Page 21 of The Knight

He breathed out. Those days were gone. And right now, Freya was his priority. He turned, glass crunching under his feet as he left the room and crossed the hall.

Freya’s bedroom.

Simple, almost impersonal. A fringed blanket, deep gray with faded blue stripes, lay crumpled on the floor. The mattress was half off the bed, pillows scattered across the room. The wardrobe hung open, clothes thrown in a heap with metal hangers tangled on the floor.

Fuckers.

There was a small ensuite bathroom. A single toothbrush in a glass on the sink.They missed that.

Back in the bedroom, he took it all in again. The house was just a rental, but still—there was so little here that marked it as Freya’s space. No pictures, no clutter. No perfume bottles on the dresser or makeup scattered around. None of the usual chaos—toiletries, underwear tossed on the floor, the nonsense most women never hid.

There was nothing here that matched the fiery woman he was struggling to control.

There was a paperback on the bedside table. He spun it with one finger. Romance. A shirtless man smirked from the cover. He cocked an eyebrow.Maybe she’s not buttoned up all the time.

Dripping.

He froze, head cocked, listening. The sound was faint, but steady. He followed it down the hall.

The kitchen’s yellow walls were a jarring backdrop to the destruction. Oak cabinets stood with doors flung wide. Smashed jars and burst packets of rice and beans littered the floor.

But none of that stopped him cold.

On the circular kitchen table, an overturned vase lay in a pool of water, flowers splayed across the surface.

A drop hit the floor with a soft plink.

Still dripping.

Intruders are close.

His lungs burned as he held his breath, straining to hear past the thunder of his heartbeat.

A soft scuffle behind him fired a jolt of electricity down his spine. He spun, weapon raised.

Freya squawked as he leveled his gun at her head.

Sweet Jesus.

He dropped the gun and dragged her against his body.

“Freya, what the fuck?” The words came out in a hoarse whisper. “I told you to stay in the fucking car.”

“I was scared. Out there…” She trembled in his grip, eyes wide as she took in the devastated kitchen. “What did they do to my house? Why are they doing this? They have the laptop already.”

“Freya.”

She wasn’t listening, her attention darting from one mess to another. “I mean, look at this?—”

“I told you to stay in the car.” Frustration surged in him, threatening to boil over. “Which part of that didn’t you get?”

“You were taking forever.” Her gaze snapped back to him. “I was worried.”

Her words derailed his anger. “You were worried about me?”

Her gaze skittered away, shifting to a point somewhere over his shoulder. “I didn’t know what was happening.”

He reined in his anger. It would only complicate things and slow her down. He sucked in a slow breath, choosing his words. “We need to get out of here,” he said, his voice low. “Whoever did this wasn’t long here. They could come back, and I’m not risking your safety any more than I already have.”

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