Page 32 of Haunted

The door to Purgatory swings open before we reach it, revealing the familiar chaos of pulsing music and dim lighting.

“You read the entire NDA, right?” I grab Cora’s arm as we step inside, my voice barely audible over the music. “All of it?”

Cora rolls her eyes beneath her mask. “Yes, Mira. I read every word. Fifteen men, free-for-all hunting, sexual encounters if caught.” She shrugs like we’re discussing lunch plans instead of what amounts to legalized assault. “And?”

“And you’re okay with that?” My stomach churns. “They basically have permission to?—”

“To what? Have some fun?” Cora’s laugh is throatier now, different from her usual bright giggle. “God, Mira, when’s the last time you got laid? Really laid, not some boring missionary position with that accountant you dated.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “This isn’t about sex, Cora. This is about control, about power, about?—”

“About finally meeting men who might actually know what they’re doing.” She puts on her mask, her green eyes sparkling with a dark sense of mischief. “Look, I’ve been the good girl my whole life. Princeton graduate, Daddy’s perfect princess, and I’ll be engaged tomarry whatever politician he picks out for me. Maybe I want to know what it feels like to be hunted, desired as more than arm candy for someone else’s ambitions.”

The words send ice through my veins, but Cora practically purrs it.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m free.” She smooths her dress again. “For seventy-two hours, I get to be someone else entirely. Someone who doesn’t have to worry about appearances or propriety or what the newspapers will say about Mayor Pike’s daughter.”

I stare at her, this woman I thought I knew completely. “What if they catch you?”

“Then they catch me.” Cora’s smile is wicked beneath the porcelain. “And maybe I’ll understand what all the fuss is about.”

“Cora—”

“Relax, Mira. You’re the one with the investigation to worry about. I’m here for the ride.” She winks. “In every sense of the word.”

A bouncer with arms like tree trunks gestures us toward a hallway I’ve never seen before, past the main club floor and through a door marked “Private.” The music fades as we follow him down a narrow corridor lined with black velvet drapes.

“Ladies, you’ll wait here until it’s time.” He opens another door, revealing a plush room with burgundy walls and several velvet couches arranged in a circle.

Four other women already sit inside, each holding a similar porcelain mask and their expressions rangingfrom terror to anticipation. The door clicks shut behind us with a finality that makes my chest tighten.

“Well,” says a woman with long wavy brown hair, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. “I guess we’re all in this together now.” She stands, extending her hand. “I’m Bianca. Painter by day, apparently prey by night.”

Her dry humor breaks some of the tension. A stunning redhead with electric-blue eyes laughs, the sound melodic even through her obvious nerves. “Keira. Professional dancer, which I’m hoping gives me some advantage in whatever this Hunt involves.”

“Advantage assumes we want to avoid being caught,” purrs a woman with glossy black hair and amber eyes. She reclines against the velvet cushions like she belongs here, completely at ease. “Lia. I run an art gallery and I’m here by choice.”

The quiet woman in the corner adjusts her thin-rimmed glasses. “Sadie. I work in tech.” Her voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. “And I’ve done my research on the Blackwoods.”

Cora practically bounces on her toes. “Cora Pike. And before anyone asks, yes, Mayor Pike is my father, and no, he doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Mira Sullivan.” I remain standing near the door, fighting every instinct that screams at me to run. “Journalist.”

Bianca raises an eyebrow. “A journalist at a secret sex hunt with an iron-clad NDA. That’s either very brave or very stupid.”

“Probably both.”

Keira moves with fluid grace as she settles onto one of the couches. “Has anyone actually participated in an event like this before?”

The question hangs in the air, met with nervous laughter and shaking heads.

“First time for everyone then,” Lia says, examining her perfectly manicured nails. “How wonderfully democratic.”

Sadie speaks up from her corner, her analytical mind clearly working. “The NDAs were identical. Same terms, same consequences. Whatever they have planned, they want complete control over the narrative afterward.”

“Control.” Bianca’s voice turns bitter. “Seems to be the theme tonight.”

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