by Sosie Frost
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 next 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 strengthened 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.
And holding the girl captive? It eliminated the Atwood threat, but my father’s long-term solution was cruel. Still, ruining Sarah to seize her company would win the war. Other options must have existed, but we didn’t have time for the battles it’d require.
Sarah was almost twenty-one, and that made her dangerous. Her heir would secure us for generations, fortifying a legacy built of darkness, lies, and undeniable wealth. But a single mistake and she’d have the legal and moral power to rip us apart.
But I’d fix it. And I’d do it before only the ashes of success remained.
But a real plan required time. Management. Escaping the impenetrable will of my father.
Max stole the bottle and poured another glass. He preferred hard liquors, but it was unsightly for a man to drink more than a single whiskey at a business lunch. He chugged the wine instead.
“If Dad finds out what you just did, he’ll kill you,” Max warned. “What the hell possessed you to be that fucking reckless?”
“When have you ever known me to be reckless?”
“First Sarah Atwood, now this? You aren’t acting sane.”
“If I can secure enough investors to vote for a change in leadership, maybe the girl will go home. Eventually. Once this is done.”
“Eventually?” Max ground his teeth. “What the hell do you mean eventually? Just tell Dad no.”
And enrage him? He’d take his vengeance out on our prisoner, then he’d have my actions and correspondence, meetings and parties monitored and scrutinized by his own private investigators and personal associates.
No. We had one option, and I pitied the girl I couldn’t rescue.
Sarah Atwood would save the Bennett Corporation in two ways.
She would either bear a child we created to secure a future which joined our assets—or
her presence and inevitable resistance would distract my father while I forged a partnership to depose him.
Neither future offered the girl much hope, but I’d never ask forgiveness from an Atwood, even if she was beautiful, young, and completely innocent to the sin trapping her within our beds.
My phone vibrated once more. The message was just another complication. Max read my expression and stood as I did.
“Problem?” He asked.
Slight. Nothing I couldn’t handle.
“Sarah Atwood has escaped.”
7
Sarah
The mansion was easy to escape.
The estate? Not so much.
The Bennetts prided themselves on extravagance, independence, and privacy. Their home wasn’t just a decadent manor comprised of dozens of rooms, wings, and glamour. They owned nearly as much land as us. But instead of planting crops or tending animals, they wasted good, fertile soil on meticulously crafted gardens with sculptures of dark creatures, aggressively coiling roses, and an endless path which stretched beyond the courtyard and into an overgrown forest of shadows and menace.
The Bennetts lived in the wilderness by choice, and they were rich enough to buy time. A car took too long to deliver them to San Jose. They installed a helipad on the roof of the estate.
A helicopter.
The Atwoods were wealthy, but my father wouldn’t dare let his children gallivant across the world in a helicopter. My brothers had to wait for his death before they even felt comfortable traveling in a private jet.
The jet that ultimately claimed their lives.
Maybe Dad was onto something.
I stole a bottle of water before I bolted, but I drained it in a coughing fit as soon as I passed beyond sight of the house.
I couldn’t run. A day without medication and the stress of the kidnapping scoured my lungs. The cool water helped, but nothing would combat the hardening of my chest. Even if I had my inhaler, I wasn’t getting far.
My feet crunched against broken twigs and scattered pine needles. The cobblestone path wasn’t used often, but I hoped the road beyond the private property would be populated. Tourists explored even the most scenic road routes, and the Bennetts lived just outside wine country.
