Page 100 of The Contract

“Ahem.” Declan clears his throat, checking his watch as if he’s suddenly got somewhere better to be.

Either I’m doing this or I’m not.

If I don’t, the little prick will just find another way—and that photograph, possibly the only one in existence, becomes dust.

Without another thought, I toss the necklace at his chest.

He catches it effortlessly, clutching it with both hands, grinning like a kid snagging his first home-run ball.

A blade twists violently at my heart.

I don’t have a choice, I remind myself.

The lie slips past my defenses, driving the knife another merciless inch deeper into my chest.

Declan spills the necklace into his palm, eyes gleaming. Then, with all the reverence of a teenager minutes after jerking off, he pockets it, throwing me a smirking nod.

“Pleasure doing business with you, bráthair.”

I swear to fucking God, if he calls me brother one more time?—

He stumbles, making a sloppy beeline for the door. In three steps, I cut him off, blocking his path.

He blinks, confusion flashing across his face.

“The photo, Declan.”

“Ah, right.” He fumbles in his pocket, pulling out the crumpled page and reluctantly handing it over. He pats my shoulder—then swiftly yanks his hand back as my glare sharpens dangerously.

“Zver’s making an appearance,” he adds, straightening his lapels.

“Is that so? Funny, I didn’t see an RSVP.”

“The man has an appetite for fresh meat and pays a pretty penny for it. Mark my words, he’ll show.”

Zver always does.

Sightings of the Russian mean twice the work for me.

Like Bigfoot encounters or men in black, eyewitness accounts are rare, fleeting, and so riddled with contradictions, you can’t even be sure they’re describing the same man—or a man at all.

Declan leans in, twisted curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Ever wonder what happens to the women?”

“The women?”

“I’d trade a brick of blow to see what the sick fuck does with them. Most vanish without a whisper.” A twisted smirk crawls across his lips. “Maybe I’ll ask him for pointers.”

My tone stays flat, stripped of emotion. “With everyone behind masks, I doubt you’ll recognize him.”

His body explodes into laughter. The wild, jagged kind best muffled by padded walls.

It echoes around the room, clawing beneath my skin long after Declan stumbles out the door.

When silence finally settles, I exhale sharply and call the one man who doesn’t want to hear from me.

One ring, and the line picks up. No greeting, no small talk. Just a heavy, expectant sigh.

“Zver,” I say.

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