Page 59 of Brutal Legacy

He watched me struggle to breathe.

“What is it?” he snapped at me, always too aware of what I was feeling.

“Nothing,” I snapped right back. I knew I shouldn’t expect sympathy from him, or consideration. Most of all, I didn’t want to show him another weakness. Georgia with her crappy apartment and inherited debt and, oh yeah, her shitty father who had put her in danger. Oh, and she got turned on bybeing ordered around and manhandled. I couldn’t add one more weakness to that list. I couldn’t stand it.

I balled my hands into fists and got on with it. This was my life now. It rested in this man’s tattooed, calloused, uncaring hands.

Predictably, the clothes were huge and swamped me completely. I tucked the overly long shirt into the huge pants to try and make the waist a little tighter, then slipped on my flip-flops and shouldered my precious backpack.

My mercenary waited impassively at the door, and we left without a word. Half an hour later, we were boarding the private plane. It was so much smaller than a regular plane. My heart pounded even harder, and sweat drenched my face. It was tough to pull air into my lungs.

“Go.” My mercenary tapped me from behind when I hesitated at the foot of the ladder. Feeling like I was going to the electric chair, I slowly ascended the steps.

I kind of was, in a way. My father had sacrificed my safety for his life and comfort. I was being taken to one of the most ruthless kingpins on the East Coast. It didn’t matter that I’d known Renato when we were young. This was just business to him. A loose end. That was what my life had amounted to. Someone else’s inconvenient loose end.

The plane was luxurious, from the soft leather seats to the shiny walnut paneling, and even the spa-like scents in the air, but I barely registered it. Heat was building in my chest like a volcano in a bottle.

“Sit,” my mercenary ordered, again tapping my shoulder. He forced me into a solitary seat at the front of the plane.

“Aren’t I sitting with you?” I asked desperately. It was an effort to get the words out. Why I even wanted to sit with him, I had no idea, except I’d be more distracted with hating the man next to me than the plane taking off.

He didn’t reply.

“I can’t sit on my own!” I called to his departing back.

He didn’t even hesitate to leave me. He just walked away. This frightening motherfucker who didn’t even seem to sleep or eat. This monster who’d stolen my life and saved it at the same time, the one who’d threatened me at gunpoint and had hauled my box of mementos all over the city while evading the cops instead of dumping it.

The engine of the plane gunned beneath us, the drone of it cutting through my reason and breaking my patience.

The tissue box was in my hand before I could stop myself. I hurled it at my mercenary’s departing back. In that second, I was so tired of it all. Tired of being dragged around, threatened, nearly killed. I couldn’t stand it one more second.

The metal tissue box bounced off my mercenary’s back. For once in my life, I had good aim.

He stopped. The flight attendant hovering near us covered her mouth with a dramatic intake of breath.

“I said, I can’t sit on my own,” I stated, my voice wavering madly. That hot feeling in my chest was pushing to come out. It wouldn’t be contained.

“Take off as soon as you can,” my mercenary instructed the flight attendant.

She hurried out of sight. Slowly, oh-so slowly, my mercenary turned.

From behind us, the sound of the heavy door shutting thudded through the air. I swallowed down a feeling of rising nausea. Oh God, this was it. We were locked in this metal box. I couldn’t breathe.

My mercenary approached, filled with lethal grace and menace. I couldn’t keep a lid on my fears anymore. My breath was growing tighter and tighter. I was standing on a chair, a noose tied around my neck, and that, too, was getting tighter.

“What is wrong with you?” He stood in front of me. The back of his hand touched my forehead. “You’re sweating.”

A reluctant dagger of a chuckle left my tortured lungs. “Yeah, losing your mind isn’t pretty, who’d have thought?”

“Losing what?” he repeated as the plane jolted into motion.

A small scream left me that I wasn’t proud of, but I had no time to be embarrassed in front of this man. Holding the tatters of my mind together felt too difficult.

“Georgia! I’m talking to you,” my mercenary demanded.

“I don’t care!” I blurted out, caving in on myself. Fear was making it hard to speak. “I can’t do this! I can’t do any of this! Just kill me,” I panted.

The idea suddenly made so much sense. I put my trembling hands on his chest, gripping his T-shirt and holding him close. I looked up into his dark eyes.

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