by Lana Grayson
The gun aimed.
“Odd,” Darius murmured. “You’d sacrifice yourself for this Atwood.”
I shouted, shoving past Reed and diving in front of Max. Nicholas captured me in his arms, but not before my plea stalled Darius’s tensing finger on the trigger.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Please, don’t!” My nails dug into Nicholas’s arms. “I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t hurt them!”
“Somehow, I doubt you’ll do whatever I want. Tempting though, child.”
“I swear it. Please. Let them all go.”
“Christ, you are a little whore. Are all three of my sons that taken with your cunt?”
“Leave them out of this? If you’re going to rape me, then just do it and get it over with.”
“How romantic, child.”
“What the hell do you want?” I spat.
Reed called to me, his voice hard. “Sarah, shut up.”
Darius waved Reed into silence. “No, she’s free to ask. It’s a simple question. Do you know want I’ve wanted ever since we first invited Sarah into our home?”
I answered for them. “My heir.”
“That’s right. And I trusted my sons to do as they were meant to do. Three men, three chances for success.” He raised the gun as his smile twisted. “I have a third proposition.”
Oh God.
Nicholas tightened his arm over me, pulling me into his embrace.
It wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough.
Nothing he did or said or offered would ever be enough to prevent what Darius planned to happen.
“My sons will take responsibility for this family. They will do what must be done to save it.”
He extended his hand for me.
It was either his touch or the bullet.
I didn’t fear for my blood, not while Nicholas held me, Reed protected me, and Max already crumpled to the ground in his own attempt to save me.
They were spared, but they weren’t yet saved. That was up to me.
I approached Darius too slowly for his liking. He tisked his tongue, seizing my hair and slamming me against him. The thin dress never stopped him before. He ripped through the neckline and dropped the tattered material to the floor.
My step-brothers swore.
I didn’t.
I forced myself into silence.
How was this any different from what already happened?
Nothing had changed. Not the exposure or humiliation. Not the dread poisoning my body or the tremors threatening my resolve.
Darius Bennett had already captured me. Then, I braved any illicit touch or pain to defend the false memory of my father. This time, I’d protect ones who deserved it. A real family. Men who risked everything to save me only to have the danger pointed at their temples.
Darius could do nothing to me he hadn’t previously done. If he still believed I could deliver him an heir, all the better.
I offered my body once.
I’d do it again to save my step-brothers, the only real family I had left.
The gun pressed under my chin. He reached into his jacket.
“I didn’t forget what day this was.” He removed the syringe from his pocket and showed it to me. The needle was far larger than the previous fertility injections. I tensed as he used his teeth to remove the cap and spit it away. “This is a momentous occasion. Do you know what this injection does?”
Yes, but I didn’t answer.
“It induces ovulation,” he said.
His hand brushed my stomach, gripping the flatness he deluded himself into believing would eventually grow.
“You’re ready now, my dear.” He ripped my hair, but his voice softened too much for the threat of the needle and the fist gripping my panties. He shoved them down, but they didn’t come all the way off. That shamed me more. The strewn panties and ripped bra were worse than nudity. Darius exposed only what they needed. Only what they’d take.
Only what he meant to hurt.
And he wanted them to hurt me. Though Darius Bennett didn’t care what happened to me or my body, Nicholas, Max, and Reed did. They refused, willing to take a bullet over causing me pain.
But that wouldn’t save any of us.
Or them.
“It’s okay.” My voice broke as I comforted them for the evils they’d do to me. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but I made the choice for them. Darius twisted my hip and aimed the injection. I winced as the needle plunged too hard and too fast into the fleshiest part of my thigh. The medication burned.
Darius tossed the syringe to the ground. He yanked my hair to keep me still.
“You’ve had three months to impregnate her, sons, but maybe you aren’t doing it right. So listen to your father while he explains. This is your whore.” He pointed the gun too close to the crest between my legs. “This is where you fuck. And now, all three of you are going to do your part for this family right now, do you understand?”
Three men.
My stomach heaved.
I wasn’t ready for this.
There wouldn’t be any kind words, soft touches, or sensual teasing. My body wouldn’t warm in submission without understanding why I offered myself to them. It wouldn’t be fun or loving or a treat like what Nicholas had planned for me that night in the theater.
Reed paled. Max didn’t look at me.
But Nicholas?
He stared at me.
Permission. A reason to do it. An apology.
I didn’t look away. “I trust you.”
I had to.
Three men. I could handle three men.
These men.
If it meant saving our lives, even if it protected us for only a few hours, it was worth the sacrifice, no matter how reckless.
I submitted if only to survive.
I submitted to save them.
Darius tossed me to the ground, the gun aiming only inches from my head. I cowered before my step-brothers, flinching as his voice rasped with perverted authority and chilling composure.
“Who’s first?”
18
Nicholas
The gun pointed at Sarah’s head.
