Red. (Den of Mercenaries Book 1 - London Miller

RED. BOOK ONE IN THE DEN OF MERCENARIES SERIES

LONDON MILLER

CONTENTS Copyright Also by London Miller Dedication Epigraph Part 1 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Part 2

Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue CODA Acknowledgments About the Author

Copyright © 2016 by London Miller Cover image licensed through Shutterstock All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ALSO BY LONDON MILLER Volkov Bratva In the Beginning Until the End The Final Hour Time Stood Still Valor: What Once Was Hidden Monsters

For Kris. Where would I be without you.

Is the man who leads the lamb to slaughter not just as guilty as the man who slits its throat? — NIKLAUS VOLKOV

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

2009 Niklaus “THIS IS FUCKING TORTURE.” Holding her hand a bit tighter as he

hurried them across the street, Niklaus Volkov smiled at his girlfriend, Sarah Buchannan, narrowly missing being hit by a speeding car, its horn still blaring as it continued down the street. Less than thirty-six hours ago, they had boarded a plane to New York, leaving behind the sunny beaches of Florida for the cold, frostbitten streets of Manhattan. While he might have preferred the sun on his face and a surfboard under his arm, Niklaus didn’t mind the cold, if only because he wanted to make Sarah happy. He was cool with having his balls freeze off—glad for once that he was finally able to give her something she had always wanted. When they had met, it hadn’t been

love at first sight, not even second. She had been head cheerleader at their high school, spending most of her time around a similar crowd. Niklaus, on the other hand, hadn’t even ranked on the social ladder. As the son of a Russian immigrant working long hours scrubbing toilets for the very people he went to school with, they never let him forget his place down at the bottom. Was he ashamed of his mother? Absolutely not. Did they try to make him feel that way every chance they got? All the fucking time. He learned rather quickly that though they ran their mouths constantly, bullying him in a way that only entitled, rich kids

could, they weren’t quite as skilled with their fists. And that was one thing he was definitely good at. Fighting was all he had known after growing up in a rough neighborhood before moving to one that was just a step above it. That skill might have protected him, but it had also nearly prevented him from graduating with his class since the principal had been one step away from expelling him. One day, for reasons only she knew at the time, Sarah had stepped up and put an end to it, making sure that the jocks gave him space. At first he’d been angry at her interference, not wanting someone like her to come to his defense. He couldn't be sure what kind of game she'd been

playing—if she was playing one. And despite how he treated her, and he had been downright cruel at times, she had continued to be nice to him until he finally let his guard down. It hadn’t taken long before he realized she was different. Soon their unexpected friendship had turned into something more. Hatred had turned to acceptance. Acceptance had turned to attraction. From the attraction bloomed a relationship that Niklaus never could have fathomed. From the moment she became his girlfriend, Sarah became his world. He had wanted to show her that he could be more than just the ‘help’ as so

many viewed him. Even after they graduated and she had gone off to Florida State, while he chose to stay back in their hometown, working backbreaking construction to help his mother around the house, their bond had never broken. It was no secret Sarah’s family was far better off than Niklaus’—even if this was never voiced aloud—so instead, he gave her little things money couldn’t buy. He had gone to see her every other weekend just because. And when he had made her a locket by hand, carefully working on each little detail until it was just right, she had cried after he gave it to her as if it was the best thing in the world.

But even if it wasn’t, she had made it feel that way. Niklaus knew she was the girl he was going to marry, and knowing this, he wanted to make the proposal special. So for two years, he had saved every last spare penny, planning their trip to the one place she had always wanted to visit. He had barely slept in that time, working overtime to the point that his boss had to force him to go home. It had all been worth it. She skipped ahead of him, arms outstretched as she tried to catch the falling snow on her tongue. This was the happiest he had ever seen her. And he had done that. He had put that smile on her face.

His hand drifted down to his pocket once more, feeling the indentation the ring box had made, he let the familiarity of it soothe him. Thoughts of how he would propose had plagued him all night, but he still hadn’t found the right moment to get down on one knee and just ask. Sensing his gaze, Sarah turned back to look at him, her smile growing wider, blonde hair like a halo around her face, “How could this be torture? It’s beautiful out here.” Yeah, but he was used to seventydegree winter days, not the negatives that they had up north. Even wearing a Henley, a hoodie, and a leather jacket— one that she had bought for him because

‘it looked good on him’—he was still freezing. He shrugged, still smiling. “You’re easily impressed. That’s all.” “Oh, stop being so cynical, Niklaus. Breathe in this cold, refreshing air and enjoy the moment.” She ended on a yelp as she went sliding on a patch of black ice, nearly colliding with the ground before he caught her, pulling her back against him. He laughed at her expression. “I’m enjoying you. That’s all that matters.” Gifting him with the softest of smiles, she leaned up to kiss him, her lips like a brand on their own. It ended all too soon as she righted herself. Twining their fingers once more, they

continued down the darkened street with little fear. Looking around, she asked, “Do you even know where we are?” Niklaus dug out the street map he’d picked up after they had left the metro station, figuring it would be a good idea to find their way back to it. Even with the muted glow of the street lamps, it was hard to make anything out. “We can’t be far from the station now, right? We’ve been walking for a while,” she said looking around them. “Maybe we can ask someone…” But there weren’t many people out at this time of the night. “Let’s just call a cab. We can add that to our list of experiences—lost in

the big city.” Reaching the end of the block they were on, Niklaus dug through his pocket for his old, beat-up phone, hunting through his contacts for the phone number he had saved for the cab company they had taken from the airport. A woman answered on the fifth ring, and after giving her the street name they were standing under from the sign above them, he nodded at her answer and hung up. “They’ll have somebody here in fifteen minutes.” Sarah nodded at his answer, and when he noticed her slight shivers, he drew her back into his embrace, resting his chin on top of her head. She smelled

of cinnamon and apples, probably from whatever holiday shampoo she was using. “Hopefully you don’t freeze to death by then,” she whispered playfully, laughing when he tugged her hair. Niklaus didn’t know how long they stood there, enjoying the silence of the night when he noticed the van pass them by. There wasn’t anything particularly notable about it, but this had been the third time he’d seen it pass by. It was the logo of the clowns and bowling pins that stuck out to him. He fucking hated clowns. He didn’t mention this to Sarah right away, because while he was suspicious by nature, she liked to call him paranoid.

But it wasn’t paranoia. Niklaus just didn’t believe in coincidences. Despite standing beneath the light, Niklaus didn’t like that they were out in the open. “Come on,” he urged her, scanning the street once more for any sign of the van, but it had already disappeared around another corner. “Let’s sit over here and get out of the snow.” At least then they wouldn’t be in plain view. Of course, she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, so she dutifully followed his lead, oblivious to the sliver of anxiety that was steadily climbing up his spine. Before they could even make it a couple of steps, the van

came screeching around the corner, the squeal of its tires growing louder as it sped towards them. This time, Sarah noticed it, but Niklaus knew it was too late. “Niklaus, why—” He moved her behind him, even as he walked them backwards, watching the van screech to a halt, the side panel sliding open, two men in masks jumping out. “Run,” he warned as he turned and pushed her forward, staying in place instead of following behind, wanting to give her a head start. She did what he asked without argument, taking off in the opposite direction, screaming for help. Niklaus didn’t attempt to run,

knowing that at the very least, they would have to get through him to get to her, and by the time they did, hopefully she would be long gone, or someone would have come around trying to see what the commotion was all about. But…it almost felt like this wasn’t about robbing them as their attention seemed solely focused on him. From what he could tell, they had hardly looked in her direction. When the one in front charged him, Niklaus swung out a fist, landing a solid punch to the man’s jaw that sent him flying back and cursing in a language Niklaus didn’t understand. The man recovered quickly enough, charging towards him like a bull, ramming his

shoulder into Niklaus’ stomach, sending them both to the ground. Niklaus had had enough practice fending off idiotic football players not to let this man get the best of him, but as he grappled with the man, he forgot all about the other one that was hovering nearby observing. “Niklaus!” Forgetting all about the two that were on him, Niklaus’ attention shot to Sarah as a gorilla of a man caught her, dragging her back to the idling van. He didn’t care what happened to him, but he couldn’t let her get hurt. But just as he got free of the one that had taken him to the ground, the second came out of nowhere and struck him,

sending him back to the ground, his vision blurring. He felt like he’d been hit by a cinderblock, his head bouncing off the concrete so hard he saw stars. Niklaus was dazed, could almost hear Sarah yelling his name again, but before he could latch onto it, a shadowy figure loomed over him, and the last thing he saw before blackness stole him was a booted foot coming down at his face.

CHAPTER TWO

JOLTED AWAKE BY ROUGH HANDS STRAPPING him to a chair, Niklaus renewed his struggles, but there was hardly anything he could do to ward off what was happening now that his ankles were

secured to the legs of the chairs with zip-ties, and his wrists were next. More than that, a headache pounded away in his head, the wound to the back of his skull throbbing in time. He would have continued to fight if not for the soft whimpering across from him. He stilled immediately, jerking his head in every direction, trying to shake off the musty smelling black bag that covered his face. It was only after his wrists were tied down did someone remove it. Squinting from the sudden light hurting his eyes, he blinked repeatedly, waiting for his eyes to adjust as he searched the room for Sarah. As she came into focus, he almost wished he

hadn’t. She was bound, very much like he was, but while he could feel where his lips were cut, and knew from the tightness of his face that it too was bruised, seeing her this way made him ashamed that he hadn’t fought harder, protected her from this. Tear tracks were stark against her tan cheeks, her eyes wide with fear. A cloth was tied around her mouth, preventing her from speaking, but everything she could have wanted to say was reflected in her face. Why hadn’t he warned her sooner? Why hadn’t he told her not to wait for him, to save herself? Yet, while regret weighed heavily on

his heart, his attention was stolen by the men entering the room, joining the two that were already inside still wearing masks. The latest arrivals didn’t bother with them. Trepidation filled Niklaus at what this might mean. He might not have known for sure, but he doubted that these men would allow them to see their faces if they weren’t planning to kill them. Niklaus tried to make out their faces, hoping that some kind of recognition would hit him--he needed to understand why they had been targeted. His boss down at the construction site in Florida was not always on the right side of the law when it came to his business—not that anyone really cared since he was a

pretty decent guy who got the job done— but Niklaus couldn’t imagine that he would be involved with these kind of men. They seemed too…powerful. One stood out amongst the others, wearing a long black coat, a suit of charcoal gray beneath it. His eyes were cold, lips turned down in a deep frown, and much like the other men, there was an air of menace that surrounded him. He was obviously the leader, radiating an authority that the others lacked. “You did well,” he said. Niklaus could only guess which of the two masked men he was speaking to, but he watched as the pair approached him, one a shade more eager than the

other. This one ripped off his mask, his sweat-dampened hair sticking to his forehead, eyes feverish with a hunger that made Niklaus’ stomach turn. “It was nothing.” The other, and if Niklaus had to wager, the one that had gotten the best of him, remained off to the side, as if he wasn’t completely a part of this group, and yet was. He reached for his own mask, drawing it up over his face, and unlike the others, his hair wasn’t dark, nor were his eyes the same obsidian colors as most of the others. No, his hair was blond and slightly curly, reaching below his ears, and his eyes were a bright shade of blue. There were so many emotions in the

eyes of the men in this room, from impassiveness to downright excitement —but this one? His were empty. There was nothing there, and Niklaus sensed if there was one person he should fear, it was him. He looked like a man that didn’t care whether he live or died. “Were you seen?” “Nope,” said the eager one. “They were alone—didn’t even have his guards on him.” For a moment, the man looked doubtful. “How sure are you of this?” While the eager one opened his mouth, ready to answer, the man turned to the blond instead, his brows raising as he awaited an answer. Niklaus didn’t

miss the eager one losing his manic smile, or that a flash of irritation sparked in his eyes, but as quickly it had formed, it was gone again. With his arms folded across his chest, the blond glanced over at Niklaus before returning his gaze to his boss. “They were alone. Surprising, considering who he is.” Who he was? Was he supposed to be alone? Those words seemed to be enough for the man. Snapping his fingers, he gestured for another of his lackeys to wheel in a tray from across the room as he shed his coat and suit jacket, passing them off. “I am Jetmir Besnik of the Besnik

family, but I am sure you already know this.” No, Niklaus had never heard of the man, or whatever family he was talking about, but he didn’t get the opportunity to tell him before the man was speaking again. “You possess information that I need. If you tell me, I will release you and your lady friend here. If you do not, I will force you to tell me.” His gaze shifted to Sarah whose eyes widened in fear. “By any means necessary. Have you anything to say?” Swallowing his fear, Niklaus’ eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know who you think I am, but if this is about money, I’ll give you everything I have.

We—” Jetmir sighed, shaking his head as though disappointed, but Niklaus was too confused to do anything more than protest, not even when Jetmir reached for a pair of knives sitting on the tray. Turning them over in his hands, he stepped forward, so close that Niklaus couldn’t help but breathe in the strong scent of his cologne. “Please,” Jetmir dsid with the slightest of smiles. “I will enjoy this more if you make it difficult for me.” Niklaus didn’t get the chance to think of a response before a scream of pain ripped free from his mouth as Jetmir stabbed the first knife into the left side of his chest, just beneath his collar bone.

He felt the blade ripping through skin and muscle, but no matter how he struggled, he couldn’t escape the agony and managed to add to it as the ties binding his wrists dug deeper into his flesh. But before he could recover from the first, Jetmir plunged the second knife parallel to the first. “Bleed for what you believe in,” he said in a low voice. “By the end of your time with me, you’ll die for it as well.” Panting, Niklaus watched as Jetmir took his leave, along with a few others, but three remained. The one that had taken Sarah. The one he had fought with. And the blond.

It was him, Niklaus knew, that he needed to remain wary of. Because it was to him that Jetmir had given a meaningful look before he disappeared out of the room. Jetmir hadn’t been gone more than a couple of minutes before Niklaus was cut free and dragged from the chair before his wrists were rebound, and this time, he was hung from a hook in the ceiling. Sarah was whimpering softly, but as his gaze was to the cold, damp wall in front of him, he could only hear what was happening around him. There was the rattle of the cart, the flicker of a flame igniting, and the men speaking in their native tongue behind him. That only

made it worse, having to hear everything, but seeing nothing. Someone walked behind him, hesitated a second, then Niklaus flinched away from the cold blade that was slipped beneath his shirt, cutting through the material with ease, the sides draping open though the shirt remained in place because of the knives in his chest. He tried to breathe through his panic, wishing once again that he knew something, anything that could get him and Sarah out of this place. But the men at his back were eager to get started, drawing the blade across his skin in a painful line. Niklaus hissed, but didn’t cry out…not yet. Blond hair snared his attention as the

one that moved like a ghost leaned against the wall so that he had a clear view of his face. He was the one holding the knife that was now dripping with Niklaus’ blood. “Tell them what they want to know,” he ordered quietly, like his words were only meant for him to hear. Tell them? As though he had no part in this? Niklaus looked from him, to the wall, and back again as he tried to think of an answer, one that was the correct one to a question he didn’t know. It dawned on him that Jetmir hadn’t given him any information to actually provide an answer for. He was beginning to believe that this was not

about answers at all. That thought made his heart hammer harder, but his lack of an answer made the blond move out of sight again. Not even seconds later, the sharp sting of his parting flesh had Niklaus trying to get free, and as the blond dug in deeper this time, he finally cried out. “Do you have an answer?” the blond asked, this time loud enough for them all to hear. His breaths ragged, Niklaus whispered a plea he knew would fall on deaf ears, his own just barely picking up the sound of Sarah’s distress. But that was nothing compared to the noise he made as the blond rhythmically, and quite patiently, took his knife to

Niklaus’ back and began to really work.

“LEAVE HIM BE, VALON.” Valon…Niklaus repeated that name over and over to himself as awareness crept back in. Now, finally, he had a name to put with the blond. Valon fell into his line of vision, blocking out some of the sunlight streaming in through the windows on either sides of the room. He didn’t dare try to move, hours of agony had taught him very quickly that any tiny alteration in the way he hung caused the shredded muscle along his back to flare to life once more. Still as vacant and unfeeling as

before, Valon said, “Tell them what they want to know.” He had been steadily working his way across Niklaus’ back, starting at the tops of his shoulders, carving long, fluid lines down to the small of his back. Unlike his counterpart—who seemed to enjoy Niklaus’ pain a little too much— Valon rarely made any noise at all, and didn’t give any indication as to whether or not this thrilled him. Had he been in this place so long that he had begun to hope that it was Valon torturing him as opposed to the other? Was he choosing between two levels of pain? Time passed in waves. He could no longer tell what day it was, or how long

he had suffered under the onslaught of torture, but through it all, Niklaus was thankful that all their attention seemed to be focused solely on him. Sarah mostly had to watch him suffer, it was far better than her being hung alongside him. “Still don’t want to talk?” Valon’s associate called out. “Then we’ll try something new.” New? What more could they do to him that hadn’t already been done? But even as his mind ran wild with possibilities— even as he fought the darkness that threatened to pull him under—he heard it. Sarah’s whimper. Fighting to keep his eyes open, to

stay conscious, Niklaus shook his head, weakly, trying to force his head around. “Don’t…don’t touch her.” But his words were as weak as his body. He tried to stay conscious. He needed to, for her sake. But even as he heard the sound of ripping fabric…the sound of Sarah screaming behind her gag…he was sucked right back under.

AT SOME POINT, NIKLAUS HAD BEEN MOVED, transferred from the hook back to his chair. It felt like he had lost another day, drifting in and out of consciousness. His stomach ached with hunger, his mouth

terribly dry, but those baser needs were the last things on his mind as the agony of his wounds kept his full attention—he had grown to ignore the knives still imbedded in his flesh. He was lost, stuck in a place where he was just slightly aware of his surroundings, but immune to the pain he was in, at least until a bucket of cold water was thrown on him, bringing him back to focus. The pain came rushing back almost instantly, enough to nearly take his breath away, sparking over every nerve-ending until he was gritting his pain to get through it. Valon dropped the bucket and moved back. “Your time is up,” Jetmir announced

as he crossed the room, his first time back in this place since Niklaus was brought in. Though Niklaus wasn’t looking at him, he knew the man carried something heavy, the liquid inside sloshing around before the container was set down. Once Jetmir was beside him, he fisted Niklaus’ hair, forcing his head up, and with the action, Niklaus finally saw Sarah. The sight of her was worse than anything they could have ever done to him. She was bruised all over in varying shades of healing. Gone was the beautiful girl that had been laughing with joy as they explored the city, replaced by

someone he hardly recognized. Makeup was smeared all over her face, her clothes gone, leaving her stark naked, and though he wished he hadn’t, Niklaus’ eyes zeroed in on the blood coating her thighs. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” She hung her head, never once looking at him, but he thought he saw a tear drop onto her leg. “I have given you ample opportunity —more than if we are being honest—to tell me of your business and the men you intend to meet in a few days’ time, but you have continued to defy me. To what end, only you can know. Perhaps it is the Russian way?” Jetmir released his hold

on Niklaus. “What more must be done before you break?” Blinking more water from his eyes, Niklaus looked to him, noticing the black lighter he held in his left hand, an engraving he couldn’t make out on its onyx casing. A sliver of anxiety shot through Niklaus each time Jetmir flipped the top back, igniting the flame to flicker in the darkness of the room. He had long since stopped begging, knowing that he would never get out of the room alive. But he had never stopped begging for Sarah…at least from what he could remember before his body gave out on him. “Tell me what I want to know,” Jetmir said, his tone soothing for once,

the same request that had been demanded of Niklaus since entered this place. No matter how vehemently Niklaus denied any knowledge of what they were talking about, none of them were convinced he was not the person they sought. For what felt like the hundredth time, he said, “I’m not who you’re looking for. I don’t even know what it is you want!” Sighing, as though Niklaus had disappointed him once again, Jetmir grabbed the red, plastic container from the floor by his feet, walking over to her, whistling as he began dumping the contents onto Sarah’s head, the liquid soaking her hair and washing away the red that stained her body in seconds.

Her eyes pleaded with Niklaus as she seemed to snap out of whatever fog she was under, her cries of alarm not quite muffled by her gag. When the acrid scent of gasoline hit him, Niklaus began begging in earnest, not caring how weak he sounded. “Please…I’m not who you think I am. I live in Florida. I work construction! Whatever you want. Money? I can get it for you. Anything. Anything you want, I’ll do. Just please, please, let her go.” Jetmir held the lighter out, his expression thoughtful as the flame sparked and danced, as if it too was anticipating the moment of contact. “One last chance.” Niklaus met Sarah’s gaze,

helplessness eating at him. He could see it in her eyes, the moment she knew she was going to die, and instead of fear, there was acceptance. Acceptance that there was nothing he could do to stop this. And maybe...maybe acceptance that a part of her believed this was his fault. No matter how short the time would be, he knew the look on her face would haunt him until he died. Her lips were moving, as though she was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t understand her words…and he never would. “Please…” The word had barely passed his lips before Jetmir dropped the lighter.

Time slowed to a crawl as Niklaus watched its descent, falling end over end until it clamored on the floor, bouncing a couple of times before settling. Then, he watched in horror as the flames rushed over her, licking at her skin until she was consumed entirely.

CHAPTER THREE

HIS EARS WERE RINGING. From his screams or hers, he wasn’t sure. The smell of burning flesh refused to leave his nostrils. For as long as he

lived, he knew the stench would stay imprinted on his mind, along with everything else about this place, including the people in it. Jetmir had watched him the entire time Sarah was burning even after she had stopped screaming. It wasn’t the act, that was getting him off, but Niklaus’ reaction to it. When he was alone again, or so he thought, Niklaus finally let himself break down. God, how pathetic he felt crying as though that could do anything to bring back the life that just been taken. All these years, all the taunts that everyone threw in his direction, they had been right. He hadn’t been a good choice for

her because in the end, he had been the one to get her killed. Even if it was no fault of his own, he still felt that way. He also knew that it wasn’t out of sympathy that the bag was placed back over his head, probably only put there so he wouldn’t see the next wave of suffering he was about to encounter. Niklaus sniffled, wishing he could wipe his face. He didn’t care much for his dignity--if there was even a shred left. In the span of minutes, he had lost everything. Then… He heard steps, quiet ones, but loud enough for him to tense in fear. Was this it?

Was this the end? He was almost grateful that it was finally here, and maybe, the crushing guilt that was sitting heavily in his chest would finally lift. Faster than Niklaus could have anticipated, one of the knives lodged in his chest was ripped free. He tried to grit his teeth against the pain, but it felt worse coming out than it had going in. A moment later, the other was ripped free as well. He felt cold, rough hands on him, pulling the shirt free from his skin, swiping away the blood that was flowing freely from his new wounds. There was a curse, or at least that was what Niklaus thought since he

couldn’t understand the language. If he had to guess, it was Valon, only because no one else had seemed even remotely moved by the fact that Niklaus had continuously tried to tell them how he wasn’t the man they were hunting. Without a word however, Valon moved away, leaving the bag in place, but what Niklaus heard next, for once, didn’t make him worry. Nothing could be worse than hearing Sarah screaming as she was burned alive. There was a grunt of surprise from someone across the room, the sharp sound of something splashing against the wall, and the thud of something heavy hitting the floor.

Then nothing… It seemed Sarah wouldn’t be the only one to die in this room.

CHAPTER FOUR

THOUGH HE MIGHT HAVE ONLY BEEN TWENTYone-years old, Mishca Volkov had seen many things in his short life, more than he should have really. Though it could be said, a few of those awful things had

been committed by his own hand. Since he was a boy, he had learned what it meant to lose someone you loved, learned that while his life may have been one of luxury and comfort for a spell, there was a price to pay for all of those things. He knew his family was different from others, not because of their financials, but because of the men that frequented the manor that had been his childhood home. For as long as he could remember, there had always been men wearing suits and carrying guns coming to meet with his father in the dead of night, all of them treating Mishca with the same respect his father received. He might not have known why this

was at the time, but he had learned to accept it as his due. By the time he was sixteen, Mishca had learned the true nature of his father’s business and the role that he would one day play. That wasn’t to say it would be handed to him freely. It didn’t matter that his father was the Pakhan—the Boss—of the Volkov Bratva, an extension of the Vory v Zakone, or Russian Mafia. To earn his title as Captain, he had to work for it, and work in their world involved fear and bloodshed. He had quickly begun making a name for himself, though it was still closely tied to his father’s, but the day he turned eighteen, he was given a job that awarded him the stars on his

chest and a second pair on his knees. When he had entered that smoky basement, ready to accept the marks of the Bratva, he was not as eager as some would have been in his position. After all, these stars were like a birthright to him. No, by this point, especially with what he had needed to do to earn them, he had begun to resent the life he had been given, even if it had found a way to dig itself under his skin. Since that night, he had acquired a small fortune and actually begun to manage his own crew of sorts, even at his young age. Some thought he would not be a good leader. He didn’t have their level of experience—namely the number of anonymous bodies left in

morgues without fingers or toes or teeth —but they couldn’t help but respect him. If there was nothing else he required of them, it was their respect. In his lower Manhattan apartment, Mishca lay on his back in the king-sized bed, completely naked, a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair on her knees at the foot of the bed, expertly taking his cock into her mouth. His scarred fingers were entangled in her hair, helping her along though with her talents, she didn’t need it. Perhaps it was because he’d been drinking a bottle of Vodka over the last hour that this was doing nothing for him. Naomi knew this, but she often liked to use sex to bend him to her will. He

could admit that after their first encounter in the Manhattan Public Library, back when he was still in school, her charms had worked on him and he had soon found himself under her spell, but Mishca hadn’t been raised a fool. Soon he realized just what she was trying to get from him. He knew at some point he would have to be rid of her, but until that day came, he would enjoy her. His Blackberry chimed incessantly where it lay on the nightstand. Though Naomi made to protest, pouting up at him, he ignored the look and grabbed his phone, answering as it was starting on its third ring. “Yeah?” He spoke in Russian, never wanting to talk business when Naomi

was in the room. “We need a meeting…now. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Without saying anything more, Mishca’s driver and bodyguard, Vlad, hung up. For as long as Mishca could remember, Vlad had been in his life, acting not just as an employee, but as a confidante as well. And more recently, his second-hand. If he was calling a meeting, it had to be important. Pushing Naomi off him, he headed into the closet, only stumbling once, dressing as quickly as he could. After punching in the combination to the safe, pulling out his gun, and closing it back, he reentered his bedroom. Watching him from her new position

on the bed, eyes glittering with awareness, Naomi was quickly over her sulking. Sometimes Mishca forgot she got off on that shit. “I’ll call you after.” That was all she ever got nowadays. The ‘I love yous’ had stopped a long time ago. He took the elevator down to the lobby, not surprised to see Vlad already waiting for him next to Mishca’s pride and joy, a black S-class Mercedes. The man was nearly as tall as Mishca, but with broader shoulders and graying hair. Vlad was at least two decades his senior, and yet, he still hadn’t made it any higher in the organization. In this, Mishca understood his

privilege. “What’s the problem?” Mishca asked as he slipped into the backseat, Vlad entering the front. “I got a call—not sure from who. He only said to tell my boss, ‘his brother is dead,’ then gave me an address—hung up after. But when I had someone trace it, it had come from a payphone, so not a lot of luck there.” “What the fuck?” That hadn’t been what Mishca was expecting at all. “Have you called Mikhail?” Vlad’s eyes cut to his in the rearview mirror. “Came to you first.” While he might have been recruited by Mikhail, Mishca’s father and the Pakhan, he was loyal to Mishca alone.

“Let’s take a look, and then we can decide what to do from there.” As they pulled off, Mishca contemplated the mysterious phone call, trying to figure out what the hell the person meant. By ‘boss’, the called could have meant either Mikhail or Mishca, but considering he hadn’t received a phone call himself, he doubted that Mikhail’s brother, Viktor, was who the caller meant. But…who else was there? Mishca didn’t have a brother, only a sister. The ride to the place they sought took longer than Mishca would have liked, but the alcohol swimming in his veins was making him antsy. He wasn’t

drunk, he rarely drank enough for that, but there was enough that he was feeling the effects. There were two cars outside the building when they arrived. And if Mishca’s eyes didn’t deceive him, there was also a dead body with a pool of blood around it as well. “The others should be arriving soon,” Vlad said as he killed the engine and they both climbed out of the car. Mishca had yet to learn the art of patience, and instead of waiting for their backup, he boldly went inside, gun in hand. Angry voices carried from the upper level of the building, and while he wanted to focus only on them, the crumpled bodies on the floor didn’t go

unnoticed. Mishca wasn’t sure what he had walked into, but he intended to find out. Vlad headed up the flight of stairs first, his gun aimed out in front of him, ready to shoot anyone that stood in their way. He paused at the top, waiting until Mishca cleared the stairs as well before they rounded the corner. Mishca made the mistake of stepping on a loose floorboard, the wood creaking beneath his shoe, causing the voices to silence. When he heard the unmistakable sound of guns being drawn, he didn’t think. Taking a breath as he turned, he fired off shots that hit two in the chest, sending another fleeing in the opposite direction. The two he had hit had managed to fire

off a few rounds, but their aim was off. The sound of tires squealing calmed Mishca because he knew that the one that had escaped out a back entrance was being dealt with. As he cleared the entryway, Mishca raised his gun once more, killing one of the two that was still moaning on the ground. The other raised his hands, like the action could ward off a bullet, but instead of killing him right away, Mishca turned to the man tied to the chair. This had to be the one the caller was referring to because the burned body across from him—a sight that even had Mishca turning away in disgust—was too small to be that of a man’s. But his confusion grew as he stepped

closer and saw the boy’s naked skin. Not a single tattoo adorned his skin. Whether it was professionally done or some scratcher work done in the basement of a house, every single man that worked under Mishca had a tattoo. Reaching for the bag that covered the man’s head, he didn’t know what to expect when he pulled it free, maybe some idiot that had been stupid enough to get caught by their enemies and chose to align himself to Mishca on the chance that it would get him free. Except, once he pulled that hood free, the fabric still clutched in his hand, he didn’t expect to be staring at himself. A thousand thoughts ran through his head at that moment, but none of them

were able to provide an answer to what he was seeing. It took a heartbeat, but the boy—he was more boy than man it seemed— forced his head up, his eyes locking on Mishca, and the moment they did, a variety of emotions lit up his face, from shock to confusion, and finally rage. “You!” This boy couldn’t have known who he was before this moment. Mishca had thought he’d known everything there was to know about his mother. She rarely, if ever, kept secrets from him…obviously except this one. A twin? How could she have possibly hidden this from Mikhail? And more

importantly, why hadn’t she told Mishca? He’d kept her confidence, even as a child, why hadn’t she told him? “It was you they wanted! Who the fuck are you? Huh! What the fuck did you take from them?” He was irate, jerking in the chair, his arms bloody from his struggles. Just seeing his face, Mishca was afraid to know what they had done to the rest of him. God, what all had they done to him? While he didn’t know what the boy —his brother?—was screaming about, he didn’t have time for hysterics. With the amount of bodies in this place, not to mention that someone had probably called Mikhail at this point, they needed

to get out of there. But, he didn’t want anyone to see the boy, for reasons he wasn’t ready to contemplate. He shoved the bag back over his head, but that did nothing to silence his cries, cries that had turned from anger to sobs. Cursing beneath his breath, Mishca circled him and wrapped an arm around the boy’s throat, applying pressure, hardening himself against the sounds of him gasping for breath. When he finally went limp, Mishca released his hold. Shoving a hand through his hair, a habit he had grown accustomed to when he was stressed, he gestured to the boy and said, “Get him out of here, and make sure no one sees his face. Tell no one of

him.” Vlad studied him a moment before nodding, never one to question an order. Mishca had grown used to the careful life he lived, one where surprises were foreign, but as his phone chimed once again, his father’s name flashing across the screen, he knew that there would be far more surprises uncovered in the upcoming days.

CHAPTER FIVE

NIKLAUS WAS IN AND OUT OF CONSCIOUSNESS for two days thanks to whatever drugs he had been drowning in. During the first, he had woken up in a strange room with bright lights, lying on his stomach on a

slab of cold steel as a man wearing a white lab coat sutured the wounds on his back. Luckily, whatever he’d been injected with—he could still remember the bite of the needle and the vague image of the murky liquid—had caused him to pass right back out. During this time, he didn’t remember any pain, could hardly remember his own name as he floated in a place that didn’t really exist. He only knew another day has passed when he’d roused once again and heard the conversation on the other side of the new room he was in. “What are you going to do about him?” A muffled voice asked. The other, and this one’s accent he remembered from the time he’d seen his

own face staring back at him, was quick to respond. “Nothing for now. Until I know more, I’m not going to tip my hand. For all I know, someone is fucking with me.” “But…” He sighed, the words seeming forced from him. “But I also knew my mother.” Before he could even contemplate what this meant, Niklaus was under again.

HE MIGHT HAVE WOKEN UP DISORIENTED, BUT Niklaus knew he was no longer held prisoner in the abandoned warehouse. He was lying on the softest bed he had ever felt, and while he still ached

considerably, it was a lot better than what he had felt just a short while ago. He didn’t move, trying to let his body adjust to the comfort, wanting to hold onto the feeling for just a little while longer, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Though it was all still a blur, pieces of memories came back, and one stuck out more than the others. He had a brother. One that, apparently, some people really wanted to kill. He remembered staring into identical blue eyes, seeing his own surprise reflected in their depths. It was clear that neither had known about the other, but what was clear was how his twin was

accustomed to the situation Niklaus had been in. The only shock he had been able to see was the fact that he had been looking at Niklaus, not at the room itself. When that look of shock had vanished, replaced with a look Niklaus hadn’t been able to read, his own surprise had shifted to anger as he realized that it was because of him that they had been taken. Sarah… Just the thought of her name, the memory of her smile, brought a pang to his chest that was far worse than any abuse his body had taken. For just a moment, the clean scent of the bedroom he was in vanished, replaced with the stench of burning flames. Niklaus shook his head hard, trying

to dispel the memory though he knew there was nothing he could do to escape it. He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, lost in his thoughts when he heard the voices carrying from outside the bedroom. Forcing himself up, he dragged his broken body from the bed, wincing with every limp he took towards the door. The closer he got, the easier it was for him to hear what was being said.

MISHCA STOOD OUTSIDE THE CLOSED DOOR, not knowing what to feel, how to act, or even what to do. On the other side was his twin, one that he hadn’t known

existed until twenty minutes prior. In that short span of time, everything he had thought he knew about his mother felt like a lie…but in a way, it also made sense. When she was alive, and during those times when she thought he wasn’t listening, he often remembered hearing her talking to herself about the sacrifices she had made, but he never had for a second thought that a baby had been that sacrifice. And Mishca didn’t even know his name. Jetmir Besnik was standing before him, discussing business with Mikhail as though he hadn’t just spent days torturing someone he had assumed to be a captain

in the Volkov Bratva. It sure as hell didn’t sit well with Mishca, and if he were in charge, Mishca would have happily killed them all for the discretion. It was for that reason Mikhail headed this impromptu meeting. He was nothing if not a businessman. He didn’t think about the fact that their plan was to torture Mishca, only what he would gain from it. “Are we in accord?” Mishca heard as he turned back into the conversation. Whatever the Albanians had offered him, it would never be enough for Mishca. Jetmir stuck out his hand. Mikhail shook it, as well as the hands of a few others who Jetmir had brought with him.

“Mishca?” He kept his face blank, but Mishca was burning with anger on the inside when Mikhail called his name. Mishca knew what the look Mikhail was giving him meant. As was their way, Mishca was required to shake with them as well, no matter how much it grated on him. But he wasn’t in any position to argue. Grudgingly, Mishca accepted Jetmir’s hand, meeting the man’s eyes. Whether Mikhail saw it, or just plain ignored it, Mishca could easily read Jetmir’s expression. He thought he had won this, and in a way, he had.

NIKLAUS COULD HARDLY BREATHE AS HE listened to the deal being struck. It didn’t matter that they were blood-related— that was abundantly clear with one look at the pair of them—this Mishca only seemed to care about how best to profit from this. He no longer felt the pain of his injuries. Snatching the door open, clearly catching the Russian off guard, Niklaus stormed out of the room. Jetmir, and the other man that had been speaking, were already gone. He tried to walk upright, God how he tried, but his body soon betrayed him, and he was forced to limp, reaching a hand out to the wall to keep his balance. Niklaus thought he might have seen a hint of compassion in the Russian’s eyes, but

that was gone before he could truly see it. “You’re just going to let them leave?” he asked, the words sounding foreign and strange since his face was still swollen and he hadn’t spoken in days. If his former tormentors though they had that look of indifference down, it was nothing compared to him. Mishca looked every bit the monster that he had saved Niklaus from. “It is none of your concern,” he returned without a hint of emotion in his voice. It was odd, hearing an accent that had once been soothing to hear. Back home with Malvina, he had loved to

listen to her tales from her motherland, teaching him the language she had grown up with. But now? It grated on his ears. Niklaus was shaking his head reflexively, refusing to believe what he was being told. “But they tortured me… and Sarah.” He’d nearly choked saying her name, but managed to get it out. He tried to swallow down the emotion threatening to overtake him, felt treacherous tears stinging his eyes, and knew the exact moment when the Russian saw them. At first, he hadn’t known why he didn’t want him to see his pain, but now, he understood. If anything, his impassive face grew angry at the sight of Niklaus’ anguish, as though he was failing him in some way.

“Why did you come here?” the Russian spat at him. “What was your purpose?” Niklaus was surprised by his anger, especially now that it was targeted at him as though he had asked for this instead of being victim to a crime that hadn’t even been meant for him. When he made to answer, the Russian cut him off. “Never mind. Go back to that room. There’s nothing more for us to discuss at this time. When I need you, I’ll send for you.” The Russian turned his back, dismissing him as though he were a child, as though Niklaus was beneath him.

“What if he had killed someone you loved?” Niklaus called after him, in some desperate attempt to get him to understand, hoping Mishca could at least sympathize. But he seemed to not feel such things. “I wouldn’t have let her die. Don’t blame your weakness on me.” And that only made another piece of Niklaus break away. Turning around, he headed back into the room he’d woken up in, slamming the door shut behind him, turning the lock. In a fit of rage, he put his fist through the wall, feeling the immediate pain radiate up his arm. While he was no longer a prisoner of the men that had taken him, in this place, he wasn’t free either.

CHAPTER SIX

ESCAPE WAS HIS ONLY OPTION. No one had bothered him in the room he’d been given. He wasn’t even sure if there was still someone in the apartment with him, except three times a day

someone knocked and left food outside the door for him. It would be best if he got out of there before anyone returned. As he had sat alone, he thought back over the conversation he had overheard. Neither of the Russians had seemed to care anything about him. That much was obvious since they were so willing to barter with the men that had wanted Mishca in the first place. Who was to say that if those men made the Russians an offer, they wouldn’t be more than willing to turn him over, or worse, kill him because of all that he had witnessed. He couldn’t go to the police, especially since he didn’t know where he had been kept, and with the way these men acted, he doubted the police could

help him. Niklaus didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew that staying put in another strange room with people he didn’t know or trust was not the best option. Since there was nothing of his in the room, leaving this place was easier, though his heart did skip a beat when he exited the room and turned the corner, finding a man seated with a newspaper in hand. From the bulge at his hip, it was clear he was carrying a weapon, and with his proximity to the front door, there was no way Niklaus could get past him. Trying to think of a quick plan, he shuffled through ideas, but was spared

when an exclamation sounded from the kitchen, sending the guard in that direction. Grateful for the distraction, he quickly fled the apartment, foregoing the elevator for the stairs, taking them as quickly as he could. Only a short while later he was outside breathing in the stench of exhaust and cold air, but after his time with those men in the building, Niklaus breathed it in deeply. He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, glad that he could move more easily. Curious gazes shot in his direction, but no one offered to help him, nor did anyone give him a second glance. It was almost like he was invisible despite his appearance.

The adrenaline of his escape was wearing off, leaving him depleted and before long. He didn’t think he could go any further. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so weak, and despite having ate only hours earlier, he felt lightheaded. Turning down an alley, he dropped to the ground next to a dumpster, trying to catch his breath as a feeling of helplessness rose inside of him once more. Squeezing his eyes shut and balling his fists, he forced himself to swallow it all back down. He survived, that was what mattered. No matter what else, he had survived. But at what cost…

Niklaus jerked his head up when he heard the clang of a bottle being kicked on the ground, fear seizing him as he thought they had already found him. With one eye still nearly swollen shut, it was hard to make out the man that was moving towards him. Even with that hindrance, the man seemed to stick to the shadows despite the looming sun, and only when he stepped into a small patch of sunlight could Niklaus even make out the silvery strands of his hair. He was dressed in a black turtleneck, same colored trousers, and expensive looking leather shoes. Even with the scar that sat just above his top lip, he didn’t look to be any older than his early fifties.

