Page 138 of The Contract

The alternative? A one-way ticket straight into hell’s VIP lounge—complete with a lifetime of relentless shit-talk from my brothers.

Fine. Decision made.

The walking, talking blow-up doll it is.

She pops her gum obnoxiously, timing so terrible it’s almost impressive. “You ready for me, baby?” she coos.

So now I’m baby.

I snatch her hand away from my cock, pretending her touch doesn’t make my skin crawl, and sear every last sinful inch of Pom into my brain.

Purging my sick obsession? Easy fucking peasy.

I’ll just think of her while I’m fucking what’s-her-name.

With more force than intended, I yank the blonde toward me. She stumbles, giggling as I drop onto the sofa, leaning back like a king about to be serviced.

She moves to join me.

I stop her cold with a look.

Surprise flickers through her eyes. “What?”

I drag off my tie—slow and deliberate as my voice drops into a dark, merciless command.

“On your knees.”

CHAPTER 47

Riley

Let’s be clear.

I’m not reckless. Or particularly spontaneous.

Fun? Sure.

Guilty of so many overdue library books I’ll never be able to pay off? Absolutely.

Pressing a knife to a lethal mobster like I’m shaking him down for lunch money?

Um, no.

Yet here I am, shoving through a throng of heat and noise, sweaty bodies packed so tightly together I can practically hear the fire code sobbing in the corner.

Most of the throng are men.

Most masked.

And every last one of them handsy as hell.

I reach the stairs, but two monstrous men block my path—scarred, tattooed, and packing more heat than SEAL Team Six. These two make the thug outside look downright cuddly.

I duck sharply to the side, ignoring every instinct screaming abort, abort, abort.

I remind myself answers wait up those stairs.

Answers and the key to setting my sister free.

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