by Lana Grayson
And Sarah Atwood was mine.
10
Sarah
I hated hospitals.
I hated hospital beds and their paper thin blankets. I hated the hospital’s noise and beeping machinery. I hated hospital doctors with their cold hands and colder stethoscopes and the lies they spouted over and over.
I’d be fine.
Just breathe.
I was safe now.
They’d help me.
I wouldn’t be safe or helped. I was hopelessly alone. Everything I had done was to preserve my company and maintain a sense of decorum and strength. Now? I fought for my life—both literally and for the freedom I couldn’t earn even outside the estate.
Nicholas Bennett sat at my bedside, checking emails on his phone while I’d slept. My monitors chimed, and the air tickled my nose dry.
Oxygen. They only gave me oxygen when I was really sick.
Last thing I remembered was falling to my knees and begging Nicholas for help. That stung more than the ill-placed IV.
“How do you feel?” Nicholas didn’t look up from his phone.
Awful. Horrible. Like someone kicked me in the ribs during an asthma attack.
“Fine.”
“You’re in the hospital,” he said.
“You don’t say.”
“You didn’t give us much choice. I thought you were going to die.”
Yeah, I did that a lot. I eased onto the pillows. My body grumbled from a few hours in the lumpy bed.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to rest.”
It was the same response my father always gave.
“Ask a stupid question, Sprout.” He checked his watch and rapped on the room’s door. “Where the hell is your mother?”
“I’m okay, Dad.” My words mumbled. It hurt to talk. I peeked under the hospital gown.
My chest covered in bruises!
“Oh no.”
Dad frowned. “It’s from the CPR. You have a few broken ribs. Sit still.”
Good thing I was flat as a board or the doctors would have pounded me down. Was I supposed to feel so horrible? This wasn’t like a normal attack.
“Nurse!” He called to a passing woman. “My daughter needs a sedative.”
“But, Dad, I’m okay?”
“I can’t wait for your mother anymore. There’s ten million dollars riding on a deal at the ranch, I have to get back.”
“But—”
“This nice lady is going to give you something to help you sleep.” Dad patted the nurse. “Your mom will be here when you wake up.”
My lip trembled. The tears fell. I wiped them away in case he thought I was being weak, but moving was pure agony. I cried harder, losing my breath to sobs and then crumpling in more pain when my chest tightened over the whimpers.
“Sarah, you’re hysterical. This will help.”
The nurse injected the medicine into my IV. I shook my head, but Dad rubbed my foot as my vision faded.
“I’ll call later. Sleep tight, Sprout.”
Dad hated hospitals as much as I did. He was always making excuses to leave.
The oxygen dried my mouth. I reached for the bedside pitcher of water but the finger monitor and wires bumped over the tray. Nicholas pocketed his phone and poured a glass. I pulled the tubes off my face before drinking.
“The doctors said you’d make a full recovery.”
I nodded. “That’s what they say every time.”
“It looked bad.”
It always did. I sipped again. The water didn’t dilute the antiseptic bitterness on my tongue.
The doctors had me inhale more drugs and mists and steroids than I remembered from my past attacks. My chest hurt, but I could breathe. I suffered only from exhaustion now.
Josiah and Mike never understood that I was okay once I had the medicines and examinations. An attack scared them witless and usually filled my room with more provisions from home than the nurses felt sanitary.
This time, I had only one gift.
A dozen roses stashed in the window. Thick, crimson blossoms spilled from a crystal vase.
“Reed.” Nicholas answered before I asked.
“They’re beautiful.”
“Like I said, you looked…worse for wear. Especially with the cuts and bruises.”
I touched my cheek. It hurt as badly as my ribs. “Did you tell them my step-father molested and beat me?”
“We told them you fell down the stairs during the attack. Tripped over a glass statue.” He folded his hands and studied me. His gaze grazed my skin and rejuvenated everything that was struck.
“A statue?” Even laughing caused pain. “Hopefully there aren’t any more statues in my future.”
“That depends on you.”
“I doubt that.”
I coughed. Just a residual strain, but Nicholas offered me more water. He acted kind, but he didn’t sport the “care-partner” badge because he was my step-brother. He was no nurse. He was my warden. At least he didn’t fret as much as my real family.
Then again, he’d have to care about me to fret. His only concern was that I stayed alive and gave him the child he demanded. Didn’t matter if I was healthy, safe, or statue-free.
“It was a pleasurable kiss in the woods,” Nicholas said. “But I didn’t think you’d take it so hard.”
I choked on my water. First asthma, now drowning. I wiped the dribble from my mouth and muffled my profanity.
Nicholas’s smile was nothing like the harsh, violent menace of his father.
My heart thudded faster. The stupid monitors betrayed a quick blipping. Nicholas chuckled. I sipped the water again, tempted to spill it over his expensive suit, chiseled jaw, and perfect wave of dark hair.
Raising my arm took too much effort. I should’ve ordered him to dunk himself. Instead I leaned against the pillows and savored every freeing breath.
