by Lana Grayson
“What about Sarah?” Reed said.
My father silently seethed, his wrath centering upon whatever memory he harbored of the girl.
“In this lifetime, we’ll face two sets of people. Those who oppose us, and those we may use for our own advantage. The Atwoods opposed us.” The chill in his words would extinguish the cigar. “I will spend every cent, pursue every outlet, and spill blood to redeem our family and ensure the Atwoods are cast into the gutter of their own shame.”
Reed frowned. “And so that means giving them more money than the accounts are worth? How does that vindicate us?”
I waved a hand. “Money is nothing. It’s made and spent, wasted and created every day. But there is only one Bennett family. And now, only one Atwood remains.”
My father exhaled. “And had the cunt taken the offer, their land, crops, animals, and livelihood would have been ours to burn. Instead, we’re faced with greater challenges.”
Max nodded. “Then we make her sell. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
And he did, often and ruthlessly. But no violence would aid us, not when she twisted the circumstances and bound herself in awkward legality. Inheritance law was difficult enough, especially following her brothers’ deaths.
“Selling makes no difference now,” I said.
“The company is held in her trust until...” My father twitched. “She presents a male heir.”
Reed pulled his phone and made a note. “So we scour their family tree. Find a cousin or something.”
“No.”
My father offered nothing more. I lowered the cigar.
“No?” I hesitated. “We let her retain the rights to the company?”
“No, we are not searching for a male heir.”
“Then how—”
“We have no time to waste. We have less than a year before our influence and shareholders are compromised.” My father shook his head. “We could divert resources to find a distant relative willing to sell, but Atwood’s little bitch would thrive during months and months of litigation.”
I straightened. “It is the cleanest solution. A clear-cut buyout. No unpleasant bartering for investors’ votes. No crises. No stock crashes. We’ll present to whomever we can find.”
“And it will fail again!” His voice cracked over the room. “She refused our offer. Worse, she humiliated us. Buying the company is no longer an option. And now, we are forced to regain our honor from the Atwoods.” He pitched a goblet of wine into the hearth. The glass shattered. “From the Goddamned Atwoods!”
Reed shifted away from the sputtering fire. “Then what do you—”
“I want Sarah Atwood’s male heir.”
The fire popped. My father’s rasping breath echoed against the crackle of the fire.
The blaze fueled the rage churning within him. He stared, but the Darius Bennett I recognized—the man I emulated and respected—no longer existed. A demonic shell darkened over him as fury crept into madness.
I hated myself for the question I was forced to ask.
“You want her heir?”
My father spoke into the fire. “She forced the clause. Atwood Industries belongs to her yet-to-be-conceived son. All rights and wealth, institutions and assets will be granted to an unborn child.”
A chill slowed my thoughts.
It should have silenced me.
It should have prevented me from understanding exactly what my father wished.
Unfortunately, my conscience flaked to ash years ago. I was Nicholas Bennett. The heir to the Bennett empire. My sins, my crimes, and my regrets existed only to protect the family.
Reed didn’t understand. “She doesn’t have a son yet.”
Max exhaled a curtain of smoke to hide his realization. I shared his shiver. My father’s grin would desecrate everything pure within his power.
Like Sarah Atwood.
“She will have a son,” my father said. “Her heir will belong to the Bennetts.”
I stilled my movements and wished my heart had ceased with it.
“And one of you will create it.”
The clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock. Not nearly late enough for talk of this nature.
Max hesitated. He posed the question to me to avoid the wide-eyed insanity of our father.
“You want us to seduce Sarah Atwood?”
No.
Seduction never crossed his mind.
Until Bethany, my father never expressed any sympathy for the family. Their deaths enthralled him, and their misery entertained him. Any misfortune was a cause for celebration.
No one would seduce the girl.
“I will have an heir to Atwood Industries.” My father didn’t lower his voice, despite the evil he summoned. “I’ll control everything and everyone within that family.”
“But—”
“Everything she loves, and everything she has worked so hard to build and maintain, will be lost the instant that girl bears a Bennett for a son.”
My father stared at each of us, unshakable and unblinking.
“I want that Atwood bitch to regret challenging me. We offered her everything. She refused.” His words haunted the room with vulgar threat. “She will regret crossing me every second of every minute of every day it takes her to grow a Bennett in her womb.” He laughed. “And then I’ll watch as her world is destroyed the instant my grandson is born into this world.”
“You want us...to fuck her,” Reed whispered.
“No. I want you to breed Sarah Atwood.”
The fire crackled. The charring pop didn’t disturb me. I would hear it for all eternity as my father damned our family to the deepest, blackest depths of hell.
