Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(18)

Back in Las Vegas, there were no harrowing memories, nothing to keep her up at night contemplating her life decisions. At least there she could almost pretend. Be something other than the mercenary she was molded into—or the whore she had been forced to be all those years ago.

In a city like that, where people did everything they could to forget the lives they came from, there was too much time spent trying to cover up their own lies than keeping up with the secrets another held.

Things were simpler that way.

Finally making it into the heart of Manhattan, Luna pulled into the underground parking structure attached to her hotel, then took the elevator up to a suite on the thirteenth floor. Slipping the card from her back pocket, she stuck it in the lock, waiting for the sound of it disengaging before shoving the handle down and pushing the door open.

It was closing at her back when she froze in the short hallway, her senses going on alert. There was a subtle shift in the scent of the air. It wasn’t just the standard deodorizer the hotel used, hints of musk and something heady hung melded with it—a scent she recognized.

Like she could ever possibly forget it.

She only hesitated a moment before she shook it off and kept forward, turning the corner, and spotting the man immediately in his spot on the couch, remote in hand, his attention on the afternoon news report playing on the television. He was alone, from what she could see, his guards probably forced to stay behind at whatever car he was driving.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you’re here,” Luna said as she crossed the floor, taking the seat across from him as opposed to the one at his side. “But what do I owe the visit, Uilleam?”

When he turned the full force of his smile on her, she remembered the silly crush she used to have, back when she was just a girl and didn’t know any better—back before someone else had eclipsed him.

Dazzled, that was how she had always felt when he was near. It wasn’t his looks—even as perfect as he seemed, she had seen the cracks—but because of the air that radiated from him. Most of the men of the compound were lethal, trained to become weapons capable of things one couldn’t even imagine, but it wasn’t with his body that Uilleam inflicted the most damage, but with his words.

Fear of what he could do with a single command kept anyone from ever crossing him.

At least until it hadn’t.

As always, he looked amused by her. “I know of men twice your size that would rather take a bullet than utter my name, yet you do so with ease. Maybe you’re brave.”

“Maybe,” she said easily with just a hint of self-deprecation. “Or foolish.”

Brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he regarded her. “Your intelligence has never been lacking, Luna.”

Arching a brow, she hid her surprise well. Compliments from Uilleam were rare, if they were given at all. “You’ve always been Uilleam to me, anyway.”

“And now?” he asked with a tilt of his head, tapping the remote against his knee. “Who am I now?”

Luna shrugged. “Apparently, my handler.”

He lost that easy smile of his, his eyes shifting back to the television a moment before turning the thing off and focusing back on her. “I would have told you about him sooner, had you been near.”

Zachariah. He meant Zachariah. “I’ve been in the same place for …”

“Four months and counting,” he interrupted. “But if you recall, you asked that neither of us bother you after all of that unpleasantness the last time we were all together.”

Back when she had been a pawn for him to use against his brother.

She could still remember that hurt she felt, trying to play a game she didn’t know the rules for. They had years of strategy down, probably longer considering the legacy they were born into, so she had been in way over her head during that time.

How quickly she had learned.

“And you respected my wishes?” Luna asked skeptically. “Or were you following your brother’s orders?”

“Does it matter if you got what you wanted?”

It did.

Not to him, maybe, but it mattered when she wanted others to respect what she wanted, and not just because of who her husband was.

From the time she was fourteen, men had been telling her what to do, who to be, but she was no longer that girl.

She was no longer a victim.

“We were talking about Zachariah, yes? Let’s get back to him.” The last thing she wanted to do was further discuss Uilleam’s brother. She had spent the better part of six months trying to put him out of her mind, even if she hadn’t succeeded yet. “I still don’t understand what happened.”

“He was a message,” Uilleam said, and for a moment, there was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it was gone moments later.

“To you?”

“Of course.”

Luna leaned forward. “And what was the message?”

“The Jackal hasn’t finished with me yet.”

Having spent years with a man that easily maneuvered his way through the shadowy world they lived in, garnering more contacts than any one person needed, Luna had learned a great many things about the ghosts that plagued the Den.

Once, the Jackal had only been a myth, even to the mercenaries under Uilleam’s control. He hadn’t always existed, at least not until Uilleam had started making plays that attracted enough attention that he became a target.