Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(69)

Settling in for the ride, she tried closing her eyes, letting the chaos running rampant in her head have a chance to calm down, but every time she did, all she could see was Uilleam dying beneath her.

Counting backward in her head, she forced herself to think about anything other than the last hour.

She thought about Kit—the way he’d smiled when she walked to him on the beach. She thought about his need to check his phone every twenty minutes for work. It didn’t feel like it was only yesterday that they got back from their honeymoon.

She almost wished she could go back in time and hold onto yesterday just a little bit tighter, but the other part of her was glad that she had been back.

Luna was dozing off when they turned onto a gravel road. She sat up a little straighter, peering through the windows to try and make sense of where she was.

It didn’t help that she was always traveling, with and without Kit, so though she had lived in New York for four years, she still wasn’t familiar with every part of it.

Once they reached a clearing, at least two miles from the road, Fang was the first one out of the car, grabbing her arm, albeit gently, and pulled her out, walking her through the house until they reached an upstairs bedroom.

Yanking on the spine of a book, tumblers came undone as the bookcase gave way to a panic room.

“Boss is en route. Stay put.”

Fang locked her in before she could get a word in. As far as panic rooms went, this one was undoubtedly state of the art, but the last thing she wanted to be doing was being locked in a room.

Dropping down on the lone couch in the room, she dug her phone out, but to her luck, she had no bars.

Once again, the only thing she could do was wait.

But this time, it wasn’t for long.

The sharp click of a lock disengaging had her sitting up, an angry retort at the tip of her tongue for having been locked in this room, but she swallowed them back down at the look on Kit’s face.

Whatever annoyance she felt bled away as she glanced down at herself, then back to him, realizing how she looked. “I’m fine.”

But that wasn’t enough

The sight of her covered in blood had frozen him in place, but the moment he spoke, he was reaching for her, his hands ghosting over every inch of her as though to reassure himself of what she’d just said.

She let him, waiting until he was back on his feet before saying again, “I’m fine.”

Kit still didn’t speak, cradling her face in his bigger hands, eyes assessing. “Jesus, Luna. What happened?”

Drawing in a breath, she did, starting from the time she arrived until the moment the Wild Bunch had come to retrieve her. Kit didn’t interrupt, hardly blinked, but once she finished and he seemed to take a moment to fully digest what she’d told him, his brows drew together.

“California, you said? Why would he want you there?”

Luna shrugged. “We never got around to that.”

A muscle worked in his jaw, but whatever thoughts were running through his head, he didn’t share.

“Have you heard from Skorpion, or Zachariah?”

“He’s stable,” he said before pressing a hard kiss to her forehead. “I was told I had you to thank for that.”

Under most circumstances, the Runehart brothers were at odds, often at each other’s throats, but despite outward appearances, Luna knew how much Kit cared for his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

She loved Uilleam too.

Then, she asked, “Do you know who it was? The one on the bike?”

Skorpion might not have, but there was a chance Kit did. He knew more people than she could ever keep up with.

“Not yet.”

But she could tell from the look on his face that he had an idea.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Your home for the next few days.”

Luna narrowed her eyes. “Say that again?”

“Until this situation is under control, I need to make sure you’re safe.”

“I can handle myself. You don’t—”

“Luna.”

Sighing in frustration, she circled around him to leave the safe room, knowing that no matter what she said, he wouldn’t be changing his mind—not when he got that tone.

“Then at least feed me.”

At least then she could be unhappy and full.



The sharp crack of the wooden spoon across his knuckles made Kit flinch, but he didn’t dare utter a noise, knowing all too well the consequences should he make even the slightest of sounds.

Even as young as he was, he had learned how to channel his pain, burying it deep until he felt nothing. Once, he hadn’t realized one of his fingers had been broken until he allowed himself to feel again.

It should have been worrying how easy it was to slip into this role, but there was no one around to notice.

Not really.

“How did this happen!” Abigail demanded, her weapon in one hand, her glass of wine in the other as she violently swung around to point the spoon back where Uilleam sat at the dining room table, tears spilling from his eyes.

Eyes that were trained on them.

His arm was being set by the family’s physician, the man as ancient in appearance as he seemed in age. He, unlike Uilleam, refused to even glance in their direction. He knew better than to get involved.