Page 38 of Draven

“Noted.” I train my eyes on Shala as he smooths a hand down the front of his expensive silk shirt—no doubt paid for by his sickening dealings—then slips into the back of a limousine. One guard climbs in beside him, with the other two going up front, and then the car glides away.

I start the engine, check my mirrors, then pull out, keeping my distance.

“Stay back,” Draven warns.

“I have followed people before, you know.”

“Chill out, mama.”

And the asshole is back in the room. I flex my jaw to halt the torrent of abuse I want to spill, wishing I hadn’t been so apologetic now. Maybe another knee to his balls might give him something else to think about other than taunting me.

While in the city, we remain under the camouflage of busy traffic, but as the limo pulls off the main highway, we have to hang much farther back to avoid detection.

“He’s heading to the docks,” Draven says.

I risk a sideways glance, then return my attention to the road ahead. “How do you know?”

“It’s the only plausible reason for heading this way. There’s nothing else out here.”

My chest constricts. The idea of Kiera being kept in cold, dark, damp conditions… alone, frightened. I gulp, and an unintentional gasp bursts from my throat.

“Hey.” Draven strokes my arm, his touch creating a burst of goosebumps. “We’re making progress. This is a big step.”

I nod but don’t trust myself to speak. I hate showing weakness at the best of times. In my profession it’s a serious handicap. Over the years, I’ve learned to put a lid on it, to restrict my emotions to the times I find myself alone.

Twenty minutes later, the limo turns off the road.

“Pull over,” Draven says. “We go on foot from here.”

“No, we’ll lose them.”

“We can’t risk following in the car. They’ll see the headlights. We’ve got no cover out here.” Grabbing the wheel, he steers the car to the side of the road, giving me no choice but to brake if I want to avoid crashing into the hedgerow.

“Christ’s sake, Draven.” I slam the heel of my palm against the steering wheel.

“I know what I’m doing. Now, stop whining, and get out of the fucking car.”

My head spins with the violent fluctuation from Jerk of the Month to Mr. Compassionate and back to being a jerk again.

Without waiting for me, he climbs out and sets off running. With a clenched jaw and matching fists, I race after him, only catching up because he slows his pace to allow me to bridge the gap. How magnanimous of him. By the time we reach the spot where Shala’s car had turned, the limo is nowhere in sight.

We jog down the road, staying within the shadows to avoid any possible security cameras. At the docks, row after row of warehouses stretch for at least a mile.

“Let’s split up,” I say, thinking of all the ground we have to cover. “I’ll take this row. You start on the next.”

Draven grips my hand, squeezing harder than he needs to. “No. We stick together.”

He strides off, hauling me beside him. To maintain pace with his long strides, I have to jog, and the exercise makes it difficult to talk.

“Stay close to the walls,” Draven murmurs before releasing my hand. “Remain behind me.”

We begin a systematic search. My heart thuds so hard, so fast, it’s almost painful. Reaching into my pocket, I rummage around for my trusty flick blade, wishing I had my gun. Being on vacation means I’m not here in an official capacity, and I don’t have a private firearms license. I’ll be surprised if Draven isn’t packing, though.

We reach the end of the current row, where Draven peers around the corner, then slams his arm across my chest, launching me into the side of the building we’ve been creeping along. Every ounce of breath shoots from my lungs, and I hiss, rubbing my sternum.

“Jesus.”

Draven clamps a hand over my mouth. “We’ve got company,” he whispers, urging me back the way we came. On the balls of my feet to minimize noise, I dart in the opposite direction, dodging in between two buildings. Draven follows me, only just managing to squeeze his huge body into the narrow gap. I hold my breath, waiting.

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