Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(73)

That wasn’t uncommon—Uilleam made it a point to scrub his mercenaries’ identities once he selected them, making it far easier to keep them off the grid—but Kit could recover at least a few details of the lives they led before they joined the Den.

With Luna, there was nothing.

Even if he weren’t suspicious of Uilleam’s motives before, he was now. Because it only begged the question, what was he trying to hide?

It was for this reason that Kit found himself entering Calypso’s Tavern, a watering hole in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. While the interior looked like it hadn’t been renovated in more than thirty years, the floor worn and damaged in certain spots, those that venture inside weren’t concerned with the aesthetic of the place, but rather the freelancers that took up residence inside.

Two pool tables sat toward the back of the space, a number of round tables occupying the rest of the floor. The lighting was dim, hard rock spilling from speakers mounted on the ceiling.

Benji, the resident bartender, was at his post, a bottle of whiskey in one hand as he laughed at whatever story he was being told by the burly man seated in front of him. Once he was finished pouring the row of shots, pocketing the bills the man slapped down, he looked up, surprise in his gaze as Kit approached.

“Been a while, Nix. What do I owe the visit?”

“Is he back there?”

Though Kit had ventured into this place more than a dozen times, he had only come for one person so he never bothered to use a name anymore.

“Yeah, he is, but he’s in a shit mood so watch yourself.”

When was he not?

Accepting the warning with a nod, he started for the back room, blinking to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. Unlike the dull yellow tone that was prominent throughout the bar, the back hallway was saturated in red. There were three doors, one leading to a restroom, another for storage, and the last that was painted black—and unlike the other two, this one was made of reinforced steel.

On that door, Kit knocked twice.

“Password!”

“Must we really do this when you quite obviously know it’s me?”

There was a camera just above the door, one that allowed the man on the other side of the door a clear picture of who was standing on the other side—there was also another outside the tavern.

Undoubtedly, Kit’s presence had been noticed before he had even walked through the doors.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem giving the password.”

With a roll of his eyes, Kit finally, begrudgingly answered, “Beware the Jabberwock with jaws that bite and claws that catch.”

When the heavy bolt disengaged and the door finally swung open, revealing the man on the other side, Kit frowned.

“You do know that your password is not very clever,” he said once he was allowed entry.

The other man shrugged. “Gets the job done though, no?”

Semyon Kreshnik was not like most hackers. While he was a proud blackhat, he still had a moral compass, but no one was ever sure which way he would lean. If one came to him with the wrong offer, he wasn’t opposed to using his skills against them.

And worse, he didn’t give a shit about money.

“What can I do for you, Phoenix?” Semyon asked as he closed the door behind them, shifting the lock into place. “I thought you were retired.”

While the Lotus Society had a number of hackers on their payroll, Kit had always preferred using outside contractors, especially when it came to information he needed kept private.

“I am retired,” Kit said studying the display of six screens against the wall.

While he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing, it all made sense to Semyon as he returned to his seat, dropping the wireless keyboard in his lap. Tattooed fingers flew over the keys, the screens blacking out one by one.

“I guess we’re all retired until we’re not,” he said glancing back. “So what do you need? I owe you that favor from Moscow last year, so let’s clear it.”

Semyon was very much like Uilleam in that way—he didn’t like owing anyone—and though Kit had told him there was nothing to repay, he insisted.

“I need you to find someone—Luna Santiago.” Kit also gave her date of birth and where she was born, but he also added, “It may be hard to find her considering every trace of her was scrubbed by one of the Kingmaker’s associates.”

Semyon gave him a droll stare. “Associates? Right. If they were any good, he wouldn’t have offered me a job.”

This was the first he was hearing of this. “And you didn’t accept?”

“I’ve never played well with others. Might want to have a seat, Nix,” Semyon said with a nod of his head to the black leather couch against the wall. “This might take a minute.”



“How’s he doing?” Luna asked as she walked with Zachariah through the halls of the compound, just spotting the edge of a man’s bare feet dragging across the floor as he was dumped in what was affectionately known as the Silent Room.

It wasn’t because the room ever stayed that way. Sure, in the beginning there was nothing but the voices to keep you company when you were inside since it was pitch black and soundproof.

It was never the place one wanted to stay for long lest the demons trapped in their heads came rushing back to suffocate them.