Page 46 of Brutal Heir

After I shoot off a quick text to Sammy, I stand in front of him holding out my hand. His fingers easily wrap around my palm, but he doesn’t move from the bench, just glances up at me.

“Well, come on then,” I blurt.

“Give me a little tug.” A mischievous grin curls the corners of his mouth.

I slap a hand on my hip, shaking my head. “If you’re looking for someone to coddle you, I’m not your girl.”

“Clearly.” A deep, rumbling laugh vibrates across his broad chest as he pushes himself up to stand. “I’ve had enough pity to last a lifetime, anyway.”

“And I’m sure you didn’t need a second of it.” Rewarding him with a smile, I lead him out of the physical therapy suite, his hand tight around my own.

A blast of icy air whips across my face as the front doors of the building glide open, reminding me December has already arrived and before long Christmas will be upon us. I can’t help but think about home, my friends, my family. As complete shite as my family ended up being, it’s still impossible not to think about them and the happier times during the holidays. I may be alone again this year, but at least I’ll have a permanent roof over my head.

With my thoughts elsewhere, I barely register the sound of approaching footfalls before I barrel into a body. My gaze jerks up and lands on a pair of familiar, cold gray eyes peeking beneath tufts of scraggly blonde hair. Then to that light scar, across his left brow. The one I carved with my hairpin dagger…

No. No. No.

All the sights and sounds of the city blur around me, a muffled murmur beneath the manic drumbeats of my heart and the sudden roar of my pulse. The man stiffens, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to place me.

The piece of shite doesn’t even remember me.

Meanwhile, I’ll never be able scrub his face from the dark recesses of my mind.

That night… oh, God, that horrible night.

The pillow over my head. The rip of clothes tearing.

Screams echo across my subconscious as I stand there frozen in the middle of the street. I’m vaguely aware of Alessandro beside me, his quiet presence anchoring me against the tidal wave of grisly memories threatening to swallow me whole.

My legs go numb. There’s a high-pitched ringing in my ears, like I’ve been submerged underwater. The world tilts sideways…and then his voice cuts through it all.

“Excuse me.” The polite words spoken from a monster tear me free from the downward spiral. I blink quickly to chase away the unspeakable images as the man moves around me, wearing a nondescript jacket and dark blue jeans, just like any other man wandering the streets of Manhattan.

He disappears into the building we’ve just come out of, and as I trail his form until it disappears into the elevator bank, my entire world narrows to only him. To that gravelly voice, to the scent of sweat and cheap cologne, to the terror of his body suffocating mine.

“Rory, what in fuck’s sake is wrong?”

I’m shaking, a tremor racing through my entire body.

“Rory!”

Another presence overpowers the lingering memories, the familiar soothing scent of amber and fresh rain filling my nostrils. I blink again and meet a pair of mismatched orbs. He’s standing in front of me, between me and the arsehole who stole something I’ll never get back. “Alessandro?” My voice is not my own, it’s frail and airy, and feckin’ hell I hate the sound of it.

“Where did you just go?” His hands are wrapped around my arms, fingers digging into my skin. But unlike when other men touch me, I don’t feel the need to flee. Instead, Alessandro’s possessive hold is oddly comforting. “What the hell is wrong?”

A horn blares, jerking me from the wave of panic, and I lift my gaze over Alessandro’s shoulder to the Range Rover waitingfor us by the curb. Now he’s the one guiding me to the car because I’m still shaking so badly, I can barely walk.

God, I never thought I would see that man again.

I’m surprised that he survived the sharp end of my hairpin dagger. The last time I saw him he was splayed out across my bed, his chest painted in blood. I should have struck harder.

Before the grisly memories can suck me under again, I’m shoved into the backseat of Alessandro’s car. I scoot all the way to the far end, curling against the door.

But there’s no escaping Alessandro’s worried, furious gaze.

“Tell me who hurt you,” he growls, eyes wild. “Because I swear to God, Rory, I’ll rip his fucking spine out and force him to watch as I do.”

CHAPTER 20