“Tomorrow,” she said suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts. “We can leave then. Now, I just want to forget about it.”
Yeah.
He knew all about wanting to ignore what hurt—that need to make it better as quickly as possible.
If nothing else, he could certainly give her that.
He wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and dragged her down until he could get a taste of her mouth. To remind himself that he still had her—that this was just a minor misstep on his part.
He would fix this.
If it was the last thing he ever did.
6
Thankfully, she was still fast asleep when Kyrnon had slipped out of the loft that morning, and for once, he’d been thankful for it.
This time when he rode toward the compound, he wasn’t in a rage. He wasn’t thinking about all the ways being a part of the Den was an inconvenience.
He wasn’t thinking about himself at all.
Rather the woman currently at home in his bed.
The temperature had changed drastically overnight. Cold, bitter air had turned into something a little more comfortable, but as Kyrnon walked into an increasingly familiar office, he saw it clearly hadn’t stopped the Kingmaker from building a fire in the stone hearth.
He hesitated there in the doorway, watching the man as he coaxed the fire to life with the iron poker in his left hand.
It was easy to forget, especially with a man like him, that he could be around someone for years—work for them even—and still know very little about them.
The Kingmaker was just as much of a mystery now as he had been the first time Kyrnon had met him.
“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to share why you’re here?”
The man didn’t actually bother to turn around as he asked the question, making it clear he had known Kyrnon was there from the moment he’d arrived.
It wasn’t sadness—Kyrnon didn’t think there would ever come a day when the man willingly expressed that sort of emotion—but it was certainly the closest he could get to it.
Like something had broken inside him, and only the pieces remained.
Anger wouldn’t work for him—that would ultimately only make him shut down and probably find a way to make his life hell.
For once, despite his career, he’d have to be honest.
“I need three days.”
“For?”
“It’s personal.”
The Kingmaker blinked. “Would it have anything at all to do with your missed flight?”
He didn’t bother asking how the man knew. Kyrnon was far too familiar with the way he seemed to know everything about everyone at any given time.
Instead of answering his question, he said, “Waiting three days won’t put us any farther behind. She’ll still be here for us to track down.”
And he would.
Until he circled every bit of the earth to find her because once she was delivered, he would have fulfilled his contract. Who Belladonna was or wasn’t didn’t matter to him—nor did the Jackal for that matter—they were merely a means to an end.
“Then you’re no longer just asking for yourself, I presume?”
His tone was dry enough that Kyrnon could tell he was skating on thin ice, and if he wasn’t careful, this wouldn’t end well.
“You’d still be protected,” he reminded him, thinking of all the other mercenaries that frequented this place.
“My protection isn’t what I’m concerned about. If one asks, then others will as well, and I’m not in the habit of granting favors for—”
“You ever wanted something you didn’t deserve?” he asked.
A part of him expected laughter or mocking words, but he got neither. The Kingmaker was quiet for a long while before he responded, very softly, “Once.”
“I left her waiting, and I can’t do that again.” He shrugged, momentarily feeling the weight of those words. “I wouldn’t want to lose her before I’ve really had the chance to enjoy her.”
For once, it didn’t feel as if he was talking to the arrogant, unrelenting handler he’d grown used to. Instead, he looked very much the way Kyrnon felt.
“D’you ever think it’s too late to apologize for a wrong you’ve committed?”
“Fucking hell, I hope not.”
If so, he’d be heading home to an empty loft.
“Someone I was once very fond of would have told me to let you leave—that love was far more important than business.” The Kingmaker stood silent a moment, lost in his own thoughts. “All the same, you’ve been loyal to me over the years, so it’s only fair that I reward it.”
He could paint it however he wanted, but Kyrnon knew enough about him that it was more likely the former than the latter. Either way, he was getting what he wanted.
“Take your three days,” he continued, drawing Kyrnon from his thoughts. “I can’t promise you’ll get another chance at them.”
“You know something I don’t?”
If he did, the Kingmaker wasn’t sharing. “Enjoy this while you can.”
Kyrnon wasn’t sure what had changed in him. The Kingmaker he knew would have scoffed at the idea of giving in to what someone asked of him.
Now, he’d hardly put up any argument at all.
That thought should have been a welcome one, but it didn’t sit well with him.
Not at all.
Once, when he’d first started his gig as a mercenary, Kyrnon was sent on a job to steal two million dollars’ worth of diamonds out of the penthouse suite in one of the most expensive hotels in Hong Kong. The security was top-notch, the staff incorruptible, and far too many cameras made the job feel like it was worth the effort he’d have to put in to rob it.
He’d studied for weeks, going over the semantics, besting his time, and finally venturing into the hotel for a test run.
In many ways, it had felt like the hardest job of his career.