“I’m not going back,” Niklaus uttered finding his voice, scanning the ground for a weapon of some sort. If they were going to try and take him, he would fight. “That’s not my offer.” While he might have spoken softly, he had a strong voice, one that made Niklaus pause in his movements, trying to see the man better. Another thing that made him stop was his lack of an accent. “Who are you? Do you work for those Russians? Are you here to kill me?” “Who I am is unimportant. I’ve come to offer you a gift.” This was all some kind of fucking bad dream. Tomorrow, he would wake

up with a hell of a hangover, in his hotel room with Sarah asleep beside him. There would be no Russians, no other crazy foreigners, and definitely not a mysterious man making him an offer in an alley. “What kind of gift?” “Vengeance against the Albanians that brought you to this point.” Russians and Albanians? This was too much. Niklaus laughed bitterly, gesturing at himself. “I don’t think I can do anything. I couldn’t even help my…” He trailed off, refusing to finish that statement. “But you will,” he went on. “Once you learn the trade of dead men.” That didn’t even make sense. “What

are you talking about? And what do you get out of this?” “There’s only one way you can find out.” Niklaus noticed then, the idling truck at the curb, black with tinted windows. Had they been following him the entire time? “How do I know the Russian didn’t send you?” The man with the white hair merely shrugged. “You don’t, but you can’t expect to hide from them forever, can you? They will find you, whether the Besniks or the Volkovs. Eventually, they will catch up to you. You know the police will be of no help, do you not? No matter how you spin the tale, the

blame of your lover’s death will rest upon you by the time they finish with you. Is that what you want?” He wanted to believe his story would be enough, that his own wounds would be enough, but the man’s words had him doubting himself. He hesitated. He could walk away. He doubted the man would stop him if he tried, but like he said, he would only get so far before they found him again. And after all he had suffered at their hands, did he not want revenge? “What would I have to do?” Niklaus asked, meeting the man’s gaze. Slowly, the man smiled as though that was the answer he had been waiting for.

CHAPTER SEVEN

COLD. That was the only thing Niklaus registered for the next few hours. Like before, time was an odd thing as he was moved from one vehicle to another, and

if he wasn’t mistaken, a plane as well. As they passed through the rolling gates, the bag was removed from Niklaus’ head, and as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in through the back windows, he wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of the hood was. Besides the concrete building looming ahead, there was nothing left to see. There were trees, lots of them, and besides the guards with vicious looking dogs, the place looked rather abandoned. By the time he was back on the ground, nearly half a day had passed unbeknownst to him. A single car ride later, he was being transported into an armored compound that resembled a prison more than a training facility. It

definitely didn’t look like a place that he would want to enter after his captivity. And it definitely didn’t look like a place that the man who had found him would frequent. Soon, he was hustled out of the van towards the entrance. Various corridors faded to the background of his mind as he walked through dozens of doors as his surroundings began to blend into themselves. Finally, as they reached the end of a long hallway where a lone door loomed ahead of them, Niklaus began to second guess his decision to come to this place, even more so when that door was opened and he was pushed inside. Still weak from his injuries, he

stumbled, hitting the concrete floor hard as he rolled over to keep them in his sights. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of them as they all stared down at him with the door open at their backs. All of them wore ski masks and dark clothing, and while their arms rested at their sides. Niklaus didn’t doubt that they were waiting for him to make a move. After a moment, they shuffled to the side as the man from the alley appeared in the doorway, surveying Niklaus with casual indifference. The light illuminated his profile, making him seem like some sort of god, but Niklaus didn’t believe in that. Not anymore.

“You are not a prisoner here,” the man said. “This door will remain unlocked and should you choose to leave, no one will stop you. If you choose to stay, however, the life you led outside this room will cease to exist.” The man came forward then, crouching down so he was eye-level with Niklaus. “I am not cruel. I’ll at least tell you what to expect. First, they will break your mind, then—if you are sane enough to notice—they will break your body. By the end, you will beg for death, far worse than anything those Albanians put you through.” One by one, the men exited until there was no one left but the man and Niklaus.

“But should you finish your training, you will be better for it. And you may even thank me for what you become.” The man turned for the door, but before he could leave, Niklaus called out to him. “What? What will I become?” Only glancing back for half a second, the man said two words that made a chill run down Niklaus’ spine. “A weapon.”

HE COULDN’T SEE A THING, NOT SINCE THEY left him in complete darkness, on his stomach in the center of the room. Even noise evaded him, only the sound of his heavy breathing and the occasional

person walking outside the door granted him any reprieve. And somehow, food was always put into his room without him ever seeing the person who left it. Niklaus couldn’t say how long he had been in the room, and the longer he laid there, the more time his mind had to focus. Not on the mysterious place he now resided in—though he had had plenty of time for that as the possibilities were endless—but after so long, his thoughts had drifted from the present to the one place he didn’t want to revisit. Sarah. Thoughts of her plagued him, hounded his every breathing moment to the point that he could almost swear he smelled her perfume surrounding him,

that soft lilac fragrance a comfort in the barren recesses of his mind. The further he slipped into that headspace, the less pain he was in. She was smiling at him, the only look he ever wanted to see on her face. Before he knew it, Niklaus was reaching for her, wanting to touch her to make sure she was real, but as his fingers came into contact with her skin, he burned. Jerking his hands away, he stared at them, wondering why he hurt. An apology was ready at his lips, but as he looked to Sarah, flames were consuming her, slowly melting her flesh away, but all the while, she stared at him, pleading with her eyes.

“I-I…” He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t force the words out if he tried. Niklaus couldn’t even bring himself to look away as he watched her burn to nothing, and as she did, the memories of his time with the Albanians came rushing in. The smell of burning flesh… The pain he suffered… The laughter… The crying… His weakness… Niklaus didn’t realize he’d been screaming all over again until a piercing sound emanating from the walls woke him, making him cringe and slap his hands over his ears. His throat was raw, his cheeks wet with tears.

He was almost glad for the sound, if only because it drew him out of a terrible place, but as quickly as the sound had started, it tapered off, leaving a slight ringing in his ears. Niklaus moved to sit up, flexing his arms, feeling the strength returning. His back was itching like mad, but he was thankful for this because it meant he was healing. The physical pain was finally dulling, the mental…well that still lingered. For a while, Niklaus had forgotten about the echoing noise that had woken him from his nightmare, at least until it started again, seeming louder than last time. This time, when it tapered off, it was only gone for seconds before it

started back up again. Time and time again, the sound came to life, ringing ever louder. He had mistakenly tried to time it, wanting to prepare himself for the next burst, but soon the intervals in which it played changed, making him wary every time silence filled the room. Next came the lights. From complete darkness to the brightest and hottest lights he had ever seen. They nearly blinded him, making his head pound as his pupils dilated painfully. For the longest time, the two sensory items alternated, working in accord until he was on the floor, just trying to remember how to breathe. Soon, he thought he heard a voice

within the shrill sounds, and was almost inclined to laugh at the thought. Even in his miserable state, he never forgot that the door was still there, waiting for his failure and cowardice to bring him to it, but even as the pain went on, and he finally found himself crawling across the floor for it, his arm shaking terribly as he reached for the knob, he never opened it. A piece of him, no matter how small that piece was, refused to let himself give up. When he dropped his arms to his sides out of pure exhaustion, everything shut off once more and he was left to the darkness. His old friend…

THE DOOR SWUNG OPEN, MAKING NIKLAUS jolt as he rolled to see who stood there. He felt wired, his movements jerky as he forced himself to a sitting position, trying to get a better look at the man coming towards him. He couldn’t be much older than Niklaus, maybe a few years, but he had the eyes of a man that had seen many things. Unlike before, he was not wearing a mask. At least Niklaus thought he was one of the men that had dragged him into this room based on the tattoos that circled his forearm. Or was that somebody else? Niklaus was losing it… In one hand he held a plate, in the

other a glass of water. How long had it been since Niklaus last ate? He couldn’t care less about the food, his attention focused solely on the water. They both were set down a few feet from him, but Niklaus waited until the man took a step back before reaching for the water, drinking it down as fast as possible, not noticing that because of his trembling hands, water was sliding down his chin and wetting his shirt. As the man backed away, Niklaus’ grip on the glass grew tighter. He didn’t know how much more he could withstand. The man from the alley had been right. Physical torture was one thing, this was worse…and they hadn’t

even touched him. His will was slowly deteriorating. Hesitating in the doorway, his arms now folded across his chest, he took a moment to study Niklaus, seeming to reach a conclusion. His next words both fortified Niklaus’ resolve and terrified him more. “Do not fear death,” he said in a gravelly, lilting accent. “Embrace it. Pain is inevitable, learn to love it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

HIS HAND OUT BESIDE HIM, NIKLAUS TAPPED out a cadence on the concrete with his thumb and middle finger, forming a rhythm that only he could understand. After his last visitor, no one else came

back to the room, but the lights and sounds had started right back up. He had eaten the food brought to him, and ended the stomach pains he hadn’t realized were plaguing him. This time, even as the madness crept ever near, he didn’t try to block it out— didn’t try not to feel anything. Instead, he gave himself over to it, letting the sounds penetrate his ears and the lights bleed into his eyes and warming his skin. He held onto the man’s words like a lifeline, finally giving himself over to the very thing that was threatening to take him over. Madness. He was beginning to welcome him like an old friend… It was like a sickness, slowly

poisoning him the longer he remained in that room, but gradually, that madness turned into something else, something he couldn’t identify. He thought of the faces of the Albanians, committing them to memory, burning them there to the point that if he was asked years from now what they looked like, he’d be able to paint a clear picture. He vowed to himself that he would make them feel exactly how he felt at his lowest moment. And although Mishca, his twin brother and savior, should have been the lone person in that entire fucked-up situation that he was grateful for, his fury burned brightest for him. He didn’t know when, and he didn’t

know how, but one day he was going to make that Russian pay. It was only a matter of time… Very soon, Niklaus no longer reacted to the lights and sounds. Whenever one, or both, came on, he blinked like it was all second nature. Finally, after what had felt like days locked in that hole, the door opened once more, the man from the alley walking in, along with the one that had brought him food, and a few others. Since they were all there sans masks, he figured that he had passed the first test. He was brought from that room to another one that had windows. He gave them the briefest of glances, taking in as much of the outside as he could, before

he devoted his attention to the other occupants. For all he could discern about his location, he could have been down the street from the first place he'd been held, or across the ocean in an entirely different country. The new room Niklaus entered was brightly lit with LED lights across the ceiling, a steel slab of a table and chairs cutting the room in half. He sat in one, no one speaking to him, or he to them. The man from the alley took the opposite one. “Niklaus, I don’t believe I’ve given you my name. Call me Z.” That was an odd name to go by—or letter—but he didn’t question it, merely nodded.

“How has your week in the hole been?” A week? One week? It had felt like ages had passed in that darkened room. How exactly was he expected to answer that question? “Fine.” “And your injuries?” Truthfully, they had been the last thing on Niklaus mind considered what else he had been preoccupied with inside that room. He wasn’t at onehundred percent, but better than where he had started. “They were worse.” The corner of Z’s mouth tipped up, but he didn’t offer a response to that. “Considering you’ve come to the Den

broken, your training will be considerably harder than most.” There was something worse? He gestured to the only one that Niklaus recognized—the one that had brought him the food and water. Now that he was out of that room, it was easier to make out what Celt—a nam he had heard someone else use—looked like. Tall, as most of the men in the room were, he had broad shoulders and green eyes that almost seemed too light, along with a full beard that was about a shade or two lighter than his darker hair. With only the slightest of chin lifts, Celt acknowledged Z’s words. “He’ll be overseeing your training.

Only he will determine when you’re ready. I suggest you try and best him or you’ll never see the outside of this place again.” But the question was, best him at what? He still had no clue who they were or what they did. Soldiers? Doubtful. Assassins? Maybe. Z climbed to his feet, nodding back at Celt. “Training starts now.”

ANY SENSE OF UNDERSTANDING NIKLAUS thought he possessed about Celt disappeared the moment they were alone, and in another room with concrete floors and an array of weaponry in a glass case across the back wall. The

first time they entered, Niklaus had been instructed to pick a weapon, any of the number that were on display. With his body still healing, he had decided against his fists, choosing one that looked like a rather large stick. Niklaus was satisfied, at least until he saw the flash of a smirk on Celt’s face. That should have been his first clue that this wouldn’t be nearly as easy as he had hoped. Celt didn’t pick a weapon, and minutes later, Niklaus learned why. He didn’t need one. No matter how Niklaus struck out with his weapon, whether it be spontaneous or calculated, Celt avoided the blow, sidestepping each one.

“You’re too predictable,” he said, catching the stick the next time Niklaus swung, pulling it free from his grasp and tossing it across the room. “You’re showing me everything—that’s your weakness. You’ll be dead in an hour.” The more he talked, the worse Niklaus felt. He already had enough baggage weighing him down, and worse were the memories that plagued him of how helpless he had felt in that house with Jetmir and the others. They had so easily overpowered him, and the idea of that happening all over again had Niklaus tossing his other weapon, letting it clatter to the floor as he faced Celt once more. Celt had his guard up, that much was

clear despite how he tried to put on a relaxed air. It was obvious he expected Niklaus to attack him now, lash out because of his words, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Show me.” “Show you what?” Celt returned, but Niklaus could tell by the way he asked the question that the man knew exactly what he was asking. “Show me how not to lose.”

SITTING IN THE BOILER ROOM, SHIRTLESS, sweating, Niklaus kept his breaths even as Celt tugged on thick, black gloves, wrapping his hand around the handle of the rod sticking out of glowing red coals. As it was pulled free, the end of it

glowed vibrantly, forcing his eyes to the symbol there. He had been training for this moment even if he hadn’t known it at the time. Six months spent in a padded room with Celt teaching him how to fight, and which weapons were best to use. His training was tedious, to the point that even in his dreams, he was assembling and disassembling weaponry, learning every little aspect there was. It was one of Celt’s rules, one of the many that he’d told Niklaus over the course of their work together: learn your weapon, or die trying to use it. It hadn’t just been Celt teaching him however. Over the next few months, there had been others, a team of sorts

that came in and out his life sporadically. After Celt, there had been Calavera, a specialist in knives that would have put Valon to shame. Though he sported more cuts than he would have liked after their time together, he appreciated the knowledge more. After her came Skorpion, Grimm, and another man whose name Niklaus still didn’t know. He didn’t know where they came from, or where they went, but they had all offered him some knowledge that would serve him well for his duration with the Den. All of it, more than thirteen months of training had led up to this point where there would be no turning back from the

path he had taken. With a single mark, he would be branded with the very thing he needed to get the revenge he sought... He had only a spare moment to take it in before Z signaled for two—ones Niklaus had worked with, but had yet to learn their names—to come forward and grab hold of him, keeping him in place. Niklaus knew what to expect—Celt had warned him. Dropping his head forward, he drew in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him. It was quiet for so long that Niklaus wasn’t sure if this entire process was only meant to frighten him, but just as he’d begun to relax, his shoulders slouching, Celt pressed the heated metal to his flesh.

The agony was enough to make his eyes water, but he gritted his teeth to get through it, refusing to cry out even as the pain threatened to force it out of him. He was sure he would pass out before the process was over, but worse was the overwhelming scent of burning flesh that suffocated him. It brought back memories better left to the past. However, before he could sink too deeply into them, Celt pulled the rod away, the heavy metal clanging on the floor after he dropped it. When the hands on him disappeared, Niklaus felt lightheaded and weak, almost to the point that he was seeing stars, but he managed to stay upright, blinking to clear his vision as they all

circled to stand in front of him. He was careful not to move his head too much, not wanting to make the pain any worse, but he made it his mission to look at them all. From the very beginning, Niklaus had never seen Celt crack, never a smile, or any expression besides the blank, emotionless mask he always wore, but now for the first time, a hint of a smile curled his lips as he nodded at Niklaus. “Welcome to the Den, Red.”

CHAPTER NINE

2012 SHOULDERING HIS DUFFEL BAG, NIKLAUS kept his gaze at his feet, even with the opaque sunglasses concealing his gaze.

It only took a single person, or the right angle of a security camera, to catch his face, and blow up his carefully crafted identity. Thankfully, most people by nature were unobservant, too lost in their own lives to remember someone that excelled at remaining forgettable. Usually the jobs he took were sanctioned, preplanned ops that only required him to show up, pull the trigger, and disappear with the help of an entire organization. But today’s job? This one was his alone. Though it was the middle of the day when most people were roaming the streets, Niklaus couldn’t put it off any longer—not if he wanted to end the man’s life on this side of the Pacific.

Careful not to brush anybody as he moved, Niklaus slipped like a ghost through the crowded streets, heading for the five-story building a block away. Before turning the corner, entering the alley that had the sharp scent of rot and garbage clinging to it, he checked the time on his watch, making sure he was on schedule. Even a few seconds could mean the difference in success and failure. Fingering the key in his pocket, Klaus pulled it free, slipping it into the lock, twisting until the door popped open. Heading up the back stairwell, he made it to the roof. Dumping his bag, he moved to the edge, just close enough so he could see over. At least a hundred

feet down, stuck on one of the street signs that stood there was an orange flag taped to one side, one he had placed there weeks ago. He waited, watching as it barely fluttered in the brief winds that blew. For now, conditions were perfect. Stowing his glasses away, Niklaus crouched, unzipping the duffel, carefully removing the piece of rifle inside. A year and a half of brutal training, another six months of shadowing his mentor, Celt, and finally a year of working on his own had prepared him for this very day —the day he would take the life of a man for no other reason than because he wanted it ended. Artem was no innocent, not like some Niklaus had needed to hunt down

in the past. He was knee deep in human trafficking, sold guns to anyone that was willing to buy, and had a plethora of men that were willing to kill for him at a snap of his fingers. But it wasn’t for these crimes that Niklaus had decided to put a bullet in his head. No, it was because two years ago, before Niklaus had become the welltrained soldier he was, Artem had helped take something from him. Someone that had meant more to Niklaus than words could do justice. For Sarah, Artem would die. No, Artem hadn’t been there that day, but he had been part of the long line of men that had made that day possible, which meant he shared just as much

responsibility as the others. For all intents and purposes, the man was getting off easy compared to the hell Niklaus had rained down on others, and for what he had planned for the main three that had been in the room with him. Jetmir, Valon, and Fatos. After he had learned their names, he never forgot them. The first would die slowly, painfully, and in every way that he didn’t know he feared until Niklaus was too spent to do anything more. For him, he would take his time and savor every minute. The second, he would be tortured as Niklaus had been, then he would die too. The last? A combination of the two.

But those three were for another day. If not for the lot of them, Niklaus didn’t think he would be on the rooftop, ready to take Artem’s life. Perhaps Artem only had himself to thank for his own death. Assembling his rifle, Niklaus checked the scope before moving to the edge of the roof once more, his back to the brick fixture on his left. Staring across to the restaurant, Niklaus clocked every man milling about the place, oblivious to the danger they were all in. He, especially, paid close attention to Artem, who looked to have gained a hundred pounds since the last time Niklaus had seen him. He held a glass of brown liquor in his meaty fist,

the fat around his neck jiggling as he laughed boisterously at whatever one of his men was saying to him. Seeing him so happy when Niklaus was plagued with guilt made anger simmer to life inside him, but there was no place for that. Not anymore. Exhaling, Niklaus centered his thoughts, concentrating on the present, letting his training take over. For men that prided themselves on being untouchable, a large number of them stuck to the same routine every day, making it far too easy to learn their schedule and track them down. Niklaus had only just decided to go after one of them when he was sent to New York on an assignment and saw Artem walking

the streets with his security detail. As soon as the job had ended, Niklaus had reached out to a few contacts he’d garnered over the last year, trying to get as much information as possible. Two weeks later, he knew every move Artem made and would make. It was almost laughable how easy it had all been. Snapping to attention, Niklaus’ gloved finger slipped around the trigger as he watched and waited. The security rose first, keeping a uniformed line as they headed out the door first, checking for any threat on the street before their boss was to exit. Niklaus didn’t withhold his smile. The idiots never bothered to look up.

No one ever did. Artem stepped outside, tugging at the bottom of his suit jacket as though that may help it move further down over his girth. He was smiling, gesturing wildly as his truck was pulling up. Niklaus didn’t get anxious, just waited until Artem was lined up exactly where he needed him, the target now on his forehead. One breath in… Artem waved to someone… Niklaus exhaled. He pulled the trigger. The rifle recoiled as the bullet shot through the chamber and out of the barrel, moving with lightning speed across the distance to land in the center

of Artem’s forehead. Pandemonium erupted as Artem’s security whipped out their guns, searching for an enemy they couldn’t see, civilians screaming as they ran for cover. Niklaus didn’t stick around to admire his work. Disassembling his rifle in seconds—a talent he had learned from one of the best—he dropped the pieces into the bag and took off, leaving nothing behind, not even the shell casing. Forty-five seconds from rooftop to alley… Blood rushing in his ears, Niklaus ignored the cries of alarm, focusing more on the men barking orders in Albanian, on the hunt for him.

He’d almost cleared the alley when two of the Albanians finally caught sight of him. Niklaus kept moving, pretending like he hadn’t heard them call out. Adrenaline and rage coursed through him, a combination that didn’t prove well for the two confronting him. This organization had taken so much from him… He was no longer afraid. Reaching for the gun holstered at his back, he had his finger on the trigger before the two comprehended that he was the one they wanted. He put two bullets in each of their chests before either could reach for their weapons. Two blocks down, his car was waiting, the keys already in the ignition.

It hardly looked like it ran so there hadn’t been any worry someone would try to steal it while he was on the roof. Tossing his duffel into the backseat, he started the car, the engine roaring to life. He didn’t pull off right away, letting the comfort of his car calm him a moment before he finally put the car in drive and eased out, following the flow of traffic. One hand on the wheel, he used the other to brush the damp strands of his hair back out of his face. Glancing over at the digital display that lit up the dash, Niklaus still didn’t let himself enjoy the satisfaction of another job well done. Not yet.

A BELL CHIMED AS NIKLAUS ENTERED THE diner in Hell’s Kitchen, a few curious eyes shifted in his direction before turning back to their own menus. Pushing back the wet hood of his jacket, he shrugged out of it as he headed for an empty booth in the back, one that was near the windows and still proved a decent vantage point to see the rest of the place. Thankfully, the weather had turned to shit after he’d finished with Artem. He was a good shot, but rain would have made the job a lot harder than it needed to be. When he had left his motel room earlier, needing a minute away from the place, and had found the diner not very

far away, the light drizzle had turned to heavy rains, nearly soaking him through, but he didn’t mind it. He found comfort in it. Reaching his booth, he tossed his jacket on the vacant side, taking his own seat as he picked up the laminate menu that looked like it had been printed in the late seventies, scanning his options. He wasn’t much of a picky eater. There was something about greasy food and tacky decor that had drawn him to this place. It reminded him of home. He had only begun to read the other side of the menu listing every kind of sandwich they offered when he noticed someone moving towards him out the corner of his eye.

While he didn’t sense a threat, he tensed up anyway, swinging his gaze in that direction. Even though he knew plenty of women that were just as capable as he was—Calavera for one—this one didn’t look like she could hurt anyone. She wore a pale yellow uniform with a red apron tied around a tiny waist, and while the clothes weren’t the most flattering, they did nothing to take away from her overall appeal. She was pale with an abundance of freckles on her face, a button nose, and light auburn hair that looked like it was trying to fight its way free of the bun she had it in. No jewelry adorned her skin, and she didn’t look to be wearing any makeup, but that

didn’t mean Niklaus didn’t find her attractive. She was definitely that. However, she did look tired. Bags under her eyes, her steps carefully measure as though she had been on her feet all day. When she reached his side, still keeping a safe distance between them, she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. “Hi, I’m Reagan. I’ll be your server. What can I start you off with tonight?” “Coffee.” She nodded, not bothering to write that down. “Do you need a few more minutes with the menu, or are you ready to order?” Stretching an arm out in front of him,

he tapped his thumb against the linoleum, keeping in time with his heartbeat—a calming tactic that he had quickly learned if he wanted to survive the madness that threatened to take him under after a kill. Her gaze flickered down to the movement, and then she turned those wide eyes back on him and blinked, almost like she was truly seeing him for the first time. Tilting his head a fraction, he asked, “How’s the steak?” Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Reagan looked thoughtful a moment before answering his question. “They’re good. Haven’t heard any complaints.” “And you? Do you like them?” Niklaus wasn’t sure what compelled

him to ask, but his curiosity had gotten the best of him. A blush crept its way up her neck, staining her cheeks. He wasn’t sure whether it was from his questions, or the fact that he was staring. Why was he staring? Clearing her throat, she nodded again. “I’ll take one, medium rare. Fries on the side.” “I’ll get that right in for you.” “Thanks.” But his words were lost on her as she had already headed back towards the window that looked into the kitchen. He watched her go, taking in the details of the rest of her. She was curvy, curvier

than what he usually preferred, but he couldn’t deny, especially as she leaned over the counter calling out to a ‘Reggie,’ that he was drawn to her— whatever the fuck that meant. On the other hand, maybe it was just the way her ass looked in that skirt. Either way, he needed to get laid. While he waited for his food, he looked around at the other diners, feeling a bit out of place around people that looked relatively normal compared to him. They might all have been out for a late dinner, or just passing the time with present company, but only a few hours ago, Niklaus had killed a man, and was now here to remind himself that he was still human—that he wasn’t too far gone

and not just a walking weapon. Since the very first time he had pulled the trigger, ending the life of a man that had the misfortune of having his name in a file, Niklaus had tried to find a routine, something to keep him grounded and not lost in his own morbid thoughts. Ever since, Niklaus had went out to eat afterwards. The first time, he’d promptly thrown up all of his food when he’d thought about what he had done. After the third, he was able to keep the food down, and after the sixth, he no longer thought about it. Death was a part of the world, now he just offered a helping hand. It had been enough for a time, just enjoying a meal, reminding himself that

he was human, but the adrenaline pumping through him wouldn’t stop, and soon he was too antsy to just focus on the food. He had tried to ignore his baser needs, not wanting to taint the memory he had of Sarah, but one night when he had been walking the streets alone, he’d given in, fucking a random girl against a wall, not giving a shit what her name was. He had felt sick after, but rationalized it by thinking that as long as he didn’t care for them, as long as they were just a forgetful face, then what he was doing wasn’t wrong. Niklaus sought Reagan out again, watching as she went over to a table of frat boys and pasted on a less than

sincere smile. Maybe she didn’t have a forgettable face, but he was still intrigued by her. At least his dick was. Most days Niklaus didn’t feel human, let alone have the capacity to feel something other than disdain for other people. Unbeknownst to the boys at the table, Niklaus watched their interaction, reading Reagan’s body language, trying to gauge how she felt. Within seconds, he could discern that she was uncomfortable, even at his distance. When she’d been with him, she had kept her distance but was at least open. With them, she looked like she was close to running away.

Yeah, Niklaus knew their kind well. For a moment, Niklaus thought about stepping in, putting an end to it himself since she didn’t seem like she was going to, but with his occupation, it didn’t afford him the luxury of gaining untoward attention. So against his better judgment, he sat back and watched. When she finally managed to get free of them, she brought over a mug, placing it in front of him, and filling it with coffee from the pot she held in her other hand. She gifted him a small smile before turning to walk away, but before she could, Niklaus made her pause. “They giving you a hard time?” He knew the answer to this already, but phrased it as a question all the same.

She waved her hand. “No more than anyone else.” Her lips parted, her eyes widening as she realized what she’d said and how it might have sounded. “Not that you’re bothering me or anything.” Unbidden, a smile formed. “I hope not.” She stared at him, like she was trying to decipher the meaning behind his words when the bell in the window rang as a meaty hand slammed down on it. Reagan looked from him to it and back again. “That’s probably your food. I’ll be right back.” Sauntering away, she returned soon after with his order, hesitating before she

left again, like she wanted to talk to him but didn’t know what to say. He could have entertained it for a bit seeing as she didn’t seem to want to go back over to the frat boys, but Niklaus ultimately thought better of it. There was only one thing he wanted from her, and she didn’t seem like the type to just jump into anyone’s bed. Most girls like that had a way of making that fact known. He wouldn’t mind sharing a room with her for a few hours, but time was escaping him and he needed to get back to checkin. Despite this, he took his time eating his steak, watching Reagan work, seeing how her personality came to life when she was serving an elderly couple. He

didn’t know how long he’d sat there after his food was gone, but when he realized it, he tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and took his leave. He didn’t have it in him for anything more than a short time in a bed. He had nothing left to offer. But as he stepped out into the night, turning his hood up, he could practically feel her eyes on him. And worse…he was tempted to turn around and look back.

CHAPTER TEN

“ORDER UP!” After twenty-two years, Reagan knew what true pain was. She had spent the last sixteen hours on her feet, tirelessly working her tables, alternating

between bringing and taking plates, along with cleaning tables as she went, all the while keeping a smile on her face though she thought only of strangling half the guys that had come in. It hadn’t always been so busy at the diner where she worked, not until a popular food blogger had named it one of the top five dives in Hell’s Kitchen. After that, half the city decided to show up, and most of those were rich hipsters, who might have looked interesting, but mostly had bad attitudes. She was thankful, despite the tiring work, because it increased her income enough that she was finally able to quit one of the two other jobs she’d had besides the diner, and was even able to

start saving a little towards getting an apartment so she could move out of her parents’ place. The hours were more grueling however, leaving her with little time for anything else. Delivering the order to her last table for the moment, she did a quick scan, making sure no one needed anything before heading back to the counter. It was another uneventful night, but she was glad that it wasn’t so busy. She’d worked a double the last two nights, so she was glad she could take a moment to get off her feet. Despite how tiring the work could be, she was grateful for the diner and the hours that kept her away from home. It was practically an oasis, the only time

where she didn’t feel the constant anxiety of living with a drunk for a father and a mother who was subservient to said drunk. Since she still lived with them, unlike her brother Jimmy who had moved out, and her other brothers who were just…gone, she was privy to many of her father’s drunken tirades. Before, she hadn’t minded living at home despite all of her friends having moved on to college or getting their own places and a jump on life, but that was back when her father still had a job at the gas plant. When he’d first been laid off, he had been fine, making new plans, wanting to open up the pub that he had always talked about. ‘The family legacy,’ he had once said during one of his bouts of

sobriety. There were plenty of places for food in New York City, but not enough people that were willing to hand out a loan for a ‘legacy.’ He had taken that hard, drowning his sorrows in whiskey. Soon, he was drinking through their savings, and because Reagan’s mother had never worked a day in her life, it was up to Reagan to become the new breadwinner for the household. She loved helping her family, but she hated the sheer amount of responsibility at the same time. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be carefree for a change and not have to worry about whether or not their lights were going to be cut off.

Maybe one day that wouldn’t be a worry anymore. “And I told him, what kind of girl do you take me for? I mean, I like a good threesome as much as the next girl, but only—and here’s the lesson in this—I get to pick the other girl.” Reagan smiled as she caught the tail end of what Shan was saying, recounting her weekend with on-again-off-again boyfriend, Joey. They had attended the same Catholic girl’s school and had been best friends for as long as Reagan could remember. Now, Shan was Irish-American through and through, but a good Catholic girl, she was not. The sexual escapades she and Joey got up to—at least the ones

she shared at the diner—were definitely not supposed to be mentioned in polite conversation. But that was Shan, loud and brash, but loyal to a fault. “I mean, if I had to pick a girl, it would be Reagan, you know what I mean? Just look at her. Her body is ten times better than mine. I’m jealous.” Shan playfully swatted her butt as she said this, making Reagan laugh along with her, even as Reggie shook his head at the pair of them. “So what did he say when you told him no?” Reagan asked as she joined in on the conversation, reaching for the salt and pepper shakers to fill since she was sitting there. Shan shook her head, giving her a

droll stare. “I never said I told him no.” The sound of her laughter nearly drowned out the chiming bell as another customer came in. Reagan shook her head. “Of course you didn’t.” Reagan couldn’t say she had ever felt someone’s presence before, not like right then. She hadn’t even looked behind her, yet the moment she heard the bell, she definitely knew it was him coming in. “Oh, looks like your mystery guy is back.” Reagan didn’t have to look to know who Shan was talking about. For the last few days, there was only one person that made it a point to come into the diner and sit in the same booth, a booth that

was in her section. Since that first night, she had grown used to his presence. She was almost used to how good he looked. Almost. He was exactly the type of guy she should avoid, and she knew that all without having a conversation with him. It was like the danger bled from him while he breathed. “Here,” Shan stage-whispered. “Let me fix your boobs before you go over there.” Swatting her hands away—again— Reagan ignored her remark, grabbing one of the freshly cleaned mugs and a pot of coffee, winding her way to the booth towards the back where he—she still didn’t know his name—was

waiting. Like the first night, he was dressed in black, a stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin, but nearly matching the shade of his hair. It was cut just below his ears, pushed back out of his face though a stubborn strand always fell over his forehead no matter how many times he tried to shove it into place. His jacket was resting beside him, his bare, muscular arms on full display, and even when he was moving very little, the strength in them was clear to see. Black jeans covered lean legs, hugging his thighs appreciatively, combat boots on his feet, and a T-shirt that stretched across and hugged his chest. She could just see the hint of a

necklace hanging around his neck, but whatever hung from it was hidden beneath his shirt. His gaze was focused on his hands as she approached, his calloused palms clear for her to see. She wondered what he saw when he looked at them. When she was about a foot away, his gaze lifted, seeking her out, as they always did. They were cold, a light blue that looked like they’d seen too much, and his lips were usually set in a mulish line. Despite his rather sullen disposition, she had begun to enjoy his continued presence. A corner of his mouth kicked up. She couldn’t help but smile in return, but that smile slipped when his gaze dropped to

the ring like mark around her wrist. It sucked that she bruised so easily. Clearing her throat, she set his mug in front of him, pouring his coffee as she decided to strike up a conversation with him. “You’re in early.” She slid the cup closer, her fingers brushing his as he reached for it. They briefly made eye contact as she pulled her hand away. His touch was surprisingly warm despite the temperature outside. He shrugged a shoulder, taking a drink. “I like the view.” Through the windows of the diner, the Manhattan skyline was clear, lights illuminating the night sky. It really was quite nice.

His gaze was on her when she looked back at him. “City’s shit, love. That’s not the view I meant.” He made it blatantly obvious that he was talking about her. “You know, you’ve been here three nights in a row and I still don’t know your name…” she said carefully, her voice coming out a little breathier than she had intended. Resting his elbows on the table, he looked up at her. “You never asked.” Was it that easy? “What’s your name?” “Call me Niklaus.” His mouth snapped shut almost immediately after, like he hadn’t meant to share that bit of information. Reagan didn’t doubt it was his real

name—why have that reaction if it wasn’t?—but she did wonder why that would make him react that way. It was just a name after all. “Want your usual, Niklaus?” When he nodded, she smiled and took a step back. “I’ll get that right out.” Reagan didn’t go back over to him until his food was ready, refilling his mug as well. She was about to take her leave when Niklaus called her name. It was the first time he had ever used it, and in that gravelly tone, it was everything she could do not to shiver. “Yeah?” “You have a minute?” She glanced back, making sure there weren’t any tables that needed her

attention. The diner was mostly deserted, and if she had to guess, he probably already knew that. “Sure, what’s up?” She wondered if she sounded as eager as she felt. It wasn’t like her to be shy around a guy, but with Niklaus? She was definitely that. “You seeing anyone?” Well that was extremely…forward and unexpected. “Um, no.” “Why’s that?” She frowned. “What do you mean?” “Why are you single?” Not sure what to say to that, she said, “It’s a long story.” He gestured down at his steak as he lifted his knife and fork. “I’ve got plenty

of time.” Backtracking, she rubbed the back of her neck, looking away. “There’s really not much to tell. I work a lot, so I don’t have a lot of time to do anything else.” “No?” He gestured to her arm with a tilt of his head. “Then who did that to your wrist?” She could tell what he was thinking, that some guy had done it in a fit of rage because of some perceived slight, but that was far from the truth. Yes, it had been a man, but that fit of rage was more of a drunken outburst. That didn’t mean she wanted to tell him what happened. “It’s not what you think,” she said instead. Glancing around at her tables to

give herself a moment to think, Reagan decided to avoid his question by changing the subject. “Are you single?” His face shifted, just the slightest change and had she not been looking at him, she would have missed it. But the look was almost akin to…hurt. “Yes.” “So what brings you to the city?” He seemed to want to talk and she was curious to say the least. “Work.” Discreetly looking him over—though she could say with almost perfect certainty what he was wearing—she wondered what kind of work he did when he dressed the way he did. “How long are you in town for?” “However long I’m needed.”

Well that didn’t really answer her question, but it was clear that was all he was going to say on the subject. “That’s pretty cryptic. If I asked you what you did for a living, would you give me answer?” The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile fully. “What do you think I do?” She didn't have the slightest clue. He didn’t look like he worked in business— or he didn’t look like any businessman she had ever seen—and though he had the muscle, he didn’t look like a gym trainer either. “Journalist?” That, at least, got a laugh out of him. “Really? What makes you think that?”

“I’d guess, through this entire conversation, you’ve learned more about me than I’ve learned about you. I’d imagine a journalist was good at that.” After a moment though, Reagan shook her head. “On the other hand, you don’t really seem to have the attitude for it. You have that whole…brooding thing going on.” Cutting into his steak, he looked to her with a raised brow. “That sounds like an insult.” “Not at all.” It worked for him, more than it did for anyone else. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, as though he didn’t care about anything or anyone, or just the way he spoke that made her crave to

know more about him. If anything, it was more of a compliment. “If I told you what I did, you wouldn’t believe me.” Intrigued, Reagan rested her elbows on the table, leaning towards him. “Oh? Try me.” “Sanitation.” “Seriously?” He shrugged a shoulder, finishing his bite of steak. “Someone has to do it.” “You don’t smell like a garbage guy.” She imagined that even with multiple showers, there would still be that trace of foul odor attached to them. “And what do I smell like?” Nice. He smelled nice—more than a

little nice if she was being honest. Clean, almost woodsy, with a darker undertone that she couldn’t make out. Overall, his scent made her want to stay exactly where she was so she could indulge in it. But to answer his question, she merely shook her head with a slight smile. There was no way she’d be able to answer that without blushing. “Reagan?” Both she and Niklaus looked in the direction of her boss who was peeking through the little window at them, waving her over with his spatula. “Looks like I have to get back to work,” she said standing, smoothing a hand over the front of her uniform, trying

to pretend like she didn’t notice the way his eyes followed the movement. “It was nice talking to you, Niklaus.” This time, he offered her a smile, one that made her legs feel like jelly. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.” She hoped so. God, how she hoped so.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AND THERE HE WAS AGAIN. It was only the third time he had frequented the diner in the late hours of the night, but each time he came in, Reagan’s heart raced a little bit faster.

She had thought maybe she had mistaken his interest that first night and had wanted to put him out of her mind. When he had come in the next day they were unusually busy. There was an open seat on the other side of the diner, but he still chose to wait until there was a vacancy at his table before he sat. No, there was no mistaking that. And then there was the way he studied her, how his eyes lingered when she was close. She could practically feel his gaze on her when she was at another table. She felt almost giddy at the knowledge that she had his interest, even if for a short while. But that was yesterday, which almost felt like a lifetime ago as she had been

counting down the hours until she came back to work and maybe, hopefully, would see him again. He was dressed in his usual ensemble of dark clothing, his leather jacket abandoned on the seat beside him. Was it premature, her thinking she knew him? They hadn’t spoken all that much, but what little conversation they had had felt strangely intimate, like there was more than passing curiosity. As soon as he was seated, Reagan headed over, refusing to pretend like she hadn’t noticed his presence the minute he had pushed through those doors. On the way, she grabbed a mug and a pot, already knowing that he would order a cup.

He seemed to be a creature of habit. The minute she started in his direction, Niklaus’ eyes lifted, drifting over her as they did every time, as though her appearance might have changed since the last time he saw her. This time, there was a heat in his gaze. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made his interest in her known, even without words, and it seemed like he was going to make himself clear. “Good to see you again, Niklaus,” she said, keeping her voice low as she poured his cup. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re purposely seeking me out.” That corner of his mouth drew up again, but she wouldn’t consider that a

smile, not with the way he was looking at her. “I am, unless you mind.” Oh… She hadn’t thought he would come right out and admit it. “No,” she said after catching her breath, her face flushed. “Not at all.” Reagan was readying to walk away when he gestured to the seat opposite him. “You have a minute?” “I—sure.” She didn’t think she could have walked away if she tried. “What’s up?” “What are you doing after work?” She swallowed, the sound loud even to her own ears. “I’m…uh…well, nothing. Just home, I guess.” When had she turned into this

stuttering mess? Like she had never talked to a guy before? “Come home with me then.” He said that without blinking or stuttering, and making sure she understood just how serious he was. Since they weren’t busy, she didn’t mind sitting with him, actually found that she enjoyed being in his presence, even if he didn’t reveal much. As the statement and the implications of it hung between them she had no idea how to respond. She wasn’t even sure there was a correct way to respond to that. But after a second, she found her voice. “What are you asking for?” The question was whispered, almost as though she was afraid that their

conversation might be overheard. Before he could answer, as she was finally accepting what he had asked moments before, she knew, as any woman would, exactly what he wanted. “One night,” he said, his gaze like a physical caress as it swept over her from head to toe and back again. “Or two.” A flush of heat swept through her at the dark promise she saw in those blue eyes of his. No one had ever looked at her that way before, like she was utterly, and completely, desirable. Like she was the only thing he wanted to taste… His offer was tempting—he was tempting—but she could never agree.

