Page 40 of Doomed

Once that NDA is signed, she’s mine for the taking. No more of this back-and-forth game we’ve been playing. The rules of the Hunt are clear—when a hunter catches his prey, she belongs to him, at least until the next Hunt. And I plan to make the most of every second of that time.

I swirl the amber liquid in my glass, imagining Bianca in the maze, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement as she realizes I’m closing in. The thought makes my cock twitch—greedy bastard. She’ll run, of course. That fire in her wouldn’t let her do anything else, but running makes the catch more satisfying.

And when I do catch her...

I down the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. The image of Bianca, breathless and vulnerable, looking up at me with those defiant eyes as I pin her against the wall of the maze... Fuck. I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.

She has no idea what she’s getting herself into, but that’s what makes it so perfect. The NDA ensures total discretion. Whatever happens in the Hunt stays in the Hunt.

14

BIANCA

Isigned those damn papers the same day I stormed out of Knox’s office. I don’t know if it was out of spite or a result of anger mired in idiocy. Still, I filled out every line, initialed every page, and dropped the envelope directly to Xavier’s assistant before I could change my mind.

Five days later, I’m questioning my sanity. Every time I close my eyes, I feel Knox’s hands on me, his mouth claiming mine with that arrogant certainty that makes me want to slap him again—or worse, kiss him harder.

“Earth to Bianca!” Michelle waves her hand in front of my face. “You’re doing it again.”

I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at my blank canvas for who knows how long. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been like this all week.” She flops onto my bed, narrowly missing my sketches. “This is about that Hunt thing, isn’t it? And Mr. Bad News Blackwood?”

“No,” I lie, then immediately cave under her knowing look. “Maybe. Okay. Okay. Yes.”

Michelle sits up. “Look, it’s Saturday night. We need to get you out of this apartment and somewhere that isn’t your studio or Purgatory.”

“I don’t feel like going out.”

“Which is exactly why you need to.” She springs off my bed and heads to my closet. “There’s a new place downtown, The Blue Note. Live music, decent cocktails, and zero chance of running into your criminal crush.”

“He’s not my crush,” I protest weakly.

Michelle tosses a burgundy dress onto my bed. “Then it should be easy to forget about him for one night.”

She’s right. I need space from all of it—the Hunt, the Blackwoods, and especially Knox with his infuriating smirk and hands that somehow knew exactly how to touch me.

“Fine,” I concede, picking up the dress. “One night of normal people doing normal things in a normal bar sounds perfect.”

Michelle grins. “That’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone who doesn’t make you want to commit assault.”

“Very funny.” But I smile despite myself. Maybe this is exactly what I need—a reminder that there’s a world outside of Knox Blackwood’s orbit.

Michelle transforms getting ready into an event. She cranks up music on her portable speaker while rifling through my makeup collection, grabbing products I’ve forgotten I own.

“Hold still,” she orders, wielding an eyeliner pencil with surgical precision. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

I surrender to her expertise, letting her line my eyes with a smoky wing that makes the hazel pop. The burgundy dress hugs my curves perfectly, making me feel sexy without trying too hard.

“There.” Michelle steps back, admiring her handiwork. “Definitely not giving off ‘I’m obsessed with a dangerous club owner’ vibes.”

I laugh genuinely for what feels like the first time in days. “Shut up and pour the wine.”

We finish a bottle between us, dancing around the apartment to 90s pop songs, taking ridiculous selfies, and for blissful periods, I don’t think about Knox or his hunt or the way his hands felt on my skin.

The Uber arrives at nine, our driver nodding along to the radio while Michelle recounts her latest workplace drama. I watch the city lights blur past the window, feeling lighter than I have all week.

The Blue Note is thrumming with energy when we arrive—a converted warehouse with exposed brick, crystal chandeliers, and a jazz quartet playing on a small stage. It’s worlds away from Purgatory’s debauchery.