Page 79 of Cursed

Jolene stares at me. “Do you believe that?”

Deep inside, in places I let no one see, I know the truth. Vanilla relationships, like the one I had with Melvin, left me hollow—going through motions without feeling. The problem wasn’t just him; it was me. A part of me has always craved an intensity most people would find disturbing.

Landon doesn’t try to fix me or pretend my brokenness isn’t there.

How could I ever confess this to Jolene—that maybe I need someone like Landon? That his control, his cruelty, the way he drives me past every boundary, makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever been?

I hate that some part of me recognizes his sickness as the perfect complement to my own. That beneath all my fear and anger, there’s a voice whispering that no one else will ever understand the darkest corners of my mind the way he does.

The thought of telling him terrifies me even more than telling Jolene. Giving him that knowledge would be handing over the last piece of myself. It would be admitting defeat—or worse, admitting that we truly are made of the same twisted material.

I could never be happy in a normal relationship. I see that now. The realization sits like ice in my stomach.

I shrug, looking away from Jolene’s searching eyes. “I think I do.” It’s a half-truth, as I believe it with all my heart. He may be a monster, but so am I.

33

LANDON

Islam the car door, rage pulsing through my veins. Second place. Fucking second place because Knox cut me off on that final turn. The Ducati’s engine ticks as it cools in the parking garage.

The elevator ride to the penthouse does nothing to cool my temper. The race was mine. It should have been mine. Twenty thousand dollars and the respect that comes with it—gone because that asshole played dirty.

I unlock the door, expecting to find Sadie hunched over her laptop as she claimed she needed to be. Instead, the sight that greets me freezes my blood.

Sadie and another woman—Jolene, her friend from the photos I’ve studied—are curled up on opposite ends of my leather sectional, both fast asleep with empty wine glasses and takeout containers on the coffee table.

So much for needing to work.

I cross the room in three strides and flip on the overhead lights. “Wake up.”

Both women jolt awake, disoriented. Sadie’s eyes widen when she registers my presence, fear immediately replacing drowsiness.

“I thought you needed to work,” I say. “Seems you had time for a social call instead.”

Sadie scrambles to sit upright. “I—I did work. We just?—”

“You invited someone into my home without permission.” I turn my gaze to Jolene, who’s glaring at me hatefully. “Who the fuck said you could be here?”

Jolene stands, crossing her arms. “If Sadie has to live here, then it’s her home too. You can’t keep her locked up like a prisoner.”

My vision narrows, a familiar darkness creeping in at the edges. The audacity of this woman to speak to me this way in my own home. I imagine wrapping my hands around her throat, watching the defiance drain from her eyes as she realizes her mistake.

But Sadie needs her. I’ve seen their messages, studied their friendship. Hurting Jolene means losing whatever fragile connection I’ve built with Sadie.

“Get out,” I tell Jolene. “Now.”

Jolene steps toward me, shoulders squared. “You don’t own her. Contract or not, you can’t keep her isolated from everyone she cares about.”

I feel my fingers twitch at my sides. The woman has no idea how close she is to experiencing what happens when someone challenges me in my own territory.

“Jolene, please,” Sadie interjects. She places a hand on her friend’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The concern in Jolene’s eyes is obvious as she searches Sadie’s face. “Are you sure? Because this isn’t?—”

“I know what I signed up for,” Sadie says, casting a nervous glance my way. “Let me walk you out.”

I watch, seething as Sadie guides her friend toward the door.