Page 128 of The Auction
Itry reasoning with him again, pleading for him to just think about another way, but Jonathan’s eyes flash—and then he snatches a crystal glass from the limo bar and hurls it at me.
I brace for the hit and it thumps hard on my knee. It doesn’t break, just falls to the carpeted floor. I cover my knee with my hand, swallowing back the cry of pain.
“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls. “And practice closing your fucking legs. Maybe the lord can be fooled on your wedding night when he fucks you.”
My stomach churns and I close my eyes. I should have brought Jaxon. I should have listened when he tried to help me. I should have been honest with him.
My eyes scan the limo for something—anything—to help me. A phone. A pen. A weapon. There’s nothing.
The car slows, pulling onto a stretch of tarmac that gleams under the afternoon sun. My heart plummets when I see the sleek jet waiting at the end. A coat of arms glints on the fuselage, the same one stamped on the box Jonathan gave me. The shirt. The necklace.
The symbol of the prison he was preparing for me.
The driver opens our door. Jonathan doesn’t wait to see if I’ll cooperate—he yanks me out by the arm, hard enough to wrench my shoulder.
A man descends the jet’s stairs, buttoning a navy blazer over a too-slender frame. Older than I expected. His balding head catches the light, and his beady eyes rake over me like I’m meat on display.
“Even more lovely than the pictures,” he says.
Jonathan shoves me forward, and Lord Greville steadies me—but only for a moment. I snap, kicking at him, trying to tear away, but he spins me around with frightening speed, fisting my hair and clamping a hand around my throat. His grip tightens, choking me until spots burst in my vision.
“I take it you trust my discretion on the manner best to make my fiancée heel,” he says over my head.
“She belongs to you. Do as you see fit,” Jonathan replies without hesitation. Then he turns back toward the limo… and stops. “And Cassidy?”
I glare at him, tears of pure rage and hatred burning tracks down my cheeks.
“An early congratulations on your marriage.”
He smiles like it’s the cruelest joke in the world, then walks away.
Greville’s fingers bite into my neck as he pushes me toward the plane. He’s not as physically strong as Jonathan, but theclammy malice in his grip makes my skin crawl. I fight for breath with every step.
Inside, he shoves me so hard I stumble across the plush cabin and hit the floor. I scramble on my hands and knees toward the narrow hallway, then stand and sprint. Desperate to find a door I can lock. But I slam into a wall of solid muscle.
A large man—built like a boulder—looks down at me without expression.
“Sit down, my bride.” His words slither down my back and make me shiver.
Greville doesn’t even glance at me, already lowering himself into a leather seat and buckling in. “We’re taking off immediately.”
The wall of muscle hauls me up and throws me into a chair so hard the air leaves my lungs. “Put on your fucking seatbelt. Now.”
I glare at him, but my hands obey, knowing in my bones this man wouldn’t hesitate to break me in half. Jonathan’s abuse was cruel, but cowardly. This man… he’s killed before. I can feel it radiating off him.
The only saving grace—the one thin thread I cling to—is that the lord wants a virgin bride. He plans to wait until the wedding night to consummate.
That buys me time. At least a week.
I just need to make it to London. From there, I’ll find my way out.
I’ll keep my promise to Jaxon.
I will come back to him.
It’s been hours since she left.
I’ve tried to distract myself—answered a few work emails, reviewed technical contracts, even took a few laps in my pool—but every time I stop moving, the same thought comes back.
