Page 165 of Jordan

“I’m not going with you,” I shout. He spins me around and I spit right in his face.

“You little bitch.” Both hands grip my arms, and he shakes me. “What the fuck happened to you? You used to be so fucking tame! This asshole fucked you all up.” He hugs me to him, petting my head like you would a cat. My stomach rolls. I gag. I swear I’m going to throw up. “You’ll do as I say if you want to keep breathing, kitten.”

“No!” I scream, shoving off him. He backhands me so hard my vision goes black, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do that?” He yanks me up because apparently I fell to the floor. My head spinning, cheek burning. “This mouth on you is embarrassing,” he growls. “Act like a fucking lady.”

“Fuck you!” I shout through a sob.

“Oh, trust me, kitten. I plan to.”

I raise my hand to slap him again, but he gets to me first. Same spot, but this time harder. I think it knocks me out. When I come to, I’m on the floor and he’s leaning over me. The nausea hits me out of nowhere, so bad I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down. He yanks me up, and I remember my babies. I have to protect them. No matter what, I have to protect them. And that’s why when he pulls me to him this time, I don’t fight. I let him hug me.

But the nausea? It’s unbearable. It comes up before I can move, and I throw up all over him.

“You disgusting bitch!” he screams, shoving me away from him and stepping back. I fall to the floor, tears falling from my face and I cry. I sit there and cry.

Zachary grumbles to himself as he gets his shirt off, leaving it somewhere on the floor. He yanks me up by my hair. When I’m on my feet, he grips my upper arm so hard there will be a bruise, and then he’s dragging me out of the bedroom.

All I can do is hope Enzo is going to save me from whatever Zachary has planned, because if this proved anything, it’s that I’m no match against him.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Vincenzo

When I come to, it’s dark and my head is killing me. I open my eyes, and everything is blurry.

I jerk upward when everything rushes back to me. My head pounds so badly, my stomach rolls with nausea, and I turn to the side in just enough time to not vomit on myself.

Well, that’s probably a concussion, but can’t worry about it right now. There are more important things to focus on, like my wife and where she is.

I sit up, trying to figure out where the fuck I am.

Dark. Small room. Smells like chemicals.

Am I home or did they take me somewhere?

I get to my feet and steady myself before blinking a few times and sliding my hand along the wall for a light. It switches on; the light blinding me. I lean against the wall as more nausea hits. When I open my eyes, I recognize the small room as the supply closet behind the spa.

Fucking morons.

I push on the door, but it doesn’t budge. I know this door doesn’t have a lock, so that means there’s something in front of it, stopping it from opening.

I take a few breaths and kick it. It takes a few hard kicks, but it finally splinters and opens. When it’s wide enough for me to stick my head through, I realize there’s a fucking cabinet toppled over in front of the door. I grip the frame and use my foot to push. It moves enough for me to get out. The moment I’m free, someone runs in the room, aiming a gun at me.

I scowl at him.

“Shit,” Rocco mutters, putting his gun down. “Sorry.”

I storm through the room.

“How long have they been gone?”

“Two hours. Antonio spoke with your brothers. They’re already meeting. We’ve been looking for you, boss.”

“Not well enough, obviously,” I growl as I enter the hallway, ignoring the chaos of upturned furniture and bullet holes in my walls. “Casualties?”

“Summers, Dawson, Henrich, Nunez, Juno, Platt, Monroe, and Taft.”