The Devil's Executive

Chapter 2 - The President

I didn't sleep.

Not really. I spent most of the night lying beneath my blankets, staring at the ceiling while the same image replayed in my head. Damian Cross. Not in his tailored charcoal suit. Not standing behind the enormous glass desk on the top floor of Cross Meridian Holdings. Not shaking hands with investors or speaking calmly to board members while everyone around him scrambled to keep up. Damian Cross in black leather, tattoos exposed, a gun strapped to his hip, surrounded by men who had looked at him as though his word could determine whether they lived or died. President. That word wouldn't leave me alone. Neither would the locket. I rolled onto my side and pulled the thin silver chain from beneath my shirt. My mother's locket rested against my palm. It had been with me for nine years. She'd given it to me on my seventeenth birthday, a few months before everything in my life changed. I remembered that day clearly. My mother had been unusually emotional. She'd fastened the chain around my neck herself, then held my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes.

"Never take this off, Elena."

I'd laughed.

"It's just a necklace, Mom."

She hadn't laughed back.

"Promise me."

So I had.

I'd kept that promise.

Even after she died.

Even after my father disappeared. Even after the years when wearing it felt like carrying around a piece of a life I wanted desperately to forget. I had never once wondered whether it meant something more. Until Damian Cross looked at it like he'd seen a ghost. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it.

SOFIA: *Are you alive?*

I stared at the message.

Then another appeared.

SOFIA: *Because you disappeared last night and I'm about three minutes away from calling the police*.

I sighed.

ME: *I'm alive*.

The typing bubbles appeared immediately.

SOFIA: *That is not an answer.*

I smiled despite myself. Sofia Bennett had been my best friend for almost a decade. She was also incapable of accepting a vague answer when a dramatic one was available. My phone rang. I answered.

"Good morning to you too."

"Where were you?"

"Work."

"At midnight?"

"Yes."

"Elena."

I closed my eyes.

"Sofia."

"Don't Sofia me. You promised me you weren't going to let that man work you into the ground."

"I didn't exactly have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

I sat up. There was something about Sofia's voice that made lying difficult. She knew me too well.

"I found something strange last night."

The silence on the other end changed.

"How strange?"

I looked at the locket.

"Very."

"Tell me."

I hesitated. If I told her everything, she'd insist on coming over. Then she'd probably insist on confronting Damian herself. And considering Sofia's definition of subtlety involved announcing her opinions at maximum volume, that was the last thing I needed.

"I'll tell you later."

"Elena."

"I have to go."

"Why?"

I looked at the clock. 7:42 AM. My stomach dropped.

"Because I'm supposed to be in Damian Cross's office in eighteen minutes."

There was a pause. Then Sofia said, very slowly, "Why are you saying that like you're going to a funeral?"

"I'll call you later."

"Elena—" I hung up.

I showered, dressed, and arrived at Cross Meridian at 7:58 AM. The building looked exactly as it always did. Elegant. Cold. Perfect. As though nothing strange had happened beneath it. I stepped through the revolving doors and immediately felt like I was walking into a different reality. Employees moved through the lobby carrying coffee and laptops. Receptionists greeted executives. Security guards stood beside the elevators. Nobody looked frightened. Nobody acted like the basement contained a motorcycle club. Maybe that was the point. I stepped into the elevator. As the doors closed, my stomach tightened. Twenty-seven floors. Then the elevator stopped. I walked toward Damian's office. His assistant wasn't there yet. I knocked.

"Come in."

His voice. Calm. Controlled. Almost ordinary. I opened the door. Damian stood beside the windows with his back to me. He was wearing a dark gray suit. No leather. No tattoos. No gun. His hair was perfectly styled. He looked like the man I'd known for the past eleven months. Except I knew better now.

"Close the door."

I did. He turned. His gray eyes met mine. Neither of us spoke for several seconds. Then he gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

"Sit."

I remained standing.

"I'd rather stand."

One eyebrow lifted.

"You're angry."

"I'm confused."

"That's understandable."

"Is it?"

He didn't answer. I folded my arms.

"Who are you?"

His expression remained unreadable.

"You already know who I am."

"No. I know who my employer is. I know the man who owns this company. I know the man who sits in board meetings and negotiates billion-dollar deals. But last night I met someone else."

His jaw tightened.

"Last night you saw a part of my life that was never supposed to intersect with yours."

"You're the president of Black Reign."

"Yes."

"You run a motorcycle club."

"Yes."

"A motorcycle club with armed men."

