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.”
Every gun lifted slightly. Riven flinched, eyes darting, assessing angles, calculating distances he already knew weren’t in his favor.
This wasn’t bravado anymore. It wasn’t even bluffing.
It was survival. One wrong twitch and it was over.
He’d never admit it—not out loud, not to anyone—but if Thane were here, he wouldn’t feel this small, this cornered.
But Thane wasn’t here, and Riven stared down the barrels of five guns, heart thudding against the inside of his ribs like it wanted to claw its way out. He knew that look in Lareth’s eyes. They weren’t bluffing. Not this time.
Survival clawed to the top of everything else. Rage, pride, the sting of failure—none of it mattered if he died here. Riven raised his hands slowly, his voice a low drawl to hide the tightness in his chest. “Fine.”
He turned and stepped toward the truck.
“Smart choice,” Lareth said, his voice slick with satisfaction. “I always knew you’d be more useful this way.”
Riven stepped up onto the metal bumper, then into the darkened cargo space, boots echoing against the empty truck bed. The shadows swallowed him fast—until a figure moved past him, brushing his shoulder as it dismounted.
Kieran.
Of course.
Lareth stayed just outside the door, backlit by the weak glow from the car headlights. “You’ll make a much better bargaining chip than anything else we’ve got,” he said casually, like it was already done.
That stopped Riven mid-step. He turned, half laughing. “You serious?” His voice echoed in the metal cavity of the truck. “You really think that’s leverage?”
It would’ve been funny if it weren’t so pathetic.
They thought they could use him to bargain with Thane?
With the Matriarch? Riven had been in that compound long enough to see how House Virellien functioned.
Efficient. Strategic. Detached. You served until you didn’t.
You were useful until you weren’t. The House didn’t waste sentiment on tools, and they certainly didn’t waste resources retrieving broken ones.
And yet, for all that cold logic, something sour pooled in his stomach. Because part of him wanted to believe he wasn’t just a tool. That Thane—no, that anyone—would care if he disappeared. That someone would raise hell to get him back.
But Riven knew better. Didn’t he?
His lips curled in bitterness.
“You clearly don’t know a damn thing about House Virellien,” he said, voice low and hard. “They don’t care if a tool gets broken.”
The grin didn’t fade from Lareth’s face, but something tightened in his posture. “We’ll see,” he said simply.
Then he reached for the door and pushed it closed, the metal slamming shut with a teeth-rattling clang, plunging Riven into darkness.