Page 86 of His Fury

She nodded, and in the bathroom, I fired off a quick text to Rye to tell him she was here so he would know if he needed to come in.

Once out of the shower, I got dressed in my suit. I had a long night ahead of me. My work didn’t stop because of a difficult discussion.

We sat at opposite ends of the couch, my hair still damp from the shower. Isla wore her work clothes: wide-legged pants and a blouse that highlighted the glow of her lightlytanned skin. Her hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She wore little makeup; she didn’t need it.

But her guard? That was up. High.

There was only one thing for it. I lowered mine first.

“So,” I said as I leaned back and watched her. “What are we talking about?”

Isla rolled her eyes and reached for her coffee cup.

“You want to know why I stay in this life?” I asked, my voice low, almost careful. Isla didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I took a breath. “When I was thirteen, my father lost everything. Not through gambling or anything like that. Through pride.”

Her brows knit slightly.

“You probably weren’t aware.” She shook her head. “You didn’t know much about me back then. Julian and I weren’t friends until high school. My dad…he owned a small contracting company with his cousin. Dad took on a job too big for him. Hired guys he couldn’t pay. Promised people things he couldn’t deliver. The man was all mouth and no leverage.” I looked away, bitterness twisting my features. “That’snever changed. But back then, he ended up owing money to people he should’ve known not to cross. Didn’t know how to ask for help, didn’t think heneededit.”

I leaned back, tilting my head upwards, my eyes on the ceiling now. It was easier. Easier than seeing her process it.

“They came one night. I didn’t know what was happening. I just remember the shouting.” I looked back at her. “I remember my mother crying… And…” I licked my teeth. “And I remember my fatherbegging. I was hiding in the hallway closet with a baseball bat. Like that was going to fix anything.” I snorted with contempt.

Silence stretched between us. Isla didn’t move.

“They didn’t kill him. Well, you know that.” I blew out abreath. “Not physically. But they broke every finger on both his hands. Took his van. Cleaned out our safe. Landed a few punches on my mom. Left her on the kitchen floor. Left him crawling on the porch while the next-door neighbors pretended not to see.” I watched her as I spoke. Saw the horror in her eyes. Saw the sympathy. “And he still owed them.” I exhaled. “So,Ipaid them.”

Isla’s eyes were wide. “What?”

“Not in cash,” I quickly amended. “In favors. Running errands. Delivering envelopes. Listening to conversations I shouldn’t have been in. I was fifteen when I learned how to move money across two state lines and make it clean.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

“Mom went to law school. She gotrighteouswith her fury.” I laughed at the thought of my criminal defense attorney mother, a mastermind in the courtroom, compared to who she was back then. “Dad and her split, which you know. Law school, a rebellious kid, and a broken man didn’t mix well for a happy home. He took me with him when he left. Mom was very vocal in her disapproval of my developing…talents.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I told her quietly. “I was very good at what I did. I got goodfast. I saw how things worked—how power flowed. Who owed who. What it cost. It wasn’t about crime, Isla.” I kept my eyes on her. “It was about never beingthatkid again. Never hearing my mother scream like that again. Never watching someone I loved be powerless.” I saw the confusion mixed with the lingering pity. “Never hiding in a closet again.”

“And now you’re the one with the power,” Isla said softly.

I nodded. “It doesn’t come for free, but it means no one touches or threatens what’s mine.”

Her eyes flicked away.

“I’m not proud of all of it,” I added. “But I’m not sorry for it either. I made sure my family never needed anything again. I made sure I never owedanyone. And yeah, I made myself useful to a lot of people most wouldn’t sit across from at dinner. But I’ve never made excuses about who I am. I’ve just made sure I never go back.” I paused. “Mom decided to channel her new skills for my benefit, she doesn’t approve, but she knows, and understands, why.”

I let the words hang there. I wasn’t asking for forgiveness—only understanding.

When she finally met my gaze again, I saw it—recognition. Not agreement. But something softer.

“I don’t know if I can live like this…” she confessed.

“I think you already are.”

She didn’t answer. Just curled her legs beneath her and looked away.

But she didn’t leave.

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