Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(32)

It was odd still, considering he’d never been around most of them without his mask. He could only imagine what they were thinking now that they were seeing his face for the first time. And some, the second.

But, the one that was now at his back, Niklaus didn’t recognize, and for this reason, he was on edge having someone he didn’t trust walking behind him.

Especially when he gave Niklaus a shove to move faster.

Before he could check the impulse, he spun, disarming the man with alarming speed, using the butt of the rifle to hit him in the stomach, doubling him over.

“Never touch me.”

“Oy, get in the damn truck!”

At that accented voice, Niklaus tossed the rifle down at the man, turning to face one of the few people he considered a friend.

Celt, whose real name was still unknown to Niklaus, was one of only six people that he kept in contact with, and the others were only on occasion.

Niklaus could still remember his own grueling process of learning how to speak without inflections coloring his words and carefully crafting his speech so that there was no particular dialect. So either they hadn’t broken Celt completely, or the stubborn bastard had refused to give in—Niklaus leaned towards the latter.

Born and raised in Ireland—a fact most knew—Celt had been a mercenary for a little longer than Niklaus, at least two years since Celt had been one of the six that helped train him for this new life. Since then, they had been on a few missions together, and caught up whenever they could.

It seemed Celt had been invited to this little party as well, which made Niklaus wonder if he had already known this awaited him, and considering they had seen a lot of each other over the last couple of weeks, why hadn’t he bothered to mention it was beyond him.

With a stupid grin on his face, Celt held up a black hood, the cloth hanging from fingers, the thing all too familiar to Niklaus.

“Just like old times then?” Celt asked, knowing exactly why Niklaus glared at him.

Snatching it from him, Niklaus muttered a curse, forcing the thing over his head though he hated the memories it brought with it. Memories of a time when he was helpless and unsure…

A hand—Celt’s he assumed—wrapped around his bicep, guiding him the rest of the way to the Escalade. A door was opened and he was practically shoved inside before it was closed again, two sharp raps on the window sending them on their way.

Niklaus’ senses were on high alert as the truck pulled off, waiting for the other person—who was quite obviously seated across from him since he could smell the man—to speak. His breathing was careful, and there was just enough space between them that a person with adequate training could keep themselves relatively unharmed.

He ticked off the minutes they drove in his head, cataloguing each turn as well. By the time they stopped, gravel crunching beneath the tires, they had traveled for a little less than fifteen minutes, made three right turns, and four left.

Niklaus sighed heavily, his patience wearing thin as he waited. Instead—and much to his surprise—the person across from him still didn’t speak, but opened the door and climbed out, the truck shifting with his weight, and not even a moment later, someone new replaced them.

Niklaus still wasn’t sure who the hell he was supposed to be meeting with.

Unlike the previous occupant of the seat across from him, it was a bit clearer that this one was the one in charge. “There’s no need to keep that on.”

Niklaus snatched the hood off, immediately looking to the man that had thought it necessary to keep him blind and essentially kidnap him for the duration of the ride. More importantly, he needed to figure out who the hell this person was. Since his first contract, Niklaus had only ever worked with Z, and he wasn’t looking to change that.

If whoever this man was, was new to their trade—Celt seemed to know him if he’d gone along with this—it meant one of two things. Either Niklaus was getting bid off—his current contract was sold to whoever this guy was—or they were all under new management.

Neither idea particularly appealed to him.

They were parked beneath a bypass, the interior lights along with the headlights both turned off, but Niklaus could still make out other figures looming outside the vehicle, as well as other car parked a few feet away. He didn’t immediately recognize the area they were in, but he would be able to find his way should this go bad.

“Niklaus.”

Only his twin brother, called him by that name anymore. He hated the sound of it, and no matter who this guy thought he was, Niklaus refused to respond to it. “Klaus.”

The man across from him wore a blank expression, not even a little amusement, and even after Niklaus’ correction, it didn’t change. “I thought it was time we had a little chat.”

He had a marked accent, a combination of Irish and Welsh if Niklaus wasn’t mistaken. He’d spent time in both regions—and around Celt—to pick up on the various dialects.

“Who are you?”

“Your new handler,” he said evenly, his head canting to the side as though he were the one studying Niklaus instead of the other way around.

This guy, whoever he was, was f*cking off, and if there was one thing that Niklaus didn’t need, it was someone he couldn’t read delving into his business.

Scratching his jaw, doing his best to hide his wariness, Niklaus asked, “And my last one?”