by Devney Perry
RIVEN KNIGHT
Copyright © 2019 by Devney Perry LLC
All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-950692-03-3
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No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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Editing & Proofreading:
Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing
www.razorsharpediting.com
Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts
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Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services
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Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading
Kaitlyn Moodie, Moodie Editing Services
Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading
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Cover:
Hang Le
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Also by Devney Perry
Jamison Valley Series
The Coppersmith Farmhouse
The Clover Chapel
The Lucky Heart
The Outpost
The Bitterroot Inn
The Candle Palace
Maysen Jar Series
The Birthday List
Letters to Molly
Lark Cove Series
Tattered
Timid
Tragic
Tinsel
Tin Gypsy Series
Gypsy King
Riven Knight
Stone Princess
Runaway Series
Runaway Road
Wild Highway
To Jennifer
For that day we drove around Texas
and plotted this book
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Preview to Stone Princess
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
Genevieve
“I’m disappointed.”
I’d take a slap across the face any day over that statement. It was especially sharp and painful today of all days, coming from Mr. Reggie Barker, a man I’d considered a mentor and professional hero.
“I’m sorry, Reggie.”
My boss—former boss—sighed on the other end of the phone. “Given the way you chose to leave the firm, I’m unable to give you a reference.”
I winced. “Oh, um . . . okay.”
Reggie felt that giving one week’s notice instead of two was a snub. It didn’t matter that I’d worked as his paralegal for the past four years, that I was the first person to arrive at the firm each morning and the last to leave each night. It didn’t matter that, while paralegals in the firm could study for their LSAT exams during work hours, I’d saved all my studies for home, ensuring every minute of my workday was dedicated to helping Reggie.
I’d pushed taking the exam four times because he’d cautioned me to be ready—stated in a way he didn’t think I was.
I’d trusted him. I’d valued his opinion above all others at the firm. I’d given him all that I’d had to give, and apparently, it wasn’t enough.
I was disappointed too.
I’d only called this morning because I’d forgotten to leave my office key behind. Now I wished I’d simply mailed it with a note.
“Best of luck, Genevieve.”
“Thank—”
He hung up the phone before I could finish. Twenty-seven was already shaping up to be a disaster.
Happy birthday to me.
I set my phone aside and stared through the windshield at the store ahead. I was parked in front of a small clothing shop on Central Avenue. It was the only store in Clifton Forge, Montana, that sold women’s clothing besides the farm-and-ranch-supply warehouse.
Clifton Forge.
My mom had gone to high school here. My grandparents, two people I’d never known, had been killed in a car accident and were buried here. Six weeks ago, the town of Clifton Forge was nothing more than a footnote in my family’s history.
Then Mom came for a visit and was viciously slaughtered at the local motel.
Now Clifton Forge wasn’t only a black spot on the past, it was also my home for the foreseeable future.
I longed to be at home in Denver, driving on familiar streets to familiar places. The allure of the highway had a strong pull. On the drive from Colorado, I’d been tempted more than once to turn around and never look back. To run and hide.
Except I’d made a promise to a perfect stranger, a man I’d known only hours. I wouldn’t break my word.
Not after what Isaiah had done for me.
So here I was, in Clifton Forge.
For months. Years. Decades. For as long as it takes. I owed Isaiah that time.
The queasy feeling I’d had for days surged, the bile rising in my throat. I swallowed it down, not wanting to think about a lifetime condemned to Montana. I didn’t have time to dwell on the possibilities—the consequences—of what was about to happen. I was supposed to meet Isaiah at noon, which only gave me two hours to get ready. So I steeled my spine, pushed the nerves away and got out of the car to do some shopping.
I refused to wear jeans today.
In the past week, I’d packed up everything in my condo in Denver, much like I’d done with my mother’s home, though this time not quite as soul shattering. Still, it had hurt and I’d cried every time I’d taped a box shut. All this change, all this loss—I was drowning.
Most of my larger belongings had gone into storage. Some had been packed to ship. And the rest had been crammed into my gray, four-door Toyota Camry, which I’d driven from Colorado to Montana yesterday.
Too frazzled, trying to pack and finish up my last week at work, I hadn’t thought to pack a dress. Maybe it was my subconscious protesting today’s nuptials.
But, like it or not, this wedding was happening, and I was not wearing jeans.
Especially on my birthday.
