by Lana Grayson
Max crossed his arms. “You leave, and you make it harder on everyone.”
“Maybe.” The keys flipped into Reed’s hand. “But me and my conscience will just have to deal.”
“Why do you care so much about an Atwood?” Max pointed to Reed’s scars. “After everything Mark Atwood did to this family—”
“That girl isn’t Mark Atwood.” Reed drew himself up to his full height. He could look me in the eye, but I owned the extra inch and the extra years. “That girl is...a girl. Jesus Christ, she didn’t understand. She thought we planned to steal her fucking research material.”
Max smirked. “She took that harder than the news about the heir.”
“Fuck this.” Reed shouldered his bag. “If you imprison and rape an innocent girl...” He swore leaned over his bike. “If you want to impregnate your goddamned step-sister? Fine. Do it for Dad. Be his little minion and pound your humanity away. I’m won’t be a part of it.”
Max moved too quickly, and Reed’s punch swung quicker than he anticipated. Reed’s fist connected with his chin, and Max spat blood on the cement. I raised a hand before the retaliation began and held Reed’s shoulder. He didn’t dare strike me.
“This is repulsive to me as well.” For more reasons than one. “But this is how he’s planned for it to be done.”
“What about you?” Reed shared Mom’s green eyes. It made this harder. “How the hell did he talk you into this? I fucking hoped...” He pushed away. “Nothing’s gonna change when you get the company.”
That’s where he was wrong. It would change. Given the opportunity. Given the time.
But it wouldn’t do any good if my brothers were dead.
The company wouldn’t matter. Money, power, politics—a waste. My father existed in a world where cruelty created opportunities for those brave enough to shed their decency and devour those less ambitious. He groomed me for that life, exercising one rule.
Family first—at the expense of all else. Pride. Compassion. Sarah Atwood.
Until his sons interfered.
Some blood had more worth than others.
“This is about more than the girl,” I said. “I’ll find a solution, but you aren’t leaving. Not now.”
“If you have to ask me to stay, you’re more fucked in the head than he is.”
Max rubbed his face. His knuckles scarred from the last vendor lunch we attended—when my presentation hadn’t swayed our guest, Max’s fist secured what we needed. It was important, my father said, that we experience business first hand. I would present the numbers, and, when solid facts and figures failed, Max delivered the final options with as little mercy as he had patience.
Reed understood. He was a smart man—probably smarter than me if he had applied himself in the way our father chose. Instead, he focused on colleges and research, the same experiments the girl had concocted and different avenues for the company. It was appreciated, but it wasn’t his place. We had our roles. Heir. Muscle. Charity. Deviating wasn’t an option.
And freeing Sarah Atwood wasn’t a solution.
“If you leave, you’ll damn her,” I said. Reed didn’t believe me. I envied his naivety. “He’s demanded all of us do it. Three men. Three times the chances.”
“Guess he’ll only have two.”
“No.” I tilted my head. “He’ll ensure she’s taken by three men.”
Reed exhaled once he realized what I meant.
“You would never hurt that girl,” I said. “But our father would.”
“You can’t be asking me to do this.”
“If he takes her, she probably won’t survive it.”
“Goddamn it, Nick.”
“Get inside. You have a conference call at three.”
Max tapped his cell. “Helicopter’s here.”
Reed pitched his bag across the room. Something shattered in the pocket. He gave it a solid kick, but he returned to the house with a profanity reserved more for himself than me.
I wouldn’t savor this victory. I laid the bag at the doorway and struck the switch to lower the garage’s gate.
Sarah Atwood wasn’t the only one imprisoned within the estate, but once my father sated his perversions, after we stole her innocence and invaded her body, she’d be released.
If she behaved.
If we all behaved.
Ten years ago, I might have had the same crisis of conscience as Reed. Cruelty existed in many forms. This was just the basest, the most animalistic and vulgar form of power.
The personal touch sickened me. I held no respect or love for the Atwoods, but Reed was right. Sarah was a reckless twenty year old girl, but she reserved every bit of her father’s strength, her brothers’ ambition, and her own imaginative solutions to her family’s problems.
She was also the most beautiful woman to ever hate me.
Even panting and muddy, lost in a cornfield with a cut to her brow and hyperventilating as my brothers and I terrorized her, Sarah was lovely—pale and delicate with hair the same color as silken gold. I lamented that it was her name that would destroy her.
She was a fluttering fairy trapped within a garden of stone. Even the tiniest suffered.
The helicopter flight would be quick, but my father’s text message vibrated my phone the instant the pilot lifted us from the roof. Instructions. Reminders. Orders.
Life was little more than a schedule, and a rigorous one by intent. The Bennett Corporation thrived on out-pacing, out-innovating, and out-maneuvering our rivals. My grandfather built the empire, my father expanded it, and I was born to defend it.
To me, that meant security and diversification.
To my father, it meant imprisoning the daughter of our greatest business rival and then asserting our control by beating, raping, and breeding the poor girl. Neither of my brothers approved of this plan, but they had as little a choice as the girl.
