Riven Knight

by Devney Perry

  “He’s Draven’s son.”

  That was all the answer he gave.

  Did that mean he would have put my murder on Dash too? Probably. He would have arrested Dash for my murder. He would have stolen Draven’s son. He would have had it so that Draven’s son killed his daughter.

  But that hadn’t worked, had it? So he’d unearthed that necklace, finally having an excuse to bring me in once Mom’s picture was printed in the paper. He’d known for a year that I’d been in that cabin. He’d waited, patiently, to put me away for murder and silence me for good.

  Marcus was bitter about Draven’s death. Tucker had stolen his vengeance. I fought the urge to laugh in his face.

  “How did you know I was coming to town to see Mom’s grave?” The only person I’d told had been Bryce. “Were you watching my credit card records or something? Did you see that I’d booked a flight to Bozeman?”

  He gave me a noncommittal shrug.

  That meant yes.

  “Would you have come after me in Colorado?”

  Again, no answer. I was taking that as a yes too.

  Marcus didn’t know what Mom had told me about him. Had he been living this year in fear? I hoped so. I hoped he’d been looking over one shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, dreading the morning. Because that’s how we’d lived this past year.

  Besides the necklace, what other things had he taken from Mom’s house? Was there a shrine somewhere of her precious belongings that he’d stolen?

  “How did you know I was Draven’s daughter? Before everyone else, I mean.”

  “The newspaper. Lane’s always been good about giving me a heads-up before anything gets printed. When Bryce wrote that article about the knife and your”—his face twisted in disgust—“father, he told me.”

  So I’d been on his radar for two reasons, both because I might have been able to identify him and because I was Draven’s child. A man he hated.

  Marcus had put this elaborate plan in place to ensure none of us survived.

  Was Dash next? After Marcus had locked me up for murder and arson, would he have gone after Dash? What about Nick? What about Draven’s grandkids?

  Marcus’s quest for revenge against Draven likely knew no bounds. He’d stop at nothing.

  All because my mother had broken his heart.

  “You killed her.”

  “Prove it.” He turned and walked to the door.

  Shit. My recording might create some doubt, but was it enough to convict the chief of police? No way.

  He was winning. The bastard was winning and he was walking away. Fuck.

  “You deserve to die for what you did,” I blurted.

  His hand paused at the doorknob. “Is that a threat?”

  “My father was a great man. He was the love of my mother’s life. You were nothing to her. Nothing. She would have stayed with him.”

  The muscles in his back bunched. He slowly spun around, the door forgotten. “Your father was nothing more than a cheating, lowlife criminal.”

  “But she still wanted him more than you.” I sneered. “She chose the better man. What did she say when you caught her after she fucked him? Did she admit he was better than you?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Did she tell you that he was stronger than you’ll ever be?”

  He stepped closer. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

  “I bet she saw his face when you were in bed with her. Did she ever call out his name while she was with you?” I kept pressing, getting louder and louder, hoping that Isaiah and Dash were close enough to stop Marcus from choking the life out of me when I sent him into a blind rage. “Did she call out his name when you stabbed her? Did she beg for her life?”

  “Yes!” His hand flew, hitting me right across the cheek. The sting was blinding, dropping me to my knees. “She begged. She begged for him to save her, but he couldn’t. And if I couldn’t have her, then he wouldn’t either.”

  My hands clutched my cheek as I blinked the white spots away. My vision returned just in time to see Marcus reach for something tucked behind his back, hidden underneath his shirt.

  A gun.

  Of course he had a gun. He was a cop and wouldn’t answer the door after dark without a weapon.

  I ignored Marcus and whipped my gaze to the side. Isaiah was running my way, his own gun drawn.

  The shift caught Marcus’s eye, but before he could react to my husband, the door to his back opened and Dash flew out, wrapping his arms around Marcus’s back and tackling him to the ground. The two landed an inch from my leg, nearly crashing down on my head. Marcus struggled, fighting his way free, but Dash was stronger.

  “Are you okay?” Isaiah was at my side, hauling me up and away from the men before they could collide with me.

