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

by London Miller

  Karina was meticulous about it, carefully cutting each one before grabbing a vase, filling it with water, and then adding the flowers before setting it in the center of the dining table.

  “You seem to be in a state,” Karina remarked as she returned to the stove, slicing another sliver of butter to add to the pan of asparagus. “Work not going as planned?”

  It had long since stopped surprising him that she was able to read him so easily. She was a journalist after all—it was her job to see through people.

  “Not quite.”

  She was silent a moment before saying, “I’ll listen if you want to share.”

  “I can’t promise you’ll like what I have to say.”

  “The truth isn’t always pretty, but it’s the truth all the same.”

  And that was why he loved her.

  She understood him.

  “I made … arrangements for a family. The woman, Carmen, wanted power and respect.”

  Karina made a face he couldn’t read. “And who better to turn to than you.” Going over to pour him a drink, as she handed it to him, she asked, “How do you give someone power and respect, exactly? It’s not a tangible thing, is it?”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “By all means,” she said, pulling two plates from the cupboards. “Educate me.”

  “How was your day?” he asked instead, wanting to delay the inevitable.

  While he knew she would be upset with him, at least it wouldn’t be for a little while longer.

  She gave him a knowing look. “Uneventful—surely not as exciting as yours.”

  “Any interesting stories at the office?”

  Offering him a plate full of food, she sat across from him. “Not at all. Tell me about the deal you made.”

  Seeing no other choice, and knowing she would pester him until he gave her an answer, he gave her what she wanted. “In exchange for a significant fee, I’ve agreed to help her secure a position that affords her the life she wants.”

  Karina frowned. “Is that all? With the way you’re acting, you would think that something awful was involved.”

  Uilleam didn’t respond immediately, taking a long sip of his wine.

  “Unless something awful was involved …”

  “To get her what she wants, one of her daughters has to die.”

  Her wine glass was poised at her lips as she froze, her gaze finding his. There was a moment, barely a fleeting second when he saw fury in those dark depths, before it was masked with outrage.

  “You didn’t …”

  It wasn’t a decision he had made lightly, despite what she must have thought. The girl, whoever she was, was just that—a girl. She didn’t deserve what he planned to do to her.

  “If not me,” Uilleam said, “then it will be someone else, I assure you. At least, I plan to put her out of her misery.”

  “Is that the way you’re looking at it—as though you’re doing her a favor? You’ve agreed to murder a child for no other reason than a woman’s greed.” Karina pushed her plate away, getting to her feet. “I’ve thought many things about you, Uilleam, but a heartless man was not one of them.”

  “Then perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Uilleam returned.

  He was whoever he needed to be.

  “Maybe I don’t,” she agreed readily. “But I thought you capable of better than this—maybe I was wrong about that too.”

  “It’s not black and white, Karina. That’s not how this works.”

  “You’re absolutely right about that.”

  Fucking infuriating woman. Scrubbing a hand down his face, Uilleam said, “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “And that’s where you’re wrong, Uilleam. You always have a choice—there is always another way. You’re either blind to that, or just incapable of seeing it any other way.”

  With that parting remark, she left.

  Uilleam wasn’t sure how long he remained at the table before finally getting up, venturing into the living room to sit before the hearth. Despite her anger with him, he wasn’t quite ready to leave just yet.

  On the coffee table made of ebony sat a 15th century chess board, one that had been in his possession for many, many years. This same board had kept him sane and provided a mental relief for the grueling tasks he set out for himself.

  He found solace in the workings of his own mind.

  Not many understood why he enjoyed playing against himself because after all, he would be able to predict his own moves, but that wasn’t how it worked for him.

  He imagined what others might do—the choices they would make, and how they would think to best him.

  This was how, despite the odds, he stayed two steps ahead of everyone.

  Carmen Santiago …

  The type of woman he’d always despised, but her money was just as green as anyone else’s, and despite his abhorrence for her, he still relished the challenge that her request presented.

  How could he possibly accomplish what Carmen wanted while sparing the girl’s life …

  With careful thought, Uilleam moved his first piece.

  His strategy was sound. Having the girl dead would ensure she had the sympathy of others, and a sound place to start her mythical fight against the cartels.

  But that was just it, the girl had to die.

  She had to be a martyr.

  … unless she didn’t.

  Pawns were often overlooked with so many of them being on the board. They were the sacrifice in a bid to get at a bigger mark, but sometimes, the pawn that could win the game.

  The answer was so simple, Uilleam wondered how he hadn’t seen it before.

  He would make her the strongest pawn there was.

  “It’s getting late, Uilleam.”

