Page 58 of Brutal Legacy

Guards crowded into the room.

Bellisario slipped his jacket on. “Beat him, just enough… pissing blood should do it, for today. Repeat tomorrow and the next day.”

“Sì, Signore Procuratore,” the head guard said quickly and moved into the room as Bellisario walked out.

“Enjoy the hell of your own making, Santori.”

18

GEORGIA

Now

Iwoke with a start in the morning, roughly shaken awake by a huge tattooed and unfeeling hand.

“Get dressed.”

I rubbed my scratchy eyes and sat up. My mercenary was already dressed in his usual uniform of unrelenting black. With his dark, dangerous good looks, he made his practical utilitarian clothes appear straight off the runway. He had packed his things up and was now standing and staring out the window. The memory of last night slammed into me. Oh God. When he’d touched me… damn me to hell. It had been hot. It had been the hottest thing I’d felt in well over a decade.Pathetic, Georgia.

I avoided eye contact with my mercenary, sure that he’d be able to see the shame on my face. I glanced around for my clothes… and froze.

There, at the end of the bed, was my bag from my apartment. The one I’d packed my meager meaningful belongings into.

I eyed my captor, studying his sharp profile in the morning light. He’d carried my things with him, on the run from the cops, even when I’d just escaped him. I didn’t know how I felt about that. I didn’t want to feel much of anything about it, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I did have feelings about it.

“I said, get dressed.”

“Where are my clothes from yesterday?” I pushed my confusing feelings out of my head.

“They’re too bloody. Wear something else.”

I got up and unzipped my bag. Everything was there, and it seemed untouched.

“There is one tiny problem with that,” I revealed.

He turned to me, folding his arms over his chest.

I pulled out my half-finished dresses from the bag. I had a pair of flat sandals at the bottom, thank God, and my mementos box, but other than that, the bag was full of my half-finished designs. The hopes and dreams I hadn’t quite given up on.

“This is all I have to wear.” I held up a sliver of emerald satin.

“Wear it, then,” my mercenary stated flatly.

“It’s not… finished,” I mumbled, feeling more and more like an idiot with every word. “In my defense, you said to grab the things I really needed because I was never coming back to my apartment, and then you gave me this tiny bag. Was I supposed to leave important things just to fit clean underwear and jeans? I didn’t expect to get my outfit so dirty...”

I trailed off because he’d reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of black utility pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. He tossed them to me.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Well, okay then.

We were taking a plane.

Of course we were. I had to have known that in some repressed corner of my brain, but I’d blocked it out. My psyche couldn’t handle one more stress.

I hated flying. I’d done it exactly one time in my life, from Naples to LA. I’d had a panic attack at the thought of leaving Naples that I’d never forget. It felt like dying. We’d lifted into the air, and I’d forcibly ripped free from my ties to the world. I was untethered. Lost. Objectively, it was a terrifying experience.

I chewed my lip as I took the clothes my mercenary had given me and changed. My heart was beating too fast, and I felt hot all over. A panic attack lurked just on the edges of my mind.

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