Page 53 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

I wake to cold sheets and an empty bed. My hand instinctively reaches for Mira’s warmth, finding nothing but rumpled silk where she should be. The penthouse feels too quiet, too still.

“Mira?” I call out, sitting up and scanning the bedroom. No response.

I pull on my pants and move through the living space, checking the kitchen, the balcony, and the guest bathroom. Nothing. A familiar tension coils in my chest—the same feeling I get when a deal goes sideways or when enemies get too close to my territory.

Then I hear it. The subtle creak of a floorboard from the direction of my office.

Rage flares instantly. My office is off-limits. Always. The one space in this penthouse that remains mine alone, filled with records and communications that could destroy everything my brothers and I have built.

I move silently down the hallway, each step calculated to avoid the boards I know will give me away. The office door stands slightly ajar, and through the gap, I can see her—Mira, illuminated by the glow of my computer screen, scrolling through files she has no business accessing.

Three days of tenderness, of thinking she’d changed, of believing she might care about me rather than the story. Three days of letting my guard down, and she’s right back to her usual investigative ways.

I slam the door open hard enough to rattle the frame.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Mira spins around, eyes wide with surprise but no guilt. That might be the most infuriating part—she doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

“Xavier, I?—”

“Get. Away. From. My. Desk.” Each word comes out like a bullet. “Now.”

She doesn’t scramble to close the computer or stammer out excuses. Instead, she lifts her chin with that familiar defiance that first drew me to her.

“I still need my answers.”

“Your answers?” The temperature in my voice could freeze blood. “After everything that’s happened between us, you’re still playing journalist?”

“Even if I never publish them,” she continues, her voice steady despite the fury radiating from me. “I need to know the devil I’m in bed with.”

The words hit their mark perfectly. Devil.

As if I don’t already know exactly who I am. As if the past three days of tenderness between us meant nothing compared to her need for the truth.

“Get out.” My voice is deadly quiet now, which is infinitely more dangerous than shouting. “Get out of my office before I do something I regret.”

She stands her ground, meeting my gaze without flinching. “No. You can give me the answers I’m seeking.”

Her voice cuts through my rage like a blade, steady and unwavering. She’s not backing down, not even with me radiating enough fury to make grown men grovel.

“All I want to know is how corrupt your dealings are. How much of a criminal you are.”

The question hangs between us like a loaded gun. My hands clench into fists at my sides, every muscle coiled tight. She wants the truth. She wants to know exactly what kind of monster she’s been sharing a bed with.

“Why does it matter?”

The words come out rougher than I intended. My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, to flee from whatever her answer might be.

“Why?” I step closer, my voice rising. “Because you need material for your exposé? Because you’re still that same woman who came into my club looking to destroy me?”

“No, Xavier?—”

“Then why?” I’m almost shouting now. “Why does knowing how deep the corruption goes matter if you’re not planning to use it against me?”

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat even as I tower over her. The computer screen casts harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the determination in her eyes.

“Because I’m falling in love with you.”

My breath catches, my entire world tilting on its axis.

“And I need to know what that means,” she continues. “I need to know if I’m falling for someone who bends rules or if I’m falling for someone who destroys lives.”

The vulnerability in her confession strips away every defense I’ve built. She’s not asking as a journalist. She's asking as a woman terrified of what she's feeling, desperate to understand the man who's claimed not only her body but territory infinitely more dangerous—her heart.

“You want the truth?” My voice is barely above a whisper now, all the fight bleeding out of me. “You want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

She nods.

“Alright.” I move to the window, putting distance between us before the words tear me apart. “You want the truth about what I am? I deal drugs, Mira. Cocaine, heroin, fentanyl—anything that moves through this city has my fingerprints on it.”

Her sharp intake of breath cuts through the silence, but I can’t stop now. The floodgates are open.

“I launder money through a dozen legitimate businesses. Art galleries, real estate ventures, and restaurants. Half of Ravenwood’s economy runs on blood money that’s been cleaned through my operations. ”

I turn to face her, watching the color drain from her cheeks as each confession lands like a physical blow.

