With This Ring

by Natasha Knight

  “What do you mean?” she asks more quietly.

  I decide I can’t say it now, either. Shaking my head, I pick up the box on the nightstand that contains the engagement ring. I open it and look down at it.

  “I mean I just want Rinaldi. That’s it. I want to know what he said to my mother after he—” I break off. I can’t say the words. “And then I want to kill him.” That’s what I want. It’s the reason I survived. And it’s all I have been living for.

  I turn the box around to show her, but it takes her a very long moment to drag her shiny eyes from mine to the ring. She spares it a quick glance. If she’s impressed, she doesn’t let on. But she’s not the type to be impressed by something like this.

  “What happens to you after?”

  Smart girl.

  “That doesn’t matter. You’ll be free. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, financially I mean, and any other way I can to help you disappear if that’s what you want or need. You and Noah both.”

  “But you said he’d be a soldier.”

  “You’re both mine until this is done. When it’s done, when I know what Rinaldi said to my mother and when I’ve killed him, then and only then are you free.”

  23

  Scarlett

  I study him. He’s got a cut high on his cheek but it’s nothing compared to his chest and back. He looks like he rolled around in shards of broken glass.

  I remember my panic when he’d passed out after the doctor reset his shoulder. I remember exactly how it felt like my heart stopped for a moment. I try to tell myself it’s just because if he died, it’d be worse for Noah and me. But I know that’s not the whole truth.

  “Scarlett?”

  He gestures to the ring. It’s beautiful, a Princess cut diamond set amidst jagged blue stones.

  “Sapphires?” I ask.

  He nods.

  I study the jewels. Remember how my brothers had plans to deal in diamonds too. Nothing was off the table for them.

  I know I don’t really have a choice in the matter here. He is right. This is a better option than Marcus Rinaldi would offer me. But if I have any room to negotiate, I’m taking it.

  “I want Noah upstairs tonight. No, now.”

  “Tomorrow. After you’ve said I do.”

  “Tomorrow? This is happening tomorrow?”

  “We’ll surprise Noah with our happy news.”

  “We’re getting married tomorrow?”

  “Problem? Time is of the essence.”

  “No. No problem.” I mean, what does it matter. If Marcus and my brothers had had their way, I’d already be married.

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “No sex. I sleep in—”

  “You’ll sleep in my bed and we will consummate the marriage.”

  “I want my own room and no on the last part.”

  “You can have your own room, but you will sleep in my bed and the consummation of the marriage is non-negotiable.”

  “Why? We can just say we consummated the marriage, it’s not the middle ages. No one will check for blood on the sheets.”

  “No.”

  “What? You’re not comfortable lying? Please.”

  “No, actually. I’m not.” He takes the ring out of its box and palms it. Then he traps me. He leans his weight on his fists on either side of me, face so close I’m breathing him in, and the scruff of his five o’clock shadow scratches my cheek. “Besides, all I can think about is how you’ll taste when I lick your pussy. How you’ll feel when I sink my cock inside you.”

  “Jesus.” I turn away, my heart racing. I find it hard to breathe when he’s so close like this. Same when, just a little while ago, I felt him beneath me.

  It was stupid to straddle him. That was my bad. I meant to keep him from moving while I rubbed in that ointment I knew would sting like hell.

  But he turned the tables on me, didn’t he? I get the feeling Cristiano Grigori will always turn the tables on me.

  I put my hands on his broad chest, feel the hard muscle beneath warm skin. Feel his heart beat against my palm and remember what it felt like to lie beneath him, all his weight on me. His hard cock between my legs.

  Butterflies flutter their wings inside my belly, and I can’t help but feel the skin of his chest, touch the scars, press against the hard muscle. Even bruised and cut and stitched, he’s a powerhouse. Formidable.

  He could be safe for me. For Noah. He could protect us. He took a bullet for me that probably saved my life last night.

  But I can’t pretend this is good when it is all forced on me.

