Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2)

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opyright
© 2016 by London Miller

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over design
by London Miller

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V
OLKOV
BRATVA

In the Beginning

Until the End

The Final Hour

Time Stood Still

Valon: What Once Was

Hidden Monsters

D
EN OF MERCENARIES

Red.

S
EASONS OF BETRAYAL

Where the Sun Hides

F
or H
, as usual …

H
is hands mangled
, legs useless, the teenage boy still tried to crawl despite the pain radiating throughout his body, his need to live far outweighing any physical discomfort he felt.

How long had he been in this field, crawling towards a place of freedom that he wasn’t sure was actually out there? After what he had suffered down in the darkness of the cell he had been locked in for what felt like ages, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. But after barely escaping with his life, the boy had no other choice, not when the wounds on his face were still leaking blood, the metallic taste strong in his mouth as it slid down his throat, even more spilling down his chin and onto the damp grass beneath him.

He was dying, that much was clear.

He could feel it in the way his thoughts jumbled no matter how he concentrated.

How his body refused to cooperate though he was still trying to make his way across the grassy lot, and away from the house of horrors he had just escaped.

But if he were going to die, and he felt like he was one heartbeat away from the inevitable, he was going to do it by his own volition.

The boy would kill himself before he ever gave them the privilege.

He could just see a road in the distance, a car speeding by.

Traitorous hope flared inside him as renewed strength had him crawling faster, his fingers digging into the earth to pull him farther.

But that hope died a quick death when he heard growling, the sharp barks of dogs following soon after.

“It’s going to be a bloody one tonight, boyo,” a man yelled out, laughter following.

The boy could just imagine him, the same man that had forced him to remain in this hell. He would be standing there, arms crossed, his dogs waiting obediently before him, waiting for the quick command that would send them flying across the lot, ready to maim anything in their path.

“I’ll give you a chance—come back on your own and don’t make me send the hounds to drag you back.”

If anything, the man’s words spurred the boy on, renewed strength filling him as he tried crawling faster, his freedom looming ahead.

He could already see it—the moment he made it across the field. Someone—though he couldn’t possibly have known who—would be on the other side, lost in their own little world until they caught sight of him broken and bloody.

They would be horrified, helping him into their car, and driving him to the hospital before calling the police.

He would be safe.

He would be free.

But in this world, where he lived and breathed and fought … well this world wasn’t as kind as his dreams were.

He only made it a few more inches before he could hear the man’s sharp whistle, sending the dogs barreling into the overgrown grass in search of him. And with the way he left a bloody trail from there to where he was positioned currently, it wouldn’t take them long.

For once he didn’t hold his peace.

He screamed for help …

Pleaded for anyone, anywhere to save him …

But only the dogs answered as they appeared out of nowhere, all in defensive stances as though they were readying to attack them.

In a breath, they were on him, sharpened teeth digging into the fragile skin of his body, clamping tight around his ankle as they dragged him back to the very place he longed to escape.

To the place where he knew he would die.

S
hit
.

It was rare that Amber Lacey got so drunk that she made reckless decisions, but as she rolled over in the four poster bed, her eyes still blurry from sleep, the body beside her let her know immediately that she had messed up. Never mind the piercing headache threatening to split her skull open, or even the nausea churning in her stomach, she was more concerned with the fact that she had slept with her ex-boyfriend rather than the hangover that was going to kick her ass all day—one she rightfully deserved after this.

It also happened to be the same ex-boyfriend that had cheated on her with her cousin, then began dating said cousin right after …

Yeah. She was an idiot.

Not sure whether her need to puke was from the alcohol, or just being in the same bed as Rob, Amber carefully slipped from beneath the covers, frantically searching the floor for her clothes, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid
.

There were two things she had promised herself two years ago when she had found Rob with Piper.

First, no matter how hard it would be, she wouldn’t call her parents for money. At the time, Rob had been helping her out with rent—he said it was his duty as her man—but once he was out of the picture, that was definitely no longer an option. As an art student, there hadn’t been many positions in her field that were very lucrative, at least not right away. And though she was selling some of her own work—had been featured in a couple of shows in galleries around the city even—it wasn’t enough to live on just yet, especially not in a city as expensive as Manhattan.

Luckily for her, her art history professor, Remus Tolbert, had helped her get a position as a curator for a privately owned gallery in the Village. So far, it was everything that she needed to keep the bills paid, even if she wasn’t completely fulfilled.

And second, and this was the most important, she would never,
ever
, speak to Rob again.

To say he had broken her heart was an understatement. Worse, she had been the one to catch them together, in
her
bed, after she had returned home early from a trip out to California to see her family.

She hadn’t felt anger at seeing them together.

