8. Lakynn
LAKYNN
“ W hat is it?” I whisper as we stand outside of the farmhouse where we first met. I rest a hand on Riven’s chest, smoothing it down instinctively.
He groans under the touch and presses closer, leaning into me like he needs it more than air. I know he has a lot to tell me, but for right now I’m content being close to him like this.
Then he takes my hand in his, brings it to his chest, and places it flat over his heartbeat. It thunders beneath my palm.
“You’re going to see a side of me again I never wanted you to see,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s important to me that you know the truth. So I need you to see what’s going to happen.”
I nod, but I want him to hear it too. “I want to know every part of you, Riven,” I whisper. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
His eyes close for just a beat, and when they open, they’re darker somehow.
He dips his head, kissing my forehead. His hands slide up my sides, fingers curling into my jacket as he pulls me tighter into his chest.
“Everything I’ve ever done…” he tips my chin back, forcing me to look up at him, “and everything I ever will do… has been for you. You’re the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”
My mouth parts, but no sound comes.
His hand shifts to my jaw, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. His gaze drops. His tongue flicks out across his own lower lip like he’s imagining what I taste like.
“I hope you realize,” he says, voice lower now, silk and steel, “that when this is over… when all of this is behind us… I’m going to spend every hour exploring every inch of you. You won’t get space. You won’t get alone time. You are my passion. My greatest desire. My only reason.”
I swallow hard, chest fluttering, legs suddenly unsteady.
Riven’s hand slides down my neck, squeezes gently, then falls away.
He holds it out to me.
I look from his hand, to his eyes, and back again.
Then I place my palm in his, linking our fingers tightly.
He’s all hard lines and clenched fists, breathing like he’s still tasting blood. The silence between us is thick and full of the things we haven’t said.
I glance at him. He’s vibrating with rage, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle twitching. I wonder if he even notices he’s shaking.
I don’t speak. I’m scared if I do, I’ll fall apart. Because this time, we’re not just running. We’re gone for good. And that means reckoning with all the things we did to survive this place.
The porch is the same. It doesn’t feel like coming home. It feels like walking into a war I didn’t agree to fight.
The front door creaks open before we knock.
Our father is already inside. Sitting in the living room like a king on his rotting throne.
“You’re late,” he says, not even bothering to look up.
Riven’s entire body draws tight like a bow and nudges me to stand behind him, but I can’t keep my mouth shut. “It’s not like we had an appointment.”
He continues, ignoring me and speaking directly to Riven, “Your little massacre made a hell of a mess for me.”
I glance at him. He’s not even shaken even though he clearly knows about the casualties of Riven’s rage.
That’s when I realize he never cared about anyone. They were pawns in a story he wrote to serve himself just like Riven and I were.
“I knew you’d be waiting for us,” Riven says.
“Of course I am,” our father replies coolly. “You always were predictable when it came to her.”
He finally looks at me, and the chill in his eyes makes my skin crawl. Like I’m an inconvenience. A prize that doesn’t belong to the person who’s clearly winning this little spat.
“Tell her,” Riven says through his teeth. “I want it to come from you. Tell her why I left.”
Our father glances between us and shakes his head, almost like he’s amused. "Your absence was annoying to me. I never had to lock her up when you were still in Castlebrook Falls," he says casually. "You followed her like a hunting dog. Knew where she was at all times. I didn’t need to worry about her virginity being threatened, not when you made sure no one got close enough to touch her."
My breath stutters.
Riven’s hands curl into fists.
The man shrugs. "But once you were gone? I had to be sure she wouldn’t embarrass the family.” I glance at Riven because I realize the mind game our father is playing. Instead of telling me why Riven was sent away, he’s going to tell Riven what he did to me while he was gone. He’s getting in his head, trying to knock him off-kilter. “Deadbolt on the outside of her bedroom. Kept her tucked in nice and neat."
I feel sick.
Riven steps forward, body shaking with unbridled fury. "You locked her up?"
The man smiles. "Didn’t want to risk my property being damaged."
My heart races. The air feels thick, like the entire house is suffocating me.
And then Riven moves forward, snapping out the words through clenched teeth. “Fucking tell her what you did to me.”
The man sighs, leaning back. “Your uncle and I trained him. Handpicked every target. Made sure he was the perfect little mercenary. Quiet, quick, and loyal.”
“TELL HER NOW,” Riven screams at him.
He shrugs. “Told him he could have you when it was over. Figured the incentive would keep him efficient and I was right. You were the key to get him to do my bidding. He would do anything to have you.”
The world tilts under my feet.
“What?”
