Page 7 of Cursed

I swallow hard and return to my side of the desk.

“Everything appears to be in order,” I say, my voice betraying none of the chaos roiling through me as I inspect her signature. I place the documents in a folder, my movements deliberate. “The Hunt begins in two weeks. You’ll receive further instructions closer to the time.”

My cock strains painfully against my zipper as I sit, grateful for the barrier of the desk between us. I’ve never reacted this strongly to a woman before—certainly not one who’s done nothing but sign a piece of paper and blush. It’s fascinating and equally concerning.

I’m eager to conquer her during the Hunt and investigate this effect that Sadie Reynold’s has on me.

4

SADIE

The red wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim of my glass as I curl my legs underneath me on my worn leather sofa. Across from me, Jolene expertly uses chopsticks to snag a dumpling from the takeout container balanced on her knee. The Friday night ritual we’ve maintained since college feels comfortable—a stark contrast to most social interactions that leave me mentally drained.

“This is exactly what I needed after that hellish week,” Jolene says, closing her eyes in appreciation as she chews. “Those new interns are going to be the death of me.”

I nod, taking a sip of wine. With Jolene, I don’t have to fill every silence. She understands my preference for observation over participation—one of many reasons our friendship has endured.

“So,” she continues, reaching for the wine bottle between us, “what’s new with you?”

My visit to Purgatory flashes in my mind. I hesitate, fingers tightening around my glass. Part of me wants to keep the invitation secret—my algorithms automatically calculating risk factors of disclosure. But Jolene has always been my one safe input channel.

“I, um, got invited to this thing,” I start, my voice quieter than intended. “And I accepted.”

“Oh? A date?” Her eyebrows lift hopefully.

“No. It’s called the Hollow’s Hunt. At that club, Purgatory.”

Jolene freezes mid-sip, her eyes widening. “The Hollow’s Hunt? That super exclusive thing the Blackwood brothers host? How did you even get invited to that?”

I shrug, uncomfortable under her sudden, intense focus. “Black envelope on my desk. No idea who left it.”

“And you’re actually going?” She sets her glass down with a decisive clink. “I mean you declined the last three company happy hours because ‘people are exhausting’?”

“I know it sounds crazy?—”

“No, it sounds amazing!” Jolene’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Good for you! It’s about time you loosened up a bit and had some fun.”

I shift uncomfortably, tracing the rim of my wine glass with my finger. Jolene’s enthusiasm isn’t surprising—she’s always pushing me to step outside my comfort zone. But she clearly doesn’t know what the Hollow’s Hunt actually involves.

Should I tell her?

The thought of articulating the explicit details of what I’ve signed up for makes heat creep up my neck. But if anyone deserves my honesty, it’s Jolene.

“Jo, it’s not just some exclusive party,” I say, my voice dropping. “It’s a... sex thing.”

Jolene pauses mid-bite, dumpling hovering inches from her mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”

I take a large gulp of wine. “It’s basically a game where fifteen men hunt five women through this elaborate maze for seventy-two hours. And when they catch you...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

“When they catch you, what?” Jolene’s eyes are wide as saucers now.

“They claim you. Sexually. For the duration of the Hunt.”

“Holy shit.” She puts down her chopsticks. “And you agreed to this? You wouldn’t even download Tinder when I suggested it!”

I nod, wondering if I’ve made a terrible mistake.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jolene holds up her hands. “Your only sexual experience is with Melvin the Missionary, and a couple of losers you picked up at bars, and now you’re signing up for some elite sex labyrinth run by the Blackwood brothers?”