Page 44 of The CEO

Just before she’s completely through the doorway, I call her name again and she turns. “Eve, be careful who you share your information with. Not everyone will appreciate your curiosity like I do.”

It’s a genuine warning, although she probably interprets it as another veiled threat. The distinction doesn’t matter at this point. What matters is that she’s now carrying my protection.

But even as I watch her walk away, I find myself troubled by that same unfamiliar feeling. This carefully controlled game I’ve orchestrated is going well, but something else is developing alongside it.

It’s something dangerously close to genuine concern for what happens to her as she ventures deeper into my world. It’s something I’m no longer convinced won’t become a problem in the future if I have to make a hard decision on what to do with Eve Thorne.

Chapter9

Eve

The matte black gun sits on my coffee table, its presence transforming my normally cozy apartment into something unfamiliar. I haven’t touched it since setting the box down after returning from Knox Tower. But I can’t stop staring at it—this physical manifestation of a line I’m not sure I want to cross.

What kind of man gives a woman investigating him a gun? The same kind of man who threatens people in forest preserves and heads up secret shadow societies, I suppose. The same kind of man who leaves a trail of dead bodies behind him, each written off as an accident.

The same kind of man I can’t stop thinking about . . . no matter how many warning bells ring inside my head.

My nervous energy is palpable. I try to breathe long and deep with my eyes closed, but every time I do, I picture him in my space—his hand around my throat, his lips hovering so close to mine as his fingers slid so deep inside me, I still ache at the memory. My body hums with excitement, but between my thighs, it aches with a need I already know will only be satisfied by him.

“Or maybe it’s the thought of being on my knees for you while you drip down my chin.”

I close my eyes, remembering the way his body felt against mine, the soft warmth of his breath against my cheek as he whispered dangerous threats. I know it’s all an act from him—just another one of his methods of gaining control and power over me. What pisses me off is that it’s working.

After today, the water I’m treading is far too deep for my liking. Threatening him felt like wielding power, but it’s a power I’m not in control of, and Damien Knox knows that. He’s playing with me like a cat that plays with a mouse for a few hours before ultimately killing it after becoming bored.

I force myself to look away from the gun and turn my focus back to my laptop. The folder I’ve created has expanded significantly since last week. I narrow my gaze when I see a local headline pop up that sends an immediate jolt of panic through me.

“Local man with ties to organized crime found in river. Police have ruled it an active homicide investigation and are looking into all known associates.”

My blood runs cold. I scan through the article as quickly as I can, but there’s little more information other than a number to call if you know anything. It says nothing about Damien Knox or Knox Industries . . . nothing about a shadow syndicate or The Skull, but something in me knows that this is his handiwork.

The timing is too perfect, the execution too clean. Someone most likely orchestrated this man’s death just like the others.

Someone like Damien.

Justice outside legal boundaries. Consequences for actions the system fails to punish.

The implications are clear even through veiled metaphors and hypotheticals. Now, with the gun on my coffee table and the mountain of evidence I’ve been compiling, I can no longer dismiss any of this as coincidence or paranoia.

But the real question is: What am I going to do with this information?

If Damien is indeed involved in this shadow organization, or is leading it, exposing him could bring down a lot more than just a few vigilante operatives. It could also make me a target for anyone else involved in his operations, and I’m confident I wouldn’t survive them. As if he can read my thoughts, a second later, my phone buzzes with a text from Damien.

Damien:I’m happy to train you to use the gun.

I stare at the message, my skin prickling with the realization that Damien is still my biggest threat, and he is most likely watching me.

Is my apartment bugged? My phone compromised? How long has he been watching me? Maybe that’s why he isn’t intimidated by what I know and is encouraging me to keep digging. He knows it’s only ever going to come back to him, and he’s prepared to deal with it . . . to deal with me.

Before I can analyze that disturbing thought, my phone rings, and it’s my boss, Brian. Most likely wondering why I’ve now missed two days of work without a proper explanation.

“Eve!” he barks before I can even offer a hello. “I need you back at your desk tomorrow, or you can clean it out.”

“I’m sorry, Brian. I’ll be there, I promise. I just got caught up with something in my personal life that turned into . . . kind of a thing . . . but I’m handling it.” I close my laptop as if Brian could see what I’ve actually been working on.

“Eve,” he says, his voice suddenly dropping low with a touch of concern, “is this about that thing you mentioned in my office? Pictures you took?”

I hesitate, not sure what I should say, but then it hits me that somebody should know what I’m doing, on the off chance Damien decides I’m a liability he doesn’t want to tolerate any longer.

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