Page 118 of Brutal Legacy

The man was bent over Georgia, and I pitched myself at him. We rolled over the rough boards. He’d lost the gun, and now only had his hands to defend himself, which were a very poor defense for what I was going to do to him.

I wrestled him into submission, slinging my body over his and easily subduing his lesser weight, then gripped his head with both hands. He thrashed and heaved beneath me. I banged hishead against the wooden boards hard. Once, twice, three times. The smell of copper hit the air along with the salt of the water around us.

He stopped fighting back. Rage filled me. Pure and unfiltered. Uncontrollable.

I roared at him and banged his head again and again, and then twisted it sharply and cracked his neck for good measure.

On my knees, I crawled to Georgia. She was lying still.

No. No. No.

I reached for her and pulled her into my arms.

“Topolina, wake up. You’ve just swallowed some water. Wake up,” I urged, slapping her cool cheeks.

She was still. I gently laid her on the platform and lowered my mouth to hers, blowing air into her lungs and then starting chest compressions.

A move I’d done countless times, in jungles and deserts. I was still that merciless man, the one who’d lived nightmares, and yet, here, pumping Georgia’s chest, I was also someone else.

I was a poor kid from Naples who’d found a reason to live again. A kid full of hopes and useless dreams and contradictions. A tough boy who wrote poetry. A drifter who wanted to buy the girl of his dreams a house of her own. An unloved boy who’d found a place to belong.

I breathed into her mouth again, her fragile chest expanding beneath my hands.

“Breathe, Georgia, breathe. I told you - you can’t escape me again… I won’t let you go.” I pumped her chest. “Not when I’ve just gotten you back.”

I pumped, and nothing else mattered.

“You asked me to save you once,cara… and I’m here now. I’m finally here,” I muttered. Fuck, my heart pounding actually hurt. A real and terrible ache.

I leaned down to breathe in her mouth again when she coughed.

It was the best sound I’d ever heard.

She coughed, and coughed, and turned, hacking up seawater. I was on my feet and taking her into my arms.

“Elio?” she said.

I was moving across the platform toward my boat. The short makeshift pier joined with the floating dock. Seconds later, I was carrying her through the yacht. The staff were cowering behind the kitchen island. I barely spared them a glance as I swept past.

I reached my bedroom and kicked the door shut behind us.

The sudden bloom of light revealed the dark-red patches across her wet yellow dress. Blood.

“Are you hurt? What hurts?” I urged, my hands searching her body for the place where the blood was coming from. I had to stop it. I had to stop it right now.

“Where does it hurt, damn it?” I demanded. I couldn’t find where the bleeding was coming from.

Georgia’s hands held onto my arms, and I was pretty sure she was speaking. She was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it. Icouldn’t hear anything but the pounding of my blood in my ears. It was like a scream.

I couldn’t tell a fucking thing through the clinging wet material of Georgia’s dress. I bent, grabbed the hem, and pulled it apart hard. It ripped up the middle easily.

I tore the dress right off, and finally, the sight of her smooth, golden skin came into view. I ran my hands over her. Her underwear was wet but unbloodied.

“Turn,” I commanded and spun her around, holding her by the back of the neck to make her comply. I pulled the tattered remains of her dress from her and checked down her shoulders, her back, and over her thighs.

“Elio!” Georgia’s sharp cry cut through my panic.

I focused on her face as she turned around.

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