Instead, he said, “Show me.”
“Show you what?” Celt returned, but Niklaus could tell by the way he asked the question that the man knew exactly what he was asking.
“Show me how not to lose.”
* * *
Sitting in the boiler room, shirtless, sweating, Niklaus kept his breaths even as Celt tugged on thick, black gloves, wrapping his hand around the handle of the rod sticking out of glowing red coals. As it was pulled free, the end of it glowed vibrantly, forcing his eyes to the symbol there.
He had been training for this moment even if he hadn’t known it at the time.
Six months spent in a padded room with Celt teaching him how to fight, and which weapons were best to use. His training was tedious, to the point that even in his dreams, he was assembling and disassembling weaponry, learning every little aspect there was.
It was one of Celt’s rules, one of the many that he’d told Niklaus over the course of their work together: learn your weapon, or die trying to use it.
It hadn’t just been Celt teaching him however. Over the next few months, there had been others, a team of sorts that came in and out his life sporadically.
After Celt, there had been Calavera, a specialist in knives that would have put Valon to shame. Though he sported more cuts than he would have liked after their time together, he appreciated the knowledge more.
After her came Skorpion, Grimm, and another man whose name Niklaus still didn’t know. He didn’t know where they came from, or where they went, but they had all offered him some knowledge that would serve him well for his duration with the Den.
All of it, more than thirteen months of training had led up to this point where there would be no turning back from the path he had taken. With a single mark, he would be branded with the very thing he needed to get the revenge he sought...
He had only a spare moment to take it in before Z signaled for two—ones Niklaus had worked with, but had yet to learn their names—to come forward and grab hold of him, keeping him in place.
Niklaus knew what to expect—Celt had warned him.
Dropping his head forward, he drew in a deep breath, trying to keep his wits about him. It was quiet for so long that Niklaus wasn’t sure if this entire process was only meant to frighten him, but just as he’d begun to relax, his shoulders slouching, Celt pressed the heated metal to his flesh.
The agony was enough to make his eyes water, but he gritted his teeth to get through it, refusing to cry out even as the pain threatened to force it out of him. He was sure he would pass out before the process was over, but worse was the overwhelming scent of burning flesh that suffocated him. It brought back memories better left to the past.
However, before he could sink too deeply into them, Celt pulled the rod away, the heavy metal clanging on the floor after he dropped it.
When the hands on him disappeared, Niklaus felt lightheaded and weak, almost to the point that he was seeing stars, but he managed to stay upright, blinking to clear his vision as they all circled to stand in front of him.
He was careful not to move his head too much, not wanting to make the pain any worse, but he made it his mission to look at them all.
From the very beginning, Niklaus had never seen Celt crack, never a smile, or any expression besides the blank, emotionless mask he always wore, but now for the first time, a hint of a smile curled his lips as he nodded at Niklaus.
“Welcome to the Den, Red.”
Chapter Nine
2012
Shouldering his duffel bag, Niklaus kept his gaze at his feet, even with the opaque sunglasses concealing his gaze. It only took a single person, or the right angle of a security camera, to catch his face, and blow up his carefully crafted identity. Thankfully, most people by nature were unobservant, too lost in their own lives to remember someone that excelled at remaining forgettable.
Usually the jobs he took were sanctioned, preplanned ops that only required him to show up, pull the trigger, and disappear with the help of an entire organization.
But today’s job? This one was his alone. Though it was the middle of the day when most people were roaming the streets, Niklaus couldn’t put it off any longer—not if he wanted to end the man’s life on this side of the Pacific.