Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Violet
Cheers and wolf whistles break out around me as my arrow hits the bullseye with a satisfying thud.
The red team was edging it in the archery challenge until I somehow channeled my inner warrior and speared our way to victory.
My team surrounds me, swallowing me into a group hug.
After our initial triumph in the obstacle course, the red team, steered by their unofficial leader, Chase, stormed into the lead, winning the raft building and the navigation challenge.
Seems like Chase takes control no matter the situation.
I’m not sure why I’m even surprised. He’s about as alpha as they come.
But now, we’re tied going into the final Hunt challenge, which increases the stakes.
We have a twenty-minute break before the last challenge, so I grab a water and settle onto a grassy knoll with the rest of my team, shaking off my sneakers to stretch my aching toes.
It’s funny how quickly people become tribal over a colored wristband—blue team here, red team there, each group sticking to their own like lifelong allies.
Across the way, the red team has gathered at the base of a sprawling oak tree.
Chase leans against the wide trunk, talking to Austen, looking nothing like the sharp-edged CEO I’m used to.
Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and track pants, he could pass for a Navy SEAL rather than a man who commands boardrooms. The ink, usually hidden beneath crisp dress shirts, winds over his biceps, bold against his tanned skin.
His hair, always slicked back with meticulous control, is a mess—longer strands falling over his forehead, making him look younger, less controlled.
And then he laughs, head tipping back slightly, the sound unguarded and real.
It’s nothing like the polished, calculated smiles he gives in the office.
There’s an ease to him in this moment, something relaxed and effortless.
For the first time, I find myself wondering who he is beneath all that power and ambition.
The guy he might have been before boardrooms and billion-dollar deals.
Since the masquerade ball, I’ve kept my distance, guarding my heart.
But seeing him like this, something shifts inside me.
I find myself wanting to take another step closer.
The chill of quickly approaching dusk rustles through the pine trees.
The bright orange glow of the setting sun spills over the mountain range, its fading light streaked with deep purples and soft golds against the darkening sky.
A lump catches in my throat. These are the moments Mom told me to appreciate, the beauty that surrounds us we so often forget.
My head whips up at the sound of a crackling loudspeaker announcing the start of the final challenge.
The retreat coordinator steps forward, raising her hands to quiet the murmurs of anticipation.
“Alright, runners, you have five minutes to get a head start. Your goal is to make it to the safe zone—a clearing at the far edge of the forest where a lit lantern marks the finish line. If ten of you make it, your team wins. But if the chasers tag ten of you and bring you back to their base, they win. A siren will sound the moment chasers capture and return a runner. Good luck.”
Everyone jumps to their feet and moves toward the start line.
I exhale slowly, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I glance around at my teammates, faces set with determination.
We stand poised at the tree line, the deepening dusk casting elongated shadows through the towering pines and oaks.
The forest ahead is dense, dark, and filled with unseen obstacles.
Elliot steps closer, keeping his voice low. “We should go in pairs, at least at first. Harder to get picked off.”
Charles nods beside me, but others are already shifting restlessly, eager to bolt.
“Alright, fine. But we scatter if we hear them coming,” someone else says.
I nod in agreement, but something pulls my gaze toward the red team. Chase stands apart, his eyes locked on me. The corner of his mouth quirks up, the slightest smirk, but his expression is serious. A promise. A warning. He’s coming for me.
My pulse skyrockets, but before I can dwell on it, the retreat coordinator blows the whistle.
We run.
Branches whip against my arms as I dart into the forest, my breath quick, my pulse pounding. Elliot is ahead of me, Charles a step behind, but the group quickly splinters in different directions, everyone trying to disappear into the undergrowth.
“We follow the ridge!” Elliot calls out, veering slightly to the left. “It leads straight to the safe zone.”
That sounds good in theory, but it also sounds predictable. I hesitate, then make my decision. I cut right away from the others, plunging deeper into the trees where the light barely reaches.
