Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(15)

Not bothering to respond, Amber plugged her number in before handing him back the device. Afterward, she started to pull his jacket off, but he shook his head before she could get it off.

“Give it back next time.”

“Next time?” she questioned with a smile.

Turning the key, the engine of his motorcycle roared to life. Fitting his helmet back on, Kyrnon winked at her. “Or maybe the time after that.”





Chapter Four





Parking his bike a few blocks down, Kyrnon headed for the pub at the corner, one that had been completely gutted and renovated after a fire had nearly destroyed it a few months prior. Though he hadn’t been around much over the last several weeks, he could already see the differences from his first time venturing into The Parting Glass.

Though it was only twelve-thirty on a Tuesday, the place was still packed, all eyes on the televisions, two displaying rugby matches, and another showing American football.

Darting between tables was a woman with bright red hair, and a rather prominent baby bump—twins, Red had told him. Hoisted up on her shoulder was a tray topped with baskets of fries and enough drinks to let him know the thing was damn heavy.

“Come now, you’re not supposed to be doing any lifting,” Kyrnon said as he intercepted her, easily taking the burden from her hands. Almost immediately, her shoulders sagged with relief.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Reagan said as she turned green eyes on him, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I can handle myself, Celt.”

He didn’t doubt that, especially given her choice in a mate. “Right. Where’s Red?”

She pointed to the bar where the Russian was standing behind it, mixing drinks and looking terribly out of place considering what Kyrnon knew he was capable of.

“Will you ever start calling him by his name?” Reagan asked as she gestured for him to follow along. “It’s not like you don’t know it.”

True enough, but Red had never been ‘Niklaus’ to him, not even after their training, nor after he actually learned the man’s name, though that information had come years later.

Their names, or at least the ones they answered to on the job, were just as much a part of their identities as their birth names.

And for some—like Red and Kyrnon—their names were tied to a past they didn’t want remembered. It was much easier for him to be Celt, the master thief – the mercenary for hire. But ‘Kyrnon’? That name reminded him of a time in his life he longed to escape. Not many understood the power of a name, how a single word could inflict a lifetime of emotions.

He would give his brother-in-arms anything he asked for, but not that. Some things he just needed to keep to himself.

And the last thing he wanted was someone’s sympathy if they knew just what brought Kyrnon to the Den.

“True,” Kyrnon agreed, “but I’ve only known him as Red. That’s not going to change.”

Whether she accepted his word, or perhaps Red had explained a few things to her, she left it at that, walking alongside him as she showed him which tables the food belonged to. Finished, he set the tray on the bar top before taking a seat in a newly vacated stool, grinning when he caught Red’s attention.

Slapping a hand down on the polished concrete, Kyrnon asked, “How’s about a pint of the black stuff?”

“Fuck off.”

In his thirty-two years of living, Kyrnon didn’t think he had ever met anyone as perpetually annoyed as Red seemed to be. It was like the man was born with a bad attitude, but knowing what he had gone through, and that was even before the training Kyrnon had inflicted on him, he could understand.

A few days was all it had taken before he lost everything that mattered to him, including a life he could never go back to. Resentment had festered and grew until it was the only thing he knew. But Red had finally seemed to make peace with it all … even if it hadn’t helped his attitude.

“You called me here, remember? If not for a drink, what in the hell do you want?”

Red nodded his head toward the hallway. “I’m just the messenger.”

Kyrnon’s easy mood disappeared. “If he wanted a meet, he could have called me directly.”

That was one thing Kyrnon didn’t understand about the Kingmaker. He had a habit of calling on one of them to get in contact with another just to pass his message along.

Kyrnon had understood the need to call him in when the man had asked for a meeting with Red, it wasn’t like the surly bastard would agree to it without Kyrnon having stepped in.

But now? Now, he didn’t get it.

“Not him.”

“Who—”

“For f*ck’s sake, woman. What’d I say?” Red demanded, garnering the attention of half the men sitting at the bar, but just as quickly as he was the focus, they turned their eyes back to the game.

Reagan, who had been in the midst of grabbing another tray, carefully pulling food from the window, paused, unbothered by Red’s surly disposition. “Someone has to do it.”

“Then he’ll do it,” Red responded, gesturing to the other man behind the bar, who looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. “Which is what I told you the first time you grabbed that damn tray.”

“Must you act like an ass? At least when I get emotional, I can blame it on the pregnancy. What’s your excuse?”