Chapter 3 Landon
LANDON
Four days.
Four goddamn days of silence.
I check my watch for the third time in ten minutes, drumming my fingers against the polished mahogany of the bar at Purgatory. The ice in my whiskey has long since melted, diluting the expensive bourbon. I haven’t taken a sip in over an hour.
“Another, Mr. Blackwood?” The bartender hovers nearby, intimidated by my growing agitation.
I shake my head once, dismissing him.
My phone remains dark—no notification from security about Sadie arriving. The club is nearly empty at this early hour, which is why I chose this time. Less distraction, clearer sight lines to the entrance.
The deadline for Hunt acceptances is at midnight. With each passing hour, her lack of response has uncertainty twisting in my chest.
I don’t do uncertainty.
Since tracking her to her apartment two weeks ago, I’ve maintained my distance, giving her space to make her decision. She is wholly unaware of me and my existence. The challenge of the Hunt requires willing prey. Coercion defeats the purpose, but my patience has its limits.
I’ve reviewed her file seventeen times since sending the invitation. MIT-educated cybersecurity expert. Three patents for encryption algorithms before age twenty-five. A mind that processes information in patterns and codes—structured, methodical, brilliant.
Unlike the vapid socialites my brothers typically choose, Sadie is more valuable: an intellectual equal who might comprehend the intricate game of the areas I’ve designed within the Hunt.
I’m contemplating ordering another drink when a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume invades my space. A woman slides onto the stool beside me, her red hair meticulously styled, dress cut low enough to broadcast desperation.
“You look lonely,” she purrs. “I could fix that.”
Her fingers reach for my arm. I move it before she makes contact.
“I’m not interested.” My voice is flat, emotionless. “I’m waiting for someone.”
Her painted lips form a pout. “I could be more fun than whoever—”
“You couldn’t.” I cut her off, my gaze never meeting hers. “Move along.”
She huffs, muttering about me being an asshole, then clicks away on ridiculous heels. The vultures are circling early tonight. The Blackwood reputation draws them to Purgatory like moths to a flame, each hoping to catch a Blackwood’s attention.
I signal the bartender for another scotch. He delivers it promptly, no ice this time. Smart man.
The heavy door to the club swings open, and I freeze mid-sip.
Sadie Reynolds steps inside.
She’s different here than at her office or apartment. More guarded, shoulders squared beneath a fitted blazer, dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Professional armor. But it’s what she clutches in her left hand that snares my attention—the black envelope, its crimson seal broken.
She’s accepted.
A sharp sensation unfurls in my gut as I watch her scan the room. Her eyes never land on me—why would they? We’ve never met. She approaches one of the security staff near the entrance, extending the invitation.
The bouncer gestures toward the back hallway—toward Xavier’s office.
I set my untouched scotch on the bar and stand. Xavier isn’t here yet. Won’t be for another hour, according to his schedule. This opportunity is too perfect to waste.
I move through the club, taking the staff corridor that will put me at Xavier’s office before she arrives. My pulse quickens—not from exertion but anticipation.
Three sharp knocks echo through Xavier’s office.
I take a deep breath, straightening my suit jacket before opening the door casually. Standing before me is Sadie Reynolds—five-foot-seven, dark hair pulled back to expose the elegant curve of her neck, sharp brown eyes.
She’s even more striking up close.
“Can I help you?” My voice remains cool despite the adrenaline surging through my veins.
Her gaze flicks up to meet mine. “I’m here to return my accepted invitation to the Hunt.” She holds up the black envelope. “The bouncer directed me to this office.”
“Xavier’s running late. I’m Landon Blackwood.” I step aside, gesturing into the office. “Why don’t you come in and take a seat while I check your paperwork?”
Hesitation flashes across her face—an expression most wouldn’t catch. Her instincts are telling her to maintain distance from me.
“It’ll only take a minute,” I add, keeping my tone neutral.
She steps past me into the office, her scent—subtle vanilla with notes of coffee—hitting me as she passes. No perfume. Just her.
“Please, sit.” I motion toward the leather chair opposite the desk.
She perches on its edge, with her back ramrod straight. The invitation remains clutched in her hand like a shield.
I circle around, passing closer to her than I need to. The air between us turns electric. Her pupils dilate—a physiological response.
“So, Ms. Reynolds...” I settle into Xavier’s chair, leaning forward. “What made you accept our invitation?”
The thought of hunting her through Purgatory’s labyrinth sends a bolt of arousal through me. Three days of pursuit. The inevitable capture. The surrender I’ll extract from that brilliant mind. My cock hardens at the prospect.
Her cheeks flush pink at my question, color spreading across her high cheekbones.
“My reasons are my own,” she says, lifting her chin. The defiance contradicts the blush warming her skin. “I don’t believe I need to disclose them to participate.”
I lean back in Xavier’s chair, studying her. Most women who come through that door are desperate to impress, falling over themselves to seem interesting or mysterious. Sadie’s resistance is... refreshing.
“Actually, you do.” I keep my voice even. “The Hunt requires certain assurances from both sides. We need to verify that all participants are accepting under the right circumstances—no coercion, no desperation, no ulterior motives.”
