Page 29 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

R iven

I like running. The sting of crisp air on my skin. The satisfying burn of muscles pushed to their limits. Lungs expanding in my chest as I take in deep, measured breaths. As exercise goes, it’s a damn sight better than being punched in the face repeatedly. Although I imagine Garrus would disagree.

I guess everything has its place.

I pull my dark baseball cap low on my forehead, the brim casting shadows that help obscure my features from the security cameras I’ve already picked up along this route.

My black sweats do a good job of covering most of the cuts and bruises, though they’re beginning to fade now.

It could be my imagination, but I’m sure it’s quicker than usual.

Something about being around Iris has been…

accelerating things. My dragon-touched healing, my reflexes, even my senses seem sharper.

Up ahead, a blonde ponytail sways in time with the motion of its owner. I pick up my pace and chew up the distance between us with ground-eating strides.

“Nice form,” I say as I pull up beside her, matching her stride effortlessly.

For a moment, there’s no response aside from her measured breathing. Then she catches sight of me from the corner of her eye and startles slightly. She removes an earpod with the careful politeness of someone who doesn’t want to encourage unwanted conversation.

“Sorry, what?” she asks, still maintaining her stride. Her voice has that cultured Ivy League accent that money and privilege buy. I keep up easily, my breathing barely elevated despite the pace.

“I said nice form.” I offer her a smile—the kind that doesn’t quite reach my eyes but looks friendly enough to an unsuspecting civilian.

“Oh. Right. Sure,” she says, her tone dismissive. She’s already categorizing me as another annoying man who thinks jogging next to a woman constitutes an invitation for conversation. She fixes her eyes on a spot ahead of us, clearly hoping I’ll take the hint and move along.

I don’t.

“This your regular route?” I bob my head forward to where the wide avenue extends through towering cottonwoods. The early morning light touches bare branches, stripped by winter. “The park is beautiful this time of year.”

“Uh-huh,” she responds curtly, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. She increases her pace slightly—a subtle signal that she wants me gone.

I match her speed without effort. “I enjoy winter runs myself. Though I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to spring.” I keep my tone conversational, almost lazy. “All those new beginnings, fresh starts. Don’t you think?”

She turns her head toward me, and I catch the first flicker of unease in her eyes. “Sorry… Is there something I can help you with?”

The question comes out with forced politeness, but there’s an edge underneath.

I give her my most winning smile—the one I’ve perfected over years of getting close to targets who thought they were safe. “Sure. Want to take a break and catch your breath?”

“Look, I’m flattered and all, but I’m married.” She raises an elegant hand, flashing a large diamond on her ring finger. The gesture is meant to be dismissive, but I’m not one to be dismissed so easily.

“I know,” I say simply. “But I still think you should catch your breath.”

The casual certainty in my voice makes her stumble slightly.

Bright blue eyes narrow on me with the sharp focus of someone who’s just realized they might be in real danger.

Those eyes fly wide when I adjust the hem of my sweat top with deliberate slowness, revealing just enough of the Glock tucked into my waistband for her to see.

The color drains from her face. “I… I… Shit.”

She stumbles more seriously this time, her carefully maintained rhythm shattered. I catch her arm before she can fall, my grip firm but not bruising. No need to leave marks—this isn’t about hurting her. It’s about information.

“Let’s sit down.” My voice stays calm, reasonable. “There’s a quiet spot just around the corner.”

She nods quickly, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts that have nothing to do with the running.

I guide her toward a secluded bench tucked behind a cluster of evergreens, positioned perfectly out of sight from the main walking paths.

I’ve scouted this location. No security cameras, minimal foot traffic, multiple exit routes.

We sit down. I angle myself so I can watch the approaches while keeping her in my peripheral vision.

“Give me your phone,” I say, maintaining that same mild, conversational tone. The contrast between my casual demeanor and the request seems to unnerve her more than if I’d threatened her outright.

“Yes. Of course.” She practically shoves it at me, her hands shaking badly enough that she nearly drops it. “I… I… don’t have any money on me, but… but…” She looks down at her hand, starts frantically trying to work the diamond ring off her finger. “Here. Take this.”

“I don’t want your ring, Rebecca.”

Her mouth drops open, and the ring slips from her nerveless fingers, bouncing off the bench to land in the dead leaves at our feet. “How do you know my name?”

