Riven Knight

by Devney Perry

  Until then, today was our last Sunday breakfast at the diner.

  I wouldn’t be able to eat here again after this.

  “Stopped by to see Jim on Friday.” Draven shoved a bite of pancake in his mouth.

  “You did? When?”

  He chased his bite with a sip of coffee. “Lunchtime. You were out eating with Bryce.”

  “Oh. He didn’t mention it.”

  Draven shrugged. “Wasn’t a big thing. Just wanted to drop off his final payment.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  Draven had been busy the past week, preparing for his inevitable incarceration. Once the jury announced their verdict, he’d either be a free man or immediately taken into custody until the sentencing hearing.

  He was planning for the latter.

  Draven had basically settled his estate, going so far as to clean out his house to put it on the market. February wasn’t a great time to list a house for sale in Montana but Draven had been prepared to do it anyway.

  That was, until Dash and Nick found out. My half brothers had insisted the house be kept in the family. After all, it had been their mother’s home. Chrissy Slater may have passed, but her memory was alive and strong with her family.

  My mom’s was too.

  Besides the house, Draven’s life was wrapped up. He was maybe the most prepared man in history to face a verdict.

  “Jim sure is impressed with you. Doubt he’d be any prouder if you were his own.”

  “I’m lucky to work for a guy like him. He’s taught me a lot. Gives me responsibility and trust. It’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

  “Ever thought about getting your law degree? Jim said you’d make one hell of a lawyer. Even said since he and Colleen don’t have kids, you’d be a great partner.”

  It would be a dream come true to be Jim’s partner at his firm. But it was one of those faraway dreams I wasn’t counting on or working toward. No one in Clifton Forge knew I’d once planned to become a lawyer, not even Isaiah.

  I poked at my omelet with my fork. “Maybe someday.”

  “Why not now?”

  “There aren’t many accredited law schools in Clifton Forge.”

  “No need for you to stay here.”

  “How about for Isaiah? I won’t leave him to deal with this mess alone.”

  Draven leaned forward. “When you first told us you two were married, I knew something was up. But then after a while you relaxed together. Tell me honestly, did this become something real?”

  “Nothing like putting me on the spot,” I muttered, making his lips turn up.

  Draven’s smile was something I’d seen more often lately. And around him, I smiled easier too. There wasn’t some big moment where we’d become comfortable around each other. It had crept up on us the way a cloudy sky would clear to blue when you weren’t paying it any attention.

  “So?” he pressed.

  I picked up my fork, stabbing a strawberry and shoving it in my mouth.

  Was this something real? Did I love Isaiah?

  He was my best friend. He was there for me every day. When something happened at work that made me laugh, he was the first person I wanted to tell. When I woke up some mornings in a foul mood, he made me coffee with cream because it almost always cheered me up. The chocolate chip cookies I made every week weren’t for me anymore—they were Isaiah’s.

  Was that love?

  The only person I’d truly loved had been Mom. She’d told me she loved me often. Daily, especially when I was a kid.

  Maybe it didn’t count as love until I was brave enough to tell Isaiah.

  “I won’t leave him.” My answer—telling as it was—would have to suffice. Besides, Draven was smart enough to read between the lines.

  I was very much in love with my husband, and when it came time to tell someone, Isaiah would be the first to know. There were times when I would have guessed Isaiah loved me too.

  Or did his heart still belong to Shannon?

  It was odd to be jealous of a ghost.

  “So you’ll stay here. For how long?” Draven asked.

  “As long as it takes.”

  We went back to our meals, clearing our plates the way we did every Sunday. I’d curse myself in an hour for being too full, but the pancakes were delicious and however they made the omelets, the cheese was gooey and so tasty I couldn’t pass it up.

  I was savoring my last bite when a figure appeared at the edge of our table.

  “What the actual fuck, Draven?” Presley shouted, drawing attention from the entire restaurant.

  We normally had some attention anyway—presumed murderer and all—but this was more than chaste glances and whispers.

  Draven didn’t even blink. “Mornin’, Pres.”

  She glared down at him, her fists planted on her hips. Presley wasn’t a tall woman. She stood only a few inches above five feet. I was five seven in bare feet, and I towered over her whenever I wore heels. Despite her physical size, she cast an intimidating shadow over our table.

  Presley ordered the guys around at the garage, running it like a well-oiled machine. Draven, though technically retired, covered most of the office work because Dash preferred tools versus pens in his grip. Now that Draven was leaving, they’d both spent a month teaching her more about the business.

  They’d added her name to the bank accounts. She invoiced customers, paid bills, signed contracts and managed payroll. And last week, they’d christened her with the official title of Office Manager.

  Did she not want the job? Had something else happened? Isaiah spoke highly of Presley. I hadn’t had a ton of interaction with her other than the rare group activity or in passing, but she was always so controlled and poised. To see her fuming was definitely a change.

  I closed my mouth. It had been hanging open, food visible.

  “Had to be done,” Draven said like the entire room didn’t have eyes aimed our way.

  What had to be done? What was this about?

  “You overstepped,” she snapped.

  “I did what I should have done day one. You’re too good for him, Pres.”

