Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(21)

Ignoring his last comment, Kit asked, “And the girl? What is she here for?”

Uilleam offered a smile. “For the same reason that the rest of the broken souls are brought to my compound.”

“You mean to make her into a mercenary? Though your depravity doesn’t surprise me, that still doesn’t explain why she’s here.”

Circling around his desk, Kit grabbed a pair of tumblers, then a bottle of Scotch he kept in his desk, along with another of Vodka—Uilleam had never been able to stomach brown liquors.

“Zachariah is busy at the moment working with another recruit—a Russian. Pathetic little thing really, but he shows promise. Besides, he has this new rule where they need to be of a certain age—men and their ridiculous morals.”

Kit could only imagine.

“And,” Uilleam went on as he picked up his glass, examining the liquid as though he thought Kit might have poisoned it. “Considering where she’s been, I thought it might be better if she could focus on her training rather than the scores of men at the compound.”

“You care about her feelings?” Kit asked. “You?”

“I care about my investment.”

“An investment you made … today? You decided to just buy her?”

Uilleam shrugged. “He happened to be holding an auction—who would I be if I didn’t partake? It was the spirit of the evening.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Kit said folding his arms across his chest. “It never is with you.”

“No, I’m far too clever for that.”

“Then my question remains the same—why have you brought her here?”

Uilleam’s gaze narrowed as he contemplated what he would say next. “Let’s call it a test run. I want you to train her.”

Kit thought of the girl he had seen in the hallway. She was tall, willowy, with curves he knew would fill out once she was eating properly. There had been fear in her gaze when he spoke to her—even in the way she jolted when he touched her, but there had also been a spark of daring there that caught his attention.

“You misunderstand,” Uilleam said as the silence stretched between them. “If I thought you were incapable of seeing this done, I wouldn’t have come to you in the first place—waste of both our times, no?”

“If I am to do this, I’m not going to be quick about it,” Kit said. “She won’t be ready for some time—six months at a minimum.”

“Not to worry,” Uilleam said with a shrug. “It’s not an election year.”

Kit frowned, though he didn’t question him—his brother was known for saying odd things that only he understood. “What game are you playing at?”

“Do I have your agreement that you’ll train her?”

“You do.”

“Very well.” Uilleam got to his feet, sitting his untouched drink on the desk. “And, the game? It’s not one that concerns you presently.”

“Not everyone enjoys the games you play, Uilleam.”

Uilleam tsked. “Yet so many profit off of them.”

Kit nearly rolled his eyes. “Of course.” As he was leaving the room, Kit called, “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much of a choice.”

There was a smile in Uilleam’s voice as he said, “We always have choices, brother—the question is whether or not you’ll pick the right one.”

It was never easy to know which side was right when it came to his brother, and Kit had long since stopped wanting to guess.



Kit didn’t particularly like mercenaries—too disloyal and dishonest—but his brother had had the bright idea to form a team of them, an elite group that, despite their nature, would perform tasks as well as any other hit squad in the world. As only Uilleam could do, he had forced their loyalty to him by presenting them with something they wanted.

He understood the need to protect himself, and to have a team that was willing to do his dirty work—that was why he had the Wild Bunch—but despite his feelings on mercenaries, he had very little say in how Uilleam conducted his business—though even if they were closer, he doubted Uilleam would listen to reason.

He never had in the past.

Besides, Kit had grown rather used to his brother’s games since they were only a slightly milder version of those their father used to play—games meant to sharpen their minds and hone their skills.

While he had turned in one direction, using everything he had learned to become a member of a firm of assassins, then ultimately using those contacts to venture into different practices, his brother had gone in a different direction entirely.

Their father had expected them to follow blindly in his footsteps, and despite their thoughts to the contrary, they had in many ways.

He had also wanted them to go against one another, constantly battling to see who would end up on top.

But Kit had wanted none of that.

As long as their business dealings never intersected, Kit didn’t care about the games Uilleam liked to play.

There was just something about this girl, however … something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“A mercenary, then?” Aidra asked as they stopped at the foot of the stairs, her voice drawing him from his thoughts. “D’you truly believe you can train her to be one? Despite what the Kingmaker seems to believe, not everyone is cut out for this life.”