Page 37 of Doomed (Blackwood Brothers #2)

KNOX

I drum my fingers against the leather couch, jaw tight as I sip my whiskey in Purgatory’s VIP section. Twenty-four fucking hours. The Hunt’s “cooling off period” might be tradition, but right now, every minute feels like torture.

A blonde in silver sways toward me, eyes promising relief from the ache that’s been building since Bianca left. I wave her off with a sharp gesture. The thought of anyone else touching me makes my skin crawl.

“Not tonight.”

The dancer shrugs and moves to the next table. I throw back the rest of my drink, the burn doing nothing to distract me from the memories flooding my mind.

Bianca on her knees. Bianca suspended against an easel. Bianca watching herself in the mirror as I claimed her. The way she begged—fuck, how she begged. That cultured voice broke apart when I pushed her past her limits. The taste of her when she squirted, flooding my mouth with her release.

My cock throbs painfully against my zipper. I shift, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn’t exist.

“Look at you,” Vane’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he drops onto the couch beside me. “Haven’t seen you this wound up since you were sixteen.”

I shoot him a murderous glance. “Fuck off.”

Xavier takes the seat across from us, studying me with that calculating expression I hate. “You could have taken another woman for the night. Nothing in the rules against it.”

“Don’t want another woman,” I mutter, signaling for another drink.

Vane laughs, reaching over to slap my shoulder. “Little brother’s got a serious case of blue balls. Who knew the artist would be the one to finally break you?”

“She didn’t break me,” I snap, though we all know it’s a lie.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Vane continues. “Never seen you turn down a lap dance before. I’m starting to think your balls might explode before your twenty-four hours are up.”

I contemplate the satisfaction I’d get from smashing my glass into his face, but Xavier’s subtle head shake warns me off.

“She’s just prey,” I insist, not believing it for a second.

“Right,” Xavier says with a knowing look. “And that’s why you’ve checked your phone seventeen times in the last hour.”

“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back at Xavier, leaning forward with a predatory grin. “We went for a ride this morning, and you couldn’t keep away from Mira’s apartment.”

Xavier’s eyes narrow dangerously. The temperature in our VIP section seems to drop several degrees as his jaw tightens visibly.

“And what happened?” I press, enjoying the rare opportunity to see my oldest brother squirm.

Xavier clenches his jaw so hard I can almost hear his teeth grinding. “She wasn’t there,” he finally admits, the words forced through gritted teeth.

I throw my head back and laugh, genuine amusement replacing my earlier irritation. Even Vane snickers, though he quickly disguises it by taking a drink when Xavier’s cold gaze shifts to him.

“You can’t say shit about me,” I tell Xavier, gesturing with my empty glass. “At least I’ve followed the damn rules.”

Xavier’s expression darkens further, but he doesn’t deny it. The mighty Xavier Blackwood, reduced to running to a woman’s apartment like some lovesick teenager within hours of the cooling-off period starting.

The waitress arrives with my fresh whiskey, and I raise it in a mocking toast to my brother.

“To Xavier finally being pussy whipped,” I announce, raising my glass higher. “Welcome to the club, brother.”

Xavier’s glare could freeze hell, but I grin wider. There’s nothing sweeter than seeing my oldest brother—the untouchable, unbreakable Xavier Blackwood—squirming over a woman.

“Careful, Knox,” Xavier warns, voice low. “Remember who runs this family.”

Vane snorts, leaning back against the leather with a smirk.

“Look at you two idiots. One Hunt and you’re both completely fucked.

” He shakes his head, taking another swig of his drink.

“And neither of you can talk. Xavier’s stalking journalist pussy, and Knox is turning down perfectly good tits because he’s saving himself for the artist.”

“Like you’re any better,” I fire back. “Saw how you looked at Lia during the feast. Practically growling at anyone who glanced her way.”

Vane’s smile falters for a second—enough to know I hit a nerve.

“Speaking of brothers making fools of themselves,” Vane says, changing the subject, “where the hell is Landon? Haven’t seen him lurking around being all mysterious and shit.”

I shrug, draining half my whiskey. “No idea. Haven’t seen him since we rode back from Eagle Point this morning.”

Xavier frowns, checking his phone. “He’s gone dark. No messages, no calls.”

“That’s not like him,” I say, feeling a twinge of concern despite myself. Landon’s always checking in, always watching. The quiet observer.

“He’s been weirder than normal since meeting Sadie,” Vane admits, lowering his voice despite the pounding music that ensures our privacy. “You see how he was with her at the feast? Never seen Landon so... intense.”

“Landon’s always intense,” I point out.

“Not like this,” Vane insists. “This is different. It’s like she cracked something open in him.”

“Maybe we’re all fucked,” I laugh.

Truth is, I am fucked. Completely, utterly, irreversibly fucked. And not in the way I’ve spent most of my adult life—chasing nameless women through club backrooms and hotel suites. This is different. Bianca is different.

I take another swig of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat while the realization settles deeper. The parade of strippers, the endless lap dances, the women whose names I never bothered to remember—none of that matters anymore. Just her. Only her.

But I’ll be damned if I’m telling my brothers that. They’d never let me live it down.

