Page 128 of The Contract

Oh. Right.

I sweep my hair aside, catching a glimpse of myself in a mirrored panel—and freeze. For a second, I don’t even recognize the girl staring back.

Wide-eyed. Breathless. Wrapped in a dress that practically required lube and a prayer to squeeze into. Teetering on shoes that truly are killer—in every sense of the word.

The drum solo from We Will Rock You kicks into high gear inside my chest the instant the necklace snaps shut.

Am I sweating? Jesus. This sparkling noose around my neck probably costs more than a small country.

It’s delicate. Dainty, even. But heavier than it looks.

Then comes the click.

Quiet. Ominous. And final.

This isn’t the kind of clasp that pops open accidentally—it’s the kind that demands a key, a crowbar, or an especially rabid animal gnawing straight through my neck to pry it loose.

Her manicured fingers reveal a tiny, gleaming key. “I’ll keep it safe.”

Then—without breaking eye contact—she slips it directly into her cleavage.

Well, that’ll be awesome to retrieve later. Like blindly fishing for keys between Satan’s sofa cushions. Who knows what other unholy treasures I’ll dredge up?

Before I can puzzle out why she’s safeguarding it like a nipple ring, her fingertips brush past my arm, pressing lightly against a hidden panel.

A quiet, mechanical hiss slices through the silence.

The wall shifts.

Mary, Jesus, and Joseph. It’s a hidden. Fucking. Door.

In one smooth motion, the wall glides open, and suddenly I’ve stepped straight into an Ashley Elston novel—the dark thrill of danger and secrets coexisting deliciously with music, laughter, and the sweet, smoky fragrance of inescapable sin.

Seductive hedonism coils around me like a warm blanket. And as much as I loathe admitting it, this right here?

Totally worth it.

Etched above the doorway, words glisten faintly in the flickering light, the letters carved like scars into dark stone:

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Recognition prickles at the back of my mind. My gaze snags on the words, flipping desperately through the shadowed pages in the back of my mind. “Where do I know that from?”

Her eyes darken, inky black spilling beneath thick lashes. She leans in close, her voice pure honeyed poison sliding over my skin. “The book.”

“Dante’s Inferno,” I breathe, the words falling from my lips.

Her mouth curves into a wickedly sweet smile.

“Congratulations. You’ve officially entered the first circle of Hell.”

CHAPTER 44

Riley

Two steps into the club, and the atmosphere devours me whole—dark, seductive, an intoxicating heartbeat thrumming beneath my feet.

Before I can react, sweaty hands clamp down on my arms.

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