Page 64 of The CEO

Damien turns to speak to his companions, with his back to me now. I shift slightly, trying to see his face, to read his expression after what he’s just done. My foot slips on the wet metal, making a small scraping sound that seems deafening in the quiet night since the rain has abated for the moment.

Below, Damien goes completely still. Then, with deliberate slowness, he turns his head, looking up toward the broken window—toward me. Even in the dim light, I can see the change that comes over him: the predator sensing prey.

I duck back, my heart hammering in my chest.

Shit! Did he see me?

I don’t wait to find out. I scramble to my feet, abandoning stealth for speed as I hurry down the fire escape, metal clanging beneath my frantic movements.

Behind me, I hear a commotion from inside the warehouse—voices, footsteps, a door slamming open. They’re coming after me. I miss a step in my haste, nearly falling before catching myself on the railing. Sharp pain shoots through my wrist at the impact.

No time to worry about it now. I jump the last few feet to the ground, landing hard in a puddle that splashes icy water up my legs. Which way? The cab is around the front, but that would mean passing by the main entrance, where they’ll emerge any second. I turn instead toward the back alley—hoping to circle around to the street beyond—when through the rain, I glimpse the cab’s taillights disappearing around the corner.

“Shit!” My ride is gone, abandoning me in this industrial wasteland. I am truly alone.

I slip between two dumpsters, pressing myself against the wet brick wall as I hear the fire door burst open, followed by heavy footsteps splashing through puddles. Foster’s voice cuts through the now-pouring rain: “East side, check the perimeter. Could be the cops.”

I hold my breath, willing my racing heart to quiet. The footsteps move away, searching in the wrong direction. I wait a few seconds longer, then risk darting across the open space to the next building.

I almost make it.

“There!” The shout comes from behind me, followed by the sound of running feet.

I break into a sprint, adrenaline flooding my system. The alley seems endless, shadows playing tricks on my vision as I desperately search for an exit. My lungs burn, and my wet clothes hamper my movements.

Finally, I spot a gap between buildings—a narrow passage that might lead to the street. I veer toward it, hope surging—only to skid to a halt as a figure emerges from the darkness directly in my path.

Damien Knox stands before me, not even breathing hard despite the chase. Rain streams down his face. His white shirt is now transparent and clinging to his torso, the tattoos on his chest almost visible through the fabric. The rain is coming down even harder now, and it slicks back his hair. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, focused on me with an intensity that stops my breath.

“Eve,” he says, my name somehow both a caress and a threat in his mouth. He shakes his head. “What an unexpected surprise.”

I back away, searching for escape, but there’s nowhere to run. Behind me, two other men have blocked the alley. I’m trapped between them, caught like an animal in a snare of my own making.

“Damien,” I manage, my voice surprisingly steady despite the terror coursing through me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

A smile curves his lips, devoid of humor. “Indeed. It seems we have quite a lot to discuss.”

Chapter12

Damien

MINUTES EARLIER . . .

The moment I step out of the warehouse into the rain-soaked alley, I catch it: a scent that doesn’t belong. Jasmine and something uniquely feminine beneath the heavier notes of rain and urban decay.Eve’s scent.I’d recognize it anywhere after memorizing it during those brief moments her body was pressed against mine.

She’s been here.

The realization hits me with a force that momentarily stuns me, followed by a surge of white-hot fury that threatens to consume my carefully constructed control.

“Sir?” Foster approaches, weapon drawn, scanning the shadows. “Cops?”

“No.” My voice is too calm, too measured, belying the storm raging inside me. “It’s Eve.”

Foster’s expression shifts from alert readiness to concern. “Miss Thorne? Here?” He glances toward the warehouse, understanding dawning in his eyes. “She saw.”

“Yes.” The single word carries the weight of complications, of plans unraveling, of a woman who continues to defy my expectations and calculations.

“We need to find her,” Foster says, already moving toward the fire escape where I spotted movement. “If she reports this?—”

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