I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two Knight, Natasha (top 10 most read books in the world txt) 📖

head lolls, I can see the effort it’s taking him to hold the huge dog back.

David has me by both arms and gives me a hard shake. “Look at me.”

I try. I can’t seem to keep my head up or my eyes open, not to mention getting my legs under me without my knees giving out.

“Fuck,” David curses.

“What do you want with her? We go after Felix now. Leave her in one of the cells. I’ll take care of her when I’m finished with Felix,” Dante says.

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I made my brother a promise. Leave her to me.”

“Your brother’s dead. Any promises are void.”

More men enter the room as I’m finally able to stand upright.

“I promised,” Dante says. “Dead or alive.”

David turns back to me, grasps my jaw with one hand and tilts my face up to look closely at me. He hands me off to one of the men who just entered.

“Cristiano,” I croak, my throat hoarse after being nearly choked to death.

“Take her to the chopper.”

“I said no!” Dante argues.

David goes to him. “Listen to me,” he starts, voice menacing, but quickly shifting. David sighs, hangs his head. He looks back up at Dante who is a few inches taller than him. He smiles. “Your brother is dead, Dante. You and I are all that’s left of the Grigori family. I love you like a son. You know that. I’ve taken care of you like a father when you family was murdered. When your brother couldn’t be there for you.”

“I know that.”

“Let me take care of this one final loose end. Then we can get on with our lives.”

Dante looks at him and I see how David’s tone and words are getting to him. Either David is a very good actor or what he’s saying is authentic. I’m going with the former.

“It’s my final promise to my brother.”

“Your brother was fooled by her. She deserves what I have planned.”

“And what’s that?”

“She’ll get exactly what she deserves and Felix will never get his hands on her. He’ll never use her to make the cartel fall in line and come after us.”

Dante looks at me over his shoulder, but I can’t read him at all. “No,” he says to his uncle.

“What did you say?” David asks.

“I promised my brother,” Dante says firmly.

David squares his shoulders. “Your brother is dead.”

Dante glances at me once more, the look in his eyes one of utter pain, complete defeat. He nods.

“Get her on the chopper,” David orders the soldiers.

27

Cristiano

Let go.

My mind fights the fog and each time it does, pain comes raging back, the sounds too loud, the lights too bright.

Let go.

I slip again. It’s easier like this. Easier to slip away.

Crème caramel eyes.

Scarlett.

Pain.

If you die, she dies.

I know that. Her life is linked to mine. She will only survive if I survive.

The light changes. It’s brighter and softer at once. And warm. It’s warm here. A little girl’s giggles bubble around the other noises. I open my eyes and look down at Elizabeth. She’s so little. Maybe two. We’re at the beach. I buried her in the sand and I’m tickling her tiny feet. She’s giggling and giggling and although she can pull away, she doesn’t.

“Cristiano,” my mother calls.

I turn to look over my shoulder at her. She’s standing at the pier. And she’s wearing the same dress she had on the night of the massacre. It’s already stained red.

“Cristiano.”

Giggles draw me back to my little sister who is wiggling her toes waiting for me to tickle her again.

If you die, she dies.

I close my eyes and feel the pain again. Hear the sounds blotting out everything else. Machines and people and too much noise.

Let go.

I’m so tired I want to let go but there’s some part of me that won’t let me do it.

“Cristiano.”

This time when I look up, mom’s closer. She’s standing just a few feet away. So close I can smell her perfume. I had forgotten the scent along with everything else.

“Mom.”

I stand up. I’m taller than her now. Does she know her throat is slit? Does she know the blood has dried around the gash?

I swallow, try not to look at it. It’s dark behind her. Shadows all around her.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

She smiles, reaches out a hand to touch my face. The way she used to when any of us fell or hurt ourselves when we were little. Her hand isn’t warm like it used to be though. It’s cold.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

That’s when it happens. When it all comes flooding back. When all the memories I’d lost take me under like a tidal wave. Like a tsunami. I stand under the weight of them and look into my mother’s eyes, trying not to see the gash on her throat as everything rushes me.

I stumble but she holds my hand and somehow, she steadies me.

The sun is gone. I didn’t notice the clouds that rolled in, but I feel the wind, bitter and punishing.

I look down, seeing Elizabeth. She’s not in the sand anymore. She’s standing beside our mother holding her other hand. She’s five now and she, too, is wearing the dress she wore the day she was killed. She too is cut, bleeding. No, not bleeding anymore. She already bled.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell my little sister as an unbearable pain twists in my side.

Elizabeth reaches her other hand to me and holds mine.

“I miss you,” I tell her, then turn to my mom. “I miss you all so much.”

My mom reaches out to touch my face, wiping my cheek. Her finger is smeared with red when she pulls her hand away.

“I know you do but you can’t stay,” she says, and the scene shifts again, the clouds gone, the sun back. Elizabeth bright and happy again, no blood, just her pudgy little body in her bright yellow bumble bee bathing suit.

“Why not?” It would be so