I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two

by Knight, Natasha

  The women who were somehow still sleeping are startled awake now. There’s an audible gasp as men enter the room.

  “Let’s go,” the big one says, grabbing the arm of the woman closest to him and hauling her roughly to her feet.

  Other men follow him in. The women don’t move fast enough apparently because most have to be dragged out. I don’t see Marcus at first, but I can hear him outside still talking to the other man in English.

  The girl beside me lets the jacket slip as she stands. Guilt twists my belly when she meets my eyes only momentarily. I can’t tell if the look is embarrassed or accusing. I have no words to comfort her either way, so I remain silent.

  I’m trying to stand but the boat is rocking with all the movement. Between the rocking, the pain of Marcus’s punishment, and my arms bound behind me, I can’t get up without help.

  Lou leers at me when he comes to haul me up. I can see he’s hard again. I wonder if it’s the memory of Marcus’s assault on the girl or my beating that’s got him aroused.

  “Get off me!” I twist free as soon as I’m up. When he tries to grab me again, I smash my head into his nose. I know he’ll hurt me for it, but I can’t not fight. I can’t let him take me and all these women like this.

  “Fucking whore,” he says, his grip still too tight even as he’s dazed.

  “Let’s go,” Marcus yells. When he sees it’s only us in the room, he stops. “Is she giving you trouble, Lou?”

  “I think the fucking bitch broke my nose.”

  “Not the first time it’s been broken from the look of you,” I say. It is bleeding but I don’t think it’s actually broken. Too bad.

  Lou turns, raising his arm to strike.

  “Whoa,” Marcus catches his wrist, eyes locked on mine. “I got her,” he says. “Go make sure the others don’t give our men any trouble.”

  “Fine.”

  Marcus keeps hold of me as Lou walks out of the room.

  “You know, sea is pretty rough. Could be you hit your head against the wall in transport,” he says, taking me by the back of my hair and rushing me toward the wall.

  He smashes my head against the metal wall of the room and for a moment, I see stars. But he tugs me upright again, my ears still ringing.

  “Or maybe you fall fucking overboard,” he threatens as he walks me to the door.

  “He’ll kill you,” I warn but I don’t know who he is or if he would.

  Marcus stops just outside and turns to me. “Maybe it’ll be worth it.”

  I see the lights in the distance before he does. I don’t hear anything though because the screams of women as they’re forced from one boat to another as the rocky sea looms beneath them, muffles the sound of its approach.

  But Marcus sees my face and turns to look in the same direction.

  “Fuck!”

  He shifts his grip to my arm and drags me across the deck toward the other boat. We’re running but it’s slippery and I’m resisting as much as I can.

  He doesn’t seem to care though. If he has to drag my body along the deck of the boat, he will, and I know it.

  The fast-approaching boat shines a huge light on us. We stop and I squint my eyes against the light. I see the glint of metal in Marcus’s hand as he raises his arm to shield his eyes.

  “Marcus! Let’s fucking go!” someone calls out from the other boat as our boat rocks with the weight of men coming on board. I can’t see who they are for the spotlight, but I hear them speaking Italian.

  “Rinaldi!” comes Cristiano’s thunderous voice and for a moment, it’s like time stops. Like we’re frozen in time as he comes into view. The light too bright behind him, showing only his outline. Making him look like a giant. An angel. A god.

  “Fucking boyfriend is stupid as fuck,” Marcus says calmly to me.

  My relief is short-lived. I know I’m not rescued just yet.

  Not when Marcus presses the pistol to my temple.

  5

  Cristiano

  “Not who you expected to see?” Marcus Rinaldi asks but the words don’t make sense.

  The crew found the tracker not fifteen minutes ago. I know because the signal went dead, but we followed the dimly bobbing light in the distance.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen Marcus Rinaldi in person since the night he murdered my family.

  He’s older now. A little softer around the middle, a little more worn, but by no means not a threat.