“Your turn, son,” my father said. “Don’t worry. She’s warmed up for you.”
The barrel nudged her temple.
Her voice shifted after Reed and Max seized her.
No more promises of trust. No more comforting murmurs.
Sarah repeated only three words through gritted teeth.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
And I believed her.
The bindings cut off circulation to my wrists.
That didn’t stop me from fighting the leather until I bled. I deserved it.
I deserved worse.
The balcony laced with the iron scent of struggle and the chill of captivity. My father wasn’t satisfied with just hurting the girl.
Through hoarse, pained breaths, Sarah bound our hands with the straps Max kept in the chest within his bedroom. The leather tightened as the gun cracked against her temple.
She’d collapsed. My father hauled her limp body over his shoulder.
And then they were gone.
Max thrashed against the balcony. His struggles did little to loosen the cuffs securing our hands to the railing. He battered his body until he was black and blue. It didn’t free him. I doubted he cared. He meant to punish himself.
We all did.
Reed strained against the railing, as though he could rip the very pillar from the balcony and free himself.
“I hurt her.” He repeated it too many times through clenched teeth. Tears wetted his cheeks. He twisted his wrist and swore as his fingers ground against the restraints. His finger cracked with a sharp pop. He didn’t react. “Nick, I tried to be quick. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
He sought comfort.
He was my brother, and I should have comforted him.
I said nothing.
The leather bound my
wrists the tightest. The last to hurt her, the last to be bound. My father watched as she twisted the straps and offered me no leniency. No tricks.
And yet he still punished her.
The minutes passed too quickly. We lost time trapped within the horrors of our cruelty and the skin-slicing bindings that lashed us to the balcony railing.
We watched as he held her.
Stole her.
Carried her away.
I didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to her once they were alone.
I prayed Sarah wouldn’t regain consciousness until it was done.
But life as a Bennett taught me optimism only encouraged the foolish to hope and the lazy to let opportunity pass. This was an opportunity my father would eagerly receive.
He’d wait until she woke up.
And what we did—what he made us do—would be little more than a prelude to the real horror.
The straps bit into my wrist, deeper and deeper with every sickening twist of the flimsy, worthless scrap of material that prevented me from rushing after her.
Were the cuffs any different from a gun? The leather bound me in place just like the threat of the bullet.
I had a dozen regrets. Suffered a hundred haunting memories. Tasted a thousand unscreamed words. But the eternity of moments frozen in endless pain would forever destroy me.
A bullet would have been nothing compared to this pain.
Unless it aimed at her.
My life, my fortune, my everything deserved a bloody, bullet-riddled death, but only once Sarah Atwood was safe and comforted, rested and soothed.
Healed.
If she could ever be healed.
Maybe my father had killed me. No hell existed that would torment me more, and no greater devil existed than the man who forced me to prove my love by exploiting her innocence with such terrible violence.
Until now, I hadn’t been an evil man.
Until now, I hadn’t committed a crime.
Until now, I wasn’t a bloodthirsty and unrepentant killer.
My father taught me to act like him. Speak like him. Rule like him. And for twenty-nine years of my life, I mindlessly obeyed.
Then I was given Sarah Atwood.
I was born not to emulate a tyrant but to end its reign.
Rage.
A fury as quick as flame and desperate as starvation stole the stillness which composed my thoughts. The fury filled me with a disjointed and eager thirst for pain. My father spent his life grooming me to become him. This would be my first, only, and last refusal.
Before the sun rose, I would reject everything my father was, everything he expected I’d become, and everything he had trained me to accept as my responsibility as heir.
It took a lifetime to break the bindings which shackled me to the path my father chose for me. It’d take only one vile moment of destruction to end it for good.
Max panted, sweated, and swore.
“What the fuck do we do?” He slammed his hands against the cement. “Reed, you out?”
Reed’s voice hollowed. “Does it fucking look like it?”
“You even trying?”
The restraints prevented Reed from lunging and ripping out Max’s throat. “You son of a bitch—”
“I was just fucking asking!”
“Who the fuck keeps this type of bondage shit in their house?”
I wiggled a finger, tucking it into my palm. The leather slipped.
“Thought you were interested, little brother? Thought you wanted to learn the rough stuff.”
Reed spat on the ground. “You didn’t get enough of that shit tonight? Should we call Dad back? Make me hold her down for you again—”
“Jesus Christ, what the hell do you want? Think I knew what he was planning? Think one day I figured I should buy some restraints in case Dad bound us to the balcony after forcing us to rape our fucking sister?”
Reed jerked his arms. “Never should have done it.”
“You did.”
“Fuck you.”
Max swore. “Nothing we can do about it now, can we? Jesus, we knew it would end like this. Every goddamned day we held a knife to her throat. Now you’re upset when it slips?”
The leather yielded. I tugged against the twisted straps. Blood seeped over my fingers. It only aided my escape.
“We hurt her,” Reed said.
