Page 121 of Gilded Locks
“Yes. There’s actually an extensive waiting list to get invited to the Feast.”
“Are they shot?”
The men all laughed. “Hell no,” Stone said. “No one is hurt beyond a scraped knee.”
“Or a chafed wrist.”
“Or a sore ass.”
She held up a hand. “I get the picture. So, these men pay a million dollars to use the property, and they hunt the women like they’re some sort of Hunger Games tribute?”
“Pretty much.”
“What do they do when they catch them?”
“Whatever the hell they want. Everyone on the guest list is fully aware of the possible outcomes and no one attends without full comprehension of the rules and total consent.”
Her breath caught as she imagined what some men might do to a woman with limitless consent.
“They have twenty-four hours, and the women are paid whether they get caught or not. The entire Feast is surveyed closely. No one is hurt. We take all necessary precautions.”
“I think I’m okay with sitting that one out.”
Hunter’s dark eyes narrowed on her in that way that made her skin tingle as if he were already touching her. But he hadn’t moved an inch. He just stared at her, dominating that leather wingback chair as if it were a throne.
“Good, because you’ll be in your room,” Ash said.
“With the doors locked,” Stone added.
“And this time, Cole will keep you there.”
“Speaking of Cole, how’s he enjoying his vacation?”
“He’s not on vacation. He’s working a job. We sent him with Katya for protection.”
Marigold smirked. “And, by the looks of that string bikini, he must really have his work cut out for him.”
The three of them grumbled various words of disapproval in Russian.
“We’re done here,” Stone announced, rising from his seat. “You’re coming with me.”
“Not so fast.” Hunter’s voice cut through the library like a blade through silk. He remained in his chair, sprawled with deliberate casualness, but his onyx eyes tracked Marigold with predatory focus that made her stomach drop.
Stone paused, one hand still wrapped around Marigold’s wrist. “Problem?”
“Yes. Our little fox needs to understand why women might volunteer to be hunted.”
Marigold drew back. “No, I think I’m set?—”
Hunter held up a silencing hand. “Our clients come to The Preserve with a certain expectation. Our exclusivity and impeccable standards maintains an elite clientele. Beyond absolute discretion, we provide a judgement free space for them to explore their darker…proclivities. We do not judge that which is done with safe and sane consent.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were.” He glanced briefly at his brothers then back to her with dark promise in his eyes. “Now, you need a lesson.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Wh—what kind of lesson?”
Hunter rose slowly, unfolding from the leather chair with the lethal grace of something wild barely contained in human skin. Each movement was calculated, deliberate, a predator preparing to strike. “If you can’t comprehend the appeal of a hunt, I think it’s time for a demonstration.”
