Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1)(71)

“You do know you’re Russian too, no—or are you still pretending the same blood doesn’t run through our veins?”

“How could I ever forget? I have to see your face staring back at me every time I look in the mirror.”

Reagan didn’t think this was their first disagreement, not with the easy way in which they addressed these things, as though rehashing an old argument. But Reagan could tell there was something different about Niklaus’ last statement, if only from the way Mishca’s head jerked as though he’d been struck.

“And when should I lay blame at your feet? Believe it or not, today wasn’t about me—it was about you. It would make more sense that they mistook you for me. So what if I would have had Sacha with me? Does it only matter if it happens to you and yours, Niklaus?”

Yeah, something was definitely wrong, Reagan could sense it in the way Luka sat a bit straighter, and Lauren touched a hand to her husband’s back, a statement in itself.

“Don’t you take that f*cking tone with me,” Niklaus said climbing to his feet, shoving the stool back as he walked forward, but Reagan’s hand on his stomach stopped him.

With the way he was so intently focused on his brother, she was sure he would ignore her touch entirely, shoving past her to get to him, but he didn’t move, like the hand she held up was the only thing restraining him.

It was like a light switch had been turned off inside, or rather turned on. Niklaus had the tendency to act disinterested in most things, and rarely expressed emotion, but as he stood across from his twin, fury in his eyes, it was startling to see.

“Good on you, Niklaus,” Mishca said with a pitying smile. “Make another scene just because you’re in the mood for one. Sure, I’ll play along. Did something I say offend you?”

“Don’t ever say I don’t care about them.”

“I don’t think I did.”

“Stop playing f*cking word games, Russian. As much as I would enjoy putting my fist in your face, I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”

“Do you? I’m amazed you even made it this long without picking another fight. Five minutes? That has to be a record considering the massive f*cking chip on your shoulder.”

“Right, and it just appeared one day? You’re quick to bark accusations, but never address the part you played?”

“Not that you haven’t told me countless times already, but what’s one more? It was my fault you were mistaken for me. It was my fault your girlfriend at the time was murdered in front of you.”

“No, it was your fault you let them walk away. I stood on the other side of that f*cking door thinking that you, the actual person that was meant to feel pain beneath his hands,” —Niklaus pointed over at Luka, though his attention was still on Mishca— “would want to make them pay for what they did, but one little cut over Jetmir’s eye and blinding him in it was enough for you. Would it have made a difference if it was in you that seat, Mishca? Or maybe you would prefer having to watch Lauren burn alive even as she told you she loved you.”

His words…laced with such hurt and accusation were enough to make Reagan feel a pang in her chest as she digested everything Mishca hadn’t said, and all that Niklaus had revealed.

She knew about his torture, he had told her as much, not to mention that scars those days had left behind. But he had never, not once, mentioned that he hadn’t been alone that day.

Sarah, she thought Mishca had said.

Reagan had always wondered whether there had been someone Niklaus had cared for and perhaps lost because when she met him…he had seemed so lonely.

It would also explain a lot…like why he left and why he was so guarded.

How could he have ever moved past that?

“You told me not to lay my weakness at your door, remember? It no longer is.”

“Then what will you deem acceptable, hmm? I’ve offered you everything I could possibly—”

“There’s nothing you could give me that I want—not anyone that would matter to me.”

And that cut a little deeper.

Reagan withdrew her hand from his body before realizing she had. The minute she moved, all eyes came to her, as though only now remembering that she was in the room with them.

Understanding dawned in Mishca’s eyes, but Niklaus…she couldn’t read anything from him, only that he was extremely unhappy.

He started to say her name, but she cut him off with a forced smile. “You should let her finish with your arm.”

Time stretched between them as he merely stared at her, as though that would give him time to work out how she felt and make sense of it, but she didn’t—or rather she was afraid of what she would learn.

Accepting her silence, he grabbed the stool from the floor and sat, but before Lauren could go to him, he grabbed the wipes from the pack and gently cleaned the last of the blood from his arm.

Clearing her throat, Lauren’s gaze turned to Sacha as he toddled over to her, pointing at his uncle with his little finger, then making a face. “Yeah, Uncle Niklaus hurt himself.”

With all the careless grace of a child, he went over to Niklaus, grabbing on to his leg as he reached up with the other arm and waited.

Niklaus, whose body was taut with tension, relaxed a bit as he tossed the wipes on the ground to pick up his nephew. Sacha didn’t waste a beat, reaching up to rub his hand through Niklaus’ hair, and giving him a few pats on the head before pressing his mouth to Niklaus’ cheek in a wet kiss.