  Karina’s voice broke into his thoughts, a moment before he felt her fingers drift across his back, the touch nearly as comforting as the ease he heard in her voice, but Uilleam didn’t look away from the board in front of him.

  “You have that look on your face,” she went on, sitting across from him.

  “Which look is that?”

  “The one where you’re plotting to take over the world.”

  A faint smile touched his lips. “Play with me,” he said, returning the pieces to their rightful positions before she had even agreed. But he knew she would—she indulged him far more than he cared to admit.

  “Is that what you want?” she asked.

  It was a genuine question, not one he had been asked very often over the span of his life. Decisions had always been made for him, his wants never taken into consideration.

  But not Karina.

  For reasons that even he couldn’t fathom, she wanted to make him happy.

  Uilleam wouldn’t pretend he was a good person with good intentions, nor had he ever pretended to be anyone other than exactly who he was when he was with Karina.

  But she loved him despite it—no, she loved him despite himself.

  “The private school I attended at my aunt’s request had a chess club, you know,” she said as she sat in the chair opposite him, folding her legs beneath her as she waited for him to finish. “My friends didn’t understand why I wanted to learn the game, but I’m glad I did.”

  Uilleam smiled absently at the bit of information she revealed, tucking it away with all of his other thoughts and revelations about her. He knew what she was doing—she liked to tell him small bits about her, hoping he would do the same.

  Despite their ongoing relationship, she only knew of him, rather than all there was to know about what made him him.

  Some days, he ignored her hints for information, but in the mood he was in now, he decided to indulge her. “The men of my family loved the game,” he said, finishing with the pieces and pushing the board so it was closer to her. “My father … he thought it was a man’s game, and despite myself, I wanted to learn because he wanted me to.”

  Karina’s smile was soft and understanding
as she moved her first pawn. “Not much of a rebel, were you?”

  No, he hadn’t been.

  But with a man like Alexander Runehart, there had been no place to rebel.

  “But look where it’s gotten me.”

  Once he’d had his turn, he sat back, watching the careful way she studied the board, brushing thick strands of hair behind her ear. He almost smiled at the sight of her like that.

  This wasn’t just an idle pastime for her as it was for so many others. She was actually concentrating, deliberating over her moves much as he did, though it was only the beginning of the game.

  Karina was perfect for him …

  “I’ve found a solution that you’ll appreciate,” he finally admitted.

  “I never doubted that you would,” she said with a smile. “Sometimes, you just need a bit of perspective.”

  There were few ailments that vodka could not fix, Uilleam knew this with some certainty as he tipped the bottle to his lips, guzzling more of the potent liquor that had set him back a few thousand dollars.

  Of course, a cheap substitute would have done what he was after, but this was close, and he was in a dark, dangerous mood.

  He was close to losing his fucking mind.

  He had grappled with insanity for the better part of the last few years since he had lost her, always remembering the sight of the blood—so much fucking blood—that hadn’t just coated the floor, but her body as well.

  And her face … the rage that it must have taken to leave her unrecognizable had sent him spiraling into madness that had gripped him tight and refused to let go.

  He could still remember the horror he felt at discovering her in a pool of red, the sharp, metallic scent clinging to the air and choking him.

  Oh, how his father and enemies would have laughed to have seen him brought so low—to have made him so weak.

  At the damage that’d been done to her, it would have been thought that someone had despised Karina, but truth be told, it was Uilleam they had hated the most.

  He had scores of enemies, both old and new, and he wouldn’t have put it past any one of them to target her in his place, but his arrogance had made him refuse to believe that anyone would have the balls to go up against him.

  Yet, they had.

  Elias had.

  The man had wanted to see him suffer, and suffer he had, but now … Uilleam wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  His brother had voiced his suspicions as to who Belladonna was—had even spoke of his meeting with the mysterious woman, Kava Alexion, but even still, Uilleam refused to believe.

  He couldn’t.

  He knew Karina’s body as clearly as he knew his own, and there hadn’t been a shred of doubt that it was her he had seen on the floor of her brownstone.

  There was just no way she could be alive and responsible for this, all of it.

  But God, the doubts were eating at him, picking away at his every thought until he felt he was going mad just thinking about it.

  Uilleam was so sure that there was some kind of mistake.

  Until now.

  “Uilleam?” Luna said, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you still listening?”

  Blinking, he focused on the woman standing before him, and his brother next to her. He tried piecing together everything they’d just said, reminding himself where he had drifted off into his own thoughts.

  “I’m sorry,” he said without any inflection. “You were saying?”