Max stood too quickly, wincing as he forced his weight over his bad leg. “Holy Christ, Dad.”
I poured a glass of wine, offering the Pinot Noir to my father. He accepted.
“Dad, you’ve married Bethany,” I said. “Sarah is technically our sister.”
“Step-sister,”
“Step-sister. But don’t you think the relation is—”
“Do you plan for this family to fail, Nicholas?”
Did he? What did he think he’d accomplish besides serving us with life-sentences and corrupting a young woman’s innocence?
“Of course not,” I said.
“Do you intend to let the Atwood whore spit on the generous agreement you created?” He tilted his head. “She did not insult me, son. Her refusal voided your contract. She disrespected you.”
“And so I should impregnate my step-sister?” I braved a chuckle. “You said it yourself. The clause is a technicality. She holds the trust. If we present that a sale of the company positively benefits Atwood Industries, she would be within her right to accept—”
“Enough.” My father never raised his voice. I gave him his respect, taught through years of agony endured under his crop, molding me into his perfect son. “She’ll never sell. She’ll control the company until she bears a child and raises it with the same delusions that indoctrinated her into the Atwood philosophy.” My father exhaled. He gestured to my brothers. “Leave us. I will discuss this further with Nicholas.”
Max and Reed stiffened, unceremoniously dismissed from the conversation.
I envied them.
My father appraised me with the grace of an executioner sharpening his blades.
“You would disobey me in this,” he said.
I lowered my wine. “No. But I question your motivations.”
“Why?”
“It is not...honorable.”
My father laughed. “And what Mark Atwood did to your mother. That was honorable?”
I didn’t answer.
“Life is a war, Nicholas, and death is too often the only solution,” he said. “Imagine when a birth is the ultimate conquest.”
“She’ll never do this willingly.”
“And?”
I expected it. “You’re asking us to rape Sarah Atwood.”
“I’m askin
g you to protect this family.”
“She’ll go to the police. We’ll be ruined.”
“Then don’t let her talk to the police!” My father waved a hand over the parlor. “This will be your estate, Nicholas. Your home! If you can’t find one place to hide a scrawny little girl—”
“Dad, listen to what you’re saying!” I stood. His gaze followed—invisible shackles binding me to our name, our home, our pride. “You’re asking us to abduct, rape, and impregnate our step-sister.”
“For the family.”
“Absolutely not.”
He asked the impossible, and yet his eyebrows rose, as if he realized the obscenity of the plan. Still he chose to ignore every modern convention of rationality and decency.
And for what?
The family?
No.
This wasn’t for the Bennetts. And it wasn’t for the company.
This was vengeance. Pure sadism. He planned an end to a bitter feud that began before I was born and was bound to continue after I died.
“We won’t do this.”
My father said nothing. He stared, and I struggled to endure the uncompromising commands. I braced for the worst, but I hadn’t anticipated his brutality. I was twenty-nine years old, and he yet surprised me.
Horrified me.
“Nicholas, you are my eldest son. You are my heir, my legacy to this world.” He spoke softly, intentionally forcing me to hold my breath just to listen. “But understand, I have two other sons.”
“Perhaps they’d prefer to do this crime,” I said.
“Doubtful.”
“Then you realize this is a mistake.”
“Nicholas, you will control the company and this family alone, as it has been set for generations.”
“I understand.”
“I have no real need for two additional sons.”
The implication struck like a blade to the throat. I didn’t doubt his threat. A Bennett lost his naivety at a young age. My father had no cause to lie.
“You would harm your own flesh and blood?” I asked.
“You would deny your family the ultimate wealth, security, and vengeance?”
My father stood, a lurking devil.
“I love this family,” I said.
“Then protect it.”
“From you?”
“From any danger. The decision rests with you, Nicholas. Convince your brothers to capture and breed Sarah Atwood, or...” His pat to my shoulder suddenly gripped, pinching hard against a nerve he favored to bring me to my knees as a child. I didn’t wince. “You will be responsible for what happens to this family.”
He sipped the rest of his wine and left me to the silence of the study.
What choice did I have?
I would always put my family first…
I hope you enjoyed that sneak peek, but Sarah and Nicholas’s story is just beginning…
The Complete Trilogy is now available! Click here if you can handle the Bennett Men...
Acknowledgements
First, I just want to thank all of my fans and readers for taking a chance and—hopefully—enjoying the world of the Anathema MC. From the first sentence I wrote, I knew these books were going to be my babies. I couldn’t have started this journey without everyone’s support while I wrote Warlord, and Exiled was the book that helped me to finally quit my job and become a professional author. Thank you all so much for your thoughts, your messages, your support, and enjoying the series as much as I do!
