Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  “Exactly,” I said. “She sacrificed her body when she believed we killed her father. She expected to be hurt and beaten and humiliated, and she accepted it for the chance to avenge her family. And now? The real crime has been done to her. She’s the one who was hurt.”

  Reed rubbed the rawness around his neck. “So…what? Sarah’s always been a little…intense.”

  “It’s not intensity,” I said. “It’s obsession.”

  “You would know best.”

  I stiffened. “Yes. And that’s exactly why I’m doing this. Why it has to be me. Why we need to do this on our own. I understand her, more than she realizes. I don’t want her to suffer as a result of taking a human life.”

  Max grunted. “He’s hardly human.”

  “I won’t let her regret in ten, twenty, thirty years the revenge she wants now.”

  “She deserves that revenge.”

  “And she’ll have it, even if it comes from my hand.”

  “Nick, you can’t decide that for her.” Max’s jaw tightened. “You’re killing a man. It’s done. It’s happening. But don’t take that choice from her.”

  “I’m protecting her.”

  “You’re robbing her of the chance to end things on her terms. You’d steal the only choice she has in her life right now. You’d be no better than Dad.”

  Reed exhaled. I didn’t dignify it with a reaction.

  “He harmed her. I am stopping her from harming herself.”

  “You’re fucking delusional,” Max laughed.

  “And the lives you took? The crimes our father asked you to commit? Hasn’t your perspective recently shifted?”

  “Don’t fucking change the subject.”

  “What about her brothers?” I hated speaking of it when she rested in the other room. “How do you feel now that you’ve met and loved Sarah Atwood?”

  “I didn’t know it was Michael and Josiah in that fucking plane.”

  “No, but you did what he asked of you, realizing it would hurt another person. Now we face the consequences of that decision.”

  “Fuck you, Nick.” Max hissed the words. “You have no idea what that shit has put me through.”

  “And that’s why I would spare Sarah. We don’t know what will come of it in the future.”

  The drink talked for him. “How goddamned magnanimous of you.”

  Reed cleared his throat. “Just drop it, Max.”

  Max refused. “How fucking lucky that you’re there to spare the woman you love. That you’ve taken this fucking curse upon yourself. That you’ve never had to get your goddamned hands bloody when it mattered!”

  Reed lowered his voice. “He’s trying to protect her.”

  “That doesn’t give him the right to make me the villain.” Max pointed at me. He chose a dignified finger. “You never had to decide between right or wrong, Nick. You never made the choice between spilling blood or never coming home again.”

  “I own my regretted decisions.”

  It insulted Max. “You think I liked doing Dad’s dirty work? I did those things—I murdered that poor girl’s family—because I thought it would endear me to that fucking monster. You’re right. I feel like shit. But you’re the one who gets to kill him. You’re the one who saves the girl and starts a family. Me?” he sneered. “I get to live day after fucking day, knowing Sarah would forever hate me if she knew what I did. That she’d toss my carcass in the same shallow grave where Dad would rot for eternity.”

  They were my fears too. I nodded.

  “She won’t ever know,” I said. “This is the last we speak of it.”

  “Until the next time you drag me through the fucking mud.” Max rubbed his face. It did little to sober him. “Don’t pretend you’re innocent. I proved my worth to the family, same as you. Only now, you know what it feels like to be me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Max pointed to the scars on Reed’s cheek and the wounds over his neck. “Completely and utterly disposable. Dad’s not gonna stop if he wants Sarah’s heir. He’ll kill us and take her for himself.”

  “He won’t touch her again.”

  “You better fucking hope.” Max sunk into the sofa. “Because he thinks he’s won. He thinks it’s his son.”

  Reed shrugged, flipping through the baby book. “If it’s a boy.”

  The words stilled my heart. “It is.”

  Reed’s grin turned cold. “Don’t tell me you’re that goddamned arrogant, Nick.”

  “Arrogant about what.”

