His to Take

“Scorching, wrenching, suspenseful, Shayla Black’s books are a must-read.”

—Lora Leigh, #1
New York Times
bestselling author

PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF SHAYLA BLACK

“If you like BDSM-themed ménage with strong, dominant males, you will enjoy this book.”

—
USA Today

“A sizzling ménage.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“Ms. Black is the master at writing a steamy, smokin’-hot, can-I-have-more-please
sex scene.”

—
Fiction Vixen

“The perfect combination of excitement, adventure, romance, and really hot sex . . .
this book has it all!”

—
Smexy Books

“Full of steam, erotic love, and nonstop, page-turning action.”

—
Night Owl Reviews

“To die for. [A] fabulous read!”

—
Fresh Fiction

“This one is a scorcher.”

—
The Romance Readers Connection

“Wickedly seductive from start to finish.”

—Jaci Burton,
New York Times
bestselling author

“A wicked, sensual thrill from first page to last. I loved it!”

—Lora Leigh, #1
New York Times
bestselling author

Titles by Shayla Black

The Wicked Lovers Novels

WICKED TIES

DECADENT

DELICIOUS

SURRENDER TO ME

BELONG TO ME

MINE TO HOLD

OURS TO LOVE

THEIRS TO CHERISH

HIS TO TAKE

Anthologies

FOUR PLAY

(with Maya Banks)

HOT IN HANDCUFFS

(with Sylvia Day and Shiloh Walker)

WICKED AND DANGEROUS

(with Rhyannon Byrd)

Specials

HER FANTASY MEN

WICKED ALL NIGHT

Titles by Shayla Black writing as Shelley Bradley

BOUND AND DETERMINED

STRIP SEARCH

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

Copyright © 2015 by Shelley Bradley, LLC.

Excerpt from
Scandal Never Sleeps
copyright © 2015 by Black Oak Books, LLC.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices,
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The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-14029-5

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Black, Shayla.

His to take / Shayla Black.—Berkley trade paperback edition.

p. cm.—(A wicked lovers novel; 9) ISBN 978-0-425-25125-6 1. Missing persons—Fiction.
2. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. 3. Sexual dominance and submission—Fiction. I.
Title.

PS3602.L325245H57 2015

813'.6—dc23 2014038716

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley trade paperback edition / March 2015

Cover photograph © Sandra Cunningham/Trevillion Images.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.

You’ve heard the saying that it takes a village. That’s definitely been true for this
book.

First, I have to thank all my awesome author friends of the sprint loop. (Clearly,
we need a better name.) Lexi Blake, Jenna Jacob, Isabella LaPearl, Carrie Ann Ryan,
Kennedy Layne, Carly Phillips, Stacey Kennedy, and Angel Payne—one of you was always
there to write beside me, day in and day out, and share much-needed encouraging instant
messages. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. Without y’all, no clue how long
it would have taken me to finish the book.

Thanks to my assistant, Rachel, for doing her best to keep me sane and for the words
of encouragement as I wrote this story.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the lovely Liz Berry, whose invaluable insight has
helped me see this book—and sometimes life—in a totally new way.

I must also thank the ever patient and kind Chloe Vale. She’s been with me, picking
out flaws in logic, continuity, and structure, for the last four books. I’ve come
to rely on her grammar knowledge, Google ability, and, above all, patience. I appreciate
you far more than I can express. You’re awesome, which totally fits since we’re birthday
twins.

Last (but never least) I need to thank my incredible family for their support, patience,
and understanding. I would never have been able to craft the emotional theme of this
book without everything you’ve taught me through your unconditional love. Thanks especially
to my husband, who believed in me enough to jump in with both feet and never look
back.

Thanks, y’all!

N
IGHT pressed in, along with the rage crushing his chest. As he crept through the unfamiliar
house, it lay dark, silent. Every step through the shadowed family room cost him precious
seconds during which more people could die.

If he didn’t survive this endeavor, he damn well planned on taking a deserving bastard
or two with him. No way were these assholes snuffing out anyone else.

He found the hall and crept down its length. As he peeked in each bedroom, he gripped
a SIG SAUER in his gloved palm.

