Page 10 of The Contract

“Monks-hood,” the Russian corrects. “An unimaginative but rather nasty poison. First, the burning sensation. Then vomiting. Heart palpitations. Rapid-onset paralysis…Shall I go on?”

Pause.

“And before your friend reaches for his weapon, I’ve got another one, right here.”

By the sharp gasp, I’m guessing Tall, Dark, and Russian just flashed another star during his teachable moment.

Ragged breaths chop through the silence before the weight of him slumps hard against the car.

“Without treatment?” the Russian adds, casual as ever. “You’ve got about thirty minutes. Maybe forty-five. I recommend hauling yourself the next block over. Hail a cab. If you’ve still got the strength.”

Frantic and fleeing, a gallop of clumsy footsteps retreats. But…only the one set of steps.

Two feet scurrying. Not four.

Then a hand fists my hair, yanking so hard a bolt of pain sears through the rough fabric covering my head. My body is jerked like a rag doll—the toy he’s determined to drag off the playground and take with him.

I suck in a sharp breath, clawing at his arm, nails sinking deep enough to draw blood.

His grip only tightens. “I’m leaving. And I’m taking her with me.”

“Using a woman as a shield?” the Russian tsks, his voice lower, more lethal than before. “Looks like I killed the wrong douchebag. An error I’ll soon remedy.”

Then—smack.

So fast. So furious.

A full half-second passes before I realize… it wasn’t me.

Numbnuts’ grip releases—the puppet master dropping the strings, and the puppet with them.

I fall.

No, not to the ground.

I’m caught midway by something solid. Unmoving.

The Russian.

“Stay here,” he commands, sliding me safely onto the hood of the car with the care of a fine porcelain doll secured high on a shelf.

A breath later, chaos explodes around me.

A hit.

A grunt.

The unmistakable crack of bone meeting bone.

Then another.

Then another.

I tune out the sounds.

Don’t think. Don’t breathe.

And for fuck’s sake, Riley, stop crying.

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