  Ahh. So this was about Jeremiah. They were still engaged, much to the chagrin of everyone at the garage. Presley had assured everyone that the Warriors didn’t come to their place anymore. Jeremiah still met with them, but outside their home.

  And though it irritated the guys at the garage to no end that she wouldn’t dump his sorry ass, they hadn’t told her about the drama with the Warriors.

  She didn’t know they’d come after me. She didn’t know they were a threat. So how could we blame her? Presley was in the dark, taking the side of her fiancé.

  “It’s not your business,” Presley snapped.

  “He wants to join the Warriors.”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, he doesn’t. He was hanging out with a few of them for a while, but I haven’t seen them in weeks. Besides, he promised me he wouldn’t join that club.”

  “His promises don’t hold a lot of water. When’s he gonna get around to buying you a ring? Set a wedding date yet?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Why are you doing this? Why are you making me hate you right now?”

  Draven’s eyes didn’t narrow like I’d expected. They softened. “I won’t be here to walk you down the aisle. Doing my best while I can to make sure the man you meet at the end of it deserves to be standing there.”

  Presley had asked Draven to walk her down the aisle? A pang of jealousy hit. If I ever had a real wedding, he wouldn’t be there to give me away either.

  The fury on Presley’s face washed away with the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I know you don’t like Jeremiah. He’s just . . . going through a phase. Trust me. Please? I’ll be fine. And would you stop talking like you’re dying?” She slid into the booth beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “It’s not like you’re never going to see us again.”

  “No.” Draven’s definite tone made Presley sit up straight. “I won’t see yo
u again.”

  My spine stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “If they find me guilty, which they will, I’m going away. You girls are not to visit me.” He pinned me with his stare. “I don’t want either of you in that place.”

  “But—”

  “Ask Isaiah. Ask him if he’d want you in there. If he says yes, I’ll reconsider.”

  Isaiah wouldn’t say yes. There was a shadow in his eyes when he thought about that place. While he’d confided in me about Shannon’s death, I knew his time in prison would never be a discussion point for us.

  He’d shelter me from its horrors.

  Draven would do the same.

  I wasn’t ready to give up my father.

  In a way, Draven had helped me let go of some of the resentment I had toward Mom. He was charismatic. He was brutally honest, even harsh at times. He didn’t hesitate to plow past the bullshit and talk about something uncomfortable head-on.

  He was a pain in the ass.

  I loved him for it.

  And I could see how Mom had fallen in love with him too. Not that her actions were right, but I saw why she’d loved him.

  Draven had this pull about him, this utter confidence. Not many men accused of murder would walk into the diner with his swagger. He didn’t give a shit what other people thought. The only opinions that held any weight were those of his family and friends.

  The fact that Dash wasn’t speaking to him was tearing him to pieces.

  Draven’s love for his late wife was undying. Draven didn’t speak about Chrissy often, but he’d mention her every once in a while if he had a story to share. He’d get a faraway look in his eyes that held eternal love. That love was always accompanied by a shade of regret—for how he’d treated her and for how she’d died.

  And there was regret in Draven’s heart for my mom.

  I’d always be disappointed that Mom hadn’t been brave enough to tell me the truth. But I understood.

  Draven was her mistake. Her crippling weakness.

  Maybe that was why Presley was so attached to Jeremiah. He was her weakness too.

  “I’m coming to visit you in prison.” Presley pushed out of the booth and without another word, walked for the door. But about halfway across the diner, she spun back around, hurrying to our table to bend down and place a kiss on Draven’s cheek.

  He looked up at her with loving eyes and gave her a smile, and then she was gone again.

  “What did you do to Jeremiah?” I asked.

  “I, uh . . . encouraged him to break it off with Pres. Told him if he wanted to be a Warrior, he’d have a better chance at making it if he wasn’t tied to a woman in Clifton Forge.”

  “Wait. You want him to be a Warrior?”

  “I want him out of Presley’s life. She knows she’s got a good gig at the garage. She likes it there and isn’t eager to leave. Ashton and the Warriors are three hours away. Now, maybe the Warriors think they’ll gain information through her, but they won’t. I trust her completely. And eventually, the distance would drive them apart. I’m hoping if Jeremiah joins the club, it’ll be the end for them.”

  Then for Presley’s sake, I hoped he’d join too.

  Draven left two twenties on the table after we drained our coffee mugs. Then we pulled on our coats and hats to venture outside. He’d started his truck already—remote start. Isaiah had bought me the same type of kit for Christmas and had installed it on New Year’s Day.

  We got inside Draven’s truck and I buckled my seat belt. When he put the truck in reverse, I looked over at his profile. His eyes met mine and he smiled.

  Damn it, I’d miss him. I hadn’t realized how much until just now. We hadn’t had enough time. We talked about me mostly and not nearly enough about him.

  What television shows did he like? What was his favorite book? What was his favorite part about Clifton Forge?

  All stupid questions but I wanted answers. But instead of asking those, I went for one that had been on my mind for the past month.

  “Are you scared?” I whispered as he drove.

  “No.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m tired. Tired of fighting. Been doing it for too many years.”

