Page 17 of Brutal Revenge

“To whom?”

My brows furrow. I wait for my pulse to calm enough for my words not to stumble before I spin to face him. “You know who.”

“Yeah, I do. But I need you to spell it out for me.”

His reply wavers, as if unfinished.

I realize it is when he mutters, “Because I only need you to say his name one more time to excuse my knife slipping from his dick to the artery in his thigh. The contract says you’remywife-to-be, and anyone dumb enough to insinuate otherwise will face my full wrath at their stupidity to any decree I see fit.”

Shit. He’s right. The arranged marriage contract has a bunch of stipulations I can’t ignore. But they don’t just affect me. They also impact Matteo.

Before I can remind him of that, he joins me by the SUV, bands his arm around my thighs, then hoists me onto his shoulder. Heat floods my face when my dress mimics a miniskirt, and my heated center feels every cool breeze whipping across the tarmac.

Mercifully, the pilot and flight crew look away long before Matteo’s stern growl rumbles through their ears. “Eyes to the floor before you lose them entirely.”

As he briskly climbs the jet’s stairs, I put up one hell of a fight.

“Matteo!” I gasp, pummeling his back with my fist. “Put me down!”

He doesn’t. He carries me up the stairs, veers me through the jet’s spacious interior, then plonks me onto the first oversized recliner he sees.

I lurch to my feet quicker than a heartbeat. I don’t get even two feet away. With his hand curled around my throat, Matteo forces me back onto the recliner.

“Sit.”

I’d spit in his face if I didn’t see spitting as the most inhumane act. Instead, I give him a dirty look, as if he’s dog shit under my shoe.

His narrowed gawk shows mutual disdain.

I despise that above all else.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask when he secures me to the recliner with the belt extenders some passengers need. “The idea of spending a few days in my presence too much for you to bear?”

He doesn’t answer me. Not with words. He just continues tying me to the recliner.

“Answer me, goddamn it!” I kick out so firmly I knock him back two spots. His crash into the table housing champagne glasses should fill me with victory.

I feel nothing close to a winner.

“I have rights. You said it earlier. Things are different in Carlisle, so you have no right to…”

My wordstrail off as he clicks his fingers at someone to his left. They hand him a large strip of duct tape, and unease tumbles through my stomach like a washing machine.

“What’s that for—” He flattens the duct tape over my mouth, silencing me.

Being silenced doesn’t end my fight. I keep thrashing and kicking. My movements are so abrupt that if Matteo had forgotten he shredded my panties off my body, he can’t anymore. The hem of my dress almost resembles a belt. It sits dangerously high on my thighs, mere millimeters from exposing me to the half a dozen men who followed us into the jet.

And I’m not the only one noticing.

With his narrowed gaze burning my skin, Matteo clicks his fingers again. When he’s only given a strip of tape long enough to secure my wrist to the armchair, he snatches the tape out of the man’s grasp before he pulls off a piece as long as he is tall.

He tugs down my dress’s hem before securing the fragile fabric to my knees with tape.

My nostrils flare. He’s acting like a possessive jerk, which makes no sense. He said just minutes ago that he bartered only for me to suck his dick. I coughed up the goods in minutes. It might have been before I told him I still wanted to marry Antonio, but he had decided before then.

He instructed the driver to take the long way to Lombardo—the exact name of this private airstrip. That was before I sucked his dick, and long before I reminded him of my plans.

He always intended to get rid of me. He just made sure he got off first.