My eyes widen as his autocratic voice cuts through the tension building between us.
“I’m the man instructed to make sure you reach New York in one piece and I’m the man who is seriously pissed that you decided to go off script causing me more trouble than I thought was possible from a woman fresh out of the fucking convent.”
He is angry; it’s evident from the ticking of his jaw and the fire flashing from his eyes and yet despite all of that, I snap, “Watch your mouth. Respect where I came from.”
His eyes widen and if I ever stared fear in the eye, it’s this moment, despite what happened on that jet.
“Respect!” The dark glare from his eyes causes me to shift on my seat and he hisses, “You earn respect, sweetheart, and so far your bank is empty. Excuse me for being a little irritated by the fact that I have just orchestrated the slaughter of an entire mafia family, which will tie us up in red tape for fucking years. Not to mention the war we just started and the repercussions that will involve, so don’t lecture me about respect when your choices have serious consequences.”
“I didn’t ask you to rescue me.” My expression is angry, but I hate how my voice shakes.
“Would you rather I didn’t?”
He leans forward, invading my space, his anger searing every part of me inside and out. It’s oppressive, deadly and so damn hot I can’t think straight.
“Would you rather be married to a depraved psycho like Liam Dettori and raped repeatedly for the rest of your life because I’m guessing you wouldn’t agree to it willingly?”
Tears trickle down my face as the enormity of what just happened hits me, and yet he obviously doesn’t have any compassion because he says through gritted teeth, “Being tied to that chair was nothing compared to what he had planned for your future.”
He reaches up and touches my flaming cheek. “What he did was a mere fraction of what he was capable of. He was a sadistic brute who loved to beat women into submission. He would have broken every bone in your body until you bowed to his will. You would be pregnant before you landed, and it wouldn’t have been an enjoyable experience. I’m sorry if you didn’t ask to be rescued, and that I used a bad word but I’m not sorry I rescued you from a fate worse than death. So, a little gratitude would go a long way right now while I figure out how to get you to your destination in one piece.”
He drops his hand and moves away, reaching into a compartment by his side.
He hands me a bottle of water and snaps, “Drink this. All of it.”
I eye the bottle with suspicion, causing him to sigh. “It’s sealed, and it’s just water. Trust me on that at least.”
“The last water I drank was drugged.”
Tears burn in my eyes as I remember how betrayal cut deep.
“The gardener, I’m guessing.”
“Stefan.” Sadness engulfs me as I remember how happy I was to be with him, and the man beside me growls irritably, “I wish I had shot that fucker myself.”
“Is he dead?”
My heart leaps as I face that possibility.
“Of course he’s fucking dead. Do you really believe he deserved to live after what he did to you?”
Why am I strangely touched by that statement?
I say nothing, and an awkward silence rests between us, and I sip the water more as a distraction than anything else.
He takes a call, and I close my eyes as his strong voice ripples around me, strangely comforting.
“Commercial isn’t an option. I would be arrested for domestic abuse as soon as we got on the plane.”
He pauses and then adds, “Yeah, her face is a pretty painting of tragedy right now. Send for the jet; we must take no chances.”
A painting of tragedy.
I can only imagine what I must resemble right now, but tragedy. Am I tragic? I don’t want to be, but somehow the description fits my life perfectly right now.
“The Excelsior, meet you there.”
He ends the call, and his instructions cut through the tension.
