Page 13 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

Picking a shred of lettuce off my wrapper, I crush it in my fingers. “Ugh. A visit to Rory again.”

“You don’t sound happy about that,” he notes.

“I’m not.” Rory told me awful things about Jamison. He’s just a messenger, but... if I didn’t know, everything would be easier, I think resentfully.

Jamison sets his elbows on the picnic table, his lips quirked in a mild grin. “So you weren’t a fan of his dungeon.”

Initially I’m lost, but then it clicks. “Is that what you thought when I talked about your house? God, no, I was relieved it wasn’t like his creepy little den.”

He seems a little pleased. “There’s someone else we can go to for basic, public facing info. They can’t get us the kind of back-door details Rory does, but it should be plenty.”

“Who’s that?” I ask eagerly.

Jamison rises, tossing his trash into the rusted, black cannister next to the fence that separates us from falling over the rocks to the waves below. “Finish your burger, we have more driving to do.”

The trip through congested traffic is broken up by us taking turns flipping through music on my phone. Jamison tolerates my alt rock, but visibly grimaces at any anime soundtrack I pop on. A shame, because a few are real bangers.

I’m more than a little surprised when we park outside the familiar tattoo shop.

“Here?” I ask.

“The computer at the front is on a secure VPN.” He exits the car, talking as he goes; I hurry to follow him. “We employ a very trustworthy someone for this type of web search.” When we enter the shop, the raven-haired woman lifts her head. “Iris.”

“Whoa, were you talking about me a minute ago?” she asks warily. “My ears were burning.”

“You have good intuition,” I say.

Her smile creates a dimple on one cheek. “Nah, it’s just that Jamison always has me do leg work for him that he could do on his own.”

“I’ll be doing it myself today,” he says.

“No, you won’t, because he is going to want to talk to you.”

Jamison glances at the door in the corner. The person inside must be watching us on the cameras, because it swings outward without anyone knocking. “Jamison, get your ass in here.”

He remains where he is; I get the impression he’s deciding if we can retreat.

“Tusk has been in a bad mood all day,” Iris whispers.

So that’s his name, I think, tuning in to not miss any new bits of info. Jamison has been trying to keep me out of the loop about his companions, but Iris is more casual. I watch him for his reaction—he gives no hint he’s concerned.

Iris pulls her long hair back from her face. “Did you piss him off somehow?”

“Probably.” Jamison looks at me thoughtfully. “You know what we’re here for, Selena. Let her use the computer, Iris, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” With her agreement, he faces the door and marches inside, leaving Iris and I alone. She leans on her desk with a sigh. “Tusk is going yell at him, but that’s all. I think.”

“This Tusk guy, is he Jamison’s boss?” I ask.

“Oh no,” she says, her eyes widening. She giggles like I made a surprising joke. “They just work together.”

“Then why does Jamison have to crawl in there like a beaten dog?” I curl my lip, eyeing the door, wishing I had laser vision.

“Is that how he looked to you?” she asks softly.

The subtle judgement in her voice gives me pause. “How else would you describe it?”

Iris tugs at a piece of her hair, pulling it straight. “Jamison isn’t afraid of Tusk. If anything, I suspect Tusk is scared shitless of him.”

Now I’m super lost. “I don’t get it.”

“Tusk is maybe the only person Jamison listens to. They’re not friends, not in the typical sense.”

“Then they aren’t close.”

Iris stares at me as if I said something strange. She releases the piece of hair, sending it coiling back into place. “They’d kill for each other. What’s closer than that?”

Little claws scratch up my throat. I wipe at my neck uneasily. “I wonder how Jamison upset him.”

“Probably just ignored his texts. Tusk is needy.” She claps her palms together, motioning at her desk. “What are you searching for, by the way?”

I’m not sure I should tell her about my plan. Waffling, I move to stand behind the desk and sit in the chair as she makes room. The laptop is small, expensive looking. “I’m trying to find out more about the man I want dead.”

“Got it.” She isn’t bothered—why would she be? This is what she does every day. “The browser is in the top left, click away, do as you will. In the unlikely event the cops raid this place, that laptop won’t retain a search history.”

I let out a little whistle. “That’s nice.”

Iris stands opposite me, giving me the courtesy of privacy. “This guy you’re after, can I ask... you know, why?”

I look up through my eyelashes at her. “Do you ask every one of Jamison’s clients that?”

