Page 135 of The Contract

“Nineteen.”

My voice plunges, lethal and edged with ice. “That’s not fucking possible. Not when I gave you explicit instructions.” I tap my chin slowly, drawing out the tension. “Remind me—what were those instructions again?”

“No one under twenty-one tonight.” His eyes drop to his shoes, suddenly a toddler caught elbow-deep in the cookie jar.

My pulse spikes—though God knows why, since I’ve consumed enough alcohol tonight to tranquilize a fucking horse.

“Where is she?”

We cross the room in swift strides, stopping at the balcony overlooking the packed floor below. The music pounds relentlessly, vibrating straight through my bones.

“Point her out,” I demand.

Chio leans forward, scanning the east half, eyes sharp. I take the west, searching for my uncle’s distinctive presence.

We’re locked in like hawks, zeroing in on prey moving through high grass. Bodies shift and sway beneath pulsing lights, grinding mindlessly to the beat—while I grind my teeth down to fucking dust.

It shouldn’t affect me like this. The feud with my uncle isn’t exactly a secret. The toxic wasteland that is our relationship has been smoldering for years.

But the rules are simple. Stay the fuck away from my club, or spend the next decade dodging pipe bombs.

The fact he’s bending the rules tonight on a bullshit technicality shouldn’t shock me.

What does shock me is how far he’s willing to sink. That he’d drag a woman—young, naive, probably a fucking virginal sacrifice—into a sadistic hazing ritual like tonight?

A new fucking low.

Even for him.

My jaw locks tight as I spot the bastard threading casually through the crowded floor. For now at least, he seems alone.

Thank fuck for small mercies.

I study him as he flags down a passing waitress, grabbing a drink—and boldly cupping her ass without sparing a single glance. But his attention’s laser-focused, locked onto something else entirely.

On something—or someone—across the room.

It takes me exactly two seconds to zero in on what’s got him hypnotized.

Long, dark hair cascading like spilled ink. A slip of a dress that jolts every nerve-ending in my body awake.

Because when she moves, fuck…

Suddenly, the gods turn generous—and every last pesky brain cell shuts the fuck down.

When the crowd parts just enough, light perfectly frames her body. She sways with the beat—hips rolling slow, inviting every filthy thought my mind can conjure.

Like the silk of her thighs wrapped around my face.

Her dress hugs every curve. Short. Tight. Ending in a flare just begging for my hand to slip beneath it.

That delicate shade of pink leaves her looking nearly naked—and yeah, my dick’s fully on board.

Her hands drift lazily above her head, hips moving slow, deliberate, each sinuous twist showcasing the lush curve of her ass silhouetted perfectly in the golden glow.

A tantalizing glimpse of black lace and garter flashes high on her thigh—the kind made for my teeth.

She spins again, dizzying, carefree—pure fucking delight—and my pulse stops dead.

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