Page 54 of The Contract

Dante is usually so obnoxiously healthy that I get a lot of enjoyment out of watching him eat it.

I say, “I notice you offered me two dishes that require a spoon.”

“Yeah, well, you’re very stabby today. Though I’m sure you could still hurt me with that if you wanted.”

“And today I learned that you could stop me if you wanted.” Not that I didn’t already suspect that. He’s so much stronger than me. He manhandles me so easily. And the scars on his body—knife wounds, bullet wounds, and that awful slice along his inner thigh to his groin—tell me that he’s used to fighting.

Why the hell is someone who grew up so rich so scarred by violence? Why can’t I make myself ask him? Am I afraid of his reaction? Or of the answer?

But he takes the conversation in a different direction. “You can stab me if you want, but don’t go trying to stab other people. It’s dangerous.”

“That’s the weirdest statement I’ve ever heard.”

“I mean it, Tristan. That guy you tried to attack, he’s not someone for you to fuck with.”

I almost blurt out the name, because I know very well who “that guy” is. Dominic Capelli. Son of Lorenzo Capelli.

I honestly don’t know what made me lunge at him, his homophobic words or who he is. I was so raw at that moment, so stripped of my usual barriers, that I just reacted.

“So you know him?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem to be friends,” I observe, hoping he’ll offer something.

He only responds with, “Don’t worry about him.”

“But—”

“If you see him again, get away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“You’redangerous,” I point out.

“Yes, but I have rules. He doesn’t.”

EIGHTEEN

Dante

I shouldn’t be doing this right now. I’m not technically breaking Noah’s rules because I didn’t have an incident. In fact, because I have Tristan, I’ve stayed pretty fucking calm in spite of the shit that came boiling up after seeing my parents.

Of course, Noah might consider what I did to Tristan with the plug to be an incident. Even if he let that slide, there’s still the fact that I’m compromised and I know it.

In spite of all the sex, I couldn’t sleep last night. As soon as Tristan was out and no longer available to distract me, my mind started churning.

It’s been a while since I’ve thought so directly about my time with the Society. It’s always there, in the background. It’s the very reason I’m waging my slow, quiet war against Capelli. But I don’t usually let any of the images come back to me.

Last night, they did.

Tristan was confused about why I was shitty this morning. It’s hard for him when we’ve had good moments, moments that for most people are everyday things. Eating. Talking.

It’s hard for me too—because those moments make me want more of them. Those moments make me want this thing with Tristan to be more than it is.

So it’s good, really, that I was an ass this morning. We need to both remember that what we have in an arrangement, not a relationship.

I’ve never had trouble remembering that before.

But then, I’ve never met anyone like Tristan before. Sometimes, I almost want to talk to him about what I really do. But I can’t imagine him being able to handle the truth. And if I had to explainwhyI do what I do?

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