"Yes."

I stared at him.

"You could at least pretend you're going to deny something."

"I'm not going to lie to you."

I almost laughed.

"You already are."

That got his attention. He moved toward the desk.

"What do you think I'm lying about?"

"My father."

Silence. There. That tiny pause. I'd noticed it before. And now I knew it meant something.

"My father," I repeated.

Damian's gaze remained fixed on mine.

"What does Thomas Marlowe have to do with you?"

"More than you realize."

My heartbeat quickened.

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready."

I stared at him.

"That's not your decision to make."

"No," he said quietly. "It isn't."

The answer surprised me. I had expected an argument. Instead, he walked to the small bar along the wall and poured himself a glass of water. He didn't offer me one. Probably because he knew I'd throw it at him.

"Your father worked with people connected to Black Reign," he said.

I felt the air leave my lungs.

"No."

"Elena—"

"My father was an accountant."

"He was more than that."

"My father abandoned us."

Damian's expression hardened.

"No."

The single word stopped me. He set the glass down.

"Your father did not abandon you."

My throat tightened.

"You didn't know him."

"I knew enough."

"You knew him?"

"Yes."

"How?"

He didn't answer.

I stepped closer.

"You knew my father."

"Yes."

"Did he know you?"

"Yes."

I felt suddenly dizzy.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because it wasn't my secret to tell."

"Then whose was it?"

He looked at me.

"Your father's."

My hands curled into fists.

"He's dead."

"I know."

"Then why are you still protecting his secrets?"

Damian looked away. For a moment, the ruthless billionaire disappeared. There was only a tired man standing by a window. Then his eyes returned to mine.

"Because I gave him my word."

I didn't know what to say. He walked toward me. Slowly. He stopped several feet away.

"Your father asked me to protect you."

My heart skipped.

"What?"

"Before he disappeared."

I shook my head.

"That's impossible."

"I wish it were."

"Why would he ask you?"

"Because he knew what was coming."

"What was coming?"

Damian's expression darkened.

"People looking for him."

"And now they're looking for me?"

He didn't answer. That was answer enough. I reached for my locket. Damian's gaze followed the movement. Again, that strange flicker crossed his face. I noticed it this time.

"You know something about this."

He said nothing.

"My mother gave it to me."

"I know."

My heart stopped.

"How do you know?"

He stared at the locket.

Then at me.

"Because I was there."

I couldn't breathe.

"Where?"

"The day your mother gave it to you."

The room seemed to tilt. My mother's birthday gift. My seventeenth birthday. A day I had thought belonged only to us.

"You were there?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Damian's face became unreadable again.

"That's the question you should be asking."

I stepped backward.

"You've been watching me."

"I've been protecting you."

"Without my knowledge."

"Yes."

"That's not protection."

His jaw tightened.

"What would you call it?"

"Control."

Silence. For the first time, Damian looked genuinely affected. I turned toward the door.

"Elena."

I stopped.

"If you walk out of this office, you can still leave everything behind."

I looked over my shoulder.

"But?"

"But once you start asking questions, there are answers you won't be able to forget."

I stared at him.

"I've spent nine years believing my father abandoned me."

Damian said nothing.

"I'm not walking away now."

His eyes held mine. Something almost like respect appeared there.

"Then you need to understand something."

"What?"

"Last night wasn't an accident."

My stomach tightened.

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't supposed to find the elevator."

"I didn't."

"I know."

"Then how did I?"

Damian walked toward his desk. He picked up a black folder. My folder. The one I'd delivered the night before. He placed it on the desk between us. Then he looked at me.

"Because someone wanted you to."

I stared at him.

"What?"

Before he could explain, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Something changed in his expression. The coldness returned. He answered.

"Cross."

He listened. His face became completely still. Then he looked at me.

"Where?"

A pause.

"When?"

Another pause. His eyes hardened.

"Don't touch anything. I'm on my way."

He ended the call.

"What happened?" I asked.

He reached for his jacket.

"I need you to go home."

"Why?"

"Because someone broke into your apartment."

My blood ran cold.

"What?"

He walked past me.

"Stay here."

I grabbed his arm. He stopped.

"Damian."

His eyes dropped to my hand around his sleeve. I let go.

"Who broke into my apartment?"

He looked at me. And this time, there was no attempt to hide the truth.

"We don't know."

He paused.

"But they left a message."

My heart pounded.

"What message?"

Damian's eyes dropped to the silver locket around my neck. Then back to mine.

"They're looking for what your mother gave you."