Celt. (Den of Mercenaries Book 2) (17 page)

Once he finished, he gave Red another call, demanding that the Russian bring his arse right that second. With the way the man drove, he didn’t think it would be long before he was showing his face.

“Are you out of your mind?” Calavera asked as she stepped off the lift, folding her arms across her chest as she stared him down.

Kyrnon, though knowing she meant well, didn’t like her tone—and he was in no mood to explain himself. “Leave it.”

“Even if we ignore the immediate threat to her life, what was your plan for the long run? Were you going to tell her what you do—what we
all
do? And to make matters worse, Celt, you don’t
exist
.”

That was a truth that no one outside of his team knew. Whatever record there was on Kyrnon Murphy had been wiped, leaving no trace that he had ever been born. It also helped that he had come from travelers, making his past easier to get rid of.

This wasn’t something Kyrnon had considered much of a problem, especially since he could have someone make him a birth certificate and anything else should he have need of it.

“I was figuring it out.”

He would have found a way to ease her into the truth about who he was and what he did for a living, but this wasn’t how he had wanted her to find out.

Not like this.

“Have you thought of the consequences if she decides to go to the police?”

Just that thought made his hands twitch.

It wasn’t because it would harm him—though that would cause a problem—but if anyone, meaning the Kingmaker, learned of her cooperation with law enforcement, they wouldn’t hesitate in killing her and making it look like an accident.

And it wouldn’t matter that she meant something to Kyrnon—they would kill her anyway, even as a lesson to him to not make the same mistake twice.

He had to get to her first—her life depended on it.

His phone’s ringing dragged Kyrnon from his thoughts. “Speak, Winter.”

“You’re in the War Room?” her voice sounding loud even as he held the phone away from his ear.

“Ay—”

Before he could finish the statement, the call cut off, and the projector came down from the ceiling, turning on as the image reflected off the bare wall in front of them.

Despite the varying ages within the Den, Winter was the youngest by far. Only sixteen, she could do more behind a laptop than some of the mercenaries Kyrnon knew. But despite her talent with numbers and the darker bits of their lifestyle, she still retained her innocence.

And perhaps that was because Syn made sure of it.

While they could call on Winter for her talents, they were never to show her anything remotely bloody. The last time somebody had, Syn had made it a point to show them exactly how wrong they had been.

When it came to Winter, there were certain things he didn’t bend on.

So despite his short temper at all he was facing, Kyrnon was careful to keep his tone in check. “What do you have for me?”

Silver and gray dyed hair up in two buns at the top of her head, Winter looked every bit the computer geek she was, but usually where a smile was gracing her face, she was openly glaring at Kyrnon. “There was nothing remotely special that I could find—seemed rather mundane compared to what you guys normally send me. Of course—”

Slapping his hand down on the table as he took a seat, Kyrnon said, “Get on with it, Winter.”

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Winter didn’t look bothered in the slightest by his surly tone. “Unless you want me to drain every account of yours I can find—and even the ones you think I can’t—I suggest you watch yourself there, Celt. I don’t work
for
you, remember?”

Fucking hackers. “
Please
, get on with it.”

Realizing that was the best she was going to get, she moved on. “The owner of the phone, however, does know the Volkov family. I don’t know how well you know them but they’re a Russian crime …”

“Aye, I know of them.”

Fucking. Hell.

Calavera raised her hand with a frown. “I’m clueless. Who are they?”

Ignoring her question, Kyrnon asked, “What d’you mean by know? How close are they?”

“She’s like …”

“Best friends with the Russian’s wife,” Red said as he entered the room, his gaze landing straight on Kyrnon. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. You should have said you were messing around with Amber.”

“How in the hell do you know her?”

Dropping down in a seat, Red asked, “You heard a word I said? Amber, the woman you’ve been fucking for weeks now, is best friends with Lauren. Where do you think she went when you put a gun in her face?”

He cringed at Red’s wording. “That’s not how it happened.”

