8. Damien
The surveillance footage plays across the screens on my study wall, Eve’s expression captured from multiple angles throughout the night. I pause the image of her in the greenhouse. I’ve replayed the sequence six times now, analyzing every microexpression, every shift in her posture. I see the moment she lowers her guard, revealing genuine fascination despite her fear.
“Why aren’t you frightened?” I observe aloud, studying her eyes as they study me back. Even when I practically admitted to whatever it is she thinks I’m doing . . . she didn’t flinch. While I don’t know the specifics of her accusations, I can guarantee it’s so much worse than she can imagine.
“She should be,” Foster says, stepping forward out of the shadows, his expression showing his unease. “Unless she isn’t taking those warnings seriously.”
“Eve Thorne isn’t like most people, Foster. You know that.” My eyes are fixated on her. Even through an image on a screen, I can feel her. “She understands darkness in a way others can’t—she just doesn’t realize it yet.”
“Or she’s an excellent actress, playing along until she has the evidence she needs and you’ve let your guard down.” Foster’s practicality remains one of his most valuable, and occasionally irritating, qualities. “Maybe she’s just waiting to find your weakness.”
“Of course she is.” I can’t hide my smile at the thought. “I’d be disappointed if she weren’t planning something.” I turn from the screens to face him directly. “Did you complete the security sweep after the guests left?”
“Yes, sir. Two listening devices were discovered.” His professional mask is back in place. “Chinese manufacturers, likely placed by the Hanover Group.”
“Vivienne’s doing, no doubt.” I make a mental note to address this breach with The Heiress personally. “Have them left in place but fed selective information. The usual disinformation protocols.”
He nods, hesitating before continuing. “Sir, regarding Miss Thorne . . . The Vigilante is aware of her taking photos on her phone. He’s requesting permission to retrieve it and any evidence she might have gathered.”
The suggestion pisses me off, and a white-hot rage starts to bubble up. I keep my expression impassive. “Denied. Eve’s investigation continues, only monitored by you or me.”
“With respect, she’s documenting things that could compromise more than just your safety, sir. The Shadows’ security is also at play here, and with some of the connections she’s making . . .”
“Her investigation, Foster, reveals vulnerabilities in our operational security that need addressing,” I counter, moving to the small bar to pour us each a glass of Scotch. “Besides, her connections are circumstantial at best. Nothing that would withstand serious scrutiny. However, with that being said, why don’t you focus more on tightening up things around here instead of allowing curious little creatures to poke through our business?”
Foster accepts the offered glass but doesn’t drink. “I understand, sir.”
“I am in control,” I say, the edge in my voice causing his jaw to clench with tension. “I haven’t led you or the rest of The Shadows astray once since I’ve been in power, and I don’t intend to. And while I appreciate your desire to follow the rules and protocols outlined by our bylaws, if you or the others continue to press me on this matter or try to undermine me, you will see a side of me I’ve kept leashed since I took over.”
“Yes, sir.” He sets down his untouched drink with careful precision. “Will there be anything else tonight?”
“Every path Eve is taking, every stone she overturns, is being precisely cultivated by my own design. The Vigilante will make no move against her. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
I dismiss him with a slight nod, returning my attention to the surveillance footage. I watch her eyes taking in her surroundings, the guests, the not-so-obvious hallways that lead to places in my home she’s dying to investigate. Her thoroughness impresses me.
I walk back to my desk to pull up the surveillance feeds on my private terminal. The blue glow from the screens casts harsh shadows across my office. Foster’s message about Eve photographing us in the forest preserve requires my immediate attention. I enter my security credentials and navigate through eight years of meticulously categorized surveillance footage.
“Eve Thorne,” I murmur, as her image fills the screens before me.
The earliest footage shows her at nineteen, standing alone at her parents’ funeral. Even in grainy security camera footage, her grief is palpable—raw and devastating. I remember that day with perfect clarity: the weight of my camera in my hands, the distance I maintained, the rain soaking through my jacket as I watched her.
I skip forward through the years, watching her life unfold across my screens. Eve at twenty-one, graduating college, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Eve at twenty-three, moving into her small apartment, carrying boxes alone with determined efficiency. Eve at twenty-five, leaving the Tribune building late at night, exhaustion evident in the slope of her shoulders.
Eight years of watching, waiting, calculating. Eight years of knowing she existed in the world, unaware of me, unaware of our connection.
I pause on footage from Eve in the forest preserve, camera in hand, the sunlight catching her hair as she photographs birds at the water’s edge. Something about her solitude, her focus, her quiet determination makes my chest tighten in a way I’ve long refused to acknowledge.
“What are you searching for out there, Eve?” I whisper to her image. “What emptiness are you trying to fill?”
I click through to the most recent footage, captured just hours after our encounter in the forest. Eve in her apartment—pacing, agitated, her camera clutched to her chest like a shield. She connects it to her laptop, scrolling through the photographs she took of me threatening Roberts. I watch her eyes widen as she recognizes who I am. I watch her research me online, frustration growing as she finds nothing but carefully curated press about Knox Industries’ many charitable endeavors.
