Page 27 of The Contract

Because if I’m locked in here for even one more hour—no windows, no exits, no air—I will break.

Not metaphorically.

Not some distant, poetic kind of falling apart.

Now.

All rational thought skids to a violent halt. My feet carry me toward the bed, like my body has made the decision for me.

It’s a kiss, right?

Just a kiss.

Yes, it’s a kiss down there, but still?—

One kiss.

Nothing more.

I can survive a kiss.

My gaze lifts as I ignore the fact that my nipples are impossibly tight. “And then I can go?”

“When I’m done.”

When he’s done? My legs snap shut. Arms flail in protest. “You could take three days to get done!”

“I do like to take my time…but three days is a stretch. Even for me.” He shrugs, and checks his watch. “Even if I let you waltz out the door right now, where would you go?”

He’s not wrong.

I didn’t see a soul on the way in. Not one.

And the last thing I want is to wander around a city ranked top five for violent crime—with no phone, no cash, and no decent sense of direction to save my life in broad daylight, let alone at night.

He exhales, jaw ticking once, already tired of negotiating with a hostage.

“A kiss, and you leave at sunrise, Zapretnaya. Otherwise, you’re here for a week.”

I weigh my options.

Not that there are many.

Or any, really.

Eventually, I agree. “One kiss.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

Just reaches into his pocket and pulls out my worst nightmare. A slip of black fabric.

A blindfold.

My stomach drops.

Cold slams into me like a punch to the chest.

Sweat beads at the back of my neck.

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