Page 39 of Emperor of Corruption
“The reporter you’re fucking,” he hisses. “She’s just met up with yourold secretary. She’s going to be a problem, and you are amoronfor not seeing it.”
My jaw clenches. I’m tempted to call bullshit, to inform Silas that Lyra has no way of knowing Rhea exists, let alone the resources to reach her, but Silas cuts me off.
“Don’t bother refuting. I have photographic evidence.”
I pick up a pen and start twirling it through my fingers, affecting a bored expression when I’m anything but.Lyra met with Rhea. Silas might be an excellent bullshitter and accomplished liar, but he wouldn’t tell me he had evidence if it weren’t true.
Lyra’s been very naughty. No, naughty isn’t the right word; she’s been negligently fucking stupid. The fact that shefoundRhea shows her resourcefulness and trickiness, but the temptation to admire her is surpassed by the realization that she went behind my back in a way that could get her killed.
I’ll focus on that later. For now, I need to address the moron presently polluting my air.
“And how, pray tell, did you acquire this evidence?”
“Had guys follow her this week. You’re acting out of character; you’re not taking having a reporter on retainer seriously. At best, you’ve already set yourself up for a sexual harassment lawsuit—”
“That I would crush.” And it wouldn’t just be a sexual harassment suit; it would be much more.
“—at worst, you’re hurtling toward an exposé that endangers a whole lot more people than just you. You need to get rid of her.”
I guess I shouldn’t have tanked Silas’s stocks to shit. He’spissed,and he’s out for blood. Since he can’t get mine, he’s settling for landing a blow to me by proxy.
Of course, him threatening Lyra’s lifeshouldn’tfeel like a blow. It shouldn’t feel personal, but for some inexplicable reason, it does.
If he touches my woman—even if she’s only mine for the next two months—I’ll cut his fingers off, shove them up his ass, castrate him, and choke him to death with his own genitalia.
I don’t give afuckwhat The Eyes have to say about it.
“I’ll handle it,” I say tersely.
“I’m not fucking around. I’m here as a courtesy. If you don’t make this problem go away, I sure as hell will.”
“I said I’ll handle it. Get out of my office. Take your fucking guards off Lyra. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
Silas glares at me for several moments, nostrils flaring. Finally, he turns around and storms to the door.
“And one more thing,” he throws over his shoulder. “Stop fucking with my money.” He leaves and slams the door behind him.
I curl my hands into fists, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths.
I was being truthful when I told Silas I’d handle Lyra. I just didn’t specifyhowI’d go about it.
If my tricky little bird thinks she can fly circles around me, she’s in for a rude fucking awakening.
I cancel my evening plans, which is a slight inconvenience, but nothing devastating. I stop by my apartment to pick up some equipment, then I drive myself toLyra’sapartment. I don’t have Locke take me—it’s vital to minimize the trail of my evening visit to a naughty journalist tonight.
After all, my plans aren’t savory. I’m not going to kill Lyra, but after I’m done, she might wish she were dead. What she’ll probably refuse to see is that I’m doing her a favor by not killing her, but a punishment is very much in order. One that ends up protecting her from herself, and giving me what I need to keep her in line.
I don’t have her schedule in my possession yet—something that will need to change very soon—but I do have it on good authority that she isn’t home yet, so when I break into her apartment, it’s empty.
It’s also a shithole. Though it’s clean and orderly, almost to the point of being OCD, it’stiny. One bed, one bath, with a modest living room connected to a kitchen. It’s certainly nicer than what I had growing up, but these days, anything too quaint disgusts me. It reminds me of a time in my life I’d much rather forget.
I set what I need in the bedroom, then lower myself onto the couch. I could send any one of the men who work for me to do what needs to be done tonight, but I abhor the idea of someone else putting their hands on my flighty little journalist. For the time being, she’smine.
Lyra comes into the apartment less than an hour later. I hear her keys jangling the lock that was ridiculously easy to pick, and then she’s inside. She closes and bolts the door behind her, drops her keys on the tiny table by it, and kicks off her sensible heels, nudging them into the coat closet.
The apartment’s still dark, so she can’t yet see me, and that’s just fine. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I appreciate the time to observe her unencumbered.
Lyra’s orderly, neat, and apparently, unafraid of the dark. She pads into the bedroom, walking right by my position on the couch. I rise and follow her with silent footsteps. She pauses halfway across the room; I pause, too, wondering if she can feel me.Sensemy presencein the air. I wonder if I have as much an effect on her as she does on me.