  Especially not when he has Scarlett by the arm, the gun in his hand digging into her temple.

  I can’t look at her though. Can’t think about how bruised she looks. How naked and vulnerable.

  I need to keep my eyes on him.

  “Drop your weapon or I kill her.”

  “I have no intention of shooting you. I plan on using my hands,” I say, setting the pistol down.

  “No, not good enough. Into the water.”

  “Take the gun off her.”

  “I don’t think so.” He cocks the gun instead.

  Dante comes into view in my periphery. Marcus’s eyes shift to him.

  “Both of you. Pistols in the water.”

  “Mother fucking—”

  “Dante!” I order.

  “I won’t let him—”

  “Drop it.” I pick up my gun and throw it overboard. It barely makes a sound.

  “Cris—”

  I glance at him. “He has Scarlett.”

  Dante’s gaze shifts from me to Marcus and back. He drops the gun into the water.

  “Good boys.”

  I take a step toward him. I wasn’t sure what I’d feel when I saw him again. Wasn’t sure if all the rage over the years would burn me up, take over, turn me into a beast that’s just caught his prey.

  It doesn’t though. And I don’t know if it’s Scarlett at gunpoint that has muted that beast. That’s at least tempered it for now.

  I take another step and hear someone from the other boat call out to Marcus. Tell him they need to move.

  “You’re going to miss your ride,” I tell him as the boat teeters beneath us and the larger one waiting on him moves slightly farther out. “Let her go. You’re not taking her with you.”

  “I’ve had my fill of her already,” he says, expression cocky, his words making my hands fist.

  I force myself to breathe and take another step. He’s lying. It’s what he does.

  He backs up a step to match mine but he’s out of room.

  “Marcus. Let’s go!” a man yells from the other boat.

  Marcus turns around, drags Scarlett a step.

  I charge him. I’m almost to him, only an arm’s reach away. I know I can grab him. I know it.

  But he does something I don’t expect.

  He raises an arm to shoot his pistol into the air. Scarlett screams, and a moment later, he shoves her hard and she goes toppling over the side of the boat.

  In that split second, as her body tumbles overboard, I’m frozen in place.

  I can have him. For years I’ve been living with one purpose. One goal. To kill Marcus Rinaldi.

  No. Two goals.

  To find out what he said to my mother and then to kill him.

  But he’s grinning like the fucking Joker, running to the other boat. Scarlett bobs on the water’s surface just once. She can’t save herself, not bound as she is, and the water swallows her scream as it swallows her body.

  6

  Scarlett

  It’s freezing. My god. How can it be so cold?

  I’m kicking but my arms are bound and I’m sinking. Just sinking. It’s so dark below me. Inky black. I’m a strong swimmer and I’ve never been afraid of water. But tonight, I’m terrified. The open sea, the darkness of it, overwhelm me as the little bit of the light from the boats above fades too fast.

  I have a few seconds, I think, before my lungs force me to breathe. Force me to take in air when all they’ll get is water. Icy cold sea water.

  Then I feel him. One powerful arm banding aro
und my ribs and pulling me up with him. He’s a strong swimmer too. Stronger than me. He’s fully clothed and he’s hauling me up with him. How did he even find me down here?

  As soon as we break the surface, I open my mouth only to suck in air and salt water. I choke on it, coughing, my nose and throat on fire.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you,” Cristiano says.

  I’m not sure what’s colder, the water or the air? I still can’t move my arms but I’m thrashing against him, kicking wildly, desperately.

  But he holds tight, keeping me above the surface. “You’re safe.”

  Another set of hands close around my arms and I’m hauled up into the boat. A different one than the fishing boat that’s bobbing, now deserted, not too far away.

  I’m on my belly throwing up water. How much did I swallow in those moments I was under? It was moments, right?

  Cristiano is beside me, hand on my back.

  After what I hope is the last of the retching, I lay my cheek on the floor of the boat. This one doesn’t stink like the other one.

