Page 63 of The Contract

Tonight, I can’t.

Noah goes calm as I stand there, fists clenched, breathing like a fucking animal. It’s a little too familiar. How many times did I explode before Noah taught me how to calm down, how to channel my rage into something a little less evil?

I don’t want to tell him the truth, which is that I didn’t get enough satisfaction from killing murderers and abusers. I didn’t feel enough of a release. I need to destroy the people who destroyed me. I can’t find most of them, all the rich men of the Society who used to visit the Island where all of us boys were kept. But I can find Capelli, who sold me into it, and it keeps me calm, knowing I’m destroying him bit by bit.

But there’s another truth, which Noah clearly senses. Iamstruggling, and, yes, it’s because of Tristan. Because he’s making feel things that I don’t know how to feel. And he’s making me want things that I don’t know how to want.

I cannot, Iwill not, tell Noah that—because I don’t want to hear Noah say that I should end things with Tristan. I wouldn’t do it, but Ican’thear that, not from him—because I trust him. Because I would believe him.

So instead I say, “You know what, Noah? Stay the fuck out of my life. I don’t fucking need you anymore. So there you go, Rafael. Daddy’s all yours.”

Noah calls after me as I stalk toward the elevator. “Dante!”

But I’m gone. I’m long fucking gone even before the elevator doors close.

TWENTY-ONE

Dante

My phone dings another fucking text alert. I look at it even though I shouldn’t. Rafael. Again.

Stop acting like a little bitch. I thought you were past that.

It’s better than Tristan’s messages.

Where are you?

Are you coming home?

Are you ok?

Are you safe?

There’s nothing from Noah. I knew there wouldn’t be.

I turn off my phone, hands shaking. I don’t know what to think about what I did last night.

I kissed Tristan.

I cut Noah out.

I killed one of Capelli’s thugs when I caught him following me.

The last one should have helped me forget about the first two. It didn’t.

So I’ll work here in my office for a while. Focus on something practical. Get my head straight.

Richard, who is officially my PA but mostly functions as my liaison to the office since I work from home a lot, bustles in with a folder as soon as I sit down. When I’m here, he hounds me nonstop. That’s his job, so I can’t exactly bitch about it, but fuck, give me five fucking minutes to think. I know I missed yesterday,but I do spend at least thirty hours a week in this goddamn office.

My father, though, regularly clocks sixty, so I get that I’m a slacker by comparison. But I have a second job. So to speak.

“Oh mygod, Dante, your face!”

Jesus, it’s not that bad.

“What happened? Never mind. Review and sign.”

He slaps the folder down in front of me. I flip it open and start skimming. Richard’s so damn good. But then, I do pay well.

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