She didn’t think she could do a onenight-stand, not even two nights, because she knew how it would end. Even if he made her crave one with him just by the way he was staring. Reagan already liked him. He was charming in his own way, polite, if not reserved, and possibly one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. Sex would only complicate it, make her believe in something that probably wasn’t there. Shaking her head before she could conjure the thoughts that would make her give in, she said, “I have to get back to my other tables.” She wouldn’t outright refuse him— even she couldn’t bring herself to do that

—but if he was disappointed, he didn’t show it. Yet before she could get away, he caught her wrist, his hold gentle, and she didn’t doubt for a second that if she attempted to pull away, he would let her. The index and middle fingers he had pressed against the pulse point in her wrist was warm, almost too warm, but that only made her far more aware of his hold. With his other, he pressed something into her hand, curling her fingers around it before she could see what it was. He still held her as he stood. “For when you change your mind,” he explained, finally releasing his hold on her as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the exit.

Looking down, she opened her hand and found a plastic key, the name of a hotel she was familiar with inscribed on it, along with a room number. He hadn’t said if she changed her mind, but when. As she tucked the key away, she wondered how long it would be before she caved.

THE NEXT NIGHT, REAGAN STEPPED OUT OF the shower after scrubbing herself raw to get rid of the old hamburger and grease smell that clung to her skin whenever she worked at the diner. She was trying unsuccessfully to keep her thoughts from Niklaus, but that was

nearly impossible considering how frequently he was on her mind. He hadn’t been back in the diner since the night before, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t looked for him every chance she got, her gaze straying to the doors whenever the bell chimed. And with each person that walked in and wasn’t him, she had been a little more disappointed. He shouldn’t have mattered. That was the crazy part about it all. A couple of conversations, and the fact that he was extremely nice to look at, shouldn’t have meant that he was seared into her brain, and worse, starring in her dreams. Back in her bedroom, Reagan

slathered on lotion, tying her wet hair up into a bun to keep it out of her face. And as she was reaching for a pair of ratty old sweatpants and the t-shirt she usually wore to bed, she heard the first mutterings. That was how it usually started--soft voices carrying through the thin walls of their apartment. As the alcohol continued to flow, the pitch rose, and very soon, there would only be the sounds of yelling and things breaking. There was a time when her father’s drunken rages used to frighten her, making her curl into a ball in her room as she waited it out. When he had begun breaking their belongings, smashing glasses against walls, she had called

Jimmy in a rush, afraid of what their father would do next. It was only after a number of times that Jimmy intervened, and she had run out thinking to protect her mother, that she realized even in his drunken madness, he still would never hit his wife. Yeah, he screamed bloody murder for hours. Yeah, he broke what few possessions they had, and when they were replaced, he broke those as well. But he had never put a hand to his wife. For that reason, Reagan still felt a touch of pity for the old man…but not much. Especially not tonight.

More than once she had wished she was living a different life, away from the sheer craziness that was her own. And tonight, she decided, she wanted something different. Tonight, she wanted to pretend the Reagan who worked crazy hours and came home to a broken family didn’t exist. Shutting the drawer that held her pajamas, she opened another, hunting through it until she found what she was looking for. Black lace. She rarely, if ever splurged on anything, but there had been a few occasions where Shan had convinced her to go shopping, and on one particular

trip, made her buy the fancy set because, ‘every girl needed sexy underwear.’ She had to admit, the bra and matching panties were nice, but she hadn’t found a reason to wear them—though Shan made it clear that there didn’t have to be a reason—until now. Reagan might not have known what the proper etiquette was for a one-nightstand, but she was ready to find out. She dressed quickly, first the lingerie, then a dress—one that would be easy to get off and put right back on when she was leaving—and shoes before she was exiting her room and heading for the door. As she was stepping across the threshold, she heard the first of what

would probably be numerous glasses shatter as her father hurled it against the bedroom wall. Reagan kept walking. The distance to where Niklaus was staying wasn’t far from her own home, fifteen-minute cab ride max. When she arrived—and had paid and climbed out —Reagan blinked in surprise, not remembering just how enormous the building was, and how desperately it was in need of repair. If not for what awaited her back at home, she might have turned and left. Steeling her resolve, she kept forward, ignoring the curious glances shot in her direction from the men loitering outside. The inside wasn’t

much better, not with the man with a stale expression staring at her through the bars of the front counter. If Niklaus was in the city on business, then obviously he needed to have a talk with his boss if these were the best accommodations… Judging from the room number she had memorized, she figured his room was on the third floor. Taking the elevator that looked like it hadn’t been checked since the cold war, she went up, then down a hallway until she reached the right room. Holding the key in her hand, she thought better of just walking in, especially since she hadn’t called first to let him know she was coming. Instead,

she lifted her fist and knocked. Down the hall, someone’s television was playing so loud that it carried outside of the cracked door, making it impossible to hear whether someone was inside. Chewing on her lip, she waited a few more seconds before knocking once more, deciding that might have been a good idea for her to call ahead, just to see if he was actually there before riding all the way over. Reagan was determined to try one last time when the door swung open suddenly, Niklaus standing on the other side with a black shirt stretched across his chest, jeans that were zipped but left unbuttoned, his feet bare. Usually, his hair was styled, but now, he had left it

unkempt, like he had just gotten out of the shower and left it dry how it liked. At first, surprise skittered across his features before it was gone just as quickly. She didn’t get a chance to even speak before he had an arm hooked around her waist and was dragging her inside, but only far enough that he could close and bolt the door. She was so used to the somber way in which he carried himself that now that she was facing him like this, her heart kicked up a pace. Swallowing, she met his gaze. “Hi.” His answer was slow, and almost taunting as he said, “I didn’t think you would come.” “Me either.”

Niklaus took a step closer, and she took one back, only managing to press her back against the door. Pressing one hand flat against it, he leaned into her, the warm heady scent of him surrounding her. “Why did you?” The words stuck in her throat, not because she was incapable of saying them, but because she could barely breathe with the way he was no looking at her. “No, no, that won’t do,” he said after a moment. “You can’t be shy with me now.” “One night,” she found herself saying, repeating the words he’d said to her. “Maybe two.” That was all she could say before his

lips were on hers and she finally gave in to the very thing that she had been trying to resist. He didn’t start off demanding. No, he just let his lips coax over hers until his lips parted, and hers responded in kind. His hand came up to pull the tie from her hair and tangle his fingers within the strands. There was no hesitation on his part, no fumbling around at all, and when she felt his teeth, just pulling at her bottom lip, she moaned low, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt and drawing him closer. But while he allowed it, he drew his head back, cold blue eyes staring down at her. “I can be gentle if you need me to be,” he murmured, the whisper like a

caress against her skin. “But I can’t promise how long that’ll last, yeah?” She could do nothing more than nod, and only when he got that response from her did he finally step back, his hands going to the neck of his shirt and pulling, and just that quickly, he was half-naked, and she was able to take him in without his shirt in the way. Besides the tattoo she had noticed at his neck, there were two more on his chest…stars, she realized when he came closer. But they didn’t look as fresh on his skin as the lines behind his ear, but rather mottled, the skin beneath scarred. She couldn’t imagine what could have made those parallel marks on his skin, but she could guess that they had to

hurt. She wasn’t given the chance to ask him about them before his lips were crashing against hers again, then skimming down her jaw and throat, leaving a burning path behind. Before she had even realized it happened, Niklaus was on his knees in front of her, insistent hand shoving her dress up to pool at her waist. Drawing her leg up to rest on his shoulder, he held her steady even as her entire body trembled. Niklaus didn’t immediately go for her center, rather let his mouth skim up her calve, his teeth nipping at her flesh making a rush of heat surge through her. By the time he made it to her inner thigh, she was soaked.

Aching. Waiting for the moment when he would finally touch her and put her out of her misery. But he didn’t do what she wanted, not yet anyway. His fingers splayed across her stomach, sweeping down until he had his thumb pressed against her clit over the lace. It was enough to send a shot of electricity through her, her hands drifting to the strands of his hair and pulling. “Right there?” he asked, pressing a little firmer, rubbing in small circles. With each second, he made minute adjustments until her back was arching off the door, a throaty moan clawing its way up her throat. As skillful as he was at finding the right spot to make her

clutch him tighter, it was nothing compared to when he hooked his fingers in the side of her panties, drawing them to the side as his lips found her center. As his tongue delved between her lips, he didn’t immediately lash at her clit, but twisted and rolled his tongue over all of her, dipping down to her entrance and back up again, drawing the tight bundle of nerves between his lips and sucking. A keen whine ripped free from her as rational thought fled, only replaced with a need to get him to do that again. Then she felt his fingers again, following the same path his tongue had as he moved from her clit then down and pressed two fingers inside of her, curling

them upwards. Niklaus didn’t ask for instructions, letting her reactions to him giving him any answer he needed. Reagan was close, closer than she should have been considering he had just touched her. Her body wasn’t her own under his hands. And he knew, as he kissed, licked and sucked, every bit of her that she was about to come. He was on his feet in a flash, his forehead to hers, one hand firm on her chin, forcing her eyes on him. “I can feel you’re about to come, how fucking tight you are around my fingers.” Reagan was close, so close, that his words were like a spark on the never-

ending flame, making her burn hotter as the orgasm nearly overtook her. “Is that what you want?” he asked, smiling even as she fought to catch her breath. “Do you want me to let you come before I fuck you?” “Yes, please,” she responded. She wasn’t above begging, not with him—not when it felt like he was the only man that could ever make her orgasm. “Then let me have it,” he said and kissed her again, swallowing her cry as he twisted his fingers igniting her orgasm, robbing her of breath. She was helpless not to obey, lost in the wave that had swept her under. He didn’t give her time to come down,

sweeping her up instead, carrying and dropping her down onto the bed that had already been stripped of its comforter. Now, as he kneeled between her spread thighs, his fingers at the button of his jeans, he eased it free. Then they were unzipped and he was shoving the denim down his legs, taking the boxerbriefs he wore with them, and finally, she had her first look at the cock he was finally fisting. She was only allowed the view a short time before he was digging a condom out, fitting the latex around his length. Long strokes kept her attention focused on the one part of him she desperately wanted at that moment. He wasn’t even inside her yet and

she felt like she was about to burst. His hand was between them, keeping hold of his cock as he tilted his hips, rubbing the head directly across her clit, making her nails dig into his shoulders. “Are you wet enough to take me?” He asked at her ear, even as he felt the evidence with each shift of his hand. But he wanted an answer from her, practically demanded it. It wasn’t just the firm slide of him against her, but the way the question had fell from his lips, the heated tone as though this affected him just as much as it did her. He was teasing, only offering just enough to friction to keep her mindless, but not enough that she was racing towards the edge. It wasn’t until he

angled his hips back, and he circled her entrance, his gaze glued down at the action. For just a second, he seemed content in teasing her this way, until he found purchase and thrust in, catching her off guard as she gasped, his name spilling from her lips. He was big, bigger than she had expected despite the rather in-depth way she had handled him moments earlier. And as her body adjusted to his fullness, a slight tremor worked its way through his body, and she felt, rather than heard the low growl that swept through him. Gentle, he had said. But as he drew back, nearly pulling

all the way out of her, she knew almost immediately that whatever gentleness was in him was long gone. Because when he thrust back in, his grip on her was stronger, his need a little more at the forefront as he throbbed inside of her. He gave a few more measured thrusts, giving her time to adjust, and the more she did, the better it felt, like he was rubbing over every last nerve ending in her pussy. “That’s it,” he murmured in a heated rush, “open up for me.” It drove her insane, the way he kept careful control of himself even as she was writhing beneath him, trying to get more of anything. His hands. His lips.

His cock. She just wanted more. And it didn’t take long before he read into her silent demand. Then he was fucking her harder, his fingers digging into her skin as he tilted her hips to take him better, making the jagged slide that much more mind scrambling. His lips found her ear once more, dark, heady, sensual words whispering from them. She was floating high, drunk off every bit of him. And before she could get used to that, he stopped. Pulling out, he flipped her over, drawing her up to her knees in one fluid move, fitting her ass in the cradle of his body. Her hands fisted the sheets, helpless to do anything more than give in

to what he wanted. But as quickly as he had left her, he was shoving right back in, taking her breath away. Reagan didn’t think she could come again, even as Niklaus was trying to force another out of her with the incessant swap of his fingers. It was there, hovering just out of reach, until she looked up and caught their reflections in the dresser mirror. Her eyes were wild, frenzied, her hair a mess as Niklaus sifted his fingers through it, but it was him that made a tremor overwhelm her…the way his eyes were screwed shut, that intense look of concentration as he fucked into her with abandon, chasing after his own

pleasure. It was the sight of him like that made her tip over the edge, the orgasm he’d been trying to dig out of her swallowing her whole as she fought for breath, crying out his name. Finally, he gave one last harsh thrust, her name and a curse muttered into the back of her neck as he held her close, his chest heaving against her back. Awareness crept back in, bleeding into the moment. And she knew, as he gingerly pulled out of her, still semi-hard, that he wasn’t done with her yet.

“YOU TOTALLY HAD SEX WITH HIM, YOU

little whore.” If there was ever a time when Reagan wished she could call off work, now would be that time. She had barely spoken to Shan before the proclamation was out of her mouth, loud enough for anyone in their immediate vicinity to hear her…which included two elderly women that looked from Shan to Reagan as though they were expecting to get the details too. Ignoring them, she pulled Shan to the side knowing that she wasn’t going to get out of this without telling her something. Reagan spoke quietly, “Do you have to announce it to everyone?” “So how was it? On like a scale from one to ten? Did he tie you up at all

—he kind of looks like he’d be into that?” “No,” Reagan replied with a roll of her eyes. Lately, that was what Shan was saying about everyone. “Nothing like that.” “Then like what? Come on, give me something here.” She wouldn’t—not about Niklaus. She might have, had it been anyone else that she spent the night with, but with Niklaus…no she wanted to keep that to herself and bask in the memory. Reagan still hadn’t believed it when she left his room early in the morning, going back home to shower and get ready for work as though nothing had happened.

But something had happened, and she could feel it every time she moved a certain way, the slight twinges reminding her of everything all at once. He had asked for one night, and that had been good enough for her at the time. Every minute of it was everything she could have ever hoped for, but even as she had walked away, she was already thinking about whether there would be a next time. She hadn’t meant to, but very soon, she was counting down the minutes, waiting for the new hour to strike to see whether Niklaus would be in around his usual time. And sure enough… Reagan was spared answering when

the door came open once more, and Niklaus walked in heading for his table. It was then she knew, even as she went about making his coffee and was gifted with a smile that made her toes curl… Even two nights wouldn’t be enough.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THEIR SECOND NIGHT TOGETHER, HE SHOWED her quite clearly that she had made the right decision. By the third, she wasn’t sure she could keep up with him, though at least this time he was a touch more

gentle with her—not by much. And now here she was, heading to his room for another night climbing over every inch of him. Earlier, he hadn’t stopped by the diner, but he had mentioned that first night that she could drop by any time. Taking the elevator up to Niklaus’ room, she didn’t bother knocking, sticking the key into the lock and turning, stepping inside without preamble. But when she did, with the lights on, she could see that the bed was made, all the furniture returned to its right position. Reagan frowned, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. While he hadn’t been a slob or anything with clothes all over the floor or anything like that, but there had been a sort of lived in

feel to it when Niklaus was in the room. The bed was made and looked untouched… The bathroom was clean, all towels accounted for and resting folded on the towel bar bolted into the wall. Everything just looked…sterile, or as much as this place would allow. It was like the past three nights had never happened, like a figment of her imagination. Hurrying out, Reagan stopped at the front desk, ringing the small bell there to get the attention of the man watching the small television behind the counter. “Pardon me?” “Yeah?” He turned, wiping greasy fingers along his shirt, his gaze straying

to her breasts before back up to her face again. On a whim, she slid the key across to him. “I just wanted to drop this off for my friend. Niklaus? He’s in room threeeleven.” The man’s eyes flickered down to the open book in front, before snatching up the key and hanging it next to its corresponding number. “Don’t know anyone by that name, but thanks.” Frowning, Reagan said, “He was a little over six-feet, dark hair, blue eyes…” “Look lady, whatever name he gave you, whoever he pretended to be, that ain’t got nothin’ to do with me. Only

thing I can tell you is the guy paid through the night. And I ain’t seen ‘em.” Biting her lip, Reagan didn’t say anymore, hurrying out before she could embarrass herself any further. Because what more could she say? She only had his first name, which could have very well not been his name from what the clerk said. But besides that, she knew nothing else. Not what he did for a living. Not where he was from. She didn’t even have a last name. And worse, he was gone…and he had never said a word.

Six months later… IT WAS RAINING OUTSIDE THE DINER, THE water falling in sheets from the night sky. Reagan was sitting in a booth, counting out her tips as she waited for the downpour to lessen, at least enough to where she could get home without being totally soaked through by the time she got there. And though she had spent the entirety of the night smiling at customers, making sure everyone was pleased, she was tired and ready to get home. Six months… That was how long it had been since Reagan had last seen him, a night when he’d just disappeared without a word. Oh, how excited she had been when she

had gone to work that next day, expecting to see him enter any moment. When he hadn’t, she didn’t think much of it, but after the second—and third, and fourth, and fifth—she had realized with a startling clarity that he must have left and gone back to wherever it was he came from. She didn’t mean to be upset. He had only ever offered her one thing, and she had gladly accepted it—begged for it at least a couple of times if she remembered correctly. Once he was gone—and she accepted he wasn’t coming back—she still ached at the thought. But nevertheless, after five months of trying, she had finally put him, and

everything they’d done together, to the back of her mind and kept it there. Since he had walked away, a lot had changed for her. Her father had stopped drinking, her mother was less dependent on him, and she was finally able to start saving towards her dream, the same dream she had shared with Niklaus that last night. Picking up more hours at the diner was exhausting, but in the end, she knew it would be worth it. Yeah, Niklaus was the last thing on her mind…until he wasn’t. Another long afternoon of shoes had the air muggy as Reagan exited the diner, fiddling with her umbrella, not paying attention to her surroundings. If she were, she might have noticed Niklaus’

slow, but steady approach. “Here, let me get that.” Her head snapped up as she heard his voice, too surprised to do anything more than stare at him as he deftly got the button unfastened, and the umbrella open, holding it out for her. He seemed immune to the rain, standing beneath the awning with his leather jacket on, a hoodie beneath it with the hood partially concealing his hair. He looked good—though that wasn’t very hard—though he did look a bit tired. “What are you doing here?” She wondered if the bitterness she felt inside could be heard in her words. Judging from the expression on his

face, the answer was yes. “Was in the neighborhood.” Considering she practically knew everybody around here, or knew someone who did, she doubted she would have missed hearing about him being back. The families around here had a habit of subtly announcing if there was someone new around. Not knowing what else to say, and strangely hurt by his words, Reagan said, “Diner is still open.” She tore her eyes from him, determined not to show him just how much his presence affected her—she wouldn’t give him that too. Instead, she turned her back, ready to brave the rain to get home as opposed to taking a cab,

anything to get away from him sooner. But if she thought he was just going to let her walk away, she was wrong. While she refused to turn back, she could hear him trailing her. “Is there a reason you’re following me?” “I’m walking you home.” “I can take care of myself, Niklaus.” “Undoubtedly.” Was that humor in his voice? “So why bother?” “You’re worth the effort.” Turning abruptly, Reagan frowned at him, trying hard not to notice the way the water droplets clung to his skin. “Really? Why don’t I believe you when you say that?” Finally closing the distance between

them, he asked, “Want me to show you?” Reagan shook her head, leveling her gaze on him. “No, prove it.” Before she could even fathom what he was doing, he had ahold of her arm, dragging her into the side alley between two buildings they were passing. She couldn’t even utter a protest before he was sliding one hand around her neck and tugging her closer, pressing his lips to hers. Any protest she thought to have, died a sudden death as he claimed her mouth, not giving her a chance to resist. Her back hit the damp brick wall, cold seeping through the thin cotton of her uniform, sending a chill through her. As quickly as he silenced her with a

kiss, he dragged his lips across her jaw and down her neck, biting down just enough to keep her aware of what he was doing. His hands diving beneath her skirt, he tugged her stockings and panties down her legs, just far enough that he could get his hand down between her legs. When he had his thumb circling her clit, her head fell back, her hands squeezing at the material of his jacket. “Now how exactly do you want me to prove it to you?” Niklaus asked at her ear, pressing closer, making her aware of the erection that was straining his jeans. “Niklaus…” His name was a whisper, her attention solely focused on

the way his thumb moved against her. She felt him smile as he said, “Use your words. Tell me.” “Fuck, don’t stop.” “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you right here?” He asked, and this time, the humor was gone from his voice, replaced with a strain that she felt too. Her thoughts may have been in chaos, but the moment the question was hanging between them, she seized on it, her sex clenching at the very idea. “Please, Niklaus. Right now.” He didn’t waste a second, dropping down to practically rip her stockings and panties off her. She was already one step ahead of him, stepping out of her shoes

to make it easier. The moment she was bare beneath her skirt, he was back on his feet and her hands were at his belt, tugging the leather free. Pulling a small square from his back pocket, he tore it open with his teeth, letting the aluminum packet fall to the ground at their feet. When she finally got his jeans open, her hand closing around the hard, long length of his cock, stroking up and down. He only allowed it for a moment longer before he was sheathed in a condom and had his hands at the back of her thighs as he lifted her, making her wrap her legs around his waist. Niklaus didn’t waste any time as he angled his cock at her entrance and

pushed in. The last time they had been together, he had waited ages, teasing her for what felt like hours before he finally gave in. Now…now there was a feel of desperation to the way he handled her, from the way he was sliding inside, to the almost painful grip he had on her ass as he held her steady. “Shit.” Niklaus froze the minute he heard the expletive leave her lips. Held up against a wall by 190-pounds of lean muscle was enough for a tremor to slip up her spine. It might not have been very long since the last time she was with him, but her body had obviously forgotten just how fucking big he was.

How it took a moment for her pussy to stretch enough to fit him in. He didn’t stay still for long, gradually pulling out, enough to scrape across every nerve ending inside of her, then thrusting back in, harder than the first. A ragged moan spilled from her lips as her back hit the wall, her hands clutching onto his shoulders, but he didn’t stop—not when she was crying his name or as she exploded into pieces in his arms. Only when he gave one last brutal thrust inside of her did he finally come, his grip on her loosening just enough that she could finally take in a good, lungful of air.

As that haze of lust cleared, Reagan fell back to reality very quickly, pulling away from him as she straightened her clothes as best she could. It was almost annoying how quickly his disheveled appearance disappeared when he didn’t have to do nearly as much as she did—and she bet she still looked a mess. “Reagan—” “Don’t—just don’t, Niklaus.” Shoving her hair out of her face, she rolled her eyes. “Is that even your name?” He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned by her question. “I didn’t lie about that.” Oh? She had expected he had, going

over various names in her head. She had looked up his name once before, learning that it was Russian in origin— but thought that maybe his parents liked the names because he definitely didn’t sound Russian to her. “Kind of hard for me to believe that when you disappeared six months ago. No one had even heard your name before.” “Wanna talk?” Reagan stared in disbelief at just how casual Niklaus asked the question —as though she wasn’t accusing him of being a liar, at the very least that he had fucked her up against an alley wall. “I have a feeling that my definition of talk is different from yours.”

“No,” he said reaching for her hand. “I mean it.” “About anything? You’ll tell me everything?” “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.” Reagan didn’t have time to ponder his words, or that he hadn’t actually answered the question, he was already leading her down the street.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“A DEFINITE STEP UP FROM THE LAST ONE, but you have terrible taste in hotels,” Reagan said as she entered the room of Niklaus as he held the door open. He merely smiled at her words. “It’s

enough for me.” She would just have to take his word for that. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she carefully removed her shoes, wiggling her toes into the carpet for comfort as she had been standing on linoleum and concrete all day. “I’m going to grab a shower,” Niklaus said as he reached for the bag that was sitting next to the night stand. “Wanna join me?” Reagan shook her head, feeling shy all of a sudden. Sure he had just been fucking her against a brick wall, but there was something about the idea of showering with him that felt too… intimate.

“I’ll go after you if that’s okay.” Not that she had anything to wear once she got it, but she was in desperate need of one. Like he had read her thoughts, he held his bag up, “I’ve got you covered on that front.” As Niklaus disappeared into the bathroom, Reagan lay back, listening to the shower as it kicked on, letting her mind drift a different time when she hadn’t been as happy with Niklaus. Already, she had to remind herself that she was still angry with him, that what he had done was not okay. But what was the point when she had already let him do exactly what he wanted? She wasn’t usually so easily bent to

someone’s will, but when it came to Niklaus—he made her weak. By the time he was walking back out the bathroom, his skin still damp from his shower, her fatigue was already setting in. She had to force herself to get up and shower away the night, then pull on Niklaus’ clothes as she crawled into the bed beside him. She was waiting for that first caress of her skin, could practically feel it already though he had yet to actually touch her, but he didn’t touch her—at least not in that way. His touch was surer, less lingering as he pulled her into his side, curving her into the fold of his body. When she looked up to him for an

explanation, he merely shrugged and said, “I told you we would talk.” “Okay, tell me why you left.” “I had another job,” he answered back immediately. “Why didn’t you say you were leaving? You know I showed up one day and they said you had never been checked in.” Though the man that had told her didn’t look he necessarily told the truth all the time. “If I came to see you before I left, I wouldn’t have.” “Niklaus…” “I’m serious.” She shook her head, still disbelieving. “You don’t have to say that —you’ve already convinced me to sleep

with you again.” “I mean it.” “Maybe you do.” “You don’t believe me,” he said, though he didn’t sound offended in the slightest. “Why should I? You haven’t given me much reason to. I know nothing about you.” “Then ask.” “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said. “Just tell me everything, anything you’re willing to say.” And he did, though he spoke haltingly. He told her about his childhood, about growing up poor with a mother that did everything in her power to make his life good.

The way he spoke about her, so easily, and with genuine adoration in his tone, she could tell he loved her very much, but there was also a wistful note to his voice that made her wonder how long it had been since he had last seen her. “Why don’t you go visit her?” she asked. His lips parted, but no words come out, not immediately. “I’ll save that story for another time.” “Then tell me something else.” She didn’t expect to get all his secrets in a night, not even in two. Niklaus didn’t hesitate in telling her more, his voice soothing as he wove stories of his life and the sketchy

encounters he always found himself in. At some point, as she remained tucked into his side, she fell asleep listening to his voice.

REAGAN HAD FALLEN ASLEEP WITH HER HEAD on Niklaus’ chest as he’d traced indiscernible patterns along her skin with his fingertips. She couldn’t think of a single person that she had wanted to fall asleep next to, at least not this deeply. But she hadn’t been so far under that his movements hadn’t eventually jostled her awake. At first, she had thought he was trying to wake her, but as she opened her

eyes, gently sliding out of his hold, she realized that he was still fast asleep, his eyes darting behind closed lids. Even with just the tension in his body, she knew something was wrong and wanted to soothe whatever it was away, but it was the stricken look on his face that worried her most. While he slept, he didn’t look as defiant, as dangerous as he did when he was awake and able to use words to his advantage. She had seen him asleep before, if only briefly, and during that time, he had looked like the weight of the world was finally off his shoulders, and he could breathe again. Now? Well, now he looked like that weight was back on and it was crushing

him. Without thinking, Reagan reached for him, smoothing her fingers over his shoulders, hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be bundled there, but her touch had just skipped over the scarred tattoo when he suddenly bolted up, grabbing hold of her wrists as he went. In seconds she was underneath him in the bed, her hands gripped so tightly that even if she wanted to get free, she couldn’t. “Niklaus,” she whispered, careful to keep her voice down with the frenzy she could see in his gaze. “It’s me.” He didn’t let up, not immediately. Niklaus just looked down at her as if he didn’t recognize her, as though whatever

he was seeing was meshing with the nightmare that had kept him under. Blinking slowly, the fog seemed to clear, and he gradually released his hold on her, but didn’t move off her. Not yet. “Sorry, I—” “It’s fine. You didn’t really hurt me.” But she didn’t try and touch his scar again. Gradually, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes as he sighed heavily. All too quickly he went from one extreme to a look of sadness that made her ache for him. What did he dream about that put that expression on his face? They didn’t ask a lot of personal questions when they were together,

though she had learned a few more things about him this time around as opposed to the last. But this…this she hoped he would share, if only so she could ease that storm she saw behind his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He didn’t respond for at least a minute, but he turned back towards her, the emotions she had seen replaced with darker ones, but at least she was more familiar with the way he was looking at her now. “Help me forget,” he said as he pushed off the headboard, pulling her into him. She looked into those fathomless blue eyes of his and asked the one

question she wanted the answer to. “What are you trying to forget?” Carefully, his fingers drifted beneath the edge of her panties, deftly pulling them down and off, tossing them over the side of the bed. Her bra quickly followed and without them, she was naked before his gaze while he remained clothed. Now that she thought about it…there was never a time when she had seen him fully naked. And at that moment, as she thought about the way he held her arms pinned to the bed, she couldn’t remember what his skin felt like. But tonight, whatever had caused the change in him had his shirt coming off, revealing ropes of muscle that flexed

with the movement. To say that he was a work of art was an understatement. From the indentations at his waist, to the sharp lines that made up his abdomen, it was quite clear that he was cut. Yet, he wasn’t physically perfect. He had scars, lots of them, some of which she was finally seeing and not just where the two stars were inked into his chest. Another looked like someone had slashed across his stomach with a knife, and even one that looked suspiciously like a bite mark. Whatever life he had come from, it hadn’t been an easy one. And she had never seen them, not until after he had crawled off her, going over to his bag to grab a condom that she

saw his back for the first time. And the scars that were all over it. She gasped, unable to contain the sound, not even as her hand lifted to her mouth as she stared. Jagged, vertical lines stretched nearly across the entirety of his back, some bigger than others, and a few that even looked like they were still painful to the touch. How had he even gotten them? Her minds ran wild with possibilities, each one worse than the last, and she was so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Niklaus moving back towards her until he was right back between her legs, but his expression was different now.

Less lust. More…something. He held her face in his hands, far gentler than she was expecting. “It was a long time ago.” “But—” “No, I don’t want you to worry yourself with this. Because right now,” he said then paused, as though considering his next words, “when I’m with you, I don’t think about them.” She didn’t know who or why the scars had been embedded into his skin, but she wanted to erase them, eradicate the pain that she knew would have been excruciating for him. Reagan didn’t realize there were tears in her eyes before one slipped free,

spilling down her face. Very carefully, he used his thumb to brush it away, bringing his lips to her cheek as though she were the one in need of comfort instead of him. “Can I…” She was almost afraid to finish that question, not sure whether for him or for her. She didn’t want to bring up bad memories for him, but she wanted to touch them, to offer him comfort when he quite obviously hadn’t had it then. Reagan didn’t have to finish her question for him to understand what she was asking. Though his motions were stiff, he did turn, offering her an unobstructed view of what she wanted to see, and now that he was close, they

only made her hurt more. The scars didn’t seem to be made in any discernible pattern, but it was quite obvious that whoever had left the marks on him had wanted him to hurt. Badly. Hesitantly, she reached out, careful to let her fingers ghost over one of the lines that was a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. With the way that the scars looked, she had expected to feel something when she touched them, but it was just as smooth as the rest of him. Though healed, those scars remained with him. “You got the others covered up,” she said after some time, tracing the length of another line. “Why not these?” “I wanted the reminder,” he said,

glancing back at her over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Of what? Pain?” “No, that I won’t break.” She was readying to go on, to offer him comfort in the form of words, but he shushed her with a kiss, almost making her forget what she was questioning him about. This time felt different. It wasn’t like they hadn’t ever touched before, that they had never explored each other’s bodies, but as her fingers drifted up his spine, feeling the grooves, but also over the scars the decorated his skin, she felt like she was feeling him for the first time. Like she was becoming lost all over

again to the things he made her feel.

“NIKLAUS?” He turned his head in her direction, her calling for him distracting him long enough that he lost track of what shape he was tracing on her leg. “Hmm…” Shifting onto her side she looked down at him, her expression unreadable. He would have thought after the hours they spent rolling around in bed that she would be a little more relaxed next to him, but she just looked inquisitive, as though she was trying to figure something out about him. “What do these mean?” she asked,

gesturing with a touch of her fingers to one of the stars tattooed on his chest. The raised skin of the scar felt different to those on his back. Here, she could feel the texture. “To me? Nothing. To someone else? Everything.” She didn’t understand. “Then why get them if they mean nothing to you.” “Because they meant something to someone, and in a moment of weakness, that someone meant something to me.” Reagan still didn’t understand, not really, but the way he spoke about it made her wonder about the person he meant. “Did you lose them?” He shook his head, seeming sad in

that moment. “I don’t think I ever really had them.” Then, he touched her face, smiling at her in a way that melted her heart. “But I have you, and that’s better.” What could she say in that moment that could adequately describe what she was feeling for him…what she had been trying to avoid since the very beginning. But his next words brought her back to reality. “Don’t,” he said after a moment, his gaze drifting over her face. Confused, she asked, “Don’t what?” “Don’t fall in love with me.” Was she that transparent that he could see just how much she enjoyed being around him? And worse, how could she possibly be falling in love

with someone she hardly knew, not really anyway. Unable to respond as she didn’t know how to respond to that, Reagan remained silent, listening to the thumping beat of his heart, the cadence slowing with every breath he took before he was asleep, still holding her like she was a lifeline. Even as he slipped under, she still remained awake a while longer, too restless to fall asleep.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ONE THING NIKLAUS HAD LEARNED AFTER A year-and-a-half on the job was when to walk away. Whether it was just him losing perspective, or that he was risking death by staying on the mission

any longer than what was necessary, he knew when it was time to abandon ship and get as far away from it as he could. It wasn’t that he was in a particularly dire place, or even that his life was being threatened in any way, but his mind, his thoughts, his sanity…he felt like he was losing it. All because of the girl fast asleep tucked into his side. How had another week already passed them by? Niklaus could still remember flying out for London, helping an associate with an extraction job just six months ago because he had felt he had gotten too close to Reagan. From the curve of her smile when she saw him, or how they fit together

like two puzzle pieces when she was by his side…He had enjoyed it, the time he spent with her, and though he had been a little reluctant the first time around, he still had been able to leave her without thinking too much on it. But now, lying next to her, feeling the way her chest rose and fell against his side, how her dainty hand rested against his chest, her fingers nearly touching one of the stars he had inked on his chest, Niklaus knew it was time to leave again. He didn’t know when things had shifted between them, or rather, when it had finally shifted for him. He’d been content with using her for his own selfish needs, releasing pent up aggression that constantly hounded him.

Except now, he was beginning to crave more of her. Her time. Her attention. Everything. He just wanted her… Already, she had called off twice from that job of hers just so she could spend more time with him, and instead of dissuading her, he had been silently glad that she had. Niklaus was beginning to realize it was no longer just a hookup to him. He actually liked her. And knowing that, even without having ever spoken those words aloud made the delicate gold chain around his neck to feel a little heavier. He knew the impossible task he was undertaking, his debts, and obligations.

Though he had already killed three so far, he knew without a doubt that the others, those that were in higher positions in their respective organizations, wouldn’t be nearly as easy, especially when so few of them came stateside where he had the advantage. This obligation to Sarah was the reason he had accepted Z’s offer in the first place, allowing the man to mold and transform him into the very person he needed to be to get the job done. So if this was what he gave his life and identity to be, why was he fucking around? When he wasn’t working towards the goal, making sure that he finally brought an end to the men that

tortured without care, he felt like he was failing at the one thing he should have been able to do. The last thing he needed to be doing was relaxing, letting his guard down, and enjoying the company of someone like Reagan. That wasn’t what he deserved. It was because of him that Sarah had died so brutally, and worse, only he knew the truth of this. Her family still mourned the daughter they lost, his disappearance long forgotten by all except his mother. Only once had he had the courage to venture back to that place in the dead of night, peeking through the windows of his old family home just to catch a

single, quick glance at her. Maybe it was ritual. Maybe he had caught her in a reflective mood, but she’d been sitting in the rocking chair, holding a picture of the pair of them, her eyes sad as she regarded them. How easy it would have been, knocking on the door, letting her know that he was fine, that there was no reason for her to be sad anymore. He could still remember the selfcontrol it had taken for him to content himself with just the reminder of her face before he slipped back out into the night. Some could still have a family— sometimes their assignments were actually sanctioned by various

governments—but for Niklaus, whose introduction to the Den had been as brutal as it was, he couldn’t ever see anyone from his previous life. And that led for a lonely existence. That, on the other hand, he did deserve. He didn’t want, or need, anyone else getting hurt because of him. Slipping out of the bed, knowing that Reagan slept like the dead, he walked over to the small closet, reaching for the book bag he had thrown up there earlier. Maybe some part of him had known that he needed to leave, otherwise, why would he have stopped by one of his drop-spots and packed it full of bills he had on hand. He’d sat and counted it all

out, making sure he had the exact amount that she said she needed to open up the place of her dreams. No, Niklaus realized belatedly. It wasn’t because he was planning on skipping out on her again that he had gathered up the money. He had wanted to give it to her, hopefully see a smile— even as she asked him where he got it from—and be glad that he was finally able to give someone something. But he knew that it could never be like that. Not when she could be hurt just by his association with her. Once again, he found himself leaving another piece behind. Why had he ever entertained the idea in the first place? He and Reagan could

never be anything more than what they were, and he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. Never mind another case of mistaken identity, after the things he had seen, and the men he had crossed, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be hurt, and then the next time around, he would have no one else to blame but himself. Not her too…he couldn’t have her on his conscious. Dressing quickly, he packed what little he had left in the room, scanning to make sure, leaving the book bag on the table for her to find in the morning. As he was leaving, Niklaus turned back at the last moment, drifting to her side. He smoothed her hair back out of

her face, gently so as not to wake her. Tracing her face with his eyes, he pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead, another light one to her lips, then drew back. There was no farewell, not even in his thoughts as he backed away. Though he knew it was, he still didn’t want this to be the end. Not yet.

BEFORE SHE HAD EVEN OPENED HER EYES, Reagan knew he was gone. She could feel it in the chill of the air, the way the silence of the room seemed to try and swallow her whole. She turned, reaching out anyway,

finding the spot where Niklaus had lain before empty and cold. It shouldn’t have bothered her—it wasn’t like this was the first time he had done it. But as she sat up, holding the sheet to her chest looking around at how barren the place felt without presence, it felt like her heart was fracturing. It had only taken mere days for her to recall why exactly she had missed him so much. She should have known better. Once should have been enough for her to know not to give him more, to be careful with her feelings and thoughts and dreams. Her gaze landed on the bag, the lone item in the room that didn’t belong to the motel and she hadn’t brought along.

Maybe Niklaus had forgotten it in his haste to get away from her… Before, she might not have looked, would have held onto it hopes that he would come back looking for it. She would still hold onto it now, but not before she had a look inside. Tearing at the zips, she tugged them down, pulling at the edges of it to look inside, and promptly blinked, just to make sure she was seeing correctly. With a shaky hand, she reached in, pulling out one stack of twenty-dollar bills, another of hundreds, and even some in fifties. Reagan didn’t even realize she was dumping the money out of the bag as she tried to make of what she was seeing, but it wasn’t until she

got to the change in the very bottom of the bag that she got an idea. She could not have been sure, she had only mentioned it in passing, just an afterthought in the conversation they’d had, but as she sat at the table, counting each bill, tallying the numbers up in her head, and by the end of it, it felt like he had taken her breath away all over again. $167,852.36 exactly… This wasn’t a mistake on his part, but a goodbye. He wasn’t coming back.

PART TWO

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

2014 ONE YEAR. EIGHT MONTHS. TWENTY-ONE days. Finally, Niklaus thought with some

grim satisfaction as he watched the Russian and one of his men drag Jetmir through the freezer towards a hook that hung from the ceiling. Even as he struggled against their hold, a blindfold keeping him oblivious to his surroundings, he was no match for them. Not when he was bound. How many days had he sat and fantasized about this very moment? How many nights had he lain awake, feeling like he was being suffocated as the days passed him by, and he had been no closer to getting his hands on the Albanian that was finally within grasp? This was what he had been waiting for… Mishca, with the help of his

associate, had Jetmir strung up, his arms hooked into restraints, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground. Helpless. Snatching the barrier from his eyes, Mishca waited a moment, giving Jetmir a chance to focus on him, to take in his surroundings before he spoke. “Hey,” Mishca said, smacking the man a couple of times to get his attention. “You’re going to want to focus for this.” Jetmir, whose head had been slightly lolling on his shoulders, straightened, turning a glare on Mishca, the scar down the right side of his face pulling. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it!” Jetmir snarled as Mishca stepped away

and turned his back. Pausing mid-stride, Mishca faced him once more, canting his head to the side as his gaze flickered to Niklaus for a moment—Jetmir had yet to realize they weren’t alone. “I’m not the one you should fear,” Mishca said with an air of casualness. Shaking his head, as though he almost felt sorry for the man, Mishca looked past him to Niklaus. “Don’t make a mess.” The request was unnecessary. It wasn’t as though Mishca didn’t know what Niklaus was capable of. The man had made it quite clear he’d been keeping tabs on him. By the time he finished with him,

there wouldn’t even be anything left of Jetmir to identify. With Mishca gone, the echo of the freezer door slamming shut still in the air, Niklaus got to his feet, circling Jetmir so he could finally face the one man he’d been tracking down religiously. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Niklaus said as he started rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rotating his head on his shoulders to stretch the muscles in his neck. There wasn’t a day that had went by since Jetmir had turned his life upside down that Niklaus didn’t think of how he would make this particular Albanian pay.