Finally, he found the master bedroom. He stepped in, then frowned. Too still. No snoring,
no audible breathing. Dead silence.

Peering through the inky space, he found the bed rumpled but empty and bit back a
curse. Where the hell—

The feel of something hard and cold pressing against the back of his skull had him
grimacing and holding in a curse.

“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and why the fuck you broke into my house
at three a.m. or I’ll blow you away.”

Despite the grim situation, amusement lifted a corner of his lips. “You could, Hunter,
but I think your wife would remove your balls if you started offing her family.”

“Joaquin?” the other man asked, but didn’t ease up on the firearm aimed at his brain.

“Kata doesn’t have any other brothers,” he pointed out.

A muffled feminine squeal sounded from around the corner. The turn of a knob and the
yank of a door later, bare feet scampered across a hardwood floor.

“Damn it, woman!” Hunter Edgington bit out at his wife.

In response, she flipped on a light and ran at him head-on. “It’s fine, babe.”

Joaquin Muñoz flinched against the bright beams stabbing his eyes. As he adjusted,
he turned to face his sister. She barreled toward him in a pink, gauzy nightie that
brushed the middle of her thighs and clearly demonstrated the fact that she wasn’t
wearing a bra.

Almost as bad, her very protective husband, Hunter, still pointed a gun in his face.
No doubt the former Navy SEAL knew how to use it well.

With another feminine scream of delight, Kata reached him and launched herself into
his arms. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Almost three years. A fucking
lifetime ago, really.

Then Joaquin didn’t think anything as he felt her hard belly against his own. “You’re
pregnant?”

Kata stepped back and rubbed a hand over her distended abdomen. “Yeah.”

“Thirty-one weeks.” Hunter lowered the gun, but the tone warned him not to upset Kata
or there’d be hell to pay. “We’re happy.”

“We are,” she assured with a smile. “I’m due May thirtieth. It’s a boy. Please be
happy for us.”

Joaquin didn’t get the whole pairing off and spitting out kids thing, but pregnancy
agreed with Kata. Though she didn’t wear a shred of makeup, she glowed. Glossy chocolate
hair covered her shoulders. Her smile wasn’t the only thing that revealed her apparently
sublime joy.

If she was happy, he’d play happy for her. “Of course.”

Kata relaxed, grabbing a nearby robe and belting it above her belly. “What brings
you here?”

“Yeah. In the middle of the night without so much as ringing the doorbell?” Hunter’s
eyes looked chilly even when he was in a good mood. At the moment, they held the warmth
of a glacier.

Kata elbowed her husband with an exasperated sigh. “Is everything all right? Do you
need a bed? Can you stay this time?”

“Hold it right there, motherfucker!” Another Edgington blasted from the hallway, semiautomatic
pointed in his face. Then he blinked. “Joaquin?”

“As you can see . . .”

“Logan, damn it!” Kata braced her hands on her hips. “Put the gun down. What are you
doing here?”

“I was up helping Tara feed the twins when I looked out the window. Since that streetlight
shines on your back fence, I could see someone sneak over. I found the French doors
to the family room unlocked and I followed.”

When Hunter whipped a censuring stare at Kata, she winced. “Sorry. I forgot to lock
the door when I came back in after watering the plants.”

“And you forgot to set the alarm,” her husband added. “Again.”

“Jesus, why didn’t you just knock?” Logan sounded almost as annoyed as his brother.

“I didn’t want to wake everyone in the house up.”

“Everyone?” Hunter quipped. “There was no one else in the house with me except your
sister. And the damn dog that’s obviously sacked out. Freaking furball.”

Joaquin rubbed at the back of his neck. He’d kind of figured that. He’d wanted help,
not a family reunion. Right now, the family thing was just in his way, but he smiled
at Kata. “I wasn’t sure, and my time to be polite has run out.”

“Danger?” Hunter asked sharply.

