Page 44 of The Scout

Marcus strolled toward me, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, his easy, surfer-boy confidence completely at odds with the storm inside me. Even in the dim light of the pier, his features were sharp—strong jaw, high cheekbones, golden-blond hair that looked like he had spent the afternoon on a beach rather than tracking me down in the middle of the night. He wasn’t as intimidating as Ryker. No one was. But there was something in his calm, assessing gaze that told me he wasn’t a man to be underestimated.

He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head slightly, like he was trying to gauge whether or not I was about to bolt again.

“Well,” he said, his voice lined with amusement, “Ryker always calls you Isabel, so I figured I should, too.”

I let out a sharp breath, not quite a laugh, not quite anything at all.

“I don’t know why he has to be so formal,” I muttered, swiping at my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. “It’s just one of the many irritating things about him.”

Marcus smirked, but there was something gentle in the way he looked at me. “Yeah, well. Ryker’s got his own way of doing things.”

I scoffed. “You don’t say.”

The wind off the water picked up, threading cool fingers through my hair, pushing strands into my face. I tucked them behind my ear with a shaky hand, staring down at the worn wooden planks beneath my feet.

Marcus exhaled and rubbed at his jaw, like he was debating something. And then—he pulled his phone from his pocket.

“All right, I found you. Let me just text Ryker?—”

“No.”

I reached out instinctively, gripping his wrist before he could type a single word. His skin was warm, solid, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

“Marcus, please,” I whispered. “Don’t tell him.”

His brows furrowed. “Izzy?—”

“You were Will’s friend, too,” I cut in, desperation curling around the words, wrapping around my throat. “You owe me that much.”

His breath hitched—just slightly. I saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his fingers flexed around his phone.

Because he had been Will’s friend. Not just a co-worker, not just another man in Ryker’s orbit. A friend. And that meant this wasn’t just happening to me. It was happening to all of us.

Marcus inhaled deeply, staring at me for a long beat, his expression shifting—less easygoing, more guarded. Ididn’t know what he was looking for in my face, what he saw in my bloodshot eyes or my tear-streaked cheeks, but whatever it was, it was enough.

With a reluctant sigh, he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“All right,” he murmured. “I won’t tell him. Yet.”

I exhaled sharply, relief flooding my limbs so quickly it almost made me dizzy. “Thank you.”

Marcus sat down beside me on the swing, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring out at the dark water like it might have answers we didn’t.

“You think he’s still alive?” I asked softly.

Marcus didn’t respond right away.

I watched as he rolled his shoulders back, stretching slightly, his muscles tensing, flexing, before he dragged a hand through his short blond hair and let out a slow, deliberate breath.

“If anyone could survive this,” he finally said, his voice quiet but unshakable, “it’s Will.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him. But Marcus didn’t know any more than I did.

“Then where is he?” I whispered. “Where the hell did he go?”

Marcus was silent for a long time. Then—a small, mirthless chuckle.

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” he said, shaking his head. “Ryker’s the one who’s been tearing the city apart looking for you, not me. You realize it’s been hours since you ran off at The Sound Barn, right?”

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