Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(46)

As she clicked on it, opening up a new screen, she sent a text that made a chill run down her spine.

I saw Niklaus last night…

More than anyone else, she would know exactly who she was talking about. Shan had been the only person around that Reagan let know how hurt she had been when Niklaus disappeared out of her life as quickly as he had entered it.

Her phone chimed with another alert, but before she could read it, the front door opened, Jimmy stepping in. He looked annoyed—one of his usual expressions when he was asked to come for brunch—but when he glanced over at her, he did smile.

Jimmy came straight over, pulling her into a fast hug before kissing both her cheeks. “How was last night?”

He had wanted to stay behind and close with her, but after she insisted she could handle it, he had taken off. Now that Niklaus had popped up, she was glad she had sent him away.

She was more glad that Liam’s guy, Bobby, had already left for the night. She didn’t want to think about what Bobby would have done if he had seen Niklaus—especially with the reaction she’d had to him—not to mention when he told Liam.

Rourke might have been the scarier of the two, but Liam could hold his own. Reagan had witnessed that firsthand.

“Is that my boy?”

Isabelle called from the kitchen, sounding a touch more excited than when Reagan had come in, but she didn’t mind this. Reagan was the ‘good child’ as her father liked to put it during one of his rare bouts of sobriety. She came around to see her parents often and did, mostly, whatever they wanted—in his eyes, that constituted as good.

Jimmy, on the other hand, only showed up because their mother begged. Otherwise, if it was just their father at home, he refused to step foot inside.

Speaking of…

A crash sounded from the back of the apartment, and Reagan was immediately filled with unease as she waited for Conor to come stumbling out.

He did come, but at least he wasn’t stumbling, swaying more like it. Since the last time she had seen it, he’d grown out more of his wiry beard, his hair greasy and unkempt. The shirt he wore was stained, and the jeans looked faded—but at least he wore pants this time so she couldn’t complain.

She could smell the whiskey on him from well across the room. Glancing up at the clock, she shook her head. It wasn’t even noon yet.

But she didn’t voice this, merely pasted on a smile as she moved to greet him, wrapping her arms around him. Once, he had looked fit, made it a point to look his best, but after he’d lost his way, he’d gained a beer belly, and looked sallow.

“Reagan,” he said, only slightly slurring her name. “How’s my wee girl?”

Despite the years spent in America, he still retained his accent, refusing to let it go. It was his pride and joy, he’d always said.

He pulled away after a moment, giving her a smile as he headed into the kitchen, her following.

Jimmy was smiling at their mother, no trace of unease on his face at least until Conor walked in. It was like a switch had been hit, and his expression went blank.

For one tense moment, they made eye contact, holding it. Reagan knew what would come next. Her father would say something rude, Jimmy would respond in kind, they would argue until the shouting was enough to bring the neighbors around, and finally, Jimmy would be out the door with Reagan trying to mend the damage.

But for whatever reason, this morning, her father merely made a noise of discontent before shuffling over to the table and taking his seat.

Reagan blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

Maybe, just maybe, this breakfast wouldn’t be a disaster.



* * *



“Holy shit.”

It was five hours after Sunday brunch and Reagan was back at the pub, filling orders as men crowded the tables, some watching American football, others watching various soccer matches. She’d had a chilled glass in her hand, filling it with Bud Light when she heard Shannon’s soft exclamation.

First she looked to her, then to where her gaze was trained, immediately regretting the decision when she caught sight of Niklaus.

Even in a pub full of rowdy men, he looked out of place. There was just something that was too…calm about the way he acted. Most people displayed some kind of emotion when they went places—tired from a long day at work, fear of being in a new place, surprise at the sheer amount of people or noise—but Niklaus? It was like nothing bothered him.

Even though the temperature was in the high fifties, one wouldn’t know that by looking at him. A black shirt stretched across his chest, black jeans that fit him far too well and tucked into scuffed black boots. He briefly glanced around the space until his eyes landed on her, and just like when she’d seen him last night, there was a flare of something dark in his eyes.

She remembered that look and all that it promised.

“What’s he doing here?” Shannon went on to ask, but she had more than curiosity in her tone. “I guess I know for what, but I wonder why?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

When she didn’t respond, Reagan glanced over at Shannon who looked confused for a moment before she asked, “Why don’t you look surprised that he’d be here?”

“What? Of course I’m surprised, he—”

“You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”