Max frowned. “At least she’s still alive.”
“Yeah, but who knows how badly that will fuck with her.”
“She’s still breathing.”
“We hurt her.”
“Holy Christ, she still has it better than the other Atwoods, doesn’t she?” Max thrashed a final time, popping his shoulder and bracing the wrong leg to force his freedom. “At least she’s alive to try to fight him off.”
The guilt added another layer of weight to the bindings. I leaned forward, straining as my wrist ground against the cuffs. My jaw clenched, and, with a scraping of my flesh, the leather released me. I shook off the ache and tended to my other wrist. Reed whooped in excitement.
“I’ve almost got it,” he said. “Get my left hand.”
I was free.
My mind abandoned all coherent thought, and my every imagined vision tainted with blood and retribution. Rage and insanity and numbing fear nearly cast me from my brothers in desperate chase to find my father before he hurt Sarah or decided she wasn’t worth the risk to the company.
But selfish vengeance led only to mistakes.
Sarah learned that first-hand.
I gritted my teeth and aimed for Reed, ripping through the binding on his bruised and swollen wrists. He bolted from the railing and helped tear the leather from Max.
But Max stilled. He stared at me.
“We have to tell her.”
“Save the confessions.” I pulled the restraint from his hands and pitched it across the balcony. “She needs our help, not our burdens.”
“It’ll be your burden too. If you still think you can save her from Dad and get her away from all of this, you’ll have to tell her.”
“I won’t.”
“How can you say you love her?”
I grabbed his shirt, hauling him to his feet only to slam him against the sliding glass door. The pane trembled, and the splintered glass from the bullet cracked behind his back.
“Because I love her. I’m sparing her that pain.”
“Bullshit. You’re afraid to lose her.”
Yes.
More than afraid.
Terrified.
Max baited me with a truth that would destroy Sarah Atwood in complete and total betrayal.
“When are you going to tell her that we killed her brothers?” Max growled.
My voice hardened. “We?”
“You son of a bitch. You’re just as responsible as me.”
“Am I?”
Max pushed away. “Dad didn’t tell me what I was doing or whose plane it was. He said it was important to the family, that I was the only one he trusted to do it.” His breathing cracked with what might have been a sob. But Max never allowed anything beyond darkness into his thoughts. “I wanted to prove myself to him. I didn’t question it. I just…did it.”
Reed pulled me back, letting Max free. “Sarah can’t know. It’ll kill her. You saw her after his home movies. She loved her brothers. You tell her, and God only knows what she’ll do.”
That was easy to imagine.
“She’ll destroy the Bennett Corporation.” And me.
“That’s if she doesn’t decide to do that after tonight,” Reed said.
Max slammed against the door, locked from the inside. He hit the glass with his bare hand, punching where the webbing cracks slipped from the bullet hole. We didn’t have time to waste.
My kick aimed for a stretching crack. It shattered the door and scattered the glass.
“Let’s hope she survives the night,” Max said. “What’s your plan?”
I checked the time on my phone. No cal
ls, no texts, but I hadn’t expected my father to contact me.
Not if he had more important things occupying his time.
“We’re going after them.” I zipped the leather jacket. “And we bring Sarah back by any means necessary.”
Max frowned. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“What if it gets bloody?”
I didn’t expect the word to ever cross my lips, let alone taste as delicious as the coppery tang.
“Good.”
Max nodded. He pulled a key from his pocket and led us to his gun cabinet. He handed me a .45 and ammunition. He dropped a second into Reed’s palm. He stilled.
“Will you be able to pull a trigger?” Max stared at us. “Dad left this type of bullshit to me in the past. Doubt either of you ever got your hands dirty.”
It was the truth. My father ordered a distinct segregation for his sons, a set role each of us fulfilled. And, like mindless little minions, we eagerly met his every expectation.
Not anymore.
My father raised Nicholas Bennett as his protégé, a groomed mimicry that served only as an extension of his greed and black ambition. With every swipe of the crop and every rigorous anticipation of behavior and skill, I learned.
I was Darius Bennett’s heir, but I wouldn’t become my father.
I’d become his complete and total opposition.
But my courage built at the expense of the blood, virtue, and pride of an innocent woman. It would be the last time Sarah Atwood saved me from myself.
I tucked the gun in my jacket. Reed did the same. Max nodded.
My brothers followed as I stormed from the penthouse.
“Head to the estate. Split up when we arrive. Don’t hesitate to shoot.” I hated thinking it. “He won’t hesitate to kill you.”
Or me.
With Sarah under his control, my father didn’t have a need for us. If he raped and impregnated her, his heir would not only assume power over the Bennett Corporation, but he would own rights to Atwood Industries as well.
And that lusted power lured my father into a state of obsession so dangerous even if Sarah had revealed her secret—even if she tried to wield her infertility as a way to prevent his violence—he wouldn’t have cared. He’d have taken his chance and tried anyway.