Page 26 of The Scout

Matt had touched me. Flirted with me. Nothing serious, nothing dangerous. And yet, Ryker had still destroyed him for it. Because Ryker Dane didn’t share.

A lump formed in my throat, thick and suffocating. I wanted to scream at him, to ask what the hell is wrong with you? At the same time—deep down, where I didn’t want to examine too closely—I wanted to thank him. I hated myself for it.

Instead, I whispered the only thing I could manage.

“Shit, Ryker.”

His jaw flexed. His hands, still curled into fists, loosened ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I let out a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah? Well, neither should you.”

For a moment, we didn’t speak. The only sound was the distant noise of Charleston’s streets, the occasional shuffle of someone passing by, oblivious to what had just happened.

Then, with slow, measured movements, Ryker turned away from Matt, stepping toward me.

I took a step back on instinct.

He stopped. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Regret?

No. Not Ryker. Ryker didn’t regret.

For some reason, though, seeing me recoil from him made something shift in his expression—something small, something most people wouldn’t catch. But I did.

He didn’t like that I was afraid of him.

“I should call the cops,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

His gaze didn’t waver. “You won’t.”

I swallowed hard, hating that he was right. “This isn’t normal, Ryker. You don’t just—” I gestured to Matt’s barely conscious form. “You don’t just do this.”

He stepped closer. I forced myself to hold my ground this time.

“I do,” he said simply. “When it comes to you.”

My stomach flipped. My pulse pounded so loudly I swore he could hear it.

“I—” My voice cracked, and I shook my head. “I need to?—”

I didn’t even finish my sentence. I just turned and walked away. Luckily, my legs cooperated. Because if I stayed any longer, if I let him look at me like that—with possession, certainty, promise—I might start thinking about the fact that I wanted him to do it again.

That thought? It scared me more than Ryker Dane ever could. What was becoming of me?

Back inside the hotel, life continued as usual. The lobby bustled with guests checking in and out, the soft murmur of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware from the café. It was as if the world had keptmoving, completely unaware of what had just happened outside.

I needed a minute.

Without bothering to check if anyone wanted me at the desk, I slipped down the hall and into one of the private staff bathrooms.

The second I locked the door behind me, my back hit the cool tile wall. I quickly turned on the water in the shower so that no one would disturb me, then squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath.

My hands were shaking. I should still be horrified. I should be calling Will. I should be telling him that his best friend was unhinged, that Ryker had just beaten a man into the pavement over me.

Instead, I pressed my thighs together, a slow ache unfurling in my stomach, and let out a ragged breath.

What is wrong with me? Because all I could think about was him.

Not Matt. Not his bloodied face. Ryker.

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