Chapter 5

FIVE

T he soft hiss of the apartment door sliding shut behind me echoes in the dimly lit space. I step into my sanctuary, my technological haven. The glow of multiple monitors casts an eerie blue hue across the room, illuminating the stark contrast between this space and Hawk's minimalist penthouse. Wires snake along the floor like cybernetic vines, and the quiet hum of servers provides a comforting white noise.

I toss my clutch onto a nearby chair, the metallic clank of its chain strap against the leather seat punctuating the silence. My mind is already racing, replaying every moment of last night with Hawk Rivers. The weight of the encounter sits heavy in my chest, a mix of exhilaration and unease that I can't quite shake.

I sink into my ergonomic chair, the familiar contours cradling me as I pull up the surveillance footage from Hawk's penthouse on one of the main screens. The crystal-clear image flickers to life, and I'm transported back to that moment.

My eyes fixate on the video, watching our intimate encounter unfold. I study Hawk's expressions, the subtle shifts in his body language. The way his stormy gray eyes darken with desire, the twitch of his jaw as he restrains himself, the precise movements of his hands as they explore my body. Each replay intensifies the obsession coiling tighter within me, a serpent winding around my heart.

I pause on a frame where Hawk's eyes reflect a potent mix of desire and cunning. My fingers trace his face on the screen, leaving smudges on the glossy surface.

"What are you hiding, Hawk?" I murmur, leaning in closer as if proximity might reveal his secrets. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, lingers in my memory.

The encrypted line on my secure phone chirps, breaking my trance. It's Max, my trusted assistant and fellow hacker. His voice comes through, clear and professional.

"Devin, we've got an interesting development. Rivers Financial has reached out to Sphinx via the dark web."

My pulse quickens, a flutter beneath my skin. "What do they want?"

"They're requesting Sphinx's help to restore video footage from the gala," Max explains, a hint of curiosity in his tone. "Apparently, someone scrubbed the surveillance feeds."

A smirk spreads on my face, the irony delicious on my tongue. Of course, I was the one who erased that footage, intending to keep evidence against Regina Black for future leverage. The thought of Hawk seeking my alter ego's help sends a thrill through me.

"Interesting," I muse, mind already spinning with possibilities. My fingers dance across the keyboard, pulling up encrypted files. "Max, I want you to respond with a proposition."

"What do you have in mind?"

I pause for dramatic effect, savoring the moment. "Tell them Sphinx will restore the footage... if Hawk agrees to have a one-night stand with Sphinx."

There's a beat of silence on the other end, heavy with unspoken concerns. "Are you sure about this?" Max's voice carries a note of worry. "It's a bold move, Devin. I mean, Rivers is the last person you should send that type of proposition to. We're treading dangerous waters here."

"Trust me," I reply, confidence lacing my words. My eyes flick to a framed photograph on the wall – a cityscape at night, lights blurring into streaks of color. It reminds me of the rush I feel when I'm in control. "I want to see how he reacts. Sometimes you have to make waves to see what surfaces."

I can almost hear Max's hesitation through the line, but he doesn't argue further. "All right, I'll send the message. But be careful, Devin. Men like Hawk Rivers don't take kindly to being played."

As I wait for a response, I feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, electric and intoxicating. This game with Hawk is addictive, and I'm eager to see his next move.

Minutes later, Max's voice comes through again, this time tinged with something akin to disappointment. "Hawk's assistant responded. They said the terms are unacceptable and that Hawk…has someone. He's…um…not available."

"He has someone?" I repeat, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Irritation creeps into my voice, and I can feel a spark of jealousy igniting in my chest. The idea that Hawk might be interested in someone else, that there might be another player in this game I didn't account for, is unacceptable. "What exactly did they say, Max?"

"The exact words were: ‘Mr. Rivers is not available for such arrangements. He has someone in his life already. Your terms are unacceptable. If you wish to negotiate a standard contract for your services, please contact our legal department. We are willing to pay top dollar.'"

Without a second thought, I launch into a hacking frenzy. My fingers fly across the keyboard, the rapid-fire clicks filling the room. Lines of code scroll across the screen as I bypass layers of security to access Hawk's personal and business communications. Emails, messages, call logs – I comb through them all, searching for any hint of another woman, another connection. Who would dare to touch my man?

But as the minutes turn to hours, frustration mounts. There's nothing. No evidence of any significant female presence in Hawk's life beyond professional interactions. The lack of information is both a relief and a new source of anxiety.

"Who are you hiding, Hawk?" I mutter, eyes scanning line after line of data. The blue light from the screens casts harsh shadows across my face, reflected in the darkened window beside me.

Despite the fruitless search, my mind keeps circling back to the previous night. The way Hawk looked at me, the intensity of our connection. I replay snippets of our conversation in my head, analyzing every word, every gesture for hidden meanings.

"So beautiful," he had said, his voice low and husky. The memory of his breath against my ear sends a shiver down my spine.

The line between professional detachment and personal obsession blurs further with each passing moment. I'm losing myself in this, and a small part of me knows it's dangerous. But the thrill is too potent to resist.

Suddenly, my personal phone rings, cutting through my concentration. I recognize the number instantly – Hawk's private line. My heart rate spikes, and I hesitate before answering, composing myself.

"Devin," Hawk's smooth voice comes through, masking any underlying intentions. There's a richness to his tone that makes my name sound like a caress. "Let's meet up."

