Page 15 of His Fury

The SUV traveled slowly between the disused buildings, its engine rumbling low but still loud in the night. The industrial estate was quiet—too quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t natural.

Rye was sitting straighter, his eyes flicking constantly to the rearview and side mirrors. He felt it too. Good. I wasn’t being paranoid. Not a quality I’d ever been accused of before, but then I’d never had a reason to be.

Rye slowed to a stop outside an abandoned warehouse, his eyes scanning the building next to it. I leaned forward to see what he was seeing. The roller shutter door was free of debris, and the unused crates were stacked too neatly. Not as empty as they wanted you to believe.

“Hang back,” I ordered him quietly, pointing to the side of the building. “CCTV. Find another way around.”

He reversed the car quietly, and we came to the building from another direction, careful not to alert anyone in case they took off.

Isla wasn’t disappearing. Not tonight.

Rye killed the engine, and I sat in the seat for a beat longer than necessary. Control. Keep control.

Rye shifted beside me, eyes scanning the building’s exterior. “Probably two at the entrance,” he murmured. “Probably more inside.” He glanced at me. “Maybe, what, one or two more up top?”

I followed his line of sight. From our vantage point, I could see the edge of a truck. The vehicle was out in the open. Probably more than one. They weren’t hiding. They weren’t expecting a fight.

My knuckles drummed off the car door. I had one shot at this.

Rye’s voice was low as he cautioned me. “You walk in there, guns blazing, with no plan, he could kill her before you can take a breath.”

I already knew that. It didn’t mean I didn’t want to put a bullet between someone’s eyes just for the fun of it.

But Rye was right.

This had to be business. Not personal. Because if they knew she meant something to me, she’d never stop being leverage.

“Go back the way we came,” I said quietly, my eyes on the building.

He hesitated but put the car in reverse. “What’s your plan?” He looked over at me. “You want to drive up to the front door?” He sounded skeptical. Like surely, only a crazy person would suggest that. Right?

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” I told him. “This isn’t personal. We sneak in, take them by surprise, and they’ll see more than I want them to. No, we play it smart. Like any negotiation. So yeah, we walk in through the front door.”

“And if Isla blows your cover?” Rye stopped outside the warehouse, where three cars were sitting behind a chained fence. One was a fucking ugly vintage Bentley. My focus was on Delaney’s piece of shit ancient car that screamed small-dick syndrome.

“You handle Isla. I’ll handle Patrick.” I took the gun from the glove compartment, tucked it into my waistband, adjusted my cuffs, smoothed a hand over my shirt, and then shoved open the door. “Let’s go.”

Rye followed, our steps deliberate and slow. We weren’t sneaking. We weren’t rushing. We were walking in like we belonged there. Like this was a meeting, not a rescue. At the main entrance gates, I saw the side gate. When I got to it, it was unpadlocked. I pushed it open, and Rye and I entered the yard.

There was no one outside, but like the gate, the entrance to the warehouse was open. Inside was colder than I expected, littered with a maze of boxes piled high. Rye had his gun out. You could never be too careful. I kept mine tucked away.

The boxes were a decoy—anyone with a bit of sense would know that. There was no one on guard and Rye and I exchanged a look. Anyone could walk in. Was this a trap? Wefollowed the path to the back of the warehouse, where the light shone brighter.

In the middle of his guys, standing with his arms folded, was the man who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take what wasn’t his. They all stood around a table piled with cash, and they looked up in unison as I confidently walked toward them.

“McCabe.” Patrick looked me over, quickly masking his surprise. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight.”

I lifted a brow. “And yet, here I am.”

I didn’t stop walking until I was a few feet away. Rye stayed at my back, his presence more of a threat than words ever could be.

Patrick smiled, lazy and smug. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you outside your club?” He feigned confusion as if the phone call hadn’t happened two hours ago.

I let my gaze slide past him, searching. There were too many places she could be. My jaw tightened, but my voice stayed smooth. “You’ve been collecting things that don’t belong to you.”

Patrick tilted his head, his gaze sharp. Assessing. “Depends on the debt.”

I rolled my shoulders casually. “I don’t care about the debt he owes you.”

---