Page 45 of Carved Obsession

I do have to admit...she’s fucking beautiful when she bleeds fury. That visceral sentiment simply belongs on her features, in those dark eyes.

“You are very focused on that screen, my boy.” Sitting in his leather chair at the other side of his desk, Jonathan startles me out of my train of thought. “More business distracting you?”

A scoff huffs from the seat next to me. “If business has dark hair and a pretty smile.”

My head whips to Maddox in a heartbeat. Outing me to Jonathan isn’t what sparks my anger. His comment about Scarlet’s pretty smile does. He has no fucking business noticing her. I glower but keep my mouth shut.

“Oh, goody! Has it finally happened? A woman caught the infamous Carver’s attention?” Jonathan sounds like a fucking schoolgirl excited for new gossip.

With one deep, slow breath, I focus on the man. “You’re sure you have no thoughts on who could have wanted to watch us in Midnight? Considering the littlebreachyou had?”

Jonathan cocks his head and narrows his eyes on me, stretching the silence for too many seconds. “The traitor has been disposed of, and he was swiftly joined by the very few men who shared his views. My little birds have been quiet since, and I haven’t heard of any others who shared their views. I’m not saying there couldn’t be more, but I’m inclined to believe that whoever took those photos of us in your establishment didn’t come from my organization.”

They could have come from ours.

The thought has been running wild through my mind. Do we have a traitor in our midst? Is someone on the inside playing us? And if so...with what purpose?

“I wonder if this was about Cillian,” Maddox says. “He’s new in the business too. And he’s no longer skirting on the border of the underworld. One foot stands firm in it.”

I already ran through that scenario, and every exercise of logic I’ve done has ended in irrational answers. The conclusions make no sense.

And when an equation ends in a false value, the only rational explanation is that one of the variables is incorrect. Something isn’t what it seems, and it’s unacceptable that I haven’t figured out what.

“Doesn’t that make the photographer’s timing surprisingly lucky?” Jonathan partially mirrors my thoughts.

I nod. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

“The bottom line is that I’m not worried about this. I know my reaction and opinion matter to you. All of you. I appreciate you coming in person to discuss this issue. And I’m not worried about my privacy. Yes, I keep my identity as close as I can, but I’m more of a recluse than someone who demands anonymity. So, if they know the infamous Ghost is Jonathan Rees, fuck ’em.” He shrugs and leans forward to grab the bottle of wine from the side of the desk so that he can pour himself another small glass.

I’m slightly uneasy. He and I may be close, but a threat to his business at my fault would be a direct affront. It could damage not just our personal connection, but the relationship between The Sanctum and The Ghost that we’ve been feeding and nurturing for a decade.

His reaction confuses me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s not his business that comes first when it comes to him and me.

It drives my thoughts to dangerous territories. Am I putting too much stock in the importance of businesses and reputations rather than nurturing personal affairs? I’ve always seen personal connections as a byproduct of business dealings. A necessity. Sometimes an advantage. But never a benefit.

Have I been cultivating deeperfriendshipswithout even realizing?

Would I benefit more from something even deeper than that?

I nod at him, unsure of it all. “As soon as I know more, I’ll let you know.”

He smiles, leaning back in his chair once again. “I know you will, Carter. You’ll solve this mystery too, as you always do.”

My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, and I curse the interruption. But when I look at the screen, I see fucking fire and brimstone in my wake and almost knock the chair over when I rise.

“Apologies, but I have to cut this short.”

“Carter, wha—”

“I have to go.” I spin on my heels without even giving Jonathan a proper goodbye.

“Pierce! You can’t keep doing that—shutting us out. What the fuck happened?” Maddox says.

I only half turn, but it’s enough to see them both over my shoulder. “Someone broke into my house.”

Maddox frowns, crossing his arms over his expansive chest, but Jonathan raises a curious eyebrow.

“It seems to me that there’s one common denominator in these strange happenings,” Jonathan says calmly.