Chapter 10 - Sadie
SADIE
Itake a sharp right, then left, desperately trying to put distance between us. The labyrinth seems endless, all concrete walls and strategic lighting that creates more shadows than illumination. Perfect for predators. Terrible for prey.
The corridor branches again, and I choose left without thinking, running blindly, driven by instinct. Then I hear it—a sound that cuts through my panic and stops me in my tracks.
A woman’s muffled cry, somewhere nearby.
I slow my pace, forcing my breathing quiet. There it is again—coming from a half-open door to my left. I should keep running. Landon could be right behind me. But the sound draws me in.
I edge closer, peering through the gap.
The room glows dim and red, bathed in bloody light. On a padded leather bench in the center lies a woman, spread-eagled, wrists and ankles strapped down with thick cuffs. Her porcelain mask is still in place, but the chestnut waves spilling over the edge give her away instantly.
Cora Pike. The Mayor’s daughter.
We met in the preparation room before the Hunt started.
Three masked men surround her, completely naked. One stands at her head, his cock thrusting between her lips. Another pounds between her spread legs while the third waits his turn, stroking himself as he watches.
My stomach drops as fragments of conversation from earlier flood back to me. Before the Hunt began, I’d slipped into the bathroom to calm my nerves. That’s when I overheard three male voices on the other side of the wall.
“Pike’s daughter won’t know what hit her...”
“...been waiting years to make that self-righteous bastard pay...”
“...taking turns with his precious little princess...”
They’d laughed then, their voices lowered to whispers I couldn’t make out. I’d thought nothing of it at the time, too consumed with my own anxiety.
Now, watching them take turns with Cora, I understand. This isn’t just part of the Hunt. It’s calculated revenge against her father.
I should run—Landon could appear any second—but I’m frozen in place, transfixed by the scene before me. My breath catches as I watch them with Cora.
What surprises me most is my own reaction. Heat blooms across my skin, and I press my thighs together against the unexpected throb between them. Despite the concerning context, it’s undeniably erotic to watch them with her.
Cora looks overwhelmed by it all. Her eyes wide and glassy as the men surround her.
She gasps, her body trembling when one man grips her hair roughly while another traces patterns across her skin.
At times, she seems to drift away, her expression vacant before snapping back to the present with a shudder.
And yet a soft moan tears from her lips as one of them pinches her nipple.
Cora isn’t resisting at all. In fact, she’s arching into their touch, her moans echoing off the concrete walls as one man withdraws from her mouth and another takes his place. Her legs strain against the leather cuffs, not to close them, but seemingly to spread them wider.
“More,” she gasps between thrusts. “Please, more.”
The men exchange glances. One of them—tall with broad shoulders—runs his hand possessively down her throat.
“You hear that? The Mayor’s daughter is begging for more.”
That’s when I see it—the flash of coldness in his eyes that doesn’t match the passion of the moment.
Cora moans again, lost in pleasure, completely unaware of what I now understand with chilling clarity: she has no idea why they targeted her. She thinks this is part of the Hunt—consensual despite its intensity. But those men, they’re using her body as a weapon against her father.
I notice her expression flicker briefly, confusion crossing her features as she catches one of their calculated glances. For a moment, awareness seems to dawn in her eyes before pleasure overwhelms her again, pulling her back under their spell.
My stomach twists with unease.
What if they don’t stop at sex?
What if their revenge requires permanence?
An act that would truly destroy her father?
I back away from the door, conflicted. The image of their naked bodies moving together burns in my mind even as fear rises in my throat. I need to find help, but who? The Blackwood brothers? Would they even care?
A sudden noise behind me shatters my thoughts.
“Little butterfly.”
Landon’s voice slithers down the corridor, freezing my blood. Not distant, but close. Too close. He’s found me.
“I know you’re there, watching. Such a curious little butterfly, aren’t you?”
I jerk away from the door, heart hammering against my ribs. My muscles tense, every nerve ending screaming at me to run. His footsteps echo, deliberately paced, like a clock counting down to my destruction. He knows he has me cornered.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to spy?” His voice drops lower. “Or perhaps you’re learning what excites you.”
I glance back at the partially open door. Cora is still bound, still surrounded by those three men. I should act. But what can I do? I’m one woman against men who planned this.
“I’m coming for you.” The shadows at the end of the corridor shift. A white mask emerges, floating like a ghost in the darkness. Landon.
My body makes the decision before my mind can catch up. Flight wins. I bolt in the opposite direction, guilt and fear battling for dominance.
What could I possibly do for Cora anyway?
I signed the same contract she did. We surrendered our right to withhold consent. The Blackwoods own this building, and probably have security everywhere. If I tried to intervene, I’d end up captured alongside her—another plaything for men with power and resources I can’t match.
I sprint down the corridor, taking random turns, focused only on putting distance between myself and Landon.
“Run all you want,” Landon’s voice echoes after me. “The Hunt is just beginning.”
I run like I’ve never run before, my lungs burning with each desperate breath. The maze of corridors blurs around me as I push myself harder, faster, away from Landon’s voice and what I witnessed.
“You can’t escape what you are,” his voice echoes, somehow seeming to come from everywhere at once.
“Shut up!” I scream, not caring if it gives away my position.
I hate him. I hate him with an intensity that scorches through me like wildfire. Not just for stalking me, for invading my privacy, for blackmailing me. No, I hate Landon Blackwood because he sees me—the real me that I’ve spent years burying.
The way my body responded while watching Cora—the heat, the unwanted arousal—floods me with shame. What kind of person gets turned on watching someone potentially being exploited? What kind of broken thing am I?
I take another sharp turn, slamming my shoulder against the wall in my haste. The pain barely registers through my panic.
“You’re only running from yourself,” Landon calls out.
A sob tears from my throat as I push myself to move faster.
He’s right, and that’s what terrifies me.
Since the moment I received that invitation, some dark part of me has craved this—being hunted, being taken, surrendering.
The same part that got wet watching those men with Cora.
The same part that moaned Landon’s name alone in my bed.
“I hate you,” I whisper, but I’m not sure if I’m talking to Landon or myself.
My assault was ten years ago. I thought I’d healed, thought I’d moved past it. But Landon’s somehow found that fractured piece inside me—the part that twisted my trauma into a forbidden desire I never wanted to acknowledge. The part that wants to be caught.
I can’t let him catch me. I can’t face what that would mean about me.