Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(17)

Tears glassed my eyes. “Oh, my God. What did you do?” The cool Milan air swirled around my naked legs, disappearing up the thigh-length satin skirt I wore to prevent chafing from the petticoat underwire. My entire ensemble—destroyed. I’d been the only female in a household of men. I’d spent an entire lifetime covering up my girlish body with lace and camisoles and tulle. Femininity was something I created rather than lived. To see it demolished on a filthy sidewalk enraged me to the point of tyranny.

Gone were my tears. I embraced furiousness. “How could you?!”

Shoving him away, I fell to my knees, trying to gather the rhinestones and swatches of handmade lace. “You—you ruined it!” All around scattered couture fashion. Diamantes glittered on bland concrete. Feathers twitched, dancing away on the breeze.

“I’ll ruin a lot more before I’m through.” Jethro’s barely uttered words existed, then…didn’t, snatched by a gust of wind.

I glared up at the man I’d stupidly returned for—all because a stranger hurt my feelings. A man I’d allowed to manipulate me and make me heinously wet in a coffee shop. “Does it make you feel better? Destroying other’s things? Don’t you care that you just ruined something that took hours upon hours to create? What sort of cruel—”

“Stop.” He held up a finger, scolding me like a little child. “Rule number three. I don’t like raised voices. So shut up and stand.”

We glared; silence was a heavy entity between us.

He was right. I was so, so stupid. He’d successfully hurt me more than anyone since my mother left. His callousness gave no room for hope or tears. And I knew it all along. I’d seen his coldness. I’d felt his hardened will. Yet it didn’t stop me from being an utter fool.

Grabbing a puddle of cloth, I yelled, “Leave me alone!”

“Goddammit, you’re testing me.” He ducked suddenly, grabbing my bicep and hauling me to my feet. He shook me—hard. My corset dug into my hipbones now that it had no bustle or layers to rest upon.

“You don’t get to ask any more questions. You don’t get to yell or act ridiculous. This is happening. This is your future. Nothing you say or do will change that—it will only change the level of pain you receive.” He shoved me backward against his bike. “Your dress is conveniently no longer an issue. Get on. We’re leaving.”

Fury exploded through my heart, thankfully keeping my terror at bay.

Don’t think about his threat. Focus on making him yell. Loudness. I needed commotion to garner attention and safety. The more nuisance I made, the more likely someone would come to my rescue.

“You just ruined my showpiece. That dress was already sold to a high-end boutique in Berlin! You think I want to go anywhere with you after you ruined over two months’ worth of work? You’re insane. I’ll tell you how this is going to go—”

“Ms. Weaver, shut the f*ck up. I’m done with this charade.” His face remained impassive, but the muscles beneath his suit bristled. Moving horribly fast, he tugged my long, unfettered hair, crowding me against his bike. Wincing against the pain in my scalp, I tripped, splaying over the leather seat.

Looking around quickly, he relaxed when he noticed we were still alone. “If you knew me, you’d know how I react to incorrect statements about my mental health. If you were smart, you would know never to raise your voice and to maintain proper conduct in public.”

He bowed his head, brushing his nose threateningly against my ear. “But seeing as you don’t know me, I’ll withhold the punishment—for now. But a word of warning, Ms. Weaver. Just because I don’t lower myself to the unattractive use of volume, doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. I’m very f*cking pissed. I gave you an order, and you’ve disobeyed numerous times already. This is the last time I’ll ask politely.”

Pulling away, he grabbed my middle and with strength that terrified, plucked me from the ground and plonked me on the back of his bike, side-saddle.

Giving a mock salute, Jethro said, “Thank you for obliging me. I’m so glad you decided to climb aboard.” With a scowl, he noticed my high heels. Dropping to one knee, he tore them off my feet, throwing them over his shoulder. They disappeared in the clouds of decimated fabric behind him.

I truly was Cinderella, only my prince threw away the glass slipper and stole me away before midnight struck. My prince was evil. My prince was the villain.

I couldn’t breathe.

Run. Kick him. Do not let him take you.

All manner of horrible situations ran wild in my head. I’d been brought up in a safe neighbourhood, instilled with common-sense and morals. Yet nothing had prepared me to fight for my life against a lunatic who came across as sane.

“You can’t do this. I don’t want to go with you.” I tried to jump off, but Jethro’s sleek bulk prevented me from moving. He loomed upright like a terrible sentence—a judgement of my past and present. “You have no choice. You’re coming with me. Your wishes have no relevance.”

Stabbing him in the chest with my fingertip, I shouted, “My wishes are completely relevant. You can’t take me against my will. That’s called kidnapping.” My body flushed with hot anger. “Let. Me. Go. Before I scream.”

Vaughn. Shit, I wanted my brother. The amount of times he protected me growing up from bees, and badgers, and boys who picked on me at school.