I’d taken extra care with my makeup this morning. I’d washed and styled my thick, brown hair using the expensive curling wand Mom had bought me last year.
It was the last birthday gift she’d ever give me.
My God, I missed her. She wouldn’t be here today to stand by my side as I made arguably the biggest mistake of my life. She wouldn’t be here for any more birthdays, because a vile and vicious human had snuffed out her life. It wasn’t fair.
Mom had been murdered, stabbed seven times, left to bleed out in a motel room alone. She’d died, leaving behind a trail of secrets and lies that were ruining her beautiful memory.
Why? I wanted to scream it to the heavens until she answered.
/>
Why?
I was so angry at her. I was furious she hadn’t trusted me with the truth. That she hadn’t told me about my father. That I was here in this shitty little town because of her bad choices.
But damn it, I missed her. Today of all days, I wanted my mom.
Tears welled behind my sunglasses and I blinked them away before walking into the clothing store. I put on the fake smile I’d been wearing for weeks.
“Good morning,” the clerk greeted as the bell chimed over my head. “Please feel free to look around. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”
“Actually, yes. I need a dress and heels.”
The heels would hurt. The soles of my feet were wrecked from running through the mountains with bare feet, but I’d suffer through it today.
“Oooh. I might have just the thing.” She came from around the counter where she’d been folding a sweater. “We just got this deep-green dress in yesterday. I’m obsessed with it. And it will go beautifully with your hair.”
“Perfect.”
Just as long as it isn’t white.
Thirty minutes later, I was home—a term I used loosely—because my temporary residence, this shitty apartment located above a shitty garage in a shitty town, was definitely no home. I pulled on my new sleeveless green wrap dress, adjusting the deep V-neck so not too much cleavage was showing. Then I stood on my tiptoes in the bathroom, trying to see myself in the mirror. Whoever had furnished this place didn’t seem to care what they looked like from the waist down.
I strapped on the nude heels I’d bought today too, wishing I’d had time for a pedicure. Was there even a place for pedicures in Clifton Forge? Instead, I rifled through my purse for the bottle of hot pink polish I’d tossed in there weeks ago for emergency touch-ups. I applied another coat and let it dry. There were so many layers now, it would take a jackhammer to chip it all off.
I fluffed my hair once more and swiped on a fresh coat of lip color. Noise from the Clifton Forge Garage carried up from the floor. The clang of metal on metal. The hum of a compressor. The muffled voices of men working.
Crossing the studio apartment, I stepped up to the only window that overlooked the parking lot below. A row of gleaming black motorcycles was parked against the edge of the property, lined up and equally spaced against a chain-link fence.
My half brother owned one of those bikes.
So did my father.
He was Mom’s biggest secret, one I’d only learned about because of her death. Would she have told me about him eventually? I guess it didn’t make a difference now. Except for a few times as a kid and then a bratty teenager, I hadn’t asked about him. I hadn’t needed a father when I’d had her as a mother.
She was everything I’d needed and more. And now she was gone, leaving me to deal with this family of strangers. What other secrets would I uncover in Clifton Forge? They seemed to be seeping from the boards of her coffin.
A man walked out from the garage, striding to a black bike that didn’t gleam like the others. It was the only motorcycle in the row I’d ridden.
Isaiah. A name that had been haunting my thoughts for days.
His stride was long and confident. He had a grace about his steps, an ease in the way those strong thighs lifted and his narrow hips rolled. But then came the thud, a heaviness each time his boot hit pavement.
It sounded a lot like dread.
I could sympathize.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes landing on my car parked by the stairs leading to the apartment. He stared at it for a long moment, then turned his gaze to the window.
I didn’t bother trying to hide. If he could see me past the dirt and water spots, it didn’t make a difference. Soon, there’d be no escaping his gaze.
It was impossible to see the color of his eyes from this distance, but like his name, they’d been a constant part of my dreams. And nightmares.
Green and brown and gold. Most would classify them as hazel and move along to his other mouth-watering qualities—the long legs, rock-hard stomach, chiseled arms decorated with tattoos and an ass that didn’t quit. But those eyes, they were exquisite.
The spiral of colors was ringed with a bold circle of dark chocolate. And though the pattern was intriguing, what made them so heartbreaking were the demons beneath.
There was no sparkle. No light. They were empty.
From his time in prison? Or from something more?
Isaiah gave me a single nod, then went to his bike, straddling the machine as it rumbled to life. It was time to go.
