Chapter 17
Brook Simons
Lights twinkle and streak across my vision. My legs move as the hard body pressed against my side urges me forward.
Cologne sours my stomach. A door shuts. Deafening silence loosens my control, and I retch from the bottom of my empty stomach.
I already threw up in the toilet. My body didn’t want to, so I stuck my finger down my throat and purged. It was wholly unpleasant, but the worst of my symptoms went away.
My head still spins and my eyes refuse to focus, but my blood no longer feels like sludge in my veins and numbness doesn’t creep up from my toes.
Cruel hands shove me. I stumble and hit my hip on either a desk, table, or counter before crashing to the floor.
“Fucking hell, that’s gross. You’re lucky you missed my shoes, bitch,” a man says.
I don’t know him. Panic pounds through me as I strain my eyes. Nothing but darkness greets me.
A lock clicks.
“Were you followed?”
My gut clenches in horror as I recognize the second voice as Angelo Ricco. Matteo’s brother.
He drugged me. Today and at our class reunion. I had my suspicions, but this is too coincidental.
“Nope. It’s just us,” says the stranger.
“Hell yeah,” Angelo grunts.
Blinding light pierces straight into the center of my brain. I flinch, close my eyes, and flop my arm over my face.
The air thins as I realize I’m trapped in an unknown location with at least two men. I don’t think I went fully unconscious, but I don’t trust my memory right now. Any amount of time could’ve passed since I pushed Matteo away and lunged into the restroom.
My heart lurches. Matteo drank a glass of champagne, too, except he didn’t vomit afterward. He might not be able to protect himself right now, much less look for me.
“Pour some water on her face and clean her up a bit so we can use all her holes,” Angelo says.
Dread coalesces in my veins. After surviving so many horrible things throughout my life, my brain slides into an unhinged, sordid humor.
Welp, that clears up any doubts I had about why they dragged me here. Two micropenises. One broad. Don’t do drugs, kids.
A sluggish scoff escapes from my chest, except my limbs don’t feel as heavy and my senses seem sharper.
I have full use of my body, but know nothing about my surroundings or the men, other than Angelo’s physique. He may not be as big as Matteo, but he still outweighs me by far.
My best bet is to act out of it until I have a chance to escape.
I morph my scoff into a loopy half laugh and roll partially onto my side. With my arm draped over my face and my hair a wild mess, I study my surroundings.
Everything is either white or light tan. A simple wardrobe and metal bunk bed line the far wall.
Water splashes into a sink somewhere behind me. The echo sounds like it comes from a separate room.
“Hey, bitch, guess what?”
I groan and blink half-lidded eyes up at Angelo as he uses the sole of his shoe on my shoulder to push me onto my back.
I take stock of the room as he squats beside me.
This must be an on-call suite for overnight workers. The furnishings are utilitarian. No personal effects clutter the space.
The strap of my purse hangs off the edge of the desk I halfway lie under.
Angelo nudges my arm with his shoe. I flop my head toward him and squint.
“Dustin and I are going to have fun with you for a few hours,” Angelo goads.
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“We’re gonna fuck and fuck you up like how we wanted to back in high school,” he sneers.
I close my eyes, shake my head, and swing an uncoordinated swat at his knee, catching the strap of my purse with my wrist. The bag thumps against my lower stomach before sliding onto the floor near his foot. I let my hand slip off his thigh and land on the linoleum a few inches past the closure.
The curved corner of my phone case digs into my wrist as it peeks from the opening. My heart pounds against my sternum, but I force my muscles to remain lax. The wave of adrenaline clears my mind and sharpens my senses. I inch my hand closer to my purse.
Footsteps click against the linoleum. A shadow falls over me. Cold water splashes onto my face and into my mouth and nose. I cough and choke but keep my limbs in place.
“Long time no see, stepsis.”
Every inch of me tenses. I look through my lashes, desperately clinging to my ruse, as horror washes over me.
I’ve only seen the man staring down at me once, and it was from afar. On one of the lowest days of my life, he stood in the foyer of the house I grew up in with the same smirk on his face as he’s wearing now while my father threw me, my mother, and a few suitcases out the door.
He’s Dustin Prescott, the son and successor my father chose over me, his biological daughter.
Ms. Lynn’s boyfriend. He was her driver the day I bruised my arm.
I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him, even though my mind still shies away from the trauma of our first meeting.
He leans closer and holds the plastic pitcher of water above my face. I groan and turn my head toward Angelo’s shins. Angelo grabs my forehead and forces my face back toward the ceiling.
Dustin barely tips the pitcher. A few drops spill from the spout and land on my nose. They both chuckle as I flinch.
“Fight all you want, bitch. You’ll be begging for our cocks soon,” Angelo snarls.
“We need to clean this mouth first so we can cum all over your face,” Dustin says.
I fight the urge to push them away and instead use the distraction to open my purse closure.
Dustin pours a steady stream onto my face.