The blood. The sweat. The tears. No one could possibly understand just how much Niklaus had sacrificed to get them both in this room. And more was just how much of himself he had lost in the process. Over time, Niklaus learned to shut off his emotions. Tracking the Albanians before they had touched down on American soil, it was almost laughable that his contract had been up around the same time that Jetmir and his crew thought to take on the Volkov Bratva. And instead of signing another, Niklaus had taken his leave for a short time so he could get

Jetmir alone finally. And the funny thing was, the one other person that had made it possible for this moment to happen was one of the people Niklaus had vowed to kill, but that was how it worked sometimes in their world. Enemies one day, allies the next. Reaching up, Niklaus tugged at his mask, then tossed it to the side, pushing the sweaty strands of his hair back out of his face. When he took Jetmir’s life, he didn’t want any confusion as to why this was happening. Laughing bitterly, Jetmir said, “The brother? I was sure the Russians would have finished you off.” Niklaus swung without thinking, glad

that he’d had the foresight to tape his fingers up beforehand. That first hit wasn’t enough, not nearly, and before he knew it, he found himself swinging again and again, the blows carefully placed, not doing too much damage to any one area, but just enough that Jetmir had to be in excruciating pain. By the time he stopped, Niklaus’ arms felt like lead, but he felt better at the sight of Jetmir’s bloodied face. Though he wished otherwise, Niklaus didn’t have time to torture him for days the way he wanted. He had always pictured what he would do, the tools he would use, and how long he would spend making sure that Jetmir understood exactly the kind of

monster he’d created. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to enjoy what he was about to do. If anything, they were going to reach the climax that was long overdue just a bit faster. Walking backward, Niklaus picked up the container he’d left out in clear view, making sure Jetmir could see what it was before he unscrewed the nozzle and pulled out the hose. Taking his time, Niklaus began pouring the gasoline over Jetmir’s head, making sure he was completely soaked before dropped the container some distance away. “For years,” Niklaus said casually, ignoring Jetmir’s earlier outburst, “I’ve studied you, learning everything I needed

to know about you and your associates. Here’s one. You have a habit of setting your enemies on fire.” “This is about the girl, no?” Jetmir asked, shaking his head to get dripping hair out of his eyes. Niklaus didn’t respond because Jetmir was right, and because he didn’t trust what he would say next. There were very few things that sparked real emotion inside of him, and Sarah happened to be one of them. Niklaus knew that if he would ask Jetmir what ‘the girl’s’ name was, he wouldn’t be able to give an answer. “It wasn’t personal.” There was a slight grin on his face as he said this. Despite the fact that he was drenched

in gasoline and knew that he was facing death, he still taunted, almost begging Niklaus to overreact and make a mistake —that was usually how these things worked. But Niklaus rarely made mistakes… and he wasn’t about to start now. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the black, metallic zippo lighter that was familiar to them both, one he had found on Jetmir as they drove him here. Niklaus could just see his reflection in it, including the dead look in his eyes. He remembered that expression, it was the same kind that Valon had stared down at him with right before the torture. Torture didn’t always break a man, it

molded him. Maybe tomorrow he would let that worry him. “Two,” Niklaus went on as though Jetmir hadn’t spoken. “Your organization consists of dozens of ruthless, arrogant men who are only loyal to the highest bidder. Want to know how I know this?” Reaching up, Niklaus moved his hair to the side, showing Jetmir the tattooed lines starting just behind his ear, descending down onto his neck in parallel lines. “Each line represents a single person who had been there the night you had them snatch me off the street—the ones you ordered to torture me for days.” Currently, there were nine lines

inked into his skin, and Jetmir would make ten. The last line… “It was just business,” Jetmir said, though he didn’t bother to apologize for his actions. He was a proud man, this Niklaus knew, and despite having wronged so many people in his short life, he wouldn’t be apologizing for any of it. Niklaus understood. Smiling, Niklaus slowly flipped the top open, the flame crackling to life. As though he’d been speaking it his entire life, Niklaus met Jetmir’s wary gaze as he said in perfect Russian, “Oko za oko—An eye for an eye.” Tossing the lighter, now it was

Niklaus’ turn to watch its rapid descent to the ground, never taking his eyes from both it and Jetmir as it finally clattered, the flame igniting instantly and racing toward Jetmir with a vengeance. In seconds, the flames engulfed him, his screams echoed, but there would be no one around to hear him die. No one except Niklaus. There was something mesmerizing about watching his skin charring, the acrid scent that used to always make him nauseous coating the air, and the way his muscles seized in unimaginable agony. And yet, despite the fact that Niklaus watched this with unwavering dedication, he had never considered that he might have lost a piece of himself

long before he had ever made it out of that building years ago.

STANDING HIGH ABOVE THE WATER, NIKLAUS dropped the last of the bags over the bridge, wiping his gloved hands on the front of his jeans, watching as the black bags bobbed on the surface of the water before disappearing beneath. When he was younger, he had heard many stories about revenge, though in those cases, it dealt with something far less meaningful, like losing a fight or being embarrassed by someone, but the moral of those were that revenge was never the answer. Something along the lines of digging two graves when on the path of it…unlike

those people whose joy was short lived, Niklaus couldn’t agree that revenge was a bad thing. After spending the better part of the last five years seeking vengeance against the men that had forced him down this path to begin with, the journey was almost over. The head of those he felt were responsible was now sinking into the murky depths of the water below, he felt considerably lighter, like the weight of his responsibilities had finally lifted. Nothing could compare to how he felt in that moment. As a mercenary, it was very rare for anyone to carry something amongst them that could be used to identify them, but Niklaus was rather good at what he did

and didn’t have such fears. Reaching for the delicate length of chain that hung around his neck, he pulled it free from its hiding place beneath his shirt, kissing the locket that hung from the end of it. It was over, finally…for the both of them. Turning away, he lifted his hood, concealing his face once more, but he was in no rush to leave. On this bridge, in the dead of night, he was alone…at least that was what he had thought until he faced the street. Twin headlights flared to life in the distance suddenly, blinding him. Even though he had assumed he had assumed he would be alone, Niklaus hadn’t come unprepared.

One gun at his back and knives strapped to his arms, he was as ready as he could ever be, and if whoever lurked in that car worked with the now dead Albanian mobster that was sinking to the bottom of that body of water, they wouldn’t be walking away either. However, before he could reach for any weapon, he heard the unmistakable click of multiple assault rifles. In part, that rid him of his unease. The Albanians might have been ruthless, but they were not nearly as well trained as this lot were. Only mercenaries, especially those that belonged to the Den, could arm themselves simultaneously when he had only thought to reach for his own

weapon. Of course, the notion of them being there at all did bother him, especially considering this last job with the Albanians had been on his own time. He knew for a fact that his handler, Z, was not the one in the Escalade, because this wasn’t the way he operated. Whenever Niklaus was needed for a job, he received an encrypted text message with coordinates to a safe house where they would be meeting, and only then was he given his actual assignment. Whoever was waiting for him… Niklaus didn’t know. Sighing with a roll of his eyes, Niklaus held his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture, shuffling along as

two came out of the darkness that shielded them, urging him towards the black Escalade that was now idling some distance away. Once Niklaus got a good look at them though, he dropped his hands. A few of them he recognized from his training days, others he’d seen in passing. It was odd still, considering he’d never been around most of them without his mask. He could only imagine what they were thinking now that they were seeing his face for the first time. And some, the second. But, the one that was now at his back, Niklaus didn’t recognize, and for this reason, he was on edge having someone he didn’t trust walking behind

him. Especially when he gave Niklaus a shove to move faster. Before he could check the impulse, he spun, disarming the man with alarming speed, using the butt of the rifle to hit him in the stomach, doubling him over. “Never touch me.” “Oy, get in the damn truck!” At that accented voice, Niklaus tossed the rifle down at the man, turning to face one of the few people he considered a friend. Celt, whose real name was still unknown to Niklaus, was one of only six people that he kept in contact with, and the others were only on occasion.

Niklaus could still remember his own grueling process of learning how to speak without inflections coloring his words and carefully crafting his speech so that there was no particular dialect. So either they hadn’t broken Celt completely, or the stubborn bastard had refused to give in—Niklaus leaned towards the latter. Born and raised in Ireland—a fact most knew—Celt had been a mercenary for a little longer than Niklaus, at least two years since Celt had been one of the six that helped train him for this new life. Since then, they had been on a few missions together, and caught up whenever they could. It seemed Celt had been invited to

this little party as well, which made Niklaus wonder if he had already known this awaited him, and considering they had seen a lot of each other over the last couple of weeks, why hadn’t he bothered to mention it was beyond him. With a stupid grin on his face, Celt held up a black hood, the cloth hanging from fingers, the thing all too familiar to Niklaus. “Just like old times then?” Celt asked, knowing exactly why Niklaus glared at him. Snatching it from him, Niklaus muttered a curse, forcing the thing over his head though he hated the memories it brought with it. Memories of a time when he was helpless and unsure…

A hand—Celt’s he assumed— wrapped around his bicep, guiding him the rest of the way to the Escalade. A door was opened and he was practically shoved inside before it was closed again, two sharp raps on the window sending them on their way. Niklaus’ senses were on high alert as the truck pulled off, waiting for the other person—who was quite obviously seated across from him since he could smell the man—to speak. His breathing was careful, and there was just enough space between them that a person with adequate training could keep themselves relatively unharmed. He ticked off the minutes they drove in his head, cataloguing each turn as

well. By the time they stopped, gravel crunching beneath the tires, they had traveled for a little less than fifteen minutes, made three right turns, and four left. Niklaus sighed heavily, his patience wearing thin as he waited. Instead—and much to his surprise—the person across from him still didn’t speak, but opened the door and climbed out, the truck shifting with his weight, and not even a moment later, someone new replaced them. Niklaus still wasn’t sure who the hell he was supposed to be meeting with. Unlike the previous occupant of the seat across from him, it was a bit clearer

that this one was the one in charge. “There’s no need to keep that on.” Niklaus snatched the hood off, immediately looking to the man that had thought it necessary to keep him blind and essentially kidnap him for the duration of the ride. More importantly, he needed to figure out who the hell this person was. Since his first contract, Niklaus had only ever worked with Z, and he wasn’t looking to change that. If whoever this man was, was new to their trade—Celt seemed to know him if he’d gone along with this—it meant one of two things. Either Niklaus was getting bid off—his current contract was sold to whoever this guy was—or they were all under new management.

Neither idea particularly appealed to him. They were parked beneath a bypass, the interior lights along with the headlights both turned off, but Niklaus could still make out other figures looming outside the vehicle, as well as other car parked a few feet away. He didn’t immediately recognize the area they were in, but he would be able to find his way should this go bad. “Niklaus.” Only his twin brother, called him by that name anymore. He hated the sound of it, and no matter who this guy thought he was, Niklaus refused to respond to it. “Klaus.” The man across from him wore a

blank expression, not even a little amusement, and even after Niklaus’ correction, it didn’t change. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.” He had a marked accent, a combination of Irish and Welsh if Niklaus wasn’t mistaken. He’d spent time in both regions—and around Celt— to pick up on the various dialects. “Who are you?” “Your new handler,” he said evenly, his head canting to the side as though he were the one studying Niklaus instead of the other way around. This guy, whoever he was, was fucking off, and if there was one thing that Niklaus didn’t need, it was someone he couldn’t read delving into his

business. Scratching his jaw, doing his best to hide his wariness, Niklaus asked, “And my last one?” “Dead, but that isn’t of any importance. I need you for a job.” What the actual fuck? Z was dead? How the hell hadn’t he heard considering word got around quick enough when someone bit the bullet. He was tempted to ask the man how it had all went down, but with one look at him, he thought better of it, figuring the man wouldn’t be revealing details. “Listen. I don’t know where you’re from, but I just finished a contract and I have some down time before I need to

report in. Catch me later.” By that time, Niklaus would be gone and almost impossible to track down. While he didn’t mind his job on the best of days, one meeting with this guy told him that they were not going to get along. The man laughed, though it didn’t sound amused in the slightest. “I would have thought that after you killed Rayne, you might be a little more inclined to listen to reason.” Shit. That’s what he got for helping the Russian with a problem. Having come back to New York City to settle the score, he hadn’t thought it would get him here. He remembered that day well. Trailing the Russian, waiting for the

perfect moment to put a bullet in his head. There had never been much love between them—it was only a touch better now—and though the thought of killing him hadn’t fazed Niklaus in the slightest. It was only after he was staring through the scope of his rifle at Brahim Besnik—the brother of the man that was at the bottom of the river by now—and the girl he held at gun point did Niklaus feel a shift. He had hesitated, and to this day, he didn’t know why, but ultimately, he had ended up putting a bullet meant for the Russian into Brahim instead, effectively saving the girl and putting an end to a problem he hadn’t known about. It was for that same girl, Lauren,

who was now married to the Russian, that he had killed a fellow mercenary, one that hadn’t been in his organization, but one nonetheless. While there were no alliances in their trade, it was frowned upon to take out the competition. But Niklaus hadn’t been thinking of that when he saved Lauren’s life. Even after all these years, the Russian was still fucking up his life. But more curious was the fact that the man knew that it was Niklaus that had taken her out. It wasn’t like he was sharing that information, and he doubted Celt would have told anyone. So how did he know? Niklaus was too seasoned to display

any physical reaction to the man’s words, but inside, he was squirming. With a casual shrug, he explained, “I was on the job. Not much I could do about that.” “Interesting. I don’t believe I asked for an excuse,” the man said with a lift of his brow. Niklaus really fucking hated arrogant people like him, especially when they had some power over him. Despite the risks and dangers of the life he lived, he wasn’t ready to die, so turning down this assignment was obviously not an option. “Who’s the target?” Niklaus was handed a single photo, and once he looked it over, focusing on the lone face circled in red ink, he

cursed under his breath. Maybe death was a better option. Not because the particular individual featured there terrified him in anyway, quite the opposite in fact, but because of how heavily guarded he was at all times, especially when he was back in his home country. Russia was notorious for protecting their own, even if the one they were protecting was a Bratva boss…or maybe it was because he was a Bratva boss that they felt the need to protect him. The last thing on his mind, however, was the fact that the man was connected to him. “How much, and how do you want

it?” “You misunderstand. I don’t need him dead—though what you choose to do with him after is entirely up to you.” The man rested one hand on his leg, tapping his thumb again his thigh as he seemed to contemplate what he would say next. “Six months ago, he brokered a deal that garnered him around sevenhundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars. I need the name of the man behind the deal.” “Right.” Sounded simple enough, but what Niklaus didn’t understand was why all the extra drama? “And I’ll need this handled quietly. If you require assistance, only look to those within the Den. If anyone stands in

your way, kill them.” Niklaus didn’t offer a response to that, but did raise his gaze so he could look at the man. Though mostly concealed by shadows, Niklaus could see that he was young, much younger than Z had been, but definitely older than Niklaus. Late twenties to early thirties? Light hair—strawberry-blond maybe?— cold gray eyes. He looked like any other rich bastard with a taste for violence. But Niklaus could tell there was something more to him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “What do I call you?” The door to the Escalade was opened suddenly, letting in the cold night air, signaling that it was time for Niklaus

to leave, but as he readied to do just that, believing that he wouldn’t get an answer to his question, the man spoke. “You can call me the Kingmaker.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

PRESENT DAY “Kill the gate.” Niklaus issued the command seconds after he and Celt dropped off the back of the speeding truck, its hulking frame still

carrying on down the road even as they moved towards the reinforced iron gate that surrounded the massive property they meant to infiltrate. In seconds, there was an audible click as the lock disengaged, the rolling gate shifting open just far enough for Niklaus and Celt to slip inside, closing again once they were on the other side. Thousands of miles away, one of his associates, Winter—who was more of an outside contractor since she wasn’t officially part of the Den—sat behind a laptop, having already hacked into the mainframe of the security system for this this particular estate, waiting for her next instructions. While Niklaus didn’t usually like

hackers—they could wield far too much power with only a keyboard—he needed Winter for this assignment, especially if he wanted to get them out of Russia alive within the hour. Mikhail Volkov might have been the former head of a vast criminal organization, but he still possessed a lot of power and influence, and there was also the number of corrupt politicians in his pocket. With a single phone call, he could have the property surrounded in minutes—and the last thing Niklaus wanted was to spend the next thirty years locked in a gulag fighting for his life against prisoners and guards alike. They already had one former member trapped in one with no way to

get him out…yet. “You have twenty minutes to get in and out, Red,” Winter said over the earpiece they all wore. “Your plane leaves in forty-five minutes. If you’re not there when it takes off, you’re in deep shit.” Red. For the last seven years, that had been his new name, the one he had earned through bloodshed and relentless work. Nowadays, outside a select number of people in New York City, that was the only name he answered to. It wasn’t just a title. It was an embodiment of everything he had become. Whenever he heard it, he could feel the almost phantom burn of the branding

iron that had been used on him, a reminder of the life he had given up for everything he had gained—a reminder that he was no longer a scared boy. They all bore the brand somewhere, but only Niklaus wore his on his neck for all to see. Palming his glock, he headed for the monstrosity of a house that loomed just ahead, Celt at his heels. Dressed all in black—as was his custom—with a beanie covering his hair, and a mask concealing his face, he blended into the night, remaining unnoticed even as he came upon the first few guards. There were three that patrolled the front, all carrying assault rifles, and all

of which were trigger happy and more than willing to shoot first rather than ask who they were. With the slightest of gestures from Niklaus, Celt moved around the house, going for the last two that were waiting on the other side. Making sure Celt was clear first, Niklaus took a moment to screw on the silencer, waiting until Celt was out of sight before he aimed at the first guard. The man had paused in his check of the grounds to reach for his phone. Before he had the chance to answer, however, Niklaus pulled the trigger, exhaling after the bullet exploded through the chamber and imbedded itself in the man’s forehead. He was dead before he hit the

ground. Silently, Niklaus jogged over to the man, relieving him of the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his belt, then dragged his body towards the bushes, keeping him out of sight. Thirty seconds later, the other two were dead as well. For months, Niklaus had studied the security and their protocol, making sure that when this day came, his task would go off seamlessly. Of course, all the training in the world couldn’t account for human error. That was why Niklaus usually preferred jobs where he was on the other end of a sniper’s rifle, and could handle things from a distance. Up close and personal? He saved

that for people that had crossed him. But when it came to this particular job, he hadn’t had a choice. And, whether he wanted to admit it or not, this one was personal as well. The guards outside were the easiest, they were too spaced out for there to have been much of a problem, but inside, there were at least seven more on the ground floor alone, and another four guarding the floor where Mikhail’s office was. He could just see movement out the corner of his eye, but then there was a flash, and nothing more. “I’ve got it covered,” Celt said, his voice scratchy and slightly out of breath. Nodding, though he couldn’t be seen, Niklaus went on to the stairs, slowly

moving up as he kept his gun at the ready. The first man to appear took two shots to the chest. The sound of his body hitting the ground brought the other two running, but before either could register what happened, they were down as well. The threat neutralized, Niklaus holstered his weapon and headed for the office, stepping over the bodies that blocked his way. Once he was inside with the door closed behind him, he took a breath. Obviously surprising the man seated behind the sturdy looking desk, he touched a finger to his ear. “Cut the power.” Not even a minute later, it was done. Mikhail Volkov hadn’t even gotten

the opportunity to hit the panic button that was on the underside of his desk. While he was nearing seventy, Mikhail didn’t look his age. If anything, he looked closer to his mid-forties thanks to his size and dark hair that was liberally sprinkled with gray, a little more since the last time Niklaus had seen him. There was no trace of fear in his eyes as he glared at Niklaus, his hands twitching with the need to reach for the gun Niklaus knew was sitting in the top right hand drawer. But even he had to know that Niklaus would get a shot off before he could even touch the wood. “Who sent you?” Niklaus didn’t answer, not right

away. The plan was to get in, get the information, and get out but now… Niklaus had other plans. After all, this was the last time he would ever see the man. Making a split decision, Niklaus reached up with a gloved hand, shoving his mask off his face to the top of his head. While the man might not have vocalized a response to seeing Niklaus’ face, his eyes gave him away. He sat back with a slight smile, seeming pleased with the mercenary standing across from him. “Hello, Niklaus.” “You didn’t mistake me for Mishca? I’m touched.” It wasn’t like the two simply resembled each other, they were

twins. And since he had done the Russian a favor not too long ago that involved him acting the part of club owner, Niklaus had grown out his hair and beard to the point that it was nearly impossible to tell them apart. “I believe I would know the son I raised.” If that was supposed to be a jab at Niklaus, Mikhail would have to do better than that. Mikhail was no more Niklaus’ father than the Russian was his brother. He had gone twenty-one years without knowing either of them existed, and though he had developed a relationship of sorts with the Russian over the last three, nothing had really changed for him. Not really. He was still

as bitter as he had always been. When Mikhail’s eyes skirted to the door, Niklaus merely shook his head, helping himself to one of the chairs in front of the desk. “All of them?” Mikhail asked, surprise clear in his tone. “I needed your full attention and interruptions only piss me off.” That wasn’t necessarily true. He could have left them incapacitated, but it only took one waking up before he was meant to cut this meeting short. “I should have guessed it would be you,” Mikhail said after he focused his attention back on Niklaus. “Despite my son’s hatred for me, he would never pull the trigger himself. Tell me, how much is

he paying you for this?” “He’s not.” “Does he know you are here?” Niklaus shrugged. Whether he did or didn’t, it no longer mattered. Ignoring his question, he instead said, “This isn’t personal.” “No? Then tell me, who wishes me dead?” “Came for a name,” he said in lieu of an answer. “And you believe I’m willing to hand this over?” Russians were notorious for their codes of silence, but Niklaus doubted Mikhail was going to make this difficult for him. As he had implied, Mishca might not have been willing to pull the

trigger, but Niklaus would. Tapping his gun against the desk, Niklaus asked, “What choice do you have?” “What name are you looking for?” “A year and a half ago, you brokered a deal that moved two containers worth of guns and explosives. I need to know who you brokered that deal for.” Mikhail frowned, his bushy eyebrows bunching together. “This is what you threaten me for?” Once again, Niklaus shrugged. He hadn’t understood the need for all of this either. The Kingmaker, as he had officially been dubbed, had seemed pretty resourceful. It wouldn’t surprise Niklaus if he had walked in here on his

own and demanded the information. Why send Niklaus to do it? “The McCarthy family.” “And…” “I cannot say who paid for the merchandise. I had product, the McCarthys had a buyer that is all I know. Perhaps you should tell the man that holds your leash if he wants to find the man he seeks, to get the name from them.” “You made a deal and didn’t know your buyer?” Niklaus asked, forgetting about his assignment for the moment. “Seems kind of reckless…even for you.” “And yet I have managed to remove myself from whomever it was that sent you to me. Had I known the name, I’m

curious to know what would have become of me?” “You’re running out of time, Red,” Winter said in his ear. It was fine. He had the information he needed…but in case he was lying… “Open the safe.” “What safe?” Mikhail couldn’t sound any more like he was lying than just then. “The safe where you keep your accounting records. Open it.” “I don’t know what you’re—” Niklaus didn’t give him a chance to finish that statement. He shot him in the shoulder. “I won’t ask again.” “Suka!” Niklaus smiled. “No, I haven’t been

someone’s bitch in a long time. So either open her up, or I’ll put another bullet in you and watch the dust come out.” Shuffling over to a painting on the wall, one hand to his bleeding wound, Mikhail moved it to the side stumbling through putting in the code and finally getting it open. He grabbed the heavy looking book that was inside, tossing it at Niklaus’ feet. “There. Now get the fuck out of my home.” That had been the plan. But now that he was staring at the man he hadn’t seen since he was surveying the Russian, a different kind of emotion swam through him. One that he had grown all too familiar with.

Like his arm was not his own, he raised his gun, seeing the dawning realization in Mikhail’s eyes. “Seven years ago, Jetmir Besnik and his crew snatched me and someone I cared about off the street because they thought I was one of you. Sarah? She was just collateral damage. But me? They wanted to make me bleed, and for three days, they did. On that third day, Jetmir set Sarah on fire…but I’m sure you already know this considering you struck a deal with the lot of them.” “And I hear you’ve taken your revenge, no? The Besnik family is no more. You should be appeased.” Niklaus shook his head, stepping forward so that he was close enough to

Mikhail to see the look in his eyes. “Is the man who leads the lamb to slaughter not just as guilty as the man who slits its throat? I know the part you played in it all, Mikhail.” Mikhail shook his head frantically, still in disbelief. “Mishca wou—” “Mishca sends his regards,” Niklaus said as he pulled the trigger, leaving the man to bleed out on the polished wood floors.

NIKLAUS HATED NEW YORK CITY AND everything it stood for. It was portrayed as such a glamorous place, one where people would kill to be, but his first introduction to the city

left him resenting the very name. How long had it been since he was last here? Not that long, maybe a year at most —which also happened to be the last time he was on US soil at all—when Lauren gave birth. Despite his attitude towards the Russian, he still made it a point to be there when he was needed. But when he had called the Kingmaker with an update, the man had wasted no time in giving him a location, and instructing him to go to the one place Niklaus had been trying to avoid. It was what it was. Before the meet, he stopped by a storage unit he kept in Brooklyn, unlocking and lifting the garage door,

smiling at his baby inside. If there was one thing he missed, it was definitely his car. It had taken a few years and a hell of a lot of money to get her back in running condition, but now that she was, he loved her all the more. The ’67 Chevy Impala was a masterpiece, and one of the few possessions to his name that he actually cherished. Before leaving again, he popped the trunk, lifting the rolling case he had left behind during his last visit, and after he stowed it away, he skipped heading to a hotel, going to the Kingmaker first instead. As expected, he was exactly where he said he would be, and at Niklaus’

approach, the man smiled though it didn’t ring true. “Niklaus, always a pleasure.” Control was one of the many things Niklaus had learned to appreciate after his had been taken away so easily. In his line of work, control was essential in making sure everything went according to plan. And maybe it was because he lacked control around his new handler that he disliked the man so much. By nature, Niklaus wasn’t very trusting, but with his handler? Even less so. It didn’t help that he knew nothing about the man, and because of this, didn’t know what his motives were. And worse, his actions were too calculated.

Before, Z would call and set up a meet at one of his offices—one that was unlisted but always the same building— and they would be wrapped up within the hour. When the Kingmaker—and that name was annoying as fuck to say—called, there was no guarantee where the meeting would be held. Their first had been in the back of an Escalade under the Brooklyn bridge, another in a sweatshop in the middle of Columbia— with Niklaus still not knowing how they had both ended up there in the first place —and now, they were standing in a trinkets shop in Chinatown, in a back room where years-old gambling machines were set up as men slouched

over them in sweaty clothes, testing their luck. The Kingmaker was seated at a leaning card table, currency from varying countries stacked in front of him as an older Asian woman stood next to him counting it all, tallying each bundle with a quick scribble of her pen. “Do you have an update for me?” “It seemed he didn’t mind talking business in front of strangers. The Russian knew nothing about the buyer, says he went through an Irish family— McCarthys—and through them we can find the buyer.” “Interesting.” Tapping his thumb against his leg, the Kingmaker stared off to the side, not looking at anything as he

was lost to his thoughts. Niklaus was more than ready to leave, even if he had only been there for a few minutes—but he knew better than to leave before dismissed. “The timeline has moved up,” the Kingmaker said breaking his silence. “I have reason to believe whatever deal was struck, it’s going to finish in sixteen days. I suggest you get a move on lest you lose your target.” Usually, Niklaus spent months surveying his targets, learning their weaknesses, and their patterns of behavior. Going after an entire family, however, not to mention a mystery person whose name Niklaus didn’t even know…sixteen days was not enough

time. “That’s not going to work.” The Kingmaker met his gaze, his expression telling him his thoughts on the matter, but Niklaus ground his teeth, choking down what he really wanted to say. “If you want the job done—” “If I recall, I gave you this assignment over a year ago. In that time, you’ve chosen to do everything but, including picking up a smoking habit.” His eyes skirted to the cigarette tucked behind Niklaus’ ear. “I’ve elected to ignore the latter, but you need to understand something, Niklaus Volkov.” The room grew so silent that Niklaus’ defenses rose, waiting for a

threat to appear. His voice didn’t shift in pitch, nor had he changed his expression from the complete ease that was resting there, but in his next words, the threat was clear. “The moment you no longer serve a purpose, you become useless to me.” The threat rankled, and though it pained him to do so, Niklaus remained silent. “I suggest you get moving,” he said as he glanced down at his watch, an expensive looking thing that cost more than Niklaus was willing to spend on anything except his car. “You’re running out of time.”

BACK AT HIS HOTEL ROOM, NIKLAUS LUGGED the case from his trunk, carrying it into his temporary home before slamming the door shut and flipping all the locks. He didn’t have much time to prepare, so if he wanted to get a jump on this, he had to start now. Turning the latches, he threw open the top of the case, pulling out a laptop bag, setting that on the table that was used for eating, then returned to the trunk to pull out a new vest—top of the line Kevlar—and a few of his favorite weapons. His rifle stayed locked in its case at the bottom. Though long-range shots were his specialty, he doubted he would have much use for it since his job was intelligence as opposed to

assassination. As he finished checking over his gear, he went ahead and turned on the laptop, typing in the special encryption key that let him enter the network where he made a call to one of the two people he knew he would need for this assignment. Usually, he worked alone—they all did. In their trade, it was easier to remain unattached. Not to mention that it could be deadly owing someone a favor. But he only had a little over two weeks to see this done. An icon appeared on the screen, one depicting a smiling skull, then seconds later, a new window popped open, Winter’s face coming into focus. “Red? I didn’t expect to hear from

you so soon.” “I’ve got a job for you.” Gray eyes, almost as light as the shade of her bleached and dyed hair turned inquisitive as she studied him from her side of the screen. “Sounds fun. What do you need?” That was a good question… “Everything. A family, last name McCarthy.” She arched a brow. “That’s not enough for me to go on. It’s a common name.” “Well as of now, that’s all I got. They’re a crime family undoubtedly with ties both here in New York and in Ireland. They traffic weapons, so that might help narrow the search.”

Winter nodded. “I’ll do what I can. What’s your timeline?” “I need the information in forty-eight hours.” Whistling, she shook her head. “My rate just went up ten percent.” Despite him having to pay her exorbitant fees—at least until his check was cut for this assignment—Niklaus gave her a small smile. Even with the short timeframe, one that most wouldn’t be able to manage, Winter always came through. “I’ll get back to you when I know more.” The screen went black as Winter ended the call. One down, one to go. Digging out his phone, he pressed

‘two’ then the call button, bringing it up to his ear, hearing the monotone ringing for several moments before blaring music sounded on the other end. “What can I do you for?” “I need a favor.” “You seem to need a lot of those lately, boyo.” Of course it would be Celt that gave him a hard time. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” He hung up before Celt could respond, knowing that whatever his response would be would probably be something he didn’t want to hear. Strapping up, Niklaus headed for the door. He had been in the room for all of twenty minutes before he was back out

again. But he would have to get used to it again as he doubted he would be keeping regular hours over the next couple of weeks. Celt had a series of safe houses all over the world. He could be the poster child for backup plans and making sure that if anything went wrong, he could hide out somewhere and not be found. In the state of New York alone, he had seven, but out of those seven, there was only one that he used as his private residence, and only seven members of the Den actually knew of its existence. Niklaus was one of those seven. It was once a cotton candy factory, and despite the time that had passed since it closed down, it still smelled

faintly of sugar. Celt had converted the place into a loft-style apartment, making improvements as he went along. Pulling up outside the building, Niklaus killed the engine and climbed out, jogging over to the lift, pushing the gate open and stepping in before pressing the button for him to go up. The lift rocked and rattled, a testament to how long the building had been standing, before it stopped entirely. Stepping into the loft, Niklaus barely spared the place a glance—having been there a number of times over the years— and headed for the kitchen pantry where there was a hidden keypad behind the spice rack. One code and palm print later, Niklaus was stepping onto another

elevator, this one having been specially installed by contractors that were close to the Den. The brushed nickel interior looked innocent at first glance, but there was a tiny camera in the ceiling, and if there ever happened to be someone riding down to the hidden level that Celt didn’t sanction, he only had to press a button on his phone to release a gas that would incapacitate his victim in moments. On the ride down, Celt held life and death in his hands. When the doors finally opened, letting in the stark whiteness of the War Room, Niklaus had to blink a few times to clear his vision. Guns lined the backlit walls, black racks hanging on all

sides except for one. There were a number of monitors that made up that last wall. Three were for each level of the building where Celt had set up cameras, and the fourth was for the outside perimeter. Then, there was the wall of money that Celt had. While Niklaus was usually one to receive his payments in wired transactions to offshore bank accounts—before he ultimately moved the money when the need arose—Celt preferred to get paid in cash, storing the excessive amounts in his home. This wall of currency was only a small fraction of how much money was truly in this place. Sitting at the conference table that was nearly as wide as it was long and

split the room in half was Celt. His booted feet were kicked up, a keyboard resting on his thighs as he lazily surfed the web, barely sparing Niklaus a glance as he entered, but when he did, his answering smile illuminated his bearded face. Niklaus could still remember the day he and Celt crossed paths. It was after he had agreed to go with Z. After a plane and car ride that he only vaguely remembered. Perhaps a day’s time after Z had left him in that windowless room, his ominous words lingering in the silence of the room. The longer he had remained in that room, the more time his mind had to focus, not on the mysterious place had

then resided at—though he’d had plenty of time to think on that considering how long he had been left alone. No, after his thoughts had drifted from the present, they went back to the one place he wished they hadn’t. Sarah… But the thought of her hadn’t overwhelmed him as he had thought it would. Instead, he had grown used to the silence, or he had falsely believed he hadn’t gone mad yet, at least until a piercing noise began emitting from the walls, forcing him to cringe away from the noise though there was nowhere to go. Soon, he had thought he heard tiny voices talking to him, making him laugh

at his own insanity. He had been so sure he was losing it. Finally, after he’d been sure he couldn’t take anymore, everything shutoff once more as darkness reigned once more. A long time—or it had felt like that at the time—the door to his room had opened, making Niklaus jolt, his eyes swinging to the man that had been entering. He hadn’t been much older than Niklaus had at the time, perhaps twentyfour or twenty-five—he still wasn’t sure of Celt’s age to this day—but he had the eyes of a man that had seen many things. Unlike when Niklaus had first been brought in, Celt hadn’t been wearing a mask, and the only reason Niklaus

recognized him was because of the two black bands that were tattooed on his left forearm. He’d brought in a glass of water, a lifeline if Niklaus had ever seen one. Right as he was about to leave, Celt had said something that had stuck with him since the last word was uttered. “Do not fear death. Embrace it. Pain is inevitable, learn to love it.” Niklaus didn’t want to think where he would be without Celt. “What can I do you for?” Celt asked sitting back, folding his hands behind his head. “Man named Donovan McCarthy. A year ago, he brokered a deal between Mikhail Volkov—” Celt arched a brow

at the name. “—and the man I’m trying to find. Volkov handed over the merchandise a week ago, but the final transaction doesn’t go down for another sixteen days.” “Why so long?” Celt asked sitting forward. “If they made the transaction a year ago, why is it just now ending?” Niklaus had been wondering the same thing since his meeting with the Kingmaker. No matter how he ran the possibilities, it didn’t make sense. He doubted Mikhail hadn’t been able to supply the weapons long before now— that was what the Volkovs specialized in —so that begged the question, what the hell were they dealing with? It was obvious this was no ordinary

transaction, especially if a man like the Kingmaker was involved in this. “I don’t know, but I need to find out. What can you tell me about McCarthy?” “His main operation is out of Dublin, but he recently transplanted here with his sons to branch out—take over territory. You’ve heard of Declan Flanagan?” Only because of his connection to Mikhail and Mishca. Back when he had first started looking into the Volkov Bratva, he didn’t just stop at the men that made up that particular organization, but anyone they had come into contact with as well. The list was a mile long, filled with politicians, other syndicates, and at least a dozen men in different precincts around the state.

But whereas most of those had been allies, the Flanagan family hated the Volkovs—particularly Declan Flanagan. While Niklaus might not have been able to find why the pair were at odds, he knew, if only because Declan never failed to do something to get under Mishca’s skin—like the time he sent two brothers to try and kill him, though he had to have known they would fail. Niklaus might not have known the man personally, but he liked him. Enemy of his enemy, and all that. “Yeah. What of him?” “His da died a year and a half ago, complications from an old gunshot wound. They say Declan couldn’t handle it, went off on a binger for the better part

of a year. That was when the McCarthys moved in, started taking over his territory. By the time he got his shite together, they had already planted roots. They’ve been at war ever since.” “We could use that,” Niklaus said, more to himself than to Celt. “Tell me this. How exactly are you going to get a name from the McCarthys. It was different with Volkov, no? You had leverage over him. This lot…you’re going in blind.” “I’ll find it.” He always did. “Where can I find them?” “They have a warehouse near the docks, but I’ve heard their youngest hangs around a pub. Parting Glass Tavern. Some say he’s sweet on the

owner.” Getting to his feet, Niklaus memorized the faces staring back at him from the projector. “Right, I’ll give it a look.” “Aye. Careful out there, Red.” Celt dropped his feet down. “You know how we Irish are.” Yeah, that was the last thing he needed to worry about. Parting Glass Tavern, he had heard of it, and not because of its connection with the Irishman he was tracking. It seemed the McCarthy boy wasn’t the only one that knew and had a thing for the owner.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THUNDER BOOMED, LIGHTNING STREAKING across the night sky in jagged arcs, briefly illuminating the dark room Reagan stood in. For the better part of two weeks, rain had constantly poured.

While she didn’t think herself to be superstitious, she couldn’t help but think perhaps this was mother nature’s way of telling her that waiting in the cold, damp basement for a man that had been dogging at her heels for the last six months was not where she was meant to be. As far as days went, hers had already gone downhill early in the morning when she had received a call from her bank, informing her that she was late on the lease, again, for the space that was home to her family’s pub. She could have told the man the truth. That times were hard—not to mention the salaries she owed the few employees she had, plus her own bills, rent, and

helping out her family. Or the little fact that more than half the neighborhood was being shaken down by the very men she was in the room with… But they wouldn’t care about that, only when she was going to send in the check. Reagan could still remember the good days when The Parting Glass Tavern had thrived. Her parents’ marriage had improved—but that could have also been because her dad had cut back on his drinking—her brother, Jimmy, had come back around after keeping his distance for years. And more than anything, she had finally been able to move out of her childhood home and

was now providing for herself. All had been well until her dad’s drinking had caught back up with him. She didn’t mind working the sixteenhour days, not even the stress that it put her under trying to run a pub by herself now that her mom and dad were practically nonexistent, but she did mind that once again, her dad’s problem was going to ruin them. That was if the McCarthy family didn’t ruin them first. There were a plethora of crime families that called New York home. Russians, Albanians, Italians, and Colombians to name a few, but in Hell’s Kitchen, where working class Irish families lived and thrived, it was only

those of similar blood that could spark fear in the natives. Some weren’t necessarily bad, could even say they were decent people by watching after the neighborhood, making sure that any problems that came about were dealt with quickly and quietly. And when Johnny D from apartment 316 got in that jam for stealing a car from a rich tourist, it was the Flanagan crime family that had gotten him out of t. But the McCarthys? They only cared about the profit—the bottom line. And if that meant tearing through the streets, hurting people and breaking things to make sure it was understood they were the ones in charge, they did it. Ever since they had transplanted

from Dublin to Hell’s Kitchen ten months ago—where their base of operations was still located—everyone, at one time or another, had felt the unforgiving hand they extended. At first, they had approached under the guise of protection, promising that for a price, they would make sure that no one would harm their businesses. While Reagan hadn’t needed such protection—not when she had a bartender/cook that looked like he could bench a semi-truck and live—but she had understood the lure all the same with the local gangs always making a fuss. For a while the McCarthy boys had seemed content with this, but soon, not even six months later, they’d demanded

payment from everyone. But not from Reagan, and at first, she hadn’t understood why. Until later when she learned she was off-limits. Across the room, standing in the doorway was Liam McCarthy, the youngest of the McCarthy clan, and the man that had been relentlessly trying to force her into a relationship for the first two months they had moved into the city before she had finally given in. As though he felt her gaze on him, he glanced back with what he thought was a charming smile before turning his attention back to whatever his brother, Rourke, was saying. Reagan could still remember that

first day she and the brothers had crossed paths. It had been a late night, one where she had sent everyone home for the night while she finished up running the numbers and cleaning the bar. She had been in the back office, going over the books when she heard the sharp rap at the doors. Liam, Rourke, and two of their ‘friends’ had stood on the other side, Liam giving her a friendly wave as she approached. The neighborhood wasn’t that big, so she had seen the brothers around, but mostly Liam. He was the nicer of the two, never seen without a smile, and from what Reagan understood, he wasn’t as deep in the family business as he brother was. Word was, he only did the

books, but she had learned rather soon that wasn’t true. Liam had been charming, seemingly wanting to get to know her, but she knew just by their visit to the pub that it wasn’t about him trying to get to know her. Her first assumption was that it was now her turn to pay up for a service she didn’t want. In a community like theirs, word had gotten around about who and how the extortion took place. Most that whispered about the brothers often said it was Rourke who came for the money, so for that reason, Reagan knew something was off when it was Liam doing the talking. And if not for that, she could tell just

from the way Rourke was looking that it hadn’t been normal protocol. He hadn’t asked about protection, money, or favors. No, he asked about her, wanted to know everything about her. Then, in a matter of minutes, he had asked her on a date. That night, she declined. The next night, she declined. And nearly every day after when he came around, making himself at home in her pub during her peak hours, he continued to try and wear her down, and the longer she went without giving him an answer, the more annoyed he became, as though a girl had never denied him. The next time the doors to her pub opened, she had expected Liam once

again, ready to give his usual spiel, but when she saw Rourke, she got a foul feeling in her gut. He hadn’t spoken a word to her all night except for when he ordered a beer that he didn’t touch. People had quickly begun skipping out, wanting to get away from him and what his presence might mean. And later, once they were alone, he made his point clear by letting her know that if she didn’t accept his brother’s invitation, he wouldn’t be able to save her anymore. So the next time Liam asked, though she had wanted to say no, she agreed and went to dinner with him. Since that first ‘date,’ they’d been out a few times more, and for a while, he hadn’t been pressuring her to take things any further.

