Page 100 of Cursed

“This.” His fingers spread wide against my lower back. “Us. This connection that defies explanation.”

My throat tightens. The terrifying truth is that Idofeel it—this inexplicable pull toward a man who’s violated my privacy, my body, my autonomy. A man who’s also shown me parts of myself I never knew existed.

“I don’t know what I feel anymore,” I mutter.

Something flashes in his eyes—vulnerability so brief I might have imagined it. His thumb brushes the bare skin of my shoulder, igniting a trail of goosebumps.

“You’re mine, Sadie. Whatever happens, remember that.”

My phone buzzes in my clutch, vibrating against my hip where it’s pressed between us. Landon’s eyes narrow, his gaze dropping to my bag as it buzzes again.

“Someone’s persistent.” His voice hardens.

Before I can react, he plucks my clutch from my grip, opens it, and extracts my phone. My heart lurches into my throat as I see Orlov’s number on the screen, along with the preview of a message:

Time running out. East garden or she

“No!” I lunge for the phone, panic exploding through me.

Landon’s fingers close around my wrist like a vise, his other hand holding my phone out of reach. His eyes have gone cold, and all traces of tenderness have vanished.

“What aren’t you telling me, little butterfly?”

41

LANDON

Ice spreads through my veins.

I stare at the message preview, processing what I’m seeing. My grip tightens on Sadie’s wrist as I scan the ballroom, suddenly alert for potential threats. Every dancing couple becomes a potential assassin, every waiter a possible plant.

“Landon—” Sadie’s voice breaks, her face draining of color.

“Not here.” I guide her firmly but discreetly toward a service hallway, maintaining a pleasant smile for anyone watching. Once we’re alone, I push her against the wall, boxing her in with my arms.

“Start talking.”

“Please, I need my phone?—”

“What does Orlov want with you?” My voice remains steady. “When did he contact you? What have you told him?”

“He has Jolene.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “He took her yesterday afternoon. Said he’d kill her if I didn’t bring you to the east garden alone by midnight.”

The pieces click into place—her unusual behavior, the sudden desire to dance, the nervous glances at her phone.

“You were going to deliver me to him.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Her chest heaves with panicked breaths. “He sent pictures... She’s hurt, Landon. He said he’d send her back in pieces if I told anyone.”

I step back, creating space between us as I unlock her phone. The full message appears alongside photos of Jolene bound to a chair, face bruised, eyes wide with terror.

I feel nothing. No anger. No betrayal. Those emotions are inefficient, and efficiency is what will keep us alive.

“You’ve never run a trace on this number?” I ask, voice clinical.

“What? No, I?—”

“Amateur mistake.” I press my thumb to the screen, forwarding the conversation to my own phone. “Never negotiate with someone who’s already broken their word. He sent you threats after promising not to if you kept quiet.”