Page 46 of The Final Contract
What she does need to know—what I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy—is the fire in her eyes when Candi came up to me. The way her jaw tightened, her smile faltered imagining what she wanted with me. To know why I hadn’t texted her yet. Why I wasn’t back at the gym. When I’d make time for her.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Finn, the stubborn bastard. Always watching too close.
FINN: Stop trying to make your mark jealous. I’ve got someone out here to talk to you.
It made me laugh. Finn would never say shit like that out loud where anyone could hear. Professional to the end. But he knows me in a way no one else does. Knows the blood I come from. Knows what I am, and what I’ve walked away from.
And he was right. It was worth it just to watch Seraphina practically combust across the room. She probably thinks Candi slipped me her number again. She was trying to—batting lashes, leaning in, playing with her straw like it was practice for her throat.
I brushed her off. Told her I was on assignment. No personal matters during assignments. That line alone damn near made her squirm, eyes lighting up at the idea I might actually be interested.
She touched my arm on the way out, lingering like she thought she’d left a mark. But I saw her friends waiting just past the doorway. She wasn’t hunting me—she was hunting an ego stroke.
No matter.
Because Seraphina showed her cards tonight.
And they’re jealous as fuck.
Finn leans in close, his mouth almost to my ear, Irish brogue rough against the bass pounding through the club.
“There’s a lass from back home,” he says. “Owes me a favor. Still got a foot in both worlds. She can pull strings that might be useful.”
I cut him a look. “I already told you no. I’m not draggin’ the Irish into this.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard, Kill,” he fires back, steady as stone. “You always were. But you don’t have to go runnin’ back to your brother. This isn’t that. This is a woman who knows people, knows things we can’t touch. And if it helps keep Seraphina breathin’—”
I grind my jaw. He knows exactly where to stick the knife.
Finn’s eyes don’t flinch. “You can hate me for sayin’ it, but you’re not thinkin’ clear when it comes to her. Let someone else play a part.”
I blow out a slow breath. “Fine. A few minutes. That’s all.” I jab a finger toward the dance floor where she’s wrapped around Barrett fucking Hall. “Get a few of our boys in here. Eyes on her every second. I don’t want dick-wad making a single move I don’t know about.”
Finn nods once. “Done.”
I don’t look back. Can’t. If I turn around and see her playing seductress for some pro cock-wipe, I’ll end up storming that floor and breaking Barrett’s fucking hand for touching her.
So I keep walking. Toward the exit. Toward the dark. Away from the very thing I can’t admit I want.
Irecognize Nora from half a block away.
An old friend of my mother’s—the kind she could lean on when the family name turned everything else toxic. I haven’t seen her in years. And if memory serves, she was more than “close” to Finn a time or two. The way her eyes find him right away tells me I’m right.
Finn thanks her for coming, kisses her cheek. Supposed to be friendly, but the way his hand lingers on her arm says otherwise.
“Thanks for coming, Nor.”
“Good to see you, Killian.” I can see the age around her eyes from the woman I remember, but the intensity is no less present. She’ll cut you down just as quick as she’ll invite you to sit at her table.
“He tell you what this is about?” I nod to Finn, but Nora shakes her head.
So I give her the rundown. The stalker. The five years. The photos. The near misses. How every time we try to pin him, he slips. Best theory we’ve got is a former client—or some asshole who wanted in the system and got shut out.
Nora shakes her head, slow. “You’re lookin’ too high, Killian. Look lower. More common. He’s stayed invisible this long because he isn’t anyone you’d normally look at.”
That sticks. My teeth grind as I turn it over.
