Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(20)

Sometimes, she could still remember the way that coarse carpet felt beneath her knees …

The way she had been leered at and gawked over from the various clients that came in and out the door, not caring in the slightest that she had been a child …

“Enough!” Uilleam said suddenly, fiercely, in that way that brokered no arguments. “This is not a debate, nor a negotiation. The day I spent a quarter of a million dollars buying your freedom from a brothel, you fell into my debt. You should be happy that this assignment actually requires skills that don’t include you needing to be on your back.”

She didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t—not in front of him.

There was no declining an assignment. You either followed orders, or you were done. There was no in between. Luna had almost forgotten that rule, remembering the camaraderie she once shared with the man sitting across from her.

How foolish of her.

It had been years since her control was taken away. It seemed only fitting that it would be by another of the Runehart brothers that took that away from her yet again.

Grinding her teeth, she met his gaze. “Fine.”

“I’ll have someone forward you the details,” he said as he stood, coming over to kiss the top of her head, but before any part of him could touch her, she moved away. “Don’t run from your demons, Luna. Meet them head on.”

Buttoning his jacket, it was like that moment of kindness he just displayed had never happened. His thoughts were already elsewhere as he prepared to leave.

Before he left however, he added, “Your problem was never with me. Kit chose to do business with the woman you despise. Should you ruin her, it will hurt him as well. Two birds, one stone. Don’t forget who he trained you to be.”





Chapter Six





Despite having been out with Kyrnon for hours the night before, Amber was still up at six the next morning, heading down to the pool on the first floor of her apartment building—one of the excuses she used to justify how much she was paying for rent. After a few grueling laps, and feeling far more awake than she should have, she headed back upstairs to shower and get ready for the day.

She wasn’t a morning person by any means, and she lived for waking up in the later hours of the day, but with the work she knew she was going to have to complete for the replica, she had to implement her old college routine.

Back when she was still attending the Art Institute, she had been far more active in the mornings—especially since that was usually when her classes were held. She would get up, workout, shower and get dressed, along with grabbing a cup of coffee, and that was all before seven in the morning.

Now, she thought it was hell on earth trying to get up that early.

But with what awaited her at the completion of the work, it was worth far more than a few lost hours of sleep.

Twisting her hair up into a big curly puff at the top of her head—her hair was too rebellious to do something as tame as a messy bun—Amber didn’t bother much with makeup since no one would really be seeing her face in the back of the gallery.

Neither did she pay particular attention to the clothes she wore, selecting another over-sized flannel and skinny jeans.

Besides her satchel, she brought along her bag of paintbrushes, a number of them in which she’d had for years. She could have used the brand new set gifted to her by Elliot, but there was something about using her own tools that made her feel more secure.

The distance from her apartment to the metro seemed shorter this time, though that could have been because of the faint flutter of anticipation that thrummed through her the closer she came to the station.

She knew there were slim odds that Kyrnon would be on the very same train she planned to board, but that didn’t stop her from hoping he would. By the time it came rolling in, her reflection staring back at her from the shifting train cars and windows, she couldn’t help scanning, wondering if he would be amongst the sea of faces.

Even as one crowd walked off, she and the others boarding after, Amber still looked for him. It was only after the doors came to a close and they were on the move did she finally stop hoping.

The first to arrive at the gallery, the doors were still locked, but Elliot had given her a key once she officially started on the replica. If she wanted to arrive in the early hours of the morning, or leave in the late hours of the night, she was free to do so, as long as she let them know in advance. For whatever reason, Gabriel made sure the painting was taken to and from the gallery each day, only allowing the canvas to stay so long as she was in the building with it.

It was strange, but what did she know about a rich man’s paranoia?

Before she headed back to get started, she turned on all the lights, preparing to open just as she would on the infrequent chance she was called in to open. Luckily, Tabitha was coming in and once she did, Amber could get started.

She was just sorting through the receipts from the night before when Tabitha appeared, whipping the trench coat she wore off, heading back toward the pseudo-break room they used during the day.

“So, who was the guy?”

Unlike some of the girls at the gallery, Tabitha wasn’t afraid to ask the questions others were wondering. If she was curious about something, she voiced it.

Standing at the counter, she reached for the box of Keurig pods in the cabinet above the coffee maker, digging one out and replacing the old one. Placing her mug down and pressing the start button, she looked to Amber expectantly.