Page 32 of The Scout

I pulled into the circular drive, my heart thumping a little harder when I spotted Ryker standing at the top of the wide steps. He was leaning against one of the columns, arms crossed, watching me with a look that was almost unreadable. Almost.

I stepped out of the car, smoothing my hands over the slinky black dress I’d chosen for today. It wasn’t an accident.

The fabric was soft, almost liquid as it draped over me, clinging in all the right places. The plunging neckline dipped just enough to hint at the lace of my bra, the thin straps barely covering my shoulders. The hem kissed mid-thigh, revealing the soft expanse of mylegs, elongated by the sleek black heels I’d strapped on that morning. I wasn’t trying to be obvious. Not exactly. But after yesterday—after the way Ryker had touched me, the way he had looked at me in that bathroom—I wanted to remind him of exactly what he had walked away from.

Judging from the way his gaze dragged over me, slow and assessing, jaw tightening ever so slightly—I had his attention.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice a rough rasp that did nothing to ease the heat crawling up my spine.

I tilted my head, stepping toward him, feeling the fabric of my dress slide like silk against my skin. “Day off.”

He let his eyes linger just a little longer than necessary before pushing off the column, gesturing for me to follow. “Come on. Might as well give you a proper tour.”

I trailed beside him, my heels clicking softly against the marble as we stepped inside.

The last time I had been here, Dominion Hall had felt like a fortress—all shadows and whispers, a world of quiet power thrumming beneath polished surfaces. But now, in the daylight, it was almost surreal.

The grand entryway was even more impressive than I remembered, the high vaulted ceilings stretching overhead, framed by elaborate chandeliers dripping with crystals that caught the morning light. The walls were lined with dark mahogany paneling, offset by sleek, modern accents—pristine leather furniture, abstract artwork, and towering bookshelves filled with everything from military history to first-edition classics. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sprawling grounds beyond, allowing golden sunlight to spill into the space.

Beyond the foyer, I caught glimpses of a formal dining room, a massive state-of-the-art kitchen, and what looked like a private bar and lounge, the walls lined with rare bottles of whiskey and cigars.

It was luxurious. Elegant. Designed for men who ruled the world and knew it.

“This isn’t a house,” I murmured, taking it all in. “It’s a damn kingdom.”

Ryker’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. He only shrugged. “It’s home.”

I arched a brow. “This isn’t normal, you know.”

He shot me a look, something half-amused, half-challenging. “And what’s normal?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I could be wrong, but I don’t think Ryker Dane had ever been normal in the first place.

We walked deeper into the house, my fingers trailing lightly over the cool stone of the hallway walls. And then—I saw it again.

Obsidian.

The black viper coiled within its massive glass enclosure, its sleek body twisting lazily around the sculpted tree branch, tongue flicking out like it could taste my discomfort.

I sucked in a breath, stepping back instinctively. “I forgot about that thing.”

Ryker chuckled, moving past me toward the enclosure. “You get used to it.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I doubt that.”

He turned, smirking as he leaned casually against the glass. “Could be worse.”

I folded my arms. “Oh yeah?”

His smirk deepened, and then—the bastard winked. “She could be in your bed instead.”

Heat flared across my cheeks, my entire body going taut.

“Oh, for the love of—” I glared at him, but it did nothing to ease the very real images flashing through my head.

Ryker only grinned, the dark, knowing kind. The one that said he knew exactly where my mind had just gone.

Asshole.

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