I don’t answer. I’m studying her phone instead, noting the expensive case, the custom wallpaper—a photo of her on some tropical beach, looking disgustingly happy. “I need to access your contacts. Unlock it.”

I turn the screen toward her. Her hand shakes as she fumbles with the biometrics, missing the sensor twice before managing to get it right.

“Please… Please, don’t hurt me.” Her voice cracks on the words, and I catch the scent of fear rolling off her.

“That depends,” I tell her, scrolling through her contact list. “On how cooperative everyone decides to be.”

I find what I’m looking for and dial the number. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.

“I told you not to call me at work, Poppet.” Sharp with irritation but laced with affection. “This line might not be secure.”

“And Poppet wouldn’t think of calling you, Veyra,” I say, letting my voice carry just enough cold amusement to make my identity clear, “unless it was an emergency.”

There’s an audible intake of breath, followed by a pause that stretches long enough for me to count heartbeats. When Veyra speaks again, her voice has lost every trace of warmth. “What have you done to my wife, Barlowe?”

“Nothing,” I say mildly, watching as Rebecca’s face goes from pale to gray. Her eyes keep darting between my waist and the paths around us, calculating escape routes she’ll never get the chance to use. “Yet.”

Rebecca makes a small, wounded sound deep in her throat.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find her, Veyra?” I ask. “Mercer Island is hardly off the map. I expected more from you. Your pretty pet is practically wearing a bullseye on her fancy sweats.”

Rebecca makes another choked sound.

“Don’t think of running, Poppet,” I tell her conversationally. “You won’t get far. We both know I’d take you down before you made it fifty yards.”

The pale column of her throat works as she swallows hard. Smart enough to believe me.

“What do you want?” Veyra’s voice is sharp across the line.

“Isn’t it funny, Veyra,” I say, instead of answering directly, “how vulnerable we make ourselves when we develop attachments?” I let my gaze drift over Rebecca’s trembling form. “Of course you would know that, wouldn’t you? You gave me a lesson in it yourself.”

There’s a low growl on the other end. “If you fucking hurt her, I swear to God—”

“You’ll what?” I interrupt, genuine curiosity coloring my tone. “Send Kozlov after me?” I chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. “I think you’ll find he’s no longer available.”

The silence stretches long enough that I wonder if the call has dropped. Then: “Jesus Christ.” Veyra’s voice comes out rough, shaken. “What did you do to him…? Wait. Don’t tell me. How did you find him?”

“I know how to find all of my former colleagues, Veyra. And the things that matter to them.” I let my knuckles brush against Rebecca’s arm, where it rests on the bench.

She visibly cringes, pressing herself as far away from me as the bench allows.

“I have files on all of you. Every little detail. Your favorite coffee shops, your workout schedules, the names of your pets. And for those of you foolish enough to have…. attachments, I know where they work, where they shop, where they feel safe.”

I pause, letting that sink in. “Just in case something like this ever happened. The Guild taught me well.”

“Please…” Veyra’s voice cracks slightly. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Just to talk.” I lean back against the bench, draping my arm casually along the backrest so my fingers graze Rebecca’s shoulder. She trembles under the light contact like she’s sitting next to a coiled snake. Which, I suppose, she is.

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that.” I study Rebecca more closely, taking in her designer running gear. The Gucci sweats, the Dolce & Gabbana sneakers. “You have expensive taste, Veyra. I guess that’s the reason you keep selling us out.”

“Is this about money, Riven?” There’s an edge creeping into her voice—part desperation, part anger she’s trying to keep leashed. “Because there’s plenty of it. More than you could spend in a lifetime. I’ll give you as much as you like.”

“Plenty?” I scoff, my voice carrying just enough bite to make Rebecca flinch. “Of course there is. I’m sure I earned half of it for you with all those contracts you brokered.”

“You want revenge, then? Is that what this is? You want to get back at me?” She’s fighting between losing her temper and pleading with me—the same internal battle I’ve watched play out in a dozen other targets over the years.

“Get back at you?” I make a tutting noise, disappointed. “No, this isn’t personal, Veyra. It’s not about you. I’d have targeted Driscoll if it had suited me better. Except Driscoll’s greatest weakness is his dog, and you know I don’t kill dogs.”