8. 2
My morning passes in a blur of meetings—necessary but mechanical aspects of maintaining the legitimate empire that funds my real passion. One that I don’t take lightly.
Even when I was young and new to the corporate world, my eagerness to learn and climb the ladder as fast as possible under my mentor’s guidance was driven by one thing: a desire to learn the other side of his business. The darker side that still consumes so much of my focus.
By midafternoon, my patience for my corporate obligations has worn thin. My focus is continually pulled to images of Eve from last night . . . the way she leaned into my touch. Finally deciding I’m of no use at the office, I gather my coat.
“Amanda, cancel the rest of my meetings for today.”
“Sir?” She looks up from her computer, confused. “It’s just after 3, sir, and you have a?—”
“Cancel it,” I say again. “And everything else. I’m done for the day.”
Her surprise is evident. It’s not like me to skirt obligations, let alone miss work. “Of course, sir. Is there anything specific I should tell them?”
“Whatever explanation seems appropriate.” The elevator doors open and I step inside, already loosening the tie that suddenly feels constrictive. “I’ll be unreachable for the rest of the day.”
It’s not often I feel restless. In fact, I can only recall one other time I felt this way. But when I can’t shake this feeling, there’s only one place I want to be: alone. Before Eden and my greenhouse, it was the forest preserve.
The moment the humid air of the greenhouse hits my lungs, I relax. I’m no longer torn between two worlds; they simply don’t exist. I take my time with each of my plants, showing them the love and dedication they require to not just grow, but flourish. They are living beings, deserving of all of the admiration and even fear that comes with just existing as a plant.
I enjoy caring for them and nurturing them. They’re vulnerable, and they need me. Maybe that’s what I like about them: that they don’t care what else my hands have done, as long as they are cared for. I can only wonder if Eve will feel the same.
But even with my expert compartmentalization skills, the same fucking question keeps coming back to me over and over again. The same question I already know the answer to but am not willing to entertain: What happens if, after everything Eve learns, she still wants to destroy me?
Before I can force myself to eject that thought, Foster taps on the glass door of the greenhouse.
“Sir, we have a situation.”
“Situation?”
“It’s Miss Thorne, sir.”
My body goes tense. “Explain.”
“She’s at Knox Tower downtown. She arrived ten minutes ago requesting to see you urgently.”
“Ten minutes ago and I’m just now finding out?” I’m already following Foster down the hallway toward the main part of the house.
“She’s refusing to leave. Says she needs to speak to you. Says she has information you’ll want to see immediately.”
“Information regarding?”
“She wouldn’t specify.”
“Have a car bring her to Eden. We can discuss it here.”
“I already offered, sir. She, uh, she’s demanding to meet in your office downtown.”
“Demanding?” I pause, irritation quickly giving way to intrigue. “She’s making fucking demands now?”
“It would appear so.”
“Have her escorted to my office. We’ll take the helicopter.”
As I climb into the helicopter, I consider the implications of Eve’s unscheduled appearance. She’s clearly found something significant enough to risk another direct confrontation, but it feels as though this is a deliberate strategy to observe my reaction to information she knows is damning.
When I arrive at Knox Tower, Foster and I meet the head of security in the garage.
“She’s in your office. Security scanned her bag like usual. No obvious recording devices.”
“And her demeanor?”
“Calm.”
I nod, processing this information as we take my private elevator to my office. Excitement pulses through me, my body on high alert at her presence nearby.
“Should I accompany you into the office? We aren’t sure of the security implications?—”
“Security implications? Like the one I disarmed early this morning, Foster?” The elevator door opens to my private reception area. “This isn’t my first interrogation today.”
He falls silent, clearly recognizing the reference to Sullivan’s early morning questioning and the dismissal in my tone. I take a moment, straightening my tie and waiting for him to walk away, before stepping inside my office.
When I open the door, she’s standing at the window wall, silhouetted against Chicago’s afternoon skyline. Her back is to me and I take an extra few seconds to admire her before she notices me. She wears a simple black blouse tucked into tailored black pants, but that’s not what I notice most: It’s the delicate green scarf wrapped around her neck.
“Hello, Eve.”
She turns toward me, her expression composed. No fear this time, despite last night. Just quiet resolve, which is . . . concerning.
“This is an unexpected visit.” I close the door behind me before moving farther into my office.
