Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  I’d hurt soon.

  It didn’t scare me.

  Max tugged the belt from my neck, his fingers rubbed where the leather had bruised.

  “You won’t regret this, baby,” he said between harsh breaths. “Nick’s got a plan. If it works, my father won’t ever harm you again.”

  “But you will.”

  “I’ll have to.”

  I briefly touched his hand, but the intimacy frightened me more than anything Darius might have done. I looked down, seizing the moment of submission, the control he so desired over me.

  The control all the Bennetts wished they had.

  “Do this for us,” he whispered. “Let us take you and accept what happens to your body. You’ll earn your revenge over my father.”

  I already had it.

  Nicholas secured it for me. If I survived, I could have it all. I’d win.

  And, while I waited, my step-brothers promised me the pleasure of a lifetime.

  “I’ll help you,” I said. “However I can.”

  My conscience prickled. I ignored it as Max hiked me in his arms to carry me to my room. He grunted against his leg, but I admired his determination. The injury should have slowed him, just like my asthma complicated everything. But Max wouldn’t let an illness or injury define him. I knew the feeling.

  He didn’t hide his limp.

  Christ. He trusted me.

  Who was making the worse decision—me or my stepbrothers? I only hoped I’d earn their forgiveness as easily as their trust, if only so I’d live to see the end of this madness.

  But deception was the only way to survive. Until I could punish Darius, see him rot in jail, and watch him suffer at the hands of his eldest son, I’d have to keep my secrets from my step-brothers.

  But mine wasn’t a secret that would stay hidden for long.

  18

  Nicholas

  My brother was a dead man.

  I crashed through his doors, cracking the frame against the heel of my hand. The bone might have splintered as much as the wood. I didn’t care.

  Max possessed an animalistic strength, but he wasn’t quick. I hauled him from a chair and jerked him enough to unbalance his good leg. His glass of whiskey shattered against the floor.

  I slammed him into the wall and cursed.

  “The fuck is wrong with you?” Max swung at me.

  I wasn’t as easy a target as the girl. I dodged, shoving my forearm into his throat. Max grimaced, but he ceased struggling.

  “Get your shit together.” He held my stare. “And get your fucking hands off of me.”

  “Did you hurt her?”

  “What?”

  I pressed harder. “Did you hurt her?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Max hissed.

  I let him up, watching with mindless satisfaction as he rubbed the soreness from his neck—not unlike the leash he strapped over hers.

  The belt had bitten into Sarah’s pale skin. She’d be bruised for days.

  Everywhere. Her back. Her neck. Her entire body.

  Wherever Max touched, blood followed. Bruises, broken bones, threats, anger, violence.

  And Sarah endured it all.

  “Answer the question,” I said, before imagining her pain drove me insane. “Did you hurt her?”

  “You saw what I did. Take a wild guess.”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  Now he laughed. “Holy shit, Nick. What the hell broke in your head?”

  “I won’t ask again.”

  Max ignored me. He limped—more noticeably than usual—to the muted TV. The World War II documentary shut off. A half bottle of whiskey rested on the table. He poured another drink. As if he hadn’t already damaged his leg, Max worked each night to destroy his liver as well.

  “You’re losing it over an Atwood.” Max offered me a tumbler. I declined. “Not even the right one. She never should have gotten involved in this.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We need her.”

  “Some of us more than others.”

  “Did you traumatize her?”

  “Probably.”

  I exhaled instead of swearing. No sense revealing more of my aggravation, not when I already threatened my brother with the same physical violence he inflicted on the girl.

  “I had her. It was under control.” My voice lowered. “I tamed her.”

  Max snorted. “You never had her.”

  I expected the challenge from Sarah, not my brother. He clinked an ice cube in his drink.

  “None of us have her,” he said. “She’s got something she’s hiding. Thinks she’s untouchable. She says one thing, believes another, and defies us with every breath she takes.” He sipped the whiskey. “Any punishment that happens is her own damn fault. She’ll be lucky to survive.”

