Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1)

by Lana Grayson

  He lured instead of conquered. Nicholas wasn’t a man who favored fists and aggression, not when the confidence warming his voice struck through me like a heated blade. He anticipated my fight, but his endless patience shielded him from my defiance.

  I could torture him with silence, beat him with my every strength, or sit and rationally negotiate my freedom. He’d outlast me.

  I had no idea how to best him, and he had only whispered my name.

  He gestured to the chair once more.

  I wouldn’t sit. We were beyond cordiality and honest expectations. My backpack and laptop rested at Max’s feet. The brute was more muscle than brains. He kicked off his suit jacket in favor of a t-shirt. Raging bands of tattoos coiled against his skin, thick and angry. I didn’t dare rush for my belongings.

  They left my bag unzipped. The Bennetts greasy hands had rifled through all my notebooks.

  My research journal rested on the table next to Darius’s whiskey.

  “Ms. Atwood,” Nicholas tried again. He had no right to speak my name, but his voice rumbled over the syllables with a refined grace. “You had a bad accident. You should sit.”

  “You bastards.” I stared at the journal before glaring at Darius Bennett. “I know what this is about.”

  Nicholas offered a dry chuckle. “I don’t think you do.”

  “Sons of bitches!”

  Reed seized me before I launched myself at his father. Somewhere between my kitchen and the attack on his motorcycle, he lost the playful smirk and dimple that separated him from the other lunatics in his family.

  “You kidnapped me for my research!”

  Reed dropped me when I pushed from his arms, but it wasn’t like I posed a threat to Darius. Without a weapon, I’d never escape four men, each stronger, larger, and more imposing than the last.

  I was a drop of blonde in a den of shadows. I made no excuses for my medical conditions, but I also knew my limits. Getting angry—letting the injustice and pain and inconceivable violation upset me—would land me on the floor, wheezing and humiliated.

  I would never, ever let a Bennett see me in such a state.

  But my research? The bastard terrorized me, threatened me, and stole my work.

  “Are you really that evil?”

  Darius’s lips curled into a monstrous leer. He reached for the journal, flipping through pages and pages of notes I had scribbled for the past three years. Every initial calculation that led me to a working, testable, and experimental hypothesis rested in his hands.

  So much work.

  The entire future of Atwood Industries.

  And Darius Bennett pawed through my notes as if he didn’t even care that he held the potential for millions—maybe billions—of dollars under his fingertips.

  “Most of my family is dead, and you think you can steal the company with an insulting offer. I refuse you, so this is your solution?” I studied each of the Bennetts. “You kidnap me and steal my research. Is it a ransom? You’ll hold my work hostage until I agree to cooperate?”

  Darius thumped the journal against his hand. “We’ll find a use for it.”

  The rage tinted my vision. I traded air for the edge in my voice. It was worth it.

  “You won’t get away with this. I have patents.”

  I bluffed. Not everything had been protected like Dad insisted. After his funeral, I used the lab to mourn. What happened there was private—my own homage to him. I stopped patenting, and, once Josiah and Mike died in the accident, I hardly had the energy or time to protect my work. Half my journal pages weren’t signed. Most of the experiments hadn’t been replicated.

  If they took it, I’d lose everything.

  Darius waded through my indignation. His sneer silenced me.

  “It isn’t about the research, child,” he said. “You know why you’re here.”

  My stomach turned.

  Something had changed.

  The fire roared. It burned cold.

  The silence crackled. It hurt my ears.

  Nicholas stood. He loomed tall, strong, and utterly inescapable.

  “Ms. Atwood, we didn’t bring you to our home to steal your research.”

  Max shrugged. “That’s a windfall.”

  Protecting my journal wasn’t nearly as important as protecting me, and I suddenly realized I had no defense against my step-brothers.

  “You want my company,” I said.

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes.”

  “You’ll scare me into negotiations?”

  His eyes hardened, cracking the gold into bitter amber.

  “No, Ms. Atwood. Unfortunately, your actions have prevented a sale of the company.”

  “Then why am I here?”

  Nicholas stepped close, and I stared up at him. Trembling, though I didn’t understand why.