“I have information I think you’ll want to see.” She moves toward her bag, retrieving a folder that she hands me. “Information that definitively connects Knox Industries subsidiaries to four deaths I’ve written obituaries for—not just the three I’d previously thought.”
The addition of a fourth is unexpected, and most likely another loose end from Sullivan. I maintain neutral interest as she places the folder on my desk.
“And you felt this warranted an unscheduled visit rather than going through the proper channels? Is this your usual manner of doing business, Miss Thorne, or do I get special dispensation?” She maintains her hardened exterior, but I see a slight crack starting to form as I move closer to her.
“Proper channels seemed inadequate given the serious nature of things.” Her eyes meet mine directly, searching for a reaction. But she won’t get the satisfaction of one from me. Instead, I move just close enough to reach out and touch the end of her scarf, running my fingers over the silky material.
“Wearing the scarf again, I see?”
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, her eyes dropping to where my fingers hold the material.
She’s nervous.
“What did you mean in the greenhouse when you said you serve a necessary purpose in our ecosystem?” Her voice remains steady, despite the dangerous territory she’s tiptoeing around.
“I think we both know that based on your detective skills, you can deduce the implications.”
“And I think you enjoy being purposely vague. Is it because you’re too afraid to admit to me the kind of man you really are—not the one the rest of the world sees?”
“You know what I think, Eve?” I step even closer, slowly wrapping the end of her scarf around my hand before tugging it so that she stumbles forward another step and her chest hits mine with a huff. Her eyes grow wide, her hands coming out to steady herself against me at the unexpected action. “I think you know exactly what kind of man I am, but you’re too scared to admit to yourself that it intrigues you,” I say, leaning down closer with my lips grazing her cheek, “rather than scares you.”
She doesn’t try to step away, but her eyes scan mine rapidly like she’s trying to decide what my next move will be.
“Your boldness is starting to grow on me,” I murmur. “The way you march into my kingdom, demanding answers you’re not prepared to hear.” I laugh softly. “Like a little creature scurrying through the castle, having no idea that the dragon is right on her heels.”
“And what makes you think I’m not prepared to hear the truth?”
“Because if you truly understood the reality of the questions you’re demanding I answer, you’d realize you’re in danger. I’m not a man with patience and understanding, Eve.” I narrow my gaze so she understands just how serious I am in this moment. “You’ve been warned, and don’t think for a second that I won’t destroy you if I have to.”
“What are you?” For the first time, I see genuine fear in her eyes, and I do nothing to hide the satisfied smile it brings.
“What do you want me to be?” Slowly, I start to walk her backward until she’s pinned between my desk and me, and I’m still holding her scarf tightly around my hand.
“I—I think you’re?—”
“You can say it,” I whisper softly against her lips, which are an inch from mine.
“The devil.”
I don’t respond to the accusation. Instead, I slowly start to unwind the scarf from my hand as she continues.
“I think you enforce consequences, like you said.” She swallows hard. “Consequences outside the traditional legal system. Those deaths,” she says, her eyes glancing down toward the file I’ve tossed on the desk behind her, “appear to be consequences rather than just murder.”
“That’s quite a theory.” Her gaze is back on mine. I take the opportunity to pull the scarf slowly as I remove it from her neck. “Though it would seem reckless, if not dangerous, to make an accusation like that with little to no evidence. Especially if I’m the first person you’re telling about this.”
I don’t have to spell out the fact for her to understand that I could simply get rid of her along with her accusations, and nobody would be the wiser. But the second the scarf falls away, I see the slight shadow of a bruise on her skin. I suck in a sharp breath, my cock pulsing against my thigh at the sight of my handiwork. My grip around her throat must have been tighter than I realized last night. I repeat my actions, my fingers replacing the scarf around her throat, a gentle reminder to her just how delicate her life is in my hands.
“Are you threatening me again, Mr. Knox?” I feel the constriction of her throat against my palm as I tighten my grip. Her hands remain glued to the edge of the desk behind her.
“Would you like that?” I squeeze the slightest bit tighter, her eyes fluttering. I press myself against her, my hard cock against her belly sending a very clear message about what she does to me. “Is that what excites you, Eve—the threat of danger and the forbidden? Knowing you’re gambling with your life testing the limits of a man like me?”
“Does it excite you? ” she replies, her eyes growing darker. “Knowing I could destroy everything you’ve built and bring you to your knees?”