  Would he have to fight in prison? Probably. I didn’t think prison would be an easy end to his life. And damn it, he didn’t deserve to fight in there. This wasn’t his fault.

  While he was inside, I would keep fighting outside. My phone calls to pawnshops hadn’t turned up Mom’s necklace, but I’d call more. I’d start researching every single resident of Clifton Forge and Ashton besides. Somehow, I’d find the evidence to set him free.

  The garage was in front of us before I was ready, and a sting hit my nose. Emotion clawed its way up my throat because I didn’t want to have this goodbye.

  “I’m glad I got to know you.” Draven reached over and put his hand on my shoulder.

  My chin quivered. “I’m glad I got to know you too. Will you write to me?”

  His answer was a sad smile. Did that mean no? Would he really go to prison and I’d never hear from him again?

  I unbuckled my seat belt as he shut off the truck. We climbed out in unison, the slamming of our doors echoing in the quiet parking lot. He met me in front of the grill.

  “Take care of yourself.”

  I nodded. “You too.”

  He took a small step forward, his arms lifting slightly.

  I’d never hugged Draven. I’d hardly touched the man. But in that moment, I flew into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him for all the hugs I’d missed in my life.

  “Proud of you, girl.” Draven’s whisper hit my ear at the same time the tears fell down my cheeks. “So damn proud.”

  I smashed my face harder into his chest. “Thanks, Dad.”

  His arms squeezed tight at the name. “Goddamn, I wish things were different.”

  So did I.

  We stood there, hugging, for a long time, until the sound of boots coming down the stairs broke us apart. I swiped at the tears on my cheeks. Draven sniffled, clearing his throat as Isaiah joined us by the truck.

  One look at me and I was tucked into his side. Then he held out his free hand to Draven. “Appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

  “You take care of her and consider the debt paid.”

  Isaiah simply nodded.

  I met Draven’s eyes once more, the shade of them the same I saw in the mirror every morning. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  “So don’t.” He winked, then spun on his boot heel and went to his truck.

  Isaiah and I stood in the lot until his taillights disappeared down the street.

  “You okay?” Isaiah asked.

  “No.” Today, I wasn’t okay. Tomorrow didn’t look good either.

  But we’d get through this eventually.

  And I didn’t care what Draven said, I’d see him again. I’d go to that prison and keep learning about my father. I’d ask the questions I hadn’t yet. And one day, maybe, we’d be able to set him free.

  Footsteps on the stairs outside woke Isaiah and me from a dead sleep.

  I sat up with a gasp, blinking my eyes awake as my heart galloped. He beat me out of bed. I whipped off the covers, reaching for the sweatshirt I’d tossed on the floor. The clock on my nightstand glowed two minutes after three.

  Who the hell was at the apartment at three o’clock in the morning?

  Isaiah hurried to the closet for a shoebox. That box had been the only thing he’d had in there besides clothes. When I’d done the reorganization, he’d asked to keep it inside.

  Because there was a gun inside.

  “Isaiah.” My worried eyes met his as a knock came at the door.

  He held up a finger to his lips. Then he pointed for me to stay back as he padded across the floor.

  Goddamn it, why didn’t we have a peephole? We needed a peephole. After tonight, we were getting one.

  Another knock echoed through the dark apartment just as Isaiah turned the
deadbolt. He peered through the crack as the door opened, his foot and knee braced on the backside to slow down anyone who might try and bust inside.

  The muscles in his shoulders bunched. “What are you doing here?”

  “Here.”

  I vaguely recognized the man’s voice but couldn’t place it. My heart raced.

  Isaiah opened the door an inch wider to take something from the man outside. “What is it?”

  “Justice. You’re both free.” The man’s footsteps started down the stairs.

  Isaiah slammed the door and flipped the lock. Then he went to the window, watching with the gun still in his hand. The engine outside was barely audible, but it was there. Then it faded as our visitor left.

  “Who was that?”

  Isaiah set the gun on the table, then stretched for the light switch. My eyes squinted as the room illuminated, and when they adjusted, I spotted the white envelope in Isaiah’s hand.

  “Who was that?” I asked again as he tore into the envelope.

  “Tucker.”

  My jaw dropped. “Tucker, as in the Warriors’ president Tucker?”

  He nodded, then pulled a letter from the envelope.

  I crossed the room, standing at his side as he unfolded the page.

  Isaiah was too tall for me to read over his shoulder and he kept turning so I couldn’t read what it said from his side. His face paled. His eyes narrowed at the handwriting on the page.

  “Isaiah?”

  He kept reading.

  “Isaiah, you’re scaring me.” I tugged on his elbow.

  Still, he kept reading. Only when he was done did he turn to me. His face was twisted in agony, his eyes full of sorrow.

  “What?” I choked out. “Tell me.”

  He tossed the letter on the table beside the gun, stopping me as I reached for it. With both hands on my arms, he pushed me backward, away from the paper and to the couch. I sat as he crouched down in front of me, his Adam’s apple bobbing while he searched for the words. His hands stayed firm on my arms, braced like he was ready to catch me if I fell.

  “It’s Draven.”

  My heart stopped. “What?”

  “He’s . . . dead,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, doll. He’s gone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two