Riven tried to smile like he agreed, even as his blood chilled. “Right. Cautious.”
He stepped toward the cargo latch and paused, fingers resting lightly on the metal. One more glance around. Still quiet.
With a breath, Riven unlatched the cargo door and pulled it open with a metallic screech that split the silence.
He expected crates. Bags. Something industrial and heavy with promise. Instead, there was nothing. Just the open blackness of the truck’s interior. And then movement, a figure emerging from the dark, raised gun aimed squarely at Riven’s chest.
He froze, his eyes taking a moment to adjust and then recognition slammed into him.
Kieran. Of all people—of all places—Kieran.
A smirk played at the edge of the man’s mouth, but his eyes were hard, focused. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Chapter 42
Riven didn’t even have time to curse before he turned. He did it slowly, deliberately, trying to keep the pulse spike from showing on his face. Guns. Every one of Lareth’s people now had one pointed straight at him. The air felt suddenly thinner, tighter, pressing around his throat. Still, he played his part, forcing a lazy sneer onto his face.
“What is this?” he asked scornfully. “Some kind of gang initiation?”
Lareth gave a humorless chuckle, all teeth and menace. “Drop the act,” he said, shaking his head like he was disappointed. “We know who you work for.”
Riven’s gut went cold. He kept his posture easy, only a faint twitch at his jaw betraying him. “You think House Virellien’s gonna let this slide?” he said, shifting just enough to gauge how quickly he could move—not quickly enough. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh?” Lareth raised a brow. “Why not? You’re already out here. No one to hear it happen.”
“You’re wrong.” Riven’s fingers twitched like he might go for a weapon, but he didn’t. Not yet. “I’ve got backup. They’ll be here any second.”
Lareth shrugged. “Not tonight, sweetheart.”
The click of safeties disengaging echoed like thunder in the empty night. Riven’s mind raced. He tapped the comm once, then again. “Caerel,” he muttered, the word low under his breath. “Now would be a great time to—”
Silence.
No feedback. No crackle. No voice.
Nothing.
He tapped the earpiece again, harder, checked the line under his collar. Still nothing. No connection. His comm had been jammed this entire time and he hadn’t even noticed. The realization landed hard. His mouth went dry.
He was alone.
Truly, utterly alone.
The weight of it dropped through his chest like a stone. House Virellien wasn’t coming. Thane wasn’t coming. There was no twin with a sniper rifle somewhere in the dark, no cold Virellien backup ready to move in if things turned.
Just him, a dead comm, and a bunch of guns.
He exhaled through his nose and straightened a little, heart hammering. Fine. That was fine. He’d survived worse. He just had to stay alive long enough to figure out what the hell was going on—and maybe long enough to send a signal.
“You planning to shoot me or posture all night?” he asked, his voice low and flat. “Because if you are, at least have the balls to do it yourselves instead of hiding behind the barrels.”
Lareth only smiled again. “Into the truck, Riven.”
“No.”
A beat of silence.
“All right,” Lareth said cheerfully. “We can do it here, then.”
