Page 105 of The Contract

My lips twitch, the first genuine smile in days. Mila really would. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

“I was. Now I’m plotting kidnappings.”

“Go back to not getting fired. Goodnight, roomie.”

I disconnect swiftly.

Mila’s optimism rubs off like fresh-squeezed lemons on an open wound.

Dante made me feel alive. Yet to him, I was nothing but a number. Disposable as a used tissue.

And it’s fucking killing me.

I yank the covers tight again. Instead of sleep, my brain stubbornly leapfrogs over Dante and lands squarely back on him.

My stalker.

Who the hell is he and what does he want?

If by some twisted trick of fate, this is Dante or Zver, the answer is clear. Two dangerous men. Both sharing the same one track mind.

They want me.

Pinned down. Helpless. And entirely at their sadistic mercy.

God, why does that twisted thought send my hand drifting shamelessly lower?

Stop.

Then—

Click-click.

That cold, metallic snap slices through my fantasies and freezes my blood.

Someone’s inside Kennedy’s apartment.

The air suffocates me while my heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way out.

Crack.

Another one.

Splintering the silence and too fucking close.

Panic detonates—a live wire under my skin.

Footsteps follow, each creak closer than the last.

I scramble for something. Anything. My hand snags the first thing I see. A goddamn can of hairspray.

Perfect.

Let’s blind a psychopath with lavender mist.

Then it comes. A groan of floorboards. Drawn out. Low.

My lungs lock.

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