The forest is alive with sound—the rustling of leaves, distant footsteps, and the occasional snap of a twig. My breathing is too loud in my ears.
Then—the siren wails.
One of us has been caught. My heart jumps, but I keep moving.
I push forward, weaving between trees, my sneakers pressing into the damp earth. My legs burn, and my lungs tighten, but adrenaline keeps me going.
A second siren blares. Then a third.
The chasers are closing in.
I slow slightly, listening. There’s movement nearby. Not close, but not far enough. I glance over my shoulder, expecting darkness and trees, but instead, I see him.
Chase.
His silhouette moves between the trees, controlled and relentless.
I don’t think. I run.
He follows.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I push harder, my feet barely touching the ground. The trees blur past; the wind biting against my skin. I veer left, then right, zigzagging to throw him off.
It doesn’t work.
He’s closing in.
I can hear him now—his breathing measured, his footsteps unhurried, like this is too easy.
Panic surges through me. I scan my surrounding area, frantic for a hiding place. Ahead, half-hidden by thick branches, an old shack slouches against the trees—a last chance.
I lunge for the door, wrench it open, and slip inside, pressing my back against the wall.
The air is thick with the scent of rotten wood and decay. My pulse hammers as I listen, the heavy silence only broken by my heaving breaths.
The door creaks.
A shadow moves.
And then—Chase steps inside.
The dim light catches on the sharp angles of his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
I take a step back.
He steps forward.
The space between us vanishes in an instant.
I twist, trying to dart past him, but he’s faster. A hand grips my wrist, firm, inescapable. I gasp, but before I can even think to fight, he spins me, pressing me into the wall.
His body cages mine in, his heat sinking into me, his breath warm against my temple.
“Let me go,” I pant, struggling against him.
His grip tightens around my wrists, pressing them into the rough wood. “Are you having fun with him?” Chills scrape my spine as he grazes his lips across my cheekbone and down to my lips like he’s inhaling me, pulling me under his spell.
“If you’re talking about Elliott, I’m flattered you’re so jealous,” I clap back, throwing his words from before back at him.
His jaw hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Were you hoping he would give you a tip if you smile at him hard enough? If you let him touch what’s mine.”
“Go to hell,” I spit, my temper fraying at what an arrogant ass he’s being.
“Oh, I’m going there, Violet, don’t worry, but I’m taking you with me,” he growls, one hand lowering to grip my jaw possessively.
My heart stutters at the raw hunger in his eyes, dark and unwavering like I'm already his.
I should shove him away, remind myself why this is a mistake.
But the second his lips crash onto mine, I moan into his mouth.
Every thought of resistance wiped clean.
His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming me, his stubble scraping against my skin as he tilts my head back, taking everything. His hand slides lower, wrapping around my throat with just enough pressure to steal what little air I have left.
He tugs my leg around his waist with rough urgency, grinding his thick arousal into my core until I’m drenched.
The ache between my thighs pulses with every sensual drag of his tongue against mine, so that all I can think about is the way he buried his face between my thighs and ate me out with the same devastating precision.
Through the moonlit darkness, his fingers grapple with my zipper, yanking it down. I whimper when he teases a finger along my slit with a groan.
“My good girl,” he croons. “Always dripping for me.”
I’m on the brink of giving myself to him completely when the ninth siren pierces through the night sky, the shrill wail scattering a flock of birds from the trees in a chaotic flurry of wings.
If I don’t make it back to the safe zone, we lose.
From out of nowhere, a monster of a wicked idea takes root.
For once, I’m taking control.
His breath shudders when I unzip him, tension rippling through his body as my fingers wrap around him.
Damn. He’s rock hard and twice as big as I thought.
Steel wrapped in silk, hot and pulsing against my palm.
Thick veins protrude from the tight skin, rigid with need, each rush of blood thrumming against my touch.
A strangled groan slips past his lips as I stroke him, gently at first. His head tips back, eyes slipping shut, a ragged exhale spilling from his lips like smoke in the cold night air.