Her eyes narrow. “Where exactly in the fine print was that specified? I can assure you I read it meticulously.”
“Consider it a verbal addendum.” I tap my finger against the desk. “The Hunt is a complex arrangement. My brothers and I need to ensure everyone’s motivations are... appropriate.”
I can see her calculating behind those intelligent eyes, weighing her options. She needs this opportunity, whatever reason drove her here, but she’s reluctant to reveal her vulnerability.
“I’m merely curious,” she says finally. “About the Hunt. About Purgatory. About why anyone would design such an elaborate... game.”
She’s lying—not completely, but partially. There’s more she isn’t saying.
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, worrying it as she glances down at the signed papers in her hand. The gesture is sensual, revealing an embarrassment she’s trying desperately to hide.
The sight of her biting her lip sends blood rushing south. I adjust myself discreetly, my erection straining against expensive fabric as I stand. The movement draws her eyes momentarily before she looks away, that blush deepening.
I circle the desk slowly, like a predator approaching wary prey. When I reach her chair, I place my hands on either armrest, caging her in without touching. I lean down until my lips nearly brush her ear.
“You’re holding back,” I whisper, my voice low enough that she has to remain perfectly still to hear me. “What’s the real reason you’re here, Sadie?”
Her sharp intake of breath hits me like electricity, the sound shooting straight to my cock. She smells even better this close.
“I...” She swallows hard, her throat working beneath delicate skin. “This is embarrassing.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“I’ve only ever had very... boring sexual encounters,” she admits. “My ex—I want to know what I was missing. What it could be like with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
Melvin.
Her ex was a mediocre systems analyst. Beige personality, beige ambitions. The type who’d consider adventurous sex to be leaving a lamp on. The fact that he had access to this woman’s body and wasted the opportunity makes my jaw clench.
“And you think the Hunt will show you?” I remain close, breath fanning against her neck.
“Maybe.” Her body tenses against mine. “Won’t it?”
I can’t help the smile that curves my lips.
“Oh, Sadie. Your ex-boyfriend probably kept you in missionary position, didn’t he?
Lights off, quiet, efficient. Just enough effort to get himself off.
” I trace one finger along the armrest, just beside her hand.
“The Hunt will give you more than a taste of what you’ve been missing. ”
Her breath catches as she holds my gaze.
“It’ll blow your fucking mind.” The profanity feels strange on my tongue. I rarely resort to crude language. Her confession of sexual disappointment cracks something open in me, dragging out the rawness I try to bury.
I lean closer, watching her pupils dilate at my words and proximity.
“You’ll see things that will make you forget how to breathe.
Women on their knees, begging. Men surrendering control they never relinquish elsewhere.
Pain and pleasure so intertwined you won’t be able to discern where one ends and the other begins. ”
The pulse at her throat quickens visibly. I track its rhythm, cataloging her response as meticulously as I track everything else about her.
“I could tie you to a St. Andrew’s cross,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “Spread your legs until your muscles burn with the stretch. I could make you come until you’re sobbing, until you’re begging me to stop—and then push you further still.”
Her breathing changes, becoming shallow. The blush on her cheeks spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath her blouse. I imagine following it with my tongue, tasting the salt of her skin.
“I could fuck with that brilliant mind of yours until you forget every line of code you’ve ever written. Until the only pattern you can process is the rhythm of my cock inside you.”
The words are filthy, explicit in a way I’d never speak in any other context. Yet they pour from me with startling ease.
“I could make you crawl for me. Make you thank me for every orgasm. Make you count each stroke of my belt across that perfect ass before you earn the right to come.”
Her lips part, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet them. I track the movement, filing away this evidence of her arousal.
“Is that what you want, Sadie? To surrender that beautiful mind to someone who knows exactly how to use it—and your body—until you’re shattered and remade?”
She meets my gaze, and for a moment, a current of hunger that makes the air in Xavier’s office feel charged passes between us.
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting,” she says, voice steady. “I’m just here to deliver the signed NDA and invitation as requested. Nothing more.”
She extends the documents toward me, creating distance between us with the simple gesture. Her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. Evidence of her affected state despite her composed exterior.
“Of course.” I force myself to step back. The primitive part of my brain screams to close the distance, to press her against the nearest surface until she admits what’s happening between us. Instead, I take the papers from her hand, careful to avoid brushing her fingers with mine.
The urge to bend her over Xavier’s desk is overwhelming—to hike up that skirt, tear away whatever sensible underwear she’s wearing, and fuck her until she screams my name.
Until that brilliant mind of hers short-circuits with pleasure.
Until she forgets everything she knows and can only process the feeling of me inside her.
I swallow hard and return to my side of the desk.
“Everything appears to be in order,” I say, my voice betraying none of the chaos roiling through me as I inspect her signature. I place the documents in a folder, my movements deliberate. “The Hunt begins in two weeks. You’ll receive further instructions closer to the time.”
My cock strains painfully against my zipper as I sit, grateful for the barrier of the desk between us. I’ve never reacted this strongly to a woman before—certainly not one who’s done nothing but sign a piece of paper and blush. It’s fascinating and equally concerning.
I’m eager to conquer her during the Hunt and investigate this effect that Sadie Reynold’s has on me.