Despite his golden hair standing slightly on end, the scars on his shoulder where
he’d been shot in virtually the same spot twice, and a pair of low-slung gray sweat
pants, Joaquin didn’t doubt that his brother-in-law could still kill a man with his
bare hands. Exactly the sort of guy he needed now. Logan, also a former SEAL, was
cut from the same cloth. He wore his dark hair a little long these days, and even
though it curled up at the ends, Joaquin would never mistake Hunter’s younger brother
for a pussy. The pair of them had identical Navy SEAL tattoos on their biceps—an eagle
with stars-and-stripes wings holding a trident—and piercing blue eyes.

“Yes,” he answered his brother-in-law simply. “There have already been multiple murders,
the last one less than twelve hours ago.”

“Shit,” Hunter muttered, then turned to Kata. “Put something on and go across the
street with Logan.”

“I’m not leaving my brother.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “He just got here.”

“That is a very direct order, Katalina.” Hunter had become an immovable mountain.

Joaquin’s sister looked agitated and defiant. Given the little collar she wore at
her throat, he didn’t think this was the simple request of a husband to his wife.
It was the unequivocal command of a Dom to his sub.
Interesting . . .

She drew in another angry breath, hesitated, then whirled on him. “If you leave again
without saying good-bye, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Joaquin smiled faintly. “As safety permits and Hunter allows, I will.”

Was Kata keen to see him because she was on some family kick now that she was starting
her own? He didn’t get it. Blood aside, she’d gone her way. He’d gone his. He wished
her all the best, but a picture-perfect, greeting card sort of brother he’d never
be.

“You need more backup?” Logan asked. “Should I call someone to watch the girls?”

Hunter slanted a glance Joaquin’s way, deferring to him. A little bit of a shock,
but he supposed it was because he alone knew the situation.

“I think that’s wise,” Joaquin advised.

“On it.” Logan pulled a phone from his belt and called someone named Tyler as Kata
grabbed her slippers and her purse—sighing, banging, and slamming all the way. They
disappeared out the door, and Hunter followed to the front window, watching them cross
the street.

“When did you move into this place?” Joaquin asked his brother-in-law to pass the
time until Logan returned. He didn’t want to explain the hell going down more than
once.

“Almost a year and a half ago.” The man watched his wife like a sentry, not really
breathing until Logan escorted her into the house and shut the door securely behind
him. “I won’t bother asking how you found me.”

Yeah, he had ways. “And your brother lives across the street?”

Hunter nodded. “He and his wife, Tara, moved in about three months ago, just before
their twins were born. We figured it would be good to have the kids close together.”

More family closeness. Maybe Kata’s desire for it had rubbed off on her husband. The
concept of that much togetherness gave Joaquin hives. These days, he couldn’t see
past his anger. But he kept that fact to himself and shrugged. “Nice.”

Within minutes, a big blond guy in a black truck pulled up and, piece in hand, knocked
on Logan’s door. The hulk entered. The other Edgington headed back toward Hunter’s
place. Now they could get down to business. That was a relief because he needed justice
and . . . he really didn’t know what to say to his youngest sister.

Logan let himself in and locked the door. Hunter secured the French doors and set
the alarm. In the kitchen, he flipped on lights, started the coffeemaker, then looked
at Joaquin expectantly. “Talk. Are you in danger?”

“No. But I need to figure out who might be this killer’s next victim.”

“Are you working a case?” Logan demanded.

He hesitated. “Not officially.”

The brothers exchanged a look, like they had some sort of private speak that only
they would ever understand. Finally, they broke contact, and Logan gave a little nod.

“Were you followed?” Hunter asked.

“No. I was careful. But if I don’t move fast, we’ll have more dead women on our hands.”

Logan frowned. “Serial killer?”

“Not exactly, though the man wielding the implements has clearly had both training
and practice. But if he were a simple serial killer, I would leave that to the police.”

As the scent of coffee filled the air, Hunter opened a cabinet and withdrew mugs.
“Cream? Sugar?”

Joaquin frowned. “Do I look like a pussy?”

“Hey!” Logan objected.

Hunter barked out a laugh. “Ms. Thang likes cream in his coffee.”

“Fuck you both,” he groused.

