Page 42 of Brutal Revenge

Time on my bike is the only time the noise surrounding me fully quietens, and I haven’t been willing to share that snippet of peace with anyone.

We get more than a handful of looks as I speed through town.Partly because I’m going faster than I should, but mostly because Azra is clinging to me like the world is ending.

By the time I pull up in front of the boutique, I’ve set a new personal record.

I cut the engine, then peer down at Azra.

She doesn’t move.

“Azra,” I say, tapping her shoulder.

Nothing.

“Azra.”

Slowly, she lifts her head, emerging from a traumatic event with wide, terrified eyes. “We’re never doing that again.”

I smirk. “We’ll see.”

She glares at me through the visor but doesn’t let go of my jacket. I don’t mind. I need a few more seconds to deflate my monstrous dick. That wasn’t the longest ride I’ve had, but it was the most thrilling.

When no attempt to shake her fear works, I dismount my bike, taking her with me. The moment my boots hit the sidewalk, she realizes we’re not alone. People gawk. Some stare, amused, but most wonder why a grown woman clings to me like a scared koala.

When Azra notices their watch, her legs unlock from around me so fast that she almost falls flat on her ass instead of her feet.

After ripping off the helmet, she shoves it at me with enough force to leave a bruise.

She’s not angry.

She’s jealous.

Not only did she notice that the gawks doubled when she peeled herself off my crotch, but they were also directed an inch below my belt buckle.

Why do you think she shoved the helmet into my groin and not my chest?

I bite back a laugh, loving the sharpening of her claws.

It pisses her off even more. With a snarl, she spins on her heel and marches toward the boutique, storming onto the battlefield unarmed and ill-prepared.

On a bench outside the changing room, elbows on my knees, I listen to Azra mutter to herself behind the curtain.

She’s tried on ten dresses so far.

Ten.

Dresses one through five were disasters. Wrong color. Wrong cut. Wrong fucking everything.

After the fourth disastrous getup, Azra looked ready to set the boutique on fire.

After the fifth, I took over.

Which is how we ended up with four perfect selections and are on our way to a fifth.

All my picks are short, bold, and designed to make Antonio choke on an ego he shouldn’t have since his cock is smaller than a corn kernel.

Though I shouldn’t admit this after criticizing a man on his appendage, I’m enjoying myself. Azra was hesitant when her eyes landed on my first selection, but when she saw how it accentuated her curves and complemented the flecks of green in her eyes, she stopped judging every suggestion I made. She trusted me, and that trust is paying dividends.

She’ll be the belle of the ball, and I’ll have to pack a baseball bat for every event we attend.