It wouldn’t hold up in court, but making the women sign it made it more likely they wouldn’t renege on their end of the deal. No one ever had — either because they wanted to be here even if they didn’t know it yet or because they were afraid of Bram — but if they had we would have let them go.
The Hunt and everything that came after was only fun if everybody was all in.
I watched her face as she finished reading, taking in her smooth skin and high cheekbones. I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes, but her lips were lush, her neck long and slender and begging for my hands. Her long hair was glossy and black as a raven, shining under the red light and pulled into a ponytail that said she knew why she was here.
That said she knew she’d not only have to hide — she’d have to run.
She was small and compact, with a narrow waist and extravagant hips, her tits mostly hidden but pillowy under her T-shirt and leather jacket.
I imagined her naked and felt my dick get hard, then tried to will it away. Some of the men around us engaged in the Hunt for the prize of having a woman in their beds, at their beck and call for three months.
That was the opposite of what we needed. We’d never had trouble getting a woman in our bed. We hunted for what was asked of us if we lost.
It was a rarity but deep down that was what Bram, Remy, and I wanted: a free pass to act out our inner rage on some unsuspecting victim named by our prey.
And let’s be honest: they were never really victims. The people who ended up with targets on their backs had driven these women to the tunnels under Blackwell Falls, had pushed them into a scenario that effectively made them slaves if they lost.
Those who were marked for death weren’t innocents, but there were still a couple rules: no kids, no women. Anyone else was fair game, and we lived for the moments when we could indulge our darkest impulses.
The problem was, once we started hunting, we couldn’t help but play to win.
And we almost always won.
The little raven signed the sheet of paper and Bram moved on to the other girls.
I glanced at Remy, who by some miracle was upright, no signs of chaos around him. For such a big guy, he was shockingly clumsy, and I’d gotten used to broken dishes in the loft, spilled beer on new furniture, and collisions with everything from stationary objects to random people on the streets.
Now his gaze was fixed on the dark-haired girl. We didn’t usually have any attachment to our prey: we picked the girl who seemed most likely to give us a run for our money, most likely to make the Hunt fun, and that was that.
But now that we’d seen her, now that we knew about the gun, we all wanted her.
I glanced over at the other men and homed in on the Hawks, otherwise known as Hawk, Viggo, and Jagger. They were birds of prey, the beaks of their masks curving downward, the tops peaked with metal feathers.
Viggo and Jagger were murmuring to each other, but Hawk’s eyes were glued to our little raven.
He must have felt me looking at him because he turned his head to meet my gaze and I gave a shake of my head, my warning implicit.
This one’s ours.
Technically, it wasn’t true until we marked her with our blood, but we’d never been big on technicalities.
The rules were what we said they were. The end.
Hawk’s eyes hardened and he looked at Bram, still standing in front of the girls signing the waiver. I probably should have been offended. It should have been enough that I’d said no, that I’d claimed the dark-haired girl on behalf of my team.
But I couldn’t blame Hawk.
Remy and I could do plenty of damage on our own, but it was Bram who struck fear into the hearts of every man, woman,and child in Blackwell Falls. He ruled the town, ruled the fucking night, and Hawk knew the golden rule as well as anyone: cross Bram Montgomery and be prepared to lose your fucking head.
Or some other important part of your body.
Hawk pulled his eyes from Bram and shifted on his feet, his agitation obvious in the set of his shoulders when he bent his head to Viggo and Jagger. He spoke to them and they looked my way.
Annoyance flashed on Jagger’s face, clearly a product of Hawk’s announcement that the little raven was off-limits, and they got into a huddle, glancing at the girls to choose another target.
I prided myself on equanimity, worked hard to maintain it, but now anticipation surged in my veins. It had been a long time since I’d been excited before a Hunt, but this one felt different already, and I didn’t know if I was more excited for the Hunt — or for what we would do to the little raven when it was over.
4
