Page 85 of Doomed

“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.