“You’re a different kind of girl,” he had said one night. “I’ll do right by you.” Liam had proved not to be so bad, keeping to his word about giving her time to get used to him in her life, but his patience was wearing thin. That much she could tell. For that reason, she found herself in a basement where three women and two men were sitting at a lengthy table in their underwear, shoveling small amounts of cocaine into baggies. It didn’t matter what she saw, not when there was no one to tell—Liam had shown her that. The police couldn’t help, not when a number of them lined their pockets with dirty money. Usually, Liam didn’t bring her along

when he had to do something with his brother, but he’d begun demanding more time of her, and if that meant she came to his family’s place of business when he asked, so be it. And like those times before, Reagan did her best to tune them out, not particularly caring what was being discussed, but for some reason tonight, she couldn’t quite lose herself in her own head, instead listening in on the hushed conversation across the room. “What’s he planning?” Liam asked of his brother. “Fuck if I know,” Rourke replied, his voice louder than it had been before. “Who does know what that sonofabitch ever has planned.” The ‘son-of-a-bitch’ they were

referring to was Declan Caellach Flanagan, or Caellach to those that knew him. His family had been well known around those parts for many years, and not many had minded their presence. But years ago, Delan’s father had mysteriously disappeared, and when he’d been unable to find answers, Declan lost it. He’d gone on a binder, letting the world share in his grief, but after a short time, he too had disappeared, leaving room for the likes of the McCarthy brothers to move in and take over the territory. But, not for the first time, Liam was discussing Declan, and from how it sounded to Reagan, he wasn’t taking too

kindly to the McCarthy presence, and that only meant one thing. Declan was going to make a move on them, and soon. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor sounded in the room. “You need —” Before Rourke could get another word in, Liam cut him off. “Easy, brother. How about we discuss this later when soft ears aren’t around, yeah?” Reagan blinked, realizing belatedly that Liam was referring to her. But maybe it was all well that she didn’t react to his words straight-away lest he believe she was listening. More importantly, maybe now that he was shutting down conversation, she

could hopefully get to the pub now. Smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt, always impeccably dressed, unlike his older brother. Rourke was a touch less flashy with his attire, wearing jeans that looked expensive, a plain tshirt beneath a coat with wool lining the interior, plus a pair of work boots. Around his neck was a delicate gold chain that was fashioned of links all the way around. Liam, on the other hand, wore suits predominantly. There was not a moment where Liam didn’t attempt to look his very best. It was just one of many things that he took control over. Smiling proudly, as though they were merely waiting in his living room as

opposed to a drug haven, Liam wrapped a hand around hers, drawing her into his arms even as she resisted. She barely caught Rourke’s nod in her direction before Liam was sweeping her out the door and into the night air that was muggy with the promise of rain. When they were both in his car, he smiled in her direction. “Would you like to get dinner?” “I can’t. Jimmy’s at the pub by himself, remember? I was supposed to be there two hours ago…” But I’m here…was added silently. He frowned, focusing on the road as he pulled off. “I didn’t think the meeting would take as long as it had—you know how it is with Rourke. Besides, you do

too much at that place anyway. Your brother can handle himself. Girl like you shouldn’t be doing so much.” Reagan looked away and rolled her eyes. Sometimes she forgot just how misogynistic Liam could be. He had made his stance clear about what he expected from her. But she wan’t giving up her dream, no matter what he said. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself. And Jimmy can do the same, but that pub belongs to me and he shouldn’t have to shoulder the responsibility when he didn’t ask for it.” “Then tell your da to get off his drunken arse and do his bit.” Conor O’Callahan might have been a drunk, but only family got to call him out

on it, and Liam was definitely not that. “It’s not your business.” “If it pertains to you, it is my business.” She wasn’t bold enough to say that she wasn’t his business either, so instead, she kept quiet. “Besides, I’ve been thinking it might be a good idea for the two of us to get away for a while—a holiday or something.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and she knew within seconds that they weren’t what he wanted to hear. He hit the brakes hard as he parked, shoving the gear shift into park as he sat

back, his jaw tightening. Before he could take further offense, she amended, “There’s just too much going on for me to get away right now.” He rubbed his chin, then shook his head. “I’ll give you a few days to get your stuff together. With what Rourke has planned, I don’t want you around for that shit.” “And what does he have planned?” Liam’s frustration cleared as he draped an arm across her seat, smiling. “Nothing for you to worry about. It’ll all be over soon. Now, why don’t you go on and I’ll see you later.” Not bothering to argue with him, she reached for the door handle. “I’ll call you when—”

“No need. Bobby’ll be here.” Reagan froze. “What?” “For your protection.” “Protection from what?” Putting a hand to the back of her neck, he tugged her forward, smashing his lips against hers, pulling away after a moment. “Nothing you need to worry yourself about. Go on,” he said with a nod of his head towards the pub. “Before I have a mind to keep you here.” She couldn’t get out the car fast enough. The last thing she wanted to think about was Liam, and what his words meant—she had the pub to think about after all. But, as she watched him pull away, only now noticing the car that was

idling at the curb, Rourke’s man, Bobby, folding his big body out of it, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in the middle of something that had absolutely nothing to do with her.

PARTING GLASS TAVERN WAS LOCATED IN the heart of Hell’s Kitchen, a premiere spot that had gotten Reagan loads of traffic when they had first opened, but with the rise of more restaurants in the area, it was becoming harder for her to keep up with the growing competition. Especially when Conor was drinking more than he sold. It wasn’t necessarily that her business was doing poorly, but she

wasn’t doing nearly as well as she had in the past, and if she were being honest, she didn’t think all of it was because of her dad. Ever since it had become unspoken knowledge that she was Liam’s, a number of her regulars had stopped coming around, and when she happened to see them out and about, they always turned their heads and hurried away as though afraid to even be around her. Reagan didn’t know what to do anymore. As she entered the pub, breathing in the familiar and welcome scent of ale and Guinness, some of the tension swelling in her chest eased. She had made it a point to keep the place as

close to her heritage as possible. The front was made of glass with black wood dividing the windows, and on a gold-plated sign that hung from the post out front was the name of the place lasered onto it. The interior had floors of polished wood, a bar of the same, with leather bar stools lined along the front. Fifteen tables made up the dining room, enough for people that wanted to eat, and for when the bar got crowded. Two flat screens hung from the wall, one currently playing rugby, the other American soccer. Depending on which crowd they got usually determined what was played. Standing behind the bar was Joey and Shan. Shan had been dating Joey on-

and-off for the better part of nine years now. It was surprising that he hadn’t already married the girl, but considering they had only just gotten back together after another stint—meaning a very public screaming match where Shan threatened to cut his dick off if he was cheating—Reagan figured it might have been best for them to hold out a little while longer. Spotting Reagan coming in, Shan came around the bar, her smile already in place as she said, “We were wondering what was taking you so long. Last time you—” she paused when she caught sight of Bobby coming in behind her. While they might not have been

forced to answer to Liam, Rourke, and the others the way she did, they were all too aware of the kinds of men they were, and Reagan had never lied to Shan about Liam’s practices. Giving her a look that promised an explanation later, Reagan headed for the back. She turned at the last minute to tell Bobby he didn’t have to trail after her— even if Liam had told him to do just that —but to her luck, his attention was snared by the rugby match and she was all but forgotten as he found a seat at the bar. Jimmy—or sometimes Jimmy O’ when he wanted the distinction—was in the back with his feet kicked up on the desk, a small ball in his left hand that he

routinely threw up to hit against the ceiling before catching it again. He, very much like her, had inherited their’s mother’s lean figure, but he got their father’s jaw and crooked smile. Today was a good day for him judging by his attire—Jimmy dressed to fit his moods. He was more like the casual version of Liam than anything. He was in a pair of slim-fitting pants in a ruddy shade of brown, a chambray shirt, and a pair of oxfords. He had the same burnished red hair as she did, his cut low on the sides and in the back, left longer in the middle—as was the custom around these parts it seemed. He normally kept it styled the way he liked, but today, he left it free, strands of wavy

hair falling in his face. “What has you in such a good mood?” she asked as she eyed him, wishing she could read his body language as well as she could read his appearance. He gave her an easy smile, shrugging a shoulder. “Is it wrong to be happy?” “Of course not,” she said giving him a slight shove so she could take the chair he was sitting in. “But it’s you, so there’s probably more to the story.” His lips turned down at the corners as he shrugged. “Fair enough. So where have you been?” He was good at avoiding questions by asking one of his own. “With Liam.”

As easy going as Jimmy could be, when it came to Liam, he lost that easiness. As a brother would, he hated any boyfriend she had brought home for them to meet—them meaning her parents and brothers—even if there hadn’t been that many. And while they had all failed some test of his that only he knew, Jimmy had never warmed to Liam, not in the slightest. If anything, Jimmy outright detested him and didn’t bother hiding it. If Liam noticed—and it would be hard for him not to—he never mentioned Jimmy except when it came to the pub. She didn’t even think he knew she had other brothers besides him. But what he didn’t ask, she didn’t willingly offer.

“He’s a fucking twat.” “Jimmy…” “You know I’m right. It baffles my mind that you even put up with him.” Jimmy’s phone chimed, breaking off his tirade as he reached for it, eyes scanning the text that had come in. But as quickly as his attention had been snatched, he gave it right back. His thumbs busy flying over the screen, he didn’t look up as he said, “Little bastard is going to learn he and his brother can’t—” “Jimmy, don’t.” Even if they were having a private conversation in the back of the pub, she still didn’t want him talking that way. Sometimes it felt like the walls had ears. “Besides, Liam isn’t all bad.” That sounded like a lie even to

her ears. “The fact that you have to describe him as ‘not so bad’, there’s my answer.” Jumping to his feet, Jimmy grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “I’m going to check on ma. I’ll see you around.”” She was nodding, watching him leave until his words caught up to her. “What do you mean they’re going to learn? What are they going to learn?” He kissed her cheek, heading for the door. “You’ll see.” “Jimmy, don’t do anything stupid. Ma’ll be upset if she lost you because of something like this.” She wouldn’t survive it, not like last time. And Jimmy knew better than anyone how fragile their mom could be.

It wasn’t like they were the only ones there that day… Without a response, however, Jimmy left.

AROUND THREE IN THE MORNING, WHEN Reagan had sent everyone home for the night—including Bobby who’d left on his own after getting a phone call—she was busy wiping down the bar making sure that it shined when she heard the bell chime as the front door was opened, letting in a gust of cold air. She used beneath her breath, remembering too late that she had forgotten to lock it after the place had cleared out. Her hand tightening around the towel she held, she

didn’t look up as she said, “We’re closed.” This wouldn’t be the first time that something like this happened…and even those times had been easy enough to manage though she was on her own. When seconds passed and she didn’t hear the door reopen, she tossed the rag down on the bar top. A reply ready on her lips, she looked up, but as she blinked and took in the person standing on the opposite side of the bar, those words died, because despite the years that had passed, there was no way that she wouldn’t recognize Niklaus. A small part of her had wanted to believe that despite how very real and visceral his presence had been in her

life for the mere weeks total that she had with him, he was merely a figment of her imagination. She hadn’t wanted to believe that he was real. But now, there he stood. Merely a few feet away and she knew, even as she blinked a few times to make sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, that he was real. Very real. And for whatever reason, he had walked back into her life. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to the toes of her shoes, making her feel terribly exposed, and while she had thought she would be unaffected by them considering the time that’d passed them by, it was definitely not the case. It was like she could feel his eyes on her like a

physical touch, one that she was both desperately craving and wanted to get far away from. If there was one thing she knew about Niklaus, he was definitely the type of man she needed to avoid, if only so she didn’t fall back into the same feelings she once had. When there was nothing but the bar separating them, he leaned onto it, making that space even smaller as the corner of his mouth tipped up, revealing that dimple in his left cheek. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.” God, even his voice was enough to conjure an image of their time spent together, back when he had his hand around her throat and whispered dirty promises in her ear… Thankfully, he

wasn’t freaking out physically the way she was on the inside. “What are you doing here, Niklaus?” “Would you believe me if I told you I came looking for you?” He sounded thoughtful as he asked, the emotion reflected in his eyes, but despite that, she didn’t believe that for a second. Not at all. Shaking her head, she asked again, “Why are you really here?” He scanned her face for some time before a small smile bloomed, one that made her chest tighten. “It’s good to see you.” Despite the way those words made her feel, Reagan refused to let them soften her towards him. She couldn’t. Not after what he’d done.

Shaking her head, she came around the bar, refusing to meet his gaze as she didn’t stop until she had a hand on his chest, ready to push him out the way he came if necessary. But at the moment of contact, his hand came up to cover hers, forcing her hand to remain in place even as she loved to pull away. Even through the fabric of his shirt, he burned hot, his warmth seeping into her skin, the strong beat of his heart echoing against her hand. He was there. In that moment. “You can’t be here,” she said on a whisper, forcing the words out though she wanted only to hold them in. Niklaus’ other hand came up, his fingers drifting along the side of her

face, along her jawline before he tucked them beneath her chin, forcing her eyes up and on him. Up close, she got a better look at him. She almost wished the years had been unkind to him, maybe then she could have been unaffected. But if anything, they had only made him better. His hair was a touch shorter, proudly displaying the lines tattooed on the side of his neck, along with the angry looking brand that was on his nape. He’d always been careful to keep them concealed from her, and had seemed a little reluctant to share what they had meant, but now he was proudly displaying them. What had changed? And it didn’t look like he had lost an

ounce of muscle that she could feel the beneath the layers of clothes he wore. No, Niklaus was just as physically attractive as he had always been, and here she was, looking just as disheveled as she had the first day they had met. Fate was fucking cruel. But none of the really mattered anymore. Maybe it would have months ago, before Rourke, before Liam, but now? It didn’t. “You don’t want me?” Maybe if the question had been asked with some feeling, she might have told him the truth—the truth couldn’t hurt after all—but the way he’d asked as though the answer didn’t matter at all. She wouldn’t bring herself to be used by

him, not again. “No.” Only when that single word was left between them did he finally relent, releasing his hold and taking a step back, but not far enough away that she didn’t still feel overwhelmed by him. “I’ll see you around, Reagan.” Before she could curb the impulse, she said, “You can’t?” A single brow shot up. “Says who?” “Says me. You left. You can’t just walk back into my life out of nowhere and expect me to welcome you with open arms, like the last time we were together didn’t happen.” She pressed her lips together, wishing she hadn’t added that last little tidbit, but pressing on, she

pretended like she hadn’t. “And nothing you say in the next five seconds is going to change my mind.” Now, he was amused, that blank expression drifting away. “No? I’m around though, so I’ve got time.” “But this time I don’t want you around.” This time, he didn’t let the bar remain between them, coming around it instead so that he was now in her space, filling her senses with everything that was him. She couldn’t help but breathe in the warm, heady aroma that was Niklaus. Why did it have to be him? There’d been other guys that were interested over the years, but none had made her ache

the way Niklaus did. None of them ever made her feel like she was more than what she was the way he did. He’d ruined her. “I’m not going to leave again.” Forcing her eyes up on him, she shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not like you would tell me if you were.” He didn’t respond, just stood there for a moment until he reached for her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He didn’t kiss her knuckles as she’d anticipated, but turned her palm over and pressed his lips to her inner wrist, the heat of his mouth making her heart kick up. God, would there ever be a time when she didn’t want him? With a careless wink, he dropped

her hand and drifted back out the door, disappearing into the night as quickly as he had come. Only when he was gone did she feel like she could breathe again. Niklaus was back in town. Shit.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

IT WAS TRUE THEN. Niklaus wasn’t sure why he still lingered outside the pub, leaning against the lamppost, turning a cigarette over between his fingers. He had yet to light

it, his attention solely focused on the girl he left behind—how long had it been since he had last seen her? She had changed since then. Gone was the frizzy red hair that she kept up in a bun, now bone-straight and a deeper shade of auburn. Her breasts where fuller, her hips wider. No, she was just as beautiful as she’d always been. There was one significant difference between her then and the version standing more than a dozen feet away in her place of business. Her eyes. What had attracted him to her in the first place was just how innocent she had looked, how she hadn’t seemed

tainted with all the shit that life threw at you. Now? Something, and he wasn’t quite sure what that something was, had made her hard. Maybe it was good he came back when he did. Niklaus remained there until she finally ventured out, pulling her coat closed around her, then locked up, dropped the gate, and headed down the block pocketing her keys. Call it paranoia, but he followed behind at a safe distance, scanning the street for any threat. The likelihood of her being in danger was slim, especially since no one knew of her connection to him, but he couldn’t curb the impulse to make sure she got home safely.

These streets had taught him that. Finally, after walking two blocks, she stopped at a nondescript building that looked like it was in its prime twohanded years ago. It was painted a pale green, the building connected to it on its right, pink, and the other on its left was undergoing renovations. A man smoking a cigar sat out on the fire escape, staring down at her, the television inside his apartment blaring loud enough for Niklaus to hear. Reagan paid him no mind as she punched in the code on the keypad, slipping inside her building, the door slamming shut behind her. Niklaus waited, wanting to see what the man would do now, but he remained in his spot. When a light came on two

floors up, he looked to it, waiting to see if he could catch another glimpse of her, but he could only make out her shadow behind the closed curtains at her window. She might have told him to walk away, and maybe she had every reason to be upset with him after what he had done. But he had found her at a bad time, one when he wasn’t ready to contemplate a life with anyone else, working too hard on old promises that needed to be fulfilled. Even now, he wasn’t sure he was open for that. He was too hard. Too jaded. But whether he wanted that

something more, he hadn’t been able to fight his impulse to seek her out. Maybe they could be friends, if such a thing were possible. But even as Niklaus headed back for his car, he was already rejecting that idea. He didn’t do friends. In this life of his, his friends winded up dead.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

REAGAN’S APARTMENT WAS NOTHING TO write home about. It was smaller than what it was worth, had a steady leak whenever it rained hard, and neighbors a floor above

her that had to be wearing shoes made of concrete with the way they stomped around. But there was one thing Reagan loved about it: it was hers. That wasn’t to say she had hated living with her parents, but after a while —especially after she was old enough to want to do her own thing—it got tiring coming home to her father questioning where she had been and with who. Then, after his drinking had progressed, she almost missed those days, definitely preferred them over his raging. After she had opened the pub, and they were finally a step above poverty, she took what little money she had left over and found this place. And despite wanting to stretch her wings, she still

hadn’t gone too far. From here, she could walk to the pub, and when she was feeling up to it, even to the two-bedroom apartment her family had lived in. No, she still hadn’t been able to leave them behind. Dropping her bag on the chair, she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing that as well before pulling the band from her hair, running her fingers through it. It had been a long day, and that was even before she got to the pub. She had contemplated everything she had overheard, what little there was, and the cryptic things Liam had mentioned after he had dropped her off. Rourke had mentioned a problem, and if she was

right, that problem would be presenting itself soon enough. She had no doubt. But currently, her only problem was a 6’4 Russian who she knew nothing about, but cared for like she had known him her entire life. God, had it only been a couple of weeks that they spent together all those years ago? And of that time, she had spent most of those days in his bed, but in that short period, he had consumed her, taking every last bit of her that he wanted until there was nothing left. Reagan knew better, had even warned herself that she didn’t need to get attached to someone like him, but at some point, the rational side of her brain had clicked off,

replaced with someone that was too intrigued to walk away. But he had walked away from her. No note. No promises of calling her. Had she not gone by his motel room days after the last time she had seen him, she would have never known that he was gone in the first place. That was why she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—believe that he was suddenly back in the Kitchen for her. And yet, that still begged the question as to why he was back. She knew for a fact that he wasn’t from around these parts, not even from the north at all. If she recalled correctly, he’d said he was from Florida. Maybe he was a traveling salesman, and came

up here for business of some kind. And he just happened to find her in a city this big? That thought made her edgy. It wasn’t like the pair of them exchanged last names or anything, and she doubted she was the only Reagan in the state. So that begged the question, how had he found her? He didn’t sound surprised as he called to her. In fact, his entire demeanor spoke as though he had tracked her down. Would you believe me if I told you I came for you? At first, no. But now? She was strongly considering it. Before, she might have been happy by that possibility.

Now, the only thing she wanted to know was who the hell he was…

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER A HOT SHOWER, painstakingly straightening her hair again —she rarely left it in its natural state nowadays—and getting dressed, Reagan headed for her parent’s place. Thankfully, the rain had let up, but storm clouds still lingered in the sky as though ready to open up at any time. Her parents’ building was not much better than hers, but the familiarity of it made it special. Along the sidewalk, when the city had been redoing the concrete there, Jimmy had snuck down when her parents weren’t around and

stuck his hands on it, forever embedding his child-sized prints in the sidewalk. To this day, the sight of them still made her smile. Opening the front gate, she headed up the breezeway, punching in the code to let herself into the building, then up to the apartment. Despite having moved out, she still had a key, her mother wanting her to keep it in case of emergencies. Thankfully, it had been a while since there was one. Even as she stuck the key in the lock, giving it a slight jiggle and twist before disengaging and unlocked the door and pushed it open, she knocked on the heavy wood, announcing her presence. “Ma?”

“In the kitchen!” She closed the door behind her, locking it once more as she went in search of her mother, looking around the space as she went. Not much had changed, just the slight shift of the furniture, more pictures adorning the fireplace mantel, but there was one thing that was drastically different. Her father wasn’t perched in the lounger with a bottle of whiskey clutched in his fist. Reagan didn’t know whether to be thrilled or nervous about this. When she rounded the corner, she finally caught sight of her mother, Isabelle, standing at the stove with an apron around her waist and a wooden

spoon in her hand as she mixed what smelled like stew in the giant pot. Isabelle was five-five, a few inches shorter than Reagan’s five-eight— Isabelle had always said she got Conor’s height even if he was six feet— and was just as round in her hips as she was in her middle. Her unruly muddybrown hair was swept up into a bun, curling strands escaping it to frame her face. She had laugh lines around her eyes and mouth, ones she had always had since Reagan could remember. If there was one thing to be said, she was her mother’s daughter. “Hey Ma, how are you?” Reagan greeted warmly, wrapping her arms around her mother and giving a squeeze.

Moments like these, when it was just the pair of them, Reagan missed her terribly, wondering why she didn’t come around more often. “All’s well. How’s my favorite girl? And the pub?” “I’m fine, and the pub is too.” Even if the world was coming down around her, Reagan would never tell her mother anything else. She already had to deal with a drunk for a husband, she didn’t need to worry about the stress Reagan was under too. “I’m glad. Your brother should be here soon.” Reagan nodded. Jimmy never missed Sunday brunch, even the one time when he was hung over to the point that he

threw up as soon as he cleared the entryway. After she said the words, Isabelle’s eyes skirted past Reagan towards one of the framed pictures. Reagan didn’t have to look to know which one had her attention. It was the one she always looked to when she made reference to Jimmy. No, Jimmy never missed brunch, and back when her other brothers were still around, they would never miss brunch either. But that was before Conor made it clear that they weren’t welcome anymore. Reagan had seen them maybe twice in the last seven years.

There wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t think about her brothers, and when she came home, sitting around the dining table with Jimmy, Conor, and Isabelle, she felt their absence more than ever. They all did. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Reagan asked changing the subject. “Almost finished here, love.” And even if she weren’t, she would still do it all herself. That was who Isabelle O’Callahan was. She was a wife and a mother, and her main priority in life was caring for her family. Reagan admired her for it, even if she couldn’t understand the sentiment completely. She loved her mother and her

brothers unconditionally. Her father… well she had learned to tolerate him. But she couldn’t imagine giving up everything for someone like her father— and she knew that was a shitty way to feel. He might have been different, back when they had still lived in Ireland, but now, she was only plagued with the bad memories. “Why don’t you go and relax—wait for your brother to get here.” Isabelle’s voice pulled Reagan from her thoughts. Seeing no other choice, she did as asked, pulling her phone from her pocket as she went. There were a couple of texts from Liam, but she didn’t bother to read them—a couple more hours of ignoring him couldn’t hurt. Instead, she

scrolled through her contacts until she reached Shannon’s name. As she clicked on it, opening up a new screen, she sent a text that made a chill run down her spine. I saw Niklaus last night… More than anyone else, she would know exactly who she was talking about. Shan had been the only person around that Reagan let know how hurt she had been when Niklaus disappeared out of her life as quickly as he had entered it. Her phone chimed with another alert, but before she could read it, the front door opened, Jimmy stepping in. He looked annoyed—one of his usual expressions when he was asked to come for brunch—but when he glanced over at

her, he did smile. Jimmy came straight over, pulling her into a fast hug before kissing both her cheeks. “How was last night?” He had wanted to stay behind and close with her, but after she insisted she could handle it, he had taken off. Now that Niklaus had popped up, she was glad she had sent him away. She was more glad that Liam’s guy, Bobby, had already left for the night. She didn’t want to think about what Bobby would have done if he had seen Niklaus —especially with the reaction she’d had to him—not to mention when he told Liam. Rourke might have been the scarier of the two, but Liam could hold his own.

Reagan had witnessed that firsthand. “Is that my boy?” Isabelle called from the kitchen, sounding a touch more excited than when Reagan had come in, but she didn’t mind this. Reagan was the ‘good child’ as her father liked to put it during one of his rare bouts of sobriety. She came around to see her parents often and did, mostly, whatever they wanted—in his eyes, that constituted as good. Jimmy, on the other hand, only showed up because their mother begged. Otherwise, if it was just their father at home, he refused to step foot inside. Speaking of… A crash sounded from the back of the apartment, and Reagan was immediately

filled with unease as she waited for Conor to come stumbling out. He did come, but at least he wasn’t stumbling, swaying more like it. Since the last time she had seen it, he’d grown out more of his wiry beard, his hair greasy and unkempt. The shirt he wore was stained, and the jeans looked faded —but at least he wore pants this time so she couldn’t complain. She could smell the whiskey on him from well across the room. Glancing up at the clock, she shook her head. It wasn’t even noon yet. But she didn’t voice this, merely pasted on a smile as she moved to greet him, wrapping her arms around him. Once, he had looked fit, made it a point

to look his best, but after he’d lost his way, he’d gained a beer belly, and looked sallow. “Reagan,” he said, only slightly slurring her name. “How’s my wee girl?” Despite the years spent in America, he still retained his accent, refusing to let it go. It was his pride and joy, he’d always said. He pulled away after a moment, giving her a smile as he headed into the kitchen, her following. Jimmy was smiling at their mother, no trace of unease on his face at least until Conor walked in. It was like a switch had been hit, and his expression went blank.

For one tense moment, they made eye contact, holding it. Reagan knew what would come next. Her father would say something rude, Jimmy would respond in kind, they would argue until the shouting was enough to bring the neighbors around, and finally, Jimmy would be out the door with Reagan trying to mend the damage. But for whatever reason, this morning, her father merely made a noise of discontent before shuffling over to the table and taking his seat. Reagan blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Maybe, just maybe, this breakfast wouldn’t be a disaster.

“HOLY SHIT.” It was five hours after Sunday brunch and Reagan was back at the pub, filling orders as men crowded the tables, some watching American football, others watching various soccer matches. She’d had a chilled glass in her hand, filling it with Bud Light when she heard Shannon’s soft exclamation. First she looked to her, then to where her gaze was trained, immediately regretting the decision when she caught sight of Niklaus. Even in a pub full of rowdy men, he looked out of place. There was just something that was too…calm about the way he acted. Most people displayed some kind of emotion when they went

places—tired from a long day at work, fear of being in a new place, surprise at the sheer amount of people or noise— but Niklaus? It was like nothing bothered him. Even though the temperature was in the high fifties, one wouldn’t know that by looking at him. A black shirt stretched across his chest, black jeans that fit him far too well and tucked into scuffed black boots. He briefly glanced around the space until his eyes landed on her, and just like when she’d seen him last night, there was a flare of something dark in his eyes. She remembered that look and all that it promised. “What’s he doing here?” Shannon

went on to ask, but she had more than curiosity in her tone. “I guess I know for what, but I wonder why?” “It doesn’t matter.” When she didn’t respond, Reagan glanced over at Shannon who looked confused for a moment before she asked, “Why don’t you look surprised that he’d be here?” “What? Of course I’m surprised, he —” “You’ve seen him, haven’t you?” “He might have walked in here last night when I was closing up.” “And you didn’t tell me!” The problem with Shan was how her voice got louder when she was excited. Already, a couple of patrons were

looking in their direction, but Reagan ignored their attention, setting down the pint of beer in front of the man that had ordered it, picking up the ten he’d left waiting for her. “Shan, please don’t—” “I’m like the first person you should tell,” she said, her voice lowering a touch. “I sent you a text this morning. Didn’t you get it?” “You know my phone is sketchy at best. I—oh hey, I remember you,” Shan said as Niklaus took a seat at the end of the bar, oblivious—or just not caring— of the death glare Reagan was sending in her direction. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You must not have recognized me

when you came by the diner and asked whether Reagan still worked there.” What? Reagan looked at them both in turn. Niklaus’ expression hardly changed, though his brow did twitch, but she hadn’t a clue what that meant. Shannon on the other hand, had one hand on her hip and was staring at him with all the bravado in the world. “But I’m not surprised you don’t remember me,” Shan went on when Niklaus didn’t respond. “You had seemed to be wrapped up in Reagan at least until you left.” “Shannon!” Joey called from the kitchen. In that moment, Reagan could have

kissed the man, or at least offered him a raise. Reluctantly, and with a pointed look in Reagan’s direction, Shan stalked off. Focusing on Niklaus, she asked, “Why are you here again? I thought I made it clear last night that I didn’t want you here.” He folded his hands on the bar top, openly studying her. “Is that what you meant?” “Niklaus—” “We need to talk.” She was already shaking her head. “No, we don’t. There’s nothing for us to talk about.” “No? I think we do.” “Niklaus we could have talked years

ago, back when I actually wanted to talk to you. Now, there’s nothing.” Before she could move away from him, he grabbed hold of her hand, his thumb at her wrist. “Give me ten minutes to explain.” “Even if I needed one—and I don’t —it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” When he didn’t respond, but kept a firm hold of her, she finally looked at him, straight into those pale blue eyes of his, ones that she had always thought were spell-binding. “Ten minutes. If you still don’t want to see me after, I’ll leave you alone.” “Fine. Not today though.” “Give me a time, and I’m yours.”

She shouldn’t have been as pleased as she was by his words. He probably didn’t even mean it the way she took it, but she couldn’t help it. “Are you ordering something, or are you leaving?” He gifted her with the slightest of smiles. Yeah, he was staying. Rolling her eyes—though she was trying her hardest not to be charmed— she filled a glass and set it in front of him, then walked away before he could engage her in conversation again. Reagan could almost pretend that he wasn’t there. Almost. But his presence was the least of her concern as the atmosphere changed when the door opened and a gust of wind blew

in, men following close behind. She didn’t have to look up to know that it was Liam—she could feel the change in the air. How the animated conversations had come to a standstill, or how chairs screeched as people got to their feet, tossing bills on the table, and headed for the door. He thought he was doing her a favor by keeping Rourke away? His presence alone was ruining her. Casually maneuvering through the crowd of people, he didn’t stop until he was standing in front of the bar directly in front of her and right beside Niklaus. Though everyone on the barstools closest to Liam scurried out of the way, Niklaus remained where he was, utterly

unaffected by him as he continued drinking his beer. Liam peered over in his direction— probably wondering why he hadn’t moved like the others—and was about to dismiss him entirely, but then his eyes narrowed. “Do I know you from somewhere?” Niklaus placed his glass on the bar. “Doubtful.” That was it. That was all he said as though Liam wasn’t worth more of an effort. Reagan didn’t know whether she was impressed or afraid that he seemed so unbothered by Liam’s quite obvious display of power. Liam might have looked annoyed with the slight, but he chose to ignore it,

turning back to Reagan. “We need to talk. Privately.” Though the last thing she wanted to do was talk to him, she nodded anyway. Liam was a jealous man, and anytime he thought someone might have an interest in her, he made it a point to make sure they understood she was off limits. Sometimes it was just with words… other times, not. She didn’t want to think about what he might do to Niklaus considering they’d had a relationship in the past— even if it was strictly sexual. “Okay.” “You sure about that?” Reagan and Liam both looked to Niklaus after he asked the question, but

he was focused solely on Reagan. He was trying to convey something to her, just with the look in his eyes, but she couldn’t decipher it. “Oy, who in the hell do you think you are?” Liam demanded. As Niklaus got to his feet, Reagan rushed around the bar. She stepped between them, her back to Niklaus, staring up at Liam. “Don’t. You promised me that my place was off limits to you and your brother.” That was one of the few things that Liam had allotted her. Since he didn’t like her around his brother much— mainly because Rourke was a psychopath—he had told her during the beginning that he would make sure they

kept all business away from her pub so she wouldn’t lose her business. Even if she had never witnessed it, teaching people a lesson in respect was one of their businesses. “We can go in the office to talk.” It was beyond clear that he wasn’t done with Niklaus, but she refused to give him what he wanted. “Please.” After a tense moment, he gestured for her to go ahead of him, and only when she was sure he wouldn’t do something when her back was turned did she disappear down the hallway with Liam at her heels. They were barely inside with the door closed before Liam was in her face. “Who the fuck was that?”

She had seen him annoyed, sure. Frustrated. But never angry. And now that she was in the face of it, for the first time she felt fear of him. Maybe it wasn’t just Rourke everyone needed to watch out for. Swallowing, she met his eyes and said, “I don’t know.” Yes, she knew his name and knew more intimate details about him, but for what he really wanted to know, she didn’t have the answer. “Then what’s he doing piping up at me? Trying to protect you?” He searched her face, his gaze narrowing. “Or you trying to protect him?” Choosing to ignore his first two questions, she did answer the last. “Everyone knows who you are Liam and

that makes them weary of coming here. My business is already suffering just because they think you might show up. If you actually hurt someone here, they would never come back.” He conceded to her point, though this wasn’t vocalized, just a mere nod of his head. There was no need in arguing it further, she was just glad he was willing to let it go. “Now, what did you want to talk about?” “Jimmy.” Her shoulders relaxed as she heard her brother’s name. “What about him?” “There’s word that he’s been hanging around Declan.” Reagan was careful, very careful to

keep her expression blank. When Liam had barged his way into her life, he hadn’t thought of who she or her family was, only that she could be his shiny new play thing he wanted to possess. What he didn’t know was that their families, her and Declan’s, had known each other for years, even before coming over to America. Their mothers had been the best of friends for a long time, at least until Conor found out what the patriarch of the Flanagan family did for a living. But once he had, Conor severed ties with them, demanding that none of them even mention the Flanagan name again. Her mother had meekly agreed to his demands, and since Reagan had been

only a girl, she’d had no choice in the matter. But her brothers… They and Declan had been close, too close for Conor to rip them apart. It was ultimately their loyalty to Declan that made Conor disown them. Jimmy was another story entirely. Since he was only three years older than her, to their brothers, he had been too young to hang around them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t try and follow them around every chance he got. Their mother may have been passive when it came to many things, but she had been unwilling to give Jimmy up. So yeah, there was a strong possibility that Jimmy was hanging

around Declan—especially if the rumors of him being back were true—and with the way Jimmy had been talking yesterday, he obviously had a reason for going to him of all people. And that reason worried her. But Reagan loved her brother, and she wasn’t going to give him up. “I don’t see how that’s possible. He’s been at the pub every night.” Sometimes for only an hour, but that was semantics. “And you wouldn’t lie to me.” “No.” She could tell he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t argue the point. “Tell that brother of yours to steer clear of the Flanagans. We wouldn’t want him to become collateral damage.”

Reagan bristled. “Are you threatening my brother?” “Merely making a point, love.” He curled a hand around the back of her neck and squeezed, making her wince. Maybe she had been foolish in believing that he was any better than his brother. She was seeing that now. “Stay out of trouble.” He pressed his lips hard against her forehead before letting her go, walking out of the office without a look back. Shortly after he’d gone and the door chimed signaling his exit, the conversations started back up. Reagan only had a moment to herself before Shan came barging in. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” But she didn’t believe that herself, not entirely. “What did he want?” “It was nothing.” “Are you—” Reagan cut her off. “I’m sure. Is Niklaus…is he still out there?” Frowning, Shan shook her head. “He left almost immediately after you came back here.” She should have been glad, but she couldn’t deny the disappointment that slowly wormed through her. Even so, she said, “Good.” She pushed off her desk, grabbing her phone from her back pocket to send a quick text to her brother to call her as soon as he got the chance. As she was pocketing it, she ran over

everything that had happened with Niklaus and remembered something. “What did you mean when you said he came by the diner asking about me?” “He did. I had forgotten all about it until I saw him today—meant to tell you but I forgot.” “What happened? When was this?” “Maybe a year and a half ago? A little longer? And not much did happen. He came in, sat at a table with another guy. I took their order, he asked if you were working, and that was that. He didn’t stay too much longer after that. Which, let’s be honest, if he was looking for you then, that obviously means he’s popped up now for you.” Reagan didn’t even want to

contemplate that. “But the real question is, what are you going to do about Liam? I’ve seen the way both of them look at you, and it’s only to one that you give the same look back.” “I care nothing about Niklaus, Shan.” Rolling her eyes, Shan swung the door open. “Of course not, but Liam won’t care that you don’t care about him, he’ll only care that he cares about you. And even if it’s not Liam that goes after him, his brother might just to prove a point.” Yeah, that was what she was afraid of. Shan headed back to the bar after that, leaving Reagan to her thoughts.

Now, not only did she have to worry about her brother, she had to worry about Niklaus too. She almost hoped he wasn’t staying for long, just handling whatever business he came for then went back to wherever it was he came from. Because she didn’t think he would be safe if Liam saw in her what Shan did.

CHAPTER TWENTY

TAPPING HIS THUMB AGAINST THE STEERING wheel, Niklaus watched from the privacy of his car as Liam McCarthy and his men exited the pub, heading towards two black SUVs not too far away. Only

when they were inside with the engine going did he start his own, knowing that the roar of his would attract attention. One thing Niklaus realized about himself as he slowly pulled out, carefully trailing behind them, was that he had far more control over himself than he’d thought. The minute Liam had tried to show him up in the pub, Niklaus had wanted to show him what a year and a half of training had instilled in him, but at the last possible moment, he thought better of it. If Liam even suspected that Niklaus was more than a bar patron, he would be more likely to keep look into him—it already didn’t help that he shared a face with Mishca. It was obvious that the pair

had not crossed paths however—but there was guarantee that anyone else in his little crew hadn’t. Besides, if it was true that the McCarthy brothers were really trying to make Hell’s Kitchen their new base of operations, when they did their research, Mishca’s name would ultimately come up. So for the time being, he’d restrained himself, but one day very soon, he and Liam McCarthy would have words. The Irish drove for a while before finally pulling into the lot of an old warehouse. Niklaus kept on, circling the back, and parking a few blocks down. There was no point in going in just yet, not when he wasn’t sure who all was inside.

