Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(35)

After all, this was the last time he would ever see the man.

Making a split decision, Niklaus reached up with a gloved hand, shoving his mask off his face to the top of his head. While the man might not have vocalized a response to seeing Niklaus’ face, his eyes gave him away.

He sat back with a slight smile, seeming pleased with the mercenary standing across from him. “Hello, Niklaus.”

“You didn’t mistake me for Mishca? I’m touched.” It wasn’t like the two simply resembled each other, they were twins. And since he had done the Russian a favor not too long ago that involved him acting the part of club owner, Niklaus had grown out his hair and beard to the point that it was nearly impossible to tell them apart.

“I believe I would know the son I raised.”

If that was supposed to be a jab at Niklaus, Mikhail would have to do better than that. Mikhail was no more Niklaus’ father than the Russian was his brother. He had gone twenty-one years without knowing either of them existed, and though he had developed a relationship of sorts with the Russian over the last three, nothing had really changed for him. Not really. He was still as bitter as he had always been.

When Mikhail’s eyes skirted to the door, Niklaus merely shook his head, helping himself to one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“All of them?” Mikhail asked, surprise clear in his tone.

“I needed your full attention and interruptions only piss me off.”

That wasn’t necessarily true. He could have left them incapacitated, but it only took one waking up before he was meant to cut this meeting short.

“I should have guessed it would be you,” Mikhail said after he focused his attention back on Niklaus. “Despite my son’s hatred for me, he would never pull the trigger himself. Tell me, how much is he paying you for this?”

“He’s not.”

“Does he know you are here?”

Niklaus shrugged. Whether he did or didn’t, it no longer mattered. Ignoring his question, he instead said, “This isn’t personal.”

“No? Then tell me, who wishes me dead?”

“Came for a name,” he said in lieu of an answer.

“And you believe I’m willing to hand this over?”

Russians were notorious for their codes of silence, but Niklaus doubted Mikhail was going to make this difficult for him. As he had implied, Mishca might not have been willing to pull the trigger, but Niklaus would.

Tapping his gun against the desk, Niklaus asked, “What choice do you have?”

“What name are you looking for?”

“A year and a half ago, you brokered a deal that moved two containers worth of guns and explosives. I need to know who you brokered that deal for.”

Mikhail frowned, his bushy eyebrows bunching together. “This is what you threaten me for?”

Once again, Niklaus shrugged.

He hadn’t understood the need for all of this either. The Kingmaker, as he had officially been dubbed, had seemed pretty resourceful. It wouldn’t surprise Niklaus if he had walked in here on his own and demanded the information. Why send Niklaus to do it?

“The McCarthy family.”

“And…”

“I cannot say who paid for the merchandise. I had product, the McCarthys had a buyer that is all I know. Perhaps you should tell the man that holds your leash if he wants to find the man he seeks, to get the name from them.”

“You made a deal and didn’t know your buyer?” Niklaus asked, forgetting about his assignment for the moment. “Seems kind of reckless…even for you.”

“And yet I have managed to remove myself from whomever it was that sent you to me. Had I known the name, I’m curious to know what would have become of me?”

“You’re running out of time, Red,” Winter said in his ear.

It was fine. He had the information he needed…but in case he was lying… “Open the safe.”

“What safe?”

Mikhail couldn’t sound any more like he was lying than just then. “The safe where you keep your accounting records. Open it.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

Niklaus didn’t give him a chance to finish that statement. He shot him in the shoulder. “I won’t ask again.”

“Suka!”

Niklaus smiled. “No, I haven’t been someone’s bitch in a long time. So either open her up, or I’ll put another bullet in you and watch the dust come out.”

Shuffling over to a painting on the wall, one hand to his bleeding wound, Mikhail moved it to the side stumbling through putting in the code and finally getting it open. He grabbed the heavy looking book that was inside, tossing it at Niklaus’ feet.

“There. Now get the f*ck out of my home.”

That had been the plan. But now that he was staring at the man he hadn’t seen since he was surveying the Russian, a different kind of emotion swam through him. One that he had grown all too familiar with.

Like his arm was not his own, he raised his gun, seeing the dawning realization in Mikhail’s eyes.

“Seven years ago, Jetmir Besnik and his crew snatched me and someone I cared about off the street because they thought I was one of you. Sarah? She was just collateral damage. But me? They wanted to make me bleed, and for three days, they did. On that third day, Jetmir set Sarah on fire…but I’m sure you already know this considering you struck a deal with the lot of them.”