Calavera was far too pretty and looked nothing like the way a mercenary should, but Iris could tell in a glance that she was more than capable of handling herself.

Even leaning against the side of a gleaming white Maserati, something was carefully controlled about her relaxed stance.

“You must be Iris,” Calavera said, straightening as Iris drew closer with a bright smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Officially, I mean.”

Calavera had been there the first and only time Iris had ever stepped foot inside the Den compound, but considering the topic of conversation that day, Iris hadn’t been the focus of anyone’s attention.

Now, though, she had no choice but to be the center of attention. She had always felt a certain disconnect from the rest of the world because she had gone so long without forming any human attachments, but now she was. She wouldn’t be able to escape the scrutiny as easily. There was no more hiding.

And while she had already met most of the mercenaries during a surprise trip to Ireland for Celt a week and a half ago, Calavera hadn’t been able to make it in time. Her gift to the new and hastily married couple had more than made up for her lack of attendance.

Iris wasn’t short by any means, but Calavera still towered over her by a few inches without heels. Her brown hair was cut to her shoulders, her eyes that same lovely shade of brown, and circled around her neck was a gold collar with a small hoop dangling from the front.

“I would say don’t believe anything you might have heard about me, but”—Iris shrugged—“it’s probably true.”

Like the fact she was responsible for Synek getting taken by the Wraiths and subsequently tortured for three days. Or that she had drugged him and made out with him minutes later.

It was one hell of a way to start a relationship.

But if she was judging her for it, it didn’t reflect on her face. “Oh, no worries. Knowing Syn, that was probably foreplay.”

Iris didn’t know whether to laugh or agree because she wasn’t wrong. But before she could say as much, they were no longer alone. “Don’t scare her off, Calavera, yeah? I’m trying to keep this one,” Synek called as he locked the apartment and walked over to them. “Where’s your assassin? I’m surprised he’s not here issuing some sort of warning.”

“He’s back at the compound waiting for you with the Kingmaker.”

“Right. I’m off then.”

He pressed a hard, fast kiss to Iris’s mouth, though his words were for Calavera. “Take care of her.”

Iris fought a smile. “I can take care of myself, Syn.”

“I know,” he said, fishing out an envelope and handing it to her.

“What’s this?”

“You’re going to need it.”

“Syn doesn’t believe in credit cards,” Calavera supplied. “Or bank accounts, for that matter.”

“That’s not completely true, though, is it? Winter keeps my finances secure.”

“Because you’re the only one of us who still takes cash as payment, Syn.”

As they bantered back and forth, Iris peeked into the envelope, her breath catching as she realized just how much money he’d tucked inside. All in crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

“I can’t take this,” she muttered before closing it, trying to hand it back now that she had his attention again. “I still have, you know … the other payment.”

For her role in his kidnapping.

They had never spoken about it, and she hadn’t touched the money since it showed up in her account. She felt too guilty.

His brows shot up, but he didn’t look angry. “How much was the bounty?”

Iris stared at him a moment, trying to gauge whether he actually wanted to know or if the answer would upset him, but the only thing she saw in his face was genuine curiosity.

“Thirty thousand.”

“Oh, you were cheap, Syn,” Calavera said with a light laugh. “I wouldn’t have accepted anything less than a quarter for you.”

“Always haggle, dove,” Synek replied as he kissed her forehead and walked back over to her car.

Only Synek would be more upset about the price on his head than the fact she had been the one to collect it.

“You do know that’s my car, right?” she asked as he opened the driver’s door.

“What’s mine is yours and all,” he answered back before slipping inside and starting it up.

Iris watched him drive away, the engine growling as he sped off, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than a warm sense of contentment.

“We should go,” Calavera said as she pushed off the car. “We’ve got a lot to do in a few hours.”

“A lot?” Iris asked. “I thought we only needed to pick a dress?”

That was what Synek had told her anyway.

Calavera’s smile was small but amused. “Syn wants you to pick up more. Says you had to give up your apartment or something?”

Of course, he would think of that when she hadn’t.

He was proving thoughtful that way.

“Looks like we’re going shopping.”

* * *

Boutiques, as beautiful as they could be, were foreign to Iris.

She had never stepped foot inside one a day in her life—at least, not the kind that had a doorman along with a guest card Calavera presented from her back pocket.

