Page 65 of The CEO

“She won’t.” I catch his arm, stopping him. “I’ll handle Eve. Take care of our victim.” I nod toward the warehouse where the man still sits bound and bleeding—someone who foolishly believed he could siphon funds from my organization without consequences.

Foster hesitates. “Sir, with all due respect, if she witnessed the interrogation?—”

“I said I’ll handle it.” The edge in my voice silences him immediately. “Send Johnson and Taylor to track her. Do not engage. Just confirm her location.”

He nods, knowing better than to argue. “When you saytake care of the victim, sir?”

“Finish it. Clean and efficient.” I’m already moving away, following the faint trail of Eve’s presence like a predator locked onto prey. “No one follows me. This is personal.”

Rain pelts down harder now, plastering my shirt to my skin, washing away the blood spatter from the interrogation. I barely notice the discomfort, my mind entirely focused on Eve. The recklessness of her actions tonight both infuriates and intrigues me. I’d shown her just enough of my world to frighten any rational person away. Instead, she dove in deeper.

I move through the labyrinthine alleys with practiced ease, scanning for any sign of her passage: a fresh scuff on a dumpster or a puddle disturbed minutes rather than hours ago. She’s panicked, running blind in unfamiliar territory. Easy to track for someone who knows these shadows as intimately as I do.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Foster.

“He’s been handled,” he confirms.

“Good.” I end the call, changing direction to intercept her likely route.

As I move through the rain-drenched alley, my fury begins to crystallize into something colder, more focused. Eve Thorne continues to be an unpredictable variable in my world. For eight years, I’ve watched her from a distance, content with that arrangement. Now, in the span of weeks, she’s upended everything, pushing into spaces where she doesn’t belong, challenging boundaries I’d established to protect both of us.

A movement catches my eye: a figure darting between buildings ahead. I quicken my pace, rain streaming down my face as lightning illuminates the scene in stark flashes. There she is, running through the maze of alleys, glancing over her shoulder with obvious panic.

I cut through a side passage, positioning myself to intercept her. When she rounds the corner, I step directly into her path, watching her skid to a halt, eyes wide with recognition and fear.

“Eve,” I say, her name somehow both a caress and a threat in my mouth. I shake my head. “What an unexpected surprise.”

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

“Damien,” she manages, her voice surprisingly steady despite the terror coursing through her. “Fancy meeting you here.”

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

I motion to my men to retreat. They disappear silently, knowing better than to witness what comes next. I grab Eve’s arm with more force than necessary, pulling her toward me.

“I think it’s best we go inside for your punishment,” I grit the words out more harshly than I’d intended, but it does the trick when fear flashes across her face.

“Let go of me!” she hisses, struggling against my grip.

“Not a fucking chance,” I growl, dragging her back toward the warehouse. “You’ve seen far too much tonight to just walk away.”

The rain continues to pour as I force her through a side entrance, her clothing as soaked as mine, her body shaking with either cold or fear. Perhaps both. The warehouse interior is dimly lit, and the team is already clearing the evidence of our earlier activities.

“Everyone out,” I command, my voice echoing through the cavernous space. The men freeze momentarily then move with practiced efficiency, disappearing without question or hesitation.

I pull Eve deeper into the warehouse, toward a small office at the back, my fingers digging into her arm with enough force to bruise. She stumbles beside me, trying to match my pace, her earlier bravado rapidly fading.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” I say through clenched teeth as I shove open the office door. With a rough push, I send her stumbling into the room, watching as she catches herself against a metal desk. “No fucking idea.”

I slam the door behind us, turning the lock with a decisive click. The sound is final—condemning. Whatever happens in this room stays between us.

Eve straightens, her back against the desk, watching me with those intelligent eyes that see too much. Water drips from both of us, forming puddles on the concrete floor. In the harsh fluorescent light, I know what she sees: my white shirt translucent and stained with blood, my expression cold with barely controlled rage.

“What were you thinking, following me here?” My voice is dangerously quiet as I move toward her. “Do you have any concept of how monumentally stupid that was?”

“I needed to see?—”

“You needed to get yourself killed?” I slam my hand against the desk beside her, making her flinch. “You could have been followed. You could have compromised the entire operation. Do you understand what would have happened if someone other than me had found you watching us?”

---