Page 13 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

I check my tire pressure, my mind cycling through the complications of the upcoming Hunt.

Mira was an unexpected variable—challenging but manageable.

Cora Pike’s sudden involvement, however, presents an interesting twist. The mayor’s daughter signing herself up for our little game changes the stakes considerably.

I move the cloth in slow circles over the chrome exhaust. A journalist and a politician’s daughter. Two potential threats to our carefully controlled system.

The garage door bangs open, the peaceful silence shattered by Knox’s entrance. My younger brother strides in, helmet tucked under his arm, wearing that perpetual smirk that makes me want to simultaneously protect and strangle him.

“What are you doing? Polishing your pipe to distract from your awkwardly deep feelings for the bartender?” Knox taunts, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. His Aprilia RSV4 stands beside mine, modified with aggressive blue accents.

I don’t look up. “Keeping this ‘beauty’ running smoothly. Someone has to remind you how to ride like an adult.”

Knox laughs, circling his bike. “I ride exactly how I should—fast enough that consequences can’t catch up.” He revs the engine, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. “Besides, my bike might not be as refined as yours, but at least it has personality.”

“Your bike is a reflection of your chaos,” I reply, standing up to my full height. “Loud, flashy, and constantly on the verge of disaster.”

The side door opens, and Vane walks in, his imposing frame blocking the light momentarily. His green Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R is already positioned near the garage exit, ready as always.

“If we’re talking disasters,” Vane interjects, grabbing his helmet off the shelf, “let’s discuss Knox’s latest conquest. Wasn’t it the redhead from VIP section three? The one who slapped you after you suggested a threesome with her sister?”

I roll my eyes at Vane’s comment, but can’t help the slight upward curve of my lips. “At least Knox’s love life provides endless entertainment. It’s the only reliable service he offers the family.”

“I prefer the term’ morale officer,’ “Knox counters, dramatically bowing. “Someone has to keep things interesting while you three brood in corners.”

Vane crosses his arms, leaning against his motorcycle. “Interesting is one word for it. Catastrophic is another.”

The familiar rhythm of our banter settles me. This is how we’ve always communicated—sharp words hiding genuine affection, insults masking the unspoken truth that we’d kill or die for each other without hesitation. In our world of blood and shadows, these moments of normalcy keep us grounded.

“Speaking of catastrophic,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag, “how’s the Hunt preparation coming along?”

Knox’s expression brightens. “The other masks arrived this morning. Pristine and terrifying, just how I like them.”

“Terror is only effective when applied properly,” comes a quiet voice from the doorway.

Landon enters. While the rest of us command attention through the force of personality, Landon’s power lies in his stillness. His Ducati Panigale V4 is the only white bike among our machines—clean, elegant, and deceptively dangerous.

“Look who finally emerged from his lair,” Knox teases. “Did you run out of books to read, or did the silence finally drive you mad?”

Landon’s mouth quirks slightly. “I was updating our surveillance systems. Someone needs to ensure we don’t all end up in prison because you can’t stop sending dick pics on unsecured lines.”

Vane barks out a laugh. “He’s got you there.”

“One time!” Knox protests, throwing his hands up in the air. “And it was a very artistic shot.”

I shake my head, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility ease slightly. This is why we survive—four broken pieces forming something stronger together than apart. Our humor isn’t just a coping mechanism from losing our mother so young; it’s armor against the darkness we both fight and embody.

I shrug into my leather jacket, the material familiar against my skin like a second layer of armor.

Around me, my brothers are doing the same—Knox with dramatic flair, Vane with his competitive gleam in his eyes, and Landon with quiet focus.

There’s a ritual to these moments before we ride, a silent acknowledgment of the freedom waiting beyond the garage doors.

“Last one to the ridge buys the first round,” Knox challenges, already pulling on his gloves.

I don’t respond to the childish taunt. I never do. But I feel that familiar spark of competition ignite as I fasten my helmet, adjusting the strap.

The garage door rises with a mechanical groan, revealing the darkening sky—deep purples bleeding into fading orange as sunset sinks at the horizon and twilight falls over Ravenwood. Perfect riding conditions. Minimal traffic. Maximum visibility. Reduced police presence on our usual routes.

I throw my leg over my bike, settling into the seat. With a flick of my wrist, the key turns and the engine awakens with a thunderous roar—raw power vibrating through my thighs and spine, reaching deep into my chest where tension finally starts to unravel.

We ride out one by one, a procession of gleaming machines. The formation is instinctive, with me in the lead, Vane flanking right, Landon left, and Knox bringing up the rear, where his unpredictability causes the least disruption.

