Page 44 of The Final Contract
It isn’t Barrett.
It’s not even Killian anymore.
It’s her.
The gym girl. The one who dots her i’s with hearts.
She’s here. At the bar. And she’s walking straight toward my bodyguard.
Candi’s long brown hair swishes as she struts up to Killian, bright red mini clinging like shrink-wrap. His eyes are locked on mine—mine—until she cuts between us, trailing her hand along his chest like she owns him.
She must have said something, all teeth and eyelashes, because his mouth quirks. And then—God help me—he looks right at me. Holds my gaze before turning back to her.
Like he’s making sure I’m watching.
My stomach twists. Barrett doesn’t notice, too busy telling me about some prank his teammates pulled last season. All I hear is the pounding of the bass and the blood in my ears as Killian signals and the bartender slides a drink across to Candi.
She toys with the straw between her lips, slow and deliberate, like it’s an invitation for Killian to stuff her mouth with his cock.
He turns toward her, elbow propped against the bar, his posture lazy, dangerous. But his eyes—his eyes keep flicking back to me.
Barrett leans in, warm breath brushing my ear. “Dance with me?”
I nod before I can think better of it. Anything to move, to distract myself. His hand finds mine—steady, polite—guiding me to the floor.
Killian doesn’t move. He just keeps up his little performance with Candi.
The music swallows us, pulsing lights flashing. Barrett isn’t a good dancer, but I don’t need him to be. I just need him to not be Killian.
He steps behind me, hands settling at my hips, his mouth close enough to skim my neck. It’s enough to sell the scene. Enough to make it look like I’m his.
But I’m not looking at him.
I’m looking at Killian.
He’s still at the bar, still watching me even as Candi flirts like she’s auditioning for Pornhub. He plays with the ends of her hair, twisting a strand between his fingers like he’s fixing it. Then he drops it, dismissive.
She giggles. Throws her head. Rubs his arm.
My pulse spikes. I turn in Barrett’s arms, loop mine around his neck, force myself to look at him instead. His hands glide to my back, then lower. Not quite cupping my ass, but close. He whispers a compliment—something about how beautiful I am—but it’s background noise.
Because in the mirrored walls of the club, I can still see Killian.
Candi is still there.
Then he pulls out his phone. Smiles down at the screen.
My chest tightens.
She leans into him, hand on his forearm, whispering into his ear. He’s punching something in—her number? Her fucking number?
Asshole. He told me he wasn’t going to call her. And it’s stupid, so stupid, but the jealousy tastes bitter in my throat. I’ve been teasing him, taunting him, dangling what he says he can’t have… but I don’t like being on the other side of it.
I’m not supposed to be on the other side of it.
I’m the one looking for a husband. My final contract before I quit the Ledger and have a life of my own. Someone to give me a child or two. A comfortable life I’ve saved for.
Candi makes a show of kissing his cheek, her hand sliding slow down his arm before she saunters away, hips swinging,throwing a look over her shoulder that screams follow me to the bathroom and bend me over the fucking counter.
