Page 5 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

MIRA

T he employee break room mirror reflects a woman I barely recognize anymore.

Dark liner rims my eyes, making the hazel pop against my skin.

I adjust the tight black top—standard Purgatory uniform designed to show off assets rather than conceal them.

Over three weeks undercover, and I still feel exposed.

I reapply my lipstick, the deep crimson making me look desirable—exactly what this job requires. My fingers tremble. The stakes have risen since I overheard talk of the Hunt. Evidence. That’s what I need. Something concrete to expose the Blackwoods.

The door swings open behind me. In the mirror, I watch Xavier Blackwood enter like he owns the place—because he does. The air instantly feels charged.

“Evening, Mira.” His voice wraps around my name, low and smooth. “How are you? ”

I turn slowly, leaning against the counter. “Fine. Just getting ready for my shift.”

“I can see that.” His eyes travel deliberately down the length of me, lingering in places that make heat rise to my cheeks. “The uniform suits you.”

“Was there something you needed, Mr. Blackwood?” I cross my arms, forcing myself to remain professional.

He steps closer—too close. “I think we’ve moved beyond ‘Mr. Blackwood,’ don’t you? After our conversation the other night.”

The scent of his expensive cologne fills my senses. I hold my ground, though every instinct screams to step back.

“Xavier, then.” His name feels intimate. “What do you want?”

He smiles. “At the moment? Just checking on my favorite new employee.”

His fingers graze my arm—light enough to seem accidental if not for the look in his eyes. The spot where he touched me burns like tiny flames were left in his wake.

“I’m not easily intimidated,” I say.

“That’s precisely what I find fascinating about you.” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Most people in this club fear me. You challenge me.”

He’s dangerous, and I know it, yet I can’t deny the magnetism between us.

I take a step back, my lower back pressing against the edge of the counter. “You don’t know anything about me. ”

Xavier steps closer, every movement unhurried, like he already knows I won’t stop him.

“I know more than you think.” His voice drops an octave. “I make it my business to understand what makes people tick. Especially people who interest me.”

“And I interest you?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“Immensely.”

His hands settle on my hips, firm but not forceful, holding me there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, almost making it feel intimate.

Heat floods through the thin fabric of my uniform.

Every instinct screams to pull back, to put distance between us, but I stay rooted, unmoving as if my body hasn’t gotten the memo.

I look up, which is a mistake. Those eyes lock onto mine—sharp, searching, and lit with something I can’t name.

Whatever fight I did have in me immediately goes out the window.

The part of me that came here to expose him—the reporter, the observer—feels far away now, eclipsed by something I don’t fully understand but can’t bring myself to stop.

“You’re trembling,” he observes, his thumbs making small circles against my hip bones.

“I’m not afraid of you.” It’s only half a lie.

His lips curve into a devastating smile. “Fear isn’t the only thing that makes a woman tremble.”

I swallow hard. “What do you want from me?”

Xavier reaches into his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. Between his fingers appears a sleek black envelope edged in blood red.

“An invitation.” His voice drops lower. “To the Hollow’s Hunt.”

This is it—the access I’ve been working toward for weeks. The evidence I need might be within reach. Yet, as Xavier places the envelope in my palm, I’m distracted by the way his fingers brush against mine.

“Why me?” I ask breathlessly.

He doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, his fingers close over mine, trapping the invitation between our palms. Heat radiates from where our skin connects, traveling up my arm and spreading through my chest.

“Because you intrigue me. Most women who work here either fear me or want something from me. You... you look at me like you’re trying to solve a puzzle.”

I am. Xavier is the puzzle I need to decode to break this story.

“The Hunt is exclusive.” His face inches closer, and I catch the scent of mint on his breath. “Dangerous, even, but I think you already know that.”

I remain frozen, caught in the gravity of his presence, the weight of his hand over mine burning like a brand.

His fingers tighten subtly. “The Hunt reveals people’s true nature. What will it reveal about you, I wonder?”

My heart pounds so loudly I’m certain he can hear it. The rational part of my brain screams in warning.

Xavier leans in closer, his lips hovering inches from mine—and I’ve never wanted to be kissed more than I do right now. My eyes drift half-closed as sensation overrules my better judgment. For one electric moment, the space between us crackles with possibility.

Then he pulls back, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He never intended to kiss me. This was just another power play.

“I’ll need your answer within twenty-four hours,” he says. “The Hunt waits for no one.”

His fingers release mine, leaving the invitation in my palm. Without the heat of his touch, the envelope feels cold and dangerous.

“Consider carefully. Once you’re in, there’s no turning back.”

With that, he turns and walks away, confident in every step. The door closes behind him, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

My hands tremble as I tear open the black envelope. Inside is a card handwritten in elegant script—Xavier’s, I assume. The crimson ink gleams under the fluorescent lights as I read:

The Hollow’s Hunt welcomes you as prey.

Friday, midnight.

Wear something you don’t mind losing.

Come alone. Tell no one.

—X

My initial triumph fades as I notice the second item in the envelope. A legal document, several pages thick, with “NON-DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT” emblazoned across the top.

I scan the dense paragraphs. The language is absolute. By signing, I agree that anything witnessed or experienced during the Hunt remains confidential. Violation results in severe legal consequences. Near the end, a clause specifically mentions that publications of any kind are expressly forbidden.

My heart sinks. This is a poison pill for my investigation. If I sign, I will be legally unable to publish what I discover. If I don’t sign, I’ll never get inside.

I lean against the counter, the NDA heavy in my hands. Three weeks of serving drinks, enduring wandering hands, and lewd comments, all for access to the truth about the Blackwoods. And now this obstacle.

Still... being inside the Hunt means witnessing firsthand what happens behind Purgatory’s most exclusive doors. There may be ways to circumvent an NDA. Enough to bring the Blackwoods to justice without risking my freedom.