“Are you all right?” He asked. “I can call for the nurse.”
“Stop hovering. It’s unbecoming for a Bennett.”
“If you insist.”
I shifted. Nothing was more uncomfortable than staying in a hospital. I tugged on the blankets if only to distract myself from Nicholas’s scrutiny.
“Does my mother know I’m here?”
Nicholas lowered his voice, but that didn’t help. The smoothness of his words carried in the whisper—a warmed cocoa cadence that presumed it could solve any problem or subdue any opponent. And it probably could. I didn’t have the strength to defend myself, let alone battle a man who matched me bite for bite and then swallowed me whole.
“We didn’t tell her,” he said. “She knows you’re with us, but my father thought it best to wait until you were stable and at home before telling her—”
“No.”
“You have no choice in the matter, Ms. Atwood.”
I exhaled. It felt nice. “I don’t want her to know.”
“About the hospital?”
“The hospital or the attack. If she knew her only remaining child collapsed?” I hated to relive the memories as much as she did. “After Josiah and Mike…she’s not capable of handling this sort of emergency anymore. Not her sanity and certainly not her liver.”
“But she’s your mother.”
“She’s not my mother anymore. My father’s murder tore her to pieces. Obviously she’s not in the right frame of mind. Look at who she married.”
Nicholas nodded. “For what’s it worth, my father does seem to…admire her.”
“Every woman dreams of the moment a man finally admits that he admires her.”
“When my mother died, my father’s heart died with her.”
“Your father never had a heart.”
“He did for her,” Nicholas said.
“What about for his sons?”
He arched an eyebrow. “We’re off-topic.”
“I like this topic better.”
“If you’d rather not tell Bethany, I’ll respect your wishes.�
�
I smirked. “A first time for everything.”
“I wouldn’t get used to it.”
His phone vibrated from his pocket. He ignored it. He gestured to the oxygen line cast over the bed.
“You should be wearing that.”
“Florescent green doesn’t match my hospital gown.”
He picked it up, and I fell still. His hands brushed my ears, tucking the tube into place. His fingers grazed my cheek. I shivered. The monitor jumped again. My pulse fluttered ten beats higher.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
Oh, yes, he would, in more ways than he intended. I shoo’ed his hands away and adjusted the oxygen myself—like an old pro.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the asthma?”
I hesitated. “It didn’t come up.”
He didn’t buy it. Neither did I. “It was important. The doctor said you’re on three different medications.”
Why would I have told the Bennetts I was sick? Should I have held a loaded gun against my head too?
I accidentally met his eyes. The warmth brushed over me like a sun-kissed field.
Not good.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of being your extended houseguest.”
Nicholas didn’t fall for the sass. “You will be a guest for quite some time. Though, I assure you, the stay can be as difficult or…pleasurable…as you wish.”
“You do know how to sweet talk an invalid.”
He laughed. “Hardly. You’re stronger here than half the men I do business with every day.”
“I bet you say that to all the asthmatic girls.”
“Only the ones who deserve the compliment.”
The damn monitor beeped quicker. I changed the subject.
“How’s Darius faring?”
His hesitation was worth the asthma attack. “He isn’t pleased by the turn of events.”
“Is he pissed I didn’t die?”
“More frustrated that you almost did.”
“I do love to disappoint him.”
The coughing bubbled from deep—a rattle that alarmed Nicholas. He stood.
“I’ll get a nurse.”
I shrugged. “It’s just inflammation. I’ll cough for a while.”
“You should sleep. I have work that will keep me occupied. You rest. I’ll be right here.”
Like I was that stupid. “How kind of you.”
“I only want you to be safe.”
“No. You want to guard me. To make sure I don’t toss a chair through that window.”
“We’re ten stories up. I don’t recommend rappelling in your condition.”
“But nothing is stopping me from pushing this…” I grazed the call button on my bed’s remote. “I could…find a nurse. Tell her everything.”
Nicholas expected it. The hard angles of his face shadowed against the glow of the monitors.
He folded his hands. “You haven’t yet.”
“No. I haven’t.”
“Why not?” The cautious edge in his voice pricked over me, sharpening as I dared to challenge him. “The nurses would believe every word. The doctors insisted on admitting you for multiple days, but my father argued and had a nurse fired as he demanded your immediate release into our private family physician’s care. I’ve pledged a new MRI machine to placate the staff for his behavior.”
“How charitable.”
“It was Reed’s idea. He believed we had enough hospital wings in our name.” Nicholas waited. I said nothing. “You’re returning to the estate. You can’t stop it, even if you push that button.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
He took the bait. “Why?”
“I haven’t finished what I started there.”
“And what’s that?”
“Proving Darius Bennett killed my father.”
Nicholas didn’t react. His contemplative, uncompromising stillness revealed nothing.
“Do you really think we killed your father?”
I shook my head. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. He had cancer. Bad. But he fought it because he was strong and said he’d beat it. And he did. So he went into remission, and the doctors cleared him. But he goes to work one day?” My voice trembled. I swallowed, hard. “He goes to work and then dies in his chair. A Pepsi in front of him.”
