Page 80 of Forged in Fire
“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.”
“You… you don’t kill innocents either, Riven. Remember?” Her voice has taken on a pleading quality that tells me she’s grasping for any leverage she can find.
“Oh, you think your Poppet is innocent?” I snort, winding my fingers through Rebecca’s silky ponytail. She goes rigid under my touch. “You should see the file I have on her, Veyra.”
“No!” Rebecca blurts out, her voice raw with terror. “No, that… that’s not true. I haven’t done anything wrong. I swear, I haven’t—”
“Sure,” I interrupt, giving her hair a gentle tug that makes her gasp. “If you’re willing to overlook a little insurance fraud. And the sexual assault allegations that mysteriously disappeared after some very large payments changed hands.” My voice drops low. “And whatever happened to your roommate in your sophomore year at Harvard, Poppet?”
Rebecca makes a broken, sobbing sound, her entire body shaking now. The scent of her fear is so strong it’s almost choking.
Veyra’s voice comes through the phone, strident and desperate. “Christ! Please, Riven. Just tell me what you fucking want!”
It’s the most raw emotion I’ve ever heard from her—more than she showed during all our years working together. There’s a twisted part of me that wants to savor this moment, to drag it out.
