Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3) (5 page)

Truthfully, those three days hadn’t been bad—at least not compared to what she had suffered after she left that place.

Luna told him just that.

But when she did, he merely nodded, then said, “After that time, is that when you were given to Emmett?”

This time, it was her turn to nod. “Yes.”

He seemed troubled a moment, his brows drawing together as he prepared to speak, but before he could, Dominic reappeared with a tray, setting it down between them. Whatever moment they were having was abruptly over as Uilleam’s expression cleared, and he was back to indifference.

“Interesting.”

“Why would—”

She stopped short as Dominic leaned over to whisper something in Uilleam’s ear. Whatever he said had the other man nodding, and when Uilleam looked back at Luna, she doubted he would be answering her question anymore.

“Since we’ll be landing soon, I think it’s best I explain to you
why
we’re in New York. As of now, you’re of no use to me.” When she just stared at him, he continued. “But there’s potential that I intend to exploit.”

Her unease grew, her throat feeling tight as she thought of what he could mean.

“But don’t worry about that now. One day, after all this unpleasantness is behind us and you complete a rather minor task for me, you’ll be free to return to an ordinary life if that’s what you choose.”

“But I still don’t know what you want from me,” she whispered, still trying to make sense of it all.

“Loyalty,” he returned, gesturing with a nod of his head to the tray of food in front of her, a silent command for her to eat.

She had forgotten it was there.

Though she wasn’t very hungry—she was too anxious to feel anything else—she picked up one of the square sandwiches—one that didn’t have cucumbers on it—and nibbled the corner of it.

Loyalty. Was that all he wanted? “Okay.”

If he asked for nothing else, this she could give if only because he got her away from Lawrence and didn’t seem to expect much from her in return.

“So freely given, yet you haven’t the slightest idea who you’re offering it to.” Downing more of his drink, he added, “There’s a reason why they call me the Kingmaker. One of these days, I’ll do something that will inevitably test that loyalty you’ve promised. We’ll see where you stand then. Consider this your warning.”

Luna expected remorsefulness in his tone, or something like it, but he didn’t seem bothered by how he described himself.

Just stated it as though it was mere fact.

“Do I need to call you that?” she asked, remembering what he had said when he first introduced himself.

Though she’d seen glimpses of ‘The Kingmaker,’ it sounded weird, even in her head, calling him that regularly.

His expression may have softened a fraction. “For you, Uilleam is fine.”

That felt almost … nice.

But she had no idea why.

S
itting
in a late model Rolls Royce, Luna stared through the tinted windows at the gold ornate gate, a large ‘R’ in the center of the crest parting down the middle as it opened.

Uilleam had agreed so easily to half-a-million dollars and while she had thought the amount was exorbitant, now she was starting to understand how he so easily parted with the money.

From the looks of it, he probably had more money than she could even fathom. Not just because of the jet he chartered, or even the car they were riding in, but because when they arrived here—wherever
here
was exactly—she saw a true testament of his wealth.

“Runehart Château,” he said absently as they idled, waiting for the gates to open far enough that they could drive through.

While he had seemed quite interested in her when they first boarded the plane and he questioned her about her life both before and during her captivity with Lawrence, he hadn’t said much else once they landed.

But the silence was a welcome relief.

“You’ll remain here,” Uilleam said as he pocketed the phone that held his attention for the last hour or so. “And to quell whatever thoughts you have of running the moment you’re out of my sight, I have this for you.”

He held up a thin black band in his left hand, a red light illuminating from the middle of it like a beacon.

“It’s a tracking device,” he explained. “A bit more sophisticated than most—waterproof and tamperproof—and should you think to run with this little device on your leg, it will send seventy-thousand volts of electricity through you. Now, I hope that deters any hint of rebellion, but should it not, feel free to test it. It’ll amuse me. Of course, you’re free to walk the grounds if you’d like, but should you go beyond those gates we drove through, you won’t like the consequences.”

When he reached for her leg, she jolted back, though there was hardly any room in the car for her to get anywhere. “You don’t have to do that. I won’t try to leave.”

“I believe you,” he said, though he didn’t sound like he believed that at all, “but you’re an investment I can’t afford to lose.”

Investment … It wasn’t the first time he’d said something similar, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand what he meant.

Before she could pull away again, he fastened the thing around her ankle, smiling proudly as though he had given her something special.

“Give it time,” he said sitting back. “You won’t even realize it’s there.”

Though she was very much aware of it in the moment, she did believe that he was right. It was significantly lighter than the chain Lawrence had always kept on her.

