Red. (Den of Mercenaries #1) (6 page)

Yeah, Niklaus knew their kind well.

For a moment, Niklaus thought about stepping in, putting an end to it himself since she didn’t seem like she was going to, but with his occupation, it didn’t afford him the luxury of gaining untoward attention. So against his better judgment, he sat back and watched.

When she finally managed to get free of them, she brought over a mug, placing it in front of him, and filling it with coffee from the pot she held in her other hand. She gifted him a small smile before turning to walk away, but before she could, Niklaus made her pause.

“They giving you a hard time?” He knew the answer to this already, but phrased it as a question all the same.

She waved her hand. “No more than anyone else.” Her lips parted, her eyes widening as she realized what she’d said and how it might have sounded. “Not that you’re bothering me or anything.”

Unbidden, a smile formed. “I hope not.”

She stared at him, like she was trying to decipher the meaning behind his words when the bell in the window rang as a meaty hand slammed down on it. Reagan looked from him to it and back again.

“That’s probably your food. I’ll be right back.”

Sauntering away, she returned soon after with his order, hesitating before she left again, like she wanted to talk to him but didn’t know what to say. He could have entertained it for a bit seeing as she didn’t seem to want to go back over to the frat boys, but Niklaus ultimately thought better of it. There was only one thing he wanted from her, and she didn’t seem like the type to just jump into anyone’s bed. Most girls like that had a way of making that fact known. He wouldn’t mind sharing a room with her for a few hours, but time was escaping him and he needed to get back to check-in.

Despite this, he took his time eating his steak, watching Reagan work, seeing how her personality came to life when she was serving an elderly couple. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there after his food was gone, but when he realized it, he tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and took his leave.

He didn’t have it in him for anything more than a short time in a bed.

He had nothing left to offer.

But as he stepped out into the night, turning his hood up, he could practically feel her eyes on him.

And worse…he was tempted to turn around and look back.

“
O
rder up
!”

After twenty-two years, Reagan knew what true pain was. She had spent the last sixteen hours on her feet, tirelessly working her tables, alternating between bringing and taking plates, along with cleaning tables as she went, all the while keeping a smile on her face though she thought only of strangling half the guys that had come in.

It hadn’t always been so busy at the diner where she worked, not until a popular food blogger had named it one of the top five dives in Hell’s Kitchen. After that, half the city decided to show up, and most of those were rich hipsters, who might have looked interesting, but mostly had bad attitudes.

She was thankful, despite the tiring work, because it increased her income enough that she was finally able to quit one of the two other jobs she’d had besides the diner, and was even able to start saving a little towards getting an apartment so she could move out of her parents’ place. The hours were more grueling however, leaving her with little time for anything else.

Delivering the order to her last table for the moment, she did a quick scan, making sure no one needed anything before heading back to the counter. It was another uneventful night, but she was glad that it wasn’t so busy. She’d worked a double the last two nights, so she was glad she could take a moment to get off her feet.

Despite how tiring the work could be, she was grateful for the diner and the hours that kept her away from home. It was practically an oasis, the only time where she didn’t feel the constant anxiety of living with a drunk for a father and a mother who was subservient to said drunk. Since she still lived with them, unlike her brother Jimmy who had moved out, and her other brothers who were just…gone, she was privy to many of her father’s drunken tirades. Before, she hadn’t minded living at home despite all of her friends having moved on to college or getting their own places and a jump on life, but that was back when her father still had a job at the gas plant.

When he’d first been laid off, he had been fine, making new plans, wanting to open up the pub that he had always talked about. ‘The family legacy,’ he had once said during one of his bouts of sobriety. There were plenty of places for food in New York City, but not enough people that were willing to hand out a loan for a ‘legacy.’ He had taken that hard, drowning his sorrows in whiskey. Soon, he was drinking through their savings, and because Reagan’s mother had never worked a day in her life, it was up to Reagan to become the new breadwinner for the household.

She loved helping her family, but she hated the sheer amount of responsibility at the same time.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be carefree for a change and not have to worry about whether or not their lights were going to be cut off.

Maybe one day that wouldn’t be a worry anymore.

