Page 59 of The CEO

“In my personal life?”

“Yes.”

“Physically?” I tilt my head and she elaborates. “Sexually, I mean?”

“Yes,” I confirm, watching the pulse quicken at her throat. “That too.”

Her lips part slightly, the blush deepening even as her pupils dilate with unmistakable interest. The tension between us thickens, fueled by something neither of us can ignore.

“Is that a requirement for everyone who joins?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“No.” I straighten, breaking the moment before it consumes us both. “That would be specific to our arrangement.”

She rises from the chair, maintaining eye contact as she stands. We’re close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and smell the lingering scent of my soap on her skin.

“Why me?” she asks, her voice steadier than I expected.

“Because you’re different.” I resist the urge to touch her—to claim her here in this room that represents my power. “You always have been.”

Confusion flickers across her face at this hint of a longer history, but before she can question it, I step back, creating necessary distance.

“I think it’s time to take you home.” I gesture toward the door. “You have much to consider.”

She hesitates, glancing around the chamber one last time before nodding. “Yes, I guess I do.”

As we ascend the staircase back to the main level of Eden, I watch the subtle shifts in her expression, as she processes everything she’s seen and learned. I’ve shown her more than I’ve shown anyone outside The Shadows, and revealed vulnerabilities that could be exploited if she chose to betray me.

Yet I feel no concern. Eve Thorne has already crossed the threshold—not just physically into my sanctuary, but metaphorically into my world. She witnessed and partook in a killing last night. She’s seen justice delivered outside the boundaries of law. She’s felt the power that comes with that knowledge, that action.

She won’t turn back now. Not when I can offer her the one thing she’s been seeking since her parents died: justice without compromise.

And perhaps, though I can barely acknowledge it even to myself, something more.

Chapter11

Eve

The door to my apartment clicks shut behind me, the sound of the lock engaging strangely final. I lean against it, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Home. I’m home. I see the same furniture, the same walls, the same small space I’ve occupied for years, but all of it is somehow foreign now.

My fingers drift up to touch my lips, still feeling the ghost of Damien’s kiss from last night. I can still feel the impossible size of his hard length pressing against my clit as I shifted my hips against him. I wanted to feel him inside me the same way his fingers were: deep and thick.

But the image of him in the shower is forever burned into my memory. I had wanted to join him so badly, and when he looked up, saw me, and continued, I panicked.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, finally realizing just how insane the last twenty-four hours have been. A second later, my smile fades and I realize just how much of a situation I’ve gotten myself into. I’m in way over my head here; this isn’t just some sexy game of hard-to-get . . . this is a deadly situation that could easily destroy my life. But even with that harsh reality sinking in, my mind cannot go anywhere else but in the direction of how Damien commanded my body during our brief interaction.

I replay the intensity of it: the way his hand cradled the back of my neck, how his body felt pressed against mine—solid, powerful, consuming. For those moments, I’d forgotten everything else: Kurt, the gun, the blood. I’d lost myself in the sensation of being wanted by a man like him.

But now, in the harsh light of morning, reality comes crashing back. I close my eyes, but that only makes the images more vivid: Kurt’s body jerking with each impact. The blood spreading across his shirt. The moment his eyes went vacant. The sound of those muffled shots.

I killed a man . . . or at least fired the first shot.

My knees weaken, and I slide down the door until I’m sitting on the floor, my back still pressed against the solid wood. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the tremors that suddenly rack my body.

What have I become? What am I becoming?

The questions swirl in my head without answers. Yesterday, I was an obituary writer with dreams of real journalism. Today, I’m a woman who has killed, who has witnessed an execution, who has been kissed by the man who pulled the trigger. A man who leads a shadow organization. A man who showed me his throne.

I stand and walk to my desk, attempting to try and work from home. But after several long minutes, I’m still staring at the blinking cursor.

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