As they slowly made their way up the winding drive, Luna understood exactly what he meant by ‘grounds.’ They were extensive, lush green lawns extending as far as the eye could see and beyond, and there were enough trees in the distance that it allowed for privacy from anyone within miles of this place. Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall seeing any other residences on their drive here.

The grounds, however, were nothing compared to the looming structure that grew larger the closer they came. A château, he had called it. Had he not, she would have thought the massive place was a castle.

Yet, as magnificent as it all was, her attention was snared by the number of guards stationed around the property. All of them were in dark gear with assault rifles strapped across their backs.

There were four that she could see, all wearing intricately detailed masks.

One was gunmetal gray with dark eye sockets, but nothing where the mouth should have been—to see, but not be heard. Another was painted to resemble a melting skull. The third was plain black, but there were words scrawled in white along the top of it—
iarta-ma
—and the last only had a rather wide smiling mouth drawn on it.

Seeing them waiting there, Luna wondered just
who
Uilleam was, and who he was expecting to come after him to hire men like these.

Once they finally slowed to a stop, the door to the car was opened, a hand popping in to assist her out. Uilleam wasn’t far behind.

She followed the man in front of her across the drive, and up the sandstone staircase toward heavy oak doors that made up the front entrance. Uilleam pushed both open as he entered, sunlight spilling into the foyer where a chandelier that was twice the size of any one she had ever seen glittered with the reflecting light.

It was amazing, but so had Lawrence’s home—though that place did pale in comparison to this one.

Uilleam didn’t allow her a chance to properly take it all in, rather showing her down a seemingly never ending hallway to a room with a blue door.

Once inside, he said, “Bathroom is through there,”—he pointed to another closed door on the other end of the room—“I’ll ensure you have everything you need before I leave, but should you require anything else, ask for Kit.”

Wait … “You’re leaving?” she asked, not quite understanding.

“I can never stay too long here,” he said by way of explanation, as though that answer explained everything.

If anything, it only raised more questions.

One of the guards she’d seen outside appeared in the doorway, words that she didn’t understand flying out of his mouth. With only a nod in her direction, Uilleam followed after him, closing the door behind them.

What the hell was going on?

She thought she understood what was happening here, but it was clear she didn’t.

Taking the time to look around while she still could, the room didn’t disappoint.

There was a large four-poster bed in the center of the room, the sheer drapes surrounding it tumbling down onto the floor, hooked behind small handles to give a proper view of the bed.

Everything about the space felt light, airy, thanks to the light shades of gray coupled with the white. Even the floors, a polished concrete, added to the beauty of it all.

It was obvious that someone had taken time to restore some of the original architecture, and while the space wasn’t completely modern, it didn’t have the heavy feel of a room from earlier centuries.

Luna explored every inch of it, even venturing out onto the vine covered balcony. She wasn’t far from the ground, and with some careful maneuvering, she could have easily reached the ground, but the slight weight of the tracker Uilleam had strapped to her leg banished the thought for the time being.

When there was nothing more to see, she looked back toward the door Uilleam had walked out of mere minutes before. He had said she was free to walk around, to do as she pleased really, but only to an extent.

It may have ben pretty, the room he’d given her but it was still a prison.

Quietly stepping out of the bedroom, her eyes scanned the lengthy hallway, taking everything in. She could hear voices coming from her right, too high to be the Kingmaker’s low timbre.

She started down the opposite direction instead.

There was so much to see that she hadn’t noticed the first time she’d walked these halls when Uilleam brought her in.

Paintings in gilded frames lined the walls, portraits of sharply dressed men and women in elegant gowns depicted within their paint.

As she neared the end of the hall where it opened into the grand foyer, she noticed that there was a portrait missing from the wall—a void from where it should have been outlining its former position. It had to have been moved recently due to the variance in the color of the wall.

The one beside it, however, caught her attention as well. The individual depicted was decades younger than the others hanging alongside him.

And he also looked … kinder.

“Hello.”

Luna nearly jumped a foot in the air as she spun to face the owner of that accented voice who was suddenly standing at her back. He moved nearly as quietly as Dominic.

The man—boy just seemed inadequate though he didn’t seem much older than her—was tall, taller than she was expecting, and once she settled on his face, she realized she was staring at the subject of the painting to her right.

