Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I should have known. If her childhood was anything like mine, it would take more than a handsome face to make her forget the horrors of her past.
I’m mad she drugged me, but honestly, I also don’t mind.
The wooziness softens the dread and anger I’ve been carrying for days. I’m getting married tomorrow to the man I crossed countries to pursue. I should celebrate that I’m one step closer to the revenge I’ve been planning for four years, but I feel miserable.
Antonio only moved the wedding forward hours ago, and Isabella organized this hen party just as fast. I thought she’d hate me when Matteo failed to show up hours later to collect her, but she’s been buzzing around all night like she’s the bride.
Sober Azra would investigate her motives with more suspicion. She would also have fought harder to stay home, claiming she doesn’t want her big day’s photos ruined by dark bags under her eyes, but I no longer recognize the woman in the mirror anymore.
She’s a stranger.
Desperate for a moment to think without having my every move scrutinized, I lean toward Isabella’s group of friends and shout over the music, “I’m going to get some air!”
Isabella waves me off, too busy soaking up the attention of multiple suitors to care where I’m going.
When I head down the hallway toward the bathrooms, unsurprisingly, two men peel off the wall and follow me. Antonio’s goons haven’t taken their eyes off me in the slightest over the past ten hours.
Anyone would swear I failed the purity test with how possessive he’s been acting.
Halfway to the bathroom, an arm curls around my waist and plucks me into an alcove. My accoster’s hold isn’t rough or painful. It’s firm and unmistakable.
Before I can react to being unexpectedly grabbed, the two bodyguards rush in. They don’t stand a chance against the man holding me hostage. Even with one arm banded around my waist, my accoster takes them down in seconds. He punches Guard One in the face, instantly rendering him unconscious, and subdues Guard Two’s interest with a brutal kick to the sternum.
In an efficient, controlled minute, they hit the deck without so much as a groan.
I don’t require seeing his face to know who has taken them down. My body knows, not to mention Guard One’s fear when he slowly comes around.
He’s carrying a gun but is too scared to use it.
What more confirmation do I need than that?
When Matteo guides me into the manager’s office, I don’t fight him. I don’t have it in me. Besides, denying this man’s advances is pointless. Even when he treated me like a whore, I stared at him as if he hung the moon and stars.
The second the door shuts behind us, the air shifts.
Matteo is drunk. And angry. Really angry.
So am I.
He smells of liquor and cheap perfume, and the combination twists my jealousy into an ugly disease I’ll never beat.
“Have you drunk so much that you don’t care which brunette you pluck off the dance floor? Any will do, as long as you get what you want, right?”
While snickering at the jealousy I plan to blame on the remnants of whatever Isabella slipped me, Matteo rakes his eyes over my body. His gaze is wild and unfocused but burning with something I refuse to name.
“Did he touch you?” he demands, voice rough. “Is that why he brought the wedding forward? Because he doesn’t want anyone to learn that you broke the purity clause earlier than the contract states?”
The aggression in his tone should scare me. It doesn’t. It isn’t the kind that makes me feel unsafe. It makes me feel wanted.
That’s worse.
So much worse.
I start to speak, but he steps closer, too close, and the room spins with the effects of the drugs and the music still echoing in my bones.
And him.
Matteo drags his fingers through his hair as if a firm tug will outrun his thoughts. “Answer me, Azra. Did he fucking touch you?”
Forever stubborn, I fold my arms under my chest. “I don’t have to answer to you.”
Hand halfway through his hair, he looks at me. Truly looks.
“Wanna bet?”
Heat flashes between us as he seizes my wrist and yanks me toward him. It takes a moment, but I slip out of his grip like I did on the gym’s mat earlier this week, then ram my elbow into his ribs and throw my fist into his face.
He grunts, but my blows don’t keep him down for long. This time, he tugs me back until his torso warms my back and his cock digs into my ass.
I throw back my head as taught, but Matteo dodges it.
“Try again, micina.”
His nickname sparks an idea in my head. I spear my nails into his arms, drawing blood.
My aggression only hardens him further. He braces his cock against the seam of my ass, and it swells far above the two dimples in my lower back.