Chapter 14 - Landon
LANDON
Asmirk tugs at my lips as I pass the corridor where Mira had attempted her pathetic distraction. Did she really think I’d waste my time with Xavier’s claimed prey? In another context, I might have appreciated her loyalty to Sadie, but tonight, I have only one focus.
My little butterfly thinks she can escape me.
I track her movements through the labyrinth by the subtle disturbances in the air, the faint vanilla scent she leaves behind. Her panic makes her predictable—always turning right when faced with a choice. These psychological patterns make her so easy to predict, despite her intelligence.
The security watch on my wrist shows her heat signature moving toward the eastern wing. Perfect. She has no idea what awaits her there.
“Run all you want, butterfly,” I whisper to myself, quickening my pace. “You’re heading exactly where I want you.”
The eastern wing houses another one of my personal contributions to this year’s Hunt—another room I designed specifically with Sadie in mind, after studying her searches and reading habits.
The Sensory Chamber.
The room appears boring and uneventful at first glance, with a raised platform in the center housing what looks like a modified medical examination chair.
But appearances are deceiving. The walls can project any environment, from starlit skies to raging infernos.
The floor contains pressure-sensitive panels that release aromatics tailored to heighten arousal.
But the true genius lies in the neural-response restraints—cuffs that analyze skin temperature, pulse, and breathing rate to understand what sensations elicit the strongest responses, then adapt accordingly. The system learns what brings the most intense pleasure or fear, then exploits it.
I quicken my pace, excitement building as I imagine Sadie stumbling into this trap. Will she understand that I built it specifically for her analytical mind?
Her footsteps echo ahead of me, growing fainter as she puts distance between us. Let her run. Let her think she’s escaping.
This is what I live for—the calculated chase, the inevitable capture.
The monitor shows Sadie’s heat signature pausing at an intersection. She’s hesitating, analyzing her options. That brilliant mind of hers is working overtime, trying to outthink me. Little does she know I’ve studied her every move, dictated her every choice.
I take a shortcut through a maintenance corridor, running my fingers along the wall as I move. The eastern wing is only moments away now. If I circle around, I can intercept her before she even realizes I’ve changed course.
A notification pulses on my wristband—someone’s breached the outer perimeter of my territory. The Dexter twins, no doubt, are ignoring my earlier warning despite capturing Keira. Irritation flashes through me, but I push it aside. They’ll learn their lesson soon enough.
I reach the junction leading to the eastern wing as Sadie’s heat signature rounds the corner ahead.
I press myself against the wall, steadying my breathing.
She’s so close now I can almost taste her fear in the air—that delicious cocktail of adrenaline and arousal that she tries so desperately to deny.
I count her steps. Three. Two. One.
I hang back in the shadows, watching with quiet satisfaction as Sadie stumbles into the Sensory Chamber. Her shoulders hunch forward, tension visible in every line of her body as she scans the room.
She steps cautiously toward the center of the room, her eyes widening at the examination chair with its deceptively soft-looking restraints. Her fingers brush against the leather, curiosity momentarily overriding her fear.
Perfect.
I move silently into the room behind her and slam the door shut with deliberate force. The sound echoes like a gunshot in the space.
Sadie spins to face me, her eyes wide with terror, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Her mask has slipped during her flight, hanging askew across her face.
“Welcome to my playground, little butterfly,” I say.
“Do you like what I built for you?” I ask, gesturing to the room around us.
“I designed it after studying your browsing history. Those erotic novels you read... particularly the ones involving sensory deprivation.” I take a step closer.
“It was quite educational, learning what makes you wet.”
Her disgust and horror are palpable, delicious. This moment—this perfect crystallization of power—is more potent than any drug.
I stalk toward Sadie, savoring the way her eyes dart frantically around the room, seeking escape. There is none. The Sensory Chamber has one entrance, one exit—and I’m blocking it.
“You can’t run from me anymore,” I say, my voice deceptively gentle. “This room was designed for you. Don’t you want to try it?”
Her chest heaves with rapid breaths. “Fuck you,” she spits, backing away until she bumps against the examination chair.
I love it when she shows her claws.
Sadie makes a desperate lunge to my left, trying to dart past me to the door. I anticipate her movement—she telegraphs her intentions with her eyes—and sidestep smoothly to block her path. My arm shoots out, catching her around the waist.
