Torn: Dark Legacy Duet Book 2

  Torn

  Dark Legacy Duet, Book 2

  Natasha Knight

  Copyright © 2018 by Natasha Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About This Book

  Taking her is my right.

  Breaking her, my duty.

  I was always going to choose Helena. I knew it the instant I saw her.

  She’s different than the others. There’s a darkness about her. Something wild inside her. And it calls to the beast inside me.

  But she isn’t what I expect. With every word and every touch, she pushes me, burrows deep under my skin, challenging the rules, upending history.

  And all the while, I see how my brother watches her. He wants her, and as the rules stand, she’ll become his in one year’s time.

  Except that I have no intention of giving her up.

  Torn is the 2nd Book of the Dark Legacy Duet. If you haven’t yet read Taken, you’ll need to do that first. You can find it in all stores now. Click here for the links.

  Contents

  Inspiration

  Prologue

  1. Helena

  2. Helena

  3. Sebastian

  4. Helena

  5. Sebastian

  6. Sebastian

  7. Helena

  8. Helena

  9. Sebastian

  10. Helena

  11. Sebastian

  12. Helena

  13. Sebastian

  14. Helena

  15. Helena

  16. Sebastian

  17. Helena

  18. Sebastian

  19. Helena

  20. Sebastian

  21. Sebastian

  22. Helena

  23. Helena

  24. Sebastian

  25. Helena

  26. Sebastian

  27. Helena

  28. Sebastian

  29. Helena

  30. Sebastian

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Thank You

  Excerpt from Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance

  Also by Natasha Knight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down.

  You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now.

  Come morning light, you and I'll be safe and sound.”

  “Safe and Sound”

  ~ Taylor Swift

  Prologue

  Helena

  I can’t open my eyes.

  It’s like a dream where you will yourself to wake, to escape, but you can’t wake up, and there is no escape.

  Water drips somewhere nearby, behind me maybe. The sound echoes off the walls.

  The stomach-turning scent of decay permeates this place and all I can think is I’m back on the island. I must be. And in that mausoleum.

  They’ve buried me alive in that mausoleum.

  The scene changes then, taking me back to the library, to where my sisters and I stood on our blocks. Where he took his time looking us over. Took his time as he decided.

  I remember his eyes, the darkness inside them.

  And I feel his touch, his fingers on me, on my sex.

  And I remember my arousal.

  I struggle against the memory and it changes again and I see my parents.

  My mother.

  Much like our enemies, we Willows are a family plagued by lies and deceptions.

  First, it was my parents who betrayed me. Sold me like a prize pig. Sebastian’s words, not mine. But it hardly matters who spoke them.

  Then, it was Sebastian.

  He told me to trust him, and I did. He told me he had a way out, and I believed him.

  But he’s been lying all along.

  And I’ve been a fool all along.

  1

  Helena

  I dream of my aunt that night.

  I always thought I’d know when she died. I thought I’d feel it. But she’s been gone for weeks and I haven’t felt a thing.

  But in my dream, she’s young and beautiful. She’s holding my face in her hands and they’re soft, the skin no longer old, but like mine. Looking at her face is like looking in a mirror.

  She was me seventy years ago. She was the Willow Girl. You could swap us out for one another, no one would know.

  I am an exact replica of my aunt.

  She’s smiling and watching me and all I can do is cry as I try to understand. To make sense of this.

  “You have to be strong now, child.”

  “You’re gone, and I didn’t even know.”

  “I only stayed as long as I did to give you this, Helena.” She touches the ring, turns it on my finger. The bone is smooth and cool against my skin.

  “Did you kill him?” I ask. “Is it true what they said?”

  “They lie,” she says, turning her head a little, looking into the darkness beyond and I see the edge of something on the curve of her neck, a scar I’ve never seen before. “Never forget that.”

  “What’s this?” I start, pushing the loose black sheath-like dress away.

  She catches my hand to stop me.

  “Look in the closet, Helena. In the floorboards.”

  “What?”

  “The closet in the Willow Girl’s room. Look. You’ll understand.” She touches my ring. “Remember, we have a piece of them. Let that knowledge be your power. Let it give you strength. You’ll end this. You’ll be the last Willow Girl.”

  “Am I going to die?”

  She hugs me to her, cups the back of my head, and she’s old again and familiar again.

  Noise startles us and she looks beyond me into the dark. I wonder if she can see inside it. I can’t.

  “Our time is up, child. You remember I’m with you and the ghost of every Willow Girl is with you. You’ll end this.”

  “I don’t want to be one. I don’t want to be a ghost.”

