Page 53 of Doomed
“Your journalist has you tied in knots,” I observe, spinning my chair to face him. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Xavier shoots me a look that would make most men piss themselves. I grin wider.
“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your own hunt?” he asks, voice tight with palpable tension.
I stretch, deliberately casual. “Oh, I am. But multitasking is a gift of mine. I can mock you and plan my strategy at the same time.”
On the monitors, technicians make final adjustments to the maze entrance. Soon, six women will enter—five chosen prey and one infiltrator who thinks she can outwit all of us combined. I’m not concerned about Mira Sullivan. That’s Xavier’s problem. My attention is solely on Bianca.
The thought of her in that blue silk makes my cock twitch. I’ve been imagining her in it since I made sure she was assigned my color. Blue for Bianca—perfect for my little artist with her fire and defiance, wrapped in my signature shade.
“Door’s opening in five,” Vane announces from his station, his voice clipped.
I tap my fingers against the control panel, impatience building. The waiting is always the worst part. Thirty minutes of watching them scramble through the maze before we’re released to hunt—it’s delicious torture.
“You seem particularly invested this year, Knox,” Landon observes without looking away from his screen.
“Please,” I scoff, “after seven years of this, I know how to appreciate the build-up. The anticipation is half the fun.”
Vane snorts. “Is that what you tell yourself when they slip through your fingers?”
“Name one time that’s happened,” I challenge, though my mind is fixed on the one woman who’s consistently walked away from me. Not tonight, though. Tonight, Bianca Hayes has nowhere to run.
The door to the control room opens, and the other hunters file in. The energy shifts immediately, testosterone and anticipation thickening the air. Eleven men take their positions around the monitors, each with their own predatory focus.
I nod to Ryder Caldwell as he leans against the wall near me. “Betting pool open?” he asks.
“Always,” I grin, pulling out my phone. “Standard wagers—first capture, most creative takedown, loudest screamer.”
“Put me down for first capture,” Ryder says, sliding me a hundred-dollar bill. “I’ve got a feeling about tonight.”
I pocket the cash with a laugh. “Bold claim with the Dexter twins in play. Those two Hunt like they share a brain.”
The twins in question stand by the far monitors, Cyrus practically vibrating with energy. At the same time, Ace remains perfectly still beside him. They’re fucking terrifying when they work together, which is always.
“What about you?” Ryder asks, nodding toward the screens. “Who are you after tonight?”
I lean back in my chair, feigning casual interest. “Whoever catches my eye.”
It’s a lie. I’ve had my target picked out since the moment Xavier approved the guest list. Bianca Hayes in blue silk, running through my maze, with nowhere to hide and no one to save her. The thought alone makes my cock throb.
“Door’s open,” Vane announces, and the room falls silent.
Every eye turns to the monitors as the massive entrance to the maze yawns wide. The anticipation is electric, a living thing that ripples through the control room.
Dominic Vega adjusts his cuffs. “The psychological aspect is what makes this so fascinating,” he muses. “The moment they realize they’re truly being hunted.”
“The moment they realize they want to be caught,” Julian Frost corrects softly from his position by the window.
I scan the monitors impatiently, waiting for that first glimpse of blue. My fingers drum against the armrest, a nervous habit I’ve never been able to break.
“There,” Elliot Chambers points to a screen on the left. “First one’s entering.”
A woman in purple silk steps hesitantly into the maze, her mask glinting in the low light. Not Bianca. I barely register her presence before my eyes dart to the next screen.
Green silk enters next, followed by gold. No blue. My jaw clenches.
“Your girl’s taking her time,” Landon observes, his quiet voice cutting through my thoughts.