Iris existed in Levi’s jeans and leather jackets. And when she did wear a dress, it had never come from a place like this where it looked as if every price tag would cause her to do a double take.

One backlit wall was made up entirely of heels, none under four inches. The one to the left held colorful purses in every shade imaginable—the leather expertly designed and tailored. And finally, to the left and up a small winding staircase were racks of beaded and jeweled dresses.

“This is a bit …” Iris looked around, drinking it all in. “Unnecessary.”

In her experience, the men she went after didn’t care very much about the name sewn on the dress or how much it cost—they only cared how short it was and whether it would be easy to remove later. Even if she had no intention of coming out of it.

“When I first started,” Calavera said as they walked deeper into the boutique, “I didn’t think I would ever have to do this.” She gestured around the boutique with a small sweep of her hand as if she could read Iris’s thoughts. “I had this job where I needed to get close to a Russian diplomat. The problem is, when you’re around people like that, they notice if you don’t look the way you’re supposed to.”

Although Iris had never been in that particular scenario before, she understood the meaning behind it. It was all about blending in with the people around them.

Which, essentially, was what she had done all these years.

Her clothes were bought in stores everyone had access to, and she usually strayed toward grays and blacks that never stuck out in the sea of similar shades.

She was supposed to be happy about that—not blending in with others. Being able to be someone rather than a shell of herself, but she wasn’t yet sure how she felt about stepping out of the shadows and into the spotlight.

“Plus,” Calavera said, drawing her from her troubled thoughts. “If the focus is on you, it won’t be on Synek.”

Because people, and men in particular, had a tendency not to suspect women of treachery.

A woman in her mid-forties stepped out from behind the counter, her hair styled in an immaculate chignon, the red soles of her heels flashing when she turned. She was beautiful and every bit the saleswoman as she offered that same smile to Iris.

“Always a pleasure to see one of my favorite customers.” The woman greeted Calavera with an infectious smile, walking over to gently grasp her upper arms before pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

Calavera laughed lightly. “It’s good to see you too, Joanne.”

“And your husband? All is well, I trust?”

Calavera nodded even as she reached up to fiddle with the link on her collar. A nervous gesture Iris didn’t think the other woman was aware of.

“Everything is great. But I’m not here for me this time.”

Joanne looked disappointed by the news, making Iris wonder just how much Calavera spent in this store. Though, with just a cursory look around, she could guess the number was high.

Not that she didn’t understand why. Inside these four walls was a woman’s paradise.

Joanne walked them upstairs, carrying on a conversation with Calavera as Iris took a moment to better look at the selection of gowns—from cocktail to evening and everything in between and in a variety of shades. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out shopping that wasn’t strictly because she needed to be. Definitely never in a place like this.

As they reached the second landing, on the wall where bags had been displayed below was replaced by a row of mannequins wearing dresses that were far too pretty to be worn.

“What are we looking for today?” Joanne asked with a clasp of her hands as she faced them.

“It’s for a charity fundraiser,” Iris replied.

“Something that’s understated but unmistakable,” Calavera added.

“I have a few ideas in mind,” Joanne said before slipping past them. “I’ll be right back.”

Once she disappeared out of view, it was just the pair of them again.

They hadn’t spoken much during the car ride, not that Iris knew what to say. She was much better at answering questions of those closest to her rather than asking. Small talk had never been her strong suit.

“I’m curious,” Calavera said as she traced her fingers over a royal blue dress, letting the fabric slip through her fingers.

“About me and Syn?” she asked, expecting as much.

“About you, actually.” When Iris looked skeptical, she added, “Trust me, I know all about unlikely relationships. Imagine being married to your boss’s brother.”

“There’s nothing really special about me.”

She had never finished school—though she had bought enough secondhand textbooks over the years to learn everything she possibly could—but once this was over, she had every intention of finishing her education.

But there was not much more to her than her time with the Wraiths. She could tell her about the years between one and the other, but that wouldn’t make very good conversation. Not to mention she hadn’t even gotten around to telling Syn all about it yet.

“There’s something,” Calavera said, turning to face her. “Belladonna picked you for a reason.”

Now, it was Iris’s turn to stare. “I don’t understand.”

Though it had seemed important when Iris brought up the woman’s name to Synek—enough that he had brought her to the Den compound for the very first time—no one had asked her about Belladonna since then.