  I feel something cold at my back then, at my wrists. I try to pull away, but Cristiano shushes me and a moment later, my arms are free. I rub them, right hand around my left wrist first, then the other way, the skin raw.

  Cristiano’s hands touch my shoulders and then he’s wrapping something warm around me. A blanket.

  I look back at him as I hold onto the blanket. He’s soaked, his eyes locked on me, watching me so closely. Dante comes into view behind him. He’s soaked, too, and staring at me. Did he go in after me, too?

  “Cristiano,” a man says, drawing my attention.

  Cristiano drags his gaze to the man.

  I follow it to his uncle who looks a little worse for wear.

  “We can catch up with them,” his uncle says. “Get that bastard and finish this.”

  “No.” Cristiano shifts his gaze back to me.

  “What do you mean, no? He’s closer than he’s ever been!”

  “No,” his response is quiet, slow. He doesn’t look away from me to answer but bends down to lift me into his arms. “Back to the island,” he nods to another man. He walks us past his uncle, into an interior room and closes the door.

  I realize I’m shivering. That noise is my teeth chattering.

  “There’s no tub,” he says in that way of his, that abrupt, awkward way he has. It makes me wonder again how much he’s been around people. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable. Not at all. He just doesn’t waste words and doesn’t seem to care how he comes across.

  He sets me on my feet and reaches around me to run the water in the small shower. He tests it then, looks at me, takes the blanket from me.

  I shudder.

  He walks me into the shower and turns me to face him.

  Hot water runs over me, washing the salt from my soaked hair, warming my body. It also makes the welts on my skin and my raw wrists burn. I want it though. I need the heat. I need to get what just happened off my body.

  I watch him look me over and I wonder what he’s thinking. He looks so pained. I guess I don’t expect that.

  He reaches a hand out, drenched button-down stuck to him. It’s what he was wearing at the wedding, I realize. God. It feels like years have passed since then. He runs a finger over the topmost welt. I hiss in a breath and he draws back, inhaling tightly himself.

  His eyes are a midnight sky when they meet mine. “What else did he do?” His voice is hoarse, tortured.

  Words bubble up inside me and it’s like my throat is filled with sea water again.

  What else did he do?

  Where do I start?

  When the tears come, I drop my head. When his big hand closes around my neck to pull me into his chest, I don’t resist. I don’t want to. I don’t have any energy left.

  As strong as I’ve been all these years, as much as I’ve fought, where has it gotten me? What has it gotten me?

  People die around me.

  People die because of me.

  Women—girls—are violated, their lives destroyed because of me. Because of who I am. Because of my family.

  My brothers may have started this, but it doesn’t exempt me from blame. It doesn’t exonerate me. I didn’t fight hard enough because if I had, I wouldn’t be standing here now. I wouldn’t be wrapped up in this man’s powerful arms if I’d fought hard enough. In no way do I deserve this comfort. Not when I know what’s already happened to the others and what they will still endure.

  All these years I’ve thought of my freedom. I’ve thought of Noah’s freedom. How selfish am I? How selfish when I knew all along what they were doing, and I did nothing. Nothing apart from a ridiculous, pathetic hunger strike.

  The woman who accused me of being one of them, she was right. I am.

  And I am responsible.

  I don’t deserve to have survived tonight.

  7

  Cristiano

  I stand with my arms folded watching from across the room as the doctor finishes examining Scarlett. She’s sleeping. Didn’t even fight me when I told the doctor to give her something to relax her. Something strong enough to knock her out.

  “What is it about her?” Dante asks, his eyes, too, on Scarlett.

  I turn to him. He shifts his gaze to mine and takes a swallow of whiskey.

  “Why would you give everything up for her?” he continues.

  I take a deep breath and swallow my own drink. It’s not enough. “She’s innocent, Dante. And she can’t help her name.”

  He snorts.

  “Why did you go in after her then?” I ask him.

