“I plan to,” he states.
I stall, but I realize that makes sense. He said something about me having plenty of time to beg later.
“I won’t fuck you if you hurt Mateo,” I inform him.
“I think you will,” he disagrees.
“I won’t. You can take it from me, but it won’t be the same. Trust me.”
“I’m not a rapist,” he mutters, his gaze darkening.
“Good, then heed my words. I will never fuck you if you kill my husband. Never. Not ever. I’ll die first.”
“You’ll change your mind,” he assures me. “My training methods are much different from Mateo’s. You’ll like being mine.”
“Dante won’t let you keep me,” I fire back. “If you’re Dante’s number two…” I shake my head. “He hates me. He won’t let you keep me. He’ll kill me, Rafe.”
Rafe shakes his head, unconvinced. “I take care of what’s mine, but I take care of business first. No reason for him to have a problem with it.”
This isn’t working. Or, it’s not working quickly enough.
My heart skips a couple of beats. I look away from Rafe, over at Mateo. They have him on the floor now. They’ve hit him more. My heart is a useless slab, pounded with a mallet and sliced apart with a cleaver. Broken is too insufficient a word, but I don’t have time to process that right now. There’s little time left, and Rafe stands to gain too much to help me this time. I don’t know what else to do.
Dante hands Meg a gun. Why does he hand Meg a gun?
He crouches down, helping Alec restrain Mateo. Now Meg takes a couple small steps forward. Alec is above Mateo on the floor, holding Mateo down, but he doesn’t seem to have a lot of strength left right now anyway. They’ve been hitting him. Now they’re both holding him down. He can’t defend himself.
“Please… please no.”
My heart. Everything hurts. This can’t be happening.
“Meg!” I cry.
Her gaze jumps to me like a deer in the headlights. Her hand is shaky, but I know she doesn’t like guns either. Mateo always used to tease us about how uncomfortable we were around something he and the other men carried around the house literally every day.
“Don’t you dare,” I tell her, my voice shaking, but shrill toward the end. “Don’t you fucking dare, Meg.”
She looks away from me, swallowing. Dante says something to her that I don’t hear and she lowers the gun, points it at Mateo.
This fucking bitch. I have bled for her for years, and now she stands over my husband with a gun trained on his face.
Fury burns through my veins, turning my fear molten and desperate. I grab Rafe by the shirt and yank him close. “Please. Please, I’ll do anything you want me to do, I’ll give you anything. I’ll give you everything. Please. Kill Meg. Kill Dante. Kill Alec. Kill them all. Save Mateo. Please. Please, Rafe. Please don’t let them do this.”
Chapter Nineteen
Meg
This is maybe the most stressful night of my life.
I hear Rafe tell Alec to come out and get me—doesn’t trust me, he says.
I walk inside the bedroom where I used to sleep, the bedroom where I fell in love, the bedroom where two of my three children were conceived. I feel emotionally removed, in a sense, like I’m visiting the movie set of my favorite show in the middle of a production. The magic is gone. The heart is gone. Whatever connected me to the show I loved, whatever I felt viewing it, it’s all gone now.
But there’s danger. So much danger. My gaze is automatically drawn to the grappling men on my left. Mateo looks at me like he wants to kill me—which he does, so I guess at least right now he’s not lying. Dante’s eyes are wild, his adrenaline pumping as he fights with his brother. Alec is just along for the ride. He doesn’t hate Mateo or covet anything he has, he just looked at each side and picked the team he predicted would win, I guess.
So did I, I guess.
I wish they had done this part without me. Bringing me up here was Dante’s idea. Apparently Dante’s thirst for vengeance outweighs that of any other member of his family. He hates Mia, so he assumes I hate Mia. He thinks I’m bitter because I’m a woman. I couldn’t possibly just be equally as done with the relationship and happy for two people in love. I must be stewing and obsessing over it as I knit scarves in a rocking chair with my Mrs. Claus glasses perched on my wart-covered nose and 35 cats gathered on the floor around my feet.
It’s like none of these assholes have seen what great legs I have.
Probably wouldn’t influence Dante. I don’t have a man now, so why bother living? He’s a hardcore sexist, but I don’t hold it against him. He’s saving my life, so whatever floats his boat.