There almost seemed be this code of silence when it came to her. As if just saying her name was bad luck.

“Everybody’s blinded by something. They’re not seeing what’s right in front of them.”

“How do you mean?”

“The first time I ever met her, Belladonna I mean, she pretended she didn’t know who I was, but she did. It was all a part of this elaborate hunt she sent me on so I could find out some things about myself. Who’s to say she isn’t doing that same thing now?”

Though Iris had wondered if there were any ulterior motives behind Belladonna’s visit to the Wraiths, she hadn’t been able to find anything concrete. If she had thought the Kingmaker was hard to find anything on, Belladonna was even worse.

“Maybe there’s a connection between you that we just haven’t found yet.”

“There isn’t,” Iris said with a shake of her head.

While Calavera’s tone hadn’t been accusatory, she didn’t want the other woman believing something where there was nothing. She was pretty sure she would remember someone like Belladonna had they crossed paths before.

Iris was curious, and she was dying to ask how someone who looked like Calavera chose to become a mercenary for a man who was as attractive as he was powerful.

And that was before they got to the fact she was married to the man’s brother.

Before she got the chance to ask, however, Joanne came back, pushing a rack filled with dresses, all in jewel tones.

“I’ll have my assistant bring up the rest of the selections.”

The rest?

There had to be a dozen or more in front of her already, but as she readied to protest, she remembered the envelope Synek had given her. He was buying …

Their conversation was put on hold as Iris was ushered into the dressing room and handed dress after dress to try on.

The first was a beautiful champagne color, floor length with a fitted bodice. Nice, but too much. The next was white with crisscrossing panels and dipped a little too low in the front.

But once she got to the third, a jade green dress made of silk, she knew this was the one.

“Jesus, if I was going to rob this place, I would’ve worn different shoes.”

Iris would recognize that voice anywhere. Finishing the last of the ties on the front of her dress, she pushed the gauzy curtain back and stepped out of the dressing room, feeling all eyes swing to her as she stopped in the middle of the floor.

Calavera might have smiled and Joanne announced she was off to find the perfect pair of heels, but for all the attention Iris paid them, they might as well not have been in the room.

Unlike Calavera, Winter was dressed as every bit of grunge as she always did. Her leather jacket had spikes running along the shoulders, her silver hair braided beneath a black beanie, and unlike Calavera’s choker that was slim and gold, hers was made of black leather with the word, “Kitten” across the front of it.

She carried a black Starbucks cup in her left hand.

Needless to say, she didn’t look like she would ever step foot inside a place like this, which probably explained why the doorman was still glaring at her as he traveled back down the stairs and disappeared out of view.

“I thought you were helping the boys?” Calavera asked as Winter took a seat in the chair beside her.

“I’ve been relieved,” she answered with a shrug. “Apparently, my skills weren’t needed today.” Winter tilted her head to the side as she lifted her circular sunglasses. “I like the green.”

Iris glanced at herself in the mirror, getting a better view of the dress Calavera had selected.

The top was fitted, the straps narrow, with strings laced up the front and tied into a neat bow. The skirt was light as air, made of gauzy fabric that was sheer and pooled at her feet, though a high slit exposed plenty of leg.

It was a touch risqué while still being chic.

It really was a great dress.

“But maybe Syn would like the black one better.”

Iris had always been good at concealing what she was feeling. Maybe not to Synek, but with everyone else, she was a closed book. Now she was thankful for the talent so Winter couldn’t see what she was thinking.

It wasn’t that she had said anything wrong, or even that her suggestion wasn’t correct, but that didn’t mean it didn’t rub Iris the wrong way for reasons that were too ridiculous for her to even think about.

Of course, Winter would know more about him—she’d had years with him. Years when it had just been the pair of them and that was the way they liked it.

Iris understood that, but something about the way she made the remark, as if she knew more about Synek and preferred it that way, made Iris force herself to smile despite how badly she wanted to frown.

It didn’t help that she too thought Synek would like it better in black.

“We’re not dressing for Syn,” Calavera said as she stood and walked a slow circle around Iris. “It’s for the fundraiser and the women who’ll be there. I can almost guarantee one of them will recognize the designer and voila, conversation started. I’m sure you can take care of the rest.”