Red rolled his eyes as he sat back. “Semantics. Either way, you have the girl fucking terrified, and that’s trouble for you. She means something to Lauren, and you’ve seen that Russian. He’d give her your head if she asked for it.”

Winter cleared her throat. “Aren’t you Russian, Red?”

As though everyone was trying his patience, Red reiterated, “
Semantics
.”

Kyrnon didn’t care about any of that. “Where is she now?”

“At the Russian’s club. She’s under his protection after all.”

At least there he knew she would be safe.

And, it might make it easier for her to accept what all he was going to say. Kyrnon was on his feet without a word, heading back upstairs.

“You may want to calm down a bit before you go in there so heavy,” Red suggested, gesturing to all of the gear Kyrnon had yet to take off.

“Now’s not the time, Red.”

“Need I remind you that there is a crazy ass Albanian keeping her company who delights in the chance to inflict pain? He gets a bit twitchy when he hasn’t maimed something in a while. I’m not in the mood to get between the two of you today—I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”

Kyrnon had never had a problem with Luka—there was never any reason for one—but should he try to stop him from getting to Amber in any way, he would make his point loud and clear.

T
he first hour
—or was it the second?—had been a blur after she arrived at Mishca’s club, disappearing inside with one of the bouncers at the door. The man she had come to see was in his office on a call when Amber made it to him, but once he got a look at her, he ended it.

She hadn’t known what to say when he asked what was wrong and had she already contacted Lauren. How did she explain Kyrnon? How did she explain everything she had seen and her connection to it?

But as she stumbled over her words, telling him everything she possibly could, he understood enough.

It wasn’t long before Niklaus had shown up. And while she wasn’t overly fond of the evil twin—as she had dubbed him a long time ago—she was glad he was there. Between him and Mishca, she was the safest she could possibly be.

“Don’t worry,” Niklaus said as he dropped down beside her. “The Russian likes to fix shit. He’ll take care of it. But in the meantime, tell me what you know.”

Before, she would have gushed, telling him everything, but now she wasn’t so sure that anything she told him would do any good. There was no way for her to gauge what was true and what wasn’t.

But she did tell him about everything she had seen, and even Elliot’s strange phone call.

Yet even as she tried to explain, Niklaus got a look on his face that she couldn’t read, but whatever thought he was having, he seemed to think better of voicing it.

“He’s probably not much of a threat if …”

“He didn’t seem like hired muscle.”

Not entirely, at least.

He seemed too organized.

“And it wasn’t that he was beating Elliot up—I think he was searching for something.”

Another curious look crossed his face. “You work at an art gallery, no?”

“I do. Why?”

“Kyrnon, you said his name was … how long have you known him?”

“A little more than a month. Why?”

“Twin bands tattooed on his arm?” Niklaus asked, gesturing to his own arm.

She didn’t think she had mentioned Kyrnon’s tattoos. “Yeah. How did—”

Before she could get an answer out of him, Niklaus was on his feet and walking out the door, tossing over his shoulder. “I need to make a run. Russian, a word.”

A tick working in Mishca’s jaw, he told Amber to stay put before heading out the door after his brother, leaving her to wonder what had just happened.

Curling up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her, Amber went over everything she knew—or at least thought she knew.

Now it made her wonder whether running into him on the train had been an accident at all? He had driven his bike on every other occasion she had seen him … where had his bike been that day?

The way he shot the targets at Coney Island.

How secretive he was with his phone and the phone calls he got at random.

Everything had been right there in front of her, but she hadn’t connected the dots.

Everything she knew, or at the very least, everything she thought she knew, was all a lie.

It turned out, she didn’t know him nearly as well as she thought she had.

“But is she okay?”

Amber heard Lauren a moment before the doors to Mishca’s office were thrown open, and she was halfway into the room before Mishca even cleared the doorway.

