Page 62 of The Scout

How did Marcus know to come here?

Ryker hadn’t called him—his phone was still in his pocket, untouched since the crash. And I sure as hell hadn’t had time to send out a distress signal. But Marcus had shown up exactly when we needed him, pulling onto the scene like he’d been tracking us the whole time.

I turned toward him, but his expression gave nothing away. His hands were steady on the wheel, his posturerelaxed, like he hadn’t just rolled up on our brush with death.

“Marcus,” I said, my voice still raw. “How did you?—?”

His gaze flicked to me. Unreadable. “We have ways.”

I frowned. Ways? What ways? That wasn’t an answer. That was an evasion.

Before I could push further, Ryker opened the car door and nudged me inside, his grip firm but careful, as if I might shatter.

I hesitated. “Where?”

His gaze snapped to mine. “Home.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse skipping.

Not my home. His. Dominion Hall.

He didn’t ask.

He told me.

And I didn’t argue.

20

RYKER

Isabel kept asking about the Bentley. About the wreck. About Ralston. About whether we should call the authorities.

Marcus drove, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the streets back to Dominion Hall. I sat in the passenger seat, flexing my fingers against my thigh, trying to temper the storm still raging inside me. My ribs ached. My face stung from the cut above my eye. But none of that mattered.

“It’ll be taken care of,” I said simply.

Isabel turned in her seat, staring at me like I was missing the point. “Taken care of?” she repeated, breathless, her hands tightening in her lap. “What does that even mean?”

I didn’t answer. Because Isabel had no idea how much power the Dane fortune wielded. Dominion Defense Corporation wasn’t just a private military empire; we had our hands in everything—defense contracts, cyber security, global logistics. And locally? We owned half the law enforcement agencies in Charleston.Not in the corrupt sense, not in the way politicians lined pockets and bought influence. No, this was our own kind of justice.

We believed in the law. And we believed in the occasional favor, too. When precincts were underfunded, when officers needed better gear, when SWAT teams needed cutting-edge tech that government budgets couldn’t provide, Dominion stepped in. We made sure they had everything they needed. And in return, well—let’s just say things got taken care of.

Like tonight. Like a certain jacked-up pickup truck and the six rich-boy assholes who thought they could pull some wannabe cartel stunt in the middle of my city.

“Ryker,” Isabel said, her voice quieter now.

I glanced at her. She was chewing her bottom lip, her brows pulled together in that way that told me she was overthinking, trying to fit pieces together that didn’t belong.

“I think Ralston was behind Will’s kidnapping.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped me. “No, you don’t.”

She bristled. “I do. He?—”

“He’s an arrogant, entitled prick, but he’s not that savvy. And he sure as hell doesn’t have the resources to pull off something like this.”

Her jaw clenched, but I kept going. “They got lucky tonight. That’s all. They saw an opening and they took it. If they’d planned this? If they’d actually known what they were doing?” I shot her a hard look. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

---