  And before I can even say goodbye, before I can squeeze her one more time, she’s gone. Vanished. And the sudden noise is loud and makes my head throb.

  I try to open my eyes, but they feel like they’re glued shut.

  “Get up,” a woman says.

  She must be kicking my bed because I’m jolted.

  I don’t want to be one. I don’t want to be a ghost.

  “Ethan, get her up.”

  It’s Lucinda. I recognize her voice.

  And a moment later, an instant before I can peel my eyes open, a splash of icy water drenches me, steals my breath and has me gasping for air.

  I open my eyes, rubbing my face. My head throbs and I feel like I want to puke.

  When I sit up, a wave of nausea almost has me falling over.

  I’m on a bed, more like a cot, in the middle of a room or what was once a room, the smell that of damp and mold, like a place closed up for too long. A place damaged by water, old and forgotten.

  I count the constant drops of water as my eyes adjust to the dim light and two figures come into focus.

  Lucinda stands across the room. She’s wearing a long black dress, covered from neck almost to ankle.

  Closer to me, holding the now empty bucket, stands Ethan. I’m grateful the light is dim because I don’t want to see the look in his eyes.

  “Not laughing now, are you?” he asks, and I forget what Sebastian said about the accident that damaged him because right now, Ethan Scafoni scares the crap out of me.

  “Where am I?” I ask, looking around.

  Alon g one of the four walls there’s a boarded-up window and it’s either nighttime or we’re underground because there isn’t a break in it. Not a single crack that lets in the dimmest light. On another, there’s a huge, heavy wooden door.

  I know we must be in some sort of basement from the smell. Dark and dank, the scent overwhelming.

  “What did you do to me?” My head is throbbing and when I reach up to touch it, I realize I’m naked. “Where’s Sebastian?”

  “You still want him after what he did to you? How he lied to you?”

  “Where is he?”

  “What a stupid girl.”

  “Where am I, Lucinda?”

  I hug my arms to myself, trying not to show my panic, shivering. It is so cold here, so opposite the heat of the sun on the island.

  “You’re not far from the island, don’t worry. We’ll see how long it takes my stepson to find you.”

  “You set me up. You lied to me.”

  “I told you I was helping myself.”

  “What do you want with me?”

  “Not what I want. I made a deal with Sebastian. But I don’t like his terms so I’m adjusting them.”

  “What do you mean? What deal?”

  “Ethan, go get me my cane,” she says, keeping her eyes on me.

  His grin is wicked as he sets the bucket down and leaves the room, the heavy door creaking behind him.

  Lucinda steps toward me.

  “Sebastian claims to want to protect his brother, but he chooses you over him, so I’m going to make sure my son gets what he’s owed before I comply with Sebastian’s terms.”

  “What are you talking about? What terms?”

  “I’m taking Ethan away, like he wants.”

  “What?”

  “But he’ll have his turn first. You won’t beat me, Willow Girl.”

  Ethan returns. He hands the cane to Lucinda.

  “Do you know this is one of the canes I used to discipline Sebastian?”

  I don’t answer but watch her as she walks a circle around the cot.

  “It was easier when he was younger, but as he got older, he grew more and more defiant. His father allowed it, though, and if he wouldn’t submit to me, Joshua would make him.”

  “You’re going to get it, Willow Girl,” Ethan chimes in from behind her.

  I shift my eyes to him only momentarily, still following Lucinda as she runs the length of the cane through the palm of her hand.

  “It wasn’t until his father had died that he attacked me.”

  “Attacked you? You beat him.”

  She stops, leans in toward me. “Disciplined, girl. Disciplined. Like I did your aunt.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  Her lip curls. “You want to see disgusting?” she asks.

  I don’t reply before she starts to undo the top buttons of her dress and turns so her back is to me. She pushes the dress off one shoulder and I gasp at the deep scars there. Like my aunt’s.

  “That’s what Scafoni men do to their women. And you still call for him to come to your rescue.”

  “Sebastian didn’t do that to you.”

  “No, he didn’t. But he did take a turn.” She turns to face me again, buttons her dress back up. “Now get on your hands and knees, Willow Girl.”

  I shake my head, glancing from the cane to Ethan. “If you hurt me, Sebastian will kill you.”

  “Ethan,” she calls out.

  Ethan steps toward us.

  “Make her.”

  But at that, he hesitates, looks at me, then at her, confused.

  “He said I can’t touch her again.”

  Sebastian.

  He’s talking about Sebastian.

  Lucinda looks at him, rage in her eyes. “Make her, Ethan.”

  He’s shaking his head, fear in his eyes. “He said no. He said I can’t touch her.”

  “And I say you can. She’s yours too. You have a right. Take what’s yours.”

