Nix. (Den of Mercenaries Book 3)(8)

All the girls were dressed the same, though some only wore shimmery lingerie that barely covered anything. Lawrence and Emmett had both changed as well, in fresh suits with hair gelled in place. By the time the first few guests started trickling in once the doors were opened, Luna already felt nauseous.

Most of the guests were men, though a few came in with women hanging off their arms, delighted smiles on their faces. Sometimes, Luna had seen, the women were worse than the men.

“Don’t react,” Cat whispered in her ear as they stood next to the bar that had been set up.

Don’t react.

She tried to force herself to process those words, to do exactly as Cat had said, but she was scared of what the night would bring. She had never been to one of the events Emmett held—Lawrence kept her tucked away—but she didn’t think it would be anything good.

Luna was gripping the table’s edge so tight her knuckles blanched. Carefully, she released her hold, taking a deep breath as she tried not to let her panic get the best of her.

Lawrence’s punishments were usually swift and unmerciful.

Cat, on the other hand, seemed to be processing it all pretty well, though there was a touch of apprehension in her eyes. At least until Lawrence came striding over to them, sending her darting off in the opposite direction.

“How’s my favorite pet?” he asked with a warm smile, as though those words were caring and complimentary.

Luna didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead, blinked to let him know she was listening.

“There’s someone I would like you to meet,” he said gesturing for the bartender to hand him the bottle of amber liquid that sat on a top shelf. “You’ll do any and every thing that I ask—and should he ask something of you, you know what to do.”

He grabbed her hand, pulling her in the direction of her familiar hell. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else as she followed behind him, wishing she could escape to some part of her mind that wouldn’t be affected by the trauma she would face.

But she had always stayed right in the present the entire time, feeling every last bit of pain offered.

Though she wasn’t able to leave her own mind, the tears had stopped.

A small consolidation.

As they neared, her senses perked up a bit seeing the men that stood guard around the house. They weren’t anything like Lawrence’s guards, portly men that hadn’t eaten a vegetable in years, instead they were tall and muscled, wearing more gear than she had ever seen.

Who the hell were they protecting?

“I suggest you not anger him, pet,” Lawrence said as he swung the door open. “You won’t like how he responds.”

He?

The minute she cleared the doorway, she saw him.

He sat with his back to a wall, just to the side of the windows where the moonlight that streamed in illuminated the planes of his face. There was definitely a difference between him and the men Lawrence usually brought into this room.

But Luna wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

As she came upon him, mere steps away now, she could see him more clearly—the strawberry-blonde hair, the chiseled line of his jaw, and the dark suit he wore.

He was pretty, in a masculine way, but pretty all the same.

“Pet, grab the glasses,” Lawrence said, voice resonating around the room as he gave her a slight push.

Tearing her eyes away from the man that had yet to speak, doing as she was told, she found the set of crystal tumblers set on a serving tray that also held a freshly filled ice bucket.

She carried it across the room with her eyes on the floor, setting it down and waiting for her next instruction. Lawrence passed her the bottle—bourbon, the label read—twisting the top off and pouring two fingers of the liquor as he had once instructed her to do.

Once she finished, first giving Lawrence his drink, then turning to the stranger, but this time, she couldn’t avoid his gaze.

For a moment she thought she saw recognition in the dark depths of his eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure.

It was uncomfortable, standing under his scrutiny, and if she wasn’t afraid of what would happen should she move away from him, she would have immediately tried to escape his presence.

“What’s your name?” he asked, picking up his drink, the heavy gold ring adorning his left hand making a clinking sound as it came in contact with the glass.

Give them whatever they ask for.

Those words rang in her head as she forced herself to answer his question—most didn’t ask, or care. “Luna.”

“Your entire name,” the stranger said carefully, an accent coloring the words, “if you would.”

Glancing back at Lawrence to make sure that she was meant to answer this, she spoke when he nodded. “Luna Aristoria Santiago.”

When was the last time she gave someone her name?

A corner of his mouth kicked up, but it wasn’t a true smile—there was something not so nice about it. Extending his hand, he offered, “Uilleam, but most call me the Kingmaker.”

Lawrence coughed, as though his drink had gone down the wrong pipe. Not sure what was wrong, Luna accepted the man’s hand with some trepidation, but as his fingers closed around hers, he didn’t squeeze and yank her to him, but rather just turned her hand over, his gaze dropping to her wrist and the birthmark that was there.