Page 38 of His Ruthless Match
“Why the hell have you kept this from me?” I demanded as I slammed the door shut behind me.
The Shadow looked up from the document he was reading, his dark eyes calm but sharp. “Good evening to you too, Jareth.”
“Don’t,” I snapped. “The Crimson Dominion is a fucking war zone. Blood bombs, riots. I just watched an entire market get leveled. You knew it was this bad, and you didn’t think to loop me in?”
The Shadow steepled his fingers. “I need your focus on Eva.”
“This is out of control. You’re telling me you want me babysitting your sister while the Crimson Dominion burns?”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. Because as bad as things are there, they’re contained. I have boots on the ground. The magistrate is securing the borders, and Izo is managing the factions. This conflict isn’t spilling over yet.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “There was a bomb. Innocent people died.”
“I know. That’s why I sent you. I needed an unbiased report. Izo’s doing his best, but I can’t rely solely on his perspective. I trust your observations.”
The unexpected compliment caught me off guard, and I frowned. “And?”
“And I’m listening,” he said. “If you think I need to shift my strategy, tell me.”
I sighed, my anger ebbing slightly. “You need to be prepared for this to escalate. Whoever’s pulling the rebels’ strings is gunning for power, and they’ve got resources.”
The Shadow nodded. “Noted. I’ll formulate my plans accordingly.” He stood, his imposing presence filling the room. “Now, go check on Eva.”
I scowled. “She’s fine. I just saw her this morning.”
“She hasn’t responded to my texts for over an hour,” he said, his voice tight with worry. “She’s stubborn, but she knows better than to ignore me.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “She’s probably working and forgot to check her phone.”
“Humor me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Check on her. Now.”
I clenched my jaw but nodded. “Fine. But if she’s just ignoring you, I’m telling her to keep it up.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
I knockedon Eva’s door. No response. I knocked harder. Still nothing. I ground my teeth as I rapped on the door a third time, putting enough force behind it to sting my knuckles. Silence.
My patience was wearing thin. Fast. Cursing, I twisted the knob and let myself in. Every surface gleamed, every piece of furniture was positioned just so. It was annoyingly spotless, more like a showroom than a home. Her subtle floral scent hung in the air, soft and elusive, like the woman herself.
At first glance, everything seemed normal. No signs of a struggle, no overturned furniture or shattered glass. But then I saw the bracelet on the kitchen counter. It looked like it had decided to take a day off from its actual job—keeping her alive.
I cursed under my breath and snatched it up, shoving it into my pocket. Of course she’d ditch the one thing designed to keep her safe. Classic Eva. The frustration simmered, bubbling just below the surface as I pulled out my phone and flipped through her calendar.
Private Event, one hour.The entry glared back at me, unhelpfully vague.
“What the hell are you up to now?”I muttered, scrolling through her other appointments. Nothing else jumped out at me. No clues, no explanations.
Plan B it was. Thank fuck I’d had the foresight to plant a tracker in her purse. I opened the app, and a small, blinking dot appeared on the screen. The signal was steady, and not at all where I’d expected it to be.
The public library?
I blinked at the map, double-checking the coordinates. Yep, she was at the damn library. My eyebrows shot up, and a humorless chuckle escaped me.“Really, Eva?”The woman was full of surprises, but this was out of left field.
I walked to the library, and the sight of the building set my teeth on edge. Ivy crept up the brick façade, giving it an air of faded grandeur. The massive stone steps leading up to the entrance were worn smooth by decades of foot traffic, and the arched windows glinted in the sunlight.
I took a moment to assess. The hell was Eva doing here? She didn’t strike me as a bookworm—at least not in the romantic, window-seat-dwelling sense. In my mind, her version of research involved coffee-fueled nights at her desk in her office, glaring at her screen like she could will it to give her answers faster.
Still, the tracker didn’t lie. I checked it again, noting the dot was stationary. She was somewhere inside.