Killing the engine and pocketing his keys, he propped his feet up on the dash and waited.

FOUR HOURS, TWENTY-SIX MINUTES, AND ten seconds had passed since Niklaus had parked outside the warehouse, waiting for Liam and his men to exit. In that time, he’d sent a text to Winter, asking her for the blueprints to the warehouse, and anything she had so far. Though it had yet to be a full day, he didn’t doubt that she already had plenty. “Apparently,” she’d said when they’d connected, “Donovan—that’s the father by the way—wasn’t behind their sudden move to the States. He still, for

the most part, does business out of Dublin.It was the sons’ idea to expand. From what I have Rourke is the brawn, and the other, Liam, is the brain. Though he’s the youngest, nothing gets done without his approval.” And Reagan was mixed up with him. He wondered whether she knew what he did, or at the very least, who his family was. Back at the pub, she had jumped in front of him like she was trying to protect him from Liam, so even if she didn’t know everything … he bet she knew something. He would have to find that out later, though. Sadly—because it would have made his life a hell of a lot easier—Winter hadn’t been able to find much on the

shipment. Actually, it was hard to find anything on McCarthy business. The only thing she had been able to find was a tracking number, and that was a dead end since the shipment was marked as ‘lost.’ And last, she’d learned Donovan was coming stateside very soon—that at least coincided with what the Kingmaker had said about the deal going down in little more than two weeks. But that still didn’t answer the question as to where the shipment was presently. “Dig deeper,” Niklaus said as the doors to the warehouse swung open, Liam and a few others walking out. “I’ll call you back.” They both hung up without a

goodbye. Shifting down in his seat, he ducked out of sight as the SUVs passed. He waited a heartbeat, two, then sat up, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure they were out of sight before opening the car door and climbing out, going to the trunk. On the job, the most important thing to remember was to come prepared. Sure, he was good with his fists, probably a hell of a lot better than anyone who might await him inside the warehouse, but his hands could only do so much, especially if they were armed. First came his vest, the kevlar carefully strapped into place. Then his thigh holsters—as well as another set at

his waist. His beanie followed, and finally, the black mask. It was a bit unnecessary for others, the mask. Not one of his associates felt the need to conceal their identities, but for Niklaus, it was a necessity. Armed for bear, Niklaus made his way to the warehouse, picking the lock for one of the side doors. He could hear voices not too far from his place, mostly male though he thought he did hear the soft laughter of a female. Slipping around the corner, he headed in the direction of the office. Having studied the blueprints and going over the schematics in his head, he could guess where the office would be, and it might have been because of his years on

the job, or the fact that most people were predictable, that it was easy or him to reach it. In most cases, the main office was situated towards the back, definitely away from the entrance, but close to a rear exit for a quick getaway. If this was more than a dumping ground, the office would definitely be back there. Then again…it could also be because of the way buildings were designed. Carefully, he made his way across the floor of the warehouse, glancing back every few steps, listening for any change in the space around him. He slipped into the office easily, closing the door shut, then hunting

through the folders, looking for anything of value. It wasn’t until he noticed a spare piece, one that was partially tucked beneath the phone sitting on the desk that he finally found something of value. To anyone else, it could have meant nothing, but considering Niklaus had an idea as to the deal’s date, he could make sense of the numbers written. What followed was an address. Snapping a picture, he placed it back as he’d found it, going through what was left of the filing cabinet next. There wasn’t much else that he could find on the shipment, but there was plenty of other information on what, exactly they were doing to make money in Hell’s

Kitchen. In a corner of the room was a safe, one that was relatively easy to crack into, and when he did, Niklaus found the McCarthy’s ledger, along with numerous bundles of cash. Even if the names were written in code, it was pretty easy to see that the McCarthys were demanding money from the local businesses. Was that how Reagan knew them? Taking pictures of the entries, Niklaus replaced that as well and left back out the office, then out of the warehouse entirely.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

TWO DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE REAGAN HAD seen Niklaus last, but while she had been disappointed by this fact—for reasons she wasn’t ready to consider— she was more worried that Jimmy had

yet to return her call, lending credence to Liam’s thinly veiled threat. They usually talked at least once a day if she didn’t see him, if only for a few minutes, but because he had gone more than twentyfour hours without contacting her, she was getting worried. Climbing out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, holding it in place with one hand as she left the bathroom, her phone in the other as she sent another text to her brother, hoping this one might prompt him to respond. When she still didn’t receive a response, she tossed the device on her bed and got dressed. Grabbing her mailbox key, she walked barefoot out of her apartment, heading downstairs to the

row of mailboxes along the wall. She had it opened in a matter of seconds, pulling out the newspaper and the assortment of bills inside. It was only when she was closing it back that someone cleared their throat behind her. Thinking that she might have been in the way of someone trying to get by, an apology was on the tip of her tongue at least until she saw who stood at her back. “Are you kidding? You’re stalking me now?” Niklaus, who didn’t look perturbed at the slightest to at her words, smiled. “Is that how you want to look at it?” Was he serious? And did he really need to look so damned amused? “How

do you even know where I live?” He didn’t bother answering her question, instead asking one of his own. “That guy you were talking to yesterday, who is he?” Reagan didn’t pretend to misunderstand who he was referring to —there had only been one male she had talked to with Niklaus around. “Why do you want to know?” “Is that what we’re going to do here —answer questions with questions?” “Are we?” When his smirk only grew—and she realized she had done exactly what he had said—she finally said, “His name is Liam.” He shook his head, waving those words away. “I know that—you said it.

I’m asking who he is to you.” The bane of her fucking existence? Loan shark? There were so many different ways she could answer that question, and yet she still didn’t know what to say. “Nothing,” she settled on saying. “He’s nothing to me.” “But you’re something to him…” He guessed, reading between the lines. “Is he a problem?” Reagan didn’t like the way he asked that, like he was considering doing something about it if Liam was, in fact, a problem for her. “It’s nothing you should worry about.” “You—” “Why are you here, Niklaus? And

more importantly, how do you know where I live?” He studied her for a moment, as though he wasn’t ready to move on from Liam, but ultimately relented. “You shouldn’t walk home alone, especially late at night.” “So you followed me to make sure I got home safe?” she asked, wishing that information didn’t make her feel warm inside. It was supposed to be creepy, odd even, that he trailed her without saying a word—but she couldn’t bring herself to think that about him. “I was fine—I’ve been doing this for a while now, Niklaus.” Niklaus leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest, but he

didn’t look relaxed when he did. When he glanced behind him at the street that was packed with cars, a shadow seemed to cross his face. “Shit happens. Even to good people.” Reagan was tempted, very tempted to ask him more about that, to learn of the memory that had suddenly clouded his eyes, but she remembered all too well how he was able to duck questions, and she was in no mood to play that game with him. “I have things to do today,” she said after a moment, “so if we’re done here …” Apparently, he wasn’t. “What are you doing after work?” Her gaze shot to his, that soft almost

boyish smile of his making her scowl— whatever dark place he had nearly slipped into was forgotten. This wasn’t the first time he had asked her that question, but at least this time her answer would be what she should have said years ago. “Going home alone. And before you ask, you can’t come with me.” Her answer didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “Right then, so you won’t decline a ride?” “Sorry?” Stepping closer, he gestured around them. “Did you miss everything I just said? You don’t need to walk home alone, and since you’re coming back here, I’m offering to drive you.”

Her gaze flickered to the street, honing in on the matte black machine that was parked at the curb—she didn’t have to ask to know that it was his. Looking back to him, she asked, “And if I say no?” He laughed, seriously laughed, as though that was the funniest thing she had ever said. “You want to tell me what time you’ll be done, or should I just show up?” Definitely not. “I should be done by two.” He nodded, but as she waited for him to turn and leave, he came towards her instead. “If he’s an issue for you, tell me. I’ll handle it.” If only it were that easy, but Reagan

wouldn’t pretend like it could be. Whether or not she was still angry with Niklaus for his disappearing act years ago, she didn’t want him hurt if he thought to go up against Liam for her. She already had Jimmy to worry about. She didn’t want to add Niklaus to that list.

“YOU’RE OBVIOUSLY SERIOUS ABOUT annoying the hell out of me,” Reagan said as she exited the pub, spotting Niklaus sitting on the hood of his car— and fucking hell, did he have to look so good doing it? She turned away from him, reaching

to pull the metal gate down, but Niklaus was there in an instant, doing it for her. “This can’t be easy to do by yourself,” he commented as she stuck the key in and locked it. “Like I said,”—she stood, brushing strands of hair out of her face—“I’m—” “Capable of taking care of yourself —yeah, I got that babe. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.” Of course her mind had to seize on the fact that he called her ‘babe’. It wasn’t that he’d even said it in a particularly romantic way, casual actually, but she still liked the sound of it anyway. Liam called her a number of pet names, but when he did, they mostly made her skin crawl.

“My brother is normally around,” she found herself saying, “but he’s busy at the moment.” Jimmy had finally sent her a text when she was working behind the bar, but it hadn’t said much of anything, only that he would call her later and not to worry. That only managed to make her worry more, though she was happy to at least have heard from him at all. “You have a brother?” He asked casually. “Jimmy,” she said in return, “he’s one of my four brothers actually.” “You don’t talk to the others often.” Again, not a question. Whether he was good at reading people, or just her, he was definitely grasping things she hadn’t

realized she was giving away. “Not really.” “Why not?” When she looked at him after he asked the question, he merely returned the stare, waiting for her to answer. He wasn’t apologetic about wanting to know more about her it seemed. Maybe…just maybe. “I’ll just say that my brothers and I don’t see eye to eye on certain things.” Most of which came down to the choice they had made between family… and well, another sort of family. “Mine would say the same thing about me, but,”—Niklaus shrugged, heading back to his car. “—Who gives a shit?” Pulling the handle of the

passenger door, he opened it, gesturing for her to get in with a tilt of his head. “Let’s go for a ride.” “I don’t think so.” They were perfectly fine talking as they were—she didn’t have to be in a confined space with the man. “Are you going to fight me on everything?” This time, it was she who was shrugging with a slight smile. “More than likely.” “Get in.” Reagan shook her head, even as she took in the black leather of its interior. “I can’t.” “No? And that wouldn’t be because of Liam, right?”

Shit. How was she supposed to answer that? She couldn’t say it was, not when she had told him earlier that Liam wasn’t a problem. “It’s complicated,” she settled on saying. “Then let me un-complicate it.” “There are some things that aren’t an easy fix, Niklaus. It’s not that simple. And why are you making a big deal out of this anyway? We slept together a few times, that doesn’t mean you can just walk in here and expect my life to be amendable to yours.” “Then let’s clear the air and make amends so we can move on.” “Move on?” “I told you once that I came back

here for you—you chose not to believe that.” Again, he gestured to his car. “You either get in, or I’ll put you in.” “Fine.” It didn’t sound like she had much of a choice anyway. “If I go with you, will you stop showing up at my place?” He smirked. “Not even if you begged me.” Annoyed all over again, Reagan threw her hands up, even as she crossed the short distance to his car. “Niklaus—” His words stopped her on the spot. “I grew to hate that name—Niklaus —stopped going by it a long time ago. Klaus if I know you and if I don’t. You’re one of two people that call me by that name, and only from you do I enjoy

hearing it. When you say it, whether you’re pissed at me like now, or when you’re begging me to let you come, it reminds me of a time when I was less of an asshole.” Reagan said his name, though she hadn’t meant to, just a whisper in the wind, but he caught it, that dark, amused smile of his curling is lips up as he gave her a slight push to get in. “Just like that. Can’t say I didn’t miss the sound of your voice, especially when you’re turned on.” She swallowed nervously, feeling the heat rise in her face. “I’m not.” His smile slipped a little, but not in disappointment, it had an almost lazy quality to it, but she was stuck watching

his eyes drift over her face, down the curve of her neck, until he reached the V in her shirt, and the cleavage it displayed. Reaching for her with his free hand, he traced a single finger down her stomach, pausing when he reached the hem of her shirt. He didn’t go any further, just let his touch linger over that expanse of skin left uncovered, goosebumps erupting in his wake. “Let me make a liar out of you.” Temptation, that was what Niklaus was—her ultimate temptation. Ignoring his remark, she asked, “Are you driving or what?” “You sure that’s all you want?” Niklaus asked, his tone quite clear as to

what he was suggesting. No. No, she wasn’t sure of that at all. “Yeah.” This time, she finally did climb inside his car, inhaling the warm scent that made up the interior. There was the leather, the faint aroma of tobacco, and finally the scent of Niklaus himself. Now, it felt like he was surrounding her. As she moved to pull on her seatbelt, she came up short when she realized that it wasn’t a normal seatbelt at all, but a four-point harness. “Seriously, you need one of these? How fast do you drive?” “No worries. You won’t be needing it tonight.” But he did take a moment to show her how to correctly fasten it.

Besides the rumble of the engine as he started it up and pulled out, silence stretched between them, the lights illuminating the dash chasing the darkness away. And for a time, she was content in his presence, but as the distance to her apartment got shorter— which it wasn’t very far in the first place —she was tempted to say something, anything, if it meant he could stay around a little while longer. But he seemed to read her mind, and instead of pulling over, he kept on down the street, then asked, “When you’d quit the diner?” “Six months after.” After you left the last time…but she didn’t bother to voice that thought. “I didn’t quit until after I

had the pub open and running. You helped a lot with that. Th—” “Don’t thank me,” he cut her off. “Why not?” Most people said that and meant not to thank them because they were being modest, but he said it as though he genuinely didn’t deserve her thanks. But he didn’t seem like he was actually going to answer. “And I guess you’re not here to get that money back?” The look he sent was answer enough. “So what do you do?” She had asked that once before, but wondered if something had changed for him, and maybe he was back in the city because of a new job.

He was quiet for a spell, and she wondered whether he was already done planning to answer her question until his mouth opened. “Independent contractor.” So he had changed jobs. “What happened to your sanitation gig.” “It’s the same job as before, just new management.” If that wasn’t vague enough. “And what do you do as an independent contractor?” “A little of everything. Right now, I’m helping the boss find a missing shipment.” “Like an investigator?” He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he nodded with a slight smile. “That’s

one way to put it.” “Good for you then, working your way up the ladder for whatever sketchy business you work for.” “Sketchy?” “Are you serious? Twice, I’ve asked about your job and you’ve yet to actually tell me the name of the company.” His smile grew. “Didn’t I?” “No, you really didn’t.” “I just call it the Den.” Well that didn’t sound like a real company anyway, but since she didn’t think he would be sticking around anyway, she let it go. “Does that necklace mean a lot to you?” Reagan asking, spotting the glint of gold at his neck. “You wore it a lot

before.” She didn’t think she had noticed how delicate that chain really was. “It’s not important.” “It’s not important to you, or it’s not important for me to hear?” “Reagan…” She waited, expecting him to continue, but when he didn’t, the defenses that had been slowly lower slammed right back up. “Don’t worry about it, just drop me off.” They rounded the block one last final time before he found a spot a few feet away. Niklaus killed the engine, but didn’t look at her, not yet. “You’re upset because I won’t tell you something that I

may not be ready to talk about?” “That’s just it, Niklaus. I don’t know anything about you,” Reagan said, feeling frustrated. “I don’t know what’s open for discussion and what’s not.” He shook his head meeting her eyes to say, “You know what’s important.” “Really? Because the only thing I know for sure—and this is me being generous—is that your name is Niklaus. I don’t even know your last name.” “Volkov,” he said a second later. Why did that name sound so familiar?” “Or where you’re from.” “I was born in Russia, but grew up in Florida with my adoptive mother, but like I said, I don’t think that’s

important.” “Why do you get to decide what’s important to me? Maybe it’s those little things that will help me understand who I’m dealing with.” Niklaus laughed, his tone sharp. “Trust me, none of that will tell you anything about the person I am now. Not even close.” “Oh, right. I’m sorry. I should have known that after all the stimulating conversations we had.” “I’ll tell you when it’s the right time.” “There’s not going to be a right time, Niklaus. This—whatever this is that you’re trying to do—it can’t happen.” “Because of Liam, no?”

Partly because of him. “No, because of you. Back when I first met you, I wanted to know everything about you, figure you out, and maybe help with whatever wasn’t letting you sleep at night. And not just once, twice. Only the second time you left money, like I was a prostitute being paid for my services.” When she had seen it the first time, she had thought that it meant he cared, then the other part of her thought it was exactly what she was telling him now. And very soon, she had stuck on the latter and began to loathe that bag full of cash. Most days she didn’t even want to look at it, knowing the memories it would conjure. She would have much rather had the man than the money, but

finally after she had gotten desperate enough—and convinced that he was never coming back—she had used every dime of it, along with her savings to open up her pub. “It was never like that, Reagan. You know that.” “Do I?” The tension was back, and while Reagan might have wished otherwise, she couldn’t pretend like his leaving hadn’t hurt her. Instead of waiting for whatever answer he was conjuring up, she unbuckled and climbed out, slamming the door shut behind her. She didn’t linger, not this time, heading directly for her building without looking back.

“Reagan.” There was hitch in his voice, just the slightest betrayal of emotion that had her pausing. She could have kept on—she didn’t think he would have stopped her again—but before she could quell the impulse, she looked back at him. “Why did you leave?” she asked. The question had plagued her since the last time she saw him, and every night that followed for weeks as she wondered whether he would show back up as he had the first time. But the longer he was gone, the more dejected she felt until finally, she had given up expecting to see him walking through the doors of the diner. Niklaus looked down at his hands

still gripping the steering wheels, his fingers tightening briefly. “You won’t like the answer.” “No? Tell me anyway.” This was when she expected him to deny her, to make up some excuse that he thought she would want to hear. Funny thing was, the truth was the last thing she expected from him. “You were falling in love with me,” he said after a moment, shifting his gaze from his hands to her face, and whatever emotion portrayed on her face seemed to affirm whatever he was thinking in his head. “And love, I wanted no part of that.” No, Reagan hadn’t liked his answer. She almost wished she could have taken

the question back and erased his answer from her memory. But he had been right, of course. She had been falling in love with him, no matter how stupid that it was. Except, she hadn’t thought she had been so transparent with how she felt about him. More hurt than angry, she tried to speak past the lump in her throat. “Then why are you here now?” Now he looked unsettled. “I answered that.” “No, you said you came back to Hell’s Kitchen for me, but you didn’t say why you came for me at all.” He looked blank, all emotion wiper clear of his face. It was almost frightening seeing him do that, from

giving her everything to giving her nothing. “There’s just…something about you.” “I don’t know if I have it in me to do this with you all over again, Niklaus.” She shook her head, glancing down the street. “Why can’t you just walk away? I’m not going to ask you to stay.” “I can’t. If I could, I would have stayed gone, but here I am.” All of this had been said in an almost cool detached manner, but for whatever reason—maybe just because her stupid heart wanted it—she believed him. But in the end, it didn’t matter what her heart wanted. “Go home, Niklaus, or wherever it is you’re laying your head

tonight. And please, for both our sakes, don’t come back. There’s no point in hurting us both another time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE, REAGAN WAS glad that the pub was closed on Mondays—she didn’t think she had the energy to run the place. She’d been restless all night, too wired to sleep

much, but far too tired to do anything more than lay in bed and think of her conversation with Niklaus. It had been so much easier talking to him in the beginning, back before he’d broken her heart and she was forced to deal with men like Liam. As she stood in the kitchen, washing dishes and straightening up, she wondered whether things might have been different between them had he come back before Liam had come into her life. Would she have been more receptive? Would she have been willing to hear him out if the threat of what Liam might do wasn’t hanging over her head? Then again, maybe she could tell

Niklaus about him. He wasn’t from around there, and could possibly help… but was she willing to bet his life on it? Finishing with the last plate, she dried it with a towel and placed it in the cabinet, a hard knock at the door nearly making her drop it. Wiping her hands off on her shorts, a sliver of excitement went through her as she turned the locks, imagining who was on the other side. But that excitement died a quick death. It wasn’t Niklaus standing there, but Liam, holding a bouquet of red roses, a wide smile on his handsome face. He was dressed in his customary suit, but his jacket was missing, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Anyone

else—or maybe a particular someone else—might have made her smile, blush even, but the sight of Liam only made her wary. “What are you doing here?” It seemed she’d been asking that question a lot lately. He held the flowers out for her to take, and after a moment, she did, but she didn’t bring them close to inhale their aroma, but kept them out in front of her like she was afraid for them to touch her skin. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.” He cut off there, giving her a pointed look that she didn’t misunderstand. He wasn’t done talking, but he

wouldn’t say more, not until she invited him in. Wanting to get this over as soon as possible, Reagan stepped to the side, allowing him to slip past her. He had never been inside her apartment—and hadn’t pressed the issue. Unlike with Niklaus, she wasn’t surprised that Liam knew where she lived. It was only after she’d closed the door and he’d taken a seat on the couch did he go on. “I made a promise to you. Your little pub is important to you and I respect that.” Why was it that he had to diminish it if he knew that it was important to her? By calling it little, as though it was

practically insignificant, he was telling her that she thought more of the place than he did. Not knowing how to respond to that —or at the very least, not knowing what to say that wouldn’t make him mad, Reagan elected to stay quiet, giving him a chance to say his piece so he could leave. “But that’s beside the point. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Jimmy knows better than that, doesn’t he?” “My brother does what he wants.” Liam nodded. “That may be, but we have rules, dove. If he wants to align himself with the fecking Flanagans, I can’t guarantee he won’t get hurt alongside them.”

Reagan met his stare head on, and for once, she felt the stirrings of helplessness. What could she do? Jimmy had yet to call her back, and there was no one around here that was brave enough to take on Liam and his brother, with the exception, it seemed, of Declan. But she didn’t know where he was, or even how to get in contact with him. Niklaus… She didn’t know why his name popped into her head at that moment, but once again, she found herself considering confiding in him like she once had, because now that she thought about it, he had solved her first problem. He might have walked away without a word, but not without leaving a parting

gift, one that had meant the world to her even as it crushed her. “But he’s not important now,” Liam said walking towards her. “How about you put those in water, then we can get out of here.” Frowning, she shook her head. “I have plans today.” Which mostly consisted of doing absolutely nothing, but he didn’t have to know that. “Cancel them. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Reagan was clueless. She thought she’d met everyone he deemed important. “Who?” “My da’s in town on business, but while he’s free, I thought he’d like to meet the girl who’s stolen my heart.”

He couldn’t be fucking serious. And why could he possibly want the two of them to meet? She had never given him the impression that she wanted that, or even that she wanted to really be in a relationship with him. “Liam,” she said, trying another tactic. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?” “Of course not, dove. We have a good thing here. No one’s going to fuck that up for us.” “Seriously, Liam—” “Go, now. We don’t have much time.” Reluctantly, Reagan walked to her bedroom, but closed the door after, making sure to push in the lock just in case Liam thought to follow behind her.

She grabbed the first things she saw, not bothering to try and dress up, especially when she had no intention of trying to impress his father. Tugging on some jeans, a plain tank top, and a pair of sneakers, Reagan tossed up her hair, and grabbed a light jacket, pulling it on as she left her bedroom. Liam frowned at the sight of her. “Is that the best you can do?” That statement coming from anyone else might have hurt her feelings. It wasn’t like she looked bad, but by the way he was looking at her, you would think she’d just gotten off work after a sixteen-hour shift and hadn’t bothered to change clothes.

What was funny was how she had looked worse a couple of years ago when Niklaus had stumbled into the diner, and he hadn’t seemed bothered in the slightest. Even yesterday, he still looked at her the way he did so long ago. “We don’t have the time, right?” she asked, grabbing her keys from the counter and heading out the door, looking back once she was outside to make sure he understood she wouldn’t be changing or anything else. Liam didn’t look pleased as he exited her apartment, and maybe he’d been truthful when he said there wasn’t much time because judging from the look on his face, he looked like he wanted to drag her back in to change.

Reagan took this, however small it might have been, as a victory.

A LOT COULD CHANGE OVER THE COURSE OF a year, Niklaus knew that better than anyone considering how drastically his life had shifted in a handful of days, but as he rode the elevator up to the penthouse apartment in Manhattan, he wasn’t sure what he would find once the doors opened. He hadn’t seen, nor spoken to the Russian or his wife since he had left town almost a year ago after the birth of their son, Sacha. No matter that they argued more than they didn’t, or that Niklaus threatened to murder Mishca

every chance he got, the second he had received that phone call from one of his brother’s men, just an address in fact, he had been out of bed and racing there. Considering the animosity between them, Niklaus had never expected for Mishca to call on him that night and be a part of something so intimate. Sure, the little baby was his nephew, but that hadn’t meant he was to be included—it wasn’t like he had ever given them any reason to ask him to be in the baby’s life. But he had cared. Since the moment Lauren had told him she was pregnant. His first reaction was anger, as was his usual reaction to most things he wasn’t expecting, but deep beneath that was fear. Fear that Sacha would be hurt

due to the life he was born into, and worse, that he would end up like Niklaus. He didn’t pretend to think he was a good person. He doubted there was even a shred of goodness left inside of him after everything he had been through. And despite his own shortcomings, Niklaus had made it a point to hang around a little more, make sure the baby —or Lauren since she had been pregnant at the time—had everything she could have possibly needed. But the night she gave birth, as he’d sat out and waited, he hadn’t expected what the sight of Sacha would do to him. Niklaus didn’t mean to care, but the moment he saw him, with the soft blue

blanket wrapped around his tiny body, tucked securely in his father’s arms, he felt something other than hatred and anger and frustration and the rest of the roiling emotions that constantly churned inside of him. And the very idea that the tiny little human that had yet to open his eyes—and had looked exactly like him since he was a carbon copy of his father—was another piece of his family had scared the shit out of him. He wanted a family. He wanted to be free of the burdens that had always sat heavy on his shoulders, but he didn’t know how. For so long, the only thing he had ever wanted was vengeance, feeding a

vendetta that had already been fulfilled, but even after it had, Niklaus hadn’t known what to do with himself. He hadn’t known who he was anymore. And he’d been afraid with everything right there in front of him: his work, the fortune he’d amassed, and most importantly, the family that stood at his back no matter his attitude, he’d been afraid that he was going to fuck that up as well. After all, it had been because of him that he’d lost someone he loved. So he did the one thing he could do. He walked away. To clear his head. To get his shit together.

And when he finally had a clear conscious, finally letting the past go and making his peace with it, he’d thought of Reagan. Of the way she smiled at him when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Of the way that though he had been no more than a stranger to her those nights when he took her to his bed, she had calmed a piece of him no one else had been able to. Yeah, he loved Lauren and Sacha and Alex, even Luka and Mishca though those two infuriated him, but it was ultimately his memories of Reagan that had drawn him back to New York City. Finishing the job for the Kingmaker had only been his excuse.

The problem was, he had left without a word to anyone, and he doubted Lauren of all people would be okay with that. So by the time the elevator stopped with a ping, the doors sliding open revealing the entryway, Niklaus had braced himself, an apology at the ready. Stepping inside, he started forward, his eyes darting around the space for anything that was different. Beside a few new pieces of art and a shift of furniture, the apartment was how it had been. Niklaus was just turning the corner when something barreled into his legs, making him stumble back a step as his gaze shot down. Brown, almost hazel, eyes stared

back up at him, and for a spell, there was surprise, like he too was unsure of what he was seeing. Then, in wide-eyed wonder, he smiled up at him. Never had the sound of his own name made his heart seize. Reaching down, he scooped him up, propping him up on his side. “How’s my favorite nephew?” Sacha smiled almost bashfully, wrapping his arms around Niklaus neck as far as his little arms would allow. As Niklaus hugged him back, he realized almost belatedly that they weren’t alone. Lauren was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a textbook in her lap with an assortment of notes and papers surrounding her. She’d been in the

middle of homework or studying, but now her eyes were on Niklaus, a smile curling her lips as she took them both in. “Mommy!” Sacha said in an adorably high voice, then he touched Niklaus’ face with a sticky hand. “I see him,” she returned, using a voice most reserved for children. “Klaus, I wasn’t expecting you.” “I’m around,” he said by way of answer, looking to Sacha when the little boy turned his face to get his attention back. He might not have been speaking yet, but he was definitely able to get his point across as he pointed back to his mother with a look on his face that told Niklaus that was where he wanted to go. He crossed the short distance,

dropping down into one of the two stuffed arm chairs, not wanting to mess up whatever organized chaos Lauren had going on around her. Sacha pushed out of his arms, making his way over to Lauren who handed him a plastic car that Niklaus hadn’t noticed. As soon as he had it in his tiny little fist, Sacha came right on back, lifting his arms in the air, fully expecting Niklaus to pick him up. How could he turn that down? When Sacha was back settled in his lap, and content for the moment, Niklaus gave his attention back to Lauren. “How’s it been?” “Over the last year?” Lauren asked with a raise of her brow.

If her earlier tone hadn’t told him, the way she was looking at him now definitely did. “You’re upset.” “I wouldn’t say upset. You left without even saying anything. I didn’t think we were the best of friends, Klaus, but I thought I at least warranted a goodbye.” He couldn’t think of an argument for that because even he thought he’d been wrong. Even if he had his reasons. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “There’s no need to apologize. I just hope that next time you’ll say something before you disappear off the face of the earth. How long are you back for?” Any other time during the last few

years if anyone had asked him how long he planned on staying, he would have said he would be out of the city as soon as the job was done and not a second later, but now… “I’m thinking about staying.” Lauren looked surprised, dropping the pen she was holding into her textbook as a marker and closed it shut. “Like permanently?” Niklaus looked away from her, down to where Sacha was pushing the car up his thigh and back down. “Hopefully.” As his answer hung between them, he heard Lauren’s light laughter as she got to her feet, disappearing into the kitchen before she reappeared with a bottle of wine, glasses, and a corkscrew.

“You must be serious about her then,” she said as she fitted the corkscrew to the bottle and twisted. “Oh? Why do you say that?” “You wouldn’t have come back if you didn’t.” Pouring a glass, she offered it to him first, but when he declined, she took a tip. “If there’s one thing I know about you, Klaus, it’s how much you hate being here. You made that pretty clear.” Niklaus shook his head. “I never said that.” “It was in everything you did. Arguing with Mish every chance you got, or threatening to kill someone. Literally,” she said, giving him the side eye. “There wasn’t a day that went by when you didn’t threaten bodily harm to

either Mish or Luka. But you’ve been here for what—twenty minutes already? —and you haven’t even mentioned, ‘the Russian,’ once.” “That’s because he isn’t agitating me with his bullshit. Believe it or not, your husband acts like an entitled dick.” “Really? Because the only thing I’ve seen is him trying to make amends for what happened to you. I don’t know what happened to make you hate him so much, Niklaus. I won’t even pretend like I do, but I see what he’s been trying to do ever since you popped back up. Mish loves you. And I know you care about him too, even if you won’t admit it. “And before you say something smart, don’t bother. How many times

have you risked your life to save me? Sure, you wanted to keep me safe, but you did it because you didn’t want your brother to lose someone the way you did.” Niklaus frowned, not liking how her words made him feel, and the fact that she was right. “Mishca isn’t innocent in all of this.” He could see the smile that was forming on her lips before she quelled it — he didn’t realize he’d said the Russian’s name. “Of course not. And Mish, while I love him to death, he can be mean, cruel even, but if he cares about you, he’ll want to fix it. You just have to let him.” She was right about that. Mishca had

been trying to repay him in many regards for what went down. For a spell, Niklaus wondered whether he was apologizing for Niklaus getting kidnapped in his place, or for what he said in that apartment. Or maybe he blamed himself for it all… “Where is he anyway? I thought he’d be here.” “Soon as Iosef told us you were coming up, he took off.” “Why?” Lauren leaned forward to place her glass on the table, holding her arms out for Sacha who was already walking towards her and climbed up into her lap —he was definitely a mother’s boy.

“Believe it or not, Mish hates fighting with you. He figured you weren’t here for him anyway.” Shit. For once, Niklaus felt like an asshole, and for good reason. As he thought back over the last two years since he had walked into their lives, he had made it a point to make Mishca’s life a living hell. Maybe now it was his turn to make amends. “I’ll reach out.” Glancing down at his watch, Niklaus realized he only had thirty minutes to get across town for more surveillance on the warehouse. It was time to go. Climbing to his feet, Niklaus crossed

the room, placing a kiss on the top of Lauren’s head, then grabbed Sacha up into a bear hug that made him squeal with laughter. “I’ll catch you later. Shit to do and all that.” “Be careful, whatever it is you’re doing.” “Duly noted.” His back was to her as he walked away, but she called out, “So when do we get to meet her?” Niklaus paused, thinking over his answer before responding. “I’m not even sure if she’ll have me.” Lauren laughed at that. “If there’s one thing I know, you two Volkov boys won’t take no for an answer. Just let me

know when and I’ll cook dinner.” Smiling as he boarded the elevator, Niklaus called out, “I’m not trying to kill her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THROUGHOUT THE CAR RIDE, REAGAN remained silent, staring out the passenger window even as Liam attempted to engage her in conversation. The last thing she wanted was to be in

his car, riding along to meet the man that had sired the brothers. While not all children’s wrongdoings was the fault of the parents, Reagan couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man stood as the patriarch of the McCarthy family. “I’m sorry,” Liam said, trying another tactic as he softened his voice, thinking that might goad her into actually speaking to him. “I didn’t mean what I said. You look fine.” How did he expect her to respond to that? “Okay.” Not taking his eyes off the road, Liam reached over, clasping her hand. The moment he did, she tried to pull free, but he held tighter, his grip painful —like he was daring her to try that

again. “You don’t have to make this difficult, Reagan.” He was right about that, but she didn’t have to make it easy either. Instead of giving him what he wanted, Reagan let her arm go limp. There was no point in fighting him on it since he was significantly bigger than her, and probably wouldn’t mind using his strength to get that point across. Liam fell silent, and she almost believed she had won that round until he hit the brake suddenly, sending her lurching forward, then back hard against her seat as they came to a stop. She had barely looked in his direction before he grabbed ahold of her

jaw, forcing her to face him. “Don’t test my patience,” he said, his voice gone low as Reagan wrapped her fingers around his wrist and attempted to pull herself free, but he merely held fast. “You won’t like what happens.” No, she was sure she wouldn’t. She was also sure that she would have fingerprint-like bruises later on. “Understand something, Reagan. I was trying to give you time, work through whatever bullshit you needed, but you don’t seem to be grasping what exactly it is I’m telling you. Now, be a good girl and do as I say, or I’ll give you a reason to be scared.” Smashing his lips against her, he held himself there for a moment before

the licking the seam of her lips, laughing once he finally let go and she got the chance to move away and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Satisfied for the time being, Liam drove off without further incident, finally pulling into the lot of an old warehouse near the docks. Men in hardhats walked around the place, but they looked a little too on edge for them to actually work there, and if Reagan wasn’t mistaken, a number of them she had seen around Rourke a time or two. While she might not have ever come to this place with Liam, she still noticed the way people stood a little straighter, walked a little faster, and tried to avoid him altogether. A couple of black sedans

were parked near the garage bay, at least three men standing beside each, and when Liam parked in line beside them, they were the only few that didn’t look terrified of him. Liam was out of the car first, circling around to open the door for her as well. With a single look, he quelled whatever argument she thought to give when he reached for her hand, keeping hold of it as he walked them across the lot, not speaking to anyone as he went, even if they spoke to him. His grip on her hand tightened slightly as he headed toward their destination with very little care as to what was happening all around them. Reagan, on the other hand, was taking

everything in. At the very least so she wouldn’t have to think about what awaited her across the warehouse floor. But she didn’t have too much time to prepare herself before she was standing inside an office with Liam at her side, his father and brother before her. Upon first glance, Reagan could definitely see where Liam and Rourke had gotten their looks and their temperament. The man seemed to have a permanent scowl etched onto his face, and though he attempted a smile—for her sake, she thought—it only managed to make him look mildly annoyed. Though he was probably a good thirty years their senior, he still had a youthful look to his features, and had the build of a man that

still worked out constantly. Though Liam spoke of his father often, she didn’t know very much about him, only that he hadn’t approved of Liam and Rourke’s presences stateside —Liam and Rourke constantly argued about it. Rourke would have much preferred being back in Dublin, standing at his father’s side, but Liam had wanted something more, and right in Hell’s Kitchen was where he had found that ‘more,’ apparently. “Who is this?” he asked, turning dark eyes on Liam. The question was simple enough, but the tone in which he used spoke of his true feelings. She wasn’t the only one that didn’t want her there.

“Reagan, Donovan McCarthy. Da, Reagan, my girlfriend.” Judging from the blank stare he was sending in Liam’s direction, he was not impressed. She couldn’t decide whether she was happy or upset about this. “Now isn’t the time for this,” Donovan said evenly. “We have business to discuss.” Liam nodded once, leaning over to whisper in Reagan’s ear, “Go sit in the corner and keep your mouth shut.” Deciding it was better not to argue this with him, she did as he said, grabbing a chair along the way. The moment she was across the room, they all spoke in hushed tones, but even as they tried to pretend she didn’t exist, she

could still hear bits and pieces of their conversation. “Are you sure you can trust him?” Rourke asked his father, his attention solely on him though Liam glanced in his direction. Reagan wasn’t sure who the ‘him’ was Rourke was referring to, but she tried not to seem like she was listening too closely. “This deal has been in the works for over a year, boy. It’s too late to not go through with it now.” “But that doesn’t mean that you have to meet with him alone,” Liam interjected. “Let one of us come with you, for security at the very least.” “I already agreed to his terms,”

Donovan said carefully. “The moment I do something he doesn’t approve, there’ll be a problem.” While there was no one around in Hell’s Kitchen the brothers seemed to fear, it was apparent that there was someone the father was afraid of. Reagan was not usually one for violence, but if pissing off whoever Donovan planned to meet with would mean someone would come after them, she hoped they fucked up badly. She was contemplating this when there was a sudden shout from someone outside the office, and she had barely turned to look in that direction before an explosion sounded, shaking the very foundation of the warehouse before shots

could be heard over the sounds of yelling. The minute the first gunshot rang out, Reagan froze in horror, even as everything around her seemed to speed up. Liam, Rourke, and Donovan were on their feet in seconds, guns out, firing back though they couldn’t possibly see who, or even where, the shots were coming from. When a mirror shattered next to her head, however, she unfroze, dropping down to the floor as she quickly scrambled away from the chaos, towards an exit door she had seen in her look around the place. She had just made it through the cracked door when a pair of powerful

arms lifted her off the floor, yanking her back against a firm chest. As she took a breath to scream, a hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling the sound. She kicked, fought with all of her might, but made no purchase as she was carried backward toward the loading dock. Then, she was dropped onto her feet as a door was opened, shoved inside of what looked like a storage closet? Was he helping her? And now, she was face-to-face with the man—because it was quite obviously a man with the strength he possessed— that had dragged her away from the bullets. To her surprise, he was wearing a

mask, one that was entirely black with cutouts for the eyes, and just a slash across the nose area so he could breathe. Despite her earlier fear, she didn’t continue to fight him. His eyes…they felt familiar. When she made to speak though, he pressed a gloved finger to her lips and shook his head, silently demanding she not speak. Then, he moved that same finger from her lips to where his own would be without the mask, another silent command. Only when Reagan nodded did he step back and shut the door, his shadow disappearing from beneath the crack in the door. She didn’t move, nor did she speak a

word. Not when she heard others on the opposite side of the door, or even when she heard Liam yelling her name. No, she didn’t attempt to open the door until the silence on the other side was deafening. Before now, she had never heard a gunshot before, surprising considering where she came from, so she’d had no idea just how loud they could be—or how after they tapered off, the sounds still echoed in her ears. Reagan didn’t know how long she stood in the closet, but when she finally stepped out of it, she didn’t see anyone. Angry voices carried from the other side of the warehouse where she had been with Liam, and when she rounded the corner to leave, ready to get the hell out

of there, she ran into one of Rourke’s men. A gun was pointed in her face, making her jump back. When he blinked, seeming to recognize her, he grabbed hold of her arm, marching her right back in the direction she had come from, not stopping until they entered the part of the place where Liam and his family were standing, arguing in loud voices now about how best to handle the situation. But there was only one voice that really mattered, and when he finally spoke, the others in the room fell silent. “It’s no problem?” Donovan asked, an edge to his voice. “Look the fuck around, there is a problem. I warned you that the moment you fucked this, I would

pull your arse back home. Perhaps you thought I was kidding?” “I can fix this, Da. I—” His lips snapped shut when Donovan glared at him, that look enough to make Reagan afraid to speak. There was someone Liam feared, she realized, his father. “Get to the bottom of this and clean it up, or I’ll do it for you.” Donovan signaled to his men, all of which walked both ahead and behind him as they left, never sparing another glance to any of them. It was then that Liam turned in her direction and realized she had witnessed all of that—and probably noticed the look of fear on his face when he

addressed his father. But before he could address her, Rourke spoke up. “Fecking Declan Flanagan, that was,” Rourke exclaimed in his gravelly tone. “We need to put him in the ground before he can pull this shite again.” Liam didn’t look away from her, his open expression shifting to something akin to a silent fury. “We will—and anyone standing at his side.” Her brother. His name might have been left unspoken, but it hung between them all the same.