The first stretch of road is still within city limits. Buildings blur at the periphery of my vision as we accelerate, weaving between sparse evening traffic. But it’s when we hit the coastal highway that everything changes.

The road opens before us, a ribbon of asphalt hugging the cliffside. To our right, the ocean stretches endlessly, reflecting the dying sunlight in shattered fragments of gold. The wind tears at my jacket, creating resistance. I push through with nothing but wrist movement and body weight.

This is the only place I truly relinquish control.

The empire I’ve built requires constant vigilance, meticulous planning, and iron discipline.

But here, leaning into a curve at one hundred and twenty miles per hour, there’s only instinct and reaction.

Physics has become my only master—a relationship far simpler than the complex web of alliances and threats I navigate daily .

I open the throttle wider, feeling the surge of acceleration push me back against the seat.

My brothers match my pace, our engines harmonizing into a song of power and velocity.

For these precious minutes, we aren’t the fearsome Blackwood brothers ruling Ravenwood’s underworld.

We’re simply four men chasing the horizon, outrunning our shadows.

I push the bike harder, feeling it respond instantly to my command. The connection between man and machine is an alliance I’ve cherished since I was fifteen—the first time our father let us take out his old motorcycles on the back roads of our estate.

Knox was thirteen then, barely able to reach the pegs but insistent he could keep up. He crashed within twenty minutes, grinning through a bloody lip and declaring it “fucking worth it.” Even then, he embraced chaos like an old friend.

Glancing in my mirror, I catch sight of him now, performing a needless wheelie despite the cliff edge mere feet away.

Some things never change. Knox operates on impulse, making him both our greatest liability and our most unexpected asset.

His unpredictability has saved us as often as it’s endangered us.

Vane rides differently—calculated aggression in every movement. He takes curves with confidence, always finding the perfect line through any obstacle. In business, as in riding, Vane sees patterns others miss. Where Knox is chaos, Vane is strategic fury—a weapon I’ve learned to aim with care.

Landon remains the enigma, standing back slightly and observing everything. While Vane acts and Knox reacts, Landon analyzes. His quiet counsel has prevented more disasters than I care to admit, but deep down, he’s the most fucked up of all of us.

I remember the night our father died—the four of us riding until dawn, no destination in mind, just the need to outrun grief we weren’t equipped to process.

We returned as the sun broke the horizon, and a kind of peace in the chaos of our family solidified between us.

Whatever came next, we would face it together.

I signal to pull over at Eagle Point, the overlook offering a panoramic view of Ravenwood.

We remove our helmets in unison, the silence between us comfortable until Knox breaks it.

“The Hunt is in two days. You think your journalist is ready to be prey, X?”

The temporary freedom of the ride evaporates, replaced by the weight of what’s coming. Two wildcards in a game where I’ve meticulously stacked the deck.

“She doesn’t know what she’s walking into,” Vane observes, eyes fixed on the city below. “None of them do.”

I watch my brothers as they stand silently beside me, the city of Ravenwood laid out like a glittering chessboard below us. Knox’s question about Mira hangs in the air between us, demanding an answer I’m not sure I have.

“She thinks she knows what she’s getting into,” I say, my voice cutting through the wind. “But she has no idea what claiming really means in our world. ”

“And now there are two of them. The mayor’s daughter complicates things.”

That’s the understatement of the year. Cora Pike’s involvement transforms a contained situation into a potential political nightmare. But I’ve never been one to shy away from complications—I thrive on them.

“Mira, I understand,” Vane says, his eyes narrowed. “She’s chasing a story, willing to risk everything for it. But Pike’s daughter? What’s her angle?”

“Some people are drawn to danger,” Knox interjects. “Not everyone wants the safe, sanitized version of life.”

I slide my helmet back on. The Hunt preparations are nearly complete; the contestants have been selected, and the rules are established. Whatever motivations drive Mira Sullivan and Cora Pike to participate in our game, they’ve made their choice by signing those NDAs.

“We ride back separately,” I instruct. “I have preparations to finalize.” Then flip my visor down to shield my face.

They don’t question me. They never do when I use this tone.

As I mount my bike and kick it to life, I feel the familiar rush of power beneath me.

The Hunt has always been a fun, exclusive event, but this year’s Hunt feels different.

This year, I’m not looking to have fun—I’m claiming someone I want.

I pull away from the overlook, leaving my brothers behind as the night embraces me. Two days until the Hunt begins. Two days until Mira Sullivan learns exactly what it means to challenge a Blackwood.

And I intend to teach her that lesson personally.