Second, I have to thank my husband because, seriously, that man is the only reason I remember to feed myself. He’s done everything for me while I scramble to get books published. The real secret behind Lana is my hubby. He might not wear a cut—and I hope never wants a motorcycle—but he’s just as much a hero to me.
Third, my beta readers and partners in crime—Kelley Harvey and Winter Renshaw. You guys are always so eager to help, calm me down, and figure out this crazy indie world. Thank you so much for procrastinating with me. ;)
So, I hope all of you are ready for more books! I have something super special planned for February 2016…a super sexy BDSM trilogy with a lot of suspense. For all the details…
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Thank you guys!
Rose
For so long I wanted nothing more than to escape the Anathema MC.
One mistake and suddenly I’m in deeper than I ever thought, a pawn in a war where I don’t belong, and the bait for a warlord more dangerous and more tempting than any man I ever met.
Too many secrets plague the Anathema MC, too many traitors and lies and
deadly consequences.
And they all begin with me…
Warlord (Anathema Series)
Copyright © 2014 by Lana Grayson
Published by Lana Grayson
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design: Rebecca Berto
http://bertodesigns.com/
Cover Images Purchased from: http://depositphotos.com
Exiled- Book Two
Knight- Book Three
“I swear, this is the last time I’ll ever ask to borrow money.”
I hated saying it, but I asked in such a caffeine-fueled rush maybe the plea sounded innocent. More like a business venture and less like measured desperation.
I stared at the chipped table, praying the other patrons in the diner couldn’t hear the conversation over their chewing. For once, Dominic’s rubbery chicken and crusty eggs might’ve been a godsend. With my brothers shadowing the restaurant, our usual crowd didn’t have the courage to approach me with complaints about the food. No one came near us.
Or even looked at us.
My coworkers cowered in the kitchen. Only the bravest waitress snuck outside to snap a picture of the Harleys parked under the glow of the street light.
But that didn’t mean they weren’t listening. The grinding of our out-of-tune jukebox couldn’t muffle the fading optimism in my voice. The garbled Bon Jovi song skipped into unrepentant silence.
Everyone watched me ask the leather-bound, tattooed, hulking men for money.
They probably thought it was dangerous. They were right.
Keep and Brew let me talk. I tongue-tied my way through the conversation, tripping over my request and rambling through my shattered pride with wavering coherency. For the first time, my brothers didn’t have a smart-ass response. They didn’t interject with some charming, I-told-you-so smirk. For years I wanted them to just listen to me.
And, now, when life gave me only the sour lemon rinds, I finally had their attention.
They knew it too. I had no other reason to invite them to the diner after six months of radio silence. Six months of avoiding motorcycles. Tattoos. I even switched tables when anyone wearing more leather than a wallet claimed a seat in the restaurant.
I asked for help, and everything I worked so hard to create smote into road cinders only to be brushed off their worn leather. The emblem stitched on the back of their vests didn’t belong in
my life. The scarred demon dual-wielding swords hadn’t haunted me for months.
I knew a mistake when I made one. Luckily, this would be my last. With their help, I’d finally make my way to the top—of the world, of the charts, it didn’t matter. I had a plan. Things were going to be different. Better. Good.
“So the hipster coffee house was very trendy.” I sighed as my brothers shifted. I might have invited them to the gig, but a vegan cafe was no place for the leather-bound men. “And I met this sweetheart violinist. We played at a fundraiser. Over the weekend I signed on for two events.”
The jukebox screeched into silence. Neither of my brothers spoke.
“This audition is a really good opportunity.” I twirled a fork without looking up, tapping a quick beat against a shredded napkin. “It’s a nice music club. Like, they have poetry readings and book signings and jazz sets. If I get the gig, I could do some acoustic nights.”
Brew frowned. Keep exhaled. The same reactions Dad gave when I talked about breaking into music. I hated that they looked so much like him, especially as they got older. Keep had the decency to shave his hair, but Brew let his grow long and welcomed the gray around his temples. Each year silvered another couple hairs, but I was just glad Brew still had a head to salt-and-pepper. The Anathema MC took enough men before they hit their late thirties.
“You need money for this audition?” Keep’s voice edged hard, more Axl Rose than Eric Clapton. His familiar baritone shadowed with impatience. “Bud, it ain’t a job if you got to pay for it.”
“Please don’t call me Bud.”
“Why not?”
The fork clattered onto the table. I didn’t bother picking it up. “That was Dad’s nickname for me.”
Brew snorted. “So none of us can use it?”
“I don’t want a handle.” I pointed to the tag on my little dress. “I’ve earned my real name.”
“Fine, Rose. Tell me why we gotta front the money for you to get this gig.”