Yeah, she knew all about how Iris had lured Synek out of the Hall, but her words weren’t malicious or judging; they were just matter-of-fact.

“You’re the expert,” Winter mumbled, though she still didn’t look convinced.

“Do you do this much worrying when it’s Tăcut going on a job?”

“Yes, actually. But I’m watching his back. Syn’ll be alone.”

“No,” Iris said, her voice a touch more firm than she meant it to be. “He won’t be.”

Winter shook her head, swirling the contents of her drink. “You’re not a mercenary.”

Now it was Calavera’s turn to frown. “Wint—”

“No, I’m not, but like it or not, I was a Wraith.”

“Which means I should trust you even less than I already do. Syn might have gotten over the part you played in his torture, but I don’t have to.”

“Why not?”

“What?”

Iris turned, mindful of the dress she was wearing as she stared down the other woman who cared about Synek. She understood, or at least she tried to, the bond between them. It was forged first out of necessity, then out of a love for each other that she didn’t question.

But that didn’t mean she would allow Winter to walk all over her because she thought she knew what was best for Synek.

“You said it yourself, Syn has forgiven me for what I did, and I did my damnedest to make up for it. So what’s your deal? If he’s happy, if he’s fine with me, why aren’t you?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” she said plainly, her gaze level on hers.

Iris shrugged. “It doesn’t matter if you do or not. Syn does, and his opinion is the only one I care about.”

Winter didn’t have a response to that, or maybe her anger was so great that she couldn’t formulate a response. Instead, her cheeks grew ruddy, and it was clear even before she spun on her heel and left as quickly as she came in that this wasn’t over between them.

Not when they both felt strongly about the same man, even if it was in two different ways.

* * *

Synek could count on one hand the number of times he and the other mercenaries of the Den had ever been called in at the same time for one particular job.

Usually divided by their specialties, it was rare that an assignment overlapped unless they were in the same city at the same time. And even if they were, sometimes Syn still wasn’t called in because he could be a liability at times.

A liability.

He was offended.

As Synek drove through the gate, he spotted the familiar cars.

’67 Chevy Impala for Red and a rented Mustang GT for Skorpion.

The only thing missing was Calavera’s Maserati.

A set of four bikes sat on the other side of the lot. Each with a foot of space between them—all matte black with chrome detailing.

The Wild Bunch was back.

Synek parked and climbed out, leaving his car behind as he spotted Celt pulling in, the rumble of his motorcycle as familiar as the scowl on his face. He wasn’t happy to be back.

“What’s got you in a state?” Synek asked as he stood off to the side, clapping him on the back once he was close.

“I don’t know if she’ll still have me if this doesn’t end soon,” he said with an annoyed frown on his face. “Not that I can blame her, mind you. You can’t marry a woman, promise a honeymoon, then don’t take one. It’s just not done.”

“That’s good, though, that is. At least she still agreed to take your ring, mate. Means she actually loves you. I would have left you years ago and taken half your money.”

The remark managed to get a semblance of a smile out of the man.

“The end is near, as they say,” Synek said with a slap on Celt’s back. “Shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Heading inside the compound, they walked toward the war room where the team was waiting for them. As Celt went on ahead, Synek lingered outside the door.

When he saw Tăcut standing at the entrance of the gun room, Synek didn’t feel the same level of animosity as he usually did. There were no bitter feelings. No need for violence.

That didn’t make them friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he did feel indebted to the man for the help he’d provided in getting Iris back.

Tăcut tipped his head up in greeting as Synek approached before turning his attention back to whatever he was watching in the room.

The Kingmaker wasn’t dressed in a freshly pressed suit. In fact, he looked as if he had stayed here at the compound all night and hadn’t slept since Synek saw him last.

It made him wonder how a man who seemed in constant control of everything around him managed to lose it.

Celt, who had been in a perpetually bad state since he was called in, glared at the Kingmaker as he crossed to the front of the room. “You rang?”

The Kingmaker was in rare form because, leveling a dry look on the man, he continued forward until he stood in front of the control panel. After hitting a few keys, he was able to insert a disc and the projector flickered on.

“I received this last night around four a.m. According to the security present at the time, it was a woman who handed over the package it came in.”

“Belladonna?” Synek asked, wondering if the woman was completely mental to show her face here.

