Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(70)

As Reagan turned away from them, looking around the space, she wondered why Niklaus had never bothered to mention her, or really, any of the people he was supposed to be meeting with today.

It was only a reminder that he was still hiding things despite how honest he had been.

But she could have moved past that if she hadn’t looked up and her gaze seized on the painting that was proudly hung.

If it had been of anyone else, she would have loved it. The detail was immaculate, and had probably cost thousands of dollars to have produced, but as Reagan stared at the woman and man in the portrait—particularly the man—one that she had pined for years, one that had made her feel like no one else ever had...

She was f*cking pissed.

“You’re married?”

Niklaus’ gaze swung to her, a look of shock crossing his features before his eyes shifted to the painting that had held her attention for so long.

“Reagan, it’s not what—”

She was on her feet in a second. “It’s not what I think? Is that what you were about to say because it sure a f*ck looks like it’s exactly what I think, Niklaus!”

“No, wait—”

“What’s all the yelling about?” Luka asked, reappearing with a sleepy toddler at his side.

And if anything, the sight of him only made it worse.

He looked just like Niklaus.

Just. Like. Him.

It didn’t matter that the adorable little boy couldn’t be any old than a year—give or take a few months—the similarities between them, a perfect blend of both Niklaus and Lauren though the boy did favor his mother a little more, were too obvious to ignore.

“A child?” Reagan asked, turning watery eyes to Niklaus, feeling like her chest was cracking open. “How could you do this?”

She couldn’t even face Lauren—how could she when she didn’t know what Niklaus had told her?

“I haven’t done shit!”

“Language,” Luka said, covering the baby’s ear with his giant hand.

Niklaus glared at him. “Don’t start with me, Luka.”

“Hey, now. Don’t blame me for this. You should have warned her about who Lauren was before you brought her here.”

Even Luka had known…

She was an idiot. A f*cking idiot.

“Luka, stop before I tell Alex you’re causing problems,” Lauren snapped at him, but it didn’t look like it fazed him in the slightest.

This was a joke to them.

“I’m leaving,” Reagan told Niklaus. “Just leave me alone and don’t ever come near me again.”

She had every intention of walking away, to get away from him and the lies he’d made her believe, but as she spun around, readying to do just that, he grabbed her hand before she could.

And the moment he did, when she felt his touch on her, she swung without warning, cracking her hand across his face.

“Ouch.”

The new voice came from behind her, the words colored with an accent that Reagan wasn’t very familiar with. She was expecting another of his friends, one that would be too amused by it all as Luka had been, but when she got a good look at the new person, all the anger that had taken her over fled just as quickly.

“Oh.”

Reagan was staring into Niklaus’ face, or rather his twin brother’s, and there was no question about it. And unlike Niklaus, the twin wore a three-piece suit, and wore his hair longer.

“Oh,” Reagan said a second time, wincing as she turned back to look at Niklaus. “Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”

He was still glaring at her as he made the introductions. “Reagan, meet the Russian. Mishca, this is Reagan. Careful though, she seems to be in a slapping mood today.”

“Strong right hand,” Luka added from his position on the couch.

Reagan was definitely thinking that she didn’t like him. “But he said—”

“I said that he should have told you who Lauren was, and I stick by that. She is the wife of his twin brother, anyone would have been confused.”

“That was unnecessary,” Mishca said, leveling a stern look on Luka. Despite his age, there was a certain air of authority that hung around him.

“Well unlike you lot,” Luka went on. “I don’t appreciate being his dirty little secret.”

Reagan had to wonder, as she looked to the blond man sitting on the other side of the room, whether he was actually serious or whether he was touched in the head—but no matter which, either option made her just want to avoid him further.

“Does someone want to tell me what happened?” Mishca asked as he walked over to his wife, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

“What the f*ck do you think happened? I got shot.”

If Mishca was fazed by Niklaus’ bad attitude, he didn’t show it. “I’m more concerned as to why.”

“Same reason I was tortured for three days—they thought I was you.”

Yeah, there was definitely something she was missing, not to mention the bad blood that seemed to be between them.

“Should I go ahead and assume this is my fault too?” Mishca asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the back on a chair.

“I’m not in the mood for your shit right now, Russian. Fuck off.”