Page 31 of The Scout

Back off. Back the fuck off.

I let go of her hand.

Stepped back.

Put space between us, even though every inch felt impossible.

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something—but didn’t know what.

I did.

I wanted to say that I could still smell her.

That I could still taste her on the air.

That I wasn’t some fucking saint, and if she looked at me like that for one more second, I’d ruin every boundary I’d set.

But I didn’t say a damn thing.

Instead, I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through my hair.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, my voice rough, uneven.

And then I walked away.

Because if I stayed?

I wouldn’t have stopped.

11

ISABEL

The next morning, the iron gates of Dominion Hall loomed before me, imposing even in the soft light. The intricate scrollwork, dark and heavy, twisted into sharp edges that reminded me of the men who lived beyond them—untouchable, ruthless, a world apart from the city that stretched just beyond the estate’s massive walls.

I shifted in the driver’s seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, unsure whether I was making a mistake. Coming here was impulsive. Maybe even reckless. But after yesterday—after him—I couldn’t stay away. There were things I wanted to talk about.

I reached for the intercom button, pressing it before I could second-guess myself. A sharp click sounded almost immediately, and a deep, gravel-rough voice filtered through the speaker.

“Yeah?”

I startled slightly, then leaned forward. “Uh … it’s Isabel.”

There was a pause. Then, amusement laced through the voice. Marcus.

“Well, well. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

I cleared my throat, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I’m here to see Ryker.”

Another pause. Then, the heavy groan of the gates unlocking.

“Drive up,” Marcus said, the smirk evident in his tone. “Try not to get lost.”

The line cut off with a finality that left little room for hesitation. I swallowed hard and pulled through.

The winding drive leading up to Dominion Hall was even more breathtaking in the daylight. The estate sat proudly against the Charleston harbor, the morning mist rolling in over the water like something out of a dream. The stately mansion stretched across the bluff in a seamless blend of history and power. Spanish moss draped from the old oaks that lined the drive, the scent of salt and earth thick in the air.

It was the kind of place that didn’t just whisper wealth. It demanded it.

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