Page 103 of Brutal Revenge

“He moved it forward a week. It’s happening tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” The word rips out of me, raw and disbelieving.

He nods, and I slam the drink down so hard that the glass shatters. Liquid sprays over the table and my hands, but I barely feel it. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my vision narrows to a single point.

Tomorrow. Azra is marrying a dick turd tomorrow.

“So should you want to fix this, you’d better act fast.”

“Fix what?”

Nico gestures with his head toward the dance floor while repeating, “This.”

I follow his gaze, and my heart stops.

My cock wasn’t twitching in response to the blonde’s eagerness. Azra is on the dance floor, dancing like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Her hair is loose, and her eyes are bright. She’s carefree and easy-going in a way I haven’t seen since?—

My nostrils flare as the itch to kill burns through me.

The last time she acted like this was when I made her climax, and the memory catapults my fury.

Chapter 32

Azra

Music pulses through me like a second heartbeat, loud and relentless. In minutes, I get lost in it. The thump of the bass drowns out the noise in my head and vibrates the fear from my chest, but only if I don’t look too closely at the truth.

My nature is too carefree, almost floaty, and it takes me a moment to realize why.

The candy Isabella gave me at the start of the night wasn’t just sugar-laced, was it?

I should have known. If her childhood was anything like mine, it would take more than a handsome face to make her forget the horrors of her past.

I’m mad she drugged me, but honestly, I also don’t mind.

The wooziness softens the dread and anger I’ve been carrying for days. I’m getting married tomorrow to the man I crossed countries to pursue. I should celebrate that I’m one step closer to the revenge I’ve been planning for four years, but I feel miserable.

Antonio only moved the wedding forward hours ago, and Isabella organized this hen party just as fast. I thought she’d hate me whenMatteo failed to show up hours later to collect her, but she’s been buzzing around all night like she’s the bride.

Sober Azra would investigate her motives with more suspicion. She would also have fought harder to stay home, claiming she doesn’t want her big day’s photos ruined by dark bags under her eyes, but I no longer recognize the woman in the mirror anymore.

She’s a stranger.

Desperate for a moment to think without having my every move scrutinized, I lean toward Isabella’s group of friends and shout over the music, “I’m going to get some air!”

Isabella waves me off, too busy soaking up the attention of multiple suitors to care where I’m going.

When I head down the hallway toward the bathrooms, unsurprisingly, two men peel off the wall and follow me. Antonio’s goons haven’t taken their eyes off me in the slightest over the past ten hours.

Anyone would swear I failed the purity test with how possessive he’s been acting.

Halfway to the bathroom, an arm curls around my waist and plucks me into an alcove. My accoster’s hold isn’t rough or painful. It’s firm and unmistakable.

Before I can react to being unexpectedly grabbed, the two bodyguards rush in. They don’t stand a chance against the man holding me hostage. Even with one arm banded around my waist, my accoster takes them down in seconds. He punches Guard One in the face, instantly rendering him unconscious, and subdues Guard Two’s interest with a brutal kick to the sternum.

In an efficient, controlled minute, they hit the deck without so much as a groan.

I don’t require seeing his face to know who has taken them down. My body knows, not to mention Guard One’s fear when he slowly comes around.