Page 71 of The Contract

And I told him that Ilovedhim. It felt like the truth at the time, but now that I’m back in a familiar space, one that means failure, one that meansalone, I’m not so sure. This is more what I am.

Maybe I’m hiding from those words as much as I’m hiding from Dante.

I realize that he’d just had a nightmare, one bad enough that it made him throw up. I’m not even upset about him pinning me against the wall in a completely not-sexy way. That’s not what hurt. What hurt were his words.I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Get out, get the fuck away from me.

What hurts even more is that he hasn’t tried to contact me.

I suppose I could have gone to the apartment he rented for me after all. Not that I would have. I need space. I need to be completely separate from anything that he’s touched.

The trouble is, there’s no part ofmethat he hasn’t touched. But I need to forget those touches andthink.

I get a bit of clarity standing in line for mac-n-cheese. I get a bit more sleeping on a cot in the old, converted gymnasium. And here’s what I discover: I allowed myself to need him. That’s not me. I don’t need people. I don’t beg people.

I know better than that because people can’t be depended on. They don’t care about you. They vanish. Or throw you out. And then you’re alone again.

The weird thing is, it’s not like I let myself believe that Dante was some kind of noble person, like in the fantasy novels I used to devour. I never thought he was some hero come to rescue me from my lonely little life. I just got swept up in his vortex, in his heat and intensity, in his raw, gritty realness.

And all of thatwasreal.

The only problem was that I started to think I had a place in it.

But that’s not the only problem, is it? There’s also the fact that I have no idea where he goes on the nights when he’s missing. That sort of got overwritten by my worry and my need, but it’s rising to the surface now, that question.

What the hell does Dante really do?

My first suspicion was underground fighting, but he has bullet scars. There wouldn’t be guns in those kinds of fights, would there?

There’s also the question of his connection to Lorenzo Capelli. I don’t think they’re partners or friends or anything like that, but they’re clearly in each other’s business somehow.

Dante completely sidetracked me from my original goal: to find out what happened to my brother Evan. He was gone for sixteen years, presumed dead, before popping back into my life, dropping Capelli’s name, promising all kinds of shit that wasn’t going to happen, and vanishing again.

If he’s dead, why? And where was he all that time?

I’m not sure how to get back onto that hunt for answers. I think I blew my chances at Lush. I missed work last night, and with Dante so tightly connected to Rafael—which is anotherwhat the fuck—I don’t see that avenue being open.

I guess I could start stalking Capelli, but I prove to myself that Evan isn’t my primary concern when I start stalking Dante instead.

For six hundred bucks, the Uber driver agrees to clock out and spend the night as my personal chauffeur. He also agrees to not ask any questions about why we’re parked outside Dante’s building until 2 a.m.

I’m just starting to think this is a waste of time when a motorcycle rolls out from the parking garage. I recognize the bike even though I’ve never seen Dante ride it. I recognizehimeven though he’s wearing a helmet. I would never not know that body. The power. The sharp intensity.

I say to the Uber driver, “Follow the guy on the bike, but don’t be obvious.”

He makes some obnoxious quip about his stealthiness, but I’m busy watching Dante. I haven’t seen him for two days. Even from this distance, even though all I can see is his motorcycle jacket and helmet, my heartrate speeds up.

My heart has been so dull and heavy for two days that it surprises me to feel that familiar quickening. It upsets me too. I thought I had talked myself out of wanting him.

We follow him to an old warehouse, staying well back. He parks his bike in the loading bay and goes inside.

The place looks abandoned. There are no other vehicles, no other people. This definitely isn’t the site of some underground fighting ring. It’s something else.

“Okay, thanks, this is it,” I say as I open the door and get out.

“You want me to wait?”

“Nah. I’ll take the train.”

“Cool.”

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