Page 164 of The Contract

Drags it behind her like it’s chained to a train, scraping up blood and bone until there’s nothing left.

Perfect fucking timing. Way to go, Pom.

Unfortunately, falling apart is not an option.

Dominic reappears, calm and efficient. Like he didn’t just watch me get wrecked.

Behind him, I catch movement. My uncle, reappearing in record time from the Feds. Friends in high places, I guess.

Fuck. My uncle probably won money for that slap.

“You said you wanted a car ready,” Dominic says, voice clipped. “We should move. Now.”

He’s right. Death’s beating down my door like a vice raid at midnight. And goddamnit, Riley will not distract me.

We move through the club fast, cutting through the murmurs and clinks of glass. I don’t look weak. I don’t look back.

Until I do.

There’s just enough time, or maybe just enough guilt, that I give in and take one last look.

Not that she’s hard to miss.

Pom is her own brand of chaos. Trying and failing miserably to fight her way out of a storm.

That reckless tilt of her head.

The fire still burning behind her eyes.

And whatever harebrained scheme she’s hatched, she’s clearly throwing herself into—all tits and ass, and a full-on Scottish girl fight.

And fuck me.

I’ve never been so hard in my life.

Tonight will be a wake up call for Pom. And for once—and for all—fucking finally—I’m at peace.

With her choices.

And mine.

Dominic moves quick, slipping us through a back door and into the alley.

Cold air slams into me like a lead pipe to the chest, and for the first time in hours?—

I can fucking breathe.

Now that we’re on the road, the wheels are all in motion. Still, something’s off.

Off enough that my gut won’t shut up about it.

I check my watch. My bearing.

“You know where you’re going?”

“Yes.”

The way he says it keeps ringing in my head—too calm, too fast.

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