Then again, she hadn’t been caught, had she?

“No,” the Kingmaker responded. “Someone who works for her, I imagine.”

The screen went dark before the video finally cut to a man who wore little more than a tattered shirt and jogging pants with a hole in one knee.

He was on his knees, and his gaze was fixed to the ground with his arms shackled in front of him. Synek rubbed his own wrists, remembering the way the shackles had felt.

The man’s hair was dirty and cut unevenly as if someone had tried to clean him up for the purpose of this video.

Or maybe, as Synek leaned forward and got a better look at the screen, they were trying to make sure he was recognizable.

Grimm had a very familiar face—not to mention the rare genetic mutation that made one of his eyes a stark blue and the other one a light shade of green.

There was no mistaking it was Grimm even with the dirt and matted hair.

Synek would know him anywhere.

Even as the video feed filled him with relief, glad for the knowledge that he was alive and it wasn’t just rumors, it didn’t help that there was nothing of value around him but snow.

Blankets of it. From the white that covered the trees behind him to the ice and snow that was a few inches deep.

“Tell them your name,” a man off camera said, the sound of his voice making Synek stiffen.

He wished he was as good with voices as he was with faces.

He rarely forgot a face, but voices eluded him.

Grimm finally looked up at the camera, the overgrown hair on his jaw just as matted as the rest of it—but there was no mistaking his eyes. They hadn’t bothered to conceal those.

When Grimm spoke, he didn’t just give his name. He gave his rank in the Den along with the seven digits that signified who he worked for. Always the Marine.

No one spoke as the video unfolded—not even the Wild Bunch, who couldn’t possibly know who the man was and why he was so important to them.

Grimm looked back at the snow beneath his knees before a gloved hand holding a newspaper postmarked three days ago appeared in front of the screen.

If there had been any doubt that Grimm was alive—at least, he had been three days ago—it was gone now.

Once the paper moved away from the camera, another man entered the frame—one who made everyone staring at the screen sit up straighter.

He didn’t wear the standard military green uniform like the others. Instead, his was black—from the war vest strapped across his chest to the pants on his legs and the combat boots on his feet.

Even the black mask covering the lower half of his face was the same shade of obsidian as the rest.

Like a dark spot in the otherwise flawless snow.

The Jackal.

Rumor had it that Grimm was the only mercenary—the only person—to go up against the Jackal and live. Which had never made sense to Synek. What reason did the assassin have to let Grimm live?

Whatever the answer was, it was just another clue that led back to Belladonna.

“Pause that.”

All eyes turned to Fang as he stood, his gaze fixed on the screen—not on Grimm, but on the Jackal. He hadn’t spoken besides a brief jerk of his head when Synek entered, but now he sounded strained … confused, almost.

“You’ve met the Jackal?” Red asked, looking from Fang to the rest of them.

If they had, none of them had ever mentioned it.

“No,” Fang said, drawing as close to the wall as physically possible.

Like he was trying to get a better look at the man they’d hunted for years.

“He just looks … familiar,” Fang muttered.

“Then perhaps,” the Kingmaker spoke up, “you can find answers where my mercenaries couldn’t. He’s why you’re here, after all.”

“Not if he’s responsible for Grimm,” Red said with a shake of his head. “We take care of our own.”

“They’re not killing him,” the Kingmaker reassured. “He’s to be brought in, but while they’re wrangling him, I need you to bring Belladonna to me.”

“So not only do you want us to bring in the Jackal,” Synek said, finally looking away from Fang until he reached his handler, “but also bring in the woman he’s protecting. Alive.”

It was one thing when a target needed to be killed and that would be the end of it. It was something else entirely when they had to fight through the security Belladonna would undoubtedly have and fight the big bastard no one wanted to face.

It wasn’t fear that had Synek skeptical of this little plan of his but caring about his own damn life.

This was damn near close to a suicide mission.

“I trust you can handle yourselves,” the Kingmaker said with a shrug. “After all, there are nine of you.”

“Eight,” Nix said without looking up from his phone.

Only one person in the room could challenge the Kingmaker so blatantly without even bothering to meet the man’s gaze—his own brother.

“I assume you were under the impression that I was asking for opinions? Let me clarify, I’m not.”

