Savage Legacy - S.R. Jones Page 0,2

all.

He left after I raked my nails down his cheek, leaving bloodied tracks in their wake, and I came to a strange realization. I have some power here. Giovanni Bianchi won’t hurt me. Not physically. If he was going to, he would've done so when I scratched up his pretty face. When I kneed him between the legs and spat my hatred at him. Instead, he held me off him and then left me.

It means I have a chance to get away because I know Giovanni won’t harm me. I think he actually does feel something for me. It’s not normal, and he’s probably a psychopath—let’s be honest—but he wants me as his. Intact and unharmed. That means I can do things he wouldn’t let others get away with. If I try to run and don’t succeed, he won’t hurt me. It’s freeing.

The door opens, and the man himself strolls in as if he hasn’t a care in the world. God, I hate him.

I stare at him and hope my gaze gives away all the contempt I feel. His cheek is healing. It won’t scar. As if feeling my gaze there, he absentmindedly runs his fingers over the skin.

“We’re going for a drive.”

We are? Panic hits me. Is he getting rid of me? Oh, God, I want him to let me go home. I don’t want him to get sick of me and give me away to someone else. Would he do that? Maybe I overestimated what I mean to him, and my theatrics have bored him?

“No,” I say. “I’m not leaving this room.”

He sighs. “She won’t eat. She barely drinks water. She won’t look after herself. Now she won’t leave the room.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. Where are you wanting to take me?”

“The beach.”

“Are you insane?”

“You’re the second person to ask me that today, so maybe I am.”

I walk to the bed and sit on it determinedly. “If you want me to leave this room, you’ll have to carry me out kicking and screaming.

His mouth kicks up at one side, and I hate myself for finding it sexy. “Fine.”

In one smooth motion, he picks me up and hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Go through her things and grab a swimsuit, a towel, some shoes, and girly shit she might need,” he orders one of the men with guns who stand guard outside my prison.

The man shrugs and starts to rummage around in my room.

“Put those slides on her feet,” Gio orders as he turns me around so my dangling feet are facing the thug.

I kick my feet out, and Giovanni lands one smart smack on my behind. I stop immediately; not because it hurt, but because my face is burning from shame.

Slides are gently placed on my feet, and then we’re moving, my breasts being jostled against a hard shoulder.

“You, come with me. We’re going out the back way. Call Reggie and tell him to bring the car around the back,” Giovanni barks the order at another thug with a gun. Goon number one, as I call him, nods and takes out his phone.

Giovanni walks down the corridor with me as if all this is entirely normal. I don’t kick and scream because I realize such theatrics won’t get me anywhere. I need to conserve my energy. If he takes me to the beach, that means I may have the chance to escape.

He pushes through a door, and bright sunlight hits me. It’s warm today, truly warm, and it’s a shame I hate Giovanni so much because a day at the beach in this heat would be lovely under normal circumstances.

Giovanni sets me down on the ground but keeps ahold of my upper arm. One of his goons stands by with a hand on his hip where a gun rests. Ugh. I hate them all.

A second man joins us, and after a few interminably long seconds, a sleek, long car draws up and comes to a smooth stop. Goon number one opens the back door, and Giovanni gestures for me to step inside. I do so and am surprised at the luxurious interior. Thick cream leather coats the seats, and there are two on one side of the large interior, with two slightly smaller seats facing them. Other than a stretch limo, I’ve never seen a car with a seating configuration like this.

Giovanni guides me to one of the larger seats, and goon number one takes the smaller seat opposite