Page 32 of Brutal Legacy

These were silly imaginings and destined never to come true, but it didn’t stop me from jotting down lines here and there. In Castel Amaro, there was often nothing to do but dream. I had to find a proper job so I could see my sister, but that project was on the back burner until I paid off my debt to the prosecutor’s satisfaction.

It was the day after the party at the river, and Georgia’s drunken kiss. I needed to tell someone about it, even if it was just the pages of my tattered notebook.

I’d just sharpened my pencil with my pocketknife when I heard her voice.

“What are you writing?”

Anticipation drove a fist into my gut. I’d spent half the night remembering her touch, stroking my cock and picturing her hand on it. I’d tortured myself with all the things I would havedone to her, if only I didn’t inherit my mother’s morals.She was drunk. She probably regrets it. Maybe she doesn’t even remember.It was always my father’s voice in my head when the darkest, most hateful thoughts slithered through my mind.

I sat up, straddling the branch, and peered down.

Georgia stood on the hill below, arms crossed as she gazed up at me. Her white dress had lemons on it. It showed her smooth, nut-brown arms and legs. Her long brown hair brushed her waist as she tilted her head back to watch me.

I gripped the branch above me and slowly lowered myself down to the ground, dropping the last few inches. I’d gotten taller in the last year, passing six feet, and although Georgia wasn’t short, she had to look right up to meet my eyes.

“Nothing. Aren’t you going to the feast?” I hoped she’d say no and stay here with me. Getting the prosecutor’s daughter alone was a rare thing.

“Aren’t you?” she shot back, a grin playing around her red lips. “Someone told me to come and find them when I wasn’t drunk… though for the record, I was perfectly coherent last night.”

A bumblebee flew near Georgia’s face, and she recoiled. I reached out, my hand as quick as a whip, and closed my fist loosely around the bee.

Georgia gasped. “You’ll get stung!”

I twisted away from her and gently opened my fist. The bee had landed on my palm, and had indeed stung me. We both watched its fuzzy black-and-yellow body fly off lazily.

“It didn’t die so it didn’t sting you,” she said and picked my hand up. “Right?”

“That’s just honeybees that die,” I told her. “Bumblebees don’t. So, aren’t you going to the feast?”

“Not if you’re not. Did you get stung? Your hand is red,” Georgia said, holding my palm open and frowning at it.

“It’s fine.”

“Why’d you touch it?”

“You were scared,” I pointed out.

She narrowed her eyes at me. What was she thinking behind those doe-like brown eyes?

“You didn’t kill it,” she observed.

“Why would I? It’s just doing what it needs to survive. I can’t blame it for that. It’s what we all do,” I said quietly. I wished my heart would stop racing. I made to tug my hand from her grip. Maybe that would help my body calm down. The blood was rushing everywhere but my head right now.

She held my hand firmly and refused to let go.

I raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

“Thank you. You’re not like the other boys in the village,” she said slowly and raised my hand toward her face.

I watched her with rapt attention. She held my open palm to her mouth and pressed a sweet kiss to the bee sting.

That simple gesture lost me the battle to stay in control of my body. I stepped forward and slid a hand around the back of her head, sinking it into her hair and gripping tightly.

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice low and urgent.

“Thanking you,” she said softly. Alarm had lit her features, but now, they melted into excitement. “For the bee, and last night.”

A pulse jumped in her throat, beating madly. I brought my other hand to linger there, against that thrumming place. Savoring the evidence that she was just as affected as I was in this moment.

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