“And I’ve killed people, Mira. Not in some distant war or act of self-defense. I’ve put bullets in men’s heads because they crossed my family. I’ve extracted information from people who thought they could steal from us. I’ve ordered executions and watched them carried out.”

She grips the edge of my desk, her knuckles white as the full weight of what I am settles over her. The investigative side of her wanted the story. Still, the woman falling in love with me is realizing she’s been sleeping with a monster.

“You look like you’re going to be sick.” The observation comes out flat and emotionless. It’s easier than acknowledging the way her horror cuts through me like a blade.

“That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it? That’s the devil you’ve been sharing a bed with.”

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face has gone completely pale, and I can practically see her mind racing, trying to reconcile the man who held her tenderly last night with the killer standing before her now.

“What about the women? Don’t tell me you have no idea what happens to the missing women in the Ravenwood Hollow. I knew Monica Talbit from school. We met in second grade, and she disappeared two years ago. When I was digging, her brother said she participated two years ago.”

My fists clench at my sides, knuckles going white as I struggle to contain the rage threatening to erupt. I take a measured breath, forcing my lungs to expand fully before I speak. Control. Always control.

“We. DO NOT. Traffic. Human. Beings.” Each word comes out like a bullet. “That isn’t an act we would ever participate in or even allow to be run through this town.” My jaw tightens to the point of pain. “Is that who you think I am after everything between us?”

Mira blinks up at me, that familiar defiance etched across her features.

The disdain in her eyes cuts deeper than it should.

I never thought for a moment that our relocation program—a courtesy we extend to any prey who feels they cannot return to their former life—would spawn rumors of human trafficking.

The mere suggestion makes my blood boil.

“Is that what you think?” My voice comes out frayed at the edges, control slipping for the first time in years.

She sits silent for a long minute, and I can practically see the gears turning behind those hazel eyes. Always analyzing, always questioning. I give her time to respond, to say anything that might indicate she doesn’t believe I’m capable of such reprehensible actions.

The Hunt is one thing—a game with rules, boundaries, consent, however twisted that consent might be.

No one is ever intentionally harmed. Ever.

We’ve had several prey over the years who wanted a fresh start elsewhere after the Hunt, but that was never accomplished by selling them like fucking cattle.

“Tell me you don’t believe that, Mira.” My voice drops dangerously low. “Miss Talbit was relocated. She wanted to live her life on her terms elsewhere. And we gave her the ability to do that.”

Her brows furrow, and I watch her mind working through the reality she never entertained—that we might not be complete monsters after all.

“Monica moved to the city,” I continue, ice creeping into my tone.

“I can call her and ask if she minds you speaking with her.” I step closer, forcing her to look up to maintain eye contact.

“I shouldn’t have to, though. After everything we’ve shared, after the Hunt, after the ceremony and the feast with our benefactors, did you see a single woman who was permanently scarred?

No, you did not, because that is the most stringent rule of the Hunt. ”

“I—” she starts, then her mouth snaps shut. I can see the internal battle playing out behind those hazel eyes.

“I’ll take you up on that,” she finally says, chin lifting with that stubborn defiance that both infuriates and arouses me. “I need to hear it from her lips, though. No manipulation.”

I nod curtly, both disappointed and offended by her continued suspicion. The woman I’ve claimed, the one who surrendered so beautifully to me, still thinks I might be capable of selling human beings after everything.

“Fine,” I say, voice tight with fury. “You’ll have your proof.” I swallow hard. “Do you want to know the thing I’m most scared of, Mira?”

Mira nods in reply.

“The thing that terrifies me more than any enemy I’ve ever faced is this—us.” My voice cracks despite my efforts to maintain control. “I believed I was incapable of love. Thought it was beaten out of me years ago, that it was a weakness I couldn’t afford.”

I take a step toward her, then stop, unsure if I have the right to close the distance anymore.

“You changed that. You’ve become my entire world, Mira. Not my obsession or my possession—my world. And I don’t know what the fuck that makes me now. Monsters can’t love, so why do I love you?”

The words tear from my throat like they’re being ripped from my soul.