  “That the baby is a boy.”

  Son of a bitch. I intended to end the conversation, but Reed spoke anyway.

  “Every time Sarah says he or son, it’s more a prayer than a certainty,” he said. “Only you and Dad are convinced she’s having a boy.” His eyes had hardened over the months, seeing far more than I gave him credit for observing. “And we better hope to Christ it is. Dad’s a bastard, and he’d rape her again without question, but he doesn’t have the patience for another pregnancy. If your baby is a girl…” His fingers crinkled the cover of the book. “They’re both in danger.”

  Silence.

  Not that I hadn’t considered it, but the thought terrified me.

  My son or my daughter, it didn’t matter.

  I didn’t want an heir. I wanted a family. I wanted her, happy and smiling and proud to carry my child. I’d save her from further bloodshed just for a chance at that perfect-ever-after.

  I paused, pulling my phone and calling for her guard to meet us downstairs. Max frowned as I gave him the instructions.

  “Robert hasn’t been guarding her,” I said. “He’s following her.”

  Reed tensed, but Max expected it.

  “Dad’s probably paying for him to stay close,” I said. “Find out how much he spent.”

  Max nodded. “And then?”

  “If you want to earn Sarah’s forgiveness?” I said. “Keep her safe. Nothing will endanger her or the baby. I’ll check on her first, and then I’ll follow.”

  “What? You want to warm up with her bodyguard? Get a practice kill?”

  I didn’t need the practice anymore. The war had already begun.

  15

  Sarah

  The toxicity website highlighted it’s warnings in bold, blocky letters. Pesticide poisoning was a cruel and harsh way to die.

  Headaches and cramps, nausea and shortness of breath. It read like an acute form of morning sickness coupled with the ugly weaknesses caused from my asthma.

  How fitting, punishing a man who had inflicted me with the same symptoms, the same pain, the same humiliations?

  I’d make Darius Bennett suffer, and the idea thrilled a dark part of me. Like an illness strengthening in each passing hour, the desire to hurt, to cause him pain, burrowed from the hidden fantasies. First it was simply a secret in the night. Now it burst into my waking thoughts. Visions of revenge suffocated my mind—crippling every desire, every honest joy, every moment of rest.

  Never before had I dreamt of harming another person.

  But he caused the vile thoughts. He forced me to demand blood for blood and pain for pain.

  And so I would deliver it.

  Darius threatened my mother and nearly overdosed her on the medications that kept her senses dulled and judgement clouded. He ordered his men to shoot Max, strangle Reed, and gun Nicholas down in the street like an animal. He raped me and promised either more torment or a violent death.

  He meant to take my child.

  Every minute he lived trapped me in a new agony. It ended now.

  And the irony of it—of using the Bennett Corporation’s own products to erode him from the inside out—delighted me.

  My father, a man just as cruel and barbaric as Darius, would have been proud. The first and only time he’d be honored by the daughter who sacrificed so much to avenge his name, safeguard his legacy, and protect our futures.

  He didn’t deserve my efforts.

  But I needed that peace. I nee
ded something to dull the racing, jarring, enraged thoughts that stole every moment of rest from my exhausted and weakened body.

  I planned to murder a man.

  And no matter how many times I thought of him as a demon, a monster, an animal, I still imagined the blood on my hands.

  And it sickened me.

  And it excited me.

  And it would ruin me.

  It would finally free me from the Bennett nightmare.

  If I only could gather the courage to do it. If the implication didn’t lace me with shivers, smother me with panic, and coat me in the same filthy grime that created Darius Bennett.

  My father once said if revenge were easy, peace wouldn’t be so hard.

  I closed the website—the same specs I requested for the Bennett chemicals I used to treat my farm. The words faded, but it felt like the entire world saw through the innocence I once had. Like they knew the choice I’d made.