TOWELING HER HAIR DRY, REAGAN WAS BOTH mentally and physically exhausted as she

left her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body and another in her hand. After everything that had happened at the warehouse, the police sirens could be heard miles away and Liam wasted no time with having someone take her home, ensuring the police never got a chance to talk to her. And during that long journey home, her thoughts had turned to Jimmy and the fact that she still hadn’t heard from him. She no longer doubted that he had gotten into contact with their old childhood friend, but she was more worried about just how involved he was with what happened at the warehouse. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would go over to his apartment and finally figure

all of this out. There was one thing about ignoring her calls, but he couldn’t avoid her if she was camped out at his place. Reagan was almost to the kitchen, thinking about the slice of cake sitting in her refrigerator that she was looking forward to when she noticed someone sitting by the window in her living room, shrouded by darkness. Yelping in surprise, she nearly lost the towel that shielded her nudity. She didn’t even have time to do anything else before the man stood and stepped forward, looking positively annoyed… like he had any reason to. “Niklaus? What the fuck? It’s not bad enough that you knew where I lived, but now you’re breaking into my place?”

He didn’t answer her question, not right away. No, his attention was rapt on her bare legs, slowly making their way up, stopping to linger where she had ahold of the towel. Even she had a hard time remembering why she was angry with the way he was looking at her. “Niklaus,” she called his name again, hoping to actually capture his attention this time. “You could’ve been killed today, you know.” She frowned, about to ask him how he could possibly know about that, but then she remembered the person in the mask. Now it made sense why his eyes seemed so familiar. “That was you?

What the hell were you doing there? What…” She was going to ask what the hell was going on, but then she remembered his sudden reappearance, and besides his fixation on her, he had questioned her about Liam, about what she knew about his family. He’d said he had come back for her, but now she was starting to realize that he wasn’t there for her at all. “This is about Liam, isn’t it—the reason you’re back.” “No, I meant what I said. He was the excuse, you’re the reason.” She couldn’t begin to understand what he meant by that. “Sanitation, my ass. Are you like a damn spy?” He shrugged—just shrugged as

though that answer was entirely plausible. “Close, but I’m not affiliated with any government.” What. The. Fuck. She was almost afraid to suggest the next one. “Assassin?” “Depends on the job.” Even though it was Niklaus, even though he had never given her the impression that he would hurt her in any way, a chill went down her spine at how easily he had admitted to that. “What—” “Mercenary,” he said carefully, his eyes scanning her face, what he was looking for, she didn’t know. “That’s the word you’re looking for.” It wasn’t the first time she had heard

the word though she couldn’t recall what it meant, or what they did exactly, but that was the last thing she expected him to be. “Depends on the job, you said. So, Liam…he’s the job?” Niklaus shook his head. “Not necessarily.” “Then explain it to me.” She could see a muscle working in his jaw, and she almost expected him not to answer, but he did. “I can’t.” Reagan could believe that, he had admitted, albeit vaguely, that he killed people for a living. Why wasn’t she freaking out? Why was she still standing there talking to him and not getting as far

away from him as she could? “Don’t do that.” Her eyes snapped to him at the softly uttered command. “Don’t do what?” “Fear me.” “Why shouldn’t I?” “Because I’d never hurt you,” he said with unwavering sincerity. How desperately she wanted to believe that, but he had never given her any reason to. “So what was it exactly?” She found herself asking, her voice level though she felt anything but. “What did you need from me to get Liam?” “I already had it handled.” “Before or after you came back walked into my pub?” “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth.” “Both. I had his name—or the family name—before I got here. I came to you first though. A friend told me Liam was around you, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She looked away, feeling vulnerable. She hadn’t been okay, the farthest thing from it. Niklaus blew out a breath, pulling the beanie free from covering his hair. “You should have told me.” “And what would I have said? Sanitation guy, I know I haven’t seen you in years, but there’s this Irish mobster and his brother that’s extorting everyone in my neighborhood—oh, and one of them thinks that I belong to him? Would

that have worked for you?” “As I said, you—” “How? How was I supposed to tell you anything? They could have killed you, it’s not like they’re shy about hurting someone. I’ve seen the things they’re capable of, but despite how much of an asshole you can be, I didn’t want to see you hurt because you were trying to protect me.” There was a sudden moment where his eyes lit up with an emotion she couldn’t read at first—it took over his whole demeanor. “Do you think I can’t protect you, Reagan?” “What?” she asked frowning, confused his words. “What are you

talking about?” “It’s a simple question—yes or no?” “What does it matter?” One minute he was across the room, the next he was directly in front of her, so close that she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “You feared for me. You even put yourself in between me and that fucking idiot because you were trying to protect me. My question is do you think I need you to protect me?” She couldn’t for the life of her understand what he was getting at. “Nikl —” “You knew,” Niklaus said, his voice gone low, sensual in a way that he probably didn’t try to do. “Some part of

you, however small, knew exactly what I was. Even before. Every night you came to my room and climbed in my bed, you knew.” Maybe on some subconscious level, she had known. She had already rejected the idea of his involvement in sanitation, even if she never admitted that fact to herself. And how could she not recall just how strong his muscles felt beneath her hands. “But there’s only so much your strength can do,” she voiced the thought aloud. “Against a bullet? Nothing. I can’t have you dying because of me.” It wasn’t the first time she had said similar words during this conversation, and just like before, he had a reaction to

them that puzzled her. “What would you prefer me do? Leave you to fight alone?” “If that’s what I want, then yeah.” He was shaking his head before she could even finish. “That’s not how this works.” “Niklaus, you can’t just—” “You want him gone, no? I can make that happen far quicker than you can. I’ll make it where he never sees another day if that’s what you wanted. Just say the word.” “He’d kill Jimmy,” she said softly, her fear and trust rolled into one simple statement. “Jimmy?” “My brother.”

“Where is he?” Niklaus asked. “I don’t know. He took off—which he tends to do on occasion, the reason why you never met him before. Liam is looking for him too.” “I’ll find him first.” She shook her head. “You can’t know that for sure. Liam has been looking since before you know about Jimmy at all.” “Doesn’t matter.” “Nik—” He shut her up with a bruising kiss, one that took her breath away and grounded her at the same time. His fingers slipped through the damp strands of her hair at the nape of her neck, his hold possessive and firm,

keeping her exactly as he wanted. She shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as she did, but she had always been weak when it came to him. Where was her fight? How long had she thought about the next time they would cross paths, and what she would say once they were face-to-face? Years had passed, and she had moved on, not with Liam, but emotionally. She had gotten over her feelings for Niklaus…or at least that was what she thought until he walked back into her life. Now she wasn’t so sure. “It’s almost midnight, it can wait until the morning. I’ve been tracking Liam and have bugs in place, if there’s

any mention of him trying to make a move I’d know it.” But he wasn’t finished. “I want you,” he said when her gaze lifted to his, making sure she could see the sincerity there. Coming from anyone else, the words might not have had the same effect, but from him, in that rough, angry voice of his, it sent a shiver through her, reminding her that was still in nothing more than a towel. Despite what he made her feel, she still resisted. “I’m not yours, Niklaus. You can’t just say that.” “No?” “No.” The hand he had at the small of her back drifted around and dipped, his too

hot touch suddenly on her thighs, slipping even higher, and now beneath her towel. She moved too slow to stop his ascent, and by the time she had ahold of his wrist, his hand was between her legs, his fingers stroking over her, delving between her folds. Digging her nails into his flesh, holding tight, she didn’t even know whether it was to pull him away or keep him in place. His lips fell to her ear as he said, “Your pussy is mine, or do you want to deny that too?” She couldn’t, not when he could feel the evidence of the affect his words had on her. Another protest was on the tip of her

tongue, and the only thing she had to do was say it, but her through scattered when he stroked her. With just a brush of his fingers, she was putty in his hands, already bending to his will. And in that next second, she gave in. Grabbing hold of him, she pushed into his body, reveling in the feel of his hands as they closed around her, but before she could lose herself in him, she pulled back, gazing up at him. That old fire had returned, the same one she had longed to see for years. “Make it worth it,” she said. Worth the pain. Worth the hurt. Worth her starting this back up again

when she couldn’t be sure how it would end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“I WONDERED IF I HAD DREAMED IT,” Reagan said softly, almost as though the words weren’t meant for him, but were a soft musing. But even still, Niklaus answered her

as though she had addressed him. “I’m really here.” “Yeah,” she said, sounding wry, “I was afraid of that.” For the last hour he had lain beside her, listening to her even breaths as she slept. With her beside him, he had finally had a good night’s sleep for what felt like the first time in years. Reagan was able to calm his anger in a way he couldn’t do for himself. With her, he found peace. “Nah, don’t say it like that.” “Or what?” Her voice had dropped when she asked that, making him glance in her direction and take in the flushness of her face, and how even without words, she

was begging for the very thing he would happily give her. “I need a shower,” he said, following the curve of her hip outlined by the sheet. “Will you actually get in with me this time?” She didn’t hesitate, not for a second. One minute she was glancing back at him as she walked to the bathroom in the hallway, and the next she was kneeling at his feet, his cock in her mouth. He wrapped a fist in her hair, guiding her movements as she took him deep. Reagan had never been shy again with him after their night together, always giving as good as she got. Even now as kept him exactly as she wanted him, his body going tense with

the need to come, she looked like she was getting off on sucking his cock just as much as he was from her doing it. He didn’t even get the chance to say her name before she was pulling away, now staring up at him with hungry eyes. Niklaus didn’t hesitate in hauling her up, pressing her hard against the wall of the shower. The minute he had a hand around his cock, and she was pressing back against him, he shoved in, drawing her up onto her toes as a cry spilled from her lips. With each thrust, he tried to remember his own name, even slowing as he tried to hold off his release, at least until he had made her come. One hand at her throat, the other

slipping between her legs to rub at her clit, her response was immediate and absolute, robbing him of breath as he pussy clamped so tight around him he nearly saw stars, and by the time he was seconds later, dropping his forehead to her shoulder, he thought he had. Rinsing them both off, Niklaus let Reagan go ahead of him as he lingered a bit longer beneath the hot water. Once he was out, he dressed rather quickly, though he did leave his gear packed inside his duffel bag at the door. Even if he wasn’t ready for Reagan to see that side of him yet, he still couldn’t go out on the street dressed that way without drawing attention. Dropping down on the couch, as he

shoved his feet in his boots, lacing up the strings, Niklaus said, “I need you to stay out of trouble.” Reagan folded her arms across her chest, frowning. “It’s not like I’m seeking it out, Liam always comes to me not the other way around.” “But you came to me, remember?” It was almost impossible not to smile at the look of indignation that crossed her face. “I can’t just stay in here all day. I have the pub, and my parents worry when I don’t visit for a while. And even if Liam is busy with everything that happened yesterday, there’s no guarantee that he won’t send someone to check on me.”

And he could tell, though she had yet to say anything, that she was still worried about her brother. “I’ll have someone come round and look after you while I get to the bottom of all this shit with McCarthy.” While she had slept on beside him the night before, he had still been awake, going back and forth with Celt as to what, exactly, happened at the McCarthy warehouse. Motive was easy, practically everyone hated the McCarthys, yet finding the who had been rather difficult. And had taken far longer than he would have liked, but he had a name and a place now, and that was all he needed before he went to make his point.

“Then what will you be doing?” Reagan asked, dropping down on the couch beside him. “If you’re not there with me…” “Couple stops to make before I go in search of your brother. If McCarthy is worth half his fucking balls, he won’t wait long before going after whoever blew up his and his brother’s trucks.” She worried her lips between her teeth, her fear for him prominent. “Be careful, Niklaus.” He pulled her closer with a hand curved around her neck, first kissing her forehead, then pressing another lingering one to her lips. “Always.”

IT HADN’T BEEN HARD TO FIND THE Irishmen, not when he had Celt around for help. Running a fight club in a secret level of an abandoned warehouse, Celt heard things about any and every one. And that knowledge came in handy, especially when Niklaus needed to find Declan Flanagan, a man that was practically a ghost. After yesterday’s episode, Niklaus knew he had to have a conversation with the man, whether he wanted to or not. That was also the reason why he’d had to come clean with Reagan about exactly who and what he was. She could have been killed if he hadn’t stepped in. And now that she’d told him exactly what her relationship was like with Liam, he was

ready to put an end to it. Now he was glad that his assignment directly involved the McCarthys, he could both end them and solve Reagan’s problem with one stone. But first he had to make sure there wouldn’t be anymore incidents like the one that had happened yesterday. And for once, Niklaus left his mask behind though he was on assignment, heading towards the barbershop at the end of the block where he knew the Irishmen did business in a back room. No one would have expected it, not when the place was owned by an older man with silver hair who looked rather harmless. But it made for a great hideout.

Though he had left his mask behind, Niklaus hadn’t come fully unprepared. Heading into a dangerous situation like this, especially with men that had nothing to lose, he knew the risks. And worse was the fact that he was showing his face—his face would be enough to warrant a bullet to the face without a word being spoken. His vest was strapped on, hidden beneath the shirt and jacket he wore— and it wasn’t like he was unarmed, but there was no guarantee of who all was inside. And while Niklaus would always put the odds on himself, there was no guarantee he would get away unscathed. Getting shot hurt. Reaching Rory’s Barbershop,

Niklaus put a hand to the door and pulled it open, the small bell above it ringing at his entrance. Music played from an old radio resting by a sink, something that reminded him of a song Celt might play. Two men were seated by the door, one on his phone, the other with his eyes in a magazine, but if from the way they tensed when Niklaus entered, he doubted they were fully invested in what they were doing. An older guy with a beer gut and meaty jowls was sitting in a chair getting his hair cut, eyes on the television mounted to the wall, and out of the eleven people inside the shop, Niklaus could see that he was the only one not

there with Declan. Funny thing was, from what Niklaus could see, Declan was nowhere to be found. At least not immediately. As he walked further into the shop, staying aware of the men at his back, all eyes turned to him with the exception of the man watching television, the tension climbing. If he were anyone else, the men might have been wary, but willing to hear him out, but because of the face he shared with Mishca, they were far more than a little wary—they were openly hostile. It might have been because Mishca had shot one of their own back during his days as a soldier for the Bratva.

Then, there was the whole rivalry thing they had going on, at least up until Declan had disappeared off the face of the earth for reasons that were still unknown. Even Celt hadn’t been able to find that information. “Come on, Paulie,” Rory, the owner of the shop, called to the man watching television. “I’ll finish you up in the back.” “Come on,” the man said gesturing to the TV with an outstretched arm. “The game is on.” 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 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 backup. 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 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 his 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 TWENTY-FIVE

WHEN NIKLAUS SAID HE WAS GOING TO SEND somebody, she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but when the burlytoned 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 remain diligent on that bar stool, 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 sixteenminute 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 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 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 as 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.” “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.” “What’s the plan now.” “Now? We’re going back to your place, I’m going to spank your ass for not listening, then I’ll eat your pussy, and I’m going to sleep. Sound good?” Was she supposed to say no to that? As they left the apartment building, Niklaus opening the car door for her, neither noticed the man watching them

from a few feet away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

HE DIDN’T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. That just wasn’t the way Liam McCarthy worked. When he wanted something, he took it, by any means necessary. And when he made Hell’s

Kitchen his home, and stumbled across Reagan O’Callahan, he had decided he wanted her. For a spell, he had found her resistance cute, even entertained it for a while, but he knew she would come around—they always did. But Reagan, she had proven to be more opposed to him than he had originally thought, but he would soon have more time on his hands to show her exactly why she was wrong. After showing his father the receipts, documenting just how much they had earned over the last six months, he had finally convinced his old man that his decision to move to the States was a good one.

Right now, the only hiccup he was facing was Reagan, especially now that she had disappeared, and no one had seen her go in or out of her apartment. But she wouldn’t be able to hide for long. “He’s getting help from the fucking Russians!” Liam was toying with his phone, thinking over how best to handle Reagan’s disappearing act when Bobby, one of his brother’s soldiers, came walking into his office uninvited, but Bobby’s words managed to make it through his foggy head before he prematurely put a bullet in the man’s head. “What are you going on about,

Bobby?” Liam asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. It wouldn’t be the first time one of the men were too afraid to speak what they needed to say for fear of what he would do next. Producing his cell phone, he opened up photos he had snapped, scrolling down to the one he needed, then angled the phone in Liam’s direction. Taking the device, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. There was a barbershop, one he had never paid much attention to since it seemed rather empty the last few times he had passed it—there was no point in taking from those that weren’t receiving. But then his gaze snapped to the two men at the focus of it.

One was Declan, of that he was sure. He had seen the lad around enough, even before he had thought to make trouble for them, but it was the other man that made him pause to look closer. He had seen his face before, that night at Reagan’s pub. He had been sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand, his attention on Reagan as though it had any right to be. If Liam remembered correctly, he had even mouthed off, thinking to get in between Liam and Reagan. And now that he thought back on it, on the way Reagan had rushed around and stepped between them, he wondered for whose sake she had done it. Was she more concerned with keeping her

business secure, or had she been trying to protect him? Pointing to the one he didn’t know, Liam asked, “Who is he?” “Mishca Volkov, boss of the Volkov Bratva. Word is the Bratva and Declan have never seen eye-to-eye, but maybe Declan made a deal for their help to move against us.” Liam considered the information. It wasn’t a bad move on Declan’s part, smart even. He would have done the same thing if his family were in a similar circumstance. “What do you want to do about him?” Had this Mishca Volkov been waiting for Reagan’s brother? Possibly

to have a message sent off. It would make sense, even explain how Declan had been able to make so many moves against them when he was supposed to be in hiding—he had the Russian doing it. “Donovan has an important meeting in three days. Three days. Find them,” Liam said, shoving the phone back at Bobby. “And bury them. We don’t need more complications.” And once this problem was solved, he would make sure he thoroughly explained to Reagan why not to cross him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“RUSSIAN.” There was a certain ire to Niklaus’ tone as he answered the call, shifting his hands on the wheel as he put the phone to his ear. He didn’t sound particularly

excited whenever his phone rang, but whoever was on the other end this time, it was clear that Niklaus felt a way about them. “Despite what you think, I do have a life outside of your fucking Bratva.” Bratva. She had heard that word before, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember where she had heard it, or even what it meant. “I’ll pencil you in tomorrow,” Niklaus said with a roll of his eyes, even if the person on the other line couldn’t see him. “Fine. Stop your fucking bitching, I’ll see you within the hour.” Hanging up, Niklaus tossed his phone on the seat, then turned on his blinker before merging into the turning

lane. “I need to make a stop first,” he explained, as he made a U-turn, heading back the way he came. “With a Russian…” Reagan hedged, hoping he would offer up more. “Mishca is his name, my brother.” There was definitely bad blood there from the way Niklaus spoke about him in that detached manner of his. And she could only remember once when Niklaus had brought up his family. “I didn’t know he lived here.” A tick worked in his jaw, but he didn’t sound bothered as he answered. “We grew up separately.” She frowned, feeling a pang in her chest. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine

not growing up with her brothers. “Don’t be,” Niklaus said with a wave of his hand. “He’s a dick.” Reagan didn’t get a chance to comment on that fact before Niklaus was mumbling to himself. “An obnoxious little shit with a hero complex.” “A hero complex?” “You have no fucking idea.” She really didn’t, but the way he spoke about him, with such disdain and annoyance, she was almost afraid to ask him what problem he had with his sibling. It wasn’t long after that they were turning into a side alley adjacent to a number of storage units. Already parked

a ways down was a jeep spattered with mud and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Leaning against it was a man with curling blond hair, a rigid jaw, with almost every inch of his skin covered in colorful tattoos. Intense. That was the only way Reagan could think to describe the man standing not too far away, most of his impressive height slouched over as he leaned against that muddy truck that looked like it had been used in Desert Storm. He hadn’t spoken yet, nor had he threatened them in any way, only turned predatory eyes in their direction, but it was enough to make a sliver of fear run down her

spine. The only thing he did was smile. But there was something about that expression that made her think if she caught him in a dark alley one night, he would still be wearing that same smile while slicing her throat. His gaze never left hers as he said, “You must be Reagan.” He lifted a tattooed hand to push the longish, blond strands back out of his face. She had thought Niklaus was someone to fear after she had witnessed what he was capable of, even Liam and Rourke, but this one? He was something else entirely. “I am,” she finally responded after glancing at Niklaus. “Sorry. I don’t think

Niklaus mentioned you.” His smile only grew as he glanced at the man standing next to her. “Probably not. Our bromance has only gotten stronger over the last year and a half. He didn’t like me much before.” She felt compelled to ask, “Why not?” “Meh, I tortured him for a few days. Grisly business, mind, but we worked it out.” “For fuck’s sake, Luka. Cut it out.” Reagan wanted to believe that he was joking, however morbid the joke, but neither of them laughed, and though the blond was smiling, it didn’t look particularly humorous. She remembered the scars on

Niklaus’ back just then, the jagged lines that she knew caused him a phantom pain even now, no matter how long ago those wounds had been made. This was the man that put them there? She would think that after everything he had told her, the retribution he had delivered after what had been done to him that this man would be at the top of his hit list. Yet, there he stood—almost arrogant in his way of telling her what he had done. Reagan didn’t think before she struck, the palm of her hand cracking across his cheek. He had to have seen the hit coming, but he hadn’t moved, nor

did he try to stop her from hitting him. He just stood there, like this was the reaction he wanted from her. There was a handprint now on the side of his clean shaven face, but he paid it no mind as he looked to Niklaus. “I like her.” Niklaus expression was unreadable as he regarded Luka, but whatever silent message he was trying to send, the man was ignoring it. “Ignore him,” Niklaus said, tearing his eyes away. “The woman who holds his leash is in Paris at the moment— she’s the only one that keeps him sane.” A burst of laughter escaped Luka as he rubbed at the handprint on his face, and for the first time, Reagan noticed the

black band that encircled his finger. “I don’t think sane is the right word,” Luka interjected. “Where’s the Russian?” Reagan didn’t doubt that Niklaus was referring to the man he’d been on the phone with not too long ago, but she did wonder why he didn’t use a name. Luka glanced down at his watch. “Should have been here by now. He’s never late.” No sooner had that statement left his mouth before his gaze shot up, aimed in the direction of a car that was pulling into the alley. Reagan was expecting a smile from him, or at least some indication that he knew who was coming, but there was only a second, one

where his face twitched with confusion, before he was reaching behind him. It was just a second…just one before the loud crack of a bullet split the air. The doors to the car were swung open as multiple men—at least three that Reagan could see before she was shoved to the ground by Niklaus—came stumbling out, guns trained on them as they fired with abandon. “Stay down!” She didn’t have to be told twice, clamping her hands over her ears to drown out the gunshots. Niklaus was on his feet, a gun in each gloved hand as he fired back. Though terror had seized hold of her, she looked back, trying to see whether the

men were still there, and they were, but one was on the ground, a bullet in his head, his eyes open and unseeing. Reagan doubted she would ever get that image out of her head. A tire on Luka’s truck exploded, flattening instantly as a bullet plugged into it. Reagan, without thinking, scrambled away, but in her haste, Niklaus’ attention had shifted to her for a split second. Then, his body jerked to the side as he gave a grunt, the gun dropping to the ground. Shit. He was shot! He dropped to a knee, but didn’t go down completely. Lifting his good arm, he fired another round, the muscles in his

arm straining against the recoil. And with that last shot, silence echoed. Reagan stumbled forward, reaching to help Niklaus as he struggled to his feet, but out the corner of her eye, she caught Luka dashing forward, running for the car that was backing out of the alley. He ran like a man without fear, or maybe like a man that wasn’t rational. “I got him, coach!” Luka shouted out a second before he fired at the car’s tires, preventing the man from going any further. He jumped onto the hood of the car sliding across before dropping down on the other side as he yanked the driver’s side door open, pulling the lone man

from inside and dragging him to the mouth of the alley. He was a grown man, one that Reagan recognized as one that hung around Liam and Rourke, but with the way Luka handled him, it was like he was handling a child. Stowing his gun away, Luka pulled out something else, something metal and tapered to a point. It glinted in the soft light of the waning twilight, but before Reagan could see what Luka would do next, Niklaus turned her face away, forcing her attention on him. Judging from the cry of pain that split the air, Reagan was sure she didn’t want to see what was happening anyway. “How bad is it?” she asked, reaching

for the part of his shirt that was torn and saturated with blood. From what she could tell, it was still bleeding. “It’s a flesh wound,” he said easily, too easily, making her think that he wasn’t being completely honest. “Luka! Stop playing with your prey. We need to go.” “Aww, but—” “Now, you little shit!” Reagan couldn’t begin to understand the relationship between Niklaus and Luka. She would have thought Niklaus hated him, just because of what had been done to him, but beneath the insults that he seemed to keep throwing in Luka’s direction, they seemed more like friends —good friends—than enemies.

“Fine,” Luka said as he came back over, swiping his hands along the front of his shirt, uncaring the he was leaving bloody finger marks behind. “That looks bad.” Luka accentuated the remark by poking Niklaus’ wound, jumping back when Niklaus moved to grab him. “There’s no need to get feral, Red. Give me your keys.” “Not on your fucking life.” Luka, whose expression had changed to one of sarcastic patience, gestured to his own truck. “Can’t drive mine—it’s shot to shit at the moment. If we’re going to get out of here, you have to let me drive.” It was beyond clear that Niklaus

couldn’t want anything less, but ultimately, he tossed him the keys. “You chip my paint, I’m shipping your ass back to Albania.” Luka shot him a middle finger, but didn’t respond as he climbed in the driver’s seat, waiting for them to climb in after him before he reversed out of the garage, then down the alley. He had his phone out and was dialing a number before they were ten feet away. “Sorry, your day off is cut a little short. I had a little accident that I need you to clean up.” Luka rattled off an address to whoever he was on the phone with, then said, “I’d clean it up myself but someone’s bleeding out next to me and that’s a little more important. Oh,

and there’s one I left alive, take him to the wet rooms.” Reagan didn’t know what the wet rooms were, but she was sure she didn’t want to find out either. Niklaus made a sound from the front seat, a mix between a groan and a grunt, as he rolled the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing the torn and bleeding flesh of his arm. The sight of it only made the nausea churning in her stomach grow worse. “Shit, I think she’s going to be sick,” Luka muttered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “And it’s hard cleaning vomit out of things. Trust me, I would know.” Ignoring him, Niklaus looked to

Reagan, trying to shift his expression into something other than pain. “You need a hospital,” Reagan said, too afraid to touch him, even in comfort, in case that only hurt him worse. “Not at all,” Luka chimed in. “Lauren can get him stitched up in no time.” Who was Lauren? But Reagan didn’t get a chance to ask before they were pulling into a parking structure in the middle of Manhattan, the building it was connected to far nicer than Reagan’s own place. This was the kind of place she’d dreamed of living in—a definite improvement than the closet she was currently living in.

But she knew even in Manhattan, the places were tiny, but at least they were nicer. Reagan was worried, wondering how they would just walk through the front doors of a building like this. Niklaus was bleeding, and Luka…well, he looked like the reason for the blood, but instead of going through the front, they circled the building and took the elevator up to the top floor, to a penthouse apartment that had Reagan more curious as to whom they were there to see. “Should I even ask what you’re doing here, Lu—” But the girl who was rounding the corner, who looked around the same age

as Reagan, stopped when she caught sight of the three of them. Then, with uncanny precision, her gaze locked on Niklaus’ wound, a flash of fear in her gaze before she reached for him. “Let me see.” “I’ve been shot before, you know.” “I’m sure.” “Lauren, really. Don’t—” The girl—Lauren—didn’t seem to care what Niklaus was saying, not with the way she just grabbed hold of his good arm and matched him into the living room, shoving, albeit gently, him onto a bar stool and told him to stay there. “Where the hell is Mish? I thought he was supposed to be meeting you.”

Lauren called out, having disappeared into a guest bathroom, walking back out with a small first-aid kit. “Yeah, this happened before he got there,” Luka answered. “Where’s the little one?” “In his room—but don’t wake him, Luka. I know you. I’m trying to keep him on his schedule, but if you keep disrupting it whenever you come around, that’s only going to make it worse on both of us.” “Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” But from the way Lauren rolled her eyes, she didn’t believe him—but neither did Reagan. “Right, sorry. Reagan, this is Lauren Volkov.”

Volkov? She shared his last name? While she knew genetics were an iffy thing, Reagan couldn’t see the similarities between them, if there were any. Maybe one or the other was adopted? “Reagan, you said?” Lauren’s tone had changed, even the way her gaze shifted to Niklaus was curious, but whatever silent message passed between them, Reagan didn’t understand it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reagan. I don’t know if Niklaus has mentioned me, or us, but I’m glad you’re here.” Reagan was too distracted by Niklaus carefully pulling his shirt off to properly hear what Lauren was saying, but she was sure there was something

she was not getting… And no, she didn’t think Niklaus had mentioned her, or their relationship, but she didn’t want to mention that in case it hurt her feelings. It was obvious she cared a great deal about Niklaus from the way she was carefully examining his wound and cleaning it. As Reagan turned away from them, looking around the space, she wondered why Niklaus had never bothered to mention her, or really, any of the people he was supposed to be meeting with today. It was only a reminder that he was still hiding things despite how honest he had been. But she could have moved past that

if she hadn’t looked up and her gaze seized on the painting that was proudly hung. If it had been of anyone else, she would have loved it. The detail was immaculate, and had probably cost thousands of dollars to have produced, but as Reagan stared at the woman and man in the portrait—particularly the man —one that she had pined for years, one that had made her feel like no one else ever had... She was fucking pissed. “You’re married?” Niklaus’ gaze swung to her, a look of shock crossing his features before his eyes shifted to the painting that had held her attention for so long.

“Reagan, it’s not what—” She was on her feet in a second. “It’s not what I think? Is that what you were about to say because it sure a fuck looks like it’s exactly what I think, Niklaus!” “No, wait—” “What’s all the yelling about?” Luka asked, reappearing with a sleepy toddler at his side. And if anything, the sight of him only made it worse. He looked just like Niklaus. Just. Like. Him. It didn’t matter that the adorable little boy couldn’t be any old than a year —give or take a few months—the similarities between them, a perfect blend of both Niklaus and Lauren though

the boy did favor his mother a little more, were too obvious to ignore. “A child?” Reagan asked, turning watery eyes to Niklaus, feeling like her chest was cracking open. “How could you do this?” She couldn’t even face Lauren—how could she when she didn’t know what Niklaus had told her? “I haven’t done shit!” “Language,” Luka said, covering the baby’s ear with his giant hand. Niklaus glared at him. “Don’t start with me, Luka.” “Hey, now. Don’t blame me for this. You should have warned her about who Lauren was before you brought her here.”

Even Luka had known… She was an idiot. A fucking idiot. “Luka, stop before I tell Alex you’re causing problems,” Lauren snapped at him, but it didn’t look like it fazed him in the slightest. This was a joke to them. “I’m leaving,” Reagan told Niklaus. “Just leave me alone and don’t ever come near me again.” She had every intention of walking away, to get away from him and the lies he’d made her believe, but as she spun around, readying to do just that, he grabbed her hand before she could. And the moment he did, when she felt his touch on her, she swung without warning, cracking her hand across his

face. “Ouch.” The new voice came from behind her, the words colored with an accent that Reagan wasn’t very familiar with. She was expecting another of his friends, one that would be too amused by it all as Luka had been, but when she got a good look at the new person, all the anger that had taken her over fled just as quickly. “Oh.” Reagan was staring into Niklaus’ face, or rather his twin brother’s, and there was no question about it. And unlike Niklaus, the twin wore a threepiece suit, and wore his hair longer. “Oh,” Reagan said a second time, wincing as she turned back to look at

Niklaus. “Is it too late to say I’m sorry?” He was still glaring at her as he made the introductions. “Reagan, meet the Russian. Mishca, this is Reagan. Careful though, she seems to be in a slapping mood today.” “Strong right hand,” Luka added from his position on the couch. Reagan was definitely thinking that she didn’t like him. “But he said—” “I said that he should have told you who Lauren was, and I stick by that. She is the wife of his twin brother, anyone would have been confused.” “That was unnecessary,” Mishca said, leveling a stern look on Luka. Despite his age, there was a certain air of authority that hung around him.

“Well unlike you lot,” Luka went on. “I don’t appreciate being his dirty little secret.” Reagan had to wonder, as she looked to the blond man sitting on the other side of the room, whether he was actually serious or whether he was touched in the head—but no matter which, either option made her just want to avoid him further. “Does someone want to tell me what happened?” Mishca asked as he walked over to his wife, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “What the fuck do you think happened? I got shot.” If Mishca was fazed by Niklaus’ bad attitude, he didn’t show it. “I’m more concerned as to why.”

“Same reason I was tortured for three days—they thought I was you.” Yeah, there was definitely something she was missing, not to mention the bad blood that seemed to be between them. “Should I go ahead and assume this is my fault too?” Mishca asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the back on a chair. “I’m not in the mood for your shit right now, Russian. Fuck off.” “You do know you’re Russian too, no—or are you still pretending the same blood doesn’t run through our veins?” “How could I ever forget? I have to see your face staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.”

Reagan didn’t think this was their first disagreement, not with the easy way in which they addressed these things, as though rehashing an old argument. But Reagan could tell there was something different about Niklaus’ last statement, if only from the way Mishca’s head jerked as though he’d been struck. “And when should I lay blame at your feet? Believe it or not, today wasn’t about me—it was about you. It would make more sense that they mistook you for me. So what if I would have had Sacha with me? Does it only matter if it happens to you and yours, Niklaus?” Yeah, something was definitely wrong, Reagan could sense it in the way Luka sat a bit straighter, and Lauren

touched a hand to her husband’s back, a statement in itself. “Don’t you take that fucking tone with me,” Niklaus said climbing to his feet, shoving the stool back as he walked forward, but Reagan’s hand on his stomach stopped him. With the way he was so intently focused on his brother, she was sure he would ignore her touch entirely, shoving past her to get to him, but he didn’t move, like the hand she held up was the only thing restraining him. It was like a light switch had been turned off inside, or rather turned on. Niklaus had the tendency to act disinterested in most things, and rarely expressed emotion, but as he stood

across from his twin, fury in his eyes, it was startling to see. “Good on you, Niklaus,” Mishca said with a pitying smile. “Make another scene just because you’re in the mood for one. Sure, I’ll play along. Did something I say offend you?” “Don’t ever say I don’t care about them.” “I don’t think I did.” “Stop playing fucking word games, Russian. As much as I would enjoy putting my fist in your face, I’ve got better shit to do with my time.” “Do you? I’m amazed you even made it this long without picking another fight. Five minutes? That has to be a record considering the massive fucking chip on

your shoulder.” “Right, and it just appeared one day? You’re quick to bark accusations, but never address the part you played?” “Not that you haven’t told me countless times already, but what’s one more? It was my fault you were mistaken for me. It was my fault your girlfriend at the time was murdered in front of you.” “No, it was your fault you let them walk away. I stood on the other side of that fucking door thinking that you, the actual person that was meant to feel pain beneath his hands,” —Niklaus pointed over at Luka, though his attention was still on Mishca— “would want to make them pay for what they did, but one little cut over Jetmir’s eye and blinding him in

it was enough for you. Would it have made a difference if it was in you that seat, Mishca? Or maybe you would prefer having to watch Lauren burn alive even as she told you she loved you.” His words…laced with such hurt and accusation were enough to make Reagan feel a pang in her chest as she digested everything Mishca hadn’t said, and all that Niklaus had revealed. She knew about his torture, he had told her as much, not to mention that scars those days had left behind. But he had never, not once, mentioned that he hadn’t been alone that day. Sarah, she thought Mishca had said. Reagan had always wondered whether there had been someone Niklaus

had cared for and perhaps lost because when she met him…he had seemed so lonely. It would also explain a lot…like why he left and why he was so guarded. How could he have ever moved past that? “You told me not to lay my weakness at your door, remember? It no longer is.” “Then what will you deem acceptable, hmm? I’ve offered you everything I could possibly—” “There’s nothing you could give me that I want—not anyone that would matter to me.” And that cut a little deeper. Reagan withdrew her hand from his body before realizing she had. The

minute she moved, all eyes came to her, as though only now remembering that she was in the room with them. Understanding dawned in Mishca’s eyes, but Niklaus…she couldn’t read anything from him, only that he was extremely unhappy. He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a forced smile. “You should let her finish with your arm.” Time stretched between them as he merely stared at her, as though that would give him time to work out how she felt and make sense of it, but she didn’t—or rather she was afraid of what she would learn. Accepting her silence, he grabbed the stool from the floor and sat, but

before Lauren could go to him, he grabbed the wipes from the pack and gently cleaned the last of the blood from his arm. Clearing her throat, Lauren’s gaze turned to Sacha as he toddled over to her, pointing at his uncle with his little finger, then making a face. “Yeah, Uncle Niklaus hurt himself.” With all the careless grace of a child, he went over to Niklaus, grabbing on to his leg as he reached up with the other arm and waited. Niklaus, whose body was taut with tension, relaxed a bit as he tossed the wipes on the ground to pick up his nephew. Sacha didn’t waste a beat, reaching up to rub his hand through

Niklaus’ hair, and giving him a few pats on the head before pressing his mouth to Niklaus’ cheek in a wet kiss. His job done, he slid back to the ground, leaving Niklaus smiling in his wake. But it wasn’t to Lauren that he walked, but to Mishca, who was already reaching for him before he got close. When he was settled in his lap, Sacha did the same to him, as though trying to erase the pain his father must have felt. In moments, he had calmed the near raging storm between them. And all it had taken was a pat on the head from the smallest person in the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LEAVING THE PENTHOUSE, NIKLAUS KNEW HE had fucked up somewhere during that whole argument with Mishca, if the way Reagan was acting towards him now was any indication. She had hardly said

two words to him after they had boarded the elevator, and not even before then. He tried to cast his mind back, think of everything he had said in the heat of the moment, but none of it had been about Reagan, and most of it had just reflected his feelings for Mishca, but he hadn’t been particularly cruel…at least in his opinion. But he didn’t attempt to ask about it yet, not until she calmed down. Back at her place, she disappeared into her bedroom as he stopped in the bathroom, grabbing his bag along the way. Hunting for a new shirt, he dropped it on the toilet before carefully reaching up to remove the bandaid off his shoulders, then replacing it with a new

one. After, he washed the dried blood on his chest and hands, scrubbing the flecks from beneath his nails. By the time he finished, and splashed water on his face, carefully pulling the clean material on, Reagan was coming back out, heading in his direction. One thing he had always loved about her was the way she never backed down from him, how fearless she was in that regard, but now she looked almost afraid to speak. It was selfish of him, he knew, to be afraid of what she might say next and how it would affect him. If she asked him to leave, though he might have even wanted to leave her in peace, he didn’t

think he would be able to. The last he wanted to hear her say was goodbye. She almost looked like she was changing her mind until her eyes darted to where he was reaching for the charm that hung around his neck, pulling it free from the inside of his shirt. “What was her name?” He knew exactly who she meant the moment the question left her lips, but even still, he said, “Who?” “The woman you loved and lost.” God, when she put it like that… “Do you want to talk about this here?” he asked. Without an answer, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the living

room, taking up residence in the arm chair she had in the corner of the room, a little ways away from the only other place to sit—the couch. The entire short journey from bathroom to couch, Niklaus thought of how best to broach the subject. He had always meant to tell her, she wouldn’t be able to understand him, not completely, until she knew the story of how he came to be the person she met. This, he realized, was what she had grown upset about back at the penthouse. Sometimes he forgot that she knew so very little about him because he had never had the urge to share this side of him. With Mishca? It was different. His

words were an accusation, were meant to harm and make sure that the Russian understood that he was to blame for all the shit Niklaus had gone through. But with Reagan…with her, they would be a confession. To her, he would finally tell his truth. “I met her when I was sixteen—her name was Sarah. We were different, but we liked each other and that was all that mattered. I was twenty-one when I knew I wanted to marry her So I flew her to New York, planned this big proposal, and even had the ring, but before any of that could happen, we were kidnapped.” Reagan had already looked sad the moment he started speaking, but now, there was a fear in her eyes, like she

knew where this story was going. He could practically see the dots connecting in her head. From the time between he was kidnapped and when they met, of the scars on his body, and probably to his occupation though she could only have guessed. But he needed to give her this, even if it hurt to do so, because just as much as she wanted to understand him, he wanted someone to finally purge to. “For three days we were kept in this old barn or mill, or whatever the fuck that thing was, and for three days, Luka tried to extract information out of me because he thought I was Mishca. Don’t blame him,” he was quick to say when

he saw the expression in her face. “You can’t always blame the man that’s only following orders—after all Mikhail Volkov was said to only have one son, considering we’re twins, it’s hard to believe there were two instead of one.” Niklaus sat forward, telling more. “On the third day, Luka’s boss, Jetmir, he brought in gasoline and a lighter,”— Niklaus realized almost belatedly that when he spoke those words, he tapped his pocket.—“and he asked me if I would cooperate, if I would tell him what he wanted to know. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, but at this point, as he’s dumping gasoline on Sarah’s head, I’m willing to tell him anything if it means he’ll let her go.

