Page 75 of Haunted

The plan had been so fucking simple then. Capture some random prey, break them in front of an audience, and let a few trusted allies sample what I’d conquered while I watched with detached amusement. Clean. Efficient.

But that was before I met Mira Sullivan—before I noticed the sharpness in her hazel eyes, how she stared me down when anyone else would’ve run. Before I knew what it meant to feel someone shatter in my arms and have everything inside me choose to stay there, utterly unguarded, to protect each tiny shard that became mine in that single instant.

Now, with each step toward that room, my chest tightens like a vise. The thought of parading her in front of the other hunters—men who’ve been eyeing her since the moment she signed that contract—makes my hands shake with barely restrained violence.

Knox’s mocking voice from earlier echoes in my head: “Going soft on us, X?”

Maybe I am. Perhaps this woman has stripped away decades of cold calculation, leaving raw instinct inherently feral in its wake. All I know is that the idea of following through with my original plan feels like poison in my veins.

The doors loom before us, carved mahogany depicting scenes of ancient hunts. Beyond them waits the culmination of everything I orchestrated.

So why does it feel like I’m walking toward my own execution?

The massive doors swing open, revealing the carved erotic scenes that spiral up their surface. The artistry is exquisite, but I barely register the craftsmanship. My attention locks on what waits beyond.

The moans hit us first, a symphony of pleasure and dominance that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Gasps, whimpers —the wet sounds of bodies joining—create an intoxicating backdrop.

Mira’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the noise. I feel her freeze beside me, glancing down at her. I release her elbow and let my hand slip into hers, twining our fingers as she takes in the scene before us. Her hand tenses in mine.

The room is a masterpiece of hedonistic design. Velvet cushions and drapes create intimate alcoves around the perimeter. At the same time, the center features a raised circular platform bathed in soft, golden light. Bodies move everywhere—hunters and preylocked in various stages of fucking and sharing their spoils.

Knox has Bianca bent over a cushioned bench, her hands gripping the edges as he takes her from behind. The paint streaks across her skin have smeared from their earlier encounter, creating abstract art on her bare flesh. Her moans punctuate each thrust.

In another corner, Vane has Lia suspended from restraints, arched as he traces patterns across her skin with what looks like ice. She writhes against her bonds, seeking more contact.

Even Landon, typically reserved, has Sadie spread across a low table, his mouth between her thighs. Sadie has a fistful of his dark hair in her hands as her back arches off the surface, desperate sounds spilling from her lips.

The hunters are completely naked, their bodies on full display. In contrast, the prey wears variations of what Mira sports—silk that frames rather than conceals. Sheer fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination, strategic cuts that offer easy access while maintaining the illusion of covering.

“Jesus,” Mira breathes beside me.

The air thrums with sexual energy. Even I can’t deny the raw appeal of it all—the overt display of dominance and submission, the way pleasure echoes through the chamber like a living entity unto itself.

My cock stirs against the confines of my leather pants as I watch Mira’s reaction. Her pupils have dilated, and her breathing has grown shallow. The flush that started onher cheeks has now spread down her throat, disappearing beneath the red fabric that barely contains her breasts.

My gaze follows Mira’s line of sight across the room, and I immediately spot what’s captured her attention. In one of the far alcoves, Cora Pike writhes between three masked figures—the men who specifically targeted her for revenge against her father.

Dominic has positioned himself beneath her, his cock buried deep inside her pussy. At the same time, Ryder stands behind and takes her ass. The dual penetration forces broken cries from Cora’s throat, filled in ways that should be uncomfortable but clearly aren’t based on the desperate way she rocks between them.

The third man—Liam—has his cock buried in Ryder’s ass while Ryder fucks Cora. It’s a chain of dominance and submission that has all three men groaning with pleasure. At the same time, Cora becomes the centerpiece of their revenge fantasy.

“Oh God,” Mira whispers, her face draining of all color. Her hand flies to her mouth as she watches her best friend being thoroughly fucked by three men at once.

Cora’s head falls back in abandon, her auburn hair cascading over Dominic’s shoulder as both men thrust into her in alternating rhythm. Every stroke forces sound from her throat—half pleasure, half overwhelm—while Liam drives into Ryder, creating a symphony of masculine groans and feminine gasps.

“She looks like she’s enjoying herself,” I murmuragainst Mira’s ear, watching as Cora arches between her captors. There’s no denying the flush of arousal across her skin, the way her fingers dig into Dominic’s shoulders, seeking an anchor.

“This is my fault,” Mira breathes, horror creeping into her voice. “I brought her here. She’s only here because of me.”

The guilt in her tone makes my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest. I’d expected her to be shocked by the display, aroused by the raw sexuality on exhibition. I hadn’t anticipated this crushing weight of responsibility that’s clearly devastating her.

Across the room, Cora cries out sharply as both men thrust deep simultaneously. She shudders between them, caught in what’s clearly an intense orgasm. The sight should be erotic—and it is—but Mira’s distress cuts through my enjoyment like a blade.

“She signed the same contract you did,” I remind her. “She made her own choice.”

“Because I couldn’t protect her,” Mira whispers, her eyes never leaving her friend’s writhing form. “Because I was too selfish to keep her away from all this.”

“Stop,” I command, my voice cutting through her guilt-ridden whispers. “Stop dwelling on it. There’s no going back now.”

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