Page 54 of Stalked
When Lia mentioned her experiences at The Red Room during her interview, I’ve never felt such bloodthirsty envy in all my life. The thought of other men touching her, binding her, claiming what's rightfully mine—it's been eating at me ever since. The jealousy burns like acid, but I channel it into determination.
Tonight, I'll erase every memory she has of those dominants.
The corridor opens into a large chamber filled with various suspension points, hooks embedded in the ceiling, and carefully organized shelves of rope. Hemp, jute, silk, cotton—all arranged by material, thickness, and color. I run my fingers along a length of emerald green hemp rope—the one I noticed her touching earlier on the monitors.
“Perfect,” I mutter.
I grab several lengths of the green rope, draping them across my shoulders as I hear soft footsteps approaching. She's coming back this way.
I position myself against the far wall, partially hidden by a Saint Andrew's cross. From this vantage point, I'll see her before she notices me. The rope feels heavy against my body, a comforting weight that reminds me of what's coming.
Her independence was merely an illusion I allowed her to maintain—a temporary reprieve. At the same time, I reconstructed every avenue to ensure they all led back to me. Now she walks the only path that remains.
I'm perfectly still as she enters the rope room, my muscles coiled with anticipation.
The moment Lia steps through the doorway, her eyes dart around the space, cataloging every detail—until they lock with mine. Instead of fear, recognition flashes across her face, followed immediately by defiance.
“Fuck off, Vane,” she spits, backing away. Even with the mask covering half my face, she knows it's me instantly.
Before I can respond, she spins and bolts from the room. The sudden movement catches me off guard—I expected her to challenge me, not run.
“There's no running from me anymore, wildflower,” I growl, pushing off the wall and launching after her. The ropes slide from my shoulders as I abandon them. I can bind her with something else later.
Her footsteps echo down the corridor, quick and light. Mine thunder behind her, heavier, determined. The sound creates a primal rhythm that stirs a dark hunger inside me. The Hunt I didn't expect is now underway, and my blood sings with it.
She's fast, darting around corners with the confidence of someone who's memorized the layout. Smart girl. But I helped design this fucking maze.
“You can run all you want,” I call out, my voice bouncing off the walls. “It'll just make claiming you that much sweeter.”
Every step she takes away from me only tightens the invisible cord connecting us. The strategic game I've played disintegrates in the visceral reality of pursuit. My blood roars with a single truth that overrides all else—she exists in perfect symmetry to me, the missing counterweight that brings balance to my chaos.
I pause at the intersection of two corridors, listening for any sound that might betray Lia's location. My brothers all wear tech watches that show little blinking dots representing each woman's position in the maze. Fucking pathetic.
“Need a hint, brother?” Landon calls out as he passes me, tapping his watch.
I shake my head. “That's not hunting. That's just following dots on a screen.”
He shrugs and continues down the corridor, his attention already back on his wrist. Technology makes it too easy, removing the primal element that makes the Hunt worth doing in the first place.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply. The maze has its own scent—leather, disinfectant, the woody undertones of the structural beams—but beneath it all, I catch something else. The subtle notes of Lia's perfume, the same scent she wore at the Purgatory interview. Jasmine and a deeper scent. She's been through here, and recently.
My eyes snap open. I don't need a fucking electronic tracker to find what's mine.
I move silently down the eastern corridor, letting instinct guide me. Fifteen years of obsession have honed my senses when it comes to Lia Morgan. I notice a smudge on the wallwhere someone braced their hand while turning the corner. The subtle disruption in the dust on the floor. These are the true breadcrumbs of the Hunt.
Not knowing exactly where she is thrills me. This uncertainty—this is what makes blood pump harder through my veins. Each corner I turn could reveal her, or just another empty hallway leading deeper into the maze.
A faint sound catches my attention—fabric brushing against the wall, the softest intake of breath. She's trying to be quiet, but I can sense her presence like a change in air pressure before a storm.
Let my brothers chase blinking lights on their wrists. I'm tracking Lia the way a predator should—with every sense I possess, attuned to her and her alone.
23
LIA
Ipress my back against the cold wall, breathing hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. I strain to listen for footsteps, but there's nothing—just the sound of my own ragged breathing echoing in the empty corridor.
I think I've lost him for now.
