Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(31)

But Niklaus rarely made mistakes…and he wasn’t about to start now.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the black, metallic zippo lighter that was familiar to them both, one he had found on Jetmir as they drove him here. Niklaus could just see his reflection in it, including the dead look in his eyes.

He remembered that expression, it was the same kind that Valon had stared down at him with right before the torture.

Torture didn’t always break a man, it molded him.

Maybe tomorrow he would let that worry him.

“Two,” Niklaus went on as though Jetmir hadn’t spoken. “Your organization consists of dozens of ruthless, arrogant men who are only loyal to the highest bidder. Want to know how I know this?”

Reaching up, Niklaus moved his hair to the side, showing Jetmir the tattooed lines starting just behind his ear, descending down onto his neck in parallel lines.

“Each line represents a single person who had been there the night you had them snatch me off the street—the ones you ordered to torture me for days.”

Currently, there were nine lines inked into his skin, and Jetmir would make ten.

The last line…

“It was just business,” Jetmir said, though he didn’t bother to apologize for his actions. He was a proud man, this Niklaus knew, and despite having wronged so many people in his short life, he wouldn’t be apologizing for any of it.

Niklaus understood.

Smiling, Niklaus slowly flipped the top open, the flame crackling to life.

As though he’d been speaking it his entire life, Niklaus met Jetmir’s wary gaze as he said in perfect Russian, “Oko za oko—An eye for an eye.”

Tossing the lighter, now it was Niklaus’ turn to watch its rapid descent to the ground, never taking his eyes from both it and Jetmir as it finally clattered, the flame igniting instantly and racing toward Jetmir with a vengeance.

In seconds, the flames engulfed him, his screams echoed, but there would be no one around to hear him die.

No one except Niklaus.

There was something mesmerizing about watching his skin charring, the acrid scent that used to always make him nauseous coating the air, and the way his muscles seized in unimaginable agony.

And yet, despite the fact that Niklaus watched this with unwavering dedication, he had never considered that he might have lost a piece of himself long before he had ever made it out of that building years ago.



* * *



Standing high above the water, Niklaus dropped the last of the bags over the bridge, wiping his gloved hands on the front of his jeans, watching as the black bags bobbed on the surface of the water before disappearing beneath. When he was younger, he had heard many stories about revenge, though in those cases, it dealt with something far less meaningful, like losing a fight or being embarrassed by someone, but the moral of those were that revenge was never the answer. Something along the lines of digging two graves when on the path of it…unlike those people whose joy was short lived, Niklaus couldn’t agree that revenge was a bad thing.

After spending the better part of the last five years seeking vengeance against the men that had forced him down this path to begin with, the journey was almost over. The head of those he felt were responsible was now sinking into the murky depths of the water below, he felt considerably lighter, like the weight of his responsibilities had finally lifted.

Nothing could compare to how he felt in that moment.

As a mercenary, it was very rare for anyone to carry something amongst them that could be used to identify them, but Niklaus was rather good at what he did and didn’t have such fears. Reaching for the delicate length of chain that hung around his neck, he pulled it free from its hiding place beneath his shirt, kissing the locket that hung from the end of it.

It was over, finally…for the both of them.

Turning away, he lifted his hood, concealing his face once more, but he was in no rush to leave. On this bridge, in the dead of night, he was alone…at least that was what he had thought until he faced the street.

Twin headlights flared to life in the distance suddenly, blinding him. Even though he had assumed he had assumed he would be alone, Niklaus hadn’t come unprepared.

One gun at his back and knives strapped to his arms, he was as ready as he could ever be, and if whoever lurked in that car worked with the now dead Albanian mobster that was sinking to the bottom of that body of water, they wouldn’t be walking away either.

However, before he could reach for any weapon, he heard the unmistakable click of multiple assault rifles. In part, that rid him of his unease. The Albanians might have been ruthless, but they were not nearly as well trained as this lot were.

Only mercenaries, especially those that belonged to the Den, could arm themselves simultaneously when he had only thought to reach for his own weapon.

Of course, the notion of them being there at all did bother him, especially considering this last job with the Albanians had been on his own time. He knew for a fact that his handler, Z, was not the one in the Escalade, because this wasn’t the way he operated. Whenever Niklaus was needed for a job, he received an encrypted text message with coordinates to a safe house where they would be meeting, and only then was he given his actual assignment.

Whoever was waiting for him…Niklaus didn’t know.

Sighing with a roll of his eyes, Niklaus held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, shuffling along as two came out of the darkness that shielded them, urging him towards the black Escalade that was now idling some distance away. Once Niklaus got a good look at them though, he dropped his hands. A few of them he recognized from his training days, others he’d seen in passing.