Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(66)

That name made the blood in her veins race, but the mention of broken promises cooled her just as fast. “It wouldn’t be the first.”

“But I don’t intend for there to be another. I won’t take you until you’re freely given.”

Once, she had thought those words a protection, but she had learned how quickly they could become a punishment.

Cooling rapidly, and coming back to her senses, she pushed him away, putting distance between them. “You got what you wanted, now—”

He scoffed, the sound short and annoyed. “Not even close, Luna.”

The conviction in his words made her swallow, more than the bulge in his trousers. “Give me a name.”

“Elora Coillette,” Kit said immediately. “She has an office on Fifth Avenue if you need to meet with her in person.”

“Thank you.”

And she meant that, more than she thought she would.

As she turned to leave, however, he called out her name. Glancing back, she waited for him to speak again.

“What’s this I hear about you meeting with my brother?”

“And how did you hear about that?”

He ignored her question. “What was it about?”

“A new assignment.”

“The target?”

“Carmen.”

She didn’t have to say the woman’s full name for him to know who she referred to. Just the first would have been enough.

His temper flared again, but she knew this time, it wasn’t aimed at her. “That isn’t smart.”

“Why? Because I can’t handle it, or because she’s your client?”

And the reason why she could never forgive him for what he did. His betrayal had broken her in a way she hadn’t been able to recover from.

“Luna—”

“I don’t know what his plan is,” she said, and she was glad she didn’t know in that moment because she may have told him if he asked her to. “But I suggest you find a new client.”

With that, she turned her back on him and walked away, refusing to look back to see if he was watching her go, but as she was pulling out her phone, ready to dial Celt and give him the name he’d been searching for, she had to wonder about her new assignment.

Was the job about bringing down Carmen, or was the Kingmaker trying to hurt his own brother?





Chapter Seventeen





“Elora Coillette,” Calavera had said in his ear, her voice crackling over the phone. “That’s your buyer. I’ll send you an address for where to find her.”

Better words had never been spoken.

Once he had the name, it had been easy enough finding the woman that was behind Monte’s death.

A black widow, she was.

But Kyrnon didn’t work about this, not after reading about her business practices over the last couple of years. Whereas she enjoyed humiliating men at every opportunity, she cared more for money and how to acquire more. A fickle creature who cared for nothing more than monetary goods—it would be easy enough making a transaction.

He just had to offer what he did best.

It had taken no time at all for him to get a meeting with her, simply because of who he was. While his name might not have always been familiar, the jobs he pulled off were infamous.

As Kyrnon stepped off the elevator to a business office on Fifth Avenue, designed in shades of gray and white, he came to a stop as two burly men that looked rather trigger happy, put hands up, refusing to allow him in any further.

With a roll of his eyes, he stretched his arms out, giving them the opportunity to search his person for any weapon he might be carrying.

Besides his vest, he hadn’t brought anything along with him … except for a pencil.

Once, during a stretch in Germany, he had found himself in a pub on the outskirts of the little town he was in, and just happened to find his target inside. He hadn’t had anything on him, at least not in the traditional sense, but when an opportunity aros, he used what he had on hand … a pencil.

Anything could be a weapon in the right hands.

“State your purpose,” one said, narrowing his eyes on him.

“That’s a bit above your pay grade, eh? You’re not the man I should be talking to.”

“Then I suppose you mean to speak with me,” a feminine voice called from the glass doors.

She was as Kyrnon had expected. Dark hair, luminescent skin, and a body that oozed lust while smiling as though ready to kill anyone if the mood struck her. Attractive, but treacherous.

Her stance as the one in charge of this building came loud and clear as the men parted to let her by.

Once they finished searching him, they stepped back.

“Who are you?”

“Celt.”

“Irish,” she said almost wistfully, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe. “I’ve always had a thing for Irishmen.”

He didn’t bother dignifying that with a response.

“My mystery caller, I presume. I feel like I know so much about you already, yet I never had a name. Curious.” Her heels clicked on the ornate floor as she circled him. “I once had a friend that contracted a Celt. Interesting name, I think. How about we finish this conversation in my office?”

She waved for him to follow behind her like he was one of her well-trained dogs, and while it rankled, Kyrnon did as he was bid.