Nicholas waited.
“He never drank anything but Coke a day in his life.”
“Hardly the cause for a murder allegation.”
“The autopsy was inconclusive, but an hour before he died, he left my brothers a voicemail telling them he loved them. He believed something was going to happen to him, and he made sure they knew how he felt before...”
Nicholas nodded. “Did he speak with you?”
My chest hurt. Not the asthma. “No.”
“What do you hope to find?
“Anything that would prove Darius had something to do with his death.”
My finger rubbed the call button, brushing the pad in tight circles. Nicholas watched, waited. I considered my options.
Press the button. Scream at the nurse to bring the police. Have the Bennetts escorted from my room and locked behind bars.
Get lost in endless legal battles over kidnapping charges and their denials and defamation law suits.
Destroy what remained of my mother as I accused her husband of a conspiracy to rape.
Spend my life in whispers and lies as the business community, the Atwood social circle, the media, and the world gossiped about my ordeal.
I’d never get close to the Bennetts again. They’d serve time, but not for the crime I knew they committed. It wouldn’t be enough. Not until Darius confessed or until a jury formally proclaimed him guilty.
But for that to happen, to see my father’s death avenged, I couldn’t lose the opportunity I had. If I stayed, I had the freedom to wander their house, get closer to Nicholas, Max, and Reed, and search for the evidence the police refused to believe existed.
“This is the second and last time I will ever ask a Bennett for help,” I said.
“This Bennett has a name, Ms. Atwood.”
I drew an unsteady breath. “Nicholas, I need your help.”
“What do you want me to do, Sarah?”
I vaguely remembered him using my real name, calling to me, keeping me awake until they delivered me to safety. His caramel voice rumbled over the word, soft and silken and spoken with such familiarity it flushed my cheeks. I imagined how it would sound breathless, whispered in the masculine growl that he uttered while pinning me in the woods.
The monitor beeped again. If I had the strength, I would have tossed my pillow over my face and willed myself to suffocate again.
I was too tired to fight him. Too tired to rationalize my trembling so near to him.
I remembered my last gasp of air before collapsing. It laced with his scent—sharp and clean and rugged. I still tasted his lips, reveled in his spiciness, and warmed where his hands had captured me.
“I won’t tell a soul what’s happening,” I said. “Promise.”
“I doubt you’ll keep that promise once I take you.”
My stomach fluttered. I wished I hadn’t already imagined my step-brother in such a way. It wasn’t just wrong because he was an enemy. Nothing in our perverted arrangement made sense. Having those thoughts were as morally reprehensible as what they planned to do to me.
“You will help me find enough evidence to convict your father,” I said.
“You’re asking me to betray my family.”
“Only Darius.”
“He’s still family.”
I tilted my head. “So am I, and yet you threaten to harm me.”
“Not threaten. Promise.” He wasn’t teasing. “But you aren’t Darius Bennett.”
“He’s not a father. He’s a monster. He wants you to rape me. To impregnate me. You watched him mistreat, hurt, and humiliate me. Help me find the evidence to p
ut that lunatic behind bars, and I won’t say a word about this insanity.”
“That won’t stop what we plan to do to you.”
“Screw your plan. I don’t care if you rape me. Avenging my father is more important than whatever happens to me.”
For the first time, his professional, composed façade cracked. “Are you serious?”
My teeth chattered. I blamed exhaustion, but it was the memory’s fault. I gripped the thin blanket and shivered.
“When I was twelve, I went with my father to tour one of our cattle facilities in Nevada. The dust caused an asthma attack. We were far from the hospital. I died twice in the ambulance and once when they finally had me in an emergency room. I was gone for three minutes. Completely flat-lined. The doctor almost called it.”
He listened, intently. “That must have been terrifying.”
“It wasn’t my first attack, but it was my worst.”
“You’re very strong, Sarah.”
I didn’t feel much like it now. “Do you know what I saw while I was dead?”
Everyone wanted to know, but no one believed the answer. Somehow, I knew Nicholas would.
“What did you see?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
His expression fell. So did mine. I tugged the blankets higher and looked away.
“Everything faded, like I fell asleep. And then instantly, I was back. There was nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Without a doubt.” I swallowed. “This life is my only life, Nicholas. And I’ll do everything I can to survive it. I’m not ready to be…nothing yet.”
“Sarah—”
“My father’s life was stolen. I can’t bring him back. I’ll never see him again, and for that crime, I will not rest until I get justice. I’ll fight you with every breath my body allows.”
“I believe you.”
I met his stare and strengthened into the same stone that sealed him in stillness. “If you plan on raping me, I’m prepared to battle. But if you succeed and get me pregnant?” I lowered my voice. “Imagine how hard I’ll fight if I am defending my child.”
Nicholas frowned before standing. He leaned over me only so he could whisper, only so he could listen as the betraying monitors revealed just how fierce my heart beat within his arm’s reach.
“I admire your courage,” he said. “But you don’t have to fight me.”
