6. Damien
Chapter 6
Damien
I ’d watched as Eve Thorne’s day unfolded across my computer screens: her morning coffee, the conversation with Detective Reeves our wiretaps picked up, her visit to the boutique where I had called and opened an account over the phone.
“Sir.” Foster stands in the doorway, his expression carefully neutral as he watches the surveillance footage.
“Whatever it is, just say it.” I can practically feel the judgment radiating off of him.
He hesitates, “I worry that this . . . game . . . is some sort of twisted seduction that’s momentarily caught your attention, but once the excitement wears off, it’s not going to end well.”
I let his words hang between us for a few seconds, choosing to ignore them instead of responding. Of all of the people in my life, I don’t let just anyone give me their raw, unfiltered opinions, but Foster gets that privilege, even if he abuses it.
“Updates?”
“The warning was delivered to her apartment as requested.” He steps further inside my office, closing the door behind him. “Though I still question the thought behind deliberately frightening her before inviting her to Eden?”
“Has she done anything further with the photographs? I noticed she didn’t mention them when she spoke to Reeves on the phone. Did she send him anything or have them displayed when he visited?”
“No, sir. The photos were stored on her computer during Reeves’ visit. Her physical investigation board didn’t include any of the forest preserve images.”
“Because even if it does frighten her,” I zoom in on footage of Eve’s face, admiring her beauty, “it will only drive her to me faster.”
“For what, exactly?”
I turn from the screens to face him. “What is it you really want to say, Foster?”
“If you’re doing all of this to fuck her, it seems extreme.”
“If all I wanted was a quick fuck I could throw away, I’d call one of the women you tend to associate with.” My flippant response hits exactly the way I wanted it to. His face grows red.
“Sir, I just meant?—”
“Careful, Foster,” I warn firmly. “Even you have lines you shouldn’t cross with me.”
“Yes, sir.” He nods, handing me another file. “The background check on Detective Reeves. He’s been investigating The Shadows for about three years, off the record only. His superiors have no knowledge about it.”
“And his connection to Eve?”
“They met during her amateur investigation into the murder of that woman the cops ignored. Tia Fellows. He’s the only officer who took her evidence seriously before the case was buried.” Foster hesitates. “He’s dangerous—smart enough to piece together things if his suspicions are confirmed with Eve’s poking around.”
“Have him monitored but not approached.” I scan the file, noting Reeves’ impeccable record and his tendency toward lone wolf operations. “He could prove useful in Eve’s development.”
A notification appears on my phone: Eve’s response to my invitation. Nine simple words that send satisfaction coursing through me.
Eve
I’ll attend. What time can I expect the car?
“She’s confirmed,” I tell Foster, tucking away my phone. “Ensure everything is prepared for tomorrow night. The usual security protocols with one exception: She’ll have access to my greenhouse, with me.”
“Done, sir.”
“I need to meet with Amanda about the gala. Continue monitoring and inform me of any significant developments.”
Foster nods, recognizing my dismissal as he heads to the door.
She’s exactly as I expected her to be: introverted, her youth cut short by the tragic loss of her parents. It stunted her—stole an innocence that she can never get back. But she’s everything I need her to be. Everything I desire.
I close the folder, leaning back in my chair as my eyes flutter closed. My pulse races at the thought of her in my home, occupying my space, breathing my air. I didn’t deny Foster’s accusation, because it’s not wrong. I don’t just want to fuck Evelina Thorne . . . I want to consume her, devour her, completely and utterly own her. I want to see her kneel before me on my throne, begging me to take her to heights of pleasure she’s never even imagined.
She is my forbidden fruit.
* * *
“T he guest list is confirmed at one hundred and twenty-three attendees,” Amanda reports, tablet in hand as we walk through Eden’s grand ballroom. “Security has been briefed and background checks have been completed on all attendees.”
I nod, only partially listening as I assess the space, imagining Eve occupying every inch of it.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
“Have security alert me the moment she arrives. That’ll be all for now.”
I head to my private quarters to dress for the evening, grabbing a custom black-on-black Tom Ford tuxedo from my closet. I adjust my cufflinks in the mirror, seeing the polished CEO that everyone else sees . . . but behind it, I can still see that scared nine-year-old boy with a bloody knife still in his hands, standing over his mother’s killer. That was the first time I understood the cold clarity that comes with delivering justice. I straighten my bowtie just as my phone vibrates with the alert I’ve been waiting for: Eve has entered the property.
By the time I make it downstairs, the man who smiles and shakes everyone’s hands bears little resemblance to the one who has prowled Chicago the last twelve years. I keep conversations short and engaging as I make my way through the crowd. All the while, my awareness remains fixed on the entrance, waiting for her to make it inside.
The moment I see her, my conversation with the mayor fades into the background. She’s the only person I’ve had a physical reaction to—one that continues to push my limits of self-control. I watch as her eyes flit across the room, dancing rapidly from person to person until, finally, they land on me.
I see the instant she registers that I’m watching her. Her neck stiffens, her lips parting slightly as the breath is stolen from her lungs when her eyes meet mine. Gone is that scared little deer in the headlights, replaced by wide, curious doe eyes that pull me in as I excuse myself, moving through the crowd right toward her.