Page 10 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

F resh paint stings my nose as I step through the hidden door into the maze.

Three days until the Hunt, and chaos still clings to the edges.

The labyrinth stretches ahead—twelve-foot walls, cameras in the corners, trapdoors waiting in silence.

My boots echo off the marble as I move through it, checking every shadow, every turn. There’s no room for error.

“The southeast corner needs reinforcement,” I tell the foreman trailing me. “And install the additional cameras I requested in the blind spots.”

He nods. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood. We’ll have it done by tomorrow morning.”

I run my finger along a freshly painted wall. Dry. Good. The maze is the centerpiece of the Hunt, where prey becomes lost, where hunters claim their prizes. Every corridor leads to a room that is designed with purpose, every turn calculated to disorient.

“The lighting? ”

“Installed as specified. Red emergency lights can be triggered from the control room.”

I check my watch. “The rest looks acceptable. Has your team gone for the day?”

“Just finishing up, sir.”

I turn toward the exit, satisfied with the progress I’ve made. The rest of Purgatory needs my attention before opening hours. Walking through the employee corridor, I push open the door leading back to the main floor and nearly slam into someone.

I grab her shoulders to stabilize us both, recognizing her immediately. Mira. She tenses under my grip.

My brow furrows as I release her. “What are you doing here?” The question comes out sharper than intended. “You’re supposed to be on break, preparing for the Hunt.”

She shifts her weight, one hand clutching her phone too tightly. Her eyes dart around, looking at the wall behind me, the floor, anywhere but my face. The nervous energy radiating from her is palpable.

Interesting.

Mira’s gaze finally meets mine. “I... have a question I need to ask you,” she says.

I lean against the wall, crossing my arms. The hallway is empty save for us, the distant sounds of Purgatory being prepared for tonight’s crowd barely audible.

“If you’re trying to back out of the Hunt, it’s no use,” I say, my voice calm but firm. “You made your choice when you signed that NDA. You’re stuck with me now.”

A flash of irritation crosses her face. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? I have a club to run.” I check my watch pointedly, though I find myself curious about what has her so unsettled.

She takes a deep breath. “I need an invitation for my friend.”

This catches me off guard, and I stare at her for a moment before responding. “Your friend?”

“Yes. Cora.” She stands straighter now, confidence replacing her earlier nervousness. “She’s the mayor’s daughter. Smart, capable. She’d be perfect for the Hunt.”

I can’t help the cold laugh that escapes me. “Not possible.”

“Why not?” The challenge in her voice is back, that familiar defiance that first drew my attention.

“Because, Ms. Sullivan, the Hunt has a specific structure. Five women, fifteen men. All invitations have already been sent and accepted.” I step closer. “Why would you want to drag your friend into this? Worried about facing it alone?”

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t back away. “I thought having someone I know there might make things more interesting.”

“For you or me?” I ask. “The Hunt isn’t a social gathering where you bring plus ones. It’s planned, each participant carefully selected.”

“Why me?” Mira suddenly asks, her voice quiet but determined. “Out of everyone, why did you select me for the Hunt?”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face, and I lean closer, watching her pulse quicken at the neck—a telltale sign of nervousness she can’t control. “You want to know?”

She nods, holding my gaze with admirable steadiness. I have to give her credit for her composure. Most people crumble under direct attention from me, but Mira stands her ground.

“Because you’re different,” I say. “You watch everything. You listen. You analyze. You think you’re gathering information without anyone noticing.”

I’m close enough that she can feel my breath on her face. “But I notice everything in my club, Ms. Sullivan. Especially ambitious journalists looking for their big break.”

She stiffens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I laugh. “Come now. You’re researching an exposé on the Blackwood family, on Purgatory, on me. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

Her eyes widen slightly—confirmation enough.

“So the Hunt is what? A trap?” She lifts her chin.

“I prefer to think of it as... an opportunity,” I reply, enjoying the flare of fear and curiosity in her expression. “For both of us. Do you want to know the truth about the Blackwoods? About me? The Hunt will show you everything you want to know.”

I tap the wall next to her head. “The real question, Mira, is whether you’ll be able to handle the truth once you have it and can’t do anything with it due to the NDA. ”

The color drains from Mira’s face, her composure cracking.

“How long have you known?” she asks.

I lean against the wall, savoring this moment. “Since I met you in the store room,” I lie, as it was after that Knox bought me the information. “Your background check was thorough.”

Her eyes widen further. “Then why?—”

“Why invite you to the Hunt?” I finish for her. “Perhaps I enjoy the game. Perhaps I wanted to see how far you’d go for your story.”

I circle her slowly, sizing her up like the prey she’s chosen to be. Her perfume fills my nostrils—light and floral.

“I know about your previous articles,” I continue. “The piece on the corrupt judge in Chicago was particularly impressive. Bold, thorough, relentless—qualities I admire, even when they’re directed at me.”

She squares her shoulders. “If you know what I’m doing here, why not just fire me?”

A laugh escapes me. “And miss all this?” I gesture between us. “The dance we’ve been doing is too entertaining to end prematurely.”

I step close enough to see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. “You see, Mira, I’ve been watching you watch me. Every note you’ve taken, every conversation you’ve had with my employees—I know it all.”

I can practically see her mind racing, reevaluating every interaction we’ve had, every word she’s spoken in Purgatory .

