Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  “No,” I said. “It ends like this.”

  He didn’t patronize me by asking if I were certain. I made my decision. If he understood it, he didn’t say, but I doubted a man like Max Bennett would ever recognize the dread of blood.

  “You know what he expects.” It wasn’t a question or an apology. Max uncurled the leather collar and leash from his pocket. “Last time, baby.”

  Even if the asthma hadn’t squeezed my lungs, I doubted I’d have fought the scrape of the collar against my neck. I had been free of it for months. It only made sense he’d inflict it on me again.

  The leash clipped, the tiny metal click just as loud as any crash of metal bars in a cell or shudder of chains binding my body. It was humiliating and unnecessary. The asthma, nausea, and fear already quieted Bumper.

  “It still looks good, baby.”

  Captivity never looked good. It was ugly and grotesque and so very Bennett. I touched my tummy.

  “At least she’ll never know.” I dared Max to speak. “My one consolation.”

  “No one will know.”

  That was the agreement. No legacy of mine would be tarnished with such terrible brutality. The Atwoods were proud. Strong. And too many of us were now victims.

  “He expects you to fight.” Max stood still. His hand curled into a fist.

  “You never asked my permission before.”

  “This isn’t like before.”

  “What’s different?”

  His voice hollowed. “This is it.”

  “So don’t change now.” I raised my chin for him. “We’re not making memories, Max. Don’t pretend to be noble—”

  The backhand came quick, hard. He silenced me with the blow, and I tumbled to the bed. My gasp choked over ragged coughs, but he had what he wanted. A bloody lip. The bruise over my cheeks.

  Most men liked their women pale, blushing with inexperience and timid excitement.

  The Bennetts preferred me bleeding, bruised, and swollen in more ways than one.

  Max didn’t apologize for it, but I added it to the list of his unforgivable offenses. The list grew by the second. He wrapped the leash over his hand, coiling it just to tug me close.

  “That’s the last time I hurt you, baby.”

  The words forced from an aching chest—tightening with sickness, asthma, and grief. “Every minute near you hurts me.”

  “Yeah.” He jerked the leash. I nearly tripped. “Glad I won’t be torturing you anymore.”

  I followed him from the bedroom and stared ahead into the darkness. The gentle glow of a nightlight in the nursery lit our path. I ignored it, and I forced myself to forget everything delicate and perfect, soft and wonderful within the lovely room. It wouldn’t help me now.

  Hamlet padded to my side from the kitchen, his muzzle wet from a late-night drink. I scratched his head as he loyally followed.

  “No, Hamlet,” I said. “You gotta stay here. Be good.”

  Max urged me to move. “Let’s go. He’ll be okay.”

  “Someone will make sure, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hamlet whined as the door closed.

  Max didn’t bother trying to hold a conversation with me. He knew I’d give him nothing but silence. The car ride to the Bennett Estate sped through the cover of darkness. I remembered the path, memorized the trail to hell that led from beautiful mountains and into the growling maw of hell. The car parked outside the front door. He trusted I wouldn’t lose my composure and bolt.

  Much had changed since the first time I escaped from the Bennett Estate. The chair through the broken window didn’t grant me freedom. It signified a new life for me, trapped in Nicholas’s will, abused by Darius’s intentions, and punished for every mistake and moment of disrespect by Max’s hand.

  Maybe I once liked it. Maybe I once danced through the danger and fed off the adrenaline rush we both experienced from the crash of leather against my skin.

  But what was fantasy to me existed as Max’s reality. He knew only bloodshed, just like his father.

  That evil waited for me, lurking on the grand staircase inside the estate’s foyer.

  Darius Bennett once tortured me with a smile and false gratitude.

  No longer.

  He crashed against the white marble of the staircase, and the clap of his heel echoed over the entirety of the mansion. His eyes stared—stark, menacing, and utterly empty. Just like his mansion, his halls, and the expanse of gluttonous extravagance within the manor.

