Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(16)

“If you can’t speak the truth, I don’t want to hear your other excuses or reasons on why you suddenly need to run. You’re not permitted to leave my side, so be a good girl and f*cking listen and obey.” His voice whipped me, but his body remained immaculate and collected. The two dynamics of temper and poise pierced my stupid haze, slamming me back into fear.

Who was this man?

And why didn’t I run the moment I set eyes upon him? Something wasn’t right. Something was building, rushing toward a conclusion I wanted no part in.

Jethro stood upright, jerking me to my feet. “I take by your silence you’ve made a sensible decision and acquiesced. I’m also assuming that this—whatever this was—is over?” His fingers bit into my bicep, shaking me. “Stop acting the fool and realize what is happening.”

Anger replaced my embarrassment. It was like Kite all over again, only worse, because this was real and I had nowhere to hide. “I have no idea what’s happening, and I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ve proved that you find me gullible, stupid, and unworthy of your precious time, so leave. I’m not keeping you here.” Twisting my elbow, I tried to get free. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Jethro smiled coldly. “Ah, there’s the conundrum, Ms. Weaver. You’re not keeping me. But I’m keeping you.”

I stopped with my hand over his, unsuccessfully trying to pry his fingers off my arm. “What?” The dreaded drunkenness of vertigo took that moment to tilt my world.

Jethro took my weakness as an opportunity, pulling me toward the door. He didn’t give me any support other than the harsh hold on my upper arm, leaving my untouched coffee on the table. “I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me.”

The door jangled as we exited in a flurry of bustle and feathers. I gasped as a frosty gust cut through the warmth lingering on my skin, decimating all remainders of the café. Luckily the shock in temperature helped steady me and I fought.

Slamming my heels into the pavement, I snarled, “You seem to have the wrong information. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Jethro didn’t reply, dragging me effortlessly across the road to the shadowy entrance of an alley and his bike.

An alley?

He couldn’t mean what he’d threatened…could he?

You want me to make you scream.

I fought harder. But no matter how much I struggled, he didn’t break his stride or look back.

Tripping forward, I winced as my flesh bruised beneath his hold. I angled my nails, preparing to drag them over his forearm, but he stepped onto the curb and yanked me forward. The inertia propelled me into a spin, slamming me painfully against his motorcycle.

My black hair whirled over my shoulder, sticking to the fear perspiring on my chest. I struggled to keep up—to believe how stupid I’d been. I prided myself on being smart, but I allowed the temptation of sex to cloud my judgement.

Jethro glowered; his suit as crisp as his unflappable control. “My information is perfectly correct. And you are going somewhere with me. Climb on.”

I tore my elbow from his hold and shoved his chest. “Wrong. Let me go.”

He growled under his breath. “Stop, before you get hurt.”

I pushed him again, focusing on the ridiculousness of my night, rather than the rapidly expanding terror in my heart. “I told you. I came in a limo; there is no way I can travel on a two-wheeled death machine.”

Jethro rolled his shoulders, maintaining his cool. “I gave you one rule—never ask questions. I’m giving you another—don’t ever argue with me.”

My heart raced. Glancing around, I searched for late night stragglers, party goers, moon-light walkers—anyone who could intervene and save me. The roads were empty. No one. Not even a scurrying rodent.

“Please, I don’t know what game you’re playing—”

He shook his head, exasperation in his eyes. “Game? This isn’t a f*cking game.” Glaring at my dress, he encroached on my space. Pressing his lips together briefly, he muttered, “I hope you’re wearing something beneath this.”

My lungs stuck together. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re going to be indecent if you’re not.” With a savage jerk, he tore the endless seams, stitching, and hard work of my dress. The rip sounded like a scream to my ears. Horror swarmed as the outer layer fluttered to the ground, followed by organza, feathers, and beadwork.

My jaw hung open. “No—”

Jethro spun me around, his hands skating over my lower back. “You’re like a damn pass the parcel.” With strong fingers, he tore the second layer of heavy ebony silk.

The sound of shredding broke my heart. All that work! My father would be pissed to see his expensive material littering the dirty pavement. My blood existed in the needlepoint from pricking my fingers. My tears soaked the train from overworking. He couldn’t do this!

I couldn’t speak—struck mute by shock.

“Good God, another?” Jethro spun me back to face him. I swished in the remaining starchy petticoats—the tool beneath the dress that granted such volume.

I can’t do this anymore.

I plastered my hands down my front, seizing the remainder of my gown. “No, pleas—”

Jethro ignored me. With one last brutal tug, he tore the petticoat off, disposing it on top of the already ruined layers.