  I knocked the glass from his hand.

  “She has to survive!”

  Max wasn’t deterred. He drank straight from the bottle instead.

  “Get some perspective,” he warned. “Either have a drink or get the hell out of the house. If he sees you like this—”

  I growled. “Like what?”

  “Like you care about what happens to her.”

  “Of course I care! Everything hinges on her. Our wealth. Our company.”

  “Then why are you worried? Between what Dad did and what I finished, she’s not going anywhere. She’s probably sleeping it off now.”

  I didn’t dare imagine it. Just the possibility rent my mind. The beating was savage, and Max’s punishment severe.

  What happened after?

  The softness I claimed during the night might have been defiled.

  She might have screamed instead of moaned. Bled instead of warmed. Cried instead of experiencing the crested bliss she deserved.

  I told her to stay in her room.

  Why the hell hadn’t she listened to me?

  “She learned her lesson,” Max said. “She’s not tame. Not yet. But she won’t cause problems.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When I got her on her knees, I made a deal.”

  I didn’t get blood on my suits. He was fortunate. I said nothing.

  “I told her I’d keep her safe if she lays low, lets things happen, gives in to us,” Max said. “She agreed.”

  “You’ll keep her safe?”

  “You want Dad beating her? He knows what I like. He’ll give her to me. Let me rough her up when she gets it in her head to fight us.”

  “So you’ll be the one to abuse her.”

  “The only one to discipline her.” He saluted me with the bottle. “Come on, Nick. This is why Dad keeps me around. I inflict the pain. Our little sister will learn pretty fucking quick how to behave, and if it gets her the fuck away from Dad? I count that as a win.”

  “Until you hurt her.”

  “She was always going to get hurt.”

  I didn’t answer. Max frowned. He leaned forward, balancing the whiskey on his bad leg. The alcohol gave him too much courage and not enough common sense.

  “This isn’t about me.” His laugh grated against the sudden silence of his suite. “Jesus, Nick. Are you fucking jealous?”

  The conversation wasn’t productive. “Sober up.”

  “We’re not done.” Max lurched to his feet, preventing my exit. He stepped too close, stared at little too hard. “You come into my room. Slam me against the wall. Fight. You answer my goddamned question.”

  “I don’t have to answer to you.”

  Max laughed. “No. You never did, did you?”

  “Why should I?”

  “You’re absolutely right.” He extended his arms. “You. Nicholas. The eldest son. The heir. The future of the Bennett Corporation. Who am I to you?”

  The drink held him. It wasn’t my brother talking.

  Then again, I wasn’t feeling much like myself either.

  “This is fucking amazing,” Max said. “I’ve spent twenty-seven years living in your goddamned shadow. Who the fuck would have
thought that you, of all people, would be jealous of Darius Bennett’s crippled son?”

  “You aren’t crippled.”

  “Might as well be.” Max slammed a hand against his leg. It hurt him. He was too drunk to care. “We all have our roles to play, Nick. You’re the heir, the company is yours. I was supposed to enroll at West Point. Make the family look good and serve the country. I was born just to take the heat off of you when our billions bribed whatever goddamned politician we chose.” He shrugged. “It didn’t happen that way, and Dad’s never let me forget it. And neither will you.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “And you’ve always believed you were better than me.”

  I said nothing.

  “All those deals you created and friends you made and negotiations you settled and companies you acquired…” Max coughed over a swig of his drink. “Who wouldn’t be impressed? But what about the men we bribed? Those guys I had to scare. The blood I spilled? Who did that for you? Who stained their soul for you? Who is the one son-of-a-bitch who took that fall so you would be…praised.”

  “We do everything for this family,” I said. “I’ve always done everything for this family.”

  “You thought she’d be yours.”

