Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(59)

Shaking her head, she said ever so softly, “Kyrnon, I can’t. Not right now. I need time to … process all of this.”

The muscle at his temple ticked, and she was sure he was going to argue this point with her, but instead he said something to Niklaus, in Russian if she had to guess—of course he knew Russian.

Whatever he said had Mishca responding back in the same tongue before Niklaus jumped in. By the time they finished, Amber was more confused than ever.

“Then it’s settled,” Mishca said with a nod of his head.

Whatever he meant had Kyrnon nodding and Niklaus heading for the door, but before Kyrnon left, he crossed the floor in only a few quick strides, reaching her before she even had a thought to flee.

One second Luka was dropping his arm finally, the next, Kyrnon had his hand cupped around the nape of her neck, dragging her forward so he could leave a searing kiss to her lips that had her gasping in both delight and astonishment.

Her hands reached for him before she had a mind to, fisting in the bottom edge of his shirt.

“Six hours,” he said against her lips. “You get six hours to climb out of that head of yours, then I’ll be back.”

As quickly as he was there, Kyrnon was gone again.





Chapter Fifteen





Six hours …

Kyrnon had promised her time, and could even understand why she needed it, though he didn’t like it. Seeing that fear of him in her eyes had both frustrated and hurt him because while he wanted to erase that fear, she wasn’t letting him.

So although it felt wrong in every part of his f*cking being, he’d promised her six hours.

He had only made it two before he was back on his bike, driving through the city to the Volkov residence. While it may have looked like another upscale apartment building that littered Manhattan, one could tell with a glance that it wasn’t one in the same.

The doorman looked far too menacing, with a distinct bulge at his back, and an earpiece in his ear. He didn’t doubt that if he wasn’t welcome, by the time he parked his bike and headed for the doors, that point would have been made clear to him.

The front staff, only slightly more welcoming than the doorman, were better, though they, too, had a shifty look in their eyes, as though waiting for anything to happen at any moment.

Once through the main lobby and onto the lift, he hit the button for the penthouse and waited. Since he didn’t have a key to send it, he had to wait for someone on the other end to allow him up.

Of course, he could have called before just showing up so they would know to expect him, but he didn’t want to hear again that she needed time.

He was already over that.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the doors closed and the lift began to move. With each floor he passed, a little more of that pressure squeezing his chest eased.

He wanted to see her.

He needed her.

Fucking hell, it hadn’t even been two months yet and he was already obsessed.

As the lift came to a stop and the doors reopened, Kyrnon was expecting one of the Volkov brothers waiting for him, but instead he found a female nearly a foot shorter with a stern frown on her pretty face.

Lauren Volkov.

“I like you, Celt—you have to be decent if Niklaus considers you a friend,” she said, her arms folded across her chest. “But Amber is family to me, and if you hurt her in any way, I will set Luka onto you.”

And like the f*cking wild animal Luka was, the crazy bastard would try and make his life a living hell just for the fun of it.

“Duly noted.”

Lauren appraised him a moment, making a decision before finally nodding. “She’s in the bedroom behind the kitchen. My sixteen-month old is sleeping, so, ya know …” she gave him a look, one that made it crystal clear if he woke the toddler up, she would make him pay.

Kyrnon didn’t hesitate in heading in the opposite direction, even running a hand down his face as he drew closer to the bedroom door.

Nervous. He was nervous. Why the hell was he nervous? He had stolen a multimillion dollar painting beneath the noses of men and women who had enough power to see him dead, and yet that was nothing compared to this.

Facing her, telling her the truth about who he was, that was the easy part.

It was getting her to stay that was going to be hard.



* * *



The minute Kyrnon was no longer in sight, Amber felt a pang in her chest. How could she simultaneously want him to stay, even as she wanted him to leave? There was so much left unspoken between them that she almost regretted asking him for time, but knew she needed it.

“We never knew his name,” Lauren said quietly from her spot beside her in the back of the car Mishca had sent them to their home in. “I would have told you—you know that.”

She didn’t doubt that at all. Lauren was her closest friend, and after everything she had been privy to over the course of their relationship, they knew she wasn’t going to open her mouth to anyone.

“I heard someone call him Celt once,” Amber said, watching the city pass her by through the tinted windows of the car. “I just didn’t think anything of it at the time.” Glancing over at her friend, she asked, “How long have you known him?”

Lauren winced, looking apologetic. “Since a few weeks after the wedding.”