Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(67)

One was Declan, of that he was sure. He had seen the lad around enough, even before he had thought to make trouble for them, but it was the other man that made him pause to look closer.

He had seen his face before, that night at Reagan’s pub. He had been sitting at the bar with a drink in his hand, his attention on Reagan as though it had any right to be. If Liam remembered correctly, he had even mouthed off, thinking to get in between Liam and Reagan.

And now that he thought back on it, on the way Reagan had rushed around and stepped between them, he wondered for whose sake she had done it. Was she more concerned with keeping her business secure, or had she been trying to protect him?

Pointing to the one he didn’t know, Liam asked, “Who is he?”

“Mishca Volkov, boss of the Volkov Bratva. Word is the Bratva and Declan have never seen eye-to-eye, but maybe Declan made a deal for their help to move against us.”

Liam considered the information.

It wasn’t a bad move on Declan’s part, smart even. He would have done the same thing if his family were in a similar circumstance.

“What do you want to do about him?”

Had this Mishca Volkov been waiting for Reagan’s brother? Possibly to have a message sent off. It would make sense, even explain how Declan had been able to make so many moves against them when he was supposed to be in hiding—he had the Russian doing it.

“Donovan has an important meeting in three days. Three days. Find them,” Liam said, shoving the phone back at Bobby. “And bury them. We don’t need more complications.”

And once this problem was solved, he would make sure he thoroughly explained to Reagan why not to cross him.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





“Russian.”

There was a certain ire to Niklaus’ tone as he answered the call, shifting his hands on the wheel as he put the phone to his ear. He didn’t sound particularly excited whenever his phone rang, but whoever was on the other end this time, it was clear that Niklaus felt a way about them.

“Despite what you think, I do have a life outside of your f*cking Bratva.”

Bratva. She had heard that word before, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember where she had heard it, or even what it meant.

“I’ll pencil you in tomorrow,” Niklaus said with a roll of his eyes, even if the person on the other line couldn’t see him. “Fine. Stop your f*cking bitching, I’ll see you within the hour.”

Hanging up, Niklaus tossed his phone on the seat, then turned on his blinker before merging into the turning lane.

“I need to make a stop first,” he explained, as he made a U-turn, heading back the way he came.

“With a Russian…” Reagan hedged, hoping he would offer up more.

“Mishca is his name, my brother.”

There was definitely bad blood there from the way Niklaus spoke about him in that detached manner of his. And she could only remember once when Niklaus had brought up his family.

“I didn’t know he lived here.”

A tick worked in his jaw, but he didn’t sound bothered as he answered. “We grew up separately.”

She frowned, feeling a pang in her chest. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t imagine not growing up with her brothers.

“Don’t be,” Niklaus said with a wave of his hand. “He’s a dick.”

Reagan didn’t get a chance to comment on that fact before Niklaus was mumbling to himself.

“An obnoxious little shit with a hero complex.”

“A hero complex?”

“You have no f*cking idea.”

She really didn’t, but the way he spoke about him, with such disdain and annoyance, she was almost afraid to ask him what problem he had with his sibling.

It wasn’t long after that they were turning into a side alley adjacent to a number of storage units. Already parked a ways down was a jeep spattered with mud and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years.

Leaning against it was a man with curling blond hair, a rigid jaw, with almost every inch of his skin covered in colorful tattoos.

Intense.

That was the only way Reagan could think to describe the man standing not too far away, most of his impressive height slouched over as he leaned against that muddy truck that looked like it had been used in Desert Storm. He hadn’t spoken yet, nor had he threatened them in any way, only turned predatory eyes in their direction, but it was enough to make a sliver of fear run down her spine.

The only thing he did was smile. But there was something about that expression that made her think if she caught him in a dark alley one night, he would still be wearing that same smile while slicing her throat.

His gaze never left hers as he said, “You must be Reagan.” He lifted a tattooed hand to push the longish, blond strands back out of his face.

She had thought Niklaus was someone to fear after she had witnessed what he was capable of, even Liam and Rourke, but this one? He was something else entirely.

“I am,” she finally responded after glancing at Niklaus. “Sorry. I don’t think Niklaus mentioned you.”

His smile only grew as he glanced at the man standing next to her. “Probably not. Our bromance has only gotten stronger over the last year and a half. He didn’t like me much before.”