Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(10)

Trying to think of a quick plan, he shuffled through ideas, but was spared when an exclamation sounded from the kitchen, sending the guard in that direction. Grateful for the distraction, he quickly fled the apartment, foregoing the elevator for the stairs, taking them as quickly as he could.

Only a short while later he was outside breathing in the stench of exhaust and cold air, but after his time with those men in the building, Niklaus breathed it in deeply.

He ran as fast as his feet would carry him, glad that he could move more easily. Curious gazes shot in his direction, but no one offered to help him, nor did anyone give him a second glance. It was almost like he was invisible despite his appearance.

The adrenaline of his escape was wearing off, leaving him depleted and before long. He didn’t think he could go any further. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so weak, and despite having ate only hours earlier, he felt lightheaded.

Turning down an alley, he dropped to the ground next to a dumpster, trying to catch his breath as a feeling of helplessness rose inside of him once more. Squeezing his eyes shut and balling his fists, he forced himself to swallow it all back down.

He survived, that was what mattered.

No matter what else, he had survived.

But at what cost…

Niklaus jerked his head up when he heard the clang of a bottle being kicked on the ground, fear seizing him as he thought they had already found him. With one eye still nearly swollen shut, it was hard to make out the man that was moving towards him. Even with that hindrance, the man seemed to stick to the shadows despite the looming sun, and only when he stepped into a small patch of sunlight could Niklaus even make out the silvery strands of his hair.

He was dressed in a black turtleneck, same colored trousers, and expensive looking leather shoes. Even with the scar that sat just above his top lip, he didn’t look to be any older than his early fifties.

“I’m not going back,” Niklaus uttered finding his voice, scanning the ground for a weapon of some sort. If they were going to try and take him, he would fight.

“That’s not my offer.”

While he might have spoken softly, he had a strong voice, one that made Niklaus pause in his movements, trying to see the man better. Another thing that made him stop was his lack of an accent.

“Who are you? Do you work for those Russians? Are you here to kill me?”

“Who I am is unimportant. I’ve come to offer you a gift.”

This was all some kind of f*cking bad dream. Tomorrow, he would wake up with a hell of a hangover, in his hotel room with Sarah asleep beside him. There would be no Russians, no other crazy foreigners, and definitely not a mysterious man making him an offer in an alley.

“What kind of gift?”

“Vengeance against the Albanians that brought you to this point.”

Russians and Albanians? This was too much. Niklaus laughed bitterly, gesturing at himself. “I don’t think I can do anything. I couldn’t even help my…” He trailed off, refusing to finish that statement.

“But you will,” he went on. “Once you learn the trade of dead men.”

That didn’t even make sense. “What are you talking about? And what do you get out of this?”

“There’s only one way you can find out.”

Niklaus noticed then, the idling truck at the curb, black with tinted windows. Had they been following him the entire time?

“How do I know the Russian didn’t send you?”

The man with the white hair merely shrugged. “You don’t, but you can’t expect to hide from them forever, can you? They will find you, whether the Besniks or the Volkovs. Eventually, they will catch up to you. You know the police will be of no help, do you not? No matter how you spin the tale, the blame of your lover’s death will rest upon you by the time they finish with you. Is that what you want?”

He wanted to believe his story would be enough, that his own wounds would be enough, but the man’s words had him doubting himself.

He hesitated. He could walk away. He doubted the man would stop him if he tried, but like he said, he would only get so far before they found him again.

And after all he had suffered at their hands, did he not want revenge?

“What would I have to do?” Niklaus asked, meeting the man’s gaze.

Slowly, the man smiled as though that was the answer he had been waiting for.





Chapter Seven





Cold.

That was the only thing Niklaus registered for the next few hours. Like before, time was an odd thing as he was moved from one vehicle to another, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a plane as well.

As they passed through the rolling gates, the bag was removed from Niklaus’ head, and as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming in through the back windows, he wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of the hood was. Besides the concrete building looming ahead, there was nothing left to see. There were trees, lots of them, and besides the guards with vicious looking dogs, the place looked rather abandoned.

By the time he was back on the ground, nearly half a day had passed unbeknownst to him. A single car ride later, he was being transported into an armored compound that resembled a prison more than a training facility. It definitely didn’t look like a place that he would want to enter after his captivity. And it definitely didn’t look like a place that the man who had found him would frequent.