“And I told him, what kind of girl do you take me for? I mean, I like a good threesome as much as the next girl, but only—and here’s the lesson in this—
I
get to pick the other girl.”

Reagan smiled as she caught the tail end of what Shan was saying, recounting her weekend with on-again-off-again boyfriend, Joey. They had attended the same Catholic girl’s school and had been best friends for as long as Reagan could remember.

Now, Shan was Irish-American through and through, but a good Catholic girl, she was not. The sexual escapades she and Joey got up to—at least the ones she shared at the diner—were definitely
not
supposed to be mentioned in polite conversation. But that was Shan, loud and brash, but loyal to a fault.

“I mean, if I had to pick a girl, it would be Reagan, you know what I mean? Just look at her. Her body is ten times better than mine. I’m jealous.”

Shan playfully swatted her butt as she said this, making Reagan laugh along with her, even as Reggie shook his head at the pair of them.

“So what did he say when you told him no?” Reagan asked as she joined in on the conversation, reaching for the salt and pepper shakers to fill since she was sitting there.

Shan shook her head, giving her a droll stare. “I never said I told him no.”

The sound of her laughter nearly drowned out the chiming bell as another customer came in. Reagan shook her head. “Of course you didn’t.”

Reagan couldn’t say she had ever
felt
someone’s presence before, not like right then. She hadn’t even looked behind her, yet the moment she heard the bell, she definitely knew it was him coming in.

“Oh, looks like your mystery guy is back.”

Reagan didn’t have to look to know who Shan was talking about. For the last few days, there was only one person that made it a point to come into the diner and sit in the same booth, a booth that was in her section. Since that first night, she had grown used to his presence. She was
almost
used to how good he looked.

Almost.

He was exactly the type of guy she should avoid, and she knew that all without having a conversation with him. It was like the danger bled from him while he breathed.

“Here,” Shan stage-whispered. “Let me fix your boobs before you go over there.”

Swatting her hands away—again—Reagan ignored her remark, grabbing one of the freshly cleaned mugs and a pot of coffee, winding her way to the booth towards the back where he—she still didn’t know his name—was waiting.

Like the first night, he was dressed in black, a stark contrast to his lightly tanned skin, but nearly matching the shade of his hair. It was cut just below his ears, pushed back out of his face though a stubborn strand always fell over his forehead no matter how many times he tried to shove it into place.

His jacket was resting beside him, his bare, muscular arms on full display, and even when he was moving very little, the strength in them was clear to see. Black jeans covered lean legs, hugging his thighs appreciatively, combat boots on his feet, and a T-shirt that stretched across and hugged his chest. She could just see the hint of a necklace hanging around his neck, but whatever hung from it was hidden beneath his shirt.

His gaze was focused on his hands as she approached, his calloused palms clear for her to see. She wondered what he saw when he looked at them.

When she was about a foot away, his gaze lifted, seeking her out, as they always did. They were cold, a light blue that looked like they’d seen too much, and his lips were usually set in a mulish line. Despite his rather sullen disposition, she had begun to enjoy his continued presence.

A corner of his mouth kicked up. She couldn’t help but smile in return, but that smile slipped when his gaze dropped to the ring like mark around her wrist. It sucked that she bruised so easily.

Clearing her throat, she set his mug in front of him, pouring his coffee as she decided to strike up a conversation with him. “You’re in early.”

She slid the cup closer, her fingers brushing his as he reached for it. They briefly made eye contact as she pulled her hand away. His touch was surprisingly warm despite the temperature outside.

He shrugged a shoulder, taking a drink. “I like the view.”

Through the windows of the diner, the Manhattan skyline was clear, lights illuminating the night sky. It really was quite nice.

His gaze was on her when she looked back at him. “City’s shit, love. That’s not the view I meant.”

He made it blatantly obvious that he was talking about her. “You know, you’ve been here three nights in a row and I still don’t know your name…” she said carefully, her voice coming out a little breathier than she had intended.

Resting his elbows on the table, he looked up at her. “You never asked.”

Was it that easy? “What’s your name?”

“Call me Niklaus.” His mouth snapped shut almost immediately after, like he hadn’t meant to share that bit of information.