No, that came later.

The emotion that had consumed her was something else entirely. She had never experienced anything like it before, and after waking up days later with a pain in her chest like her heart was trying to explode, she hoped she never would again.

But that was over three years ago, back when she still lived in the brownstone with her then roommate, Lauren. She wouldn’t lie and say that she didn’t still feel a pang in her chest when she saw the two of them together—hard to avoid your ex when he was dating your cousin, even when you tried to avoid them
both—
but she had moved on.

Or at least she thought she had.

Waking up in his bed didn’t allow much credence to that.

Dropping to her knees, she scanned the floor, finding her other shoe beneath the bed like it had been kicked under there. Keeping hold of it and its pair instead of pulling them on, she attempted to ease out of the room, but froze when she heard Rob shift. Braving a look back, she hoped he was still asleep and was merely moving to get more comfortable, but unfortunately for her, his sleepy gaze was trained directly on her face.

“What time is it?” He looked to the clock, answering his own question, then back to her. “You don’t have to leave. We can …”

“This was a mistake.” Amber was more than a little thankful that her voice didn’t waver despite the way she felt. “I’m not sure how we got
here
exactly, but this won’t happen again.”

Running a hand through his messy hair to push it back out of his face, he looked thoughtful for a moment, then understanding dawned. “Piper and me … we’re on a break, remember? I told you about it last night.”

She didn’t hate Piper, even if her cousin gave her every reason to, so ‘break’ or no ‘break,’ that didn’t make her feel any better. To her, a
break
still meant they were in a relationship, but were going through a rough patch.

So now, Amber had done the very thing that had been done to her.

Great, she was
definitely
going to be sick.

“It doesn’t matter, Rob. This still shouldn’t have happened.” Twisting the knob of the door, she pulled it open. “Let’s pretend like it didn’t, okay?”

“We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re thinking,” Rob was quick to say.

Thank God for small favors. “Even better. Let’s pretend I was never here.”

“Amber,
wait
.”

Why she chose to stand there and listen to what he had to say, she didn’t know. “What is it, Rob?”

He shoved the covers off his legs, striding over to her with only a pair of boxers on—she hadn’t realized how much she hated boxers until
after
they broke up. When he reached for her hand, she immediately took a few steps back.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he began carefully, his eyes scanning her face. “Ever since we broke up, I’ve been thinking that—”

She tuned his words out as she gaped at his audacity. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t possibly be about to say what she knew was at the tip of his tongue.

“I made a mistake,” he finished on a rush, looking at her with an expression that told her he was hoping for some other reaction than the one he was about to get.

“You’re not serious…”

Maybe years ago, that would have been what she had hoped to hear, but not now. Back then, she would have wanted to believe that it was a mistake, that he still loved her, and she was still the only person he wanted to be with. She would have forgiven him, moved past the indiscretion, and they could have continued on with their lives—even if she hated herself for it.

But no, he had humiliated her, then made it worse by actually
dating
Piper, and showing up to their family events with her like no one would notice.

No, it definitely wasn’t a mistake.

“
This
, even if nothing happened, was a mistake, Robin,” Amber continued, using the name she knew he hated. “Whatever conversation we had last night, or whatever notion I entertained talking to you, was a
mistake
. You cheating on me with my cousin and staying with her for this long is
not
a mistake. Just … leave me alone. Don’t call me.”

This time, she didn’t linger, not even when he called her name again.

B
ack home
, Amber scrubbed the night away in the shower, lathering up her hair, not wanting to think about where she had been and who she had been with. It was better left as another bad memory.

Since it was only ten in the morning, and she didn’t have any plans for the day, she popped a couple aspirin, and ate greasy diner food she had grabbed on her way home. There was nothing quite like fat and calories to cure a hangover.

Amber was flipping through channels when her phone rang. Leaving her plate, she sidestepped the towering boxes that overwhelmed her living room—trying to sort through it all was not at the top of her list of things to do at the moment—and dashed for her phone before it could stop ringing.

She was almost afraid it would be Rob, but after checking the caller ID, she was glad to find it was just her boss.

“Yes, darling,” Elliot said with a grand air after she answered. “I was hoping you could come by today?”

Elliot Hamilton III was the owner of Cedar Art Gallery, named for its custom wooden floors with intricate, but subtle designs carved into the wood. He was a buyer and collector of fine art, and more importantly, Amber’s boss. He wasn’t a hard man to work for, though he did require near perfection in most things, but he was quite demanding of her time.

It had only been about three months ago that she’d brought in a few of her own pieces for him to peruse, hoping he would be interested in showcasing them for the upcoming ‘New Artists’ show that they were having a few days later.

