Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(71)

“I’ve clocked at least three on the outside perimeter,” Red said, his voice quiet in the dead of night, but with the earpiece in his ear, Kyrnon could hear him clearly. Minutes earlier, Red had disappeared, finding a vantage point on a nearby rooftop where he could set up his rifle.

“This girl of yours,” Skorpion said, dragging his fingers through his hair as he pulled the strands into a ponytail, then strapped his vest on. “What’s she like?”

“Now’s not the time,” Kyrnon said shortly, snapping the clip to his M4 in place.

“This is cake,” Skorpion returned as he pulled his ski mask over his face.

That was true, and usually Kyrnon would have been the first to agree with him, but he was too focused on getting this done to entertain the question.

“She’s good people,” Red said over the coms.

“Focus,” Kyrnon said through gritted teeth, feeling like he was back at the compound, training him.

“I’m on a f*cking roof. Lonely up here.”

“You—”

“Nice ass?” Skorpion asked, oblivious to Kyrnon’s darkening mood.

“Red, you answer that, you’re a dead man.” Pulling his mask down, Kyrnon readied him, but just before they hit the gate, he felt a smile of his own. “She has a great arse.”

“Get a move on, boys,” Calavera said wryly. “You can admire her ass later.”

Skorpion was the first to breach, Kyrnon close behind. Muffled shots sounded as Red took out the security around the perimeter. They weren’t dead, but it would hurt like a bitch and knock them out for a while.

Separating, Kyrnon headed around back, following the blueprints Winter had sent, guiding him to the safe the fastest. Unlike most of the homes in the area, the master was on the main floor. It was in that room that he would find the safe.

The back doors were already open, Calavera already in the room with a rug tossed in the corner, her hostages tied up in the corner.

“This is your specialty,” Calavera said gesturing to the safe’s door.

It was an older model, one that lacked the sophistication that newer models implemented to prevent exactly what Kyrnon was about to do. Setting three small explosives along the safe’s handle, he took a step back, counting to one before he hit the switch, blowing the charges.

Sparks lit up the room, smoke billowing as the dynamite went off. Kyrnon dropped to the floor, waving at the smoke as he got the safe open, tossing out the pieces of the safe that had blew off inside.

“You have no right!” The woman, Amanda he guessed, said from her spot on the floor.

“It was never yours to begin with,” Kyrnon muttered, too focused on emptying the contents rather than entertain whatever she was saying.

There wasn’t much to be found, besides a few bonds, gold bars, and bundles of money. If he had to guess, whatever had been stored in here prior, Amanda had already had it moved.

But toward the bottom, he found what he had come for.

He could tell from just the weight in his palm that the diamond necklace was worth a small fortune, and as he pulled it free, the diamonds sparkled, glinting even in the low light of the room.

Good as done.

Stuffing it in his pocket, Kyrnon retrieved his rifle. “Let’s move.”

Quick as that, they were heading back out of the house … at least until one of her security they hadn’t tagged hit the corner fast, striking Calavera hard in the face before he turned his sights on Kyrnon.

Flipping his rifle over his back, Kyrnon lunged for the other man, his hand forming a fist seconds before he slammed it into the man’s jaw. Another into his body followed quickly, and finally a boot to the chest.

The other man sprawled out, blood in his teeth as he snarled, ready to charge back at Kyrnon, but he had his rifle in his hand before the man could move a step. “Stand down. Last warning.”

Calavera had a taser in her hand before he could make another move, sending fifty-thousand volts through the man’s body, leaving him unconscious on the ground once his body had stopped convulsing.

Another five minutes and they were speeding out of there, Skorpion in one direction, the rest of them in the other. By the time they arrived at the plane with an hour to spare, Kyrnon was counting down, calculating his expected arrival time from how long the flight was going to take.

Just enough.

He’d have just enough.

About an hour into the flight, however, Red got a call that made Kyrnon sit up a little straighter, his eyes narrowing.

“Right.” Red said, an edge to his voice. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What?” Kyrnon demanded to know, but a part of him knew just from the way the other man had turned his eyes on him, what Red was going to say. He amended his question. “How?”

He had specifically told her what they were up against, and he didn’t doubt for a second that she would do what he asked of her—meaning she wasn’t to step foot outside his place until he got back and gave her the all clear.

“They posed as delivery men—told her she needed to sign off on it. She couldn’t have known it wasn’t real.”

Without thinking, Kyrnon slammed his fist into the seat in front of him.

What was worse was the knowledge that he was thousands of feet in the air, and hours from reaching New York. He felt helpless in that moment, a feeling he hadn’t needed to rid himself of in years.