Page 18 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

M y cock strains against the leather of my riding pants as I step out of the holding room, the image of Mira in that red silk burned into my retinas.

The way the fabric clung to every curve, barely containing her breasts, the hem riding so high I caught glimpses of her inner thighs—fuck, I’m harder than I’ve ever been.

Red. My color. She looks so perfect wrapped in it, like a gift I’m about to unwrap with my teeth.

I force myself to walk steadily down the corridor toward the control room, every step sending jolts of pleasure through my aching dick.

The leather is unforgiving, creating delicious friction that makes my jaw clench.

I need to get my head straight before this begins, but all I can think about is how those silk ties would feel sliding through my fingers as I undress her.

The control room buzzes with activity as Knox, Vane, and Landon monitor the feeds. Banks of screens show every angle, every shadow, every possible hiding spot. This is where strategy matters, where patience pays off.

But strategy feels impossible when my cock is throbbing with need.

“Jesus, X,” Knox mutters from his position at the monitors. “You look like you’re about to tear the room apart.”

“Just focusing,” I grind out, adjusting myself.

On the screens, the maze entrance begins to open with a mechanical whir. Six women will enter in moments—my prey for the evening. But only one matters. Only one has my complete attention.

I press the heel of my hand against my erection, trying to ease the ache.

The image of Mira’s horrified expression as she realized how little the outfit covered flashes through my mind, followed immediately by the way her pupils dilated when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Fear and arousal warring in those hazel eyes.

She wants this as much as I do, even if she won’t admit it.

The thought makes my dick pulse harder. I need to catch her first. The idea of another man’s hands on that silk, of anyone else touching what should be mine—the possessiveness that surges through me is violent enough to surprise even me.

I’d kill them without hesitation, even though violence is against the rules.

“Door’s open,” Vane announces from his station.

I watch the entrance yawn wide on the screen. Soon, she’ll step into my domain, into my world where I make the rules.

I grip the edge of the control panel, knuckles white as I fight for control.

The door to the control room opens, and eleven men file in. The air thickens with testosterone and ravenous hunger as they take their positions around the monitors.

Elliot Chambers studies the maze layout. “Excellent construction work, Xavier. It’s almost artistic.”

Victor Kane stretches his neck, rolling massive shoulders. The enforcer’s presence fills the space like a thundercloud. “How long before we’re released?”

“Patience,” I growl, as I watch the entrance on screen.

Theo Winters runs his fingers through his dark hair, blue undertones catching the monitor light. His gaze sweeps the feeds with obvious appreciation. “This is going to be beautiful chaos.”

Ryder Caldwell leans against the wall with casual confidence, green eyes bright with anticipation. “Any particular rules about methods this year?”

My jaw clenches. “Standard rules apply. No permanent damage.”

Marcus Reid stands at attention near the back. His dark gaze assesses each screen. “Security protocols are impressive.”

Julian Frost remains perfectly still by the window, with pale features carved from marble. He says nothing.

Dominic Vega smooths his tailored jacket, olive skin gleaming under the harsh fluorescents. “The psychological element adds such delicious complexity.”

The Dexter twins flank each other near the monitors—Cyrus vibrating with barely contained energy. At the same time, Ace watches everything with piercing hazel eyes. Cyrus cracks his knuckles. “Fuck, I’m ready to hunt.”

Ace simply nods; his calm demeanor a stark contrast to his brother’s volatility.

Liam Hayes straightens his expensive tie, blue eyes gleaming. “The legal implications of tonight’s activities remain fascinating.”

Jenson steps forward from the shadows where he’d been observing silently. My spymaster’s presence always brings an edge of danger. “All surveillance equipment is functioning perfectly. No blind spots.”

Fifteen hunters total. Fifteen men with their own dark appetites.

But only one prize matters to me.

On the screens, movement catches my attention. The women are approaching the entrance, red silk flashing among the other colors.

“Thirty minutes,” I announce, my voice cutting through the tension in the control room. “Standard head start before we’re released.”

Cyrus explodes from his position near the monitors, fists clenching. “Thirty fucking minutes? That’s a goddamn killjoy, X. Why torture ourselves watching when we could be hunting?”

For once, I find myself agreeing with the erratic Dexter twin. The wait feels like agony when every fiber of my being screams to chase down that flash of red silk. My cock is so fucking hard it demands action instead of observation.

“Cyrus has a point,” I growl, surprising everyone in the room. “Thirty minutes is excessive.”

Knox snorts from his station, fingers drumming against the control panel. “Listen to you two. Like rabid dogs straining against chains.”

“Says the man who’s practically vibrating with anticipation,” Vane observes dryly, his green eyes fixed on the screens. “Your left eye’s been twitching for the past five minutes.”

“That’s just my natural charm,” Knox shoots back, flashing his trademark grin. “Some call it cute.”

Landon doesn’t look up from his analysis of the maze feeds, but his voice carries quiet amusement. “Some call it psychological instability.”

“Fuck you, Landon,” Knox laughs. “At least I show emotion instead of calculating every breath in zeros and ones.”

“Calculation keeps us alive,” Landon replies smoothly. “Impulse gets us killed.”

Vane leans against the wall, arms crossed, as he studies his youngest brother. “Speaking of impulse, Knox, what’s your strategy tonight? Chase the loudest screamer and hope for the best?”

“My strategy is flawless,” Knox declares with mock seriousness. “Pure instinct and devastating good looks.”

“That’s not a strategy,” Landon mutters. “That’s a recipe for disaster.”

I barely hear their banter, my attention split between the monitors and the ache in my groin. On-screen, red silk disappears around a corner, taking my sanity with it. Twenty-eight minutes left.

Cyrus paces like a caged animal, running his hands through his dark hair. “This is fucking torture. We should be out there already.”

My fingers grip the control panel until my knuckles turn white. Every second that passes is another second Mira moves deeper into the maze, giving her more chances to find hiding spots or form alliances.

Twenty-seven minutes and counting.

The wait might kill me before the hunt even begins.