My phone buzzes on the nightstand, pulling me from my spiral of self-loathing. It’s Mike.
Out with Derek at the Rooftop. Come join? Ladies are looking fine tonight.
I stare at the screen. The thought of putting on my social mask feels impossible right now. I’d have to smile, laugh at their jokes, pretend I’m checking out women while fighting to keep my eyes from drifting toward the bartender or some guy at the next table.
Can’t tonight. Got work to finish for tomorrow’s client meeting.
Mike responds almost immediately.
All work no play, man. Your loss.
I toss my phone aside and collapse back onto my bed. The Hunt is in three days. Just thinking about it makes my stomach clench with a sickening mixture of dread and anticipation.
Julian’s words replay in my head.
“When they’re all claimed by others... men find alternative outlets.”
Fuck. What if neither of us catches one of the women? What if Julian follows through on his threat? The worst part isn’t the fear—it’s the treacherous heat that floods my body at the thought of his hands on me, forcing me to acknowledge what I’ve spent a lifetime denying.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. I can’t let that happen. Can’t risk being exposed to others or to myself. The humiliation would destroy everything I’ve built.
I need to catch one of the girls. Need to prove to Julian—to myself—that I’m normal. That I’m not what my mother always feared I’d become.
My jaw tightens with resolve. I’ll prepare better than I ever have for the Hunt. Study the targets. I’ll be strategic.
I’ll catch a girl, and Julian will have to find someone else to torment. Someone else whose walls he can tear down with those knowing eyes and that cruel, perfect mouth.
4
JULIAN
The air in Purgatory’s private lounge crackles with anticipation. Fifteen men in various states of relaxation, all eyeing the digital profiles displayed on the wall-mounted screens. Six women’s faces stare back at us, unaware they’re being assessed like prized livestock.
I swirl the scotch in my glass, savoring both the liquor and the electric tension in the room. My thoughts keep circling back to Elliot’s reaction in this very club two nights ago—the panic in his eyes betrayed by the unmistakable bulge in his pants. The perfect contradiction.
“She’s mine,” Knox Blackwood announces, gesturing toward a brunette’s profile with his crystal tumbler. His brothers make similar declarations, each selecting their preferred prey with the confidence of men who’ve never lost a Hunt. The rest of us understand the unspoken hierarchy—the Blackwoods get first choice.
Across the room, Dominic Vega huddles with Liam Hayes and Ryder Caldwell, their heads bent together in conspiratorial conversation. I drift closer, catching fragments as I pretend to study the profile of a dancer named Keira.
Liam nods. “Her father’s destroyed each of our businesses in different ways.”
“Three hunters, one prey,” Ryder adds with a wolfish grin. “She won’t stand a chance.”
So, they’re planning to work together to capture Cora Pike. Interesting. Not the usual approach, but effective if they pull it off. Dominic must have pulled strings to get her name on the invitation list—a personal vendetta disguised as a game.
I briefly consider pursuing Cora myself to spite them. But three against one? Not worth the effort when there’s a more intriguing target already in my sights.
The Dexter twins have claimed Keira, circling her profile like sharks scenting blood. The remaining women have various hunters eyeing them with interest.
My gaze drifts across the room, landing on Elliot. He’s standing alone, nursing a drink while pretending to study the profiles. But I catch him—his eyes aren’t on the women at all. They’re on me.
When our eyes meet, I offer a slow, deliberate wink.
The flush spreads across his face instantly. He jerks his head away, suddenly fascinated by the contents of his glass.
Perfect. My prey is already responding beautifully.
“Julian,” a familiar voice purrs behind me. “You’re looking particularly delicious tonight.”
