Page 81 of His Fury

Right at me.

I froze. He didn’t say anything. He just smirked—slow, knowing—and I felt a shiver of fear.

Rye turned to Zayn, and when he did, the younger guy mouthedI see you.

I stepped back, heart hammering, pressing a hand to my chest like it could hold the panic in.

I turned and fled back to the car.

The two of them walked out a few minutes later, and I had to force myself to keep my breathing steady. Rye didn’t look at me as he got in, and neither spoke. Zayn slid into the passenger seat like nothing had happened.

Rye started the car, and we pulled away from the alley.

“Did you stay in the car?” Zayn asked, not looking at me.

I didn’t answer.

After a moment, he sighed quietly. “I asked you to stay in the car.”

He sounded disappointed. LikeIhad done something wrong, which I had, but then so had he. The hypocrisy was too much. “You’re not my boss!” I snapped. “You’re not my keeper.”

“I never claimed to be either,” he said, his voice tense. Controlled. “But I’m the one who has to clean up the mess if something happens to you. Again.”

It was the reminder that something had already happened to me that snapped my mouth closed.

We drove in silence the rest of the way home.

Neither of them spoke as we pulled up in front of the house. I got out, and when I realized neither of them were following, I let myself into the house.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was rattled by seeing him in action, witnessing the reality of what he did, the way he spoke to people, how he held himself, and the way he controlledeverything.

I was too wired to go back to bed, and I kind of felt dirty, so I showered. The water was scalding and turned my skin red, but I stayed in there until I felt clean again.

Getting out, I dried off and then stared at my reflection fortoo long. The steam blurred my image, and I couldn’t help but see it as a warning.

I’d witnessed Zayn in his world. In his element. But it was no longerhisworld. I was in it now.

And I didn’t know if I belonged here.

Back in the bedroom, I wrapped myself in his hoodie and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for it to open.

Dreading the fallout.

When the door eventually opened, Zayn simply leaned against the frame, hands in his pockets, quiet.

“You okay?”

“No.” It sounded as raw as I felt.

“Did you get what you wanted?” His gaze was steady. “Seeing that?”

“It’s who you are, isn’t it?” The challenge was in my voice as much as it was his.

Zayn stepped into the room, crouching down in front of me, and rested his hands on my knees.

“This is what I do,” he confirmed. “It’s not all of who I am.”

“I don’t like it.” I pushed my wet hair back. “I don’t like the way you sound when you’re that person, and I hate the way they looked at you.”

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