Nix still didn’t look up as he spoke. “I said what I said.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, brother, she’s as much of a mercenary as the rest of them. Her signature lines the bottom of my contract. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you what that means.”

Synek looked from the Kingmaker to Nix, then finally at the chair where the person they were speaking about should have been sitting if she wasn’t out with Iris. He could already imagine what she would have said if she were here.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wouldn’t have turned down the mission just because it might be difficult.

She was like Iris in that way.

“If we’re all going to protect our favorites—” The Kingmaker started but didn’t get to finish before Nix interrupted.

“I’m protecting my wife, and if you’d recall, the last time she crossed paths with the Jackal, she watched you nearly die. I’m not allowing you to put her in harm’s way because you want to play games with your ex-lover.”

“Curious that I was the one shot six times that day, yet not a hair on her pretty little head was disturbed. I imagine if the Jackal had had her in his sights, she wouldn’t be sitting here for you to argue over.”

“If you—”

“Understand me, brother, this isn’t a favor you’re providing me. There is no negotiation here. No discussion. She goes. It’s not personal, it’s business. You know that.”

“Everything about this is personal,” Nix returned. “It has been from the very beginning. I’m not going to risk her again for whatever the hell you have going on with Belladonna. Twice was enough.”

The first time had been when she walked away from him—though Synek didn’t know the details why—and the second had been when Elias Harrington attempted to drown her in a giant vat of water.

Synek had no idea what he would have done in either situation. Hell, he didn’t want Iris near the danger now, and if she wasn’t so bloody stubborn, he would have told her to let him handle it.

But the likelihood of her sitting this out simply because he asked her to was slim—not because she didn’t trust that he could handle it, but because she wanted to be the one to handle it.

He couldn’t fault her for that.

“Then perhaps you’d like to be the one to tell her she can’t do her job because you’ve decided she shouldn’t?”

Synek coughed to conceal a laugh. He’d love to be in the room for that conversation.

“Will do.” Nix said before he went back to his newspaper.

“I don’t care what it takes,” the Kingmaker continued. “If you see an opportunity to bring her in, take her, by any means necessary, but understand me when I say she is not to be harmed in any way.”

“Sounds a bit counterproductive, doesn’t it?” Synek asked, scratching his brow. “That’s not ‘by any means.’”

“You won’t need to concern yourself with that, considering your job is as it’s always been—find Grimm. The rest of you know what you have to do.”

With that being said, the meeting was over.

“Syn.”

Synek held back as the others filed out of the room, leaving him alone with not just the Kingmaker, but Nix as well, whose bad mood hadn’t lifted since his conversation with his brother about his wife.

“Z’s files,” the Kingmaker said, pocketing his phone. “I need you to search through them for anything on Grimm or what he might have been working on in the months prior to Grimm going missing.”

“I already have—the whole lot of us have. There’s nothing there.”

He, more than any of the other mercenaries, had pored over those files, searching for any clue as to Grimm’s whereabouts.

Synek was the one responsible for bringing him home. He was given the task nearly two weeks to the day that they all realized Grimm wasn’t coming back.

He could still remember the surprise he felt that day, sitting in his flat back in London, twirling a blade between his fingers to pass the time.

Boredom was as familiar to him as his own name, and in those days, he’d been a touch more destructive whenever he fell into melancholy.

The last thing he had expected while thinking about what kind of bad shit he could get into for the night was the knock on his front door. At first, he had smiled, thinking the trouble had come to him and made his job a hell of a lot easier, but instead, the Kingmaker had stood across from him with a grave expression.

“Grimm is gone,” were the first words out of his mouth.

He hadn’t asked if he was allowed to come in or even waited for an invitation. He had walked right in after dropping that bombshell, and for a moment, Synek had just stood there.

There were two things he’d known then with absolute certainty.

Number one: There was no better mercenary than Grimm. They were all good at what they did, their specialties setting them apart from the other killers of the world, but Grimm was in a league of his own.

And though Synek had always thought of himself without equal, Grimm had even managed to teach him a few fundamentals when it came to their work.

Even as the news came from the Kingmaker himself, he still hadn’t believed it.

Which brought him to his second thought.

The Kingmaker didn’t make personal visits.

Synek could count on one hand the number of times he had ever received an in-person visit from the man, and that included the first time they met. Usually, they all reported to the other handler in the Den, Z.