Vane’s phone buzzes, cutting through my thoughts. He checks the screen, then answers with a curt, “What?” His expression shifts to business mode as he listens. “Lars. Yeah.” A pause. “Tomorrow works. Same location?” Another pause. “Understood.”

He hangs up and looks at Xavier. “Lars says we’re good for the exchange tomorrow. Ten AM at the warehouse.”

Xavier nods, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Cash is already prepared. Six hundred thousand in unmarked hundreds, like we discussed.”

“The carnival crew always delivers,” I say, swirling my whiskey. “Gotta give Tyson credit. For a bunch of traveling freaks, they run a tight operation.”

Vane snorts. “Remember when we first started working with them? Xavier thought they’d rip us off within three months.”

“I had concerns,” Xavier corrects, straightening his cuff links. “Six years later, and they’ve never been late or light on a shipment.”

I lean back, propping my feet on the glass table. “Plus, no one looks twice at a carnival crossing state lines. Perfect cover.”

“Genius,” Vane agrees. “They move the product in, we move it out. Clean handoff, no connection.”

Xavier checks his watch. “With tomorrow’s shipment, we’ll have enough supply to cover the east side expansion. I’ve already prepped our street teams.”

“Jenson’s been whining about needing more product in the Heights,” I mention. “Rich college kids can’t get enough of our premium shit.”

“That’s because Tyson’s crew doesn’t cut their product with garbage,” Vane says. “Pure Colombian, how we like it.”

“Speaking of,” I add, “we should send them something extra this time. That last batch they brought in was top-tier.”

Xavier considers this, then nods. “I’ll throw in another fifty grand. Good faith gesture.”

“Tyson will appreciate that,” Vane says. “Though I think Lars is the one who actually handles their end of the finances.”

I laugh. “Yeah, while Tyson’s off playing ringmaster and playing house with that mob boss’s daughter.”

“Some men don’t know how to keep business and pleasure separate,” Xavier says pointedly, his eyes boring into mine.

“Says the man obsessed with a journalist trying to expose us,” I fire back with a grin.

Xavier ignores my jab, reaching for the bottle on our table instead. “Another round,” he says, pouring three fingers into each of our glasses. The amber liquid catches the club lights, glinting like gold.

I knock mine back immediately, relishing the burn. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Bianca and the remaining fourteen hours stretching between us.

“You racing next Friday?” Vane asks, swirling his whiskey before taking a sip.

“Ravenwood Underground?” Xavier raises an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The motorcycle race is a monthly tradition—illegal street racing through Ravenwood’s industrial district. High stakes, higher speeds, and enough adrenaline to keep even the Blackwood brothers satisfied. We’ve dominated for years, though Xavier still holds the most wins.

“You’re going down this time,” Vane smirks at Xavier. “Been tweaking my Kawasaki. She’s purring like a dream.”

“Keep dreaming,” Xavier replies with rare amusement. “You’ve been saying that for years.”

I lean forward, suddenly energized. “What do you say we make this interesting? Bring our girls to watch?”

Both my brothers turn to look at me.

“Cooling off period ends tomorrow,” I continue, grinning. “Plenty of time to convince our women to come cheer for their men.”

Vane laughs. “You think your artist is going to want to watch you risk your neck in an illegal street race?”

“She’ll come,” I say with absolute certainty.

“Whether she admits it or not, Bianca gets off on danger. You should’ve seen her face when I took her to Eagle Point.

All wide-eyed and pretending she wasn’t impressed.

” I tap my glass against the table, already imagining how she’ll look, watching me from the sidelines.

“Plus, she’ll look fucking spectacular on the back of my bike for the victory lap. ”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t won in eight months,” Xavier points out.

“That changes Friday,” I declare. “New motivation.” I raise my glass. “To show our women what the Blackwood brothers are really capable of.”

Vane clinks his glass against mine. “I’m in. Lia will make a perfect trophy when I smoke you both.”

“You know what’s even better?” I lean forward. “They’re ours for a year. They signed the contracts. They don’t actually get to say no if we want them there.”

Xavier’s lips curl into that cold smile that usually precedes someone getting hurt. “Indeed, they don’t. Though I suspect Mira might require... convincing.”

“That’s half the fun,” Vane says, swirling his drink. “Watching them realize the rules they agreed to.”

“So it’s settled,” I say, already picturing Bianca’s face when I tell her. “Next Friday night, our women will be there. Whether they like it or not.”

“They’ll learn to like it,” Xavier says with finality. “That’s what the year is for.”

We clink glasses again, sealing the deal. The thought of Bianca watching me race is an enticing prospect. She’ll pretend to be appalled by the danger, the illegality of it all. Still, I’ve seen the way her pupils dilate when I push boundaries. She gets off on it as much as I do.

Fourteen more hours. Fourteen hours until I can touch her again, taste her again.

The Hunt may be over, but the real game is beginning.

I’ve claimed Bianca Hayes in the most primal way possible—in front of everyone who matters in Ravenwood—but now comes the part where I make her understand what she signed up for.

My phone feels heavy in my pocket. I wonder what she’s doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Is she sore from our time together? Is she counting down the hours like I am?

Fourteen hours. I can wait.

But barely.