  I clung to him, my breaths coming in heavy pants. “He did it. He killed her.”

  “Yeah, doll.” Isaiah pulled me into his arms, talking over my head. “Did you get it?”

  “All of it,” Emmett said, coming out of the darkness right behind the porch swing. I wasn’t sure how he’d crept behind that tiny shrub without me noticing, but he’d been there the whole time.

  Leo came out of the house with an older woman on his heels.

  “Marcus?” she gasped as Dash hauled him to his feet. He had the chief’s hands pinned behind his back. “What’s going on?”

  “Call 911,” Marcus ordered. “And our lawyer.”

  She nodded and disappeared into the house.

  “You’re going down for this,” Dash said through gritted teeth.

  “At least I’ll take my punishment like a man. I won’t off myself like your fucking coward father.”

  Dash tightened his grip on Marcus, making him wince. “You know nothing about my father.”

  Red and blue lights came racing down the street five minutes later. By that time, Dash had wrestled Marcus to the end of the sidewalk. His wife was standing on their lawn, her hands clutched around a phone, as two patrol cars skidded to a stop. Emmett was at her back, talking to someone on his phone.

  The officers in the patrol cars jumped out and made their way toward Dash and the chief.

  A marked police SUV raced in, parking behind the patrol cars. The man inside, dressed in plain clothes, hopped out and pulled the phone away from his ear before shouting, “Hold up.”

  Had he been talking to Emmett?

  The patrolmen, who’d been about to rip Dash’s grip off Marcus, froze at the other man’s command.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Isaiah. We were standing by the porch with Leo, who despite the cops swarming, still had a gun in his hand.

  No one was paying us much attention. We were the subtext to the main drama up front.

  “It’s Luke Rosen,” Leo answered. “He’s the chief’s number two.”

  Luke walked up to Marcus, his eyes hard and his jaw clenched. Luke made no move to release Marcus from Dash’s grip. He just stood there and crossed his arms over his chest. “Chief.”

  “Arrest these men,” Marcus spat. “Trespassing and assault. Now.”

  Luke’s eyes tracked to Emmett and he jerked up his chin.

  Okay, this was weird. I’d expected all of us to be in a jail cell until we could get the recording to someone.

  “What’s going on?” Isaiah asked Leo.

  “Emmett got the recording to Luke.”

  My jaw dropped. “Already?”

  “They’re friends. He called Luke before we came here tonight. Asked if he’d listen in on something.”

  “So he . . . the whole time?”

  Leo nodded. “The whole time.”

  I looked up at Isaiah. “That means we’re free, right? Was it enough?”

  “I don’t know.” He blinked, his mouth dropping as he stared down at the sidewalk.

  Luke gave Dash a nod to release Marcus, and then faster than I’d ever seen in a movie or TV show, he snapped cuffs onto Marcus’s wrists.

  “Good job.” Leo grinned, clapping a ha
nd on my shoulder. “I didn’t think you could do it, but Dash said if anyone could, it would be you. And he was right. The minute you started pissing Marcus off, got him emotional, I knew you had him.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I blinked at him, not sure what to say. “Thank you?”

  Leo nodded and shook Isaiah’s hand, then tucked his gun in the waistband of his jeans and walked away. He passed the cops, jerked his chin at Dash and disappeared down the block.

  Marcus shouted something as Luke shoved him into the backseat of a police car. His wife, the poor woman, was wailing.

  “We’re free.” The words sounded strange coming out of my mouth. When I looked up at Isaiah, he was shaking his head in disbelief. “We did it.”

  “No, you did it.” He smiled. I lost sight of it as he crushed me in his arms. His chest began to shake and a moment later, I realized he was laughing.

  Isaiah was laughing.

  It was deep and raspy. Sexy and real. Something I wanted to hear every day for the rest of my life.

  “We’re free,” Isaiah repeated my words, letting me go.

  His face was lit with red and blue from the police car. My cheek throbbed and I’d likely have a bruise or even a black eye this week. I blocked it all out. I blocked out everything but my husband.