I suppress a smile, relishing the subtle power I hold in this moment. "I'm afraid I'm busy, Hawk," I respond coolly, forcing nonchalance into my voice. "Perhaps another time."

"Are you sure?" There's a hint of challenge in his words.

The temptation to agree is strong, but I resist. "Another time, Hawk. Have a good evening."

After ending the call, a surge of satisfaction washes over me. Holding the upper hand with Hawk, even in this small way, is exhilarating. I contemplate the dynamics of our relationship – both of us maneuvering for control, each hiding secrets from the other.

"Let's see how badly you want to see me," I whisper to the empty room, already planning my next move. The city lights twinkle beyond my window, a constellation of possibilities.

The decision crystallizes in my mind. I'll visit the underground pleasure den Hawk owns. It's a place where identities are concealed and I can observe him without pretense. I select my disguise with care – a sleek, black mask that will hide my features, its surface adorned with intricate silver filigree. My outfit is a study in elegance and allure – a deep crimson dress that clings to my curves, with a daring slit up one thigh. It's designed to draw attention while maintaining anonymity.

As I prepare, I equip myself with hidden devices. A small earpiece, nearly invisible, connects me to Max for real-time updates. A discreet camera no larger than a pinhead is embedded in the intricate design of my necklace, ready to capture anything of interest. And, of course, my emerald ring I never take off.

"Max," I speak into the comm as I apply a final touch of deep red lipstick, "Get me more details on the attack on Rivers financial. I want to know who keeps trying to take them down. Also, I need you to monitor Hawk's movements. Alert me the moment he arrives at the den."

"Understood," Max replies, his tone neutral but I can sense his unease. "Devin, you're playing a dangerous game here. These people... they're not to be trifled with. Hawk isn't like a regular guy. He's ruthless. You know this."

I dismiss his caution with a wave of my hand, even though he can't see it. The cool metal of my bracelet slides against my wrist, a reminder of the barriers I keep between myself and the world. "I know what I'm doing, Max."

As I leave my apartment, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirls within me. The addictive pull of my obsession guides my actions, drowning out the small voice of reason that warns me of the risks. The night air is crisp against my skin as I slide into the waiting car, the city lights blurring as we speed toward the den.

The pleasure den's concealed entrance is hidden behind an innocuous storefront. I approach, my heels clicking against the pavement, and murmur the password to the stone-faced guard. The door slides open, revealing a world of shadows and secrets.

I step inside, and the atmosphere envelops me like a velvet glove. Dim lighting casts everything in a sensual glow, and the air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, aged whiskey, and an underlying current of desire. The murmur of hushed conversations and soft, sensual music creates a cocoon of hedonistic indulgence.

I move gracefully through the crowd, my senses heightened as I search for any sign of Hawk. Bodies press close in the narrow corridors, a tangle of silk, leather, and bare skin. I observe it all with detached interest, noting the play of power and submission that unfolds around me.

A woman in a golden mask giggles as she's led away by two men in matching black suits. In a darkened alcove, I glimpse a scene of elaborate rope work, the bound submissive arching in ecstasy. It's all so predictable, so mundane. None of it stirs anything within me.

I settle at a secluded corner table, the plush velvet of the seat cool against my skin. A waitress clad in little more than strategically placed strips of leather approaches.

"What's your pleasure tonight?" she purrs, leaning in close.

"Scotch, neat," I reply, my tone neutral. Her proximity, meant to entice, leaves me cold.

As I wait, sipping my drink, my eyes never stop scanning the room, alert for Hawk's arrival. The amber liquid burns a path down my throat, but it's nothing compared to the fire Hawk ignites within me. The thrill of the game invigorates me, pushing aside any doubts or fears.

A man approaches my table, his mask adorned with peacock feathers. There's a confidence in his stride that speaks of wealth and influence. As he draws closer, I recognize him as James Holbrook, one of Hawk's business associates.

"Good evening, beautiful," he says, his voice smooth as silk. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone. Care for some company?"

I regard him coolly, taking in the expensive cut of his suit, the glint of his Rolex in the low light. "I'm quite comfortable as I am, thank you."

He's undeterred, sliding into the seat opposite me and reaching out to touch my wrist. "Come now, surely you didn't come to a place like this to sit alone. I have a private room upstairs... I could show you pleasures you've never dreamed of."

A sardonic smile plays at my lips. If only he knew the depths of my dreams, the complexity of my desires. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Holbrook, but I'm not interested."

His eyes widen slightly behind his mask. "You know who I am?"

"I make it my business to know many things," I reply, taking another sip of my scotch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I prefer my own company."

James opens his mouth to respond, but his words die on his lips as a hush falls over our corner of the room. I feel it before I see it – a shift in the air, a prickling awareness along my skin.

Hawk.

He moves through the crowd like a shark through water, people instinctively parting before him. His mask is simple but elegant, black leather that accentuates the sharp lines of his jaw. Our eyes meet across the room, and even from this distance, I can feel the intensity of his gaze.

His gaze shoots to where James is touching my wrist.

James, sensing the shift in power, stands quickly. "Raptor," he says, his tone full of nervousness. "I didn't realize you'd be here tonight."

Hawk doesn't even spare him a glance. His eyes are locked on me, a predatory gleam in their depths. "Leave us, James," he commands, his voice brooking no argument.

As James scurries away, Hawk approaches my table. The air between us crackles with tension with unspoken challenges and barely restrained desire.