Page 4 of The Contract

A sane person would turn around. Knock politely. Beg the hot priest to let me in and hunker down for the night.

Or, I don’t know, ask to use the phone.

But because I’m not sane, and clearly missing critical DNA strands, I lunge for the car, grip the handle, and yank. Full-blown Grand Theft Auto mode.

“Hello?”

Locked.

My knuckles rap against the dark tinted glass.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nothing.

I press my palm to the cold metal, my breath fogging against the window. No movement. No light. No driver.

“Come on,” I mutter, frustration prickling under my skin.

Is it too much to ask for two people to be fucking in the back seat?

Somewhere in the distance, a cat screeches, sharp and sudden. My heart jumps out of my chest.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

That’s my cue. I’m officially ready to crawl back inside and spend the night on a hard pew. Hot Priest can’t kick me out, right? Sanctuary and all?

A big, rough hand grazes my arm.

“Need a ride?”

CHAPTER 2

Riley

I jolt, spinning to face a walking police sketch. The squared-off forehead, heavy-browed menace, and sunken eyes that look me up and down, slow and deliberate, like he’s deciding if his first slice should be vertical or horizontal.

“Well?” His tongue slides over his lips, tasting every syllable. “Do you want a ride?”

He stretches out the word, clearly meaning it both ways.

And. Just. No.

This man is the poster child for ‘Stranger Danger,’ complete with a leering smirk, cracked leather, and likely case of crabs. A hard pass.

My skin tightens. My feet itch to move. Keep. Calm.

“I’m good, thank you.” Yes, Riley. Because when confronted with a probable serial killer, manners are the way to go.

He steps closer. “What’s your rush? The fun’s just beginning.”

My gaze shifts past him. To the church. To safety. Hope flares as a shadow moves in the window, like someone’s looking out to the street.

Please see me.

But just as fast, the figure turns away.

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