My fingers trace her outline on the screen, a pale imitation of the touch I crave. “Soon,” I promise her image. “Soon you’ll understand everything.”
I close the surveillance feed and move to the window, watching lightning illuminate the grounds of my estate. The storm continues, mirroring the turbulence I feel when considering Eve’s evolution in my life: from collateral damage . . . to obsession . . . to now a very interesting and active participant in my carefully controlled world.
For eight years, I’ve hidden from her at a safe distance, manipulating circumstances around her while maintaining anonymity. Tonight felt different, like I was opening the curtain just an inch to give her a glimpse into my world.
And just as I suspected she would, rather than retreating with fear, she moved closer, drawn to the darkness like I’d hoped.
The realization brings satisfaction mixed with excitement. Eve is responding to my orchestrated decisions exactly as planned, yet something unexpected is developing alongside them—a connection I hadn’t fully calculated. This isn’t carnal, though I’m barely keeping that desire at bay with her. This is emotional . . . a variable I can’t easily quantify.
My phone interrupts my troubled thoughts. It’s The Raven. He would only be calling this late if he had critical intelligence.
“Sir, we’ve identified the source of the connections between the three businessmen you mentioned. One of our distribution managers who is associated with the cartel has been compromised. Apparently, he was double-dipping between us and them, and we’ve found some irregular deposits matching cartel payment patterns.”
“Identity?” I move to my desk, already accessing the information The Raven is sending over to me.
“Marcus Sullivan. Just sent you the encrypted information. Three years with our operation, previously vetted and cleared.”
“And you’re sure this is our guy?”
“Yeah. Apparently he’s been running his mouth about some things, and took the easy way out with these three marks. He had the cartel take care of them, and they didn’t exactly go above and beyond to cover their tracks. In fact, it looks like they made sure it would come back to us.”
I clench my teeth so tightly, I know a headache is sure to follow. We have strict protocols about the roles we each play in this organization and how we carry out business. Looks like Marcus thought he could pay the cartel to get rid of these bodies for him. It makes me wonder what else he’s done to expose the neck of The Shadows like this.
“Have him brought to the warehouse. Quietly.” I pick up my glass of Scotch, swallowing down what’s left. “I’ll handle the interrogation personally.”
“Tonight?” The Raven’s surprise is evident despite his usual composure.
“Is there a problem with that timeline?” I snap, tired of the sudden rise in questions and insubordination within my organization.
“No, sir. Sullivan will be at the warehouse within the hour.”
After ending the call, I retreat to my bedroom, reaching far into the recesses of my closet to retrieve a black bag that contains a uniform I haven’t worn in a while. I smile when I find it, my palm already itching with excitement at what I have to do.
Tonight, I’m not Damien Knox, CEO philanthropist with a heart of gold for the people of Chicago. Tonight, I’m Damien Knox, the leader of The Shadows—the one they nicknamed The CEO because there is no negotiating when it comes to me. By the time I’ve been called, there’s only one job for me to do, and that’s to eliminate any individual who threatens my organization.
Foster is already waiting by the car when I emerge, his expression revealing nothing. “The warehouse has been prepared as per the protocol.”
“Good.” I settle into the seat, checking my phone. “Status on Eve?”
“Still home, reviewing material from the gala and her research. No external communication since returning home.”
“Maintain surveillance but keep your distance. I don’t want her alerted to anything we might be doing tonight.”
The drive to the warehouse is silent. I prefer it that way; it allows my mind to shift fully into operational mode. Marcus Sullivan’s betrayal requires an immediate response—not just for the information breach, but for the lack of propriety. His punishment will send a message to anyone else who might consider similar decisions.
The warehouse sits in an industrial zone near the river, its unremarkable exterior concealing a carefully designed interior. It has been soundproofed and includes an excellent drainage system and security measures that ensure complete privacy, no matter how loud the screams might get.
Sullivan is already secured to the gurney when I arrive, his face showing the dawning horror of a man who suddenly understands the magnitude of his miscalculations. The cartels might be dangerous, but they’re about to look like amateurs compared to this.
“Marcus,” I say as I approach slowly and remove my jacket. His face is already flushed, and snot trails from his nose. “I’m disappointed to say the least.”
“Mr. Knox, please—” His voice breaks, fear strangling his words to the point I can’t make out what he’s saying.
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” I say loudly as I drag a metal chair across the cement floor, “you’re going to have to speak up.” The chair’s screeching halts as I turn it around and take a seat, straddling it so I’m looking him right in the eyes.
“Please . . . please. ” A string of spit slowly stretches from his quivering lips down to his shirt.
“You’ve placed The Shadows at risk.” I begin rolling up my sleeves with methodical precision. “But more importantly, you’ve betrayed my trust.”
“The cartel threatened my family,” he pleads, desperation making his voice crack. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” I nod to Foster, who brings over a small case containing specialized tools. “You could have come to us for protection. Instead, you sold information that compromised operations and placed our people in danger.”
“I swear, I only used them to help get rid of the bodies. I didn’t tell them anything!”
“Yet they knew enough to fuck up our last deal.” I select a thin blade from the case, testing the edge.
“That wasn’t me!”