After his acceptance, which had come as a surprise to her considering his reputation, he had inquired about her technical skills, then put her to the test to see what she could do. Before the Art Institute, she had studied at other art schools, some of the best in the country since her father could afford to send her there.

And once she had passed his test, besides her work in the gallery, she worked with him personally to restore paintings that his clients entrusted with him to have brought back to life.

At first, she had been surprised by his trust in her with something so priceless. Art restoration was a daunting task. It took an eye for detail, a knowledge of the time in which the painting was created, and more importantly, the right mixture of paint, and canvas. Amber knew some artists that had practiced and studied for more than four decades, so she was honored to be given the task.

And more, there was always a bonus for her when she finished a piece.

Glancing at the time, Amber contemplated whether she felt like going in, especially with the headache that was now more of a dull ache.

“I only need you to look at a painting that was brought in by a good friend of mine—a personal favor, I should say,” he went on when she had grown quiet. “It’s an original, and I only want the very few I can trust to see it beforehand.”

Amber rolled her eyes, already heading toward her closet for something to wear. If there was one thing Elliot was good at, it was kissing the ass of whoever he needed to get what he wanted.

“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, doll.”

He promptly hung up before she could get another word in.

She wanted nothing more than to throw on a pair of sweatpants, a threadbare T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers, but even if she wasn’t officially working, Elliot always expected everyone to either dress like a professional, or dress like you had just stepped off the runway—there was no in-between.

He had an image to uphold after all.

New York was known for its fashion, but SoHo, where Cedar was located, was home to a lot of celebrities and elite members of society, and the only way the gallery could survive was to keep up.

Eventually deciding on a pair of black skinny jeans with a slash across both knees, a loose white crop top that dipped low in the front, along with an oversized plaid shirt tied around her waist, and a pair of matte black Doc Marten’s, Amber grabbed her satchel, threw in everything she needed, and was out the door.

Her apartment was only a few blocks down from Canal Station, but in the time it had taken her to get ready, clouds had rolled in, obscuring the once beautiful sky. Just as quickly as that thought formed, the first few droplets of rain splattered her face, and before she knew it, the skies were opening up.

She ran the last block, glad that she hadn’t gotten too wet in her dash down the street, otherwise she would have looked like she was competing in a wet T-shirt contest. Heading down into the station, she swiped her metro card, walking through the cage-like turnstile. Her train was already boarding, and as she hurried across the platform, she could hear the beeps, the red lights flashing, signaling the doors were closing.

Before she even had a chance to curse her bad timing, a rather large hand reached out, snagging one of her belt loops and tugged her in, seconds before the doors closed at her back.

She stumbled as the train started to move, her Docs squeaking with the movement. Reaching her hands out, she tried righting herself without knocking the guy over that helped her, not that she could, she soon realized. He seemed to be made of stone.

Prepared to thank him—or thank his chest since that was what was directly in front of her face—the moment she tilted her head up to get a better look at him, her breath caught.

Not just because he was attractive, he was definitely that, but because he looked so familiar. It wasn’t because of Rob—Rob was very selective about the circles he ran in. Those were the same circles she had tried so desperately to fit in, but he would never associate with someone so … scruffy.

And this stranger was definitely that.

His eyes were a perfect blend of greens and yellows, flecks of silver near the pupils, brightening them to an even lighter shade of green. How eyes that pale could seem warm, she didn’t know, but they were. He also had a full beard, one that was a deep auburn, a few shades lighter than his darker hair.

Amber realized, almost belatedly, that she was still pressed against him, her hands resting on the firm planes of his stomach, and even if the train wasn’t so crowded, there was still enough space for her to stand on her own.

But she kind of liked where she was.

Even with the shirt around her waist, she could still feel the heat of his palm on the small of her back.

Dropping her hands, she moved back a little. “Thanks.”

His smile was easy, friendly, even as his eyes blatantly swept over her. “No bother at all.”

She couldn’t withhold her smile even if she wanted to. His accent was a dream to hear. It was lilting, and had an almost smoky quality to it.

Irish. He was definitely Irish.

When he turned his head, staring off at something in the distance, she discreetly checked him out in return. He, like her, wasn’t particularly dressed for this weather, only wearing a soft-knit gray tee, dark-wash jeans that seemed tailored for him, and boots that looked like they had seen better days.

There were two thick, black bands tattooed around his right forearm, the only tattoo she could see, if he had others. The knuckles of the hand wrapped securely around the metal pole to the left of her, like the knuckles of the hand he used to pull her in, were scarred—as though he had been in a number of fights all his life.

If her stop wasn’t just a few minutes away, she would have been tempted to spark up a conversation with him, maybe even get his name, but she decided against it, stepping off the train when the doors opened at the next station.