Page 64 of Cursed
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, heart racing when I see the notification from my security system. Someone’s accessing Sadie’s laptop. I tap into the feed, expecting to see her attempting to disable my spyware.
Instead, I see her researching me. Landon Blackwood. My businesses. My family connections. Photos from charity events. She’s not running. She’s investigating.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
“What’s got you looking so pleased?” Knox asks, peering at my phone.
I lock the screen before he can see. “Nothing important.”
“Bullshit. That’s your ‘my prey is doing exactly what I predicted’ face.”
“Leave it, Knox,” I warn, but there’s no heat behind it. My little butterfly isn’t flying away. She’s trying to understand me.
How adorable.
27
SADIE
The lights of the city twinkle outside my window as I sprawl across my couch, staring blankly at the medical drama playing on my TV. Some surgeon is dramatically declaring they’re losing a patient while nurses rush around with impossibly perfect hair. I’ve seen this episode three times already.
But I’m not really watching it.
I’m thinking about Landon. Again.
His hands are on my skin. His voice in my ear. The way he looked at me was like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve and then break apart.
“Get out of my head,” I whisper, pressing my palms against my temples.
Twenty-four hours. That’s how long we have apart after the Hunt. Twenty-four hours that should feel like freedom, but instead feel like... withdrawal.
I grab the remote and turn up the volume, as if the fictional medical emergencies can drown out the memory of Landon’s touch.
They can’t.
Nothing can.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, finally hitting the power button. The screen goes black, leaving me in the dim light of my apartment.
My laptop sits on the coffee table, calling to me. I know what I should do—try to disable his spyware, contact the police, run as far as possible. But that’s not what I want to do.
I pull the computer onto my lap and open a browser. My fingers hover over the keyboard for just a moment before I type.
Landon Blackwood
The search results flood my screen. Business profiles. Charity event photos. Articles about tech innovations from Blackwood Enterprises. I click through them methodically, saving images, noting details.
A photo of him in a tuxedo at some gala makes my breath catch. He’s not smiling—Landon rarely smiles—but he looks almost normal. Nothing like the beast who hunted me.
I pull up another tab and type in another search term.
Blackwood family business
I need to understand him, to find the man behind the mask he wore during the Hunt.
I know he’s watching. He probably gets alerts every time I use my laptop. But I don’t care. Let him see. Let him know I’m becoming as obsessed as he is.
I stare at the articles about the Blackwood empire, but they only show the polished surface. The truth is hiding somewhere deeper.