My heart jumped into my throat. I’m going to be sick. I swallowed down the wash of saliva in my mouth and breathed through my nose, because there wasn’t time to puke. It was almost noon.
I pulled myself away from the window and returned to the bathroom, tidying up the few things I’d left on the counter. While the rest of the studio was wide open, the bathroom had a door, which was good since I’d be sharing this space tonight.
Then with all my things put away in a travel case, I risked one long look in the mirror.
I looked pretty today, a fancier version of my normal self. In a way, I looked like Mom.
Damn it, Mom. Damn you for not being here. For making me do this alone.
I sucked in a breath, not allowing the threat of tears to ruin my mascara. I shoved those feelings deep, to a dark place where they’d stay until I could afford the breakdown needed. Now was not that time, no matter how fucked my life had become.
First, there was my job. By quitting, I’d killed my dream to one day become a lawyer and work alongside the great Reggie Barker. Did Clifton Forge even have lawyers? If so, I doubted any specialized in pro bono work for abused women. There certainly wasn’t a law school nearby. Which meant if I did find a job, I’d be stuck as a paralegal.
Goodbye, dream job.
Next, there was my condo, the one I’d picked out meticulously. The one I’d drained my savings account to buy. The one I’d been slowly decorating, taking care and patience to pick things that were perfect, not just things that filled empty spaces.
Goodbye, home.
It was agony to think of selling my condo, especially while I was stuck in a studio apartment, and not the swanky kind. No, this was the bachelor kind with white, cracked walls and old tan carpet.
Goodbye, life.
I trudged out of the bathroom, grabbed my purse and headed for the door. My heels clopped down the metal stairs as I gripped the handrail to keep my balance. When my shoes hit pavement, I hustled for the car, not risking a glance at the garage.
I’d been avoiding my half brother, Dash, and his girlfriend, Bryce, since I’d arrived yesterday. They had questions about what I was doing here. Why I was living in Isaiah’s apartment. How long I was staying.
I had answers but wasn’t ready to give them yet.
When I pulled out of the parking lot undetected, I breathed a long sigh, then followed my phone’s navigation toward downtown Clifton Forge.
I passed a wide river along the way. It meandered along the edge of town, bordered by trees that swayed in the breeze. The sun gleamed off its flowing currents. The mountains stood proud and blue in the distance. It was . . . picturesque.
Maybe I’d been a bit harsh in my judgment of Clifton Forge. It actually had the same country, quiet feel as some of the rural areas in Colorado, places Mom had taken me for weekend getaways. The garage wasn’t all that shitty either but fancy, like the garages you saw on car-resurrection shows.
Maybe, in time, I’d get to know the town and its people and not feel like a prisoner.
Today was not that day.
Today was day one of my sentence.
The closer I got to my destination, the faster my heart raced. Parking in one of the few open spaces in front of the Clifton Forge courthouse, I dug through my console for a handful of change to slot into the meter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used change instead of my credit card to pay for parking.
/> With it maxed out at two hours—I really hoped this didn’t take that long—I walked up the stairs that led to the red brick building. When I reached the door, my eyes caught sight of a familiar form waiting, and I stuttered a step.
“Hey.” Isaiah pushed off the wall.
“Hi,” I breathed, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress.
He was in a black button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, the same as he’d been in at the garage. They were clean jeans, a bit faded, and they fit him nicely. Still, they were jeans. I wasn’t sure why that bothered me. Maybe I should have just worn jeans too.
“What?” He glanced at himself.
I snapped my eyes away from those long legs, waving it off. “Nothing.”
“You look nice.” He ran a hand over his short brown hair, avoiding my eyes.
“Thanks. So do you.”
His black shirt was buttoned down to his wrists, covering the tattoos on his forearms. The one that ran behind his ear trailed down his neck before it disappeared under his collar. I wasn’t sure if he had any on his back, legs or chest, but each of his fingers had a different design. Ten small tattoos made of lines and dots, all situated across his knuckles.
“Ready?” I asked.
He nodded. “Are you sure about this?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“No. I guess we don’t.”
Isaiah opened the door for me, but inside, he took the lead, guiding us through the courthouse hallways by the wooden signs hung on the walls. The floors had been freshly polished and the overwhelming smell of lemon filled my nose. We disappeared down a series of turns until we reached the door emblazoned with Clerk of the District Court. Underneath was a judge’s name. Below that was Justice of the Peace.