Yet that seemed like a cakewalk compared to standing in his living room, facing a roomful of seven women who weren’t failing at giving him that look only those of the fairer sex could manage.
Finally, it was Winter that broke the silence. “At least you did good with the ring.”
They all nodded their agreement, managing to offer him a compliment while making him feel like an eejit. “Listen—”
“And maybe if this was his first time having to reschedule the wedding,” Calavera added with a nod, “that could be forgiven.”
He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why he’d possibly thought this was a good idea. “Didn’t need the reminder.”
“Let’s be nice,” Lauren said sympathetically.
Finally. “At least someone’s on my side.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to keep her waiting in a crowded airport for—”
Jesus H Christ. “Aye, yes, I fucked up,” he said before another of them could get a word in. “But I’m trying to make it right, and if the lot of ya would help, I’ll fix this.”
And he didn’t have a lot of time to do it.
Three days was more than enough time to get married, sure, but if it was going to be quick, he would at least make it memorable to the point that she didn’t remember the times he failed, but the one that counted the most.
He had the job properly put on hold.
Had even bought her parents and brother a ticket and accommodations for where they’d be staying in Ireland.
Now, there was just the rest.
“Winter,” he said with a nod in her direction, “has access to every bank account I have. I don’t care if you have to drain every last one of them, but whatever Amber wants, get it.”
“Well, that’s sweet,” Iris whispered.
“It’s the Irish charm,” they all said at once, even Ada who hadn’t spoken a word since he’d started talking.
Bloody women.
“And when you say whatever she wants, do you mean whatever she wants … or with
in reason?” Alex asked, the calculating look in her eye making him wonder if it were possible for them to completely empty his bank account if only for recompense.
But if that was the price to pay, he’d do it.
Ten times over.
“Do your worst.”
“How much time do we have?” the question coming from Winter.
“Two days.”
“Could be worse.”
“I’m glad we don’t have to cancel you, Kyrnon,” Winter said as she stood, walking over to pat his shoulder like he was a child. “That wouldn’t have been fun for anyone.”
No, it wouldn’t.
Especially for him.
Amber grabbed her purse and hit the lights before walking out the front door and locking it behind her. She was already thinking about the pizza she would order once she got home, only to pause where she stood when she saw the pair of black sedans waiting at the curb.
She didn’t have to wonder who it was for long before the back window slid down and Lauren popped her head out. “We’re going shopping!”
That was the only invitation she needed.
But Lauren wasn’t alone in the sedan, to her surprise. Alex sat across from her, Facetiming Luka who looked as if he were wearing black gloves—she really didn’t want to ask why—along with Winter. She’d only met the hacker once, and though Kyrnon talked about her a lot, the girl she met was certainly different from who she’d been expecting.
To be a hacker for an organization like the Den, she’d expected Winter to be hardened and as jaded as the men tended to be. Instead, she had silver hair, loved anything in the color black, and was quite possibly one of the nicest people she had ever met.
“If you had to pick a wedding cake?” Winter said without warning as the sedan pulled off, “would you want a two-tier or three?”
“Three, but—”
“Chocolate?” she guessed. “It’s the best.”
Well … she wasn’t wrong. “Is this for—?”
“What about this design?”
Beyond being the nicest person she knew, Winter also talked the fastest. Sometimes it was hard to keep up with her when she was excited about something.
She looked down, though, as Winter turned to show her a picture of a wedding cake on her phone. Three perfectly balanced tiers, whipped buttercream frosting, and white roses with green leaves decorating the borders.
“I love that.”
“Legit. Wedding cake sorted. Time for the bouquet.”
“Wait.” She looked over at Lauren, hoping to get some understanding. “What’s happening?”
“We’ve been charged with helping you plan a wedding,” she said, failing to hide her smile.
Kyrnon’s words from the night before filtered through the back of her mind. He had promised to fix this, and if there was one thing he had always been good at, it was fixing a problem.
“And after we’re done shopping, spa treatments.”
“And after that,” Winter said excitedly, “strippers!”
“I’m pretty sure we all agreed to no strippers.”
“I must have missed that meeting …”
“Celt told you that specifically.”
“Oh, come on. We’re still mad at him, remember? Ams, tell her I’m right.”
Amber laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think a single one of them would be happy at the idea of a stripper.”
And if half of them were as possessive as Kyrnon tended to be, the poor man who came to dance for them wouldn’t survive the evening.
Winter rolled her eyes, disappointed. “Men and their fragile egos.”
As they stopped in front of one of the biggest wedding dress boutiques in the city, she forgot all about strippers and possessive mercenaries.
There were important decisions to make.
7
“What’s this?” Kyrnon asked as he stepped into the loft, surprised to find the sheer number of people currently milling about his place.
Red sat on the couch with his feet kicked up, looking far too comfortable as he surfed through channels. “A man can’t get married without a celebration first.”