  He was just one man, and yet so much more.

  Bastard and rival.

  Murderer and abuser.

  Rapist and father.

  His very presence chilled my core. He once ripped through me. He stole every warmth, every hope, every ounce of my courage. His touch rendered me empty, but his cruelty didn’t break me. Instead, every hollowed and worthless scar filled with burning, rampant hatred.

  I hated this man.

  I hated his name. His power. His corruption. I hated the way his eyes lingered over my curves, as if he weren’t yet satisfied in my destruction and would seize me again.

  He longed to hurt me.

  And he had.

  But that was then. He could do little else to me.

  I re-forged my dignity to stand before him once more at the end.

  And it was Darius who cracked instead.

  “I should have simply killed you and ended this charade.” He spat the words. I knew he wished to strike me. Given time, he would. “But I thought you might be trusted to fulfill at least one purpose to one of your fathers.”

  His steps punished the stair beneath his boot. If he wished to stomp me, no need for the theatrics. We were both beyond posturing now.

  “So…” He forced me to look up and meet his chilling gaze. “Our baby is a girl?”

  “It’s not your child.”

  “I should hope. A daughter is of no use to me.” His hand caressed my cheek. “Even the simple pleasures fade after time.”

  I shook him away. Max didn’t let me escape. The leash passed to his father.

  “Even when you’re flat on your back you can do nothing right,” Darius said. “Or when you’re on your knees or pushed over a table. Tell me, my dear, when did you feel the most useless under me?”

  “Did it make you feel powerful?” I asked. “Hurting a woman who couldn’t defend herself?”

  “It felt good at the time. Even better now that I imagine you still feel it.”

  Not that I’d admit. Darius reached for me. I flinched, but Max presented me to him. His hands wove over my tummy, daring to touch Bumper, waiting for my reaction.

  He didn’t have a right to touch me, and every moment his hands lingered needled me with dread.

  It was supposed to be faster than this.

  He wasn’t supposed to touch me again.

  “Come with me, Sarah. I have a surprise for you. I think you’ll like it.”

  The leash tightened in his grip. He dragged me to the stairs, but I tripped. I twisted to land on my behind on the bottom step. Darius aimed to kick. I hid my belly, and he grazed my hip.

  “You aren’t even waddling yet. Get up. You’re fine.”

  Max didn’t help me. If he felt any guilt, any worry, it never crossed his features. In his father’s shadow, any bit of light, hope, or cry for redemption darkened into the same beaten submission Darius so often sought from me.

  He did his part.

  I expected nothing more from Maxwell Bennett. His part was done.

  Darius forced me up the stairs, into the wing I only dared to enter in fits of madness. I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but demons were as real to me as any monster lurking in children’s tales or the nightmares of the tormented. My proof existed in the man leading me on a leash to a newly remodeled room adjoining his bedroom. He pushed me within.

  Blue.

  Stark, but blue.

  A cold, institutional blue paint splashed the walls in fake cheer. The white crib and chan
ging table, rocking chair and dresser did nothing to welcome a new life. Only coldness existed here. Only the same extravagant furniture and art chiseled from the Bennett’s wallet. The room decorated with everything stylish and designer, fit for a prince but not a loved son.

  Darius built a nursery. I saw a prison.

  And it relieved me that Bumper would never rest within any crib in Darius Bennett’s possession.

  “You disappointed me, my dear. I told you I expected a son.”

  “I live to disappoint you.”

  “Not for much longer.”

  I held his gaze. “And if the baby is yours? You’d kill her before she’s even born?”

  “Why should I tolerate inferior blood blending with the Bennett line? I should earn something in my sacrifice.”

  “Your sacrifice?”

  “The only reason I let an Atwood within my home, at my table, in my bed was to breed her like a common bitch.” Darius exhaled. “And even that was too complicated for you.”

  He was on me before I reacted. His hand tightened over my throat, and he slammed me against the wall.

