Page 14 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

KNOX

E ver since Bianca witnessed my violent side, I’ve been more on edge. She was never meant to see that side of me, and now I fear it’s working against me.

Stomping from the parking lot into the elevator, I tap my foot on the floor as it rises to Purgatory. I need to blow off steam and get drunk. It’s exactly what I’ve been doing the past four nights since I had to threaten her in the corridor.

The moment I step into the club, I head for the bar, but freeze in my tracks when I see Bianca standing there wearing a beautiful, forest green dress that hugs every curve. Her head is thrown back as she laughs at something some suit-wearing dickhead is saying, her hand resting on his forearm.

Motherfucker.

Despite my irritation at seeing her near another man, I head to the other side of the bar and order my usual. Two fingers of Macallan whiskey, and down it in one, before ordering another.

“You might want to ease up on that glass before you shatter it,” Vane says, appearing beside me.

I realize I’m gripping my whiskey so hard my knuckles have gone white. I set it down.

“She’s putting on quite the show,” Vane continues, following my gaze. “Think she knows you’re watching?”

“Oh, she knows.”

Bianca’s eyes flick in my direction—just long enough to confirm I’m watching. Then she leans closer to whatever fucking nobody currently has her attention, laughing louder, touching him more.

When he leans toward her again to whisper in her ear, her eyes find mine across the room. She smiles, slow and deliberate, before turning back to him.

What is her deal?

She sees me break a guy’s fingers, and suddenly she’s trying to make me jealous?

“Interesting strategy,” Vane comments.

I drain my whiskey. “She’s making a point.”

“Seems like it’s working.” Vane signals the bartender for another round. “Speaking of women making points, have you picked someone to invite to the Hunt yet? It’s coming up fast.”

I check my phone, swiping to the calendar. “Fuck. Is it really only two weeks away? I didn’t realize.”

The Hollow’s Hunt is our family’s most sacred tradition—once a year, when the Blackwood brothers and our chosen companions engage in a game that tests limits in every way imaginable. Seventy-two hours when propriety shifts, desires are laid bare, and nothing is forbidden.

I look back at Bianca, who’s now letting some other asshole buy her a drink. The pieces click into place in my mind.

“Actually,” I say, “I think I have decided who I’m inviting.”

I leave the main floor, heading back to my brother’s office and entering without knocking. Xavier doesn’t even look up from the paperwork spread across his desk.

“Shouldn’t you be terrorizing the staff or something equally productive, Knox?” he asks, pen moving across the document in front of him.

I sprawl into the leather chair opposite his desk.

“Terrorizing is your specialty, big brother. I prefer to call it employee morale assessment .” I grin, reaching for one of the crystal tumblers to pour myself whiskey from his decanter.

“Besides, the new bartender in section three makes the most fascinating faces when I change my drink order three times.”

Xavier slides the stack of invitations into his desk drawer. I catch Mira’s name before he can hide it completely.

“Hold up. Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Xavier’s expression hardens, his eyes meeting mine with unnerving stillness. The temperature in the room seems to turn to arctic levels.

“Since when do you care about the Hollow’s Hunt invitations?” Xavier asks, studying me with unsettling intensity.

I lean forward, dropping my usual carefree persona. This shit’s too important for games. “Since you decided to invite a fucking reporter to our most exclusive event.”

Xavier’s hand stills on the invitation. “What are you talking about?”

“Mira Sullivan.” I pull out my phone, swiping to the research from her employment application.

“A freelance investigative journalist with a rather impressive portfolio of exposés on corruption in high places.” I slide my phone across his desk.

“She’s been published in several major outlets.

Got quite the reputation for going undercover and destroying people’s lives with what she finds. ”

Xavier scrolls through the articles, his expression unreadable as he takes in Mira’s byline on pieces about corrupt politicians, drug trafficking networks, and corporate fraud. I’ve been keeping an eye on her; hiring her has never felt right to me.

“The bartending gig? It’s bullshit. She’s fishing for a story about us, about Purgatory.” I retrieve my phone. “I’ve been watching her. She asks too many questions and listens too carefully. Not exactly subtle if you know what to look for.”

Xavier taps his fingers against the desk, and a smirk forms across his lips. Fuck. I know that look, and it’s never good.

“You think this is funny?” I ask. “Xavier, you can’t?—”

“On the contrary,” he interrupts, “I find it fascinating.”

Of course he does. Xavier’s always been drawn to danger like a moth to flame, especially when that danger comes wrapped in an attractive package.

“You shouldn’t find it fascinating. You should find it concerning.” I down my whiskey, needing the burn to counteract the frustration building in my chest. “We should fire her immediately. I don’t know why we hired her in the first place.”

Xavier leans back in his chair, studying me with an expression that makes me want to punch him. I can see the irony isn’t lost on him—me, the family fuck-up, suddenly advocating for caution.

“Mira Sullivan has written some impressive pieces,” Xavier acknowledges, “but she’s never tried to take down an organization like ours. There’s a vast difference between exposing a corrupt politician or corporate fraud and infiltrating a criminal empire.”

“She’s dangerous,” I insist, wondering why I’m the only one seeing the obvious threat here.

“She’s ambitious,” Xavier corrects me, his tone dismissive. “And entirely out of her depth. Journalists like Sullivan believe they’re untouchable because they carry the shield of the free press. She has no idea what real danger looks like.”

He grabs her invitation and holds it up to the light as if it were a prized possession. Far from deterring him, my revelation has only sparked his interest further. Fucking typical.

“You’re still inviting her? After what I told you?”

“Not only am I inviting her, I’m going to make it impossible for her to decline,” Xavier says, sliding the invitation into its envelope.

