Page 99 of Brutal Legacy

Georgia’s hazy expression snapped into focus, and she jerked back, sitting up and pushing me away.

“What’s going on?” She glanced wildly around.

“What’s going on is that you still snore.” I pushed off the bed and stood. “Get ready, we’re going out.”

“We are?” She jumped up. Her sleepiness had dissolved into excitement.

“You act like you’ve been locked up for years. It’s been a day.”

“Whatever. I need fresh air every day,” she said.

“You lived in LA,” I reminded her.

She rolled her eyes, but her excitement remained palpable. “Right, that’s true. Anyway, I would love to leave this room, if my lord and master allows it.”

I didn’t trust myself to respond to that particular title so ignored her.

After a shower, I found her waiting at the door for me.

“You’re dressed?” I eyed the outfit I’d given her days before.

“Yes, I don’t have anything else, and I have it on good authority that it stinks, literally.” Her cheeks tinted pink at the admission. Was she really embarrassed to smell a little like old sweat around me? She had no idea how sweet she smelled. There was nothing about her body that wasn’t a turn-on.

“I’ll make sure to stay downwind.” I reached for her wrist.

“What the hell?” she exploded as I slapped a metal cuff on her and then clicked the other end onto my wrist.

“I can’t have you running off when we’re outside Casa Nera.”

“So, you’ve handcuffed us together?”

I just nodded and took her arm, steering her out into the hallway.

“That’s right. Where you go, I go.”

“Lucky me,” she said.

Atlantic City might not beLA, but there were enough high-end boutiques to keep even the pickiest of shoppers happy.

I walked into the first one we came to, my arm tucked around Georgia’s, hiding our bound hands.

Assistants dressed in black with sleek headpieces fluttered toward us.

“We need women’s clothes. A full wardrobe,” I told them when Georgia failed to step in. “Pick things out,” I instructed her.

She drifted toward a clothing rack, taking me with her. She moved some coat hangers, and her eyes widened.

“This stuff is expensive.”

“Is it?” I checked my phone for any work-related messages.

Georgia wandered here and there, and I followed, her arm tightly gripped in my hand.

“Surely there’s something in here you like?” I asked, my patience for shopping rapidly dwindling.

“Yeah, of course there is, but I’m not about to spend five hundred dollars on a shirt,” she said, gripping the collar of the shirt in question. “It’s not even sewn that well.”

“Stop looking at prices and choose things. I don’t have all day,” I snapped at her.

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