I watch her for several seconds, her bold approach surprising but intriguing. There’s more to this woman than just a wannabe journalist who stumbled into a story. I slide my hand up her throat and over her jaw, dragging my thumb across her lips. I’m completely lost in her, the reality of the conversation at hand suddenly slipping away.
“Maybe it does,” I admit, sliding the tip of my thumb inside her mouth. Her tongue flicks gently against it, making my cock throb against her belly. “Or maybe it’s the thought of being on my knees for you while you drip down my chin.”
Her eyes remain fixed on mine, wide and curious.
“Assuming again, I see, that my body would respond to your touch,” she says. “Is that what you want? To use me for your excitement then toss me aside like all of your other collateral damage?”
“If that’s what I wanted,” I say, my other hand reaching between us to unbutton her pants, “I would have already had you, wouldn’t I?” My hand slides past her waistband, my fingers pressing against her wet panties. Her eyes flutter, and her teeth bite down on her lower lip as I circle my thumb over her clit. “Now, let’s see if my assumption about your pussy being soaked by the thought of my tongue inside you is true.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d let you have me.” Her hands curl around the edge of my desk tighter, her knuckles white as she digs her nails into the hard wood.
“Let me? Oh, Eve,” I click my tongue, “what makes you think I’d need your permission?”
Her breathing grows rapid, her lips parting just enough that I hear a whisper of a moan when I push her panties to the side and make direct contact with her wet pussy.
“Answer me, Eve,” I demand just as I slide two thick fingers deep inside her.
“Ohhh,” she groans loudly, one hand shooting off the desk to grab a handful of my shirt.
Her walls tighten around my fingers. “Fuck, you’re a tight little thing, aren’t you? Greedy, too. You’re already quivering.” I slide my fingers out of her agonizingly slowly, circling her clit with both fingers before plunging them back in.
“Don’t stop,” she pants, her head falling forward as her eyes close.
“Look at me,” I bark, my fingers back around her throat while two curl inside her. When her heavy-lidded eyes meet mine, she’s barely hanging on, seconds away from coming on my fingers. “You’ve already crossed a line with me that you can’t uncross. There’s no going back from what you know about me, is there?”
“N-no,” she finally manages to choke out, her body starting to tremble.
“I am the devil, and if I were you, Eve Thorne, I would think long and hard before letting a man like me have control over you.”
Just as she’s about to come, I slow my movements, pulling my fingers from her entirely before releasing her body and stepping around my desk to take a seat. To keep myself from the overwhelming desire to lick every drop of her cum from my fingers, I clench my jaw so hard that my temples immediately throb.
“You seem to be suggesting conspiracy where tragedy exists. Although, I am curious how you managed to obtain the evidence you think you have,” I tell her.
She stays pressed against my desk for several seconds, staring forward, her hands still gripping the edge of my desk, her breath coming out shaky. My cock throbs, the scent of her on my fingers seriously fucking with my cognitive abilities. Finally, she releases her grip and buttons her pants before reaching down to grab her scarf from the floor, adjusting it around her neck before turning back to face me like I didn’t just have her at my absolute mercy with only two fingers.
“I have my sources.” She meets my gaze steadily, her cheeks flush with a pink glow that spreads down her neck. “Just as you have sources outside the realm of business.”
“What exactly are you hoping to achieve with this unscheduled visit, Eve? Accusations? Confirmation? Something else entirely?”
She’s playing a dangerous game, and she knows that. Which is why I can’t seem to figure out why she’s running straight toward the danger . . . unless she plans to join me.
She hesitates, the first crack in her confident demeanor. For a moment, I glimpse conflict beneath her composed exterior. But it feels like she’s not ready to acknowledge it.
“Understanding,” she finally says, her voice softer. “You showed me your greenhouse last night for some reason. You’ve revealed aspects of yourself to me that others never see. I want to know why.”
The question carries layers of reasons beyond the obvious. The complete answer would require explaining eight years, and before that, the reality of her parents’ deaths.
Truths I’m not yet prepared to reveal.
“Perhaps I recognize something in you worth cultivating,” I say instead, rising from my chair to approach her.
She doesn’t back away as I move closer. Her pulse accelerates, the gentle movement at the base of her throat growing rapid.
“And what, precisely, do you think you recognize in me, Mr. Knox?”
“Isolation. Loneliness. Curiosity about the bigger picture. The same qualities that draw you to write about the dead rather than the living.” I stop, just inside her personal space again. “The ability to see that there’s more to be gained in this life than just living by the rules.”
