Dc Rupert Thorne Novels & Stories

Everything screams Thorne, intense, brooding, commanding, and extra. I spy double doors at the end of the hall and as I push them open, I'm hit with the best smell ever, breakfast. And there he is. Thorne Wintermere. At the stove. Flipping bacon and eggs like it's just another day in his absurdly perfect life. Totally. Fucking. Shirtless.

Just presence — a reminder that he was there, attentive, the kind of man who showed up with sunflowers on a Thursday afternoon without being asked. I left the coffee unfinished. The full Thorne file was on my desk where I had left it. I had read it three times already. I read it a fourth. Daniel Thorne. Forty-one. Twelve years building a business from nothing — a small investment consultancy that had grown steadily through hard work and the kind of professional reputation that took a decade to construct. He had borrowed significantly to expand the year before the Geneva deal. The expansion had been premised on the deal succeeding. The deal had not succeeded.

Thorne turned slightly at the sound of the door opening, his expression completely unbothered by my sudden intrusion. "Ah, Mr. Kade," Thorne greeted smoothly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to realize your distraction strategy had failed to account for my personal surveillance network." "Professor Thorne," I said, stepping fully into the room and positioning myself slightly ahead of Dante, instinctually moving to shield him from the immediate threat. "We were merely retrieving a personal item that was accidentally surrendered at the checkpoint." "Do not insult my intelligence, Soren," Thorne warned, dropping the formal titles completely. "You are an exceptional strategist, but y

99. When the doors finally slid open, there was no reception desk. There were no assistants or buzzing phones. There was only a vast, open-plan sanctuary of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass that offered a 360-degree view of the shivering city beloww. And there, standing with his back to her, looking out over the grey sprawl of the Sound, was Silas Thorne. He was exactly as the tabloids described him, yet the grainy paparazzi photos failed to capture the sheer, predatory energy he radiated even in silence. He was broad-shouldered, filling out a midnight-blue suit that looked as though it had been molded to his frame.

Then, without preamble, he said, “The attack on my wedding day and the raid on your base.” Rupert’s fingers tightened slightly against the desk, though his face betrayed nothing. “They were orchestrated by the same person.” Rupert’s gaze darkened. “Who?” Alex’s tone was cold and unwavering. “The Black Thorn Syndicate.” He let the name settle in the air before continuing, his voice laced with quiet intensity. “And the one leading it, the one who ordered those attacks, is a man they call ‘The Broker.’” Rupert’s brows furrowed slightly at the name, but his reaction was subtle. Instead of outward shock, there was a slow, simmering realization in his eyes.

Tyler’s POV I drove away and reached my office in an hour time. Victoria was already waiting for me so she got my briefcase when she saw me and we made our way to the elevator together. “Did you see the news yesterday? Mr Leonard was cheating on his wife. I didn't even know that he had a wife. I was really in shock yesterday. It was as if I was just watching a drama.” Victoria said all of a sudden and I looked at her. “Of course I knew about it. I was present there to support my wife.” I told her and she opened her mouth in shock.

"Thorne, whatever you think you're doing, just stop it; because it's not going to work. If you come any closer, I’m going to assume you want something besides my opinion. Maybe my fist would do the trick." Thorne smirked from where he leaned against a mossy pillar, arms folded like he had all the time in the world after retracting them from touching Raven’s ass. "You can’t blame a man for trying. You’re colder than a witch’s tit."

The loud sound that erupted when he banged his hands on the table almost made the presenter faint. "Sir, are you okay?" Director Brown asked. Keane replied with a glare. "Director Brown, see to this project. I have something to get to." With that, Keane left the conference room. He stumped into his office. He met Drake, his personal assistant, placing something on his desk when he got there. "What's that?" "What you told me to gather, sir." "Leave." Keane sat at his desk and opened the file. The file contained Dante's information. He smirked evilly when he read the last statement.

He knew he didn't have to win on facts; he just had to win on character. "Ms. Riley," Thorne began, strolling toward me like a predator circling a wounded animal. "You spent months mourning Daniel Logan, correct?" "Yes," I said, my voice gaining a bit of its edge. "You had a total breakdown? Couldn't you work? You spent hours at a grave that was, in fact, empty?" "I was grieving a man I loved," I snapped. "A man you thought you loved," Thorne corrected smoothly.