Her gaze immediately sought Amber’s, her fear reflected there. “Are you okay?” she asked, the same question she had asked of her husband moments ago.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You have Sacha and I didn’t want this following me there.” At least she knew Mishca would be able to handle himself considering all the men she had seen in and out of this place.

“What happened? Who—”

“Lauren.”

Mishca didn’t raise his voice, nor did his tone change, but it was clear her name was a warning.

Lauren glared at him. “She’s my friend, Mish. Not one of your soldiers.

“Just so, but right now that's exactly what she needs—a friend,” Mishca said as he kissed the top of Lauren’s head. “Let me handle the rest of it.”

Lauren looked like she wanted to argue further, but before she could, Amber asked, “Did he find Kyrnon? Niklaus, I mean.”

“Kyrnon?” Lauren asked. “That’s who we’re looking for?”

“A fecking Irishman,” Luka announced as he came into the office, shirtless for whatever reason, using the worst Irish accent Amber had ever heard. “But don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. We can handle him.”

That thought didn’t particularly fill her with joy. “Will it really have to come to that?” The last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt because of her.

And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t want anything to happen to Kyrnon either.

“I’ve been shot before,” Luka said draping an arm around her shoulders. “No worries.”

It had been a while, she knew, but she had obviously forgotten how…
touched
… Luka was. “But I don’t want you or anyone else to get shot.”

He squeezed her tighter. “Alex said that to me once.”

“And …”

He looked down at her. “And?”

“She said that to you once, and then what?”

“Nothing. She just said that to me once.”

Sometimes she didn’t know whether to worry for his sanity, or laugh at his antics. He meant well at least.

“Probably for good reason,” she said back absently, her gaze drawn to Mishca who was staring out the windows of his office to the floor below, a concerned expression on his face, but while he looked troubled, the tension that had been in him since the moment she entered his office and told him about her problem eased away.

He leaned down, whispering something to Lauren that made her mouth fall open in what could only be described as surprise.

Amber heard the pounding of feet, and as she looked to the doorway, she’d been expecting Niklaus to walk back though, but the last person she anticipated walking through those doors was Kyrnon, still dressed in gear that made him look far more dangerous than he did on a regular basis.

Mishca was the first to speak. “Celt.”

“Celt?” There was that name again, and as she looked back at Lauren and Mishca, there was no worry in their eyes as they looked to Kyrnon—as though they didn’t think him a threat.

Was that … familiarity?

This wasn’t happening.

“Volkovs.”

Her Albanian protector threw the arm he didn’t have around her shoulder in the air. “
Luka
!”

It may have been his exclamation that drew Kyrnon’s gaze over to Amber and Luka, but as his eyes scanned over her, narrowing on Luka’s hold on her, he didn’t look pleased.

“Remove your arm.”

Luka grew tense beside her, even as he grinned, a dark, predatory smile that didn’t spell good things for anyone. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll do it for you.” Kyrnon’s tone brokered no argument, and in that moment, he looked like he would do whatever necessary to prove that point.

“I invite you to try.” Luka shrugged, as though his words were no big deal. “But I promised the wife I would work on my anger management. So,
Kyrnon
, I suggest you keep your distance or I’ll show you what it really means to have scars.”

Only once had Amber ever been around Luka when that manic glee of his turned into something quietly terrifying. He didn’t yell, nor act like a brute, but the threat was clear in his voice, and even Amber thought of taking a step away from him.

But Kyrnon wasn’t moved. “I’ll give you until I make it across this floor.”

“Should I start counting, or do you have it?” Luka asked.

Now she was seeing more of that notorious temper Kyrnon had told her about, but it wasn’t just about the challenge that Luka presented.

He was jealous.

And had this been an ordinary meeting of friends, she might have found his jealousy cute.

But now?

Now she was too worried what would happen if he
did
cross that floor.

Before he could take a step in their direction, however, Niklaus whistled low. “Crawl back under your stone, Luka. There won’t be any torture for you today—he doesn’t mean her any harm.”