If I was to keep them all alive, including Sarah Atwood, we needed to obey my father. Do as he said. Act like the monsters he raised.
I ignored the text message.
…Or maybe I’d find another way.
The helicopter delivered us to San Jose, landing on the rooftop of a partnered hotel chain. The top floor restaurant might have entertained those who hadn’t just seen the skyline from the air, but it amused the investors. Pleasing those willing to drop millions on our corporation was as important as winning them over through presentations and slide shows.
A handsome smile, charming conversation, and direct, no-nonsense negotiation style usually secured our investments. We choreographed the lunch. One cocktail before ordering, a sensible wine with a light meal, and mineral water with a refreshing sorbet for dessert. I permitted the discussion to tread from business to family, but no further than memories of alma maters and, if the occasion permitted, gentle enthusiasm for children—especially if adult, female, and unattached. Professional matters were kept discreet, approximated numbers offered, and official figures promised at a later date within the corporate offices.
And it usually worked.
Usually.
Our target was an important board member—one of my father’s initial contacts. Samuel Peters approached retirement age with a shuffling gait dancing between arthritis and gout. Max lost his patience the second time Samuel called him Matt, but he remembered me. He liked me.
That’s what made his decision all the more puzzling.
“Nicholas, I’ll be straight with you.” Samuel scooped a spoonful of the sorbet to his mouth, but missed the cream that lingered in the corners of his lips. “The Bennett Corporation has been good to me and my family, but I had an offer to sell my shares, and, I’ll tell you, it was a good offer.”
We expected it. It didn’t stop the disappointment from pitting my stomach.
“Our company has seen a seven percent growth each year for the past five,” I said. “It’s a solid investment. Selling now will secure you, but retaining your percentage could see your profits double within the nex
t ten years.”
“Doubt I’ll be around in ten years, my boy.” Samuel cracked a laugh as dry as the wallet he pulled from his pocket. He fiddled with the leather and held a photograph toward Max. “I’m trying to take care of my bunny.”
He didn’t refer to an animal. The blonde in the picture somehow scrunched her legs onto his lap and pressed more silicon than actual skin against his wrinkles. Max perked an eyebrow, hiding his grimace with a well-timed throat clear.
“With all due respect...” I earned Max’s amusement. “Bunny would benefit from the stock as well.”
“True. Don’t I know it!” Samuel cackled. “But she doesn’t have a mind for numbers, you see.”
Obviously.
“They offered me a good price.” He hocked a cough and sipped his water. “You can understand that, Nicholas. I’m an old man. I want to take care of my family and treat them well.”
“I understand.” More than anything, I understood. “But you are a voting member of our stock holders, and the company that wished to purchase your shares...”
“Josmik Holdings.”
I steadied my expression. “Yes. They represent a private corporation which was formed by the recently passed Atwood Brothers, Josiah and Michael.”
Samuel nodded. “Messy business.”
“Indeed.”
“Nicholas, I’m sorry. I signed the contract before the boys died. My attorney is preparing the agreements now with their executor. Everything should be settled within the year.” He rapped a finger against the table. “Have you met their sister? Young thing. Pretty. Smart too.”
“She’s actually…” I hadn’t admitted it since locking her inside her room. “My new step-sister. You attended my father’s wedding a few months ago.”
“Ah! That’s right, that’s right. Well, good, it’s settled then. Speak with Ms. Atwood. She may be willing to halt the sale.”
Yes. Sarah probably would, given my father’s persistence. Then again, if his original threat hadn’t crippled her, I doubted we could do much to rattle Sarah Atwood.
Max’s hands usually stained with blood, but mine seldom dripped with crimson. My soul, of course, withered and died years ago. I might not have swung the punch, but my orders busted car windows, broke jaws, and threatened more than one family with financial ruin. All in the name of business. All to protect the Bennett Corporation.
Samuel shrugged and tossed his napkin on the table. “It’s not the news you wanted to hear. Nothing personal.”
He stood, but I raised a hand. “Is there any chance you might be able to cancel the deal. Any chance at all?”
“You put me in a tight spot.”
“Are you selling for the money?”
Samuel returned to his seat. His hand shook over his cane, but he glanced from Max to me.
“I’ll be honest. I respect you, Nicholas. I do. But your father...”
Max leaned away from the table. We both tensed like we were kids again, sneaking into the pool after curfew. The sting of the crop burned through the years, the precise strikes that hid too well beneath a child’s suit.
I urged him to continue the thought before he lost it in a fog of dementia. “My father?”
“Darius is not a classical businessman, not like you. We know how the company made those seven percent gains. The research division was slashed in half. Distribution’s contract negotiations were messy and costly. And the union problems?”
I steadied my voice. “Price of doing business in this day and age.”
“Maybe.” Samuel sighed. “Darius took a proud company, retained the polish on the outside, and rotted the interior. And that’s hard for you to hear, but his leadership is reactive and quick to burn. His temper gets him in trouble, and, in this economy, his methods won’t stand the test of time.”
Max hid his agreement in a quick swig of his water. I didn’t have the luxury of denial while face-to-face with one of our largest investors.
