Page 29 of Cursed
My voice comes out softer than intended. I clear my throat, trying to reclaim the monster I was moments ago, but the concern won’t fully disappear.
“You’re safe,” I tell her, surprising myself with the sincerity behind the words.
It’s absurd—I’m the one who put her in danger, who violated her privacy, who strapped her to this table to exploit her trauma. Yet some protective instinct rises within, something I have never been compelled to give to another human being.
I stroke her hair back from her forehead, an oddly tender gesture entirely foreign, to the point I begin second guessing my own motives. “I’ve got you,” I whisper, and mean it in ways I don’t fully understand.
An ache stirs in me as I look down, taking in her tear-streaked face. This isn’t how I pictured it. I wanted her surrender, yes, but not like this—not broken and sobbing. I never considered that my game would shatter her this way, leaving her broken, sobbing, and terrified of me. My fingers move to the restraints at her wrists almost of their own accord.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Letting you up.” I release one wrist, then the other. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
I’ve never felt this protective urge before, this need to soothe rather than terrorize. As I bend to unfasten her ankles, a strange vulnerability washes over me.
It happens so fast I barely register the movement. One second, I’m leaning over her leg, the next, her foot connects with my stomach with surprising force. The air rushes from my lungs as I double over, momentarily stunned.
Sadie leaps from the table, her movements quick and desperate. She stumbles, backing toward the door.
I wheeze, straightening up. The compassion I felt seconds ago vanishes, replaced by cold rage. “Get back here!”
I lunge for her, fingers grazing her arm, but she’s faster than I anticipated. She spins away, eyes wild with fear and determination.
“Stay away from me!” she screams, looking frantically around the lab.
My tech lab’s medical trolley stands between us—loaded with equipment I’d planned to use on her. Before I can reach her, Sadie grabs it and shoves it hard in my direction. The metal cart crashes into my legs, sending tools and devices clattering across the floor. I stumble, momentarily off-balance.
It’s all the advantage she needs. Sadie bolts through the doorway into the corridor beyond, her footsteps echoing as she runs.
“Fuck,” I grunt, watching her disappear.
She’s running. Fighting back. Making this a challenge.
My cock throbs against my zipper as I straighten up, placing my mask back in place to hide the smile spreading across my face. I’d almost pitied her—a momentary weakness I won’t allow again.
“Fly, little butterfly,” I whisper, stepping over the scattered equipment. “Show me those wings.”
I don’t chase her immediately. Instead, I walk calmly to the security panel on the wall, tapping in a code that activates the corridor lockdown protocol. Metal gates descend at strategic points throughout the labyrinth, sectioning off her possible escape routes.
She’s trapped now, in a smaller maze of my design.
The cameras show her sprinting down the eastern corridor, panic evident in every line of her body.
This Hunt—this real Hunt—is infinitely more satisfying than my original plan. Her fight isn’t performative now. It’s authentic.
I touch the screen where her image runs, trailing my finger along her digital form. “That’s it, Sadie. Make me work for it.”
The more she resists, the sweeter her eventual surrender will be. Each act of defiance only heightens my anticipation of breaking her. Not with force—that’s too easy, too crude. I’llbreak her with pleasure, with understanding, with the terrible intimacy of knowing what darkness lives inside her.
I check the camera feeds again, plotting her position against the maze’s layout. Then I move to an adjacent corridor, one that will intersect with her path in approximately forty-five seconds.
My footsteps are unhurried. Methodical. I’m not frantic or angry that she escaped. I’m calculating. Patient.
The thrill of the Hunt pulses through me with each heartbeat, my arousal building with every step. She thinks she’s fighting for freedom.
She doesn’t understand she’s only making the game more entertaining.
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