Page 84 of The Contract

Maybe it’s cruel of me to make him explain when I’ve already figured it out. He was struggling. He was spiraling even before his nightmare. Maybe that’s why he had the nightmare in the first place. And worst of all, I now understand that he has a lot of fodder for nightmares.

But I still need him to say it.

“I was … afraid,” he admits.

That’s not what I expected. “Of what?”

“Of you. Of what I wanted with you.”

My breath catches. “And what do you want?”

“Everything.”

I close my eyes and breathe that in. My chest expands with it. But I don’t answer him. I’m not sure why, but I’m not ready to. I do, however, manage to leave the doorway and walk into the room.

“This place,” I say then get stuck. I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know what I’m asking. I don’t know how I feel about it.

“It’s … yeah,” he says. He doesn’t know what to say either. It’s a place where he tortures and kills people. In fact, it’s happening right now. But it’s Rafael in the cell with their victim, and the soundproof door keeps any screams from reaching us.

But the person in there, their captive, is the man who abused my brother. Groomed him. Turned him into a hitman for the mob. Took Evan from me.

Am I supposed to feel sorry him?

Am I supposed to tell Dante that what he’s doing is wrong?

I can’t find those words in myself. I can’t find those feelings in myself.

Instead I ask, “What are you trying to learn from him?”

Dante looks unsure about talking to me about this, but he says, “We’re extracting information about a man known as the Collector. He’s the one who bought Evan for the Society. He bought a lot of boys.”

“Bought him? From whom? There wasn’t anyone who would’ve …” I feel like my blood drains away as I realize the obvious, awful truth.

“What? Tristan, what?”

Rage bursts through me so hard and fast that I almost explode. “That piece ofshit!”

Suddenly Dante is right in front of me. I’m so fucking angry that I want to hit something. Dante has his gut clenched like he’s ready for it to be him, but I don’t want to hit him. He finally realizes that and grabs onto me instead. I wrap my arms aroundhim and dig my fingers into his back. Dante’s cheek presses against my head. His hands hold me close. I press my face against his neck and let the rage pass through me in waves.

“Who?” Dante asks when the worst of it is gone.

“Our foster father. He told me Evan ran away, that Evan left me because he didn’t care about me. But hesoldEvan. That’s why he suddenly had so many nice things. That’s probably how he got himself killed, buying all that shit.”

“He’s dead then,” Dante says, sounding disappointed, and I suddenly realize that if the asshole weren’t already dead, Dante would kill him—and I would want him to.

I want him to kill this other asshole too. The one who hurt Evan, who made it impossible for Evan to be rescued by Noah and brought home. Evan would have struggled after his experiences. He would never have been normal. Just like Dante will never be normal.

But I still would’ve loved Evan.

Like I still love Dante. Oh, I already knew that. It’s why I’m here. But the instant he grabbed me into his arms? Ifeltit again. I fucking love this psychotic asshole.

When I pull away from him, he lets me, but he stays close as I walk over to the table. To the file folders.

I know the one with the boys’ pictures. It’s the thickest.

Dante makes a pained sound when I open it, but he doesn’t stop me. I look at every boy. I can’t believe I thought, even for a second, that these were his victims. These are someone else’s victims. Many someones. That’s what the lists are—those someones. And though some on the lists are identified by name, others are identified only by description. All in Dante’s handwriting. The descriptions, then, are from his own memories.

Reeked of cologne.

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