Page 71 of The Final Contract

Killian opens mine, and when I bend to climb inside, he smacks my bare pussy—sharp and sudden. I yelp, jerking forward, heat blooming across my ass and cunt.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmurs behind me, voice dark silk.

The sky seems bluer today than I’ve ever noticed before. Maybe it’s because it matches the eyes of a certain angel I can’t stop looking at.

“I’ll take some of these plates in, and then I need to jump in the shower,” Seraphina says, rising from the table on her wide patio. Sunlight cuts over her, gold across her hair.

Lucian showed up this morning with breakfast, wanting to catch up on the stalker developments and check on Sera for himself.

“I got it, lass.” Finn’s already on his feet, shooing her toward the penthouse before she can lift a finger.

She chuckles, eyes darting to mine for a split second before she turns away.

A thousand words could’ve been passed in that look. She could’ve been saying anything.

I know damn well what I’d like her to say.

When I drag my gaze back to the table, Lucian’s staring straight at me—espresso cup frozen halfway to his mouth.

“What?” I ask.

His mouth twitches in knowing amusement. “You fucking kidding me. What? You know what.”

“It’s not what you think it is.”

“It’s exactly what I think it is,” he cuts in, voice flat as steel. “Don’t lie. It’s been this way for a while now.”

I rub my hands down my face, scratching at my beard. Christ. He’s not wrong, and that makes it worse.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Lucian says, settling back in his chair, eyes cutting into me. “Love’s not something men like us usually get. When an angel falls into your lap, you don’t shove her away—you hold on.”

The words scrape at me, remembering she said something similar in the conference room, the morning she presented this plan for a husband. It’s like broken glass in my chest, because I realize she thinks no one would be able to see past her being an escort—how she earned her living. That she can only get what she wants with a contract because she’s not worth more.

“I’ve been tryin’ ta tell him,” Finn returns, shaking his head.

I snort. “That’s rich. Bit of a hypocrite, don’t you think? Or do we not speak the name Nora anymore?”

“Exactly my point. I wasted years watching from a distance when I could’ve had a good woman by my side. Time I’ll never get back. Don’t make the same mistake.”

I look between them, jaw set, every instinct fighting what they’re saying. But fuck if it doesn’t burrow under my skin.

Lucian tips his head, calm again, like the storm already passed. “The only rules you’re breaking are the ones you’ve made for yourself, Kill.”

Before I can answer, his phone buzzes. He checks the screen, mutters a curse, and answers. His tone sharpens fast—business, not pleasure.

Finn leans toward me while Lucian’s distracted. “Last night…why you think the stalker didn’t show? You think he figured our plan?”

Lucian ends the call, pocketing his phone with a grim look. “I think I know why. Barrett Hall’s demanding a new car. Says his was nearly destroyed. Spray-painted all down the side: ‘Ledger whore.’ Windows smashed. Tires slashed to shit.”

So that’s it. He wasn’t at the theater because he was busy destroying the car of Sera’s last date.

I huff out a dark laugh—no sympathy in me. “Should’ve torched it for good measure.”

Lucian leans back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful, brother. You’re in deep. Deep enough you’re even siding with her stalker—attacking her dates for him.”

I bark out a laugh. “Not siding with the bastard. But if Barrett Hall’s penthouse happened to go up in smoke, I wouldn’t shed a tear. The Irish are quite good with explosives, after all.”

I tip my coffee cup at him, and he tips his in return. An amused look passes between us. He knows all too well.