Page 61 of The Scout

Then—Ryker moved.

One second, he was holding me. The next, he was shoving me behind him, shielding me as he surged forward. He whipped his gun level with Matt’s head before I even registered the movement, his forearm pinning him in place as he backed him into the wreckage of the Bentley.

“You’re about ten seconds from needing a closed-casket funeral,” Ryker murmured, voice smooth as silk, dangerous as a blade.

Matt’s smirk faltered, but only slightly. “Come on, Dane,” he exhaled. “You’re not gonna kill me in broaddaylight, right here in the middle of the street. Besides my guys have more guns.”

Ryker didn’t blink. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be the first to die, Ralston. How many of your pals do you think I’ll take after that. Let me guess, you guys hit the range twice a semester. Me? I was born with this thing in my hand.”

I could feel it, the crackling tension in the air, the thin thread of control Ryker was barely holding onto. My pulse slammed against my ribs as I shifted, trying to get my bearings.

The Citadel guys were too still, their hands hovering near their belts.

Guns.

My stomach dropped.

I grabbed a fistful of Ryker’s shirt, pulling hard. “Ryker?—”

His hold didn’t loosen. His breathing didn’t change.

But his voice?

It deepened, turned lethal.

“You’re gonna walk away, Ralston. You and your buddies are going to get the fuck out of my sight before I decide I don’t give a shit about making a scene. Besides, you rammed into us, remember? I’m sure the cameras they have installed at the intersection will be happy to corroborate that fact.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. His fellow cadets shifted uncomfortably.

Ryker held his gaze a moment longer before finally stepping back.

Matt ran a hand through his short hair, trying to look nonchalant. But I saw the fear there. “Fine. We’ll be seeing you.”

Then, one by one, the Citadel guys backed off, slipping into a pair of sedans parked at the curb. Thetires screeched as they peeled away, disappearing around the corner, leaving nothing behind except the suffocating weight of what had just happened.

For a long second, neither of us moved.

Then, Ryker turned, grabbing my face with both hands, his grip firm but not cruel, his thumbs sweeping over my cheekbones, his breathing shallow, unsteady.

“Are you hurt?” His voice was low, guttural.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over me, his fingers trailing down my arms, my sides, checking for injuries.

My breath hitched, but not from fear.

Not even close.

His hands. His touch. Even now, after an ambush on the street, my body still reacted.

And Ryker? He felt it, too.

I saw the shift, the way his dark eyes flickered, the way his fingers lingered on my waist, his grip tightening for just a second before he ripped himself away.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, turning toward the car Marcus had pulled up to the curb.

I barely registered the sound of the engine idling, my body still vibrating with adrenaline. But as Ryker led me forward, a question clawed its way to the surface.

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