Page 50 of Stalked
Ineed a fucking drink.
After watching Lia with her friends for another hour, I grab my jacket and head down to the main floor of Purgatory. The bass pounds through the walls before I even reach the main space, vibrating under my skin like a second heartbeat. Maybe the noise and alcohol will drown out thoughts of her for a few hours. Just until midnight tomorrow, when the Hunt begins. When she's finally mine.
The club is packed tonight—bodies writhing on the dance floor, drinks flowing at the bar, and the private rooms fully booked. I nod at the security guard, who steps aside, allowing me through the velvet rope to the VIP section.
My brothers are already there, sprawled across the black leather couches. Xavier nurses a whiskey, his face impassive as always. Landon scrolls through his phone. And Knox is surprisingly alone.
“No stripper tonight?” I drop into the seat across from Knox, signaling the waitress for my usual. “You feeling alright, little brother?”
Knox flips me off without looking up from his drink. “Fuck you. Maybe I'm saving my energy for tomorrow.”
“That's a first,” Xavier remarks dryly. “Usually, you're burning it off with at least two girls by now.”
The waitress delivers my bourbon, and I down half of it in one swallow, welcoming the burn. “Speaking of tomorrow, everyone ready?”
Landon finally puts his phone down. “For the tenth time today, yes. But something feels different this year.” His eyes scan each of us in turn. “All three of you seem... fixated. Not like usual.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“It means,” Landon continues, unperturbed by my tone, “that Knox hasn't touched a woman all week, Xavier's been more brooding than usual—if that's possible—and you've been obsessing over Lia Morgan for weeks.”
Knox laughs. “Weeks? Try fifteen fucking years.”
“Whatever.” I drain my glass, irritated at how accurately Landon has read the situation. “It's just a Hunt. Like any other year.”
It's lies. My brothers' eyes bore into me, seeing right through my bullshit. I drain the rest of my drink and signal for another, needing something to occupy my hands before I put my fist through the wall.
Of course it's fucking different.
Every Hunt before this has been a game—entertaining, sure, sometimes even satisfying for a few months. But this? This is the endgame. The culmination of waiting, watching, and planning. The Hunt is just a formality, a ritual to make official what I've known since freshman year. Lia Morgan is mine.
The contract says a year. One fucking year. As if I'd ever let her go after getting my hands on her again.
I stare into my fresh bourbon, seeing her face reflected in the amber liquid. Running from me after prom. Disappearing onthat bus. Spending years in New York, letting other men touch what's mine.
No. When I catch her tomorrow—and I will catch her—it won't be for a year. It will be forever.
She'd have to put a knife through my heart to get away from me again. She'd have to kill me. And even then, I'd find a way to haunt her from the grave.
“Vane.” Xavier's voice cuts through my thoughts. “You good?”
I look up to find all three of them watching me with varying degrees of concern. I must look exactly how I feel—like a predator ravenous for its prey.
“Never better,” I say, forcing my grip on the glass to relax before it shatters in my hand. “Just thinking about tomorrow.”
Xavier leans forward, lowering his voice. “We need to discuss Ilya Orlov.”
The mention of the Russian's name pulls me from thoughts of Lia. Business. Right. I straighten in my seat.
“What's the update?” I ask, setting my bourbon down.
“Nothing yet,” Xavier's jaw tightens. “First shipment is supposed to arrive one week after the Hunt ends. But our contacts in Moscow have been... inconsistent with their reports.”
Knox rolls his eyes. “Meaning the fucker's planning to screw us.”
“We don't know that,” Landon interjects, always the diplomatic one. “But I've set up additional surveillance on his known associates here in Ravenwood. So far, nothing suspicious.”
I run my finger around the rim of my glass, thinking. Ilya Orlov represents our biggest expansion opportunity in years—the chance to increase our supply chain and double our territory. But Russians are notorious for testing new partners.
