Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(68)

She felt compelled to ask, “Why not?”

“Meh, I tortured him for a few days. Grisly business, mind, but we worked it out.”

“For f*ck’s sake, Luka. Cut it out.”

Reagan wanted to believe that he was joking, however morbid the joke, but neither of them laughed, and though the blond was smiling, it didn’t look particularly humorous.

She remembered the scars on Niklaus’ back just then, the jagged lines that she knew caused him a phantom pain even now, no matter how long ago those wounds had been made.

This was the man that put them there?

She would think that after everything he had told her, the retribution he had delivered after what had been done to him that this man would be at the top of his hit list.

Yet, there he stood—almost arrogant in his way of telling her what he had done.

Reagan didn’t think before she struck, the palm of her hand cracking across his cheek. He had to have seen the hit coming, but he hadn’t moved, nor did he try to stop her from hitting him.

He just stood there, like this was the reaction he wanted from her.

There was a handprint now on the side of his clean shaven face, but he paid it no mind as he looked to Niklaus. “I like her.”

Niklaus expression was unreadable as he regarded Luka, but whatever silent message he was trying to send, the man was ignoring it.

“Ignore him,” Niklaus said, tearing his eyes away. “The woman who holds his leash is in Paris at the moment—she’s the only one that keeps him sane.”

A burst of laughter escaped Luka as he rubbed at the handprint on his face, and for the first time, Reagan noticed the black band that encircled his finger.

“I don’t think sane is the right word,” Luka interjected.

“Where’s the Russian?”

Reagan didn’t doubt that Niklaus was referring to the man he’d been on the phone with not too long ago, but she did wonder why he didn’t use a name.

Luka glanced down at his watch. “Should have been here by now. He’s never late.”

No sooner had that statement left his mouth before his gaze shot up, aimed in the direction of a car that was pulling into the alley. Reagan was expecting a smile from him, or at least some indication that he knew who was coming, but there was only a second, one where his face twitched with confusion, before he was reaching behind him.

It was just a second…just one before the loud crack of a bullet split the air.

The doors to the car were swung open as multiple men—at least three that Reagan could see before she was shoved to the ground by Niklaus—came stumbling out, guns trained on them as they fired with abandon.

“Stay down!”

She didn’t have to be told twice, clamping her hands over her ears to drown out the gunshots.

Niklaus was on his feet, a gun in each gloved hand as he fired back. Though terror had seized hold of her, she looked back, trying to see whether the men were still there, and they were, but one was on the ground, a bullet in his head, his eyes open and unseeing.

Reagan doubted she would ever get that image out of her head.

A tire on Luka’s truck exploded, flattening instantly as a bullet plugged into it. Reagan, without thinking, scrambled away, but in her haste, Niklaus’ attention had shifted to her for a split second.

Then, his body jerked to the side as he gave a grunt, the gun dropping to the ground.

Shit. He was shot!

He dropped to a knee, but didn’t go down completely. Lifting his good arm, he fired another round, the muscles in his arm straining against the recoil.

And with that last shot, silence echoed.

Reagan stumbled forward, reaching to help Niklaus as he struggled to his feet, but out the corner of her eye, she caught Luka dashing forward, running for the car that was backing out of the alley.

He ran like a man without fear, or maybe like a man that wasn’t rational. “I got him, coach!” Luka shouted out a second before he fired at the car’s tires, preventing the man from going any further.

He jumped onto the hood of the car sliding across before dropping down on the other side as he yanked the driver’s side door open, pulling the lone man from inside and dragging him to the mouth of the alley.

He was a grown man, one that Reagan recognized as one that hung around Liam and Rourke, but with the way Luka handled him, it was like he was handling a child.

Stowing his gun away, Luka pulled out something else, something metal and tapered to a point. It glinted in the soft light of the waning twilight, but before Reagan could see what Luka would do next, Niklaus turned her face away, forcing her attention on him.

Judging from the cry of pain that split the air, Reagan was sure she didn’t want to see what was happening anyway.

“How bad is it?” she asked, reaching for the part of his shirt that was torn and saturated with blood. From what she could tell, it was still bleeding.

“It’s a flesh wound,” he said easily, too easily, making her think that he wasn’t being completely honest. “Luka! Stop playing with your prey. We need to go.”

“Aww, but—”

“Now, you little shit!”

Reagan couldn’t begin to understand the relationship between Niklaus and Luka. She would have thought Niklaus hated him, just because of what had been done to him, but beneath the insults that he seemed to keep throwing in Luka’s direction, they seemed more like friends—good friends—than enemies.