  Shaking my head to clear away stupidity and a naïve desire to want this, I push against him, but he doesn’t budge. Only when I stop pushing does he step away. I guess he wants me to know this is on his terms. That everything will be on his terms.

  I already know that, though.

  He takes the ring between thumb and forefinger raising only his eyebrows at me.

  “If I say no, you’ll drag me to the altar?”

  “Probably.”’

  “And then what?”

  His jaw tightens, his eyes narrow. “Yes or no, Scarlett? I’m getting tired of this conversation. How are we doing this?”

  “Sex once. To consummate. Period.”

  He watches me, blinks, expression steady and unwavering. “How are we doing this?”

  He’s not negotiating.

  But I hold out my hand anyway, turn the palm up to take the ring because we both know I’ll agree. It’s the only option.

  He shakes his head, takes my left hand and pulls me up to stand instead. He slides the ring on my finger like we’re a real couple. Like he’s my boyfriend and he just proposed, and I said yes, and I’m over the fucking moon.

  “Perfect fit,” he says.

  I look at the ring on my finger. I’m not naïve enough to think this is in any way romantic. Cristiano may be a better man than Marcus, but he’s still using me. And I have to keep my eyes on my goal. Get Noah and myself out alive.

  “It’s worth a lot of money,” he says. “And it’s yours as long as you do as you promise by accepting it. Just remember one thing,” he starts, intertwining our fingers on both of my hands, before drawing them behind my back to hold them in one of his. He squeezes my wrists and tilts my face up by the chin. “We’ve both made a promise now, you and me. I’m trusting you. You’re trusting me. If you betray me, you will make me your enemy. Do you understand that?”

  A shudder runs through me.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me as long as you don’t betray me, Scarlett.”

  “I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”

  “Hm.” He heard my lie but he’s distracted. I realize why a moment later when he releases me to take his phone out of his pocket. It must be a text because he doesn’t put it to his ear but swipes the screen instead. Whatever he sees makes his eyes narrow, his jaw tense.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He types something, the line between his eyebrows growing deeper as he does, then returns his gaze to me as he pockets the phone.

  I swallow, his electric blue eyes too intense, too intent on me.

  “Do you understand me, Scarlett?” he asks, picking up our conversation like we weren’t just interrupted.

  I nod.

  Because if there’s one thing I understand clearly, it’s that I do not want to make an enemy of this man.

  24

  Scarlett

  He left me to eat alone after that strange proposal—can you call that a proposal? It surprised me and although Lenore took a tray into his study, I saw her return with it untouched before I went upstairs.

  I look at my ring now as I sit on the little Princess bed. It’s pretty, the edges of the sapphires jagged and sharp like shards of glass. I like it. It fits. But the thought of marrying him makes my belly go funny. And it’s not exactly a queasy feeling.

  Getting up, I pace the room for the hundredth time. I won’t be getting any sleep tonight, a
lthough it’s well past two in the morning. He hasn’t come up either but for all I know he’s not even on the island anymore. I heard a boat go out a few hours ago. Maybe he went back to the mainland.

  I open my door quietly. Still no guard outside. There’s a lock on the outside but he hasn’t used it. Yet.

  I’m wearing a pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, along with a pair of ballerina slippers. I added these and a few others like it to the order at the last shop. No way Cristiano would have approved of such a slovenly outfit considering the other pieces he chose for me but I love it.

  The soft-soled slip-on shoes are exactly what I need. Quiet.

  I put the little plastic flashlight I found in the bedroom into my pocket and make my way toward the stairs. The lights are out apart from a glow that comes from the dining room. Moonlight. I watched its reflection on the water through the huge windows earlier. It was better than watching TV as I ate dinner alone.

  Taking hold of the railing, I make my way down the stairs, grateful for the stone. Wood would creak.

  Once I’m on the first-floor landing, I look around, making sure I am truly alone. I tiptoe toward the door that leads to the cells below ground.

