Page 172 of The Contract

“We’re fine,” I say, even as my pulse slams against my ribs, fighting the dark pressing in from every side.

“We are?” Mila’s voice is barely a whisper.

I swallow hard, choke down the rising panic, and forge steel into my tone.

“Yes. We’re going to be fine.”

A spark flares in the dark. Then—light.

The breath I’d been pretending not to hold finally slips from my lungs.

A match, a candle. When my eyes adjust, I make out a face. All on the other side of the bars trapping us in. “Decker?”

“Fine?” His voice echoes, chilled with amusement. The flame catches his smirk. “Ah, no. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be fine.”

The Irish accent’s thicker now. “The name’s Declan. And you, my dear,” he says, eyes skating over me, “are about to become the polar opposite of fine.”

“What do you want?” I snap.

His grin widens with sadistic glee. “You, Riley.”

My stomach knots. He wants me? I stumble back. “What?”

“I want you…to meet your fate.” He tosses two dresses onto the floor between us. Skimpy but elegant.

“I suggest you put those on.”

I square my jaw. “And if we don’t?”

His smile hardens.

“Then you’ll be stripped down and auctioned off naked.” His gaze drags to my throat. His brow pinches. “At least… one of you will,” he mutters, more to himself.

He glances at his watch. “You better hurry. The auction starts soon. I’d hate all the men to walk in if you weren’t fully dressed.”

Well. That’s not fucking happening.

I’ve still got my knife.

And if he just leans in—just a little closer—I could almost?—

BOOM.

The floor jolts beneath us. Dust rains from the ceiling in a slow, choking cloud.

And Da’s knife slips from my grip, hits the ground with a metallic clang, and skids out of reach.

Shit.

Mila yelps. I flinch, instinctively curling toward her.

Declan doesn’t even blink.

“What was that?” I demand, coughing, breath catching dust in my throat.

“That?” He sighs, pointing like I’ve just asked the dumbest question alive, his gaze dropping to my throat. “That would be your precious Dante D’Angelo.”

My pulse spikes hard. He said my Dante D’Angelo. Like, he knows. Knows that Dante cut the necklace off my neck. To save me.

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