  “I should let you go”—he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear—“but I’m not going to.”

  “It wouldn’t work anyway. Where you go, I go, remember?”

  He dropped a kiss to my lips. It was no more than a brush, but it held so much love and promise. Isaiah and his simple gestures. He took the quiet moments, the ones most overlooked, and made the most of them. “I do.”

  I smiled against his lips. “I do too.”

  Epilogue

  Genevieve

  Three years later . . .

  “Wow.” My eyes raked over the white tent. “This is something else.”

  “They sure cleaned up the boneyard.” Isaiah gripped my hand, leading me to our reserved seats.

  We were sitting in the second row on the bride’s side, the space reserved for family. The white folding chairs were arranged in perfect order. There weren’t many of them, but nearly all were filled.

  The grass was green beneath our feet. The lot behind the garage that had once been filled with old junkers and spare, rusted parts had gotten a total transformation. It must have taken the guys months.

  The old cars had been moved behind the clubhouse. They were hidden by the grove of trees. The grass had been mowed short, surprising us all with the lush carpet that had been hiding underneath years of neglect.

  There were flower pots filled with colorful petunias and lime-green sweet potato vines. The trees along the edge of the property had grown considerably over the past three years. Their leaves blocked out some of the bright June sunshine.

  “We might actually have a decent barbeque here now.” Isaiah glanced over his shoulder at the cement pad and picnic table next to the steel wall of the shop.

  I followed his gaze, picturing Dad sitting there. The table was in the same place as it had been years ago when we’d had one of our first conversations. It had been over three years and his memory still brought on the threat of tears.

  “He’d be so pissed today,” I muttered. “But he would have showed up regardless.”

  “Just like the rest of us.” Isaiah led me to our seats. In front of us, Bryce was wrestling with three-year-old Xander and two-year-old Zeke.

  “Sit. Down.” Her nostrils flared. “If you two don’t stop fighting, I swear—”

  “Uncle ’Saiah.” Xander launched himself over the back of his chair into Isaiah’s arms.

  Isaiah caught him. “Hey, kid. Are you being good for your mom?”

  “No.” He picked at the button on Isaiah’s white shirt.

  I didn’t get to see my husband dressed up much. Normally he was in his garage attire of T-shirts, jeans and motorcycle boots. But this weekend marked two in a row when he’d put on a starched shirt, rolled up the sleeves to show the tattoos on his forearms and pulled on a pair of black slacks. The boots remained.

  A rush of heat bloomed in my core. Just like I had last weekend, tonight I’d get to undo the buttons on that shirt and get my hands on all that inked skin.

  “So?” Bryce turned in her chair. “How does it feel to be back?”

  I smiled at her, then up at Isaiah, who was attempting to teach Xander how to wink. “It’s good to be home.”

  After three years in Missoula, Isaiah and I had moved home yesterday.

  Last weekend, I’d graduated top of my class from law school. Monday would be my second first day of work at Jim’s firm, this time as a lawyer.

  I still had to pass the bar exam, but Jim had ultimate faith I’d make it through flawlessly. For now, I’d be under his wing once more, learning and growing until one day, maybe, he’d pass the practice down to me.

  I shifted in my chair, searching the crowd for his kind face. I found it three rows back. He sat beside his wife, Colleen, her blond hair twisted into a fancy knot. They both smiled as I waved.

  It was good to be home, surrounded by family again.

  Isaiah and I had been alone in Missoula. With my busy class schedule and his long hours working at a small garage there doing routine car maintenance, we hadn’t met many friends. On the occasional weekend, we’d drive up to Lark Cove to visit Kaine, Piper and their kids. Suzanne came to Missoula every other month for a visit. She’d sleep in the small guest bedroom and tell me stories about Isaiah from his childhood.

  I’d lost my only family when Mom had died, but her death had led me to a new one.

  “Hey.” Emmett slapped Isaiah on the shoulder as he took the empty seat beside us. “Ready for this?”

  “No.” Isaiah frowned. “Any chance we can talk her out of it?”