“Drought hit the West bad, Nicholas. Farms already had their fertilizers and products purchased, but this year coming up?” He shook his head. “The farmers are gonna need more than rain to stay afloat, you hear?”
He was right. I knew it. Reed knew it. That was why he fought to shift our developmental focuses to new aspects of the industry. It was also why he attempted to study law, engineering, something beyond business and numbers.
He saw it coming. The rest of the family and the stock holders anticipated it.
Even the Atwoods waited for the inevitable.
And my father focused only on the short-term profits and quarterly analyses. It wouldn’t always distract the stock holders. Samuel was right.
Which meant an opportunity existed that hadn’t before.
“What if...” I leaned into the table. “What if Darius no longer led the Bennett Corporation?”
Samuel chortled. “Darius Bennett? Retire? Son, he’ll be older than me and still guarding his office with a bottle of whiskey and a loaded gun.”
“Not necessarily.”
For the first time in the seven years I had known Samuel, he sharpened. He wagged a finger at me, rasping a dry cough.
“Now you sound like your father.”
“The Bennett Corporation impacts many people’s lives. My family, but also our stock holders and investors and their families. Their...bunnies.”
“Very true, son.”
My voice lowered. I had no reason to protect hypotheticals. My back ached, an imaginary pain I would ignore. The strain tightened along the largest scar tracing my shoulders, itching as though it had ruptured.
“If the stock holders aren’t pleased with the direction of the company, changing leadership is the easier and more rectifiable choice. I can’t have all our voting members selling stock because of a presented offer that seemed more tasteful than dealing with the issues at hand.”
Max hadn’t moved. I ignored the text message buzzing in my pocket. The adrenaline flooded my blood. Our blood. Bennett blood.
Either excitement or betrayal would poison me.
At least it wouldn’t target my brothers.
“What are you proposing?” Sam asked.
“Stop the sale.”
“Why?”
“Because I can offer you better than the Atwoods.”
“How?”
“A different vision for the company. Safer investments. More sustainable profits regardless of environmental conditions which may impact our largest customers.”
“You’ll need help.” Sam scratched his chin. “And a majority of the shareholders are loyal to your father.”
“The company is mine by right.”
“Not yet, my boy, not yet.”
I sipped my water. The thrill that shocked through my body wasn’t fear. It was pleasure. Pure strength.
A newfound freedom.
“I’ll put the company’s interests before my own. Blood forgives, profits do not. If you give me your support, grant me a little time to speak with our other voting stock holders, I believe I can present you with a profitable solution. I’ll guarantee your continued growth within our company.”
“And Darius?”
“He’s a businessman.”
“He’s also your father.”
A fact he never let me forget. What was a more damning sin—the loss of profits or the destruction of a family? The Bennett family thrived on the power granted by our name, the influence of the men in our bloodline, and the shared secrets taught father to son. Generations of Bennetts wielded family like a sword and armor, and success was our ultimate victory.
But times changed. Economies changed. Politics changed.
And some Bennetts abused the honor in our name.
So why not herald the change and assume what belonged to me before the generations of success and wealth, power and glory turned to the same dust choking our customers’ farms?
Sam nodded. “The stock stays.”
Max stiffened. Even my brother—a man strength
ened by every martial art money could train—folded under the implication. He frowned, but he said nothing. Like all Bennetts, he knew his place.
But mine wasn’t right for me anymore. I wanted more. Something conquerable and profitable that would grant me more power than my father ever dreamed.
I liked it.
Too much.
“You won’t regret this,” I said. “And neither will the Bennett Corporation. A change like this benefits us all, Samuel.”
He chuckled, shaking my hand—the age old business standard which sealed more than just a gentleman’s agreement.
It offered me the opportunity to have everything.
To control everything.
To own everything.
Samuel clapped my brother on the shoulder. “Matt. Nice to see you again.”
Max didn’t correct him. His gaze burned through me, but the wine was cool, a rich vintage that the Bennetts preferred. I swirled the crimson and waited as Samuel shuffled from the table. Once, my brother’s silence might have concerned me. But now?
I relished it.
He wouldn’t be brave enough to offer me congratulations, nor would he break a rigid code of conduct and interrogate me in the restaurant.
A waitress fluttered past. I snapped a finger, and she nodded, hurrying past her other tables and darting into the kitchen to fetch another bottle of wine.
“I’ll attend your investor meeting tomorrow, Max.” I thanked the server with a hundred from my jacket pocket and nodded for her to leave. She studied Max, her lips parted ever so slightly, but he ignored the brunette as she shimmied away. “You don’t have to come.”
Max downed his wine. “No. I think I should be there. What the hell are you doing?”
“What’s best for this company.”
“What about the family?”
“One and the same, Max.”
He didn’t believe me, but it was the first moment in twenty-nine years I thought clearly.
I wasn’t protecting the family anymore. The only way we’d survive was if someone saved it—from within and from the external threats that would only further destroy what control we held over the market, the investors, and our customers.
A change in ownership would preserve the standards we upheld.
