Page 34 of His Fury

Not a smell. Not a sound. Just a feeling.

Like the house had been waiting.

“Knew you wouldn’t wait,” Rye mumbled as he brushed a finger over the bottom of the banister.

I followed him as he walked farther into the space, toeing off my boots just inside the doorway. The polished concrete floors were cold against my skin, and the entire space was impossibly clean and open.

Not a single thing was out of place.

The house was sleek and modern with sharp lines and smooth finishes, much like the exterior. Glass, steel, muted grays, and charcoal walls caught the afternoon light just enough to prevent it from feeling sterile.

It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cold either. It was…deliberate.

Every piece of furniture was placed like it had been calculated. Nothing cluttered. Nothing soft. Even the throw pillow on the huge L-shaped couch was arranged with military precision. I wondered if they had ever been touched. If anyone had ever leaned against their softness, seeking comfort.

Even the air was still. Settled. But not stale. Like everything here had been paused, frozen in time, until Zayn walked back through the door.

And yet, as I followed Rye through the house, taking in the precision, noting how unlike me the house was…I felt safe.

Not because it was welcoming. But because it washis.

I let out a slow breath as we entered the kitchen. My hands were still trembling even now, even knowing it was over. Even knowing I was safe. Whatever that meant anymore.

“The kitchen’s stocked,” Rye said as he opened the fridge door. “If it’s not in there, we’ll get it. The bathroom you’ll be using has all the mod-cons and flowery stuff you like.”

That surprised a laugh out of me. “You don’t strike me as the type to notice what I like.”

Rye smirked. “I’m observant.”

“Is this really where Zayn lives?” I asked as I looked around the kitchen. It was sleek like the rest of the house; the cabinets were dark-toned, stark against the whitebackground, and soft pendant lights hung above a stone island the size of my apartment.

“Sometimes,” Rye said, taking two bottles of water from the fridge and handing me one. “It’s one of his safer properties. Less known.”

I took the water, twisting the cap slowly as my mind caught on the word properties. “So what is it then? It’s pretty big to be a panic room.”

Rye chucked. “Is it? You’re the first person he’s brought here.” He held my gaze. “Don’t betray that.”

“What? His trust?” Something flickered in my chest. Jealousy? At Rye’s protectiveness of his friend? The thought was ridiculous. I shoved it down. I had no right to feel anything. I took a sip of water. “So…how long have you worked for him?” I thought about it. “With him? I…I don’t know your relationship.”

Rye’s lips curled into an empty smile. “Long enough.”

I narrowed my eyes as I watched him. “Is that your way of saying ‘mind your business’?”

“Is that your way of asking questions you’re not sure you want answers to?” he volleyed smoothly.

I blinked. Touché.

Rye leaned against the counter, watching me in that careful, quiet way that resembled Zayn so much that I shuddered. “Zayn’s not like the others,” he said finally.

I didn’t respond even though he gave a long pause, anticipating I would. When I said nothing, he carried on.

“He operates in a dangerous world and he competes there, sure. But he’s not one of them. Not really.”

“Because he’s better?” I asked, bitterness creeping into my tone. “Or worse?”

Rye gave me a small, unreadable smile. “Depends who you’re asking.”

“And if I were asking you?”

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