“I find myself even more intrigued by her. Think about it—she walked into Purgatory of her own volition, believing she could expose us without consequences. That kind of audacity deserves special attention.”

I study his expression, reading between the lines of his carefully chosen words. “You want to play with your food before you devour it.” Not a question. The look on his face makes his intention crystal clear.

“I want to watch her realize exactly what she’s gotten herself into,” he says, sealing the envelope with a finality that sends a chill down my spine. “If Mira Sullivan comes to the Hollow’s Hunt, I won’t just expose her little investigation—I’ll break her.”

“And if she publishes?”

“The NDA will ensure she can’t.” Xavier smiles, that predatory expression that reminds me why he’s the most dangerous of us all. “By the time I’m finished with her, she’ll question everything she thinks she knows.”

I glance at his desk, noticing another blank invitation. The whiskey has loosened my tongue enough that I decide to change tactics. No point arguing about Mira Sullivan when Xavier’s mind is clearly made up.

“So, who’s the other blank invitation for?” I ask, gesturing toward the pile. “Or are we down to four women this year?”

Xavier leans back in his chair, studying me with renewed interest. “Not decided yet. Why?”

I bite my lip, immediately regretting the tell I’ve had since childhood. Xavier’s eyes narrow slightly, catching the gesture. Fuck.

“You have someone in mind.” It’s not a question.

“Maybe.” My fingers tap against the arm of the chair as I try to appear casual.

“Keira, Mira, Lia, and Sadie are already selected,” Xavier informs me. “If you’re suddenly taking an interest in our guest list, I’m curious to know why.”

I shift in my seat, hating how his scrutiny makes me feel like I’m twelve years old again, caught stealing from the liquor cabinet. I’ve never cared about the guest list before—I usually show up and enjoy whoever catches my eye, but this year is different.

“For fuck’s sake, Knox. Spit it out. Who do you want invited?”

“Bianca,” I say. “Bianca Hayes.”

Recognition flashes in Xavier’s eyes. “Bianca Hayes,” he repeats, his voice tinged with amusement. “My, my... the woman who told you your taste in art was ‘slightly more refined than a college freshman with their first credit card’? That Bianca Hayes?”

I scowl, hating the way he’s enjoying this. “She’s... interesting.”

“Interesting,” Xavier echoes. “That’s certainly one word for a woman who seems entirely immune to your particular brand of bullshit.”

“Fuck you, Xavier,” I growl, slumping further into the chair.

Xavier chuckles, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to see me squirm. I hate being on this side of the teasing—it’s much more fun when I’m the one doing it to others.

“What’s wrong, little brother? You dish it out to everyone who crosses your path, but can’t take it when it comes back your way?” He taps the blank envelope against his desk. “Seems only fair after years of your relentless commentary on everyone else’s interests.”

“Are you inviting her or not?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

Xavier considers the request, his expression calculating. I can practically see him weighing the entertainment value of watching me pursue someone who’s repeatedly shut me down.

“I’ll think about it,” he says finally, which from Xavier is as close to agreement as I’ll get.

Satisfied with that answer, I lean forward, changing the subject. “So, who are the hunters this year?”

“The usual suspects. You, me, Vane, and Landon, of course. The Dexter twins—Ace and Cyrus—have confirmed.”

“Those two are fucking terrifying,” I mutter, remembering the last Hunt when they worked in tandem to corner their prey. The twins operate with a synchronicity that’s both impressive and deeply disturbing.

“Dominic and Elliot are in. Julian as well,” Xavier continues, flipping through the acceptances. “Liam and Marcus. Ryder.” He pauses, checking the final confirmations. “Jenson, Theo, and Victor round out the fifteen.”

“Solid lineup,” I nod, reaching for the whiskey again.

I pour myself two fingers and down it quickly, the expensive scotch wasted on my need for liquid courage.

“You think this is a good idea?” I ask, refilling my glass.

“Inviting a journalist to the Hunt? I mean, I love chaos as much as the next guy—actually, more than the next guy—but this seems reckless even by my standards.”

Xavier taps his fingers against Mira’s invitation, his expression distant.

“Since when did you become the voice of caution, Knox? I find it rather unsettling.”

“I’m not cautious,” I counter with a smirk. “I’m selective about my disasters. There’s a difference.”

Xavier barely seems to register my words, his mind clearly elsewhere. I recognize the look—he’s planning a particularly nasty trap for our unsuspecting journalist.

“Earth to Xavier,” I wave my hand in front of his face. “You’re doing that thing where you go all supervillain in your head. Care to share with the class?”

“I’m wondering,” he says slowly, “what Miss Sullivan thinks she’ll accomplish. What publication would risk the legal nightmare of printing unsubstantiated claims about us? What protection does she imagine she has?”

I shrug, genuinely curious myself. “Maybe she’s counting on the power of the press. Or maybe she hasn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe—she thinks that if she witnesses it for herself, she won’t need traditional proof .”

Xavier seals Mira’s invitation; his decision is clearly made. “Either way, she’s about to learn a valuable lesson about boundaries. The hard way.”

I sigh, knowing there’s no point arguing further. Once Xavier sets his mind on something, particularly when it involves teaching someone a lesson, he’s immovable. “Fine, your funeral. Don’t come crying to me when it all goes to shit.”

I down the last of the whiskey, feeling the burn. The thought of Bianca at the Hunt—of having her in my territory, under my rules—welcomes a different kind of heat. I give Xavier a mock salute as I stand. “See you later.”

As I leave his office, my mind is already racing with possibilities. If Xavier invites Bianca, the Hunt is going to be very interesting this year. And if there’s one thing I excel at, it’s making the most of interesting situations.