  Strange to think that it was just a few days ago that I was down there. That I watched my brothers’ brains blown out.

  Poor Noah is still down there all alone. He must be scared. At least after tomorrow he’ll be allowed to come above ground.

  A soft sound captures my attention before I get to that dark hallway though. It’s coming from Cristiano’s study at the end of the corridor.

  I take a few steps toward the sound. It sounds like a light buzzing. Like a humming. From beneath his closed door, I see the light on inside. So he’s on the island after all. I wonder who took the boat earlier.

  I stop then, considering. Would he hear me if I went to Noah’s cell? And can I make it back upstairs before he goes to bed? I assume he’ll check to make sure I’m in my bed. Would he consider my going to see my imprisoned brother a betrayal?

  Shaking my head, I turn back to my original destination.

  I agreed. He can give me this. I’m going to say ‘I do’ no matter what. Plus, Noah is probably still worried about me considering I saw him for all of two seconds the night of the attack and I was covered in blood. Again.

  When I get to the corridor, I fumble with the button to switch on the flashlight I dig out of my pocket. I need to give it a good shake, but it blinks twice before casting a dim glow onto my path.

  No guards inside. At least not here. I know he’s doubled the men outside and on the roof. This house is a fortress.

  When I reach the door, I’m grateful to find it unlocked. I hadn’t even thought of that. It’s the only thing that makes a sound when I open it, whining as I pull it only as far as I need to.

  I shine my light on the stairs, but the moment I close the door the flashlight fails altogether, plunging me into utter darkness. A black so complete, it’s terrifying. Like being swallowed up by a black hole. Like being the only person left on earth.

  Panic has me shaking the flashlight so violently that the little plastic door that keeps the battery in place flies off, sending the battery with it. It makes such a racket as it seems to bounce on every step, that I stand there frozen, holding my breath. I’m sure Cristiano’s heard me, maybe Noah did too. He must have.

  When the sound stops, I listen but all is silent. I give it one more minute and I try to feel my way down one, two, three steps. But they’re too uneven and I’m going to fall and break my neck. I need a flashlight.

  Lenore had one in the kitchen. A good one.

  I turn back, creep back up the stairs and reach to open the door. I wince at the whine. He wouldn’t hear it from the study. He’s too far and it’s not like a door slamming.

  I walk back to the main part of the house and glance down the hall to Cristiano’s study. The light is still on, although the sound of the buzzing has stopped. Hurrying, I cross both living and dining rooms to the kitchen and breathe a sigh of relief when I’m inside. Cerberus, laying on his bed in the corner, lifts his head. He wags his tail which thuds against the floor.

  “Shh,” I tell him with my finger over my lips, but he’s excited and probably lonely sleeping in here. I sneak over to him, pet him while imploring him to stay quiet. He licks my face and nuzzles against my ear. It’s the sweetest thing. I’m tempted to just curl up with him, but I don’t.

  Once he’s settled, I get up and walk to the drawer where I saw the flashlight. I consider taking one of the sharp knives but decide against it. I have nowhere to keep it and I remember clearly what Cristiano did when he found a simple nail file on me.

  Holding the flashlight, I test it. It works and I smile. Petting Cerberus one more time before pushing through the swinging door of the kitchen, feeling a little more self-assured.

  But that smile has barely faded when someone grabs me from behind.

  I open my mouth to scream but a big hand closes over it and I feel the unmistakable metal of a gun against my ribs. I’m lifted off my feet and carried backward to the wall, the heavy flashlight clanging to the floor. I try to bite the hand clamped tight over my mouth and also find kicking is useless, like kicking a brick wall.

  It’s Cristiano. Even in the dark I know. Even injured, he’s too big, too strong. He’s not gentle when he pushes me up against the wall, his forearm at the back of my neck keeping me pinned, the gun brushing my temple.

  “I could have killed you,” his deep, low voice reverberates against my ear. While my heart is racing, he seems not at all out of breath.