  I stilled. Max edged closer. “You thought you could organize this takeover yourself. Kidnap the girl. Steal her fortune, company, and body. You’d get it all if you could just control the girl.” He snickered. “And you can’t.”

  “I will.”

  “You know what the best part of all this is?” Max asked.

  “I suppose you’ll tell me.”

  “I’ve spent my every waking moment working for this family so you could benefit, and I’ve never once complained.” He laughed. “You’re the one who told me to do this to Sarah Atwood. You’re the one who said she had to be fucked and bred. We had to make a goddamned bastard child so we could claim her company and save our asses. Reed bitched. I told you it was dangerous. But you…” He pointed to his broken door. “You rush into my room and accuse me of hurting the girl when I was just doing what you asked of me, like I always do.”

  And if he knew why, we’d all be in danger. He was right. My father didn’t need a reason to cast off the weak. Originally, I made the sacrifice and resigned myself to the crime. I accepted that the beautiful girl trapped in her room would be raped, again and again, until our satisfaction grew within her womb.

  And now?

  Max stared at me. “Listen to me, Nick. I’m not gonna challenge you. And I’ll do whatever vile and bloody crime this family requires. But…” His smile bared teeth. “Sarah will give us her son. That child will become the newest generation of the Bennett family.”

  Max leaned close. “I’m not going to stop until I’m sure that Sarah Atwood’s bastard is mine. You can have the company. The glory. The fame. None of it will matter because it will be my son who takes it from you. And Christ, that’ll fucking eat you alive.”

  Never.

  I didn’t answer him. It didn’t deserve an answer. It would never be answered.

  I slammed the door behind me.

  My brother presumed to take what was mine?

  Unacceptable.

  Sarah Atwood belonged to me. Her body. Her submission. Her womb. Everything.

  I shouldn’t have gone to her, not raging from my brother’s insubordination. Not so soon after Max had parted from her.

  It was selfish, even to learn if she was safe, see if she had been harmed, and know if she were frightened.

  My motivations weren’t honorable.

  I didn’t act to protect her. I hunted her only to ensure she’d survived. And I’d rescue her—if only to become the man who’d ultimately break her.

  I had no idea what I’d find in her room.

  A terrified woman.

  A beaten and broken girl.

  An armed and violent Atwood diving for my jugular.

  I entered and found nothing.

  Her bedroom was dark, the bed unmade and a pile of tattered clothing tossed haphazardly in the garbage. A robe rested over the blankets.

  The bathroom door pulled up, but the steam escaped from the sliver she forgot to close. The shower pattered inside. I edged open the door. The heat clouded my already sickened mind. Thick, rolling fog permeated everything, concealing tiles and mirrors and obscuring everything that might have revealed me.

  She waited in the heat, trapped in the thick air and wrapped in a soft cocoon of quiet. Peace that I eagerly shattered.

  Whatever had happened hadn’t broken her.

  She hummed a soft song, and the heavy steam carried a creamy, fruit-kissed scent that watered my mouth as though I had already seized a bite of her. I cast off my jacket. Slipped the tie from around my neck.

  Her cough stilled my heart. The rasp was too harsh for her delicate frame.

  All rational thought dissolved within the steam and swirling heat. I pushed the door aside and captured Sarah’s scream with a clapped hand over her lips.

  She flailed, but I pinned her chest to the wall and drove my body against hers, trapping her between the marble tile and pulsing shower.

  The water practically scalded me. I didn’t care. The suit clung to my shoulders, and the heavy press of my pants ached with the raging hardness that came alive within sight of Sarah, naked and dripping.

  I had her in my grasp, exposed for my inspection.

  Her body flushed in the heat, but not enough. Thick welts damaged the perfection of her skin. Jarring bruises jutted over her side and ribs from the pool cue so expertly aimed by my father. Hidden beneath the pale blonde locks of her hair, her creamy neck blossomed with a sinister mark.

  My brother hadn’t even removed the belt when he fucked her.

  Sarah Atwood called the Bennetts mad.