“No thanks.” Against his will, the brothers amused Joaquin. He missed this banter
and camaraderie. Nate had been a great friend, probably the closest thing he’d ever
have to a brother. Joaquin still couldn’t believe he was gone. The loss fueled him
with fury all over again.

He shoved the blinding anger down and focused on the case. Nate had done the same
until his dying breath.

“So what’s going on?” Hunter asked, filling the mugs with hot brew and sliding them
across the counter.

Letting out a breath, Joaquin settled onto a bar stool and leaned in, elbows surrounding
his steaming cup.

“I have”—
shit
—“I had a friend. I worked with him before he left to become a P.I. He took this case . . .
A young woman came in, saying she felt as if someone was following her. She never
saw anyone, but ‘knew’ she was being watched. According to my pal, Nate, she wasn’t
involved with anyone and she couldn’t think of any enemies. Even though he thought
she was a bit paranoid, he took the case. It was a buck.” Joaquin shrugged. “Then . . .
about thirty-six hours later, he couldn’t find her anywhere. No one had seen or heard
a thing. She simply failed to report to work. So he called the cops. Her place had
been turned upside down. Signs of struggle were everywhere, but no unidentified prints.
No DNA. Nothing. The next day, she turned up dead. Tortured hideously before she died.”
He flashed them the crime scene photo on his phone.

Logan grimaced. “Then?”

“Nate was a good guy,” Joaquin said, pocketing his mobile. “He thought he’d let this
girl down. He was determined to figure out what he’d overlooked and solve her murder.
He went through all her records. Financials looked good. Nothing wrong at work. Her
phone records were pretty clean, just one number he looked into. But it turned out
to be a burner phone, so IDing who it belonged to was as ineffectual as porn in a
roomful of blind men.”

Hunter snorted. “After that? ’Cause it doesn’t sound like Nate is with you anymore.”

“No.” Joaquin clenched a fist and tried to breathe through the fresh grief. “He called
the number. Got nothing. Didn’t leave a message. He asked me to see what I could find
out. I did and I got an earful.”

“Earful?” Hunter prompted. “If you couldn’t trace it—”

“NSA.” He shrugged. Normally, Joaquin wouldn’t tell anyone what he did or who he worked
for, but if he wanted help, he was going to have to be uncomfortably forthcoming.

“That clears up the mystery,” Hunter commented. “Kata has always wondered. Go on.”

Joaquin spared them the boring history lesson about his previous few jobs. He’d worked
for different fingers within Uncle Sam’s tight grip. The NSA had simply been the latest.

“I tapped into the signal. And the conversation I heard between these two men shocked
the fuck out of me. I tried to call Nate and tell him that he was onto something dangerous.”
He cleared his throat, wondering why it was clogged suddenly. Had to be his damn allergies
.
“He didn’t answer, so I went to his house. He’d been shot execution style.”

The scene had been branded in his memory. Nate’s hands tied behind his back and his
brains splattered all around him. Joaquin choked on a violent urge for vengeance.
He’d repay these assholes, no matter what it took.

“Shit,” Logan muttered.

“I must have interrupted whoever killed him. They’d started digging into his office,
but hadn’t touched the rest of the house yet. Given what I’d heard, his murder coinciding
with this woman’s wasn’t random.”

Logan cursed. “Did you find something yourself? Turn the evidence over?”

“I found a treasure trove of shit Nate had recently dug up. I swiped it from the crime
scene and took it to my superiors at the NSA. I was told to stop using all the cool
gadgets at work for my personal shit. Murder isn’t their jurisdiction, so if what
I found didn’t involve eavesdropping on potential terrorists at home, I should drop
it.”

“But you didn’t.” Hunter didn’t know him well, but the guy understood him enough not
to phrase his reply as a question.

Joaquin scoffed. “No. A woman was mutilated so badly they had to use the serial numbers
on her breast implants to identify her. My best”—
and only
—“friend is dead. From what I’d overheard, none of that was going to stop.”

Hunter polished off his coffee, poured another, then looked at Joaquin and Logan.
They both shoved their cups forward for refills. He tipped the pot. The dark liquid
flowed. Joaquin had the feeling the elder Edgington was collecting his thoughts.