  I ran a bath and, for the first time in three months, actually enjoyed the bathroom without needing to cuddle on the tile with my sickness. The last days of my first trimester forged a truce between me and Bumper. I snacked on carrots and the occasional plate of mushroom lasagna, and he let me be.

  A bath usually calmed me, and Nicholas’s penthouse offered the sleekest, most modern bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub, warmed floors, and selected aroma therapy candles. Dark granite and harsh angles wasn’t my preferred style, but it fit Nicholas.

  Would it fit me?

  After Darius was gone, after the baby came, after we controlled the Bennett Corporation and my farm, would I eventually think of the penthouse as a…home?

  The night with Nicholas did more than grant me confidence. It made me hope.

  I wanted him. I loved him. I needed him. But could I risk the danger? I doubted I’d survive the heartache of leaving him.

  The bath did nothing to soothe me, and thoughts of Nicholas only flushed me warmer than the water. That heat didn’t pass, even as I brushed the towel over my body.

  I glanced to the mirror.

  The towel dropped.

  I didn’t recognize the reflection.

  “That’s new.” I swallowed. My hand traced the barest swell of my belly. “Uh-oh.”

  I was used to the darkening of my nipples, the tenderness in my breasts, even the mood swings and fatigue. But…this was different.

  Real.

  I dressed quickly, tossing on a strappy shirt with a pair of thin shorts and snuck from the bathroom.

  My step-brothers crowded the penthouse. Five thousand square feet, and they all descended on the living room—Reed with the pregnancy books by the window, Max rummaging through the refrigerator, and Nicholas working remotely on a desk in the corner.

  I hesitated, earning their attention all at once. My cheeks burned.

  Nicholas closed the laptop. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” I bit my lip. “Kinda.”

  Reed tossed the book aside. He pointed to his abs, tight against his shirt. “More nausea? Round ligament pain? It’s common. Are you hurting?”

  “What? No.”

  Max pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and slammed it on the counter. “Drink it.”

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Sick?” Reed asked. “Tired? Are you feeling any tenderness?”

  “Reed, I’m fine.”

  That drew Nicholas’s attention. “What is it?”

  It was embarrassing. It was natural. It was everything that would continue to happen to me for the next six months. Why was it so hard to admit?

  “Bumper gave me a…bump.”

  They didn’t get it. All three lurched to their feet, each scattering in three different directions to gather my things. Reed seized my purse. Max my shoes.

  They thought I had to go to the hospital.

  Only Nicholas waited for the explanation.

  The confession.

  “I’m showing.”

  Reed and Max stilled. I squirmed as their collective gazes centered low on my belly, like they expected it to suddenly balloon up. I lifted my shirt. They didn’t react until I turned to the side. Their heads angled. Reed snorted.

  “That’s it?” he laughed. “Christ, I look like that after I eat a pizza.”

  I bit my lip as Nicholas approached. He made no such joke, didn’t shake his head like Max. His eyes narrowed in concentration, brightened with excitement, and studied the tiniest swelling with rapt attention. I stilled as his hand brushed my exposed skin. His palm covered the bump and hid the secret once more for us and us alone.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered.

  And he meant it.

  The raw amazement in his words banished my embarrassment. It fueled me with the same heated intensity that simmered the caramel smoothness of his voice.

  One word and he’d burn me. One promise and he’d trap me.

  One command and he’d seal me forever within the warmth of his palm.

  I swallowed, cascading from anxious to shamed to empowered in a single graze of his fingers. It didn’t take much for my heart to flutter and core to clench, but Nicholas’s touch tickled from the barest, faintest of promises. Suddenly, my thoughts twisted into something dark and utterly sensual.

  I hadn’t spoken of our night together. Neither had he—either out of respect for my decision or because he recognized the truth.

  I loved him more than I hated Darius Bennett. And that made the decision to leave impossible and the choice to stay so very complicated.

