Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  I feared I’d vomit, but I refused my body that relief. That weakness would remain hidden.

  The darkness crept within the room, soundless and invasive. It’d swallow these crimes and trap me between memory and reality once more. His eyes pinned me. I imagined them a dark and dank pit that stole my virtue, innocence, and dignity.

  And once more I’d climb from that hole.

  When would it become a grave?

  Darius claimed the wingback before the fireplace. He sat as if it were a throne, surveying the kingdom of hell resting between sheets that would be torn and tangled, bloodied and dampened with his sweat and my tears.

  I wouldn’t let him do it again.

  He promised to hurt me. He had. He lusted for my pride. He took it. He desired my heir.

  He made it.

  And I denied it. I hated myself for even considering it.

  But I no longer remembered my passionate, loving, unifying embrace with Nicholas. That night crippled me with darkness, the utter helplessness when all control, power, and dignity were stripped from me in the pounded pleasure of a man who lusted for my cries.

  I wanted the baby to belong to Nicholas.

  But I feared Darius’s determination.

  I’d be damned if either Bennett caused my son harm. I fed off the surge of adrenaline, of my fierce devotion to the idea of the child. I once warned Nicholas how dangerous I’d become if they succeeded. And now they’d see it. True wrath. Absolute rage.

  Righteous bloodshed.

  A mother protecting her child.

  A woman defending her honor.

  A soul seeking revenge.

  Darius expected me to cower. I expected him to bleed.

  “Remove your clothes, my dear.”

  “No.”

  He tolerated my resistance. I anticipated his lust.

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “And I’m telling you no.”

  “It isn’t wise to disobey your father,” he warned.

  “And it’s equally dangerous to touch me.”

  “Then run, little one. Run and cry for help. It won’t take me long to find you again, and you’ll regret every second of your disobedience.”

  That I believed.

  Darius sat entirely too still, as stone-faced and imposing as Nicholas. His suit jacket removed, but he hadn’t unbuttoned his cuffs. Not yet. Not while he crossed his legs and talked to me about his desires. But his palms folded. An impatient gesture, but hardly the crack against the cheek I’d earned before.

  He’d punish me emotionally, cripple me mentally, or abuse me in sick and perverted ways. I once thought him insane. That was wrong. Darius Bennett controlled his every action. What he did to me, he planned. Rigorously. Deliberately. Almost…religiously.

  Now I understood him, but realizing his thoughts, urges, and animalistic perversions disgusted me more than his hands over my bare flesh.

  “What do you want?” I dug my fingers into the comforter.

  Dark sheets. Just like Nicholas.

  Not like Nicholas.

  “I thought it would be obvious?”

  “You’re not raping me again.”

  “I had hoped it would be more pleasant this time.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  “The tired insults wear on me. I won’t ask you again.”

  “You won’t rape me.”

  “Clothes off, Sarah.”

  “No.”

  What should have screamed, proud and vindicated, sneered through a long-festering anger. I faced a demon without a cross, and I had no more prayers to save me from the evil that already invaded my core. The devil desired a second indulgence.

  If he hurt me, hit me, raped me, I didn’t know what would happen. I endured it before, but I wasn’t as weak then. Not as tired, not as…fragile.

  I didn’t fear for me, and that made it worse. I had to protect the baby.

  “You try my patience,” Darius said.

  “Get used to it.”

  “You’ve always been a trial of my tolerance. I don’t allow my children to misbehave.”

  “I’m not your child.”

  “Regardless of what you believe, of what Nicholas has told you, I’ve laid more a claim to you than any of my sons. You belong to me now, Sarah. I will not be spoken to with such disrespect.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  The words twitched his eyebrow as though I were the first to dare insult his pride with such vulgarity. He stood to unbutton his cuffs.

  It didn’t worry me as much as the belt he unraveled from his trousers. He hadn’t swung the leather, only looped it within his hands.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  “And you were so eager to hold me down before.”

  “Don’t test me, my dear.”

  “If you think I would willingly surrender to you—”

  “I do think it.”

  He moved quickly, gripping my arm and lurching me to my feet. The sudden rise nauseated me. He’d deserve it if I threw up on him.

  But it’d only get me hit.

  The belt tightened in his grip. It didn’t strike.

  “Remove your clothing.”

  He didn’t hit me.

  He didn’t hurt me.

  He threatened me, but after months of his abuses, words weren’t as frightening as his punishments. My pulse quickened.

  I was right. He suspected the pregnancy.

  Somehow, someway, he read it in my escape, saw it in my behavior at the art gallery.

  But he hadn’t said it, and I hadn’t admitted it.

  He had no proof, only a hunch that stilled his hand when it would have otherwise struck.

  Darius Bennett could do nothing to me but force me to admit I carried a child.

  He wouldn’t earn that victory. If I had it my way, Darius would go to his grave with the mystery burning his soul, and the truth would die with him. I’d forever swear the child belonged to Nicholas—even if I lied to myself until the day I died.

  I had nothing to use as a weapon in his bedroom, but I remembered the nooks and crannies of the estate. Knives in the kitchen, hunting guns in the basement game room. First I’d find a weapon…and then?

