I Thee Take: To Have and To Hold Duet Book Two by Knight, Natasha (ready to read books .txt) 📗

drop him in the bathroom. Dante looks at me. He grins. “We’re going to kill every mother fucker in this place. We, Brother.”

44

Scarlett

The chains that bind my wrists to my ankles are removed and my arms are stretched overhead, bound to a metal rung on the headboard. I’m flipped onto my stomach, the cuffs clanging as I’m tugged downward. The link that hobbled me is also removed. My legs are pulled apart, stretched to either corner of the bed and linked to the rungs there.

The two men responsible for preparing me, stand back and look down at me. One tugs the pillow out from under my head and shoves it beneath my belly. He nods, meets my eyes and cups his erection.

“I’ll take your ass when it’s my turn,” he says in Spanish. “Save me a piece.”

I spit at him.

He slaps my ass.

“Hey,” the other soldier interrupts and points to the corner where I see one of those flashing red lights again. The camera is hidden but the soldiers know about it. They must be Felix’s men. “After.”

The man glances at the blinking light, nods then returns his attention to me. “If there’s anything left.”

They walk out but don’t close the door. Instead, they stand in the hall looking at me as one lights a cigarette. I tug at my restraints but it’s no use. I already know that.

Cigarette smoke wafts in from the hallway. I twist my neck to look toward the door, as the sound of another man, one with a hoarse voice and a heavy Russian accent floats into the room. It makes me think of Petrov. Of Mara.

But honestly, it’s hard not to think about myself now. Maybe I should have accepted the pill from the bitch downstairs. Killed myself before they could have their fun.

I close my eyes and steel myself, or try to, as the voices grow closer. I know the man is standing just outside the door. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to. I can imagine the view.

They speak for a few minutes before I hear the door close and the man sighs deeply.

“A pretty gift,” he says as the bed dips beneath his weight. He puts a hand on my hip.

“Don’t touch me!” I hiss, tugging away the inch I’m able to.

“Oh, I will do more than touch you,” he says, standing again, taking off his jacket. He tosses it over the back of a chair. He doesn’t bother taking off his shirt. He just opens his belt, then the crotch of his pants. He fists himself.

I look at it, at his little dick barely visible under his grotesque belly, how it practically disappears in the palm of his hand. I grin, blink, and shift my gaze back up to his.

“Is that all?” I ask. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help it. “I’m not sure I’ll even feel that.”

His hand stops moving. He releases his dick to grab a fistful of my hair and tug my head back painfully. “I’ll pay extra to cut out your tongue once your mouth is used up.”

“Be careful. Your dick is going flaccid.”

He pushes my face into the pillow, smothering me. I fight as oxygen is cut off. I feel him climb onto the bed, feel the rough fabric of his pants brush the insides of my legs.

Just when I think I’ll pass out, he releases my head and I gasp for breath. His hands are on my ass spreading me open.

“No!”

“Pretty little pussy you have here. Prettier than your mouth.”

“Please!” I beg. I don’t mean to. I don’t want to. I know it will mean nothing to them. No, not nothing. It’ll probably turn these men on. “Get the fuck off me, you asshole!” I shout instead, struggling against my bonds, trying to get away from him even though it’s impossible.

I fight hard. I scream. I can’t just take it. I won’t.

When did I start to sob, though?

He tugs at my bonds, does something to stretch my legs so tight I can barely move an inch. I try again, though. Try to kick, to move. Anything.

“Better,” he says.

A finger brushes my opening and I freeze.

“Please,” my voice trembles.

He leans over me. “Not so tough now, are you?” he asks, breath hot and dank against my cheek.

I close my eyes and feel myself wilt. Because it’s done. Finished. I drop my head.

“I didn’t think so.”

The door opens. Is it the next man early to take his turn?

But then I hear a grunt and feel the monster at my back. I can’t think about anything else but the violation. I feel him against me, the bulk of him pressing heavy on my back, crushing me. I feel him, warm, wet, slimy, and slippery. All I can do is sob. All my strength, my fight has leaked out of me and all that’s left are my sobs.

I hear a thud then. I look over to see what made that sound. It’s the man. He’s on the floor. It takes me a moment to register that he’s gone from my back. To register that I can breathe again.

But other hands touch me then. The blanket tugged out from under me, tossed over me.

I scream as this next man takes his place.

I scream at the new assault to come.

“Fury.” The word is spoken so quietly I’m not sure if it’s real or just my mind playing tricks.

A hand cups the back of my head. I still. I can’t move. Can’t turn my head. Can’t open my eyes.

Fury.

No, not Fury. Just a pathetic little kitten.

“Scarlett.”

I stop breathing, more tears pouring.

It’s Cristiano’s voice.

But he’s dead. Am I dead?

No. There’s too much pain for that. The pain inside my heart the worst of it. Dead doesn’t hurt, does it? It’s an ending to pain, isn’t it?

“Scarlett,” he says louder.

I open my eyes but keep my gaze on the bed. I smell laundry detergent and that distinct metallic scent of blood. But there’s something else. Something familiar.

“I need