Page 63 of The Scout

She swallowed hard and turned away, staring out the window. There was a bigger threat. A deeper, darker one. I could feel it. And I knew, knew that whatever hadhappened to Will—it wasn’t about some rich-kid rivalry or bruised egos. It was something else entirely.

We pulled up to Dominion Hall in silence.

The doctor was already waiting, old school black bag in hand. Marcus killed the engine and turned to Isabel. “Take a shower. Then get examined.”

She opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but one look at my face must have told her not to push it. Good. I wasn’t in the fucking mood.

She disappeared into the bathroom while I stood in the doorway, watching as the private doctor laid out his tools. Twenty minutes later, she stepped out—hair damp, skin scrubbed clean, wearing a fresh t-shirt and shorts I hadn’t seen before. The exam was thorough. I didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t let her out of my sight.

I watched as the doctor checked every inch of her—her pulse, her bruises, the way she winced when he pressed too hard against her ribs. I stood there, arms crossed, my face unreadable, but inside, I was fucking seething.

When it was done, I pulled out a stack of cash, handed it to the doctor without a word. He took it and left. No thanks. No acknowledgment. Just dismissal.

I turned to Isabel. “Go to bed.”

She didn’t argue this time. She slipped past me, quiet, stepping into the dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

I exhaled slowly, then made my way to the bathroom, stripping down, glancing at my cut face in the mirror, at the bruises forming along my ribs. What was my next move? What was the enemy thinking? And most importantly—where the fuck was Will?

I turned the water on, stepping under the hot stream, the sting against my split skin the least of my problems. Iclosed my eyes, exhaling as the heat seeped into my muscles, letting my mind work through the tangled mess of threats, possibilities, and?—

The shower door opened.

I turned, already knowing.

Isabel.

She stepped inside, her eyes dark, her body bare, water beading against her skin.

And just like that?—

All was forgotten.

There was no war. No threats. No missing brother.

Just her.

Her.

She was mine.

The moment she stepped into the shower, everything else ceased to exist.

Her dark hair clung to her wet skin, droplets trailing down the curves of her body, catching in the valley between her breasts, sliding over her stomach. She wasn’t shy. Wasn’t hesitating. She just looked at me, her green eyes dark with something raw and unspoken.

My restraint snapped.

I grabbed her, yanking her into me, my mouth over hers as the hot water poured down our bodies. She gasped against my lips, her fingers curling into my shoulders, but she didn’t push me away—she pulled me closer.

I turned her, pressing her back against the cool tile, my mouth rough against hers, my hands dragging over slick, warm skin. She arched into my touch, moaning softly when I palmed her breasts, rolling her hardened nipples between my fingers before sliding my hand lower, over the curve of her hip, down between her thighs.

She was soaked—hot, wet, ready.

I groaned, biting her bottom lip as I slipped two fingers inside her, stroking deep, spreading her open. Her hips jerked, her breath hitching, and then?—

She tilted her chin up, eyes meeting mine as she murmured, “More.”

Fuck.

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