  He uncocks the gun. At least I hope that’s what the sound is.

  My hands are pressed flat to the wall, my cheek smashed against it. I’m having trouble breathing.

  As if sensing that, he takes his forearm off me and spins me around. He’s keeping me in place, hands on my shoulders, as he looks me over, forehead furrowed, eyes dark.

  “What are you doing down here, Scarlett?”

  “Did you know it was me when you body slammed me like that into the wall?”’

  “Count yourself lucky I didn’t shoot first then investigate,” he says rather than answering me.

  I look at him. He’s naked from the waist up and I see blood, just a trace of it, high on the inside of his left arm.

  “I asked you a question,” he says.

  “I—” I look at the gun in his hand and my mouth goes dry.

  Shoot first. Jesus. He’d have done that? Is he that wound up? Am I surprised? He was just attacked at a public event.

  He tucks the pistol out of sight into the back of his jeans and looks me over, forehead furrowing. I wonder if that’s because of my clothing choice.

  “What are you doing down here?” he asks again, meeting my eyes, his a little unfocused.

  “I,” I start but stop. He’s close enough that I smell whiskey on his breath. “Are you drunk?”

  He gives me his signature growl. I swear he’s part caveman. Then he steps back, stumbling once before turning to glance at me, then away again. He walks back to his study.

  “Hey. I asked you a question.” I follow him but he’s worlds away. When we enter the study, I see the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on his desk.

  “You almost killed me. You owe me an answer.”

  He turns to me, eyebrows raised like he’s surprised but there’s something else. Something off. He’s distracted, like he was earlier when he got that message on his phone.

  “I don’t owe you anything,” he says.

  “You pulled a gun on me.”

  “You’re supposed to be in bed. What are you doing down here?”

  “I wanted to see my brother.”

  He shakes his head. “You are so fucking stubborn. Do you know that?”

  “I’ve been told a time or two.” I fold my arms across my chest.

  He looks me over again. “I bought you clothes. Nice clothes. What the fuck is this?”

&n
bsp; “You said if I need anything, I should add it to your order.”

  “I didn’t mean this. Don’t wear it again. And go to bed. Don’t fucking come out of your room again like that. I could have fucking killed you.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around with a loaded gun while drunk. If I’m going to have to marry you and live here with you—”

  “We’re not playing house, Scarlett.”

  “If I’m going to live here with you,” I start again, “We need to get a few things straight. First—”

  I never get to finish though. Or even start, really. He’s on me so fast I’m still taking a breath in to continue speaking. The door slams shut, and I’m pressed against it, Cristiano against me, one hand in my hair tugging my head back and the other sliding under my hoodie to close around the curve of my hip.

  “Do you ever just shut up?” he growls the question into my mouth before he kisses me so hard, all I can do is suck in his whiskey breath and feel his soft lips. “You shouldn’t have come down here,” he says, kissing me harder, pushing my pants down just far enough that they slip off my hips and pool around my ankles. “You’re going to make me do things you don’t want me to do.”

  My eyelids fly open to find his eyes on me as he slips his hand between my legs and cups the crotch of my panties.

  I gasp.

  We stand there like that for a long minute just staring at each other. My hands rest on his chest but don’t push him away. He’s about an inch from my face, barely, and he looks fucked up. Not angry. Something else. Just messed up.

  “You shouldn’t have come down here,” he growls again.

  “Let me go and I’ll go away.”

  “Too late for that,” he pauses, his fingers moving a little. “I haven’t had a woman in ten years.”

  I swallow and push against him, knowing I won’t be able to budge him, still not sure I want to.

  He moves his hand a little, sliding it up over my panties and to my belly. The pads of his fingers are rough against my skin. My hands curl around his shoulders but I’m not sure if it’s to hurt him, to get him off me, or what. But if I’m hurting the shoulder he dislocated, he doesn’t seem to care.