  He presented himself as a solid, masculine, impenetrable force. Bennett ruthlessness was legendary. He encapsulated everything dangerous and merciless that existed within the family, twisted into his own uses and balanced with a grace undeserving of such a monster.

  Because he was handsome, he seemed kind.

  And because he was my step-brother, I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me.

  But because he was a Bennett, he was neither kind nor trustworthy. And he would hurt me.

  “You’ve forced us to make a difficult decision, Ms. Atwood.”

  Nicholas’s voice constricted like every binding I expected and every threat I’d have to fight to survive. But he had me pinned already, restrained and helpless without raising a hand.

  The kidnapping. The doctor. The blood tests.

  Only Darius would be so cruel.

  Nicholas wasn’t his father, but he was a Bennett. And that meant he was the nightmare of his father, brought to life and wrapped in a false comfort, a subdued dominance, and a promised brutality.

  “Atwood Industries belongs to a male heir.” Nicholas spoke as though we were the only two within the room. As if that would gentle his intentions. “The Bennett family will acquire your company, your lands, and your wealth. Ms. Atwood, your heir will also be ours.”

  I stepped away.

  “Y—you think I’m going to...marry you?”

  Nicholas’s expression crested, almost to remorse, almost softening, as if a monster could emphasize with the fear crippling me to incomprehension.

  “No. I won’t marry you,” he said.

  “I’m not...I won’t sleep with you,” I said. “You’re technically my brother.”

  “You have no choice, Ms. Atwood.”

  “No choice?” I stared at him. Was he dangerously proud or an unrepentant criminal? “I don’t have a choice in conceiving my own child? What are you going to do?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I wasn’t fast enough to escape them all.

  “You wouldn’t rape me.”

  The damning silence sheathed me in untasted violence. The Bennetts cast their noose, but I stumbled into the rope. I stood only because the shock tensed my legs and the remaining sedative pumping in my blood numbed me to the absolute insanity.

  “You can’t do this,” I whispered.

  Darius laughed. “Sarah, my dear, what choice did you leave us? The clause bound our hands as much as it did yours. Your company requires a male heir. We will give you that son.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The words sounded stronger in my head. My whimper intimidated no one.

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” Darius said. “You did your best, but even your father understood you weren’t capable of managing his company. He raised you only because he knew you’d eventually pump out more Atwood swine, and, I’m sure you’re going to do very well at it.”

  My heart pulsed hard, but it delivered nothing where it needed to go. Tears seared my vision, and I was grateful. At least then I wouldn’t stare at the devil who threatened me with every horrible and despicable evil in the world.

  “You’re my step-father, Darius. Why would you do this to my m
other? You don’t have to love her, but for God’s sake, you still married her, you fucking—”

  He raised a hand. “Please, Sarah. No need for such language. I respect your mother, and I will honor my vow to her.”

  “Even you aren’t sick enough to rape your own step-daughter.”

  “Of course not.” He gestured to his sons. “Your brothers will undertake this task.”

  “No.”

  “Three Bennett men. It doesn’t matter to me who has the heir, only that it is created. Behave yourself, honor our wishes, and you won’t be harmed.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “Fight this, and I guarantee you’ll come to regret it.”

  “I’ll call the police.” The threat didn’t frighten him. “I’ll call my mother.”

  He shook his head.

  “Jesus Christ, Darius!” I gripped the chair. I wasn’t even strong enough to puncture the leather with my nails. I hoped they didn’t notice. “I am Atwood Industries. You think you can touch me and I won’t immediately bury this family in every legal, civil, and public relations nightmare money can buy?”

  “Of course not,” Darius said. “But you’ll behave.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you love your mother.”

  My stomach dropped. “So you’d threaten your honored wife?”

  Darius nodded.

  “You’re pathetic.” I pointed to them all, wishing I had chosen a more profane gesture. “I’m leaving, and I’m going right to the police.”

  Nicholas blocked my escape. His expression reserved no kindness, only dark intent. If the devil hid within beauty, I stared into a golden halo of absolute evil.

  “Ms. Atwood, you are our guest for the foreseeable future.” Nicholas’s voice promised a false and sinful gentleness. “I’m afraid you aren’t permitted to leave the grounds.”