Reagan didn’t doubt it was his real name—why have that reaction if it wasn’t?—but she did wonder why that would make him react that way. It was just a name after all.

“Want your usual, Niklaus?” When he nodded, she smiled and took a step back. “I’ll get that right out.”

Reagan didn’t go back over to him until his food was ready, refilling his mug as well. She was about to take her leave when Niklaus called her name. It was the first time he had ever used it, and in that gravelly tone, it was everything she could do not to shiver.

“Yeah?”

“You have a minute?”

She glanced back, making sure there weren’t any tables that needed her attention. The diner was mostly deserted, and if she had to guess, he probably already knew that.

“Sure, what’s up?”

She wondered if she sounded as eager as she felt. It wasn’t like her to be shy around a guy, but with Niklaus? She was definitely that.

“You seeing anyone?”

Well that was extremely…forward and unexpected. “Um, no.”

“Why’s that?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you single?”

Not sure what to say to that, she said, “It’s a long story.”

He gestured down at his steak as he lifted his knife and fork. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

Backtracking, she rubbed the back of her neck, looking away. “There’s really not much to tell. I work a lot, so I don’t have a lot of time to do anything else.”

“No?” He gestured to her arm with a tilt of his head. “Then who did that to your wrist?”

She could tell what he was thinking, that some guy had done it in a fit of rage because of some perceived slight, but that was far from the truth. Yes, it had been a man, but that fit of rage was more of a drunken outburst.

That didn’t mean she wanted to tell him what happened.

“It’s not what you think,” she said instead. Glancing around at her tables to give herself a moment to think, Reagan decided to avoid his question by changing the subject. “Are
you
single?”

His face shifted, just the slightest change and had she not been looking at him, she would have missed it. But the look was almost akin to…hurt. “Yes.”

“So what brings you to the city?” He seemed to want to talk and she was curious to say the least.

“Work.”

Discreetly looking him over—though she could say with almost perfect certainty what he was wearing—she wondered what kind of work he did when he dressed the way he did.

“How long are you in town for?”

“However long I’m needed.”

Well that didn’t really answer her question, but it was clear that was all he was going to say on the subject.

“That’s pretty cryptic. If I asked you what you did for a living, would you give me answer?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile fully. “What do you think I do?”

She didn't have the slightest clue. He didn’t look like he worked in business—or he didn’t look like any businessman she had ever seen—and though he had the muscle, he didn’t look like a gym trainer either.

“Journalist?”

That, at least, got a laugh out of him. “Really? What makes you think that?”

“I’d guess, through this entire conversation, you’ve learned more about me than I’ve learned about you. I’d imagine a journalist was good at that.” After a moment though, Reagan shook her head. “On the other hand, you don’t really seem to have the attitude for it. You have that whole…brooding thing going on.”

Cutting into his steak, he looked to her with a raised brow. “That sounds like an insult.”

“Not at all.”

It worked for him, more than it did for anyone else. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, as though he didn’t care about anything or anyone, or just the way he spoke that made her crave to know more about him.

If anything, it was more of a compliment.

“If I told you what I did, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Intrigued, Reagan rested her elbows on the table, leaning towards him. “Oh? Try me.”

“Sanitation.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged a shoulder, finishing his bite of steak. “Someone has to do it.”

“You don’t smell like a garbage guy.” She imagined that even with multiple showers, there would still be that trace of foul odor attached to them.

“And what
do
I smell like?”

Nice. He smelled nice—more than a little nice if she was being honest. Clean, almost woodsy, with a darker undertone that she couldn’t make out. Overall, his scent made her want to stay exactly where she was so she could indulge in it.

But to answer his question, she merely shook her head with a slight smile. There was no way she’d be able to answer that without blushing.

“Reagan?”

Both she and Niklaus looked in the direction of her boss who was peeking through the little window at them, waving her over with his spatula.

“Looks like I have to get back to work,” she said standing, smoothing a hand over the front of her uniform, trying to pretend like she didn’t notice the way his eyes followed the movement. “It was nice talking to you, Niklaus.”

This time, he offered her a smile, one that made her legs feel like jelly. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

She hoped so.

God, how she hoped so.