“Let me go!” she screams, thrashing against me. Her elbow connects with my ribs, inciting a sharp burst of pain that only heightens my arousal.
“I love your fight,” I whisper against her ear. Her body is warm against mine. “But we both know where this ends.”
She kicks backward, her heel connecting with my shin. I grunt but don’t loosen my grip. Instead, I lift her, her back against my chest, her feet kicking uselessly in the air.
“Put me DOWN!”
I carry her struggling form to the chair, her body writhing against mine. She’s strong—stronger than I expected—and the resistance only makes my dick harder. This isn’t the passive submission of fantasy; this is raw, real fight.
When I reach the platform, I spin her around, forcing her backward toward the chair. She braces her legs, pushing against me, her hands striking at my chest, my face, anywhere she can reach.
“I hate you,” she hisses.
I capture both her wrists in one hand, using my superior strength and weight to force her down into the chair. Her body bucks against the restraints as I secure one wrist, then the other, the cuffs automatically tightening to her measurements.
Sadie’s eyes burn with fury as I secure her to the chair. The restraints analyze her pulse, her body temperature, learning what makes her tick.
“You’re sick,” she spits as I finish strapping her ankles. “You’re no better than—”
I press my finger against her lips, silencing her. “Than the man who hurt you before?” I complete her thought. “I’m nothing like him, little butterfly. I’ve read your police report. I know what he did to you.”
Her face pales. “You had no right—”
“I had every right,” I counter, running my finger along her jawline. “How else could I understand what you need?”
“Need?” She jerks her head away. “I need you to let me go!”
I smile. This beautiful, broken creature doesn’t understand what I’m offering.
“What you need is healing,” I declare, leaning close enough that my breath stirs the hair by her ear. “And I’m going to heal you, Sadie. I’m going to erase what that pathetic excuse for a man did to you.”
Her breath catches. I can see the confusion in her eyes, the unwilling interest.
“Your body responds to me because it knows what your mind refuses to accept,” I continue, trailing my fingers down her neck to the hollow of her throat. “That assault left you broken, but I can fix you. I’ll show you how a real man treats his woman.”
I cup her face, forcing her to look me in the eye. “He took your power. I’m going to give it back to you by showing you how to surrender properly. By teaching you that pleasure and pain can coexist without shame.”
I can see the war in her eyes—fear fighting against curiosity, rage against need.
“You don’t belong to him anymore,” I urge. “You belong to me now. And I take care of what’s mine.”
Sadie thrashes against the restraints at my declaration. “You’re insane!”
I finish securing the final strap across her midsection, ignoring the stream of profanity pouring from her lips.
“You’re only making this more difficult for yourself,” I tell her, stroking a finger down her cheek as the system beeps, confirming complete biometric calibration.
“The restraints adapt to resistance. The more you fight, the tighter they’ll become. ”
As if to demonstrate my point, the cuffs around her wrists pulse once, adjusting their pressure. Sadie’s breath hitches, her eyes widening as she falls deathly still.
I move to the control panel embedded in the wall, my fingers dancing across the touchscreen.
The blank cream walls shimmer, then transform into a starfield—deep space stretching infinitely around us.
The floor beneath us becomes transparent, creating the illusion of floating. Sadie gasps despite herself.
“Your pupils dilated,” I observe, watching the biometric readings. “You find beauty in the cosmos. Interesting.”
I adjust another setting, and the scent in the room shifts to a blend of vanilla undertones with hints of amber and sandalwood. The chair hums, vibrations beginning at such a low frequency they’re barely perceptible.
“The human body is fascinating,” I say, circling back to her. “Did you know that certain frequencies can stimulate nerve endings without you even consciously feeling them? Your body is responding already.”
I reach for a small remote and press a button. The restraints around Sadie’s wrists and ankles warm slightly, the embedded sensors beginning to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat.
“Stop this,” she demands.
“We’ve barely begun,” I state. “Your treatment requires complete sensory recalibration. Your body will learn new responses, overwriting the trauma.”
Sadie glares at him. “You’re not a fucking therapist, so quit acting like one.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, I’m no therapist. But I’m exactly what you need. Therapists talk about your feelings unnecessarily; you don’t need that, do you?” I shake my head.
Words rarely fix anything. Actions always speak louder.