“Who took him?” Synek had asked, closing his door with a push of his hand before turning to face the other man occupying the lone chair that wasn’t near a window.

“That I don’t know.”

That fact seemed to bother the man most.

There wasn’t anything the Kingmaker didn’t know or couldn’t find out. He had someone for everything, and if there was an organization out there of any significance, he knew every person in it—especially those at the top.

Which was the only reasonable explanation for what had happened to Grimm. There was no lone individual who could take the man on and actually succeed.

Or, at least, that was what Synek had thought in those early days when he didn’t know any better.

Before he knew the Jackal’s name.

But in that first year of Grimm’s absence, they had all learned the man’s name responsible for his disappearance. A man none of them had seen in person.

The Jackal had become something of a myth and a legend—a nightmare people feared as much as they feared the Kingmaker’s mercenaries.

That had only made their desire to get to the man all the more pressing.

Synek especially.

He’d met real boogeymen, and he refused to believe the Jackal was one of them. If he bled like the rest of them, there was nothing to fear.

Things had changed since then.

The Jackal had managed to get close to the Den—not just once but twice. The first time, he’d only just taken Grimm and held him captive. The second … he’d nearly cost the Kingmaker his life.

To say they wanted the Jackal’s head on a sterling silver plate was a fucking understatement.

“We searched through everything there was,” Synek said, his mind drifting back to the present.

Files. Receipts. Trying to track Grimm’s footprint digitally.

For weeks, Synek had searched for evidence of what he had been doing for that last job, but whatever job it was, the secret had remained between him and Z. And considering Z hadn’t come back from that job either, no one would ever know until one or the other was found.

Since Z was dead, as the Kingmaker had announced nearly three years ago now, the secret was left solely to Grimm.

“Then look again. Z was nothing if not analytical. It might not have been anything glaringly obvious, but it’s there. Whatever it is.” The Kingmaker gaze went unfocused as if he was thinking of a memory. “Have one of Nix’s Romanians assist you. A pair of fresh eyes couldn’t hurt.”

Yeah, no. Indebted or not, Synek didn’t want to make it a habit of asking for help.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Synek turned, ready to head out the door again, but for the second time, the Kingmaker stopped him in his tracks.

“Iris is her name, isn’t it?”

He didn’t mean to tense at the man’s words—it wasn’t as if he didn’t already know that the Kingmaker knew of her and would inevitably ask about her—but even still, he didn’t like the idea that the man was asking questions about her.

Anyone who fell into the Kingmaker’s sights could be considered prey to him.

“What about her?”

“What exactly is her business with the governor?”

Synek shrugged as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Couldn’t say. Her business is her own. Yours is yours. Can’t say you’ve told me what your business with Spader is either, could I?”

If he didn’t know the man as well as he did, he might have mistaken the smile on his face as some form of acquiescence, but Synek wasn’t so easily fooled.

The Kingmaker wasn’t pleased, but he’d made a career out of pissing people off, so he wasn’t worried about it now.

“We have an arrangement, you and I,” the Kingmaker said. “Let’s not forget it.”

Unlike the other mercenaries of the Den, Synek’s contract wasn’t as black and white.

First, he had never officially signed one. Though he had always thought of that day he’d run with Winter from the Wraiths as the day he signed his life away, it hadn’t been that way in the traditional sense.

Instead of a certain amount of years he had to work for the man, their deal was that, in exchange for Synek’s loyalty and work, Winter wouldn’t just be kept safe, but she would also be given every chance to live a normal life.

A family in New Mexico had raised her as their own for years and made sure she completed her education. She could have even attended college, but she ultimately chose a life in the Den.

Sometimes, he wondered whether that was his fault. Whether he should have kept her more distant from this life, so she wouldn’t have decided to follow him.

But whether she was a part of the Den—even unofficially, beforehand—the Kingmaker had been a man of his word. No one had ever come looking for Winter nor did any harm come her way.

For that, he could never repay that debt.

“Yeah, all right,” Synek said with another shrug. “Not that it matters, but I’m fully capable of getting everyone what they want so long as you follow Belladonna’s rule for you anyway.”

The man clearly didn’t want to be reminded of Belladonna’s rules for him. Here was someone who routinely set the rules, yet now he was expected to follow them.