  “You failed me, child.” His growl sliced through me. “For the last time. No more second chances. No more begging. No more alliances with my sons. It’s just you and me, Sarah Atwood, and you will answer for your every failure.”

  The leash choked the air from me. He hauled me from the nursery like an errant dog through the halls, deliberately watching me twist and gasp to match his awkward gait. The collar dug into my neck.

  The humiliation would be over soon enough.

  The elevator was too easy a trip for me. Darius forced us through the narrow stairwell to the estate’s roof—half designer garden, half-helipad. The helicopter waited, and Max handed his father a set of ear-muffs for the ride. He didn’t afford me the same courtesy.

  “I’ve decided to take you home, my dear. Back to the farm, back to Daddy and the ashes of your brothers. Consider it my last kindness.” His sneer would forever etch into my memory, worse than any touch of his lips or fingers. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even kill you before I stuff you in their graves.”

  My words didn’t waver. I lifted my chin, a hope for the final blow.

  “I hate you.”

  Darius sneer, his arm raised to strike.

  The slap never landed.

  The crack of Darius’s skull shattered the night with a sickening crunch.

  His eyes met mine in a moment of utter confusion, pain, and dismay. The leash released from his hand just as his worthless body crumbled at my feet.

  Soundless.

  Harmless.

  And still I lurched away. Still I let even the spreading shadow of an unconscious man force me to hide my body, my face, my fear.

  I told myself I would never again fear Darius Bennett.

  Standing over his vulnerable body made me more terrified than ever.

  One last thing to do. One last crime to commit. One last injustice to be sated.

  The lights flipped on, flooding the helipad with artificial brightness. Nicholas stepped forward, the butt of his gun stained with his father’s blood. He touched my cheek.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  The tears came now, weepy only from the surge of adrenaline that threatened to topple me.

  “Why did you wait so long?” I pushed him away. “I thought you’d get him in the house.”

  “We didn’t have a clear shot.”

  “I used my safe word.”

  Nicholas nodded. “And I was there, like I said I would be.”

  God, this was a horrible plan.

  And, of course, it had been my idea.

  “Darius thinks he’s broken me,” I said.

  My step-brothers did too. They sat in silence within the penthouse. Reed sullen. Nicholas still. And Max, half-drunk with bruises and the fat lip it took for his brothers to drag him back to me.

  “He expects that I’ll kill Max.” I didn’t look at him. Speaking his name was difficult enough. “That I want him to answer for my brothers. But this isn’t about an eye-for-an-eye anymore. This is about chopping the head off the snake. Now’s our chance.”

  Nicholas agreed. “Max, you have an opportunity to get close to Dad. If you go to him—”

  Max sneered. “He’ll kill me.”

  “Not if you offer him what he wants.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I spoke for him. For them. For Bumper.

  For the only way we’d ever secure our future.

  “He wants me.”

  Reed burst from the shadows, tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans before approaching. He didn’t smile, but the burden eased from his shoulders. He bent down to grab his unconscious father. Max hopped from the helicopter to help. Together they stuffed Darius into the cabin and slammed the doors.

  Just as I planned. Just as we wanted.

  But I didn’t feel any better.

  The fear didn’t fade. The pain. The grief.

  It was all still there, tucked in deep and pounding at my heart.

  “He hurt you.” Nicholas touched the bruise on my cheek. I held his hand.

  “Wasn’t him.”

  Max didn’t apologize. “She’ll heal.”

  I was tired of healing. I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

  Reed brushed beside me, offering me the gun. I took it. Just the feel of the metal left me sick and trembling.

  Nicholas’s voice hollowed. “I won’t take this from you. If you want, Max will lead you somewhere…quiet. You can pull the trigger yourself.”

  The thought excited and sickened me. “How many bullets in this gun?”

  Max tightened his jaw. “Enough to take out me and Dad, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  It was. I swallowed.

  Eight months of torment and rage, captivity and pain.

