounded like he was Celt’s boss, and while she couldn’t begin to understand their jobs, she couldn’t imagine that the boss of a mercenary would look too kindly on someone being late. “You don’t have to do that. Just tell Niklaus I’ll be fine until he gets here. And if it makes him feel any better, I won’t open the door for anyone but him.”

  “D’you hear that? Right.” Celt hung up, pocketing the device. He took one last look around before walking to the door. “Take it easy. Stay inside, and try not to do anything that’s going to send him after my arse, yeah?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said even as she started closing the door. “I won’t.”

  Celt was gone without a backwards glance moments later. Hurrying over to the window, she just caught sight of him heading back towards the pub.

  Grabbing a hoodie—and only her wallet and keys from her purse—she left her apartment next, pulling the hood up over her head as she circled the building and went down the backstreet instead, just in case he hadn’t driven off yet.

  Jimmy lived in a six-story walkup, one that was a bitch to travel to without actually trying to make it up to his apartment that was located on the fifth floor. No matter when she tried, whether morning or night, there was always traffic outside his place, constant horns honking as people tried to get to their destinations.

  She didn’t understand how he could stand to stay there with the constant noise, but after three years, it seemed he was content with the place.

  Palming the key to his place, Reagan let herself into his building, and after the exhausting journey up the stairs, into his place as well.

  The apartment was dark, all lights turned out, and even the curtains that she had forced him to buy after a sixteen-minute argument as to why he needed them were closed around his windows.

  Feeling for the light switch on the wall, she belatedly remembered that his place didn’t have traditional lights, and instead, crossed to where one of the lamps rested on the table.

  Once she could finally see, she scanned his living room, taking in the leather furniture, the pictures on the wall, and the cleanliness.

  And that was the problem.

  While Jimmy always had a knack for making sure everything was in its proper place, there was still something that he forgot to put away, even if it was just a cup still sitting on the table. But now, there was nothing. Nothing. Like he had gone through his place and cleaned from top to bottom. Even though there was plenty of evidence that someone had once lived there, it didn’t look like Jimmy had been home in a while.

  Had that been done on purpose?

  Did they erase the signs of a struggle?

  Venturing down the hallway, Reagan was almost to Jimmy’s bedroom when she heard the soft rattle of a doorknob. If it weren’t so quiet in the apartment, she might have thought she imagined it, but she quickly realized she hadn’t been wrong when the lights illuminating the hallway briefly lit up the inside of the apartment.

  Thinking fast, she slipped into the bathroom, pushing the door shut without closing it entirely as she used the dim light of the room to find a weapon of some kind.

  To her luck, there was a bottle of hairspray sitting on his sink, and while it might not have been as great as a bat, she could still use it to blind whoever it was and get out of there.

  Trying to breathe easily was hard as she remained still, hearing the soft footsteps bringing them closer to her direction.

  When they stopped in front of the door, she took a step back, raising her weapon until she gave a cry of surprise as the door flew open with the force of the body flying through it, landing in a heap on the floor as she scrambled out of the way.

  Her heart was racing so fast that she couldn’t begin to comprehend that the man, whoever he was, was unconscious, and the man who’d made him that way was still standing on the other side.

  “Is this going to be a thing with you?” Niklaus asked glaring at her, looking all the more intimidating because of his attire.

  It was easy hearing that he was a mercenary, but seeing the proof of it as he stood before her, dressed and armed like he was readying for a war, she believed it.

  Never mind that he had stopped whoever the man on the floor was, Niklaus seemed more pissed off at her.

  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, babe, I want an answer.”

  Focusing on Niklaus, though taking one last quick glance at the man he had knocked out, she considered what he had said. “Is what going to be a thing?”

  “Me telling you to do something, you doing the complete fucking opposite.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “Then, by all means,” he said as he leaned back against the wall, folding those powerful arms of his across his chest before waving her on with a gloved hand. “Fucking enlighten me.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, she said, “I haven’t heard from my brother in like a week. I just wanted to see if he was home, or at least some clue as to where he went if he did leave.”r />
  “What did I tell you? Huh? I said I would find him—that was my promise to you.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts. When I say to do something, do it. Otherwise, this,” he said gesturing to the man on the floor between them, “could have ended differently.”

  “Fine. But that still doesn’t explain Jimmy, and where he is.”

  Withdrawing a phone from his pocket, he punched in a number and called, handing it to her a second later.

  “Say whatever you need, make your peace, then we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  She didn’t understand what he meant, not until the call finally connected and her brother’s voice echoed over the line. “Where the hell have you been, Jimmy? I’ve been worried sick.”

  “All the worrying you’re doing? I heard you were there when Declan made a play against McCarthy. And who in the hell is that you have with you? I heard he was a big, angry Russian.”

  As she watched Niklaus haul the man up and over his shoulder, carrying him out of the apartment entirely, she didn’t disagree with that assessment.

  “Niklaus … he’s a long story.”

  “Be prepared to tell it the moment we get back—Shelby will have questions.”

  Shelby.

  Their oldest brother.

  One she hadn’t spoken to in over seven years after their father had kicked him, and her other two eldest brothers out of their home.

  Last she had heard, they’d gone back to Ireland and joined the rebellion.

  “Have you seen him?” she asked, too afraid to hope otherwise.

  “We’re coming back, Reagan. But that’s a story for another day.”

  “The same day I tell you all about Niklaus, I imagine.”

  There was a smile in his voice as he said, “One and the same. Now, I’ve got things to finish here, be safe there until I get back.”

  As Niklaus reappeared, she knew she would be, so long as she had Niklaus at her back.

  “Will do,” she said before ending the call. “What did you do with him?”

  “He’s in the stairwell—will probably be out for the next thirty minutes.”