“You know, Marcus,” I say, choosing a few other instruments of pain with clinical detachment. “I really, really don’t like being lied to, and I really, really detest liars.”
When I’m the one in control of someone’s impending doom, I don’t waste time telling them every detail of how I know they’re lying. I don’t draw it out with evidence that they’ll just deny anyway. Instead, I like to cut the rot out at the source.
I stand up, grabbing a pair of pliers as Foster moves around him, already aware of what comes next. He grabs either side of Marcus’ face, stretching his mouth open as his eyes grow wide in fear, followed by his screams of terror.
Clamping the nose of the pliers down on the tip of his tongue, I pull it out, stretching it to its limits. Drool begins to trickle down his chin as tears wet his face.
“There’s only one way this ends, Marcus.” I take the knife in my hand. “Because you thought you could take the easy way out and make a little extra money on the side by selling out every single person in this organization, I’m going to take the thing you value most: your filthy, lying tongue.”
What follows is necessary but unpleasant. His screams echo through the warehouse, but only until they hit the soundproofing, where they die out. The blade barely makes a sound as it cuts clean through his tongue, blood now pouring down the front of him like a small river.
He gasps then lets out a gurgled wail as he chokes on his own blood. I have no use for him now. I also have no use for whatever information I might be able to torture out of him regarding the specifics of the information he exchanged with our enemies. Not that his cooperation would save him anyway. Some betrayals cannot be forgiven, regardless of circumstances or remorse.
“Losing your tongue was only the beginning.” I smile as I reach down and pick up the bloody chunk of his flesh before stuffing it back into his mouth, followed by a rag that muffles his screams. “Merely a solution so I don’t have to listen to your lies while I take my time with this next part. Now,” I say as I reach for a much more painful instrument, “the fun can really begin.”
Blood continues to pour from his mouth, oozing darkly and thickly around the rag as he wails in pain. I won’t lie, it’s music to my ears. There’s nothing I value more than loyalty, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than destroying those who betray it.
By the time I finish, my clothes and body are stained red, and Sullivan’s usefulness to me and this organization has ended. I step back, admiring my handiwork. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.
I step aside, allowing The Vigilante’s team to complete the cleanup process as I wipe each blade clean. This part has always been mechanical for me—a necessary business transaction where debts are paid in blood and loyalty is enforced through example.
But tonight, things feel different. As I wash the evidence from my hands, I find myself wondering what Eve would think if she witnessed what happened here, if I allowed her to see this side of me . . . the real me. Not just the implication of violence I’ve allowed her to glimpse, but the actual execution of it.
Would she still look at me with that cautious fascination? Or would this reality drive her mad?
The question disturbs me more than it should. I shouldn’t care what Eve would think of me or what I’ve done; my only focus should be on her usefulness to the organization.
“The situation is contained,” Foster reports as I return to the car freshly showered. “Whatever information the cartel or any rival org might have on us doesn’t seem like a viable threat. Looks like the worst part of the situation was the loose ends Sullivan left when he used the cartel to get rid of those bodies.”
“Have The Raven verify independently.” I check my watch; it’s nearly 3 a.m. “Then initiate appropriate counteractions to fix it so the cartel understands once and for all that I am not the man to undermine in this city.”
“Standard elimination protocols?”
I consider it briefly. “No. Something more visible. I want our response to serve as an education for others.”
The car glides through the nearly empty streets back toward the city. Instead of returning to my estate, I head to my penthouse downtown. The night rain creates a glistening canvas on the streets, the city lights reflecting against it. My thoughts return to Eve and how she looked tonight in the greenhouse.
When we arrive at my building, I dismiss Foster and head directly to my office. Only when I’m completely alone and my privacy is assured do I access the most sensitive surveillance feed: the one in Eve’s apartment.
Her place is peaceful. Small and quiet. I watch her sleeping silhouette, her innocence more pronounced on her undisturbed face. Her hair is splayed across her pillow in wild waves, her lips slightly parted.
Something about watching her sleeping in these early hours feels uncomfortably intimate—even more invasive than watching her every move. Like a voyeur just waiting to make his move. But that’s not the case . . . I’m not drawn to the secrecy of her not knowing.
I want her to know. I want her to see me completely. I want her to taste the justice I can bring her. I want her to come to me, to choose me.
I close the feed abruptly, an unusual discomfort sinking beneath my ribs. Sullivan’s blood has long since been washed from my hands and body, yet I feel stained in a way I haven’t experienced before.
It’s not guilt—I abandoned that luxury years ago. No, this is different. This is awareness. Awareness at the contrast of my hands and how they protectively held her when she jumped in my arms tonight, and yet, those same hands delivered death just hours ago.
This is something I haven’t noticed before.
Why now?
Looking down, I study my hands as if I’ll see the answer . . . but I already know it. Because Eve is the only woman I’ve allowed to see both sides of me. She looked directly at the darkness I allowed her to glimpse, and she responded with interest. With that realization, I can see the carefully constructed compartments I’ve maintained for years start to shift.
Dawn has broken in the sky and I’m not sure what else to do with myself other than take another shower and hope it can wash away the nagging feeling that has started to fester: My obsession with Eve never really did go away.
* * *