Fair enough, but the thought of going anywhere with this lot—especially the two currently standing in the kitchen huddled together over the stash of weapons he’d previously had hidden—didn’t inspire much excitement.
“Unless you have a tux sitting around—”
“The Russian has a guy for that,” Red said with a flippant wave of his hand. “And one drink won’t kill you. Besides, we’re going to the Hall.”
Right.
The one place that was as notorious for the brawls that happened there as his own fighting ring, O’halla.
“I’ve promised the missus there wouldn’t be any bruises.” And if he could help it, he’d at least make sure he managed that much.
Luka, who had a knife in his hand and a dragon fruit, of all things, in the other, turned as if someone had called his name. “I don’t like the implication of that.”
“It means,” Kyrnon stressed, setting his bag aside, “no fighting.”
Now, it was Syn who looked up with a frown on his face before his tattooed hand shot up in the air like he had a question.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kyrnon considered whether it would even be worth finding out what he wanted to ask, but even as he gestured for the man to go on, he knew he wouldn’t like what he had to say.
It shouldn’t have surprised him at all that the two got on well. They might have both been a bit thick in the head and had a hell of a violent streak, but it seemed to work for them.
“What if the bruises aren’t visible?” Syn asked, Luka nodding enthusiastically beside him.
Skorpion, who’d been sitting quietly with a bottle of whiskey held loosely in his hands, chuckled before taking a swig. “Seems like the night is only going up from here.”
Down, Kyrnon mentally corrected, even as he accepted the inevitable.
The night was only going down from here.
Nearly thirty-four years old and he’d had almost every sort of liquor there was, yet somehow, Kyrnon nearly spat out the bitter alcohol Skorpion had shoved into his hand.
He laughed with too much humor, slapping a heavy hand down on Kyrnon’s shoulder that nearly had him toppling off the stool he was perched on.
That was the thing about Skorpion—he could drink anyone under the table without even trying.
“What in the hell is this?” Kyrnon asked, glaring down at the glass in his hand as if the liquid inside was poison.
Might as well have been with the way it burned his chest.
“Best moonshine you’ll ever get your hands on,” he said with a grin before he tossed back his own drink with far too much ease.
Kyrnon frowned, glaring at the glass before turning it to the Samoan to his right. “What happened to good old-fashioned whiskey?”
Moonshine was practically murder in a glass.
“Don’t worry,” Red said as he joined them at the bar. “Whiskey’s next.”
They were trying to kill him.
That was clear to him now.
Even before he downed the next drink that was put in front of him and the one that followed.
The noise and the chaos around him only grew louder as the world became a kaleidoscope.
Kyrnon stumbled, righting himself quickly. There was an assortment of alcohol swimming in his veins, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t nearly drunk enough to mistake the sight of Syn and Luka dragging a couple of chairs over to a slightly tilting table, both pulling out knives.
Not even a second later, they both laid their right hands flat on the table, fingers splayed.
Kyrnon blinked once ... then again, trying to make sure he was seeing correctly. “What in the hell are you doing?” he asked as he came closer, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
But he might as well not have been there at all with all the attention they were paying him.
> “I haven’t stuck meself in ages, mate,” Syn said with a smug grin, his accent thickening after the shots he’d thrown back. “You Russian lot are loud talkers, though—”
“Albanian,” Luka shot back, spinning his knife around in his hand, managing not to nick his skin even once.
It might have been the liquor that had Kyrnon slow on the uptake, but for the life of him, he didn’t understand what was unfolding in front of him as both men kept their hands on opposite sides of the table, even as they moved to rest the tip of the blades they held on the wood.
And that was when he understood.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered with a shake of his head, momentarily wondering when the room had started spinning. “Who goes to a bachelor party to lose a finger?”
That seemed to get their attention. “There’s a title on the line here, mate,” Syn said without looking up, sounding far too serious as he pointed that knife in Kyrnon’s direction. “See, it can only be one ov us, yeah? One ov us gets to be the ring bearer, and I—”
A startled laugh escaped him as he realized just what this little demonstration was all about.
“Neither one of you gets to do it, you fucking donkeys,” Red said dryly as he walked over—probably the most sober of the lot of them.
They both actually dared to look upset by that fact—as if they’d truly thought one of them would be walking down the aisle when the two couldn’t even be trusted not to hack off their own body parts.
“Your little ones are cute and all,” Syn said, “but I don’t think they’ll be walking about down there, eh?”
Red was silent a moment before he frowned. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“We’d be perfect for the job,” Luka butted in.
“Whoever wins then,” Syn added a moment later.
Kyrnon didn’t get another chance to protest before they began stabbing the table between their fingers, moving far quicker than any man should.
Even he involuntarily flexed his fists as he watched, already imagining what it would feel like for that blade to sink into his skin.
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