Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(72)

Clifton gleefully volunteered.

Blinking as he took in the scene before him, Kit saw Abigail with a hand to her chest and fire in her eyes standing off to one side, Uilleam diligently by her side though slightly behind her.

In her left hand, she held a diamond studded choker, one of her most prized possessions. She didn’t know it was a necklace Alexander had taken from the dead body of his former mistress—Kit thought only he was privy to that knowledge.

Cold, accusing eyes were trained on Clifton, but his own attention was fixated to Alexander and the cleaver he held in his right hand.

“You think to steal from me?” Alexander asked, a dangerous light to his face.

Though Kit longed to ask what was happening, he kept his mouth shut, knowing that he would rather be clueless than to garner his father’s attention.

“I would never steal from you, boss,” Clifton said in a gravelly voice, his unease prevalent. “This is some kind of mistake. I—”

“How eager you were,” Alexander went on as though the other man hadn’t spoken, “to punish my son for eating when he wasn’t meant to be, yet you betray me by stealing from my wife?”

Kit remembered all too well the punishment he had taken for sneaking down to the kitchen for a slice of the massive cake that lay sitting on the counter. He had just been setting in to eat a giant slice with a spoon when Clifton had found him in there.

He had meant to run upstairs, flee before the man could call on his father, but Clifton snagged him before he could take a step, fingers fisting in the back of his sleep shirt. In his haste to make sure he didn’t get away, Clifton had managed to knock over the towering cake, sending it splattering to the floor before it could be saved.

Once Alexander arrived shortly after, Clifton had wasted no time in placing the blame on Kit, and even offered to do the punishment himself.

Alexander wasted no time in agreeing.

He was to get twenty lashings with the same heavy silver spoon he’d intended to eat with—because no one will steal from me, he’d said.

Kit had barely made it through seven before he was wailing in agony, feeling like Clifton had managed to break a number of bones in his hands.

Only when he was knocked to the ground by a closed fist did Kit realize Uilleam stood in the shadow of the alcove, his expression unreadable, but he’d disappeared in the blink of an eye.

It was that same kind of expression reflected on Uilleam’s face now. He too, watched without speaking.

Kit quickly put two and two together, realizing that Clifton was being accused of stealing the necklace Abigail now held.

“I didn’t!” Clifton exclaimed, his panic growing as two of Alexander’s security moved to grab him. His gaze cut to Kit, as though only now realizing he was in the room. “It was probably the kid,” he shouted out desperately. “I saw him looking at it the other day—little shit is trying to set me up.”

Alexander sent Kit a dismissive glance. “He’s been away these last few days, if you remember. He would have had no time to do it, but I thank you for showing me the kind of man you are. Hold him.”

Clifton screamed bloody murder as Alexander drew nearer, gleaming cleaver in hand. A part of Kit wanted to look away, to close his eyes against the horror he was about to witness, but the rest wanted to watch Clifton suffer.

And with one mighty arch of the cleaver, Alexander severed Clifton’s fingers from his hands, leaving spurting, bloody stumps behind.

Gushing red spilled over the table, soaking into the white table cloth, and sprinkling over fine china. Kit could almost taste the copper in the air.

Clifton collapsed to the ground, crying and yelling even as he tried to clutch his bloody hands to his chest.

Alexander’s security dragged him out.

As though the last five minutes hadn’t transpired, Abigail sniffled, raising her chin slightly. “You should find better security.”

And they moved on, as though nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until later that night that Uilleam made an uncharacteristic stop by his room. He hadn’t said a word as he joined Kit by the window.

Then, with a voice as calm as day, asked, “I never did like him. And he lied when he said you knocked over the cake—and I’ve never liked liars either.”

He was just a boy then—or should have been—but as Kit watched his brother turn to leave as he had so many times before, he couldn’t ignore that curling feeling of unease sitting low in his stomach.

Quiet and unassuming, that was how their father liked to describe Uilleam, but Kit learned that there was much more to his brother than what he allowed to show.

And he didn’t think that was good at all.

Not much had changed over the later years, only Uilleam got better at what he did and Kit outgrew his father’s rampage. The first chance he was able, he’d walked away without looking back.

They both led separate lives, taking them down two different paths.

Yet, somehow they ended up here—together once more. And just as he had that night, Kit felt the familiar tightening.

Uilleam was playing a game, he realized, except now he didn’t know what game it was, only that Luna was somehow a part of it.

He just needed to find the connection.

Kit made it a point to find his own information. While he didn’t have the skills of a hacker, he made do, but despite his best efforts he hadn’t been able to find anything on Luna.