Page 5 of The Scout

For half a second, I almost hung up. My body wanted what she had to offer, but my mind was already somewhere else—outside, where a certain girl had looked back at me with something that wasn’t desire. Wasn’t even curiosity.

It was disgust.

I should let that be the end of it. Should let her walk away like every other woman who figured out I wasn’t worth the trouble.

But I don’t.

“I’m coming over,” I said, pushing down whatever the fuck was clawing at my gut. “Be ready.”

A sharp inhale. I could almost picture her lips parting, that little tremor of anticipation in her voice when she answered. “You got it.”

I shoved the phone back in my pocket, grabbing a fresh drink from the bar. My youngest brother, Charlie, tried to get my attention, but I ignored him. Probably wanted to talk shop. I wasn’t interested. My night was planned—shower, fuck, another shower. Then maybe, if I was lucky, sleep without dreams.

I stepped outside into the thick Charleston night, the humidity sticking to my skin like a second layer. A fewcars lined the driveway, engines running as drivers waited for their drunk, well-dressed passengers.

And then I saw her.

Isabel, still standing by the curb, arms crossed tight over her chest like she could fold in on herself and disappear. The valet brought her car around—a sensible little sedan that didn’t belong anywhere near Dominion Hall—and she hesitated before getting in, eyes scanning the property, the street, something unseen.

She wasn’t looking at me. But she felt me.

That much I knew when her shoulders stiffened, when her breath hitched just enough for me to notice.

I exhaled slowly, fingers flexing at my sides. I should’ve left it alone. Should’ve let her drive off without a second thought. Instead, I took a step forward.

She turned before I reached her, those sharp green eyes cutting through the night like a blade. “Following me, Dane?”

I let the corner of my mouth lift, slow and deliberate. “Just making sure you make it out alive.” The booze was going to my head.

She huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I think I can manage.”

I tilted my head, watching her too closely, too intently. “You sure about that?”

She frowned, and for a second, I saw the cracks in her armor. The flicker of uncertainty.

Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I looked past her, scanning the street the way I always did. People like me—we didn’t see the world the way normal people did. We didn’t just see streets and sidewalks. We saw threats. Vulnerabilities. Weak spots in every angle.

And Isabel? She was all soft lines and open doors.

Too exposed. Too damn tempting.

“Because places like Dominion Hall don’t play by the same rules you do, sweetheart,” I said, voice low, steady. “And the men inside? They don’t believe in fair fights.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Including you?”

I didn’t answer right away. Because maybe she already knew.

I took a step closer, slow and measured, letting the weight of the moment press down between us. The smell of her—something soft and clean, vanilla maybe—mixed with the salty breeze coming off the harbor. It was intoxicating.

A mistake waiting to happen.

“Get in your car, Isabel,” I said finally, my voice barely above a growl. “And don’t come back.”

Her chin lifted, some of that naive bravado kicking back in. “Or what?”

I leaned in, just enough for her to feel the heat of my words against her skin. “Or you’ll find out exactly what kind of man I am.”

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