  How many more of my brothers needed to die before this feud ended? Before our revenge was sated?

  Dad would’ve demanded it. Forced it. My brothers died because of Max Bennett. But killing Max wouldn’t bring Josiah and Mike back. Killing him wouldn’t give my baby the uncle she needed.

  And killing Darius?

  I trembled, rocked with guilt and rage and the hopeless fear that we’d forever torture ourselves, trapped in a mire of regret and remorse and revenge.

  It would never end, not until the last drop of Bennett and Atwood blood stained the earth.

  I lowered the gun.

  “You do it. I don’t want to know. Do it and we’ll never speak of him again.”

  Max nodded. “Baby—”

  I turned without listening for any words he might have said or apologies he might have given or insults he might have thrown.

  Peace only meant blood wouldn’t spill. It dictated nothing about forgiveness.

  Nicholas and Reed followed as the helicopter’s lights seared the rooftop. Max slipped in the cockpit as the monster roared to life. I didn’t bother watching.

  I saw everything I needed to see.

  Darius lay across the floor of the helicopter. Not dead, yet. Max would finish that and ensure his body was never recovered.

  Then Max promised after it was done, he would never come near me again.

  I hadn’t asked him for that concession.

  I wept in exhaustion by the time I reached the stairs, but the tears only aided my escape. I burst from the front doors as the tremors and aches, wheezing and coughs, grief and despair rolled through me.

  Nicholas held me, but I wasn’t prepared for his touch. For his closeness.

  To even think it had worked. A hasty plan, drawn in the night. Without subtlety, without remorse.

  One chance to end it all, and we were free.

  Was that it? Was this freedom?

  It hurt more than ever, especially knowing Max risked his life to approach Darius, to set the plan in motion, to betray his father from inside the estate.

  This plan was nothing but danger, but Max didn’t h
esitate. He agreed to help. No questions asked. He only wanted another chance to ask for my forgiveness.

  And I didn’t give it to him. I couldn’t. Dad wouldn’t have wanted it. Mike and Josiah wouldn’t have understood it. The weight of my name suffocated me under the burden of our revenge. Max wouldn’t die, but they’d expect me to forget that he lived.

  And I couldn’t.

  Reed helped me into the car. Bumper bumped as Nicholas quietly gave instruction to his brother. She was too used to her father and uncles’ voices. Loved the sound.

  She wouldn’t remember them once she was born. Once it was over.

  Once I was gone. If I could leave.

  It was too much to think of now, not while my hands shook and the chills overwhelmed me in shock.

  The car pulled from the estate and passed through the redwood forest, clutching at the shadows in spindly branches. I let my eyes drift to the mirror. One last look at the source of my nightmare, and then it’d be over.

  The orange fireball filled the sky, spreading over the top of the mansion in ghastly flames.

  The harrowing soundwave of the crash followed.

  “Nick!” I gripped his arm. “Oh, God, the helicopter!”

  The car squealed to the stop as Nicholas jammed the brake and spun us one hundred and eighty degrees to face the Bennett Estate once more.

  Flames leapt into the sky, and a quick spray of metal debris rained against the front yard.

  The helicopter crashed in a dire ball of flames.

  The Bennett Estate was burning.

  25

  Sarah

  The flames lashed the estate.

  Thick, enraged towers of crackling orange and violent gold rippled over the roof of the mansion, blazing waves of fire into the sky.

  Nothing remained of the helicopter.

  Chunks of charred metal littered the front lawn. Nicholas parked, but he pointed at me.

  “Stay in the car.”

  I rarely listened to him before. I wouldn’t start now.

  But it was a mistake. The acrid smoke soiled the air. I tasted the grimy, oil-soaked particles in my throat. My chest ached without the bitter thickness.

  I coughed and ignored it.

  “Fuck!” Reed stared at the roof. “Jesus…did he…is Max—”

  Nicholas shouted. “Sarah, stay here! Reed, let’s go.”