Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(15)

No one ever did.

Artem stepped outside, tugging at the bottom of his suit jacket as though that may help it move further down over his girth. He was smiling, gesturing wildly as his truck was pulling up.

Niklaus didn’t get anxious, just waited until Artem was lined up exactly where he needed him, the target now on his forehead.

One breath in…

Artem waved to someone…

Niklaus exhaled.

He pulled the trigger.

The rifle recoiled as the bullet shot through the chamber and out of the barrel, moving with lightning speed across the distance to land in the center of Artem’s forehead.

Pandemonium erupted as Artem’s security whipped out their guns, searching for an enemy they couldn’t see, civilians screaming as they ran for cover.

Niklaus didn’t stick around to admire his work. Disassembling his rifle in seconds—a talent he had learned from one of the best—he dropped the pieces into the bag and took off, leaving nothing behind, not even the shell casing.

Forty-five seconds from rooftop to alley…

Blood rushing in his ears, Niklaus ignored the cries of alarm, focusing more on the men barking orders in Albanian, on the hunt for him.

He’d almost cleared the alley when two of the Albanians finally caught sight of him. Niklaus kept moving, pretending like he hadn’t heard them call out. Adrenaline and rage coursed through him, a combination that didn’t prove well for the two confronting him.

This organization had taken so much from him…

He was no longer afraid.

Reaching for the gun holstered at his back, he had his finger on the trigger before the two comprehended that he was the one they wanted. He put two bullets in each of their chests before either could reach for their weapons.

Two blocks down, his car was waiting, the keys already in the ignition. It hardly looked like it ran so there hadn’t been any worry someone would try to steal it while he was on the roof.

Tossing his duffel into the backseat, he started the car, the engine roaring to life. He didn’t pull off right away, letting the comfort of his car calm him a moment before he finally put the car in drive and eased out, following the flow of traffic.

One hand on the wheel, he used the other to brush the damp strands of his hair back out of his face.

Glancing over at the digital display that lit up the dash, Niklaus still didn’t let himself enjoy the satisfaction of another job well done.

Not yet.



* * *



A bell chimed as Niklaus entered the diner in Hell’s Kitchen, a few curious eyes shifted in his direction before turning back to their own menus. Pushing back the wet hood of his jacket, he shrugged out of it as he headed for an empty booth in the back, one that was near the windows and still proved a decent vantage point to see the rest of the place. Thankfully, the weather had turned to shit after he’d finished with Artem. He was a good shot, but rain would have made the job a lot harder than it needed to be.

When he had left his motel room earlier, needing a minute away from the place, and had found the diner not very far away, the light drizzle had turned to heavy rains, nearly soaking him through, but he didn’t mind it. He found comfort in it.

Reaching his booth, he tossed his jacket on the vacant side, taking his own seat as he picked up the laminate menu that looked like it had been printed in the late seventies, scanning his options. He wasn’t much of a picky eater. There was something about greasy food and tacky decor that had drawn him to this place.

It reminded him of home.

He had only begun to read the other side of the menu listing every kind of sandwich they offered when he noticed someone moving towards him out the corner of his eye.

While he didn’t sense a threat, he tensed up anyway, swinging his gaze in that direction.

Even though he knew plenty of women that were just as capable as he was—Calavera for one—this one didn’t look like she could hurt anyone.

She wore a pale yellow uniform with a red apron tied around a tiny waist, and while the clothes weren’t the most flattering, they did nothing to take away from her overall appeal. She was pale with an abundance of freckles on her face, a button nose, and light auburn hair that looked like it was trying to fight its way free of the bun she had it in. No jewelry adorned her skin, and she didn’t look to be wearing any makeup, but that didn’t mean Niklaus didn’t find her attractive.

She was definitely that.

However, she did look tired. Bags under her eyes, her steps carefully measure as though she had been on her feet all day. When she reached his side, still keeping a safe distance between them, she smiled, revealing straight, white teeth.

“Hi, I’m Reagan. I’ll be your server. What can I start you off with tonight?”

“Coffee.”

She nodded, not bothering to write that down. “Do you need a few more minutes with the menu, or are you ready to order?”

Stretching an arm out in front of him, he tapped his thumb against the linoleum, keeping in time with his heartbeat—a calming tactic that he had quickly learned if he wanted to survive the madness that threatened to take him under after a kill. Her gaze flickered down to the movement, and then she turned those wide eyes back on him and blinked, almost like she was truly seeing him for the first time.

Tilting his head a fraction, he asked, “How’s the steak?”