Page 11 of Cursed

It’s a declaration and a vow. No matter what method I have to take to make it a reality, Sadie Reynolds will never think of another man again—not after I’m done with her.

6

SADIE

The lines of code blur together on my screen as my mind drifts to the Hunt again. Three days left until I willingly walk into Purgatory and become prey for seventy-two hours. The thought sends an embarrassing shiver through me that has nothing to do with fear.

I force my focus back to the security protocol I’m reviewing when my screen flickers. For a second, I think it’s a glitch, but then the code disappears, replaced by a black background and crimson text.

I can see you biting your lip when you think about me.

My breath catches. I glance around the office, but everyone’s focused on their own screens. I hesitate, then type:

Who is this?

The reply comes instantly.

You already know. Deep down, you feel me watching.

Heat floods my cheeks. Could it be Landon? The thought of him observing me, tracking me, should terrify me. Instead, my pulse quickens.

I’ve been watching you touch yourself. Heard you moan my name.

Oh god. The memory of my bedroom, my hand between my legs, Landon’s name on my lips... My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

How did you gain access to a cybersecurity firm’s network?

A pause, then:

I know the right people. Just like I know exactly what you need.

I shouldn’t engage. I should report this, trace the intrusion. That’s literally my job. Instead, I type back.

What do I need?

To be hunted. Caught. Claimed. To surrender that brilliant mind.

My thighs presstogether under my desk. This is insane. I’m having an explicit conversation with someone who’s hacked my work computer in the middle of a cybersecurity office.

Are you afraid, Sadie? Or excited that in three days, there will be nowhere to hide?

I stare at the screen, heart pounding, knowing I should shut this down but unable to make myself do it.

Are you still there, Sadie?

I shouldn’t respond. Every instinct honed from years in cybersecurity screams to disconnect, report, and protect. But I can’t. A darkness pulls at me.

I’m here.

Good girl. When I catch you—and I will catch you first—I’m going to bind those clever hands that think they can outsmart me. I’ll make you kneel, watching that brilliant mind struggle between fear and desire. I’ll wrap my hand around your throat until your pulse flutters against my palm like a trapped bird.

My breath catches. I should be terrified, but heat pools between my legs.

I’m going to take everything from you, Sadie. Your thoughts. Your breath. And you’ll thank me for it. I’ll make you beg before I even touch you.

His words slice through my defenses with surgical precision. Normal people don’t react this way to threats. Normal people don’t feel arousal spike at being hunted.

But I’ve never been normal. Not since I was sixteen and trust was stolen from me, along with my sense of safety. Thetherapists said it was common to seek control after having it taken. They never understood that what I crave isn’t control, but a bone-deep sense of security. The security to relinquish it and know that no matter what happens, I am safe.