Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(64)

While the other men in the room took a step back—except Declan, who only managed to look mildly surprised by the demonstration—that wasn’t he had come here for.

“I’m not in the habit of doing favors for those undeserving,” Declan added after a moment.

“Then do it for Reagan.”

There was a moment of suspended silence as Declan stared at him, and finally, Niklaus was seeing an emotion in his that wasn’t indifference or anger.

Or at least not complete anger.

“That a threat, Russian? Because know that should any harm come to her, I’m going to be the least of your problems.”

Niklaus didn’t bother to even consider what he meant by that. “I can help get her out of it entirely if you stop being a problem for me.”

Declan was quiet for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Alright, I’ll grant you a boon—I owe her brother a debt after all. You have seven days before I start making noise.”

That wasn’t much, but it was what he needed. Trying to keep his business with the McCarthys and Reagan separate was hard enough, only made worse when the two constantly intertwined. He didn’t need Declan Flanagan to become an added issue.

“Noted.” Before Niklaus turned to leave, he asked, “Where’s Jimmy?”

“Jimmy who?” Declan asked in return, though it was quite clear from his expression that he knew exactly who Niklaus was asking about.

“She wants to talk to him. Set it up before I go after him. I can guarantee that whatever the f*ck you have him doing won’t be easy if I’m there to drag his ass back here.”

It was the only warning he would give.





Chapter Twenty-Five





When Niklaus said he was going to send somebody, she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but when the burly-toned Irishman came strolling into her pub making himself at home on one of the barstools, she knew it hadn’t been him.

“So you’re Reagan, then?” he asked giving her a once over, resting his elbows on the bar top, leaning forward.

“And you are?” she asked in return. While she knew Niklaus had somebody coming to drop in on her, he hadn’t bothered to mention a name.

And what were the odds that the someone he was sending was also Irish?

“Celt is what they call me. Red mentioned you were a looker, I shouldn’t have doubted him.”

Reagan wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so instead she thought to ask him questions. “How long have you known Nik—Red?”

“Long enough to know everything and nothing about him.”

“Seriously?” she asked as she sat a pint of Guinness in front of him. “Do the two of you always have to speak in code?”

“Rules of the trade, doll.”

She could believe that. Even she had to recall the way Niklaus had often told her so much about himself, and yet she still felt like she hadn’t known him at all.

And though things had changed, and she felt like she was seeing more of him than he had ever revealed before, Reagan still felt like he was holding something back from her.

“He fancies you, ya know,” Celt said after taking a long drink of his Guinness, setting the glass down in front of him. “Didn’t think when I first met him that he would ever recover from whatever the feck brought him into my path, but here we are.”

“How so?”

“Because you, unlike so many, know his name. And the wee fact that he brought me to you. Had he not given a shite about you, you would have never known I existed.”

She didn’t doubt that. With just one look at him, Reagan had to remind herself that he was on Niklaus’ side, that he was there to protect her and not to harm her.

Unlike Niklaus, Celt sported a full beard, had cool green eyes bracketed by laugh lines, and had an undercut, the longish strands down the middle pulled into a small man bun. He didn’t look like he moved within the shadows, but rather right in front of someone, with little care as to who witnessed it.

But while Reagan contemplated the differences between the pair—and the similarities in their personalities—she also thought of how she was going to manage getting over to Jimmy’s place to have a look around.

She knew for a fact that Niklaus wouldn’t have wanted her to go—and probably for good reason—but she couldn’t wait any longer, needed to find something on where Jimmy was. It would probably be easier to do once she had the pub closed up, then she could head across town, have a look around, and be back before Niklaus came around.

But what about Celt?

She didn’t doubt for a second that Niklaus had probably told him to stay with her until he came back from whatever he had needed to do earlier.

So how exactly was she going to give him the slip?

Reagan had plenty of time to think about it as the hours went on, and though he had to be bored to death, Celt remain diligent on that bar stool, leaving only in brief respite to head to the restrooms in the back. By the time they made it to ‘last call,’ and the last few patrons were heading out the front doors, Reagan had finally made a decision.

Once they were outside, and he was walking her to her place, she had already spied the motorcycle he had left parked back in front of the pub.

“Are you staying until he gets back?” she asked when they were in front of her door. Fitting the key into the lock, she twisted, then pushed it open, but before she could go in, Celt swept past her.