Page 170 of The Contract

Dominic doesn’t look at me. “Six minutes, sir.”

I nod before I make one final, deliberate act of exactly how Dante D’Angelo will die.

I open the door. “I’ll drive.”

Dominic moves to the passenger seat, quiet and decidedly unbuckled.

I slide behind the wheel.

Floor the gas.

Adrenaline slams through me like New Year’s in Times Square.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

CHAPTER 58

Riley

White-hot spikes jab straight into my chest as I reach Mila.

“Mila!”

She’s limp and heavy, slumped in my arms like wet goddamn clay.

I snatch the champagne from Decker’s hand and splash it into her face.

“Wake up!” I bark, shaking her hard. “Mila!”

Then, just barely, her lashes flutter.

A soft groan escapes her lips. “Huh?”

The skull-masked freaks start circling—shirtless, painted, eyes locked like hyenas catching the scent of blood.

I flip Da’s knife open and—Jab—Jab—Swing?—

Whoosh—the air whistles, sharp and vicious, as the blade slices through space an inch from bone.

“Back. The. Fuck. Off!”

One of them growls low, feral and animal like. But he doesn’t lunge at me. None of them do.

They’re enjoying this.

Toying with me.

Getting off on the fear.

Getting disgustingly, fucking hard.

“Leave her,” Decker calls out, calm as ever. It’s as if he’s commenting on a wine pairing, not a hostage.

“Her friend’s not going far. And this one will tire soon enough.”

That’s when Mila shifts. Just enough.

“Riley?” Her voice is thready, barely there. I haul her upright, arm cinched tight around her waist.

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