Her eyes widen slightly. I’ve touched on something fundamental that she hasn’t articulated even to herself: the real reason she remains in a job that limits her ambitions.
“That doesn’t explain these connections,” she says, gesturing back to the folder without breaking eye contact. “Or why you’d allow me to get this close to your operations.”
“Doesn’t it?” I move closer still, seeing if she’ll move away from me after testing her limits a moment ago. She remains steady. “What if I told you there are systems of justice operating outside those legal parameters you mentioned? An organization that addresses corruption the courts can’t touch, and predators law enforcement can’t stop?”
“The Shadows?”
I smile slightly, not denying the name. “Hypothetically speaking, such an organization would require individuals with exceptional means—people who are well connected.”
“People like . . . you,” she concludes.
“Hypothetically.”
The moment stretches between us, charged with unspoken implications. I’ve neither confirmed nor denied the existence of The Shadows, but I’ve given her enough confirmation that it could change her plans regarding what she’s going to do with this information.
“Why are you telling me this?” Confusion briefly overrides her professional composure.
“Because I’m never wrong about people, and what I see in you is exactly what my mentor saw in me. You’re not an idiot, and I don’t plan on treating you like one. You’re well aware of the evidence you’ve found, and I’m sure it’s compelling. But more importantly,” I say, narrowing my gaze on her, “you want it to be true, don’t you?”
Color rises in her cheeks. She knows I’m right.
“This doesn’t mean I condone whatever vigilante justice you’re implying,” she counters, though without the conviction I would expect. “I’m searching for a story and I believe in truth—no extrajudicial punishment.”
“Are you certain about that?” I challenge softly. “Your investigation into that woman’s murder years ago suggests otherwise. When legal systems failed to deliver justice, you continued pursuing it through alternative means.”
She stiffens, surprised by my knowledge of that incident. “That was different.”
“Was it?” I move to my desk, retrieving an item from the drawer. “Or did you simply lack the resources to implement the justice you knew was deserved?”
I extend my hand, revealing a small wooden box containing a precision-crafted handgun—matte black with a custom grip.
“What is this?” she asks, not touching the weapon.
“Protection. Insurance.” I hold her gaze steadily. “Chicago can be dangerous for people asking a lot of questions.”
“So you offer me a gun?” Her voice goes up an octave, and she’s clearly distressed.
“I’m offering you a choice, Eve.” I set the box on the desk between us and pull out the second item I’ve been saving for her: an NDA. “Continue your investigation with appropriate protection, or sign a non-disclosure agreement about what you’ve discovered about me and walk away.”
Her eyes move between the gun, the NDA, and my face, understanding dawning. I’m allowing her investigation to continue.
“I don’t need a gun,” she finally says, making no move to take it. “And I won’t sign an NDA preventing me from pursuing the truth.”
“Then we find ourselves at an impasse.”
“Do we?” She gathers her things with deliberate calm. “Because I think you want me to continue my investigation. You want me to follow these connections where they lead.”
“And what makes you think that?” Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate.
“Because you’re still talking to me instead of having your security team handle me.” She tucks the folder into her bag. “Because you showed me your greenhouse and hinted at who you really are. Because you just offered me protection rather than threatening consequences.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game with dangerous people, Eve. I’m only trying to help,” I warn her.
“So are you, Damien,” she counters, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “The only difference is, I’m not playing by your rules.”
Our eyes lock in a silent challenge. She’s crossed a threshold by directly accusing me with her discoveries, just as I’ve crossed one in acknowledging rather than denying them. The game has evolved between us, shifting away from my original design, becoming something more complex and a lot more exciting.
“I should go,” she says, finally moving toward the door.
“Take the gun, Eve.” I speak softly, but my authority is clearly conveyed. “Chicago has shadows darker than mine.”
She hesitates, chewing her lip for a moment before turning back and picking up the box. “This doesn’t mean I agree to anything, and I’m not signing the NDA.”
“Of course not.” I open the door for her and she pauses briefly next to me, our proximity to each other almost overwhelming. “It simply means you’re being practical.”
As she passes me, I notice the subtle flinch at my slight touch of her elbow. It’s not fear though—adrenaline, perhaps? The nervous energy that comes with stepping deliberately into enemy territory—dangerous but irresistibly compelling.
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.