  Emmett leaned past us and took in the tent. “It took Dash, Leo and me three hours to figure out that fucking tent. I’m good if she calls this off, but she’d better keep the bar open.”

  I giggled, looking around again. “Where is Leo?”

  “Late as usual.” Emmett shrugged, then pulled a Dum Dums sucker from his pocket for Xander. The kid’s eyes got wide as Bryce’s narrowed.

  “That’s the fifth one.” She shook her head as Emmett handed one to Zeke too. “When they’re bouncing off the walls from a sugar high, I’m letting you watch them while Mommy enjoys the open bar.”

  We all laughed, then sure enough, Leo slid into the chair by my side. He leaned over to kiss my cheek, then stretched across my lap to shake hands with Isaiah.

  “Is it official? You guys back for good?”

  Isaiah nodded. “As of last night.”

  We’d arrived in town before dark with all of our belongings packed in the back of a U-Haul trailer. Isaiah had pulled it behind his truck while I’d followed in my car.

  Every month that passed, Isaiah was getting more and more comfortable driving me around. It was always easier on his bike. Still, for the most part, we drove separately, or I drove him. There was no rush. There was no reason he had to drive. He’d proved over and over that he’d be there in an emergency.

  “What’s in the shop right now?” Isaiah asked the guys.

  “We just brought in this sweet old ’66 Dodge Charger,” Emmett told him. “There’s quite a bit of metal work to do, but it’ll be a cool rig when it’s done.”

  “I haven’t fabricated anything in a while,” Isaiah told him. “I’m out of practice.”

  “It’ll come back,” Leo assured him. “Are you guys staying in the apartment for a while?”

  “Just for a few weeks, until we close on the house,” I answered.

  Thanks to Jim’s starting salary at the firm and the paycheck spike Isaiah would get being back at work for Dash, we could afford a house. It was a new build, a small starter home on the edge of town, and in three weeks, it would be ours. All we had to do was wait for the builder to paint the exterior and knock out our pun
ch list.

  We’d gone to see it first thing this morning.

  I was so excited to make it mine I could barely stand it. Though it had been fun sleeping in the apartment last night too. Dash hadn’t rented it out in the years we’d been gone. It had become our home away from home, the place we stayed whenever we came home to visit.

  Trips to Clifton Forge hadn’t happened often in the past three years with my busy school schedule, but we’d managed visits at Christmas and two weeks each summer. We’d spent a long weekend here right after Zeke was born. We’d never missed a birthday party. Isaiah and I had even started going to Prescott once a year, staying with Nick, Emmeline and the kids.

  We hadn’t started off strong, but the ties that bound us together were strengthening. Dash and Nick had embraced me as their sister. Each year, the three of us met here in Clifton Forge on the anniversary of Dad’s death to toast him by his graveside. While they’d go and visit their mother’s headstone, I’d do the same with mine.

  Marcus Wagner had been convicted of Mom’s murder and obstruction of justice. The sheriff from a neighboring county had led the investigation and found evidence stashed away in Marcus’s home. The gun he’d used during the kidnapping. The Warrior’s vest. And a handful of things that had been Mom’s. Those things added to the recording of his confession that the judge had allowed into the case, and the prosecution hadn’t had a hard time getting a conviction. Marcus was currently serving a life sentence in prison without the possibility of parole.

  Since his sentencing, I’d done my best to forget the man existed.

  I had justice for my parents.

  The wedding crowd around us rustled, everyone shifting in their seats as whispers drifted from the back row. I turned, wondering what was happening—it was too early to start the ceremony—when Presley marched around the corner of the garage.

  Her white gown was hefted into her fists. Her hair was styled away from her face and her makeup was flawless. She was gorgeous. Furious, but gorgeous.

  “What’s going on?” Isaiah asked Emmett.

  “Fuck if I know,” he muttered.

  As Presley stormed down the small aisle between the rows of chairs, Dash rushed to catch her. He was in slacks and a jacket because she’d asked him to walk her down the aisle. “Pres, don’t.”