  The truth must have hurt as much as her punishment.

  The marks on her skin, the heat of the shower, and her pale blue eyes would drown me in savagery. Her knees scuffed with carpet burns. I imagined her under Max. He took her like a barbarian.

  He took her how I longed to take her.

  Every inch of her perfection and every marred bruise and scratch enraged me. I turned her around, revealing her beautiful chest, flattened belly, and the soft silk between her legs. She hadn’t been spared. A single lash looped over a raspberry pink nipple.

  What had he done to her?

  “Nicholas, leave me alone.”

  She dared to take that tone? She hoped a little pout and hardening her timid voice would deter me from utter perfection?

  I grasped her cheek, tangled my hand in her hair, and dipped her head for my kiss.

  I wouldn’t permit her to give me an order, and I’d steal her last breath just to taste how valiantly she fought against me.

  “Were you harmed?” I grunted as she pushed my chest. She arched, but it only exposed her neck. I dove, nipping at the spreading bruises staining her paleness.

  “Harmed?” She groaned against my lips. “He beat me.”

  “Did he…hurt you?”

  She swallowed. “You know better than to ask me that.”

  Yes. He hurt her. I watched him beat her. I watched as she struggled against the strike of leather against her flesh.

  Of course that hurt her.

  It wasn’t my question.

  “No,” I whispered. “What did he do to you?”

  Her eyebrow rose, a perfect peak that tempted and challenged.

  “You mean when you left me with Max? When you abandoned me for my punishment?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you can guess.”

  “I’m not guessing. You will tell me.” I heaved a frustrated breath as she quieted. I didn’t recognize my voice. I didn’t recognize the words. “Please, tell me what he did to you.”

  “Before or after he fucked me?”

  Rage.

  The fiery blindness of gut-wrenching rage flashed in my vision and stole every chill from my body. I erupted in heat and
molten agony.

  Max called it jealousy.

  It wasn’t.

  This was something more primal than jealousy. It was need. Obsession. A staked territory and an intrusion of the most mortal mistake.

  I launched at Sarah, grasping her injuries and her curves, her softness and the aching slit she could no longer hide from me. She weighed nothing. I lifted her against the wall and edged between her thighs. I threatened her with my lust and forced her legs to wrap over my waist.

  Sarah’s hands tangled in my shirt. I should have ripped the damn thing off. I didn’t need clothes anymore. Why would I ever barricade myself from the woman writhing against me? She arched for me, murmuring my name. I grasped for my zipper and struck her silken slit with a knuckle.

  It wasn’t only her desire that slickened her.

  A primitive fury clawed at me. Max came inside of her.

  “You’re mine,” I growled. “Don’t forget that, Sarah Atwood. You belong to me.”

  “Are you sure?” She whispered.

  She tempted a fate she’d never escape. I tensed. “What did he do to you?”

  “You can figure it out.”

  “Did you come?”

  Her expression shifted. The pink kissed her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

  “He didn’t hurt me.”

  “Wasn’t my question.”

  My cock released from my pants. She panted for it. I licked her bottom lip.

  “Tell me if you came on him.”

  She gripped me tighter. “You don’t deserve to know, Nicholas Bennett.”

  It was like she got off on challenging me. Like she didn’t understand the game she played or how desperately foolish her resistance would be.

  I didn’t give her a reprieve. I didn’t ask if she were ready. I didn’t even grant her a moment to adjust.

  I slammed inside of her, taking every last inch of the body my brother tried to claim.

  She arched, scratching at me in the pitted heat of my aggression. Her moan shrilled, but the pounding water and closed doors of the estate would prevent anyone from hearing how she cried my name.

  Her tightness gripped me. Her heat drowned me. Her slickness infuriated me. My brother didn’t deserve to take root within the sanctity of her body. I thrust hard. Instinctual. Demanding. Each forceful push and deliberate pull cleansed her of the past moments and centered her completely on me.