Page 102 of Cursed

“Because emotion is inefficient, and inefficiency gets people killed.” I check my watch. “Thirty-eight minutes remaining.”

Vane slips out first, heading toward his position. Knox follows moments later, moving in the opposite direction. Xavier lingers, giving me a hard look.

“This is personal for you now,” he observes quietly. “Don’t let it compromise your judgment.”

After he departs, Sadie and I stand alone in the hallway. Her breathing has steadied, but fear radiates from her in waves.

“Why do you call me that?” she asks. “Little butterfly.”

I blink, the question catching me off guard. “It’s irrelevant to the current situation.”

“I need to know I’m not just a chess piece to you, Landon.” Her eyes search mine. “If I’m going to trust you with my friend’s life, I need to know.”

“You’re not a chess piece. Chess pieces don’t surprise me. You do.”

She stares at me for a long moment, then nods. “Let’s save Jolene.”

42

SADIE

Istand frozen in the service corridor, watching Landon adjust his cufflinks. He’s a man who’s done this before. He reaches inside his jacket, checking what I now recognize as a concealed weapon.

“Remember,” he says, “when we step outside, stay half a step behind me. If shooting starts, drop to the ground immediately. Don’t run—it makes you a moving target.”

I nod, my throat too dry for words. Through the glass doors, the grand ballroom glitters with chandeliers and diamonds, the charity gala continuing in blissful ignorance. Women in designer gowns laugh with champagne flutes in hand while men in tuxedos discuss stock portfolios and vacation homes.

Now my emerald gown feels inconvenient, the fabric too slippery, too cumbersome for whatever’s about to happen. The five-inch heels Landon insisted on earlier are no longer sexy accessories but potential death traps if I need to run.

“Testing comms,” a voice buzzes in my ear. Xavier. “Status check.”

“North entrance secured,” comes Knox’s reply. “I’ve got eyes on the main garden path from the topiary section. Three men visible, likely more concealed.”

“East wall compromised,” Vane’s voice is barely a whisper. “I’m on the perimeter. Two armed guards by the fountain. Standard issue semi-automatics, nothing fancy.”

“Security feed acquired,” Xavier confirms. “I see six heat signatures total. Four mobile, two stationary near the gazebo. One appears restrained. Likely your friend, Ms. Reynolds.”

Jolene. My heart pounds against my ribs. She’s alive. She has to be.

“Everyone in position,” Landon murmurs into his wrist where he’s concealed a comms microphone. “Remember, we need Orlov alive. The others are expendable.”

He turns to me. “Are you ready?” he asks.

No, I’m not ready. I’m a programmer who likes medical dramas, collectible robots, and erotic romance novels. I’m not built for hostage negotiations and garden ambushes.

But Jolene is out there. Soreadyis the only option.

“I’m ready,” I lie.

The moment we step through the glass doors into the garden, everything changes. The orchestra’s waltz that filled the ballroom just seconds ago fades to a distant echo, replaced by nature’s nocturnal symphony—crickets chirping in the bushes and water gurgling from ornate stone fountains. These peaceful sounds feel jarringly out of place against the deadly purpose of our walk.

Moonlight bathes the manicured landscape in silver, casting long shadows across the stone path. I can’t help but notice how beautiful it all is—how incongruous that something so terrible is about to happen in such a serene setting.

“Stay half a step behind me,” Landon instructs. “Keep your eyes on my right hand.”

He positions me behind his left shoulder, his body angled to shield mine while maintaining a clear line of sight. I feel his fingers brush against mine—two quick taps. Stay alert.

We move deeper into the garden, away from the safety of the ballroom. Landon’s footsteps are nearly silent on the stone path, while my heels seem to announce our presence with every step.