Page 15 of Dark Wishes (Dark Contract #2)

I start to cross my legs, then stop when I nudge the gun. As naturally as I can I put my hands on my knees and look around the room. I can’t use the burner phone—Jamison is using it to listen—which means I’m left to fidget with my thoughts.

Sanford told me that Caruso hired him to get Valoria’s videos. How many other women... or girls... has this happened to? Spark’s Entertainment looks legit on the outside, no one could guess how cruel they are.

"Malory?” a husky voice asks.

From his brutal haircut, to his forehead, his short nose, his thick legs... he’s one massive block. His hand, which he extends to me as he gets close, looks like you could use it as a meat mallet. “Mr. Caruso?” I ask sheepishly, playing up my ignorance.

His grin widens as he grazes me with his eyes. It’s like being rubbed with grease. “Uh oh, I knew you'd be pretty, but I didn’t think you’d be this pretty. I’ll try to behave myself.”

The urge to barf rises. “Thanks,” I giggle, trying to look shy instead of disgusted. Rising, I adjust my dress, offering him my hand.

He laces his fingers around mine to pull me close. “Let’s go up to my office,” he says in my ear, his breath the scalding scent of mouth wash. “We can discuss your future stardom.”

Is that what you told Valoria? Or did you not even speak to her, was it all arranged through Sanford? The rage bubbles up in me. It would be so fucking satisfying to shoot him right here, right now. Would I be caught and go to prison? Definitely.

But it would be worth it to see the grin wiped off his nasty face.

“That sounds great,” I say sweetly. He releases my hand, but my relief is brief, because he swoops it around my waist. “Um—”

“Right this way, babe.” He forces me past the receptionist. She doesn’t look at me, her eyes remain pointedly on her laptop. She knows what he plans to do when we’re alone. She’s been through this many times.

Everyone who works here is complicit. They turn a blind eye to keep cashing their paychecks.

Money is a poison to this world. It brings out the cruel side of everyone.

I learned that from watching my dad cut my mother off from his accounts, choosing to let her suffer when he could easily afford her healthcare.

Men like him and Caruso and Sanford... they’re all grown in the same field.

What a thrill it will be to burn it to the ground.

“Through here,” Caruso tells me, his fingers groping my hip.

“Down this big hallway? To the left?” I ask, narrating where we go. Jamison is listening —if things go sideways, he needs to know where I am.

A large room, similar to the reception, waits at the end of the hall. There's a single door with a brassy name plate printed with Caruso Oakley.

Every hair on my body stands on end as I allow him to nudge me past the door. “This is your office?” I ask, staring around quickly. “Do you share it with anybody?”

“Nope. All mine. This whole half of the building is just for me.” His chuckle is crunchy, like sand under a shoe. “When I started Sparks, I said my one requirement was that I had a quiet place to myself. I need privacy to do my work, you know?”

Another wave of disgusts blasts toxins through my veins. “Totally.”

“A lot of girls come to me and want to show off their skills,” he says, finally releasing me.

I rub my hip like I can wipe away his touch. “You mean you let them audition in here?”

“Let them? I demand it.” Caruso closes the door, then he drops heavily into a large, black leather couch along the wall.

Nearby is a glass table with a silver laptop that’s closed shut.

Against the other wall is a mini fridge and bar stocked with bottles of alcohol.

This place reeks of cheap bragging, nothing about it says high-end recording studio.

He looks me up and down again; he can’t get enough of ogling me. It’s time to lock in and get serious. I cock my hip and flash a smile. “I’m used to guys demanding things.”

“Bet you are,” he chuckles. “Tell me about yourself, Malory.”

“Well, I grew up in Arizona. Always wanted to be a singer.”

“You on TikTok?”

“I was, but a creepy ex-boyfriend got on me about it, said my videos were too sexy, made me delete the account.”

Caruso visibly deflates—he wishes he could see those videos. They don’t exist, but in his mind, they’re scandalous. “How do I know you’ve got what it takes to make it in Hollywood?”

“I can give you a sample,” I say, chewing my bottom lip.

“Yeah?” he asks coyly.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “How soundproof are these walls?”

Caruso glances around with a shrug. “Never got me in trouble before, and I’ve had some... loud sessions.” He actually winks at me.

God, what a sicko. My hand drifts down my dress, pausing on my thigh. I trace the gun hidden beneath and he watches, the knob in his wide throat rolling as he swallows. “You mean I can be as loud as I want, and no one will interrupt us?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Babe.” He spreads his legs, hands splayed on his knees. He stares up at me as I approach; I can see my smiling face in his putrid yellow eyes. “God, you’re fucking beautiful. You know that? I can make us both a lot of money.”

“How much money?” I ask, buying time as I plan out my movements. Removing the gun has to be quick. If I hesitate, or get tangled in my dress, he could overpower me. I refuse to mess this up. It won’t be like Sanford.

Caruso half-shuts his eyes dreamily—he's staring down at my cleavage. “What’s a big pay day to you, Malory?”

“Um,” I drift off, unsure how to reply. “I dunno.”

“Pick a number. Any number.”

