Page 49 of Brutal Legacy

“Your point being?” He raised an arrogant eyebrow at me.

Wow. Someone was confident in their killer moves. I just had to hope he had the skills to back it up.

We didn’t have actual knives in the workshop. Why would we? But therewassomething we had plenty of. I reached around the corner we were hiding behind and grabbed two shiny objects glinting on the cutting table.

I handed both pairs of fabric shears to him. He stared at them for a second, nodding.

“Now, get down and don’t make a sound.” His hand landed on my shoulder, and he pushed me toward the floor.

I hit it unceremoniously and shot a scowl at him, crawling under the nearest desk. My mystery man took a pair of fabric shears in each hand, melting into the darkness.

Silence fell, punctuated by the thump of the metal door at the top of the workshop stairs. They had entered our level.

Low male voices speaking in Italian filled the space. They moved down the stairs, their footsteps echoing around the dark room.

Sweat rolled down my neck. I felt sick. There were other men who wanted to get to me to threaten my father? I felt like there had been a huge, glowing bullseye on my back since I’d gotten that call from the lawyer. I was fucked. How was I going to get out of this mess?

As I thought furiously about how I could possibly get rid of the target on me, murky shapes moved at the other end of the workshop. My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that I could make out the other guys. I knew they weren’t my very own personal robot/killing machine, because they weren’t nearly as big as him, nor as graceful.

They moved in a line, talking quietly among themselves. One from the back of the line disappeared and didn’t reappear.

One down.

The men continued on, while my mercenary picked them off one by one. The only sign he’d been there was a glint of metal every now and again.

Eventually, the men realized what was happening, and all hell broke loose. They started to shoot blindly behind them, hitting each other at times. My man in black glided through the middle, an avenging angel, sidestepping shots as if he were bulletproof. He swayed and ducked with perfect elegance. He made killing look like a dance. When someone landed a kick to his chest, he caught his leg and sliced his Achilles tendon with one hard snip. His shears flashed as he stabbed them into his opponents’chests. Rapid cuts that sent them to their knees. He whirled and finished one off by slashing the side of his neck, releasing a great spray of arterial blood right across a roll of raw white silk.

I shuddered at the sight. Fuck, after this, I could never come back here.

Ever.

He worked his way through the group of men, and faster than I could believe, silence fell again. My mercenary dropped the shears into his pocket and surveyed the mess, shoving a hand through his hair. The motion triggered a flood of recollection. He was like someone ripped right from my memories at that moment. But he wasn’t him… the bloody carnage on the floor of the workshop was more proof of that, than even those dark brown eyes. Elio Santori had never wanted to become a man like his father… a gangster.

I stared, and he brought his bloodthirsty gaze to meet mine.

I held that blistering stare for a good while, then he glanced away.

“We’re leaving, and try to run away this time, and I’ll leave you to the next wave of these guys. Don’t be fooled that this is over. It’s just begun.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made for the door. I pushed myself from my paralysis and grabbed my bag, running after him.

15

GEORGIA

We didn’t get far from the building before my mercenary dragged me into a dark alley. His hand took mine, and he tugged me along the back entrances to a row of stores. At the very last one, he picked the lock on the back door and shoved me inside, closing the door behind us.

It was pitch-black, and he was close; so close I forgot how to breathe. He hustled us through the lobby and into a room beyond.

He moved around, confident somehow, despite the darkness. A lamp clicked on over an exam table.Wait, an exam table?The sound of barking floated over to us.

This was a vet’s office.

“Come here,” he said briskly and patted the table.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt,” I protested.

He looked at me. “I said come here.”

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