  “I was going after you.”’

  “No, you weren’t.”

  He turns his attention to pouring himself another glass, taking his time to look at me. “I’m glad she wasn’t more badly hurt. Glad she didn’t die. But we can’t lose focus. That bastard—”

  “Will be punished. I swear it on my life, Brother.”

  “Don’t swear on your life. Don’t tempt fate.” He drinks.

  “Fate’s fucked me over too many times. It’s not up to fate anymore.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know.” Guilt gnaws at me. I look at him, my younger brother who has grown as tall as me, as big, as dark. He doesn’t deserve this life. “Thank you for wanting to save her.”

  He can’t hold my gaze but nods in acknowledgement.

  I smile. Because I know he’d gone in after her, not me.

  “I’m going to bed,” Dante says and walks out of my room.

  “She wasn’t violated,” the doctor says a few minutes after Dante’s gone. He adjusts the blanket over her shoulders and turns to me.

  I exhale. Nod.

  He goes into the bathroom to wash his hands then returns to the bedroom to lay out some ointments, bandages and plastic bottles of pills.

  “These pain killers,” I say, reading the label of one of the containers. “These are strong enough?”

  “It looks worse than it is, Cristiano. She will be sore, but he only broke skin in a few places. She’ll be fine in a few days.” He plucks the bottle from my hand and sets it back on the nightstand. “Besides, any more would knock her out.”

  “I’d rather she sleeps if it’s painful.”

  “I don’t think that’s up to you to decide.”

  I give him a look.

  He ignores it and closes his medical bag. “I can stay on property if you want.”

  I brush a strand of hair back from her forehead. She doesn’t stir. She looks younger, somehow. Softer. Her face relaxed in a way I don’t often see it. I didn’t want her awake, not for the examination that would tell me if Rinaldi or anyone else touched her.

  With a deep exhale, I turn to the doctor. “I appreciate that, but we’ll be all right.” We walk out of the bedroom, where her brother and Cerberus sit anxiously outside.

  Noah stands as soon as he sees us and Cerberus does the same, poking his nose at the crack in the door. He’d try to sl
ip in if I let him. I guide him back to the hallway.

  “Besides,” I tell the doctor. “I’d prefer not to see you again for a good long time. No offense.”

  “None taken. I feel the same,” he says with a wink. I like the man. Always have. “I’ll see myself out. One of your men will take me back?”

  “Antonio will see to it.” The doctor nods as he descends the stairs and I turn to Noah.

  “How is she?” he asks, eyes wide, face that of a boy. A scared boy. She’s the last of his family.

  “She’ll be fine. He gave her a heavy dose of a sedative, so she’ll be out for a bit. Why don’t you go get something to eat?” He’s a bottomless pit when it comes to food.

  He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair.

  “Or get some sleep. Have you slept?”

  “I’m fine. It was Rinaldi?”

  I nod. “And the cartel.”

  “Are you sure about that? Why would the cartel hurt her?”

  “We’ll talk to her when she wakes up and see what we can figure out.”

  “Can I go in there?”

  “As long as you let her sleep.”

  “Thanks.”

  He moves into the bedroom and I walk to the top of the stairs. I hear the front door close and footsteps into the living room. My uncle. I walk down the stairs, Cerberus on my heels. Sending him to the kitchen, I head into the living room to find my uncle standing in front of my mother’s portrait. He took a shower too, even though he didn’t take a dunk, and he looks as crisp as usual. He keeps several suits on the island.

  “She was a beauty,” he says when I walk into the room.

  “She was. I wonder if Elizabeth would have looked like her.” The thought comes out of nowhere and my uncle turns to me.

  “Don’t go down that road. You’ve already lost focus.”

  I know why he says it. I don’t like it, but I understand why. He’s right. I have already lost focus. Because tonight, I had Rinaldi in my sights. Tonight, I could have taken him. I could have gotten what I needed to understand and avenge my family.