Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(69)

“Fine,” Luka said as he came back over, swiping his hands along the front of his shirt, uncaring the he was leaving bloody finger marks behind. “That looks bad.”

Luka accentuated the remark by poking Niklaus’ wound, jumping back when Niklaus moved to grab him.

“There’s no need to get feral, Red. Give me your keys.”

“Not on your f*cking life.”

Luka, whose expression had changed to one of sarcastic patience, gestured to his own truck. “Can’t drive mine—it’s shot to shit at the moment. If we’re going to get out of here, you have to let me drive.”

It was beyond clear that Niklaus couldn’t want anything less, but ultimately, he tossed him the keys. “You chip my paint, I’m shipping your ass back to Albania.”

Luka shot him a middle finger, but didn’t respond as he climbed in the driver’s seat, waiting for them to climb in after him before he reversed out of the garage, then down the alley. He had his phone out and was dialing a number before they were ten feet away.

“Sorry, your day off is cut a little short. I had a little accident that I need you to clean up.” Luka rattled off an address to whoever he was on the phone with, then said, “I’d clean it up myself but someone’s bleeding out next to me and that’s a little more important. Oh, and there’s one I left alive, take him to the wet rooms.”

Reagan didn’t know what the wet rooms were, but she was sure she didn’t want to find out either.

Niklaus made a sound from the front seat, a mix between a groan and a grunt, as he rolled the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing the torn and bleeding flesh of his arm. The sight of it only made the nausea churning in her stomach grow worse.

“Shit, I think she’s going to be sick,” Luka muttered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “And it’s hard cleaning vomit out of things. Trust me, I would know.”

Ignoring him, Niklaus looked to Reagan, trying to shift his expression into something other than pain.

“You need a hospital,” Reagan said, too afraid to touch him, even in comfort, in case that only hurt him worse.

“Not at all,” Luka chimed in. “Lauren can get him stitched up in no time.”

Who was Lauren?

But Reagan didn’t get a chance to ask before they were pulling into a parking structure in the middle of Manhattan, the building it was connected to far nicer than Reagan’s own place. This was the kind of place she’d dreamed of living in—a definite improvement than the closet she was currently living in.

But she knew even in Manhattan, the places were tiny, but at least they were nicer.

Reagan was worried, wondering how they would just walk through the front doors of a building like this. Niklaus was bleeding, and Luka…well, he looked like the reason for the blood, but instead of going through the front, they circled the building and took the elevator up to the top floor, to a penthouse apartment that had Reagan more curious as to whom they were there to see.

“Should I even ask what you’re doing here, Lu—”

But the girl who was rounding the corner, who looked around the same age as Reagan, stopped when she caught sight of the three of them. Then, with uncanny precision, her gaze locked on Niklaus’ wound, a flash of fear in her gaze before she reached for him.

“Let me see.”

“I’ve been shot before, you know.”

“I’m sure.”

“Lauren, really. Don’t—”

The girl—Lauren—didn’t seem to care what Niklaus was saying, not with the way she just grabbed hold of his good arm and matched him into the living room, shoving, albeit gently, him onto a bar stool and told him to stay there.

“Where the hell is Mish? I thought he was supposed to be meeting you.” Lauren called out, having disappeared into a guest bathroom, walking back out with a small first-aid kit.

“Yeah, this happened before he got there,” Luka answered. “Where’s the little one?”

“In his room—but don’t wake him, Luka. I know you. I’m trying to keep him on his schedule, but if you keep disrupting it whenever you come around, that’s only going to make it worse on both of us.”

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.”

But from the way Lauren rolled her eyes, she didn’t believe him—but neither did Reagan.

“Right, sorry. Reagan, this is Lauren Volkov.”

Volkov?

She shared his last name? While she knew genetics were an iffy thing, Reagan couldn’t see the similarities between them, if there were any. Maybe one or the other was adopted?

“Reagan, you said?” Lauren’s tone had changed, even the way her gaze shifted to Niklaus was curious, but whatever silent message passed between them, Reagan didn’t understand it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reagan. I don’t know if Niklaus has mentioned me, or us, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Reagan was too distracted by Niklaus carefully pulling his shirt off to properly hear what Lauren was saying, but she was sure there was something she was not getting…

And no, she didn’t think Niklaus had mentioned her, or their relationship, but she didn’t want to mention that in case it hurt her feelings. It was obvious she cared a great deal about Niklaus from the way she was carefully examining his wound and cleaning it.