Page 55 of The Contract

I don’t know if I could handle that.

I could barely handle having those images come back to me. I only got rid of them after a workout so extreme that I’m still sore.

Add to that how tired I am from no sleep then all day in the office? I shouldn’t be tracking this crew of Capelli’s.

But I have to do something to take the edge off because even with exhaustion, that edge is still there. Which means this is sort of, maybe, almost within the rules.

Besides, the dealer I had in containment is now a form of human sludge buried deep under the foundation of Noah’s current construction project, and I have to move on what I learned from him while it’s relevant.

He was part of the crew I’m tracking. They’re meeting a distributor tonight, and I have every intention of making that meeting a disaster.

We’re in a warehouse. I’m hiding behind a forklift, deep in the shadows. Capelli’s crew leader is talking with a man in a sleek gray suit. Everyone’s acting like best friends as a bag is opened and the product sampled.

Drugs are a small sideline for Capelli. Most of his crime is more white collar, but keeping some presence on the streets helps him gather information. He’s not a made man, but he does business like one.

In some ways, I respect him more than my father. At least Capelli knows what he is. He only pretends to be clean with the press and with his business associates. Outside of that, he fully embraces his family’s long history of mafia connections.

Unlike my father.

My father likes to pretend that he’s never been dirty, as though he wasn’t once partners with Capelli.

I time my shot with the movement of one of the crew. He’s just scratching his nose, but when a bullet from my noise-suppressed gun skims the arm of the sleek-suited distributor, that’s not what it looks like.

The distributor’s men are whipping out their guns in less than a second—and so are the members of Capelli’s crew.

All hell breaks loose.

And here’s where I make my mistake. I should leave. I can slip out in the chaos. I’ve done what I came for.

But it’s so cold. It’s so remote. It’s so fucking unsatisfying. It doesn’t even begin to calm the storm raging inside me.

I’m just hanging back here, breathing hard, listening to the shots and screams, when one of Capelli’s men shows he has a bit of a brain. He manages to escape the showdown and comes looking for me.

I’m so fucking relieved that I don’t even try to shoot him. I holster my gun and wait until he’s close, then I grab his outstretched gun hand. His gun goes off as I punch him in the chest.

He drops the gun when I break his wrist, but he’s got a knife in his other hand. I leap clear of the slashing blade. He comes at me again and again. I get a few punches in. He nicks me once or twice.

I dive in under his next slash, driving my shoulder into his stomach. I smash him into the forklift. With a roar, I smash him again. And again. He’s limp now, unconscious.

Furious, still unsatisfied, I pick up the knife he dropped and stab it into his throat. He never even feels it.

I shove the body away.

The fight has quieted. The distributor and his men are gone. Capelli’s crew is lying on the concrete, several of them groaning.

I draw my gun and go to take care of the survivors. I put bullets in several heads before I notice that one of their number is missing.

I hear the footsteps too late. I spin, raising my gun, but a two-by-four cracks into the side of my head.

I hit the ground, my head spinning.

My attacker, who was obviously out of bullets, grabs a gun from the limp hand of one of his dead crew mates.

I manage to get a shot off, but my aim is shit, so I only wing him. His aim is shit too, and he misses me completely. I almost laugh when he pulls the trigger again and it clicks.

I stagger to my feet. He charges me, but the world is spinning, and I can’t see him to shoot him.

I’m on the ground again. I twist out from under him, but he drives a knee hard into my gut. My head’s still spinning, but it doesn’t matter with him so close. I just have to get the muzzle of my gun against his body. When I do, I pull the trigger.

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