She lifts her shoulders innocently. “Nah, I just read the contracts and file them away.”

My fingers hesitate on the keyboard. “All of them?”

“Of course. I need them to funnel the money from point A to point B.”

I flick my eyes away from her, my voice as friendly, bored, as I can make it. “You get a lot of contracts?”

“In general, or for Jamison?”

I type up Caruso’s studio name, acting uninterested in her answer. “Just in general.”

“You’re curious about him, huh?” she asks with a smirk.

“It’s hard not to be.”

“Fair, fair,” she laughs in a friendly way. “I’ll say this, you’re his first contract in probably four months.”

My lips screw together like I bit into a lemon. “That can’t be right. What about Sanford?”

“What about who?” She tilts her head with her brow in a knot.

I’m not touching the keyboard anymore, but if I was, I wouldn’t feel it; my limbs have gone numb. “Sanford Grecko?”

Her stare goes from curious, to confused. “I’ve never heard that name. You must be mixing him up with someone else.”

Ice crystallizes in my veins until I'm sure my skin will burst open. I try to focus on the laptop screen, but my vision is blurry. What does she mean? He killed Sanford, I saw it up close.

Maybe he was given the contract months ago, and she just forgot the name?

But no. No way it would take a killer like Jamison months to hunt down Sanford.

He wasn’t trying to hide, he was an easy target.

I can’t make sense of this.

Not even a little.

“How is it going?” Iris prods. “Find what you were after?”

In a daze, I force myself to look at the website in front of me.

Sparks Entertainment employs a simple design—white background, stark green letters, and a stripe of photos along the top.

The grinning women are heavily filtered to have glossy skin with pearly straight teeth.

Not a single blemish. They’re more digital than human.

There’s a link to submit for auditions, I click it and say, “Mmhm. Going great.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Jamison says behind me. He shuts the door and walks to hover over my shoulder. His presence hangs above me like a massive oak tree, his strong limbs and steady energy blanketing me. He gives me a quick smile, as if to reassure me his meeting with Tusk went well.

But I don’t care. Not even slightly.

Why did he kill Sanford?

No...

Why was he at that hotel at all?

“How bad did Tusk ream you out?” Iris asks him.

“No blood was shed.”

“Cryptic,” she chuckles.

With my head down, I don’t see her face, but I watch his in the smudged reflection of the glass of water Iris left beside her computer. There are no features, hardly any detail; Jamison is a blob of shadow smeared with an array of colors. This is easier than facing him.

His warped reflection wavers. “Show me what you found.”

“Here,” I say, pointing at the screen. His presence grows when he leans close to my shoulder to read the website.

Jamison inhales a half-breath, then lets it go. “I have an idea, but we’re going to need more help than I thought.”

“Help from who?” Iris asks defensively, “I already let you use my laptop.”

I jump to my feet, nearly bumping into Jamison. “Right, sorry,” I mumble. “Thanks for that.” Jamison reaches out to steady me—I skip sideways out of reach, spotting the buckle in his smile.

Why was he THERE?

He drops his hands to his sides and puts his neutral mask back on. “You’ve done plenty, Iris. Thanks. We’ll be going now.”

Feeling her eyes on me, I lift my chin to meet her stare. I’m as even as a seesaw but I force a smile. “See you later.”

“I hope you get him.”

I’d started to turn for the door—I freeze where I am. She’s forcing me into her bubble, my ability to disassociate fading away with the ease of her kind smile. “I didn’t even tell you what he did.”

“Doesn’t matter. I saw the look on your face when you were in here the other day. The way you scrambled for that contract... you’re serious about killing him. This isn’t a flippant thing for you.”

“No,” I agree.

“Then he deserves it." She flashes me a compassionate smile. “Goodluck.”

Her well-wishes take the wind out of me.

Jamison steps between us, gently guiding me by my shoulder towards the door.

I don’t shake him off. Iris has, with just a few words, reminded me what matters.

She didn’t need to pry into my history to come to her conclusion.

Her acceptance, given so freely, is like a shot of honey to my sleepy brain.

Asking Jamison about Sanford risks delaying my mission. It’s better to play dumb, just leave it alone, until I get what I came for.

I won’t let Valoria’s revenge wait another minute.

“Thank you,” I call out to Iris.

I’ve never meant it more in my life.