  “Don’t, Ethan. He’ll be mad at you,” I say, desperate to buy time.

  But the instant I do, I feel the sharp pain of the cane across my middle. I double over, clutching my belly, the line hot to the touch.

  “You stupid whore. You think you’ll turn my son against me?” She strikes again, landing a stroke on my side. I turn away from her, try to protect my face, my belly, and she uses it to her advantage, laying three strokes across my shoulders, making me scream.

  She fists a handful of my hair and tugs my head backward. Her face is an inch from mine when she spits her order.

  “Lie down and take it or I swear I will break your back.”

  She pushes me forward and I don’t doubt she will do what she says. I lie down on the decrepit mattress and grip the edges of the cot as she rains down stroke after stroke on my back, ass and thighs, each one harder than the last, until I’m sure I’ll pass out from the pain.

  I feel the warmth of piss between my legs. I’ve lost control of my bladder and she’s still beating me, and I think I’m going to die.

  God, I want to die.

  I’m limp by the time she stops. My arms hang from the sides of the cot. The floor is gritty against the backs of my knuckles and I remember the angel over the mausoleum.

  The Watcher.

  I remember how her hands were carved into the stone, curled into the ground, not even holding on, defeated and yet watchful.

  But I’m not carved from stone.

  And I am only defeated.

  I have nothing left.

  Her shoes click as she walks across the room, and I hear her whisper, giving some order to Ethan. He comes toward me and I pull away, but can hardly move and where would I go? He stands on the side of the bed and I can feel his eyes on me and a brand-new wave of fear turns the blood in my veins to ice.

  No.

  Please not this.

  Not this.

  The beating I can take, but this?

  I hear him unzip his pants.

  God. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Please God don’t let him do this.

  Don’t let him rape me.

  Please.

  Please.

  Please.

  I wretch then, half on the cot, half off. I’m waiting to feel his hands on me, waiting for him to pull me apart.

  And then I hear him. I hear his grunts. Feel the weight of his knee on the bed.

  “I’m not touching you,” he says.

  I try to drag myself away.

  “Sebastian says I’m not to touch you.”

  I don’t watch him.

  I bury my face and, after a few more minutes, I feel the first spurt of cum on my back. I hear the sounds he makes as he pumps his dick with his hand, covering me, my hair, my back, my ass, careful not to touch me, not with his knee, not with any part of himself.

  When he’s done, he stumbles backward. I open my eyes and look at him looking me over, taking in his handiwork.

  He zips his pants and walks out the door and this time, I hear the lock turn and I lie there, in my own vomit. In my own piss. Covered in cum.

  2

  Helena

  I don’t know how long I lie there. I fall asleep and when I wake up, I’m sore and freezing cold. I turn my head, wipe my face off. I stink of puke and piss and the smell of stale water permeates this forgotten place, and all I hear is that constant drip, drip, drip.

  It will drive me insane.

  My mouth is dry. I’m so thirsty.

  It takes me a long time to get up, and I walk with difficulty to the door. I pull at the rusted ring to open it, but I know it’s locked. I heard them lock it.

  I call out once, twice, my voice small and cracking, but I hear nothing back. Nothing but water all around me.

  The light bulb flickers on and off and a new panic overtakes me. To be here in the dark, in the pitch black, I can’t. I can’t think about that.

  I walk to the boarded-up window and reach up to touch the wood, try to get my fingernails around the edges, but it’s solidly in place and I know I’m underground. If this was ever a window, it’s beneath the earth now.

  I look around for something to pick the lock. For anything. But I find nothing. Nothing I can use to pry the door open.

  Is this where I’ll die? Buried alive in this forgotten place?

  A chill has me hugging my arms to myself. I’m thirsty. I’m so thirsty I consider drinking from a small puddle of dirty water in a corner that’s leaked in from a crack in the wall, but when I bend down to touch it, it’s slimy. I wipe my hand off on the wall and return to the cot and sit. It’s still wet from him or me. I can feel his stuff on me, caked and dried and disgusting.

  But at least he didn’t touch me. At least he was too afraid of Sebastian to touch me.

  Lying down on my side, I close my eyes, tracing the risen line on my belly, not daring to touch those on my back. It hurts to even hug my arms into myself.

  I think about what Sebastian said. How he watches me sleep. How he says I sleep most soundly when he wraps an arm around me, cocooning me.

  I wish he were here now. I wish he’d find me now. Bust through the door and take me back to the island. Clean me up and lay me down. Lay me down in his bed and cocoon me in his arms and keep me safe.

  Tears lull me to sleep. My thirst is what wakes me the next time. It’s so powerful, it hurts.