Page 181 of The Contract

The rage is animalistic, raw, spiraling out of control—neither of us backing down.

The elevator doors slide open, and I hear the familiar voice of my friend ring out across the chaos.

“Jesus Christ—break it up!” Marcus growls, James right behind him.

Arms pull at me, wrenching me backward as Lucian is hauled away.

We’re both breathing hard. Seething.

James holds a hand to Lucian’s chest, keeping him at bay. “Did you fucking hit her?” Lucian spits out, rage in his eyes.

Marcus has me pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against my throat, fisting my torn shirt.

“Fuck you, Lucian.” I spit back at the same time before I answer his stupid fucking accusation. “I would never.”

Lucian wipes blood from his mouth, spits onto my floor like he doesn’t give a shit. “Yeah, that’s not what my guys said it looked like.”

We are two seconds from tearing each other apart again.

“Are you fucking working with them too?” My voice is hoarse, my chest heaving as I push against Marcus. My vision tunnels in on Lucian, still fucking furious. “You, Elena, and Adrian?”

Lucian stills.

Then he laughs.

A low, dark, menacing sound that slides under my skin like a blade.

“You stupid fucking asshole.” He shakes his head, spitting more blood onto the floor. “You mean the guy who set her up to be gang-raped when she was eighteen?”

Silence explodes across the room, and I swear to God the entire building shifts.

Marcus and James both go rigid.

Something inside me goes cold, freezing me in place.

Lucian's eyes are full of disgust. Fury still vibrates through his frame, but it’s colder now. Controlled.

He takes a step forward, his voice dropping into something even more lethal.

"The only involvement I want with that prick is to watch the light leave his eyes when I fucking strangle him to death."

His words sink deep, settling in a place that makes my stomach twist, my pulse hammer.

“What the fuck happened with my contract, Wolfe?”

“Damien,” Marcus cuts in. “We were wrong, Damien.” His hold on me tightens. His voice breaks, raw with conviction.

“We were so fucking wrong.”

The tension in the room doesn’t break. It doesn’t dissipate.

It tightens, winding like a noose, constricting everything in its grip.

Marcus still has me pinned against the wall, his grip unrelenting, his forearm pressing into my chest.

He’s breathing hard, his jaw clenched so tight it looks like his teeth might crack.

I stare at my old friend like the explanation will be right there in his eyes.

---