Page 69 of Ruthless Mr. Ricco
I’ve only seen the man staring down at me once, and it was from afar.On one of the lowest days of my life, he stood in the foyer of the house I grew up in with the same smirk on his face as he’s wearing now while my father threw me, my mother, and a few suitcases out the door.
He’s Dustin Prescott, the son and successor my father chose over me, his biological daughter.
Ms.Lynn’s boyfriend.He was her driver the day I bruised my arm.
I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him, even though my mind still shies away from the trauma of our first meeting.
He leans closer and holds the plastic pitcher of water above my face.I groan and turn my head toward Angelo’s shins.Angelo grabs my forehead and forces my face back toward the ceiling.
Dustin barely tips the pitcher.A few drops spill from the spout and land on my nose.They both chuckle as I flinch.
“Fight all you want, bitch.You’ll be begging for our cocks soon,” Angelo snarls.
“We need to clean this mouth first so we can cum all over your face,” Dustin says.
I fight the urge to push them away and instead use the distraction to open my purse closure.Dustin pours a steady stream onto my face.I can’t breathe.Water stings my eyes, burns my nostrils, and clogs my throat, but I close my fist around my phone, pull it free of my purse, and push the power button over and over again, praying the emergency feature works the way I set it up.I lose track of how many times I press it, but the instructions said five and I know I’ve done more than that, so it should connect a call to nine-one-one and send my location to my emergency contacts—my parents, Matteo Ricco, and Liam Brunswick.
Neither man notices my frantic jabbing of the power button as they mockingly praise me for getting ready for them.
I shove my phone under my hip as the waterboarding stops.Coughing and gagging, I lift my hand and slap it against Angelo’s knee.
He captures my wrist in a brutal grip and shoves it onto his crotch.Disgust shrivels my soul.Dustin teases my lips with the hard edge of the pitcher spout.At the sound of his inhale, my control snaps.I can’t handle listening to any more of his sleazy, demeaning words.
I crush, twist, and pull Angelo’s pathetic jewels as I knee him in the temple with all my might.He crumples like dead weight, trapping my arm between his legs and knocking my head into the linoleum.Agony streaks through my scalp as Dustin closes his fist in my hair and yanks me across the floor, but I grab my phone, tuck it against my stomach, and curl my body as I roll toward the desk.
He curses and reaches for my phone.
I scream.
He wraps both fists around my throat and leans his weight on me.Black spots dance along my periphery.I jam the edge of my phone into his face so hard his head whips back and his nose breaks with a sickening crunch.Blood pours down on me.I hit him again and again until his grip on my throat finally loosens.
A banshee shrieks from far, far away.Thunder shakes the entire building.Dustin lilts to the side.I knock his hands off my throat and scramble toward the nearest door.
Angelo’s meaty fist closes around my ankle.His cursing rings in my ears.
The door behind him bursts open.
Matteo Ricco’s massive frame barrels into the room.With his handsome features a mask of cold fury and violence emanating from him, he’s better than a knight in shining armor; he’s my boss and lover in suited vengeance.
My soul stretches out to his.A flash of relief spears through the manic desperation in his icy stare as he meets my eyes, but then his gaze shifts to his brother’s hand on my ankle.He stalks forward.
Angelo releases me.I continue crawling to the bathroom on instinct.My bloody hands slip on the linoleum.The sound of violence stops me halfway through the doorway.I look over my shoulder.
Matteo straddles Angelo and lands blow after blow onto his face.Angelo’s pathetic attempts to block him grow weaker.
Dustin groans and pushes himself up to a seated position.He leans against the wall and spits a bloody wad of goop onto the floor.
As much as I relish the sight of my attackers in pain, Matteo can’t go to prison for murder.I can’t be his lawyer if he’s charged with excessive force either, since I’d be too close to the case.
Not trusting my legs, I crawl back toward Matteo and croak his name.He doesn’t hear me.Doesn’t see me.Doesn’t stop burying his fist in his brother’s face.
I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and bury my face in his nape.
“Matteo, stop.Help me.Please,” I push through the swelling in my throat.
He freezes with his fist pulled back.Blood drips from his knuckles.
The fury drains from his muscles.He sits on the floor and pulls me into his arms.