Messy brown hair that fell nearly to his ears was shoved back out of his face, as though he ran his fingers through it incessantly. There was also enough hair covering his jaw to tell her he hadn’t shaved in weeks, if not a month or more. Blessed with strong, aristocratic features, and a slight cleft in his chin, he was by far one of the most attractive people—outside of Uilleam—she had ever seen in her life, not that she gazed upon people like them everyday.

Eyes the palest shade of blue they were almost gray, watched her unblinking. They were cold, unforgiving, but the way dark brows arched over them, almost making him look perpetually curious, softened them.

Whoever he was, while he radiated a dangerous aura, he didn’t appear threatening.

Muscular arms folded across his chest as he leaned a shoulder against the wall, the expensive fabric of his shirt pulling taut.

“Who are you?” he asked, though not unkindly. “You’re not one of his projects. You’re too … young.”

And that fact seemed to trouble him.

“Luna,” she said, not really sure why she was answering him. “My name is Luna.”

Maybe because she wanted to be seen as a person, for however long that lasted before Uilleam told him exactly who and
what
she was.

Men … their faces always changed. Where there had once been indifference at the sight of her, it was replaced quickly with a disgusting lust—as though the thought of getting their hands on a girl they thought couldn’t say, ‘no’ was all the more appealing.

She just wanted to be human for a little while longer.

To her surprise, he uncrossed his arms, extending a hand between them. He held it there wordlessly, never looking away from her. Realizing he was waiting for her, she hesitantly extended her own, her skin coming alive as his much larger one closed around hers.

His hand was rough, not like the pudgy, sweaty fingers of men that Lawrence used to have around—there was strength in his hold.

“Kit Runehart,” he answered in return, sweeping his thumb over the back of her hand, and when he did, she yanked her hand free, tucking it close to her side.

She was almost embarrassed by the knee-jerk reaction, not liking the idea of him seeing weakness in her.

He wasn’t offended by what she did, quite the opposite it seemed as he said, “Apologies.”

Luna felt the stupid urge that
she
should apologize to
him
, as though she had done something wrong, but she tamped down that urge as deep as she could.

Her brain was only just now catching up to him being the one that Uilleam had meant for her to find should she need anything.

Now seeing him, she almost wished that Uilleam had meant one of the guards, or an assistant or something.

Kit made her nervous and she hadn’t the slightest idea why.

Realizing that she hadn’t really answered his question, she added, “He brought me here.”

“
He
did?”

“The Kingmaker?”

She formed her answer as a question, not sure what name he knew the other man by. Though Uilleam had given her his name, no one else seemed to use it.

She wasn’t sure if that was by request, or whether they just didn’t know it.

An emotion flashed in Kit’s eyes. “That’s what they call him anyway. I understand he brought you to my home, yes, but I’m not sure as to the reason
why
.”

Luna wasn’t even sure of that answer herself. He spoke of her doing something for him, but he had also mentioned that it wouldn’t be this day that she performed the task—truthfully, he hadn’t even said
when
, exactly, he would need her to do it.

“I bought her,” Uilleam said, his voice carrying from down the hall as he approached, a glass in hand.

If she thought Kit would look unsettled by this, he didn’t. The expression on his face made her think this wasn’t a rare occurrence. “For what purpose?”

“I didn’t purchase her for my own benefit, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Kit’s eyes flickered to her a moment before he said, “Very little doesn’t benefit you in some way.”

As Uilleam came closer, and they stood nearly side by side, she could see it.

The cut of their jaws …

The impressive heights …

And though their eye colors differed, there was a similarity to their eye shape and the dark lashes that lined them both.

Brothers, she realized. They were brothers.

A muscle worked in Kit’s jaw as he asked, “She’s a little young for what you need, isn’t she?”

There was a dark sort of humor to Uilleam’s expression. “Should I be asking that of you?”

He said something else, something she didn’t understand since he spoke in a different language. Kit answered back in the same, his tone gruff.

Whatever exchange they were having finished as Kit sliced his hand through the air, silencing whatever Uilleam thought to say next. While Lawrence had seemed to quake at the thought of upsetting Uilleam, Kit didn’t seem to feel such fear.

“Excuse us, Luna,” he said, looking from his brother to her, the colorful accent that marked his words drawing the syllables of her name out. “Continue as you were.”

The pair walked off without another word, leaving her standing there looking after them. Once they were out of sight, however, she quickly turned back the way she came and closed herself into her room, thinking it was probably best to stay out of sight.

And because she was still tired from the journey and her lack of sleep, Luna made sure each of the doors to the room was locked before she climbed up onto the bed and willed herself to sleep.