  I shifted from his hand, shuddering as the electric heat sizzled from his fingertips through my core. He released me. My body hadn’t realized. Dozens of shivers raced over my skin, and the flush returned to my cheeks, more prominent than before. I tugged my shirt, but the brush of the material over my sensitive breasts and tightening nipples only made the heat worse.

  I knew better than to go without a bra now.

  My insides twisted. I knew exactly what I was thinking, and I didn’t trust it.

  With my confidence restored, and the fear soothed under Nicholas’s careful, deliberate touch, I was almost healed. Nothing prevented me from feeling all the perfect shudders and warmths of my body, or enjoying the tingles and slick wantings.

  I woke every night in his bed, surrounded by his scent, tucked within his silken sheets, but I hadn’t the courage to surrender to any desire.

  And not just for Nicholas.

  I swallowed. It did nothing. The goosebumps prickled under the attention of my step-brothers. I wished it hadn’t felt so good.

  I retreated, earning a knowing stare from those golden eyes. I could hide nothing from him, but I’d sure as hell try. I edged to the sofa and sat, sighing once I was free of their gazes.

  Reed immediately plopped down next to me.

  “Can I touch Bumper?” His grin popped with just one dimple, playful and excited. “I’m curious.”

  “Thought it was less impressive than your bloated pizza belly.”

  “I’ll order some right now. We’ll see who gets bigger.”

  “If you can promise to be the same size as me six months from now, we might have a deal.”

  “That’s a lot of pizza.”

  “It’s a lot of baby.”

  “Well, Bumper should know Uncle Reed will do anything for the little guy. And if that means gorging on pizza, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

  My heart fluttered. Uncle Reed. It was too sweet. But I hadn’t allowed myself to think of such things. Uncles and swelling bellies made it feel too real. Except it was. And it was getting harder to hide.

  Reed waited for permission. What could it hurt?

  I lifted my shirt and tried to position myself to enhance what little bump there was. Reed’s hand covered me, far gentler than Nicholas, almost as if the multitude of baby books he had read neglected to mention that I wouldn’t fall apart from a touch. I hadn’t before, and I wouldn’t now.

  Especially as Reed’s proud grin matched the warmth of
his hands. A good warmth. Just as protective, just as loving as Nicholas’s touch.

  Just as consuming.

  “Neat.” His fingers pressed against me. I hid the shiver and ignored the quickening flutter in my chest. “Max, wanna feel?”

  “Pass.” Max looked away. “Not so good with delicate things.”

  “You can’t feel anything,” I said. “It’s just…pudgy.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Nicholas hovered close.

  “Definitely,” Reed said. He pulled his hand away as he said it, clearing his throat. “You know. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

  “It’ll get bigger,” I warned.

  Nicholas answered without hesitation. “And you’ll be beautiful then too.”

  “Good.” I swallowed. “Glad you’ve considered the consequences of all this.”

  “Every day.”

  His voice soothed me. I rested against the couch, drawing my legs up. The cool leather eased some of the ache. Not all of it. Not nearly enough. Both Reed and Nicholas touched me, and the memory of their previous embraces tingled through me. Heat pulsed between my legs. Insistent. Demanding.

  Utterly inappropriate. I gnawed on my lip.

  “You okay?” Reed asked. “You’re a little flushed.”

  Nothing got past him. “Fine.”

  “You sure? Need anything?”

  He edged closer, and the sea-salt tease of his scent mingled with the memory of Nicholas’s sharpness. Nicholas watched me, the tug of a smile pulling on his lips.

  He knew.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You can tell me. Whatever you want. Ice cream, weird cravings, whatever.”

  “Reed, it’s not…” I twisted in the sofa. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Tired?”

  Now I was. “No.”

  “Then what—”

  Max snorted. “Christ, you’re the one reading all the damn baby books. She’s second trimester. Sarah’s fucking horny.”

  And the embarrassments never ended. I ground my jaw.

  “Thanks, Max.”

  “Happy to help, baby.”

  Yeah, only one thing would help, and I wasn’t sure they were ready for that conversation.