  I had just witnessed the murders of two men. The blood of two human beings had been spilled at my feet. Murder disgusted me—especially as my life wavered so often on a hitched breath and the mercy of modern medicine. Dad was a horrid man, but he taught me to defend the name I bore. My honor.

  My family.

  I would kill Darius Bennett, without hesitation this time. Without remorse.

  The belt rose. I met his gaze.

  “Go on. Hit me.”

  He didn’t, but he reached for me, twisting me against his body. The belt rose high into the air.

  He aimed for my stomach.

  We both tensed.

  “Daddy’s waiting, Sarah.”

  For me to strip or confess? One was easier than the other, but not by much. I didn’t want to cower from the belt, but my hands accidentally covered my belly.

  His eyebrow arched.

  It was too much of a tell.

  Now I had no choice.

  Nicholas taught me the value of a concession to an enemy. I curled my fingers in my shirt. Better to delay him than tempt him to strike.

  The shirt landed on the bed. My sports bra hardly contained my swelling chest. Goosebumps prickled my skin.

  “And the pants,” he said.

  They were only pajamas. I wore nothing underneath. I hesitated.

  “Come now, Sarah. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  It was true, and it only made me hate him more. He had seen and touched and tasted me. What difference did it make now?

  I kicked the pants away and stared him in the eye.

  “Don’t be difficult,” he said. “The brassiere as well.”

  The elastic dug into my skin, too small for how my body changed after twelve weeks of pregnancy. My tummy looked no different—s
till naturally thin, especially as my meals had yet to stay down.

  But my chest?

  My breasts were bigger. I pulled the bra off. Though my slit was bared for his inspection once more, my breasts were the part of me I wanted to hide.

  I saw the differences, small as they were. The size. The shape. Even how my once pink nipples began to darken, richer and a bit swollen.

  He last saw them in the dark, grabbed them not to feel but to hurt and reposition me. In the mirror, my body changed. But before Darius? I was just as tiny, frail, and completely immovable as ever.

  I hoped he didn’t notice the changes.

  The belt lowered. He relaxed—too distracted by the sight of his naked step-daughter to realize he shifted close to the bedside lamp. One smash against his head wouldn’t bring the monster down, but it’d give me time to run, hide, find a weapon.

  End it.

  And if I did it naked, so be it. It was better than any of the sundresses Darius laid out for me to wear.

  “Now what?” I asked. “Are you going to rape me again? Hurt me some more? Humiliate me?”

  “I do prefer it when you beg.”

  “Never again.”

  “A hard promise to keep.” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps it isn’t necessary to degrade ourselves this time.”

  “Like it was necessary the first time?”

  “Of course it was. Nicholas thought to hide my daughter from me. You thought you’d escape with all our stock, our future, and our empire in your hands.”

  “You hurt me, and I still have all those things,” I said. “I bet that eats you up inside. I bet you can’t sleep at night knowing the damage I might cause to the Bennett Corporation and name.”

  “I sleep quite well,” Darius leaned too close. “Your warmth satisfied me in many ways, my dear. That memory is a particular favorite.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “And you’re the perfect little whore, aren’t you?”

  I edged away, as if to squirm and not reach for the lamp.

  “I told you I would return for you.” His words menaced, luring me into a time I battled to forget. “You promised you’d be a good girl and wait for me.”

  I would have promised him anything to get free, to push his weight off of me.

  “You should have killed me,” I said.

  “That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

  “You’ll regret it.”

  “Doubtful. In fact, I am eager to try once more. I’ve thought of nothing but our time together since you dared to leave me.” He nuzzled my cheek. “I feared I hurt you, my dear.”

  “You did.”

  His sneer ached deep inside me. “Then you’ve learned not to struggle.”

  “You won’t touch me.”

  Darius unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll do far more than touch.”

  I believed him. My heart thudded too hard against my ribs, and the fear bound me in the thick slowness of a nightmare, wading through the possibilities and terror, endless pain and forsaken happiness.

  I couldn’t let him hurt the baby.

  I had to tell him. Even if he reveled in the victory of his abuses, what was one moment of humiliation now to spare me the horror of his touch once more?

  But what would he do once he learned I was pregnant? What would he do to his sons? The men he hired to ransack my beach house aimed for Max. They tried to kill him.

  The truth terrified me. Darius no longer cared about his own children. Not if he believed he had a new son, a more important son. A child that would inherit everything.

  The security systems blared. Darius swore, distracted. He looked to the bedroom door. It was my only chance. I seized the antique lamp and cracked him over the head, shattering the glass fragments. Darius roared as a gush of blood spurted from his brow.

  It didn’t thrill me. The surge of adrenaline and nausea poisoned me. I ran—naked and terrified—sprinting from the demon’s lair and through the halls of the familiar prison.

  Nicholas shouted from the entry.

  Reed echoed.

  I didn’t hear Max.

  Oh God. What’d happened to Max?

  My steps thudded against the hall, but their voices abruptly silenced. I wound the corner at the top of the grand staircase.

  Darius’s two bodyguards aimed their guns at Nicholas and Reed.

  And my step-brothers steadied their own weapons.

