Page 111 of The Contract

In another, he looks bored, detached, like all the world’s a stage, and everyone on it, his minions.

But it’s the candid shots that sink their teeth into me—the ones he didn’t pose for.

The ones where his eyes aren’t just sharp.

They’re lethal.

Ruthless.

Haunted…

I don’t realize how deep I’ve sunk into Dante’s darkness until my phone lights up.

A call.

From Kennedy.

My chest tightens so hard, it feels like something inside me is about to burst.

God, I’ve missed her.

With a sharp sigh, my thumb hovers. Then stops.

Yeah, I know. We need to talk.

But not with Satan probably breathing down her neck, hanging on her every word. And definitely not now.

Still, I could text her. Throw her the tiniest bone to explain why I’m ghosting her. Though trying to rescue you from the freaking mob might not go over well if Enzo the Damned sees it.

She calls again, and my heart can’t take it.

My finger hovers—aching to answer. To hear her voice. To explain everything and nothing at all?—

Just as a body slams into me from behind, yanking me violently back in line.

My phone tumbles from my grip, crashes onto the pavement, and fractures like a fucking prophecy.

The screen blinks out, dead.

All because the goddamn line moved an inch, and I didn’t follow.

Two hands clamp onto my arms, steadying himself as much as me.

“Shit—sorry,” the guy slurs, flashing a drunken, half-assed apology, swaying just enough to prove tequila’s behind the wheel.

His gaze crawls shamelessly over my body, lingering too long in all the wrong places.

If I could drive my knee into his balls without getting thrown to the back of this endless line, it would’ve happened already.

The last thing I need right now is another creep.

Scratch that.

The last thing I needed was a shattered phone—then the creep.

He doesn’t even spare a glance at my phone—let alone offer to pay for it—before two of his douchebag friends shove past, herding him toward their waiting ride.

A ridiculously pimped-out G-Wagon, fresh from club-hopping by the looks of their glazed eyes and designer clothes.

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