“The Hunt isn’t about the chase,” I say softly. “It’s about strategy. It’s about knowing your opponent better than they know themselves.”

I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, pleased when she flinches at the contact.

“And I know you very well, Ms. Sullivan.”

The realization that I’ve known her true purpose all along unsettles her, but she recovers. That’s another quality I admire—her resilience.

She straightens her spine, meeting my gaze with renewed determination. “You seem very confident that you’ll be the one to catch me during the Hunt,” she challenges. “There will be fourteen other men pursuing the same targets. What makes you so certain I’ll be yours?”

Her naivety is almost endearing. “Mira,” I say her name slowly, savoring each syllable. “It’s my Hunt. I designed every aspect of it. Every corridor in the maze, every rule, every contingency.” I step closer. “I know every shortcut, every dead end, every trap.”

I circle her once more. “The Hunt has been running for years, and I have never—not once—failed to catch exactly who I wanted. The other participants may think they have a chance,” I continue, “but they’re merely playing their roles in my game. The outcome was decided the moment you signed the NDA.”

I stop in front of her. “You’ll be the prey,” I promise, fingers tracing her collarbone. “And I will hunt you through every inch of my domain until you’re mine.”

Disgust flashes across Mira’s face, her nose wrinkling, brows furrowing. The change in her expression is subtle but unmistakable.

“Why would you even want to hunt women for sport?” she asks. “What kind of sick pleasure do you get from chasing terrified women?”

I can’t help but smile at her assumption. So righteous, so predictably outraged. Yet she signed the NDA. She’s coming to the Hunt regardless.

“You mistake fear for excitement,” I say.

“The women who participate know exactly what they’re getting into.

They crave the chase as much as we enjoy the Hunt.

As for what I get from it,” I pause, deciding how much to reveal.

“I have specific... tastes. The Hunt satisfies certain proclivities that aren’t easily indulged in conventional settings. ”

Her eyes widen slightly.

“The thrill of pursuit, the eventual capture, the surrender—” I continue, “it creates a unique dynamic that can’t be replicated in a standard sexual encounter.”

She maintains eye contact. “And you always catch someone?”

“Always,” I confirm, remembering each previous Hunt, each successful capture. “I’m very good at getting what I want.”

“And after?” she asks.

“The rules are simple. Once captured, a woman belongs to her hunter until the next Hunt, if he chooses to claim her.” I run my finger along the wall beside her head. “Though I’ve never exercised that particular right beyond the three days of the Hunt itself. ”

I study her face, noticing the sharp intelligence behind those eyes. Interest stirs within me—different from the usual anticipation before a Hunt.

“Until now,” I add.

The thought of letting Mira go after just three days seems insufficient. I want more time to unravel her, to understand the complex machine of her mind, and to watch her struggle between attraction and resistance. This tumult would slowly swallow her whole.

I watch as my words land, cataloging their visible impact in the subtle dilation of her pupils, and the parting of her lips tells me everything I need to know about the conflicting emotions warring inside her. Disgust and desire, fear and fascination.

“You can’t possibly think I’d—” she starts.

“What I think doesn’t matter,” I murmur, my face now mere inches from hers. “What matters is what you feel.”

I close the distance between us until our breaths mix in the narrow space between us.

Mira’s lashes flutter, and whatever hesitation was in her eyes shifts.

Despite everything I’ve just revealed—that I know she’s investigating me, that I’ve manipulated her into participating in the Hunt—I can detect the eagerness.

She tilts her chin upward, an instinctive movement seeking contact. It’s too easy, this power I have over her.

When she leans forward, attempting to close the final distance between us, I allow our lips to barely brush—the ghost of a kiss, a promise of what’s to come—before pulling back .

Her eyes snap open.

“Get some rest, Ms. Sullivan,” I say casually. “You’ll need it for what’s coming in three days.”

I straighten my jacket.

“And your friend won’t be joining you,” I add firmly. “The Hunt isn’t a social event. It’s between you and me now.”

I turn away from her, savoring the echo of her quickened breath in my ears. The slight catch in her throat as I pulled away—that delicious mix of disappointment and relief. Perfect.

The corridor stretches before me as I walk, but I know she’s still watching; I can feel her eyes burning into my back.

Mira thinks she’s so clever, infiltrating my club, gathering information for her exposé. Instead, she’s fallen right into my carefully laid trap.

I flex my fingers, remembering the electricity when I touched her. That wasn’t part of the plan. Mira Sullivan disrupts my brain in ways I can’t explain. The way she stands her ground and challenges me directly—it’s refreshing. Most people cower, averting their eyes as if that might save them.

Not Mira. She stares back, defiant, even as desire darkens her eyes.

Three days. Just three days until the Hunt begins, and I can take what’s been tempting me since I met her. I’ve never wanted to extend my claim beyond the Hunt before. The women were entertaining enough for those three days, but ultimately forgettable once the game ended.

With Mira, I find myself considering possibilities beyond the Hunt. Reckless thoughts. Attachments are liabilities—soft spots waiting to be used. And yet, she gets under my skin in ways I didn’t plan for. That’s a problem. One I don’t hate.

I push through the door leading to my office, my sanctuary within Purgatory. She needs to be neutralized before she can cause damage, and claiming her during the Hunt is the most efficient solution.

If I enjoy the process more than usual, that’s simply a bonus.