  It was Kit who responded. “Elias will no longer be a problem for you, but this Belladonna woman, I believe she will be.”

  Uilleam took another shot of vodka. “What’s another enemy to add to the legion that I already possess?”

  “I don’t think you’ve encountered someone quite like her,” Kit said. “From what Luna has said, it sounds like she’s the one who Elias answered to.”

  “Right, and you believe that it’s Karina who’s the mastermind behind all of”—he gestured around them—“this. Should I assume that she tried to have me killed as well?”

  “Actually, she knew nothing about it,” Luna cut in. “That was one of the reasons why she had the Jackal kill Elias—at least that’s what I understood.”

  “Then this Belladonna is his handler?” Uilleam asked, more to himself.

  One step closer, two steps back.

  “That’s what it looked like,” Luna supplied. “But she also wanted me to give you this.”

  Producing a black envelope, she passed it over to him, and despite himself, he scanned it, though there wasn’t much to see. There was, however, a wax seal along the back of it with a rabbit’s head in the center of it.

  Uilleam’s hand shook as he turned it back over.

  It wasn’t possible.

  “The offices,” Uilleam started, gaze still on the envelope in his hands. “Where are they?”

  Kit readily gave him the address, though he didn’t look as sure of what Uilleam had planned. “If you go seeking answers, you need to be prepared for what you might find.”

  “As I’ve said, brother mine, it’s not possible.” Uilleam climbed to his feet, smoothing the front of his shirt. Before Kit could say more, Uilleam said, “Enjoy your vacation.”

  Uilleam was a believer in facts.

  Until he saw something for himself, he refused to believe in it.

  Either Karina was alive—though a desperate part of him was afraid to know whether or not this was true—or someone was trying their very hardest to make him believe she was.

  It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to court his madness. It wasn’t even a bad plan. The last time he’d lost himself in his own misery, his business, his very being, had suffered for it.

  Even he had used psychological warfare to target his enemies, but whoever was behind this, they weren’t taunting him with the information.

  In fact, they didn’t seem to care what he believed.

  Uilleam didn’t think he had ever played a game quite like this.

  The streets of New York were a blur as his driver expertly navigated him through the late day traffic until they arrived at the address Kit had given him.

  Stepping out of his chauffeured car, he stared up the expanse of the building both his brother and Luna had walked into—a place where the answers to his questions waited.

  His blood was racing, heart thrumming rapidly in his chest as he entered the building.

  What would he find when he got upstairs?

  Nothing?

  Everything?

  But when the doors opened to the thirteenth floor, his eyes adjusting to the darkness inside, he doubted he would find any answers at all.

  The place was entirely empty.

  And not empty as though the tenants were returning, but empty with all the desks gone, light fixtures, and even pieces of the drywall.

  Nothing had been left behind.

  Uilleam, refusing to believe what was directly in front of him, started forward, trying to find anything, any clue as to what was once there.

  But there was nothing.

  Fucking nothing.

  No, he realized as he was turning to go back the way he came, there was something after all.

  A lamp, one like the construction workers kept to light the inside of their job site, was left on the floor, the glow of it like a beacon.

  Uilleam was drawn over to it, his senses on red alert, and as he was close enough to find what it illuminated, his breath seized, his thoughts blanked over.

  Resting on the floor was a single blue rose.

  Was this happening?

  Was this really happening?

  Uilleam had to blink, just to reassure himself he saw correctly—that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination as he desperately wanted it to be.

  He knew that rose.

  He knew what it symbolized.

  Karina had loved them—roses. They were delicate in appearance, but they weren’t easy to cultivate. It took determination and a careful eye to
get the perfect roses to bloom.

  And she hadn’t been interested in just any roses. Anyone could get the purest of whites, the daintiest of yellows, and the blood reds. She wanted something unique, and in a bid to win a date with her—because she’d intrigued him in a way most women hadn’t up until that point—he had found a florist that specialized in the unique roses and bought her enough to fill up two rooms in her townhouse.

  Only then had she agreed to let him take her out.

  The rest had been history.

  His hands trembled as he ripped open the envelope, pulling out the black linen paper inside.

  Four words.

  Four words in elegant, familiar script that made him crumple the note in his hands.

  Did you miss me?

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  About the Author

  London Miller is the author of the Volkov Bratva series, as well as Red., the first book in the Den of Mercenaries series. After graduating college, she turned pen to paper, creating riveting fictional worlds where the bad guys are sometimes the good guys.

  Currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and two puppies, she spends her nights drinking far too much Mountain Dew while writing.

  For more information …

  londonmillerauthor.com