Page 24 of Cursed

What could I possibly do for Cora anyway?

I signed the same contract she did. We surrendered our right to withhold consent. The Blackwoods own this building, and probably have security everywhere. If I tried to intervene, I’d end up captured alongside her—another plaything for men with power and resources I can’t match.

I sprint down the corridor, taking random turns, focused only on putting distance between myself and Landon.

“Run all you want,” Landon’s voice echoes after me. “The Hunt is just beginning.”

I run like I’ve never run before, my lungs burning with each desperate breath. The maze of corridors blurs around me as I push myself harder, faster, away from Landon’s voice and what I witnessed.

“You can’t escape what you are,” his voice echoes, somehow seeming to come from everywhere at once.

“Shut up!” I scream, not caring if it gives away my position.

I hate him. I hate him with an intensity that scorches through me like wildfire. Not just for stalking me, for invading my privacy, for blackmailing me. No, I hate Landon Blackwood because he sees me—the real me that I’ve spent years burying.

The way my body responded while watching Cora—the heat, the unwanted arousal—floods me with shame. What kind of person gets turned on watching someone potentially being exploited? What kind of broken thing am I?

I take another sharp turn, slamming my shoulder against the wall in my haste. The pain barely registers through my panic.

“You’re only running from yourself,” Landon calls out.

A sob tears from my throat as I push myself to move faster. He’s right, and that’s what terrifies me. Since the moment I received that invitation, some dark part of me has craved this—being hunted, being taken, surrendering. The same part that got wet watching those men with Cora. The same part that moaned Landon’s name alone in my bed.

“I hate you,” I whisper, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to Landon or myself.

My assault was ten years ago. I thought I’d healed, thought I’d moved past it. But Landon’s somehow found that fractured piece inside me—the part that twisted my trauma into a forbidden desire I never wanted to acknowledge. The part that wants to be caught.

I can’t let him catch me. I can’t face what that would mean about me.

11

SADIE

My heart hammers against my ribs as I sprint through the labyrinth, each breath burning in my lungs. The sound of my own footsteps echoes off the walls, too loud, too easily tracked. He can probably hear exactly where I am.

The corridor gives way to a darker passage, and I stumble forward with one hand against the cold wall to guide me. My fingers tremble uncontrollably. This isn’t a game anymore. The playful, erotic fantasy I’d constructed around the Hunt has evaporated, replaced by genuine terror.

Landon isn’t playing. The edge in his voice and the way he talked about how my fear makes him hard—it wasn’t simply dirty talk. He meant it. Another surge of adrenaline races through my system at the thought.

I duck into a narrow side passage, pressing my back against the wall. My breath comes in gasps. I clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to silence myself.

What was Lia trying to tell me?

The psychotic one.

Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why didn’t I research the Blackwood brothers more thoroughly before signing that NDA?

A distant sound freezes me in place—footsteps? My imagination? Impossible to tell.

I need to think. That’s what I’m good at.

The maze must have a structure. If I can understand it, maybe I can navigate to an exit, or at least to a more populated area where other participants might provide some buffer between Landon and me.

I now force myself to move more deliberately. Left, right, straight, right again. The corridors blend together, disorienting by design. The dim lighting creates more shadows than illumination.

Your fear is beautiful.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge his voice from my mind. This is what he wants—me panicked, irrational, making mistakes. I need to calm down.