Page 33 of Doomed
“You might want to ease up on that glass before you shatter it,” Vane says, appearing beside me.
I realize I’m gripping my whiskey so hard my knuckles have gone white. I set it down.
“She’s putting on quite the show,” Vane continues, following my gaze. “Think she knows you’re watching?”
“Oh, she knows.”
Bianca’s eyes flick in my direction—just long enough to confirm I’m watching. Then she leans closer to whatever fucking nobody currently has her attention, laughing louder, touching him more.
When he leans toward her again to whisper in her ear, her eyes find mine across the room. She smiles, slow and deliberate, before turning back to him.
What is her deal?
She sees me break a guy’s fingers, and suddenly she’s trying to make me jealous?
“Interesting strategy,” Vane comments.
I drain my whiskey. “She’s making a point.”
“Seems like it’s working.” Vane signals the bartender for another round. “Speaking of women making points, have you picked someone to invite to the Hunt yet? It’s coming up fast.”
I check my phone, swiping to the calendar. “Fuck. Is it really only two weeks away? I didn’t realize.”
The Hollow’s Hunt is our family’s most sacred tradition—once a year, when the Blackwood brothers and our chosen companions engage in a game that tests limits in every way imaginable. Seventy-two hours when propriety shifts, desires are laid bare, and nothing is forbidden.
I look back at Bianca, who’s now letting some other asshole buy her a drink. The pieces click into place in my mind.
“Actually,” I say, “I think I have decided who I’m inviting.”
I leave the main floor, heading back to my brother’s office and entering without knocking. Xavier doesn’t even look up from the paperwork spread across his desk.
“Shouldn’t you be terrorizing the staff or something equally productive, Knox?” he asks, pen moving across the document in front of him.
I sprawl into the leather chair opposite his desk. “Terrorizing is your specialty, big brother. I prefer to call itemployee morale assessment.” I grin, reaching for one of the crystal tumblers to pour myself whiskey from his decanter. “Besides, the new bartender in section three makes the most fascinating faces when I change my drink order three times.”
Xavier slides the stack of invitations into his desk drawer. I catch Mira’s name before he can hide it completely.
“Hold up. Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
Xavier’s expression hardens, his eyes meeting mine with unnerving stillness. The temperature in the room seems to turn to arctic levels.
“Since when do you care about the Hollow’s Hunt invitations?” Xavier asks, studying me with unsettling intensity.
I lean forward, dropping my usual carefree persona. This shit’s too important for games. “Since you decided to invite a fucking reporter to our most exclusive event.”
Xavier’s hand stills on the invitation. “What are you talking about?”
“Mira Sullivan.” I pull out my phone, swiping to the research from her employment application. “A freelance investigative journalist with a rather impressive portfolio of exposés on corruption in high places.” I slide my phone across his desk. “She’s been published in several major outlets. Got quite the reputation for going undercover and destroying people’s lives with what she finds.”
Xavier scrolls through the articles, his expression unreadable as he takes in Mira’s byline on pieces about corrupt politicians, drug trafficking networks, and corporate fraud. I’ve been keeping an eye on her; hiring her has never felt right to me.
“The bartending gig? It’s bullshit. She’s fishing for a story about us, about Purgatory.” I retrieve my phone. “I’ve been watching her. She asks too many questions and listens too carefully. Not exactly subtle if you know what to look for.”
Xavier taps his fingers against the desk, and a smirk forms across his lips. Fuck. I know that look, and it’s never good.
“You think this is funny?” I ask. “Xavier, you can’t?—”
“On the contrary,” he interrupts, “I find it fascinating.”
