Page 112 of Cursed

I stare at our intertwined fingers, still processing the gravity of what we’ve discussed. I’m sitting beside a man who drugged me, carved his initials into my skin, and tonight killed to protect me. A man I should hate. A man I should fear.

A man I’ve fallen for.

How did this happen? When did terror and desire blur into something deeper? For weeks I’ve tried to fit Landon Blackwood into a box—psychopath, monster—but none of them fit anymore. He’s still dangerous, still possessive, still steeped in darkness I can’t fully grasp. Yet beneath it all, another layer waits. Real. Unshakable.

The strangest part is how clearly I see myself now. The assault left me fractured, disconnected from myself. I buried the part of me that craved submission, convinced it made me weak or broken. But Landon dragged that part into the light, forced me to acknowledge it, to embrace it. With him, I don’t have to pretend. My darkness recognizes his, calls to it, dances with it.

Maybe we’re both broken in complementary ways. His need to possess perfectly aligned with my need to be claimed. His darkness recognizing mine. Two damaged people finding their safe harbor in each other in a way that would horrify anyone looking in from the outside.

However, I feel more like myself than I have in years.

46

LANDON

Three weeks since Orlov, and I’m adjusting to this new dynamic between Sadie and me. She sits across from me at my dining table, laptop open as she works remotely. Her company has been surprisingly accommodating about the arrangement—though a substantial anonymous donation to their research department might have helped.

“Jolene wants to meet for lunch,” Sadie says without looking up. “That café near the park.”

“Take Knox’s driver.”

She glances up, one eyebrow raised. “I can order an Uber.”

“You could,” I concede, “but Knox’s driver carries a Glock and knows defensive driving. Orlov’s organization is still out there trying to find their leader.”

“And he’ll report my movements directly to you.”

I don’t deny it. “Yes, I’ll know where you are. But you’re free to go.”

A small smile plays at her lips. “Progress.”

The word shouldn’t please me as much as it does. I’ve given her more freedom—allowing her to work, see friends—yet thetracking app on her phone remains. The difference is she knows about it now.

My phone buzzes. Xavier.

“We have a problem at the Eastside warehouse,” he says when I answer. “Orlov’s second-in-command is trying to rally what’s left of their operation. Attempted break-in last night.”

“Any merchandise compromised?”

“No, but they’re getting bolder. We need to send a clear message.”

I glance at Sadie, who’s watching me. “Send me the security footage. We’ll analyze it and decide the next steps.”

“We?” Xavier questions.

“Sadie and I.”

“I’ll send it over.”

I end the call and meet Sadie’s gaze. “Orlov’s people are making moves.”

“I heard.” She closes her laptop. “You saidwe’ll analyze it.”

“Your mind works differently from mine. You see patterns I miss.” I reach for her hand across the table. “Partners, remember?”

I’ve never had a partner—only possessions, victims, toys. But Sadie is none of those things.

“Forward me the footage when it comes,” she says.