Page 73 of The Contract

Dante is standing in the doorway. In his black jeans and motorcycle jacket, he’s as darkly sexy as ever, but now I know what a lie that is—because now I knowwhathe is.

My heart is racing. I’m trapped in a creepy warehouse basement with a man who has proven many times that he can overpower me. A man who captures and tortures and murders people. A man with a whole stack of pictures ofchildren. And one of my dead brother.

As Dante approaches, I skitter back, bumping into the edge of the desk, making the monitors wobble. Dante crouches and gathers up the pictures of the boys. The picture of the unidentified dark-eyed boy is on top. His hand hesitates as he reaches for it, then he grabs it quickly and puts it on the bottom of the stack.

As he straightens and returns the pictures to their folder, his movements are slow and careful, like he’s trying not to startle me. He sets the file folder on the desk.

“Are you going to kill me?” I ask breathlessly. My body is humming with adrenaline.

“No,” he says, sounding tired. He looks it too. The bruising on his face has faded a little, but there are dark circles under his eyes. Like he hasn’t slept in the last two days.

He’s not exactly blocking my exit, but he is standing between me and the door. He could grab me if I tried to run. He could put me in that cell.

He must see the thought in my eyes because he says, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I—” He cuts himself off, breathing hard and looking almost panicked, like whatever he almost said is locked up inside him.

“You hurt other people,” I say. There’s a note of question in my voice, and I know it’s pathetic, like I’m hoping this place isn’t what it looks like. But it is, of course, and he confirms it.

“Yes.”

“Why do you have all those pictures of kids? What the fuck is that?”

“It’s … complicated.”

Anger overrides my fear. Of course he won’t fucking tell me. “What about that picture of my brother? Is that complicated too?”

“Your—what?”

“My brother! The picture of my brother!”

He looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Which …?” He seems to realize that I’m not about to step closer to him, so he backs away.Dantebacks away. I’ve never seen him back away before.

Maybe that’s what gives me the guts to stride forward and open the folder I set aside. I pick up the photo of my brother with a bullet between his eyes.

“Mybrother,” I grit out.

“Evan … is your brother?”

“Don’t you meanwas? And do you expect me to believe you didn’t know? Same last name as me?”

“I never knew Evan’s last name. I had no idea he was your brother. But that’s … how can that be? That’s too big of a coincidence. Wait—didyouknow? Before we … started?”

“I certainly didn’t know that you killed my brother!”

“What?No. Tristan,no. I didn’t kill Evan. I would never have—”

“You were obviously there when he died, so don’t fucking tell me—”

“Lorenzo Capelli sent me that picture.Hekilled Evan. He’d hired Evan to kill me, but when Evan realized who I was, he refused to do it. Itoldhim to get the fuck out of New York, out of the fucking country, but he said …”

“What?” I snap when Dante trails off, his gaze going internal.

“He said he had to get his brother. He meantyou.”

It takes me aback. If Dante knows that, then hedidtalk to Evan. Of course, that doesn’t prove that he didn’t kill him.

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