Synek wasn’t surprised at all that he was figuring out a way to bend them.

“Work quickly,” the Kingmaker said instead of issuing a threat that wouldn’t have bothered him anyway. “We’re running out of time.”

They were, judging from that video.

Which meant there wouldn’t be enough time to do what Iris really wanted—embarrassment and a public trial—but even if he couldn’t get her that, Synek would get her the rest.

No matter the cost.

* * *

When Calavera said they were shopping for more than just tonight, Iris assumed they would be at the boutique for the duration, but instead, they’d gone to three different stores until she had a wardrobe that she wasn’t sure would fit inside the Maserati, and an empty envelope that she only felt moderately bad about.

She’d taken care of herself for years now, and even when her life was normal and her father was home, Iris had always been rather independent. She liked it that way. There was a certain freedom in being able to take care of herself, which had ultimately helped her survive once Marvin was gone.

“Don’t worry about Winter,” Calavera said as she drove them toward a salon. “She’ll come around. They can just be a bit … protective of each other. She means well even though it doesn’t seem like it.”

Iris figured as much, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Synek had said as much too, that his relationship with Winter was, for lack of a better word, complicated. She couldn’t argue with that.

Considering what they both had been through and the event that ultimately brought them together, she would be more surprised if they weren’t as close as they were, but a small part of her envied that sort of bond.

A bigger part of her was glad that Synek had had someone to help keep him level. If he hadn’t, maybe they wouldn’t be here now, but the only person she’d had was Rosalie, and that relationship, or lack thereof, had been as problematic as the reason she’d gone to the Wraiths in the first place.

“It’s fine,” Iris found herself saying, reaching up smooth her fingers over the length of hair covering her shoulder. “I understand.” And she did even if she didn’t like it.

“Oh, it’s not about that,” Calavera said in a tone that made Iris glance in her direction.

“No?”

“For a while, Winter had a bit of a thing for Syn.”

Iris bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from responding. It made a lot of sense, and a part of her had wondered whether they had been a thing, but she’d dismissed the idea once she saw how in love Winter seemed to be with the big Romanian.

But judging from the way she phrased it, Iris thought she had an idea of what happened. “Syn probably wouldn’t want you telling me this.”

Never mind the fact that he hadn’t told her himself whether something had happened between him and Winter, but Iris didn’t think she wanted to know.

“Syn has always been a little intense when it came to Winter. He wanted to protect her from everything and refused to even let her come around us mercenaries for a while. And when she started doing jobs with the Den? He made sure she was the highest paid hacker there was.”

Would her skin be green if she peeked down at her arm?

“But you know what? As much as she used to look at him as if the sun rose and fell over his head, she doesn’t look at him like that anymore. Why? Because she has her guy. And after Syn saw that—though there were a couple of attempts to kill him—he accepted it.” Calavera was smiling when she looked at her now. “Syn has only ever given a shit about two people in the entire world—that’s Winter and you. Winter’s a little blind right now, but trust me, she’ll see what I do soon enough.”

Somehow, despite the start, that had been exactly what Iris wanted to hear even if some details surprised her.

It did, however, make her wonder how the others saw them and whether Synek cared. These were, for all intents and purposes, his closest friends. The people he called on when he needed someone.

And now that she was with him—actually with him as more than just two people trying to solve a problem—she wanted them to like her as well.

As they arrived at the salon with the frosted glass doors and overhanging sign with the owner’s name scrawled across the top, Iris was lost in her thoughts, trying to remember the last time she’d wanted to belong somewhere.

She hadn’t ever really been a part of the Wraiths, and not just because she’d been more focused on getting her father out of prison. She had never truly felt like one of them. The things they revered had always rubbed her the wrong way, and for that reason, she always felt like the odd man out. One foot in, and one foot out.

“Calavera!” another woman called, just as excited as Joanne had been, as they entered the salon.

“Is there anyone you don’t know in this city?” Iris whispered.

“Give it time,” she said with a light laugh. “You’ll know them all too.”

Once she hugged the other woman briefly, Calavera said louder for her to hear, “We’re running late, Rachel. Give her—”

“Something that’s unforgettable,” Iris finished for her.

The woman was already spinning for her chair as Calavera smiled with a nod, but it wasn’t the fundraiser Iris was thinking of.

She wanted to be unforgettable for Synek.