  “Not for some time, of course,” Darius said. “Unfortunately, we have a few weeks before you are...of use to us.”

  I swore. That invasion was worse than the doctor’s prodding fingers.

  “So you’ll hold me here until you rape me,” I whispered.

  If Nicholas felt any remorse, any human emotion behind his handsome cast of regal stillness, he let none escape. I mimicked his stoicism if only so I could shatter his confidence and dance over the shards of his broken pride.

  “What happens when you fail?” I asked. “You’ll never control me.”

  Darius folded his hands. “My dear, it’s nothing personal. Fight us or spread your legs willingly. The torment is yours to create.”

  “And my revenge is yours to suffer.”

  He sighed. “It doesn’t matter if you fight. It doesn’t matter if you deny my sons. As of this moment, you belong to them. Your body exists only for their pleasure and your womb for the child that will carry the Bennett name.”

  I swallowed a surge of bile. Darius laughed. My step-brothers didn’t share his amusement.

  “My dear,” he said. “You’ll remain here as our prisoner, bound within our walls and trapped in your brothers’ beds, until the day you bear a son.”

  If I was a monster, I found success in my evils.

  I no longer recognized the man in the mirror, but at least the sins I committed and the lives I destroyed would protect the ones I loved.

  I never pretended to be a good man; I simply cared for my family.

  But I wasn’t born as Nicholas Bennett. I was always recognized as the heir—the firstborn son and the future of our family. My father sculpted, perfected, and beat me into the right temperament to serve as his replacement. He influenced politicians, bought out his competitors, and imprisoned his enemies, but he couldn’t outrun time. One day he would fade.

  Then I would become his legacy.

  Except when I’d seize control, no innocent girl would be held captive in her bedroom, waiting for the theft of her innocence and the destruction of her body.

  I fastened my cufflinks and buttoned the suit jacket. The vest and trousers fit better than riding leathers and concealed weapons. We called for the helicopter, but Max rapped at my door before the pilot prepared to take off.

  “Reed’s about to split,” Max said. “You grabbing him this time or me?”

  Max tugged at his suit. He fit in the leather with more ease, but my father hadn’t asked for his usual assistance. He attended me today—crammed between investors and crystal glasses for a lunch meeting. I preferred him at my side. Anything was better for him than crouching in the shadows, drenched in another’s blood.

  I didn’t have time for my youngest brother’s antics. “Where does Reed think he’s going?”

  “Anywhere Dad isn’t.”

  If such a place existed, I hadn’t found it yet. And if Reed ever did, I’d let him go. I’d also order Max to leave with him. Unfortunately, my father’s rule anchored us within the shadow of our estate and under his unblinking stare.

  Reed knew better. The situation hadn’t set well with him, but he endangered everyone with his behavior.

  He endangered the girl.

  I had no reason to hurry. Reed wouldn’t escape without telling me. The south garage housed our bikes, all three meticulously scoured and cleaned of debris from the cornfield.

  He leaned against his motorcycle. He hadn’t opened the garage yet, but his bag rested at his feet. It was a step farther than he made before. Usually, he came to his senses before leaving his bedroom. I once caught him on the stairs.

  Reed seldom lost his smile. The scar on his cheek and ear aged him, but not enough. He wasn’t much older than the girl we captured and locked away. He wasn’t that different either.

  “I’m gone.”

  Reed didn’t look at me. He hadn’t, not since Mark Atwood’s death and our father’s sudden compulsion to marry his widow.

  He said I was too much like him.

  I believed it.

  “This is bullshit, Nick.”

  “Get off the bike,” I said. “Max and I have an appointment at noon. We don’t have time for this.”

  “You know this isn’t right.” His gloved hands twisted. The leather wouldn’t protect him. No matter what he hid or how far he rode, the Bennett name bled into him deeper than any tattoo or scar. “You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.”

  “It’s done, Reed.”

  “You’re going to hurt that girl?”

  “Get off the bike. We’ll go in the house and talk.”

  “You are actually going to rape that girl?”

  I checked my watch. I didn’t have time to justify my actions or pretend to defend anything my father had planned.

  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 Mo
m’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.”