“Signing.” She looks up at me with unexpected determination. “If you’re going through with this, you shouldn’t do it alone.”
“Cora, no?—”
“I’m not backing out.” She finishes the signature and hits submit. “We’ll look out for each other. Two sets of eyes are better than one, right? Plus, if something happens to you, someone else needs to know the truth.”
The finality of her action hits me. “You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“Maybe not entirely,” she admits, finishing her martini in one gulp. “But I do know that I’m not letting my best friend walk into whatever twisted game this is without backup.”
I stare at Cora’s triumphant face as the reality of what just happened sinks in. She’s sealed her fate with a digital signature, binding herself to something she doesn’t truly understand—all because of me.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” I whisper, the whiskey suddenly bitter on my tongue.
“Ride or die, remember?” Cora flags down the server for another round, looking far too casual for someone who just agreed to be hunted.
A knot of guilt tightens in my stomach. I’d spent weeks convincing myself that risking my own safety was justified for the story, for justice. But Cora? I never wanted to drag her into this darkness.
Yet, as I watch her sitting across from me, already planning what she’ll wear as if this were just another social event, I feel an undeniable wave of relief wash over me. I won’t be alone in that labyrinth. When the Hunt begins, I’ll have someone I trust watching my back.
The selfishness of this thought isn’t lost on me. What kind of friend finds comfort in knowing her best friend will also be in danger?
“You don’t have to do this,” I try one more time, even as part of me hopes she won’t change her mind. “Your dad would kill me if he knew I got you involved in something like this.”
“Good thing he won’t know, then.” Cora raises an eyebrow. “Besides, when have I ever let you have all the fun?”
Fun. As if being pursued through Xavier Blackwood’s twisted playground could be described as fun.
“I should have tried harder to keep you away from all this,” I admit, rotating my glass between my palms. “But I’d be lying if I said I’m not grateful you’ll be there with me.”
Cora reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Two against fifteen. Better odds, right?”
I squeeze back, swallowing the lump in my throat. The truth is, I’m terrified. I’ve been puttingon a brave face, convincing myself I can handle whatever waits in that maze. But now, with Cora beside me, the crushing weight of facing it alone lifts slightly, even as my conscience screams that I should have protected her better.
11
XAVIER
The garage air hangs heavy with the scent of leather and gasoline, a combination I’ve always found oddly calming. My fingers glide over the sleek curves of my BMW S1000RR, its red finish gleaming under the overhead lights. The machine represents everything I value—precision, power, and control wrapped in an elegant package that most wouldn’t dare to touch.
I check my tire pressure, my mind cycling through the complications of the upcoming Hunt. Mira was an unexpected variable—challenging but manageable. Cora Pike’s sudden involvement, however, presents an interesting twist. The mayor’s daughter signing herself up for our little game changes the stakes considerably.
I move the cloth in slow circles over the chrome exhaust. A journalist and a politician’s daughter. Two potential threats to our carefully controlled system.
The garage door bangs open, the peaceful silenceshattered by Knox’s entrance. My younger brother strides in, helmet tucked under his arm, wearing that perpetual smirk that makes me want to simultaneously protect and strangle him.
“What are you doing? Polishing your pipe to distract from your awkwardly deep feelings for the bartender?” Knox taunts, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. His Aprilia RSV4 stands beside mine, modified with aggressive blue accents.
I don’t look up. “Keeping this ‘beauty’ running smoothly. Someone has to remind you how to ride like an adult.”
Knox laughs, circling his bike. “I ride exactly how I should—fast enough that consequences can’t catch up.” He revs the engine, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. “Besides, my bike might not be as refined as yours, but at least it has personality.”
“Your bike is a reflection of your chaos,” I reply, standing up to my full height. “Loud, flashy, and constantly on the verge of disaster.”
The side door opens, and Vane walks in, his imposing frame blocking the light momentarily. His green Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R is already positioned near the garage exit, ready as always.
“If we’re talking disasters,” Vane interjects, grabbing his helmet off the shelf, “let’s discuss Knox’s latest conquest. Wasn’t it the redhead from VIP section three? The one who slapped you after you suggested a threesome with her sister?”
I roll my eyes at Vane’s comment, but can’t help theslight upward curve of my lips. “At least Knox’s love life provides endless entertainment. It’s the only reliable service he offers the family.”
