Page 98 of Cursed
Jolene’s bruised face fills my screen. Her eyes are wide with terror above a dirty gag. Blood trickles from her temple.
“Ms. Reynolds.” A heavily accented voice speaks as the camera pans to reveal a middle-aged man with cold eyes. “I am Ilya Orlov. Your friend has been most uncooperative.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “What do you want?”
“Simple. Create a public scene with Landon Blackwood at tonight’s event. Make it dramatic—a lover’s quarrel, perhaps. Then lead him to the east garden. Alone.”
“He’ll know something’s wrong?—”
“Then be convincing.” Orlov’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have until midnight to deliver him. If you alert anyone or fail to deliver him, your friend dies. Most unpleasantly.”
The call ends abruptly. I clutch the countertop, legs weak.
Landon returns. “Car’s waiting. Ready?”
I force a smile. “Ready.”
As we walk toward the elevator, guilt claws at my insides. I’m leading Landon into a trap. Despite everything he’s done, despite how much I should want him to suffer, the thought of betraying him makes me feel physically ill.
But what choice do I have? It’s Landon or Jolene.
The sleek town car glides through the city streets, neon lights reflecting off the tinted windows as we head toward the charity ball. I stare out at the blur of colors, my mind racing with the impossible choice I face. Jolene’s bruised face haunts me. As does Orlov’s cold voice delivering his ultimatum.
“Sadie.”
I jump at Landon’s voice, my nerves frayed.
“You’re trembling.” His hand slides over mine. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I force myself to meet his eyes, those calculating blue depths that strip away every defense.
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice drops an octave. “Your pulse is elevated. You’ve barely spoken since we left. And you keep checking your phone.”
I pull my hand away, curling my fingers into my palm. “It’s nothing serious. Just... It’s that time of the month. Started right before we left.” I shrug. “I’m a little crampy, that’s all.”
Landon stares at me, utterly still in that feral stillness that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. His eyes narrow, scanning my face. “Is that so?” His voice is soft. “Interesting. Because according to your calendar—the one you keep on your phone that I have access to—you’re not due for another week and a half.”
My stomach drops. Of course he would know my cycle. Of course he would track that along with everything else. I swallow hard, scrambling for another excuse.
“I’m irregular sometimes. Stress can?—”
“Stop.” His hand captures my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Whatever game you’re playing tonight, I suggest you reconsider.”
I force myself to hold Landon’s gaze despite the tremor in my limbs. His fingers tighten on my chin, not painfully but with unmistakable warning.
“I’m fine.” I inject as much conviction into my voice as possible. “Just nervous about tonight. All those people, the cameras, being introduced as your... whatever I am.”
His eyes narrow, searching for cracks in my story.
“Besides,” I continue, “do you really want the intimate details of my menstrual cycle? Should I describe the cramping? The bloating? How about?—”
“Enough.” He releases my chin, lips twitching. “Your biological functions aren’t my concern unless they interfere with your availability to me.”
I turn away, staring out the window. Jolene’s face flashes in my mind—the bruises, the terror in her eyes. My best friend. The only person who’s stood by me through everything. I can’t let her die because of me.
“Look at me,” Landon commands.
I steel myself before meeting his gaze again.
