Page 55 of Doomed
Ipress my back against the cold stone wall, struggling to control my breathing. The blue silk dress clings to my skin, the material so thin it feels like wearing nothing at all. My fingers trace the edge of the porcelain mask covering the upper half of my face as I try to memorize the path I’ve taken through this elaborate maze.
Left, right, right, left, straight for three intersections, then right again.
The walls tower above me, creating disorienting shadows. I’ve been wandering for what feels like hours, but more likely only twenty minutes. So far, I’ve encountered no one else—not the other women serving as “prey” tonight, nor any of the hunters.
My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of fear and anticipation, a reaction I don’t want to acknowledge. The memory of Knox’s texts last night flashes through my mind—those pictures of his cock, thick and hard. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ignore the heat building between them.
“Focus, Bianca,” I whisper to myself. “This isn’t about desire. It’s about survival.”
But even as I say it, I know I’m lying to myself. Part of me wants him to find me, wants to feel him fucking me the way he promised he would.
A sudden, deafening horn blares through the night, making me jump. The sound echoes off the stone walls, reverberating through me. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
The hunters have been released.
Knox is in here now, searching for me. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. My pussy throbs, already soaking wet despite my fear—or more honestly, because of it. The combination of danger and desire is intoxicating.
I push off from the wall, my legs trembling slightly beneath me. I need to keep moving. Standing still means getting caught, and while part of me craves that capture, another part demands I make him work for it. If he gets to have me, he has to earn it.
“Catch me if you can,” I breathe, gathering the skirt of my dress in my hands as I take off running deeper into the labyrinth.
Suddenly, a low rumble reverberates through the ground beneath my feet. The vibration travels up my legs, and I freeze, instinctively pressing my palm against the nearest wall for balance.
“What the?—”
The stone shifts beneath my touch. Not subtly, but with deliberate purpose. I jerk my hand back as if burned, watching in horror as the entire wall begins to slide sideways with a grinding noise that echoes through the pathway I’m standing in.
“They’re moving,” I whisper, realization dawning with sickening clarity. “The fucking walls are moving.”
My breath comes faster now, panic clawing at my chest. The hunters know. They must know. Why else would Xavier have smiled that cold, calculating smile when explaining the rules? Why else would Knox have looked so confident?
We had a head start, but it means nothing if they understand the maze’s secrets.
I spin around, heart hammering against my ribs, suddenly desperate to retrace my steps. Maybe if I go back the way I came, I can find another path, one less predictable.
But as I turn, the wall behind me slides shut with finality, blocking my escape route with six feet of solid stone.
“Fuck!” The word tears from my throat before I can stop it, bouncing off the walls that are actively erasing any hope I had of a fair game. The only exit, the only safety now, is through. There are fifteen men. What if Knox doesn’t find me first? What the hell have I done? I slam my fist against the newly formed barrier, accomplishing nothing but pain shooting through my knuckles.
I’m being herded like an animal.
A distant laugh echoes through the maze—male, confident, predatory. I can’t tell if it’s Knox or one of the other hunters. Still, a wave of contradictory sensations hit me: fear and arousal flow through my veins until I can barely distinguish between them.
The walls continue to shift, herding me down a narrow corridor that seems to be the only path left. My breath comes in short, panicked gasps as I realize I have no choice but to follow where the maze leads me.
The corridor widens suddenly, opening into a circular room that makes my artistic sensibilities and my survival instincts scream in equal measure. The space is dimly lit with blue-tinted lights that cast everything in an ethereal glow. In the center stands a bed—if you could call it that—more like an altar of depravity. Black silk sheets stretch across a massive circular platform, surrounded by ornate metal posts with chains and cuffs dangling from various heights.
The walls are lined with glass cases displaying items that make my cheeks burn—whips, blindfolds, clamps, and toys I’veonly seen in the darkest corners of the internet. Each item is arranged with meticulous care, like exhibits in a museum.
What catches my eye most is the ceiling—a massive mirror reflects everything below, ensuring whoever ends up on that bed will be forced to watch their own submission from every angle.
“Jesus,” I whisper, backing away instinctively.
But as I retreat, a mechanical click echoes through the room. The entrance I came through slides shut with a definitive thud, sealing me inside this chamber.
My heart hammers against my ribs as another door on the opposite side of the room slides open.
And there he stands—Knox Blackwood, his blue mask covering the lower half of his face. He’s dressed in black leather, which clings to his muscular frame like a second skin. The sight of him standing there, his eyes roaming my body hungrily, makes my pulse race. The emotions flooding my system have become so frenzied that I can no longer distinguish one from the next.