I have my nails brushing the hilt of the gun. It's all I can focus on, my voice tight, distracted, losing my ditzy character. “A lot, to put up with this job.”

“Excuse me?”

Pausing as what I said sinks in, I offer him a crooked smile. “Oh, um, whoops. I just meant that this job is probably going to be really hard.”

Caruso’s lazy expression morphs to one of annoyance. “You think my girls don’t like working for me?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It sounds like you need some convincing,” he grumbles. I tense up when he reaches into his pocket; he pulls out an iPhone, typing something before I can react. “There. That should do it.”

“Who did you just text?” I ask warily.

“One of my recent hires, she’ll tell you how awesome it is to work with me.”

He said awesome, like he’s a 20-something instead of a fifty-something. I cringe mentally. This guy has never had someone tell him how gross or pathetic he is. Money isn't just poison, it’s armor. “I don’t need to meet anyone,” I insist in a panic, “call her back, tell her it’s fine!”

There’s a crisp knock. “Too late,” he says, looking at the door.

I twist around, unsure what to expect. The knob jiggles, before the door opens, revealing a tall woman in a flowing white skirt and black crop top with matching wedge-boots.

Her blonde hair is like mine, except short and tight against her skull.

She looks like the kind of girl that’d be too cool to be my friend.

Shit, we have company. Did I just mess everything up?

The woman blinks at me curiously. Her eyes are a very clear grey. “When you told me to get in here, I thought you’d be alone,” she says in a southern drawl.

Caruso laughs heartily. “Chalay, meet Malory. She’s thinking of signing with my company, but she needs an extra push.”

“That’s not...” I say, fading off.

Chalay tilts her chin up, staring at me down the cute nub of her nose. “Malory? That’s you?”

“Yup,” I say quickly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Malory,” she says again. There’s a smokiness to her voice, her eyes going from curious to narrowed. Did I upset her somehow? She leans on the door, shutting it. I swear I hear an extra click, like the lock has been engaged.

She swings her hips as she moves towards us—she's got the movement tailored. My attempts earlier were closer to a limping duck when compared.

Reluctantly, I move my hands away from my gun, linking them behind my back with a bright smile. “You’re one of Mr. Caruso’s clients?” I ask.

She doesn’t look at him, she hasn’t stopped watching me. “Not exactly. I work for someone who pays much better.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Caruso laughs. “Is that supposed to be a joke? I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Chalay.”

My pulse beats faster from the off-putting intensity in her stare. “Um, I think he just wanted you to reassure me that a contract with him would be worth my time.”

“It would be a waste for both of you, actually,” she says.

“The fuck?” Caruso huffs. “Chalay, what’s gotten into you? Hey! Stop ignoring me, what the hell is this?”

Chalay smiles at me with her blood red lips. “How strange to run into you here. I almost didn’t recognize you.” She takes another step.

I back up, but there’s nowhere to go in the office—my hip bumps the mini bar, jingling the glass bottles. “I don’t understand. Do I know you?”

“Oh, sweety, of course not. That’s the point. If you saw your killer coming, you’d have a chance to escape.”

A bottle of scotch rocks off the mini bar and topples to the floor, shattering in a cascade of glass and bronze liquid.

I scramble to my left, away from Caruso, away from Chalay, hoping I can get to the door.

The back of my throat bubbles with sour terror.

I’d heard that fight or flight gives you strength—lift a car, sprint a mile, those kind of feats.

The fear doesn’t make me faster.

“Hey!” I scream when Chalay wraps her hand in my hair, wrenching me around with such force I slam to the floor. Glass cuts my arm, scotch soaking into my dress. Caruso yells something; I’m too busy trying to crawl away from my attacker to hear.

“Whoa whoa, slow down,” Chalay chuckles, her southern drawl long gone.

She kicks a black heeled boot into my shoulder, shoving me to my side.

I grunt in pain, gawking up at her as she stalks closer.

The joy in her face is manic. “I thought I’d have to keep searching for you through this damn city.

What are the chances you’d walk right into my path?

You’re really helping me out, Selena. Thanks for that. ”

She knows my name? I reach under my dress for my gun—she kneels on my wrist until a scream rattles out of my mouth. My voice breaks from the pitch; she doesn’t try to muffle it. Whoever she is, she doesn’t care if I yell until I'm hoarse. She knows the walls are soundproof.

“Easy easy,” she croons once my scream fades into a low groan.

“It’s going to be okay.” From the inside of her boot, she slips out a gun smaller than my own.

The barrel glows a pretty silver in the office lights.

It’s cold on my temple. Like a snowstorm.

I haven’t felt that kind of weather since I left Alaska. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Alph—” I utter, then I wheeze; Chalay has clamped her hand to my throat, strangling me, cutting off my airway. Alphabet, I think in a panic. Spots of color swim in my vision.

Alphabet alphabet alphabet.

I can barely keep my eyes open from the pressure building in my skull. Chalay watches closely; a cat playing with its prey, aware it can snuff out its life anytime it wants.

Please... not like this... not when I’m so close.

This woman is a stranger. But I’m sure of one thing.

She's going to kill me.

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End of Part 2