Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(31)

Not just from one she realized the further she stepped into the room, but seven.

Seven men.

And their faces … she didn’t think she could ever forget their faces.

Now, their expressions were more subdued, sweat dotting their brows as terror reflected in their gazes.

Oh no, she could never forget those faces.

The way they used to smile and jeer, their excitement freely visible when Lawrence gave them permission to abuse her in any way they saw fit.

How eager they had been at the proposition of taking someone against their will.

Now, that excitement and joy and enthusiasm was gone, replaced with fear the likes of which she had never experienced first hand.

And all that fear was because of Kit.

She could tell from the way they cowered when he entered the room, whimpers muffled behind cloth gags tied around their mouths.

Luna tried to muster up sympathy for them, but she felt none.

Their wrists and ankles were zip-tied, the hardened plastic digging so hard into their flesh that she could see chafed and bleeding skin as they struggled on the floor in an attempt to get free.

Though she came to a stop in the middle of the room, Kit still moved on around her, first closing the door until the metal lock clicked into place, then eased across the room with all the grace of a predator.

Of course he wouldn’t be bothered by the sight of the helpless men—he’d put them there—but there was something rather transfixing about the way he moved about as though the stench of their terror wasn’t permeating the air.

Kit was in his element.

His hands dropped to the hem of his shirt, fingers dragging up the material until he was pulling it over his head and tossing it aside, the muscles in his back flexing with the movement.

In the low light of the room, she could now see the dark ink of the tattoo that covered the entirety of his back.

Wings.

They were massive, so big that some of the feathers extended over his shoulders, and down the backs of his arms stopping just above his elbows. They were incredibly detailed, almost lifelike, from the shading to the way the feathers laid as if in movement. But what made them different from anything she had ever seen was the detail of the smoke, as though those wings were on fire.

They were magnificent.

A phoenix.

It wasn’t just a name for him—it was who he was.

“They’ll all die tonight,” Kit said as he jerked the slide back on the gun in his hand, “but how they die is entirely up to you.”

Luna didn’t know what to say, or even what to think as she glanced behind her at the Wild Bunch who stood idle against the back wall, wondering if this was a regular thing for them.

Bizarrely, Fang offered a thumbs up.

“The choice is yours.”

Even as she turned back, staring down at men that had done the worst things to her, her mouth wouldn’t work.

“Don’t feel sympathy for those that don’t deserve it,” Kit said. “They didn’t.”

No, they hadn’t.

“Arnold,” she said with a point of her finger at one of the first men that Lawrence had invited into her suffering.

The man shook his head hard, tears spilling from his eyes as he begged behind his gag, his chest heaving with the force of his sobs, but he was put out of his misery soon enough as Kit pulled the trigger, the force of the bullet making the man’s head jerk back before he crumpled to the ground.

She watched his descent in surprise. Seconds was all it had taken to end his life—until he was nothing more than a shell.

As she had felt once …

The moment was made even sweeter as their looks of fear were turned on her because they realized that she held power over them now—even if her weapon was the man before her.

Luna pointed to another, and another.

It didn’t matter that they tried to shuffle away, to escape a death that was inevitable, but Kit’s aim never faltered.

By the time there was only one left, Luna was ready raise her hand once more, but paused when she saw just who kneeled before her. There were just some faces one couldn’t forget, and Benjamin’s was one of them.

Oh, how eager he had been the first time Lawrence brought him into that special room of pain.

I’m not a monster, he had said with a gentle smile, as though his attempt at faux sincerity would move her.

You’ll enjoy it, he promised when he’d patted the spot beside him.

I’ll take care of you, he whispered as he grabbed hold of her chain and forced her into a position of his liking.

But it wasn’t enough that he had wanted to use her, but he had gleefully called Lawrence over and very soon, his gentleness had turned to agonizing pain, and his ‘I’ll take care of you,’ meant beating the shit out of her until she couldn’t move.

Unlike the others, he wasn’t begging for his life, nor were his eyes wet with tears. If anything, he looked angry.

Furious even.

Kit didn’t stop her as she went to the man, glad that he was restrained so she could pull the cloth from his mouth.

It was barely out of his mouth before he was spewing, “Stupid f*cking whore.”

Luna flinched at the venom in his voice, but she didn’t back down, she didn’t curl into herself as she once would have.

But even as she stood her ground, those words still hurt—a reminder that no matter where she went or how much time passed, that word would always follow her around.