I can’t breathe. Water stings my eyes, burns my nostrils, and clogs my throat, but I close my fist around my phone, pull it free of my purse, and push the power button over and over again, praying the emergency feature works the way I set it up.
I lose track of how many times I press it, but the instructions said five and I know I’ve done more than that, so it should connect a call to nine-one-one and send my location to my emergency contacts—my parents, Matteo Ricco, and Liam Brunswick.
Neither man notices my frantic jabbing of the power button as they mockingly praise me for getting ready for them.
I shove my phone under my hip as the waterboarding stops. Coughing and gagging, I lift my hand and slap it against Angelo’s knee.
He captures my wrist in a brutal grip and shoves it onto his crotch. Disgust shrivels my soul. Dustin teases my lips with the hard edge of the pitcher spout. At the sound of his inhale, my control snaps. I can’t handle listening to any more of his sleazy, demeaning words.
I crush, twist, and pull Angelo’s pathetic jewels as I knee him in the temple with all my might.
He crumples like dead weight, trapping my arm between his legs and knocking my head into the linoleum.
Agony streaks through my scalp as Dustin closes his fist in my hair and yanks me across the floor, but I grab my phone, tuck it against my stomach, and curl my body as I roll toward the desk.
He curses and reaches for my phone.
I scream.
He wraps both fists around my throat and leans his weight on me.
Black spots dance along my periphery. I jam the edge of my phone into his face so hard his head whips back and his nose breaks with a sickening crunch.
Blood pours down on me. I hit him again and again until his grip on my throat finally loosens.
A banshee shrieks from far, far away. Thunder shakes the entire building. Dustin lilts to the side. I knock his hands off my throat and scramble toward the nearest door.
Angelo’s meaty fist closes around my ankle. His cursing rings in my ears.
The door behind him bursts open.
Matteo Ricco’s massive frame barrels into the room. With his handsome features a mask of cold fury and violence emanating from him, he’s better than a knight in shining armor; he’s my boss and lover in suited vengeance.
My soul stretches out to his. A flash of relief spears through the manic desperation in his icy stare as he meets my eyes, but then his gaze shifts to his brother’s hand on my ankle. He stalks forward.
Angelo releases me. I continue crawling to the bathroom on instinct. My bloody hands slip on the linoleum. The sound of violence stops me halfway through the doorway. I look over my shoulder.
Matteo straddles Angelo and lands blow after blow onto his face. Angelo’s pathetic attempts to block him grow weaker.
Dustin groans and pushes himself up to a seated position. He leans against the wall and spits a bloody wad of goop onto the floor.
As much as I relish the sight of my attackers in pain, Matteo can’t go to prison for murder. I can’t be his lawyer if he’s charged with excessive force either, since I’d be too close to the case.
Not trusting my legs, I crawl back toward Matteo and croak his name. He doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t see me. Doesn’t stop burying his fist in his brother’s face.
I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and bury my face in his nape.
“Matteo, stop. Help me. Please,” I push through the swelling in my throat.
He freezes with his fist pulled back. Blood drips from his knuckles.
The fury drains from his muscles. He sits on the floor and pulls me into his arms.
Relief pours through me. A half-sob escapes my chest, but the agony in my throat clears my mind.
“I’m here, little rabbit. I’ve got you,” Matteo rumbles.
His coarse voice vibrates from his rapidly rising and falling chest. I press my palm over his heart and lift my phone.
Despite the cracked screen, it connected to emergency services.
I hit the speaker icon and meet Matteo’s eyes.
When I lift shaky fingers to my swollen throat, his fury returns tenfold.
I pinch his chin and demand his attention.
“Tell them where we are,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath and addresses the woman on the other end of the line. After he gives her a quick rundown of the situation—including our basic location and the names of everyone in the room—she assures us help is on the way and asks what our room number is.
“I don’t know. I followed Jennifer Lynn into the employee corridor and heard my fiancée screaming,” he says.
I raise my brows in mock incredulity and mouth fiancée. When his lips tilt in a half-smirk, the worry coiled around my chest loosens.
He’ll call me his wife soon. I’ll make sure of it.
Revenge on my father should be easy after tonight’s terrifying incident. Even if we can’t find proof of my father’s illegal activities from a decade ago, we can bury him by association. He’ll regret choosing a piece of trash over his daughter.
With Matteo by my side, I can do anything.
I was a fool for making us both wait until I avenge my mother, but I don’t regret it. After today, I have no more doubts. He’s proven himself over and over again.
Joy blooms in me as I imagine the delight in his eyes as I call him my husband for the first time. Yearning fills my heart as I anticipate him calling me his wife.
I want him. I love how ruthless he is in the office, how generous and demanding he is in the bedroom, and how supportive he is in everyday life.
I can’t wait to grow old with him. He was my first crush, my worst heartbreak, and the most insufferable boss I’ve ever had, but I wouldn’t change anything about him.
Matteo Ricco is mine, and I’m his.
Forever.