“But he didn’t, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. He was more than happy to drop that lighter and burn her alive, just to teach me—the Russian—a lesson. Except he taught me one instead. I learned that even those that are innocent can fucking lose out in the end.” He could see it, even as far away as he was, the dampness in her eyes—the way she was fighting tears. But the last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him, not when he didn’t deserve it. “I had to watch every second of it, until she had finally stopped screaming, and even afterward, it still echoed in my ears.” “I’m so sorry, Niklaus.”

“Luka called Mishca, and the Russians got me out. I thought they were crazy, those fucking Albanians, but I realized that it was Mishca they were after. I figured he would want revenge against them, but he was under orders not to—you learn things as the years go by.” “Is that why you’re angry with him?” she asked, her voice soft. “No,” he said, and told her something he would never tell another, “because he was everything I should have been. Every time I see our face staring back at me, I always think about how I lacked in comparison. My hatred for myself is why I can’t stand to be around him.”

“But it wasn’t your fault, Niklaus. You couldn’t have done any more than you did.” “You wouldn’t—” “No, Niklaus. It was not your fault. It was never your fault.” “I needed to make it right,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I didn’t know how the fuck I was going to do that when the guy approached me, but in seconds he offered me a way. And he turned me into the very thing I needed to be to answer for what they did.” He didn’t stop there. “These lines.” He shifted his hair to show the black tattooed lines on his neck. “Each one represents a person that was there and played a part.”

“And you hurt them?” He shook his head, staring directly at her. “No, I killed them. There was only one that made it out alive, and that’s because he and I came to an understanding. Once Jetmir was dead, I could finally sleep, at least for the most part.” “Because you finally got revenge for Sarah?” she asked. There was no judgment in her tone, or any bitterness in her gaze. It was like stating a fact she wanted confirmed, but, her answer wasn’t true, not entirely. “Do you remember the man that was shot and killed in Hell’s Kitchen around the day we met—police blamed a gang war?”

“Vaguely. What about him?” “He was one of the men that was there that day. I killed him. It was also the day I met you.” Whatever she was about to say, she held it in as she looked to him, waiting. “I won’t tell you that my reasons for pursuing you weren’t selfish. I wanted to use you to get off, to remind myself that I was still fucking alive. And you gave me that, everything I could have hoped for. But I didn’t realize that you had given me more until I left the first time.” He faced her, wanting her to know just how true that statement was. He needed to explain that he had never stopped thinking about her over those six months, thoughts of her plaguing him

constantly to the point that he had stopped feeling so fucking bogged down. Niklaus had in fact felt alive again in the short three days they had spent together than in the entire two years before they had met. “But you left again.” “Because it wasn’t over. I wasn’t free of that burden yet. It felt wrong being with you when I had yet to prove that I even deserved you. Once I finished with Jetmir, it was the key. I proved that I wasn’t weak, that no matter who thought to hurt someone I cared about, I could find them and make them pay. I needed to know that if it ever came to it, I would be able to protect you the way I couldn’t protect her because you mean

every fucking thing to me and I would lose it if something happened to you.” There was a glimmer of something akin to hope in her eyes, and maybe it took seeing it to fully grasp the one thing he had yet to tell her. “I loved her, that’s not a secret, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” “Niklaus—” “It doesn’t mean I love you any less,” he spoke over her before she could finish whatever thought had popped into her head. He wanted her to know this, to understand, so when he said it in the future, there would be no doubt in her mind that he meant them. “Because I do love you, Reagan, and now I know I can give you everything

you need.” And that was why he left. Why he needed to get away and handle his own shit before he came back for her. Now he was finally able. This time, she came to him, her hands going up to cradle his face. “I love you, Niklaus. You know that.” No, she had never hidden the way she felt about him, not even when she couldn’t be sure he felt the same. Later that night, after Reagan had fallen asleep, Niklaus climbed back out of bed, grabbing his keys and slipping out the front door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT’S A GOOD idea?” Niklaus asked as they made their way into the warehouse where the screams of whatever poor bastard who had shot at them echoed throughout the

space—though nothing could be heard out on the street. Mishca was texting, a common habit of his as he had hundreds of men he needed to keep track of. But even as he seemed to be focused on his task, he still heard Niklaus’ question. “What?” “Sending him to do this shit,” Niklaus said with a nod of his head towards the heavy metal doors they were walking towards and the scene he knew would be waiting for them on the other side. “The Albanians really fucked him up.” A little over a year-and-a-half ago, the truth had come out about Luka, and the role he’d played in Niklaus’ abduction and torture, and his role in the

Organization—the Albanian Mob. Five years prior, he had walked away from it, and everything else, reinventing himself —even going as far as changing his name from Valon to Luka—though not entirely since he used the knowledge learned from a life with the Albanians to do his job. But in a bid to save his sister and Luka’s new wife, Alex, Mishca had sent Luka back to his homeland, only so that he could get the Albanians—at least those he cared about—in the same place at one time. Then the Kingmaker had come into play and fixed the problem, something he did best. By the time Niklaus and his team had

been handed the task, the Albanians had done work on Luka, hurting him in ways that would have broken a lesser man. And sometimes, when he thought back to that fateful day, when he’d walked into the room and found Luka on the floor, a piece of jagged glass clutched in his bleeding palm as he held it to his wrists…Niklaus wondered if Luka had been broken after all. “Even if I told him no…well, you know better than anyone that he’s going to do what he wants. And this,” Mishca said, his words punctuated by another howl of pain, “is what he wants.” Yeah, but to what end? Sometimes the things people wanted weren’t good for them.

But there was no use in arguing that with the Russian because he had a point —Luka was going to do whatever he wanted, even if it was to the detriment of himself. Grabbing the door handle, Niklaus shoved it to the side, walking into the freezer, feeling the temperature drop dramatically, and as he’d expected Luka was standing there with blood on his hands, and his instruments of persuasion in a bloody mess on the floor. Niklaus only used torture as a means to an end, and if he could help it, he avoided it entirely, but the same couldn’t be said of the Albanian across the room, his frenzied gaze on the man tied to the chair, completely naked.

If one had the misfortune of ending up beneath the hands of Luka Sergeyev, they would quickly wish that it was as easy as a bullet to the head. “Come now,” Luka said with a light slap to the man’s face. “Tell them what you told me.” He was shaking so badly that Niklaus didn’t think the man would be able to actually give an answer, not with the way he was staring at Luka, as though he was witnessing hell in human form—he wasn’t far off. And if from the way he kept his back off the seat, as though leaning against it hurt more, Niklaus had a pretty good idea as to why. He knew firsthand what Luka was capable of, and knew that

when he began his torture, his art of extracting information from his victims, that it would follow a routine. Just as he was doing to the man in front of him, Luka had done to Niklaus all those years ago—but just as he’d done to Niklaus, the same had been done to him. It was almost terrifying to consider that that scene had imprinted itself on him, replaying itself over and over again. Sometimes Niklaus wondered whether his friend was torturing people, or in his head, torturing himself. “Liam,” the man finally managed to get out, looking from them to Luka, as though trying to make sure he was saying what Luka was looking for.

He would have said anything to end the agony he had suffered. Niklaus knew the feeling well. “Right, right. What about Liam?” “He and Rourke, they wanted them handled.” “Who is they?” Luka prompted. “Him,” the man said looking to Niklaus, then blinked in confusion as he looked to Mishca. “Or, him.” “Yes, twins.” Luka rolled his eyes, slapping the man on the back of his head. “We got it. Who was the other?” “Declan Flanagan.” Luka, appearing satisfied for the moment, looked to Niklaus and Mishca, folding his arms across his chest. “That name, I know. The other two?”

“Sons of Donovan McCarthy, Irish Mob. They’re here for a transaction with someone the Kingmaker is after.” And Liam had a thing with Reagan, but Niklaus didn’t bother to mention that. “Why’d he send you and your little friends after us?” “Donovan made it clear that his deal with the buyer had to go down without a hitch.” Intrigued, Niklaus stepped forward. “That buyer, what’s his name?” While he still would have to make sure the transaction wasn’t successful, it would make his life a lot easier if he knew who, exactly, he would be seeing through the other end of his scope. “No one knows. The boss keeps it

close to the vest, says the buyer demands it.” Sounded like the Kingmaker. “What does he look like?” “Your height, dark hair, dark eyes. British accent. I’ve only seen him once, and it was just for a second.” Niklaus wasn’t going to be able to get more from the man, but the description would serve his purpose when he went to the meeting—at least he would have an idea as to who he was looking for. “Good enough. So what was your assignment?” The man just stared at him, as though his answer would make Niklaus snap. “It’s fine. I’m not going to do

anything to you.” Gauging the truth of his words, the man finally answered. “Make sure neither you nor Declan continue to be a problem.” Kill them if necessary. “Hmm. We’re going to need a meeting with Declan and the Irish.” Mishca nodded, already on his phone. “I’ll set it up.” When he walked off to the side, Niklaus faced Luka. “Are you done with him now?” Hope…it was a dangerous thing, and Niklaus hadn’t meant to put that in the man’s eyes. He had only meant whether Luka was satisfied with what information the man had given them.

Luka made to protest, but Niklaus cut him off. “You're done here.” A light died in Luka’s eyes as his smile drifted away, a rather somber look crossing his features. Sometimes, it was like looking at an entirely different person. “Am I?” “Leave him be—your work is finished.” There was a moment where Niklaus wondered if Luka would disregard his words, continue on sinking himself deeper into the abyss that sat at the back of his mind. Sinking into it once was one thing, but a second time? There was no guarantee he would be able to get out again.

But he didn’t…pushing the madness back for a little while longer. Pulling out his gun, Luka aimed and fired, putting the poor bastard out of his misery. “There,” he said, having never taken his eyes off Niklaus. “I’m done with him.”

“FUCKING HELL, I THOUGHT I’D IMAGINED that.” Niklaus was in no mood for the Irishman’s banter, seeing as how it was his fault they were in this shit in the first place. It hadn’t taken long for Mishca to get word to Declan, especially since the man was around considering what the

Russian had told him. So far, though, there had yet to be an attempt on his life. Declan had agreed to a meet under the condition that neither Niklaus nor Mishca came armed, and that it just be the pair of them—they had heard of Luka and his capabilities. “Yeah, we’ve never gotten that,” Mishca said casually as he sidestepped the man. Though they might have thought Mishca was being humorous, Niklaus knew otherwise. People didn’t know that Niklaus and the Russian didn’t have much of a relationship, even as they stood together as though they always had. “Let’s not fuck about with

pleasantries, lads. What d’you want?” Declan asked. “In less than an hour, I presume, there’s going to be an attempt on your life,” Mishca said, as easily as one would tell a man that the sky was blue. “How’d you figure that?” “Because about three hours ago, there was an attempt on mine, but they got Klaus instead.” “The McCarthy boys,” Niklaus spoke up. “Right now, you and I were interfering with a deal of theirs. Considering the timing, they probably thought you were with Mishca when I came to see you in that barbershop.” One of the men in the back mumbled, “Can see the reason for that.”

“Probably thinking I’m siding with Russians.” The way he said it spoke of his hatred for Mishca and the Bratva. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here? I didn’t think us mates, Russia.” “We need you to play dead for the next forty-eight hours.” Declan frowned. “I’d start losing money sixteen-hours in. Why the fuck would I do that?” “Because Reagan’s life hangs in the balance.” Declan regarded Niklaus, sizing him up. If he didn’t know better, he might have thought the Irishman was deciding whether he was good enough for a girl he used to think of as a sister.

“Fine. You get forty-eight hours. If you don’t finish it within that time, I’ll make sure I send the final message.” The man beside Declan, the one he had seen in that exact same spot next to his boss back at the barbershop, shifted on his feet, just enough of a tell to let Niklaus know whatever final message Declan wanted to send, this man was it. Unlike the last time however, Niklaus didn’t simply dismiss him, instead taking in details he hadn’t. Like the tattoo that spanned the length of his forearm. It was of an owl, one clutching a knife in its bloody claws, along the steel was the phrase Sinn Fien —Irish for ‘ourselves alone.’ Commonly known as the slogan for

the IRA—the Irish Republican Army. Apparently, Mishca wasn’t the only one with a secret weapon.

IT WAS TIME. After two nights of avoiding the McCarthy brothers, just long enough for them to believe that they had successfully taken Declan and Niklaus out, it was time for the meeting that Niklaus had been waiting for. As Niklaus geared up, feeling Reagan’s eyes on him as he did. He thought of strategy and ran through every possible scenario of how the night’s events would go down. With each assignment he went on, he faced targets

he had at least studied for days, if not months. But today? The only person he knew with any certainty was Donovan McCarthy, but he wasn’t the actual target. While the Kingmaker wanted a name, he hadn’t said whether he wanted a body to go along with it. Niklaus only killed when given a reason. The moment his Kevlar was strapped into place, he turned to Reagan, gauging her response. This wouldn’t be the only time she saw him like this, and he wouldn’t make promises as to otherwise. “You’ll be careful?” she asked, sliding off the bed to cross the floor to get to him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting the warm scent of her skin calm him. “Always. By the time I get back, all of this shit will be over.” She nodded, but still looked unsure. “Trust me. I can handle this.” “And you’ll come back to me?” He smiled, tilting her face up so he could kiss her lips, conveying his answer that way, but in case she still didn’t get it, he said, “As long as you’ll have me.”

NIKLAUS LAY ON HIS STOMACH, REMINDING him of another time when he had done the very same thing as he completed his first job not associated with the Den.

Except then, there was a sort of nausea that churned through him at the idea of killing a man, even if it was someone he hated. He had still been new back then, still affected by the blood that spilled. Now, even though he did not intend to kill anyone, he didn’t feel that same nausea. He was calm. Collected. Just another day on the job. Now, there was just anticipation that swam through him as he stared through the scope of his rifle as two cars rolled to a stop a short distance away. Celt was around on another rooftop doing the same. The day before, he had come in, set up specialized, wireless cameras that could still pick up

everything despite how dark it was out along a few of the trees that lined the sidewalk of the park. Even better, he had called in a favor from a friend and got a couple of mics that would also pick up the sound. Now, whatever information he might miss, he could replay—or at the very least, hand them over to the Kingmaker. Donovan McCarthy was the first out of the car, his guards just behind him as he stopped next to a bench. There was a second, then two, before the other car’s rear door opened. Niklaus shifted his rifle just an inch to the right, trying to make sure he would be able to see the man this meeting had been centered around.

The man got out slowly, methodically, as though he knew his every move was under surveillance, careful to keep his face shielded, the hat he wore doing the rest. “Mr. Harrington, pleasure to see you again,” Donovan said with a casual air, but Niklaus could hear beyond the false cheer—the man was afraid. “McCarthy,” Harrington answered, and just as Luka’s victim had said, the thick overlay of an English accent colored his words. He wasn’t from just any part of England. His accent spoke of a lineage, one prone to those in manors and estates. “I trust you have everything I asked for.” “Of course.” Donovan snapped his

fingers, his men dragging forth six aluminum briefcases. “Excellent.” Once the briefcases switched hands, Donovan looked on expectantly. “So you have what I need, Elias?” Donovan asked, seeming to feel a little more confident in their transaction. Perhaps he didn’t notice his slip, but he had now called the man by his first name, and judging from the coolness in the man’s next words, he didn’t appreciate it. “Actually, McCarthy, I’ve heard quite a few troubling things about you in this last week. Understand, when I make a transaction, one such as this, I expect there to be a certain level of

professionalism that I now see you lack.” Donovan cleared his throat, his easiness disappearing as he straightened, never taking his eyes off Elias. “It’s been handled.” “There should never have been anything to handle, McCarthy, that’s my problem. The terms of our contract were simple. Do not, under any circumstances, draw attention to yourself until our business was complete. And you were doing so well. A shame, really.” “Whatever you might have heard—” “I don’t believe it matters now. You violated my contract, and for that, it’s been voided.” The last words were barely out of

his mouth before the men at his sides had their guns pulled with silencers attached at the ends, and in the next breath, had a bullet in each of them, their bodies slumping to the ground. “Holy shite,” Celt said through the earpiece, probably witnessing the same thing he had. Niklaus had his finger wrapped around the trigger, readying just in case. There was only a moment, a heartbeat even, where Donovan began to plead, offering anything if the man would spare his life. A second later, he was on the ground bleeding out as well. The transaction, as it were, couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but

in the span of seconds, three men were dead. Technically, Niklaus’ job was done. As he watched them, one already going about cleaning up the bodies, the other helping move the cases into the trunk of their waiting car, Elias paused then looked up, directly towards Niklaus, as if he had known he had been there the entire time. “Red, I believe your name is, please send the Kingmaker my regards. Do let him know that the next time he meddles in my affairs, neither you nor he will be as lucky as you are today. Consider this your warning.” With that parting remark, Elias slipped into the back of the Jaguar and

was driven away, leaving the last man there to attend to the bodies, but it wasn’t long after that another truck pulled up, and within minutes, the scene was cleaned. Like no one had ever been there.

CHAPTER THIRTY

AFTER NIKLAUS HAD GONE, REAGAN HAD been too anxious to go back to sleep, too afraid that before he was able to get back to her, something terrible would have happened. She didn’t doubt that he

was capable, she knew from the stories his scars told that he could persevere, but that didn’t help her from thinking of the worst things possible. Until he had come back. Until he had walked in and smiled at her as though nothing was wrong, as though he hadn’t left hours ago for a job where he could have been killed. She knew without a doubt that it wouldn’t ever be easy watching him leave. When he came back to her, whenever that might be, that would make it easier to handle. During those wee hours of the morning, when she was at home in his arms, she didn’t think she could fear anything else.

THE NEXT MORNING, NIKLAUS WAS ALREADY gone by the time she woke up, but his side of the bed was still warm so she knew he hadn’t been gone for long. She had just caught sight of it out her bedroom window as she was turning over, the column of smoke tunneling in the air. Reagan didn’t know why the sight of it made adrenaline kick through her veins, but she knew, just knew that it was the pub. Not paying attention to the clothes she threw on, Reagan left everything behind as she hurried out, flying down the stairs and out the door as she started in the direction of the pub, nearly taking off at a run as she saw the haze of people

far up ahead. She could see the flames long before she had even gotten close, the smoke dark against the blue sky. The closer she got the more anguish she felt. It wasn’t just a fire, but an end to everything. She had worked so hard for the pub. Like watching her dreams turn to ash… “I can fix this,” she whispered to herself, slowing down when she got close, stopping at the edge of the crowd so she could see. Sure, she had insurance that covered this sort of thing, but sometimes it took months before anything could move forward. If in the case of arson, sometimes it took years for the insurance

company to complete its investigation. Considering that she had been late with her payments, they might very well think she was behind this. No, she just had to remember that it was just a building. Hopefully no one was hurt. There was a police officer up ahead, taking a statement from a woman gesturing to the building and telling the man what she saw, but before Reagan could head in his direction, something hard and unyielding pressed against her back, just as an arm curved around her shoulders. “Say a word and I’ll put a bullet in your fucking side.” She froze at the sound of Liam’s

voice, not daring to look at his face. “Walk with me.” Reagan did as he asked, following him back around the crowd and down the street, towards the SUV she hadn’t noticed on her way down here. He had set her up. He must have purposefully done this to bring her out. Practically forcing her into the backseat, he hardly gave her any room to move as the driver pressed their foot to the gas, the car lurching forward as they took off. As her fear deepened, she couldn’t help but think she should have called Niklaus before she left.

FUCKING BULLSHIT. “What the hell happened?” Niklaus asked as he and Celt reviewed the footage they’d taken at the park with Elias and his men. Out of seven cameras, none of them had footage they could use to get any more information on Elias. Sure, one could see Donovan just fine, his face coming through perfectly clear, but Elias on the other hand, it was as if someone had erased where his face would be and instead added a blinding light. “Only ever saw that once,” Celt said as he played the footage back once more, trying to scrub it as though that might help. “A long time ago. It’s a special kind of spray that causes a camera to not

pick up a person’s face—better than a mask because no one realizes the cameras can’t see it.” “So we have nothing on him?” They had already checked for a license plate on the car, but that too had been blocked out. While knowing his name might have been helpful, they couldn’t find anything on him. It was as if Elias Harrington didn’t exist. Celt shook his head. “Did you think this would be easy? If he’s going up against the Kingmaker, he had to be worth half his stones.” Niklaus grudgingly agreed to that, pulling his phone free from his pocket and he checked the caller ID, surprised

to find Mishca’s name flashing back at him. “What do you need?” “We have a problem.” “No shit? We always have a problem, but what is it today?” “Reagan.” Niklaus was already on his feet, heading to the elevator before he even finished saying her name. “Talk quickly, Russian.” “Someone lit up that pub you said she owns. I had Luka go by her place after I heard, but he said she’s not there.” “Why didn’t he call me?” By the time he made it to his car, Niklaus was in strategy mode. “I needed him out looking for her as

opposed to going back and forth with you about this.” “Looks to be your Irishman. The other, Rourke, I think that's his name, has already gone into hiding. His father’s remains were found, said to have been suicide.” Niklaus knew firsthand how untrue that statement was, and since the brothers knew of their father’s meeting, they likely knew that to be true as well. “If he thought you were dead, and taking into account what happened to his father, he may want someone to answer for it.” It made sense. “I need a location.” “He only has so many places in the city he can use. Where would he take

her?” That was the very question Niklaus was asking himself.

LIAM WAS ACTING STRANGE. Usually, he was calm and collected, careful never to let any emotion betray him, but this…this was the angriest she had ever seen him. “Why are—” “Shut up!” She did exactly that. “I had it handled. Everything was under my control until you started fucking that Russian.” He came towards her, backing her into a corner, the barrel of his gun pressed against the underside of her

chin. “You played innocent with me, but you spread your legs like a slag the minute he came around. What? Did you prefer married men?” Reagan was confused, not understanding what he was getting at, until it suddenly dawned on her. He thought Niklaus and Mishca were one in the same. “You know, I don’t think so.” They both turned at the new voice, and Reagan was tempted to feel ease at the sight of Luka walking through the entryway, but from what she could see, he didn’t have a weapon on him. Nor did he wear a vest like the one Niklaus wore.

“I like to think that those two are different.” “Who the feck are you?” Liam demanded, grabbing hold of Reagan’s arms and yanking her to his side. “Luka. Valon. Different names to different people. Take your pick, I won’t be offended—but I’ll warn you on who you call out for, you maybe won’t like who answers.” “Whoever you are, I suggest you stay behind the line or I’ll put a bullet in your skull.” “It’s been a while since I got shot so…” The first time she had been around Luka, she had been confused by the split personality he seemed to have, issuing

threats one moment, spouting random things the next. This time, now that she was on the other side of it, she could see what he was doing, the careful ploy of keeping Liam focused on one thing as opposed to what Liam was actually doing. With each step that Luka took, Liam countered it, subconsciously moving them in a circle, but soon, Liam realized what was happening. Instead of leaving the gun trained on Luka, who didn’t seem bothered by it at all, he turned it on Reagan instead. And this time, Luka actually had a reaction to it. “I wouldn’t fucking do that.” “No? And what the feck are you

going to do about it?” “There’ll be a hollow tip bullet lodged into your thick ass skull. That work for you?” “I’d have you shot dead before you could grab your piece.” “Are you sure about that, McCarthy? I would be very sure of that before you go off making promises.” Now, Liam had the gun aimed back at Luka. “Try it, you Russian shithead.” “First, I’m Albanian—different, yes? Second, you made only one mistake today,” he said as he lowered his hands, his shoulders relaxing as though the danger was over, as though Liam wasn’t readying to shoot her in the head because

of him. “Yeah?” Liam returned, his grip on her tightening. “What was that?” Luka’s chin jerked up. “You stepped in front of that window.” Silence followed that statement, as Reagan was just as confused as Liam had to be, but as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, there was the sharp sound of glass splintering, the Liam jerked hard, blood spraying them both. Yelping in surprise, she tried to scramble out of the way as Liam fell forward, slamming into the ground, blood spanning out beneath his head. The glass behind them was still intact, with the lone exception of a small hole

where a bullet had gone through. “Huh,” Luka said, looking from the body to the window. “Remind me to get bulletproof windows.” Then, as though there wasn’t a dead man lying in a pool of blood, he asked, “Ready?” Reagan took one last look at Liam, and almost felt bad that she wasn’t feeling more horror at the fact that he was dead and the man she loved had taken his life. No, she only felt relieved. By the time they made it outside of the building, she could see Niklaus running towards her. He didn’t stop until he had her swept up in his arms. “How did you get here so fast?” she mumbled into the side of his neck, her

eyes closed as she held him tight. “A little bird hacked the security cameras.” “That fast?” Niklaus shrugged. “You don’t know Winter.” “I’m going to go clean up the body,” Luka called with a wave of his hand as he headed back inside the building. “What happened to Rourke?” “If he’s smart, he’s back in Ireland hoping the borders can protect him. And you already know about the father.” He had told her all about it, though she was sure he had left out a number of details. But she hadn’t called him on this one—she didn’t think she wanted details as to how a man died.

“And now they won’t be a problemanymore.” Not for her. Nor Jimmy. Nor anyone else that was being hustled by the pair of brothers. In mere weeks, Niklaus had solved another problem for her. He had always been rather good at that. “Do you have another job?” she asked as he set her back on her feet, gazing up. “Are you leaving again?” She might not have known what jobs he had been on before, so she hadn’t seen the beginning or the end, but now she was right in the middle of it. “Not if I’m staying with you.” She smiled. “What exactly are you

asking?” His lips tilted up into a smile that made her heart ache with happiness. “A few nights, or all of them. Your choice.” She had never been able to resist him, not then, and definitely not now.

EPILOGUE

“THERE A REASON YOU NEEDED TO DISRUPT my day, Volkov,” Niklaus asked as he joined his brother in his McLaren, already pulling on his seatbelt though they had yet to pull off.

He didn’t trust anyone’s driving but his own. “I owed you a debt. An apology was never good enough, so I had to do something else.” Niklaus just stared at his twin. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Mishca didn’t respond, merely putting the car into drive and pulling away from the curb. If Niklaus wasn’t already confused as to what was happening, it only got worse. Not only was this out of the ordinary for him— they had mended bridges though they still didn’t go out of their way to be around each other—but he was driving, and as far as Niklaus could tell, he didn’t have any of his muscle trailing

them. If it was anyone else, Niklaus might have thought that he was being taken to his death or at the very least an ambush. Though the McCarthy family was taken care of, and the man Niklaus had been tasked with finding was in the wind, he still had a meeting with the Kingmaker to tell him everything that had gone down. He wouldn’t put it past his handler to orchestrate this just to fuck with him. Except, they pulled over at a brownstone in a suburban neighborhood where there were people out walking their dogs, jogging, or other such things. Mishca still didn’t explain as he killed the engine and climbed out, fully expecting Niklaus to follow behind him.

His curiosity piqued, he did. Producing a key, Mishca unlocked the residence, stepping out of the way with a nod of his head for Niklaus to go ahead of him. “Are you going to explain, or do you want me to guess?” Niklaus asked as he walked in, the scent of freshly painted walls greeting him. The space was fully decorated in warm neutrals, and looked lived in already despite how new everything looked. He heard voices coming from what he thought was the kitchen, Reagan he could tell, and Lauren from the soft laughter. And somebody else, but he couldn’t make out the voice. “What, you bought me a place?”

Niklaus asked. While he would never admit it aloud, the place was pretty nice. “Sorry, Russian, I don’t need it.” “Not for you,” he said pocketing his keys. “Someone else.” “Then who—” The question was answered when his gaze moved to the three people that were walking in from the doorway across the room. “I didn’t need all of this.” “We know,” Lauren was saying, “but you deserve this.” The woman Lauren was talking to was tiny, probably shorter than even Alex, with silver hair neatly smoothed into a bun at the nape of her neck. Wrinkles were abundant in her face from

a lifetime of laughter and hard work. She had kind eyes, ones that had never looked at Niklaus with anything other than love and acceptance. While she had never hid the fact that she had adopted him—though she never told him the full story as to who and where he came from —she had never treated him as anything other than her son. His mother, a woman he hadn’t seen in years, stood across the room from him. It almost felt like his chest was breaking open. “Mama?” Malvina Antakova looked to him then, her face splitting into the softest, but most honest smiles he had ever seen.

He could just see the tears in her eyes as she crossed the floor towards him. He was halfway to her when he stopped and dropped to his knees to make up for their height difference. Since his training, Niklaus had feared he didn’t know if he was capable of tears, thinking it had been beaten out of him, but as he felt the arms of his mother close around him, he could feel the lump in his throat, the sting in the back of his eyes. “Syn moy—my son,” he heard whispered above him, the words taking him back to early mornings in the Florida heat as he happily went along with her to a job not wanting her to be alone.

Or the nights when it was just the pair of them at home, sitting in the living room with pizza, even though she hated the taste of it. But she ate with him, because he enjoyed it. Laughed with him when he needed it most. Loved him when no one else would. “I didn’t believe him, you know,” Malvina said pulling away after a moment, lifting her hands to cradle his face. “How could you have been okay after all these years?” She looked between them, Niklaus and Mishca. “The resemblance really is uncanny. Catja would have loved to see her boys together again.”

In the twenty-one years that he had lived with her, she had never mentioned that name, and judging from the way Mishca stood a little bit straighter, a flash of pain in his eyes, Niklaus knew that Catja had been their mother. “She worried,” Malvina said sadly, “that the life Mikhail wanted for you two would ultimately tear you apart. So, she gave me you, Niklaus, to love and raise —give you the freedom you might not have had otherwise.” Whatever ill feelings he might have had towards Catja drifted away at his mother’s words. No one could have predicted what would come of it, and that despite her best efforts, they had ultimately been torn apart.

But Malvina didn’t need to know that. Getting back to his feet, Niklaus looked to Reagan who was standing not too far away, and unlike him, she was crying freely, quickly wiping at her eyes, however, when she noticed his attention on her. With one arm still around Malvina, he held his hand out to Reagan and waited. Wordlessly, she joined him at his side. He didn’t know what Malvina would say about her. She knew better than anyone in this room how he had felt about Sarah. “Such a sweet girl, your Reagan,” Malvina said instantly. “Stayed with me

during the entire flight, though she didn’t tell me you needed a haircut.” She reached for his hair, and he had to bend at the waist to give her access to what she wanted. As quickly as she had touched the ends of it, she turned a narrowed gaze on Mishca. “You too, Mishca.” She asked, making her head. “It’s grown too long.” Lauren smiled up at her husband, waiting to see his reaction just as Niklaus did. The man in question just shrugged. “Let me know and I’ll let you have at it. Now, we’ll give you all some time before Lauren comes back with Sacha. She told me how you’ve been ready to meet your grandson.”

Malvina’s eyes lit up, and Niklaus knew it wasn’t just because of the prospect of meeting Sacha, but the casual way he had included her in the family. Releasing his hold on his mother and Reagan, Niklaus walked back over to Mishca and didn’t hesitate in hugging him. Mishca grew stiff, but after a moment, he returned the embrace. It had only taken twenty-seven years, but they had finally embraced as family should. “Thank you, brat.” It was the first, and probably the last time, Niklaus would ever call Mishca, ‘brother,’ but in that moment, that was how he felt.

With just this simple gesture, though Niklaus couldn’t express the magnitude of it in words, Niklaus finally let it all go. The anger. The frustration. The hatred. This meant the world to him. “No worries,” Mishca said for only him to hear. “You deserve this.” Clapping him on the back, Mishca pulled away, grabbing hold of Lauren’s hand. When Niklaus looked to her, she winked, a knowing smile curling her lips. She had always promised that the feud between them would end, and he hadn’t believed her. She was right.

As they made their leave, Niklaus turned back to his two favorite women. Rubbing the back of his neck, he knew it was about to be a long night. “Where do I start?” Malvina got comfortable on the couch, patting the spot next to her. “Start at the beginning.”

Three months later “FOR SOMEONE THAT HASN’T HAD A permanent place in years, you’ve accumulated a lot of junk,” Reagan said as she looked around at the sheers amount of organized boxes that were

lined throughout that storage room. Day after day, she had woken up to the sight of him next to her, sometimes asleep, other times awake, his sleepy gaze on her. In that time, she had stopped worrying that one morning she would wake up and he would be gone. If he did leave for longer than twenty-four hours—and that had happened on a few occasions—he let her know beforehand. For good or bad, he was there with her, and she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean she had been ready for the clusterfuck of unpacking that awaited them. He had long since already moved himself in, yet

he kept all of his possessions in one of seventeen warehouses he kept around the city. Some were full of weapons, she remembered him saying once, others filled with other such things that she didn’t really want to think about considering he said it was ‘need to know.’ Except one, one he’d said was filled with more personal belongings—things he had collected over his travels, and even a few mementos from his life before becoming a mercenary. It was the suitcase, the same one he had brought along with his to New York City that first time. He had given her everything he

possibly could. His name, his memories, his experiences, and everything else, even if it was hard to hear. And now, there was just this one final step…one simple task before it was done and he was fully integrated into her life. “Not junk, babe,” Niklaus said as he walked past, touching a few of the boxes along the way, as if it reminded him as to what was inside each one. “Right, you won’t be saying that when we have to go through all of this later—never mind the number of trips it’s going to take to get this all back to our place.” “Are you always this moody?” “Only after I find out I’m pregnant.”

Whatever shuffling he had been doing before silenced as her words sunk in. She smiled to herself, glad that she had done it this way instead of making a big production out of it. Something to share just between the two of them, she couldn’t deny the small thrill that shot through her at his surprise. Turning to face him, she didn’t know what to expect—happiness, anger, confusion—but the expression on his face was far better than she could have hoped. Wonderment. He looked excited, fearful even, but the sight of his face so open made her smile, even as she waited for him to respond.

“You’re pregnant,” he said evenly, his voice not shaking in the slightest, but the words were whispered like he was too afraid to really say them any louder. Reagan nodded, her hand going to her stomach even though she wasn’t close to showing. “Eight weeks tomorrow.” She had only found out a mere week ago when she had gone to the doctor after feeling like she didn’t want to eat anything for fear of throwing up. But ever since she had found out that warning, she had wondered how best to tell Niklaus. It wasn’t like they had ever talked about having children, and while Niklaus doted on Sacha, that still didn’t

mean he was ready to be a father. But with one look at him now, she didn’t know why she had waited this long. “There’s no point in moving this shit in,” Niklaus said looking around. “We’re going to need a bigger place.” “Niklaus—” “We can stay in Hell’s Kitchen if you want, or we can leave the city. Like I said, whatever you want.” “Niklaus!” Reagan said his name again on a laugh, finally grabbing his attention. “You’re not upset then?” He tugged her into his arms, kissing her forehead a second before he gave her a kiss that took her breath away. “Of course not,” he murmured against her

lips. “Why would I be upset?” “Because it may be too soon and—” “Nothing could have made me happier than you telling me you loved me, but this…this tops that.” “So you’re happy?” Reagan asked once more, smiling as she thought of what he would say next. “Thrilled.” “So you’ll still be happy even when I tell you there are two?” It was only a moment of suspended time before his lips were splitting into the biggest of grins and he laughed that loud, glorious laugh of his. It was a happy sound. And Reagan was glad she could make him happy.

CODA Episode 1

“Red has arrived, sir,” Dominic Mantolo said, the sharpness of his accent making his words shorter and crisper. Always the professional, he didn’t linger after he delivered his message, drifting back into

the shadows where he could hear, but not be seen. If there was one man who knew Uilleam’s secrets, it was Dominic. However, unlike others whose loyalty to Uilleam had been bought, Dominic’s had come after years together. The man had seen him at his lowest point, and now was seeing him at the precipice of something much greater. No, he wasn’t at his highest, not yet. There was still too much work to be done. Uilleam gave no outward reaction to the man’s words, continuing to stare over the balcony at the men and women that stood front and center on the stage, their voices carrying in the empty

theater. For a long time, he had never understood the allure of the Opera, even with his privileged background. Hearing people sing at the top of their lungs had never appealed to him, but some time ago, his interest had shifted. Now, he had learned to appreciate it for the art it was. …He had her to thank for that. Red, a mercenary that was one of many in his arsenal, could be heard before he was seen. Though he had a talent of moving within the shadows, the mercenary made it habit to blatantly announce his arrival whenever he was in Uilleam’s presence, like he was purposely trying to get under his skin. But Uilleam didn’t take it as an act

of disrespect. Quite the opposite. He was rather amused by him more than anything. He knew Red’s history, had actually known him long before he and the Volkov boy ever crossed paths. That was just the world they lived in. Information. If he wanted to be powerful—and that was arguably one of the most important things to him—he had to know more than his competitors did, and more, he had to know as much as possible about any and every one that traveled in the same circles. Mikhail Volkov had once been a friend—or an associate as it were—and watching his slow and steady descent from the top had been quite fascinating

to watch. Now, Mishca reigned in his stead, a boy who, in Uilleam’s eyes, still had a lot of learning to do in business. But what he didn’t know, Uilleam didn’t care to supply him…at least not until he was paid to offer such information. Red, or Niklaus as was his name, was quite different from the father that birthed him and the brother that shared his DNA. The pair lacked a sort of… viciousness that Red possessed. Of course, Uilleam couldn’t have known this when he had intercepted the deal between Mikhail and the Albanian mobster by the name of Jetmir Besnik. They had merely wanted to get rid of Mishca for reasons Uilleam had never cared to find out.

It had been far too easy on his part to ensure that it wasn’t Mishca taken by the Albanians, but Red instead. It had been a coincidence that Uilleam caught sight of Mishca’s twin walking the streets of New York with the woman he fancied. And it was then, with just a glance that an alternate plan formulated in his mind, one where he would have Mishca in his debt — he had grown rather skillful at manipulating the events that brought a person into his debt. All it had taken was a phone call, one carefully orchestrated maneuver that got the Albanians in the right place at the right time. The rest was child’s play.

Except…he never expected Red to live through it all, nor could he have anticipated just what Red had ultimately become, but all the same, after years in the making, he had exactly what he needed from both Volkov brothers. Reconciliation. Yes, he already had Red as a weapon, but now that he was aligned with the Volkov Bratva—an organization that Uilleam had already done a favor for in the past—their loyalty would be to him should he ever have need of it. And no one was the wiser. Uilleam didn’t look away from the stage as Red approached from his left, but could practically feel the mercenary’s gaze on him as he took a

seat in the only other one available. “Elias Harrington.” Uilleam didn’t react to the name because though he wished otherwise, he had never heard of the man—and there were very few people that he had never come across, especially with the amount of power and influence this man clearly had. Over two years ago, before this, before he had had a need to call in his debt from Zachariah—the previous owner of the Den—he had been content in the knowledge that he was at the top of the food chain. How quickly he learned otherwise when the one thing in his empty and lonely life that he cared for was taken away from him.

It had taken months to even piece together enough of the trail the man had left behind just to get to this point. It had taken more than a year just to learn his name. At least he was one step closer. “Payment should be posted to your account within the hour. You’ve done good work.” Unlike so many others that were too afraid to meet his eye, Red did so boldly, making it quite clear that he didn’t trust him. Uilleam didn’t particularly care for the man’s trust he only needed his skills. Perhaps the money he had invested in the team he had cultivated would be worth the money after all.

“I’m taking my leave,” Red said as he stood. Uilleam didn’t blink. “Permanently?” Indecision played on his face. Uilleam could understand why. He had a girlfriend that was pregnant, a oneyear-old nephew, and his mother was back in his life. He probably wanted to see them more instead of risking his life. But sometimes the past had a way of clinging on… “The next sixteen months, but under the provision that I come on if I’m requested.” Meaning he would answer only if the order came from him... Seemed the mercenary had turned

over a new leaf. “I’ll add it to the books.” Nodding, Red’s eyes shifted to the chessboard that resets between Uilleam and the opposite chair. He probably wondered who Uilleam’s opposition was, but he much preferred to play the game alone, like seeing into his own mind. No pieces had been moved, the board still untouched. It only remained that way, however, until Red rounded the corner and disappeared. One he was out of sight, Uilleam shifted forward in his seat, picking up one of the crystal pawns and moved it forward two spaces.

It was time. The game was on.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, I would like to thank you, the readers, for all the support and the love you show me with each book that I release. I can’t wait to delve deeper into the world of the mercenaries. The next

book in the series will be Celt’s. Just wait until you see what that Irishman gets up to. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Bethany-Kris. Seriously, this book wouldn’t be finished without her. She’s one of the kindest, greatest, and one of the overall best people I know. If I could only ever have one friend, I would choose her, hands down. H, not only did you make me your wife, but you didn’t get annoyed with me when I spent some of our honeymoon working on Red.—then again, you also knew who you were marrying. Lol. I love you with all of my heart! I would also like to thank Marissa at Sizzling PR for the edits. I was between

a rock and a hard place, and you came through. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

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. @LMAuthor londonmillerauthor londonmillerauthor.com