I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two by Knight, Natasha (books to read in your 20s txt) 📕

opens, closes, opens again. “No.” Dante shakes his head, backing away as he does. “No.”

No.

I turn from my brother to my uncle. I stare in disbelief for a long, long moment. Because I’m registering too. “You fucking bastard. You god damned mother fucking bastard.” Rage amplifies my voice. I start to slice the vein open. I want it to be painful. Slow. But I need something from him and all of this, all of what he is saying now, I need to wait to process it. It needs to wait.

“Where is my wife?”

“I loved her, don’t you see?” he asks me, then turns to Dante. “Don’t you see?”

“Where is my fucking wife?” I scream, stabbing the knife through his wrist and pinning it to the desk.

Dante is behind him in the next instant, gun cocked and at his temple. “Where is she, you bastard?” his voice is somehow controlled. “Where. Is. Scarlett?”

Our uncle, my uncle—he’s something else to Dante, turns to Dante, gives him a grin. “You were never worth it.”

My brother pulls the trigger.

36

Scarlett

She leaves the door open so I can see a part of the bedroom and hear clearly. I scrub my hair as I listen to her talk to Mara, chastising her for not being in her seat. She was at the window.

“Let’s get you changed. Mr. Petrov will be here soon.”

“Do you know him?” Mara asks her as she undresses her before dressing her again in a pretty pink dress hanging in a garment bag from the closet door.

“No, of course not. But he’s paid handsomely for you. Just look at this dress he sent.”

“It’s very pretty,” Mara deadpans. I can see her face from here. She hasn’t even looked at it.

“And look at this. There’s even a teddy bear for you.”

“I’m fifteen. I don’t play with teddy bears,” Mara says.

“You’ll accept it and be grateful for it. Now sit.”

“Do you know how old he is?”

“Why would his age matter? Silly girl. Now sit down so I can arrange your hair the way he wants it.”

Mara turns to look at Helga, who has her back to me. Her eyes catch mine for just a brief moment. “I’m scared,” she tells the woman.

Helga sighs. “Nonsense. He’s been looking for someone like you for years. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you. You’ll be his little doll and he’ll look after you just like Mr. Pérez does.”

“That’s what I’m scared of.”

“Do I need to get the strap, Lizzie?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now sit down so I can do your hair.”

Fucking bitch. She knows exactly what this Petrov is going to do to her. She knows exactly what he wants her for. And she’s preparing her for him.

Sick.

“Five minutes,” Helga calls over her shoulder, her tone entirely different when she talks to me.

“Almost done,” I say as I look at her broad back, her thick hands braiding Mara’s hair. There’s a small mirror in front of Mara and I can see her face, see her looking down at the stuffed bear while Helga tugs and twists.

I climb out of the tub and grab a towel, wrapping it around myself as best I can with the cuffs binding my wrists. I pad into the bedroom.

Helga is finished with the first braid and is working on the second one.

Outside the door I hear footsteps, two men laughing, and a woman maybe. Mara hears it too. I see it in her worried expression.

Holding the towel to myself I look at the nightstand, at the lamp there. I wonder how much it weighs. It looks heavy, unwieldy, but I could manage. Even with the cuffs, I can manage it.

“Almost done,” Helga says. “Sit still.”

I reach behind the nightstand to unplug the lamp and pick it up to test its weight, as I pull off the shade.

I have nothing to lose but my life and isn’t that gone anyway? Dead woman walking.

I turn to Helga just as she finishes the second braid. She backs up a step to look at her work and Mara’s eyes meet mine in the mirror as I approach.

The floor creaks just as I’m a step away and Helga begins to turn.

“Oh no!” Mara cries out, dropping the bear, drawing Helga’s attention just as I raise the lamp and bring it crashing down on the back of Helga’s skull.

37

Cristiano

I look at my brother. He’s still got the gun pointed at my uncle’s head. Or where his head was. What’s left of it is hanging backward and sideways. The knives pinning his hand and wrist to the desk are the only things keeping him in that chair that somehow hasn’t toppled.

The door opens and Antonio steps inside. He stops, takes in the situation, expression unchanging like this is something you’d see every day.

Unruffled, he pulls out his phone and turns slightly away to make a call.

“Are you all right?” I ask Dante.

He looks at me, confusion and disbelief in his eyes. He takes a breath in, nods his head.

“Give me the gun,” I say, holding out my hand.

“I’m fine,” he says, holding it by his side. It’s his first kill as far as I know.

Antonio disconnects the call. “Cleaner will be here in one hour.”

“Thank you.” I turn to my brother. “Give me the gun, Dante, and go wash your hands and face.”

He tucks the gun into its shoulder holster, takes a deep breath in. “We need to find Scarlett,” he says and walks to the kitchen, shoulders straightening as he does, as he washes his hands then splashes water on his face. He turns back to us as he wipes his face with a kitchen towel. He looks at the back of our uncle’s head.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault. He deserved that.”

He meets my gaze. “You didn’t let me finish. I’m not sorry I killed him. I’m sorry I did it before he told us where Scarlett is.”

I study him. I’m thinking about what David said. What he implied about Dante. What Dante must be processing.

But now isn’t the