  “Sarah!” Nicholas didn’t take his eyes from the oversized brute pointing the barrel at his forehead. “Get out of here.”

  The instant I rushed down the stairs was the moment I watched men I loved die. I stilled, covering myself from the leers of the two guards.

  Darius seized me, ripping my hair and jerking my arm behind my back. He pushed me forward as if he’d march me down the stairs.

  No.

  Worse.

  He teetered me over the top step, shaking my hair until I twisted, off-balance.

  He’d push me.

  He’d kill me.

  “Sons,” Darius called. “Guns down, boys. No weapons in the house.”

  Nicholas didn’t obey the order. “Let her go.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “You won’t kill her.”

  “Probably not.” Darius proudly displayed my nudity to my step-brothers and the two guards he kept in his employ. “But maybe I’m not trying to kill her.”

  He wouldn’t. He bluffed. His words twisted, and he nodded to the guards.

  “Shoot them.”

  “No!” I fought against his hold.

  He jerked my body over the stairs. I shrieked, but his whisper violated my ear. He teased the words with a victorious smile.

  “I have no need for those sons now, do I?”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “What have you been hiding, my dear?” His voice lowered for only me to hear. “Tell me why you ran away. Why you’ve decided to face me now. Tell me what’s happened to you.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Only once I’m certain that my name, my legacy, will live on in this world. Come now, Sarah. What secret are you keeping from your father?”

  “You are going to die for this, I swear to God—”

  He shook me, nearly losing his hold. “Don’t lie to me. I watched my wife swell with three sons and suffer through two miscarriages. Don’t insult me! Tell me what I want to know or—”

  “You’ll kill me? Try it! Do it, Darius! Kill me if you’re so sure!”

  Nicholas shouted for me. We both ignored it. Darius’s grip squeezed too painful. Blood dripped from his brow, splattering the stone and slickening my toes’ hold over the top step. His hands trembled, and his words edged with a venomous spite I heard only once before.

  When he nearly took my life.

  When he punished me with his body and returned for gluttonous seconds only moments after he had first pushed away. My aching cough and breathless pleas annoyed him, but he refused my inhaler. He shoved a pillow over my face to take his pleasure in peace.

  I willed myself to die then.

  It’d be the last time I’d ever have such a thought.

  He kicked my leg, and I lost my footing, saved from the crashing fall by the piercing hold on my hair and his bone-breaking grip over my wrist.

  Nicholas and Reed shouted.

  He’d do it.

  He’d kill me.

  He’d kick me down the stairs to watch as I bled at the bottom to prove what he already knew.

  Then he’d kill Nicholas and Reed.

  I wasn’t lucky enough to earn a bullet.

  “Stop!” I screamed. “You can’t hurt me!”

  The sudden silence shamed me more than the first time Darius ever stripped me of my pride and presented me, bare and shaven, to my step-brothers.

  Darius hummed. “And why can’t I hurt you, my dear?”

  My chest seized in panic. I fought through the pain, the ache, the desperation of my own crippling weakness to keep the s
ecret.

  “Because I’m pregnant.”

  “Louder.” He shook me over the stairs. “So they can hear you.”

  I swallowed bile. “I’m pregnant.”

  The most horrifying sound in the world was the cackle of Darius Bennett’s victorious laughter.

  He pulled me from the edge of the stairs. I pressed against his chest. He held me too tight, too close.

  “Oh, my dear sweet child. You didn’t even tell the father.”

  I tensed. “Nicholas knows.”

  Darius tisked his tongue. “So many secrets and lies, Sarah.”

  “Let me go.” My words humiliated me. “Hurt me and you lose everything. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Bennett heir.”

  I expected him to release me, but the genuine excitement, the celebratory amusement in his voice sickened me more. Darius’s exuberance corrupted what should have been a beautiful event—in any other world, with any other name, in any other family.

  I was infertile. A child should have been a miracle, a welcomed addition to a sweet family once I was older, out of college, found the right man. Fell in love with someone who hadn’t kidnapped me and stolen my virginity as I lay helpless, bound to a bed and ready for my breeding.

  “You’ve done very well, Sarah,” Darius said. “You did as you were told, what your body was made to do. I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

  “I will kill you for this.”

  “Misbehave, and I’ll order them to shoot Nicholas.”

  “He’s your son.”

  He whispered his threat, low so only I heard. The words screamed within my mind.

  “I’ll have another very soon.”

  I’d be sick.

  It wasn’t his.

  “Let me go.” I strengthened my voice with a false confidence. “You can’t kill them. You won’t do anything to endanger this pregnancy. And if you don’t let me walk out the door right now, who knows what this stress will do to my son.”

  “Bennetts are hardy boys.”

  “And your wife miscarried twice.”

  “Can’t have that now, can we?” Darius chuckled. He gestured to his guards as he stepped from me, placing a hand over the wound on his brow. “She’ll dress and return home—wherever this little vagabond has decided to nest. Sven, take their guns. You’ll drive her. I don’t trust my sons. They might defy the wishes of their father.”

  I pushed from him, but his eyes lingered upon my body, more exposed and vulnerable than ever. I fought the instinct to hide from him.