“I never agreed with it,” our father says casually. “The idea of you two always freaked me the fuck out, Lakynn. You’re not blood, but the way he looked at you? Obscene.”
Something inside me snaps at his words. He acts like what we have is dirty, and it isn’t.
Riven lunges, punching him square in the jaw. Our father stumbles, laughing until the second punch wipes the smirk clean off his face.
“You don’t get to say her name,” Riven growls. “You don’t get to talk about her.”
More punches. A thud. A crash. Furniture breaks. I don’t count how many times Riven hits him, I just know the floor practically shakes with each one.
I don’t stop it, I don’t intervene, but I do decide that we’re in this together.
I walk out the side door into the cold. The wind is kicking up and it stings my face, but I welcome it.
I cross the backyard to the shed and grab two old cans of varnish. The kind that smells like heat before it ignites.
When I return, our father is slumped unconscious on the floor. Riven looks up at me, panting, blood on his hands.
I don’t say anything, because there’s nothing I need to tell him. Instead, I hold up the cans of varnish, silently telling him my plan.
Riven looks at me, chest rising fast, his eyes wild and dilated. He smirks when he registers that I want to burn this place to the ground before he tells me, "That’s my good girl."
I start pouring and he doesn’t hesitate. Riven grabs the second can and follows me. Room by room, we baptize the house in flammable liquid. The rugs, the bedposts, the cracked photo frames.
We pass the staircase, and I pause. There’s a framed photo of us from that first year. I’m sixteen. Riven is seventeen. We’re standing on opposite sides of the porch, but even in the image, we’re turned slightly toward each other. Like gravity was always pulling us together. I take the frame down, hurl it to the floor, and feel the sharp thrill as the glass shatters. I reach down and grab the photo, a memento I want to keep from our past.
Riven doesn’t ask if I’m ready, he’s watching me intently, waiting for my cue.
I look at him expectantly, and he hands me a book of matches from his back pocket. I waste no time before I strike the match. The fire catches like it’s been waiting for this moment too.
It spreads fast. The varnish feeds it like kindling. The flames roar like they’re alive. I step back, watching the curtains blacken and peel.
I imagine the house breathing its final breath.
“What now?” I ask, breath shallow.
Riven stares into the flames for a moment and then he turns to me.
“We disappear,” he tells me before posing a question. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He smiles at me, and Riven hardly ever smiles.
It’s a special fucking moment, and I think in many years from now, I’ll still remember this moment and how he looked.
Riven grabs my hand and leads me out of the house, but he pauses when we reach the front porch. His hand moves to my jaw and then he kisses me.
Our first kiss is not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s everything we’ve never said, poured into every brush of his lips. My fingers curl into his jacket. His hand slides around to the small of my back, dragging me closer, and I feel the firm pressure of his palm flattening between my shoulder blades.
His other hand curves over my breast, thumb brushing against the swell like he’s trying to memorize the shape. I gasp against his mouth.
Riven groans, deep and guttural, and his lips trail from my mouth to my neck. He sucks hard, claiming the skin just below my jawline, and I shudder. My legs tremble, and he catches me effortlessly, hoisting me up until I’m wrapped around his waist.
He presses me back against the porch post, grinding into me just once enough to let me feel exactly how hard he is for me.
Then he stops.
Breathless. Groaning. Furious with himself.
“I’m not about to fuck you for the first time like this,” he says, forehead pressed to mine. "Not like this. Not while the world’s burning behind us."
He kisses me one last time, slower this time. More reverent.
Then he sets me down gently, brushing his hands along my sides as he exhales. When we finally break apart, he’s panting.
“I’ve needed to do that for so long,” he murmurs. Then he kisses me again, groaning against my mouth.
I feel like I could cry, but I don’t. I just clutch his coat and let the world melt around us. I’m about to lean up for another kiss, but then I hear the fire truck sirens. They’re still in the distance, but getting closer.
I pull back, breathless. “Riven…”
He doesn’t speak. Just scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all to him.
The fire roars behind us, devouring the house that holds so many bad memories for us.
He carries me over to the garage so I don’t have to walk through the accumulating snow. Riven punches in the code and the door rolls open. It’s then that I realize that we’re going to take one of the many Kozlov vehicles.
He chooses the black SUV and sets me down gently in the passenger seat, buckles me in himself.
Before he closes the door, he leans in and brings my hand up to his mouth. He kisses my knuckles softly. “No one touches you again,” he says. “Ever.”
He jogs around the vehicle and climbs in behind the wheel. The keys are already in the ignition, and before I know it, the engine rumbles to life.
I get one last glance of the house engulfed in flames as we barrel down the driveway, on our way to our new life.