Controlling Interests: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 2)

by Lana Grayson

“I have it under control,” I said.

  I meant it to end the conversation, but Max intercepted me before I could turn. The coiled, tribal tattoos spiraling over his arms might have intimidated others—or intrigued Sarah—but they didn’t threaten me. No matter the intricate thorns scarring his flesh, the ink didn’t bleed into his veins. Max was a Bennett, and, despite his hesitancies, he was second born.

  He was meant to obey me without question.

  And yet he still resisted.

  “You gotta get your head out of your ass and start figuring this shit out,” he said. “I can ram her all day and night, but if she doesn’t miraculously get knocked up, Dad’s gonna figure it out.”

  “I said I have it under control.”

  “You moving on the takeover?” Max flexed when he should have retreated. “You think you can have it all? Get the Bennet Corp, breed an heir, take Atwood Industries, and keep the girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Christ, you sound like Dad.”

  He was fortunate Reed interrupted us, swaying the conversation as Max overstepped his bounds. Somewhere between the house and the party setup, Reed stole a piece of cornbread. He took a bite, motioning to the rushing caterers and servers.

  “Why is Dad even hosting this barbecue? One word from Sarah and we’re fucked. What’s he think this will accomplish?”

  To humiliate me. “Appearances. The partners expect the annual barbecue.”

  “Hope they’re expecting a SWAT team and every fucking media outlet crashing the party.”

  “Sarah will behave.”

  “Why risk it?” Reed grimaced, as though he hated suggesting it. “Why not lock Sarah away? Is it worth jeopardizing everything just to screw with her?”

  “He’s not testing her.” The words tasted foul. “He’s testing me.”

  I had no patience for any further discussion, not when every word my father spoke, action he took, and unabashed glance of Sarah demanded a violence I never once condoned. I never considered myself as cruel as my father, not until I captured Sarah, until her life depended on that violence. My empire would be built upon her cries.

  I collected Sarah as the guests arrived and hoped no one would notice the bruising finally fading from her cheeks. A perfect, sun-lit barbecue awaited us, a lovely afternoon surrounded by people I once trusted.

  Sarah’s profanity would fracture the ice sculpture.

  “You can’t expect me to curtsey.”

  “He does.”

  “I don’t trust this. Darius would rather I was bound, gagged, and strapped to a bed. Not…” She shimmied, swishing the folds of her dress. “Greeting his guests.”

  “It’s a public appearance. He’s proving to the world you aren’t…”

  “Dead in a ditch?”

  A leash made her easier to control. She might have surrendered to our passion, but without a gag in her mouth and zip-ties wrapping her wrists, Sarah would get herself hurt.

  “Just be careful here.” I led her to the main tent, into the congregation of men in suits, women in dresses, and children tangled in trust funds. “I’m not sure what he’s planning.”

  “I usually like it when Bennetts worry.” Sarah’s pale eyes flashed, the striking of flint against steel. “I still do.”

  Brave little fool.

  “There they are!” My father welcomed us with a grand wave and paraded us to his guests. “Nicholas, sit, sit.”

  He pointed me to the unoccupied chair at his right, beside a grinning Bryant Maddox and across from Jacob Fisher. It was a street fight without blades. Both men studied Sarah as though she were the smoked brisket yet to be served.

  Max caught my attention from down the table, toasting Sarah with an almost empty flute of champagne. The tumbler to his side contained only melted ice. We were off to a good start. A few seats away, Reed entertained two of our Vice Presidents, both overseeing aspects of our Research and Development branches. Strange. My father usually seated our board members and their families at our head table.

  Then again, we were down a considerable number of guests. The investors who chose Josmik over our family were, obviously, uninvited.

  “Friends.” My father stood, looping his arm around Sarah’s waist. “If I may have your attention!”

  My blood boiled.

  Sarah forced the same fake politeness she offered for the awkward wedding pictures, when her mother squished her and her brothers against us, resulting in the most dysfunctional Brady Bunch pipedream ever concocted. Only then, Sarah had nothing to fear from my father, only blatant hostility for her father’s death and the blame she placed on our family.

  Now?

  He touched her.

  Held her close.

  Rubbed his spindly fingers against her delicate hip and corrupted her innocence without even stripping her from the baby-doll dress he forced her to wear.

  “Please, allow me to introduce someone very special to me,” A monster leered at the dozens of familiar faces sharing in the Bennett wealth and pomp. “This lovely young lady is Sarah Atwood, and I am blessed to present her to you as my daughter.”

  I braced for war.

  Sarah nodded a polite greeting to those eager to ogle an Atwood. “Step-daughter.”

  “Now, now.” He held her tighter if only to bump her hip against his waist. “No need for qualifications, my dear. Come, sit right here.”

  He helped her to the seat at his left—the only setting without a knife folded into a linen napkin.

  He should have removed mine.

  My father took her hand. I thought his touch would bruise her skin. “I want you to meet some very important friends of the family.” He gestured across the table. “Bryant Maddox, Jacob Fisher, Clyde Leonard. These men help to make the Bennett Corporation great. They…share our vision for the future.”

  In more ways than one.

  They plotted with my father, but they had the class to admire Sarah with only polite smiles so close to their wives.

  “She’s the very image of Mark Atwood, isn’t she?” Bryant said. “Uncanny.”

  Sarah stiffened. “So I’ve been told.”

  “I almost miss that ol’ son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “Made business…exciting.”

  Exciting was not the word I would use to excuse the behavior of a man who murdered my mother and nearly killed my brothers.

  “Does she take after her father?” Bryant winked at Sarah.

  “No,” she said. I knew better. “But, I assure you, I am very much an Atwood.”

  She might have replaced Atwood with warrior, arsonist, or fool, and her words would have been just as powerful. The conversation turned one-sided, and Sarah appeared content to sit in cold silence.

  That pleased my father. Sarah was meant to be little more than a table setting, a pretty little blonde feature meant to elicit compliments and parade his ultimate authority over her family, her name, and her body. He hadn’t raped her, but she’d bear our scars for the rest of her life.

  “A toast!”

  My father raised his glass as the caterers wheeled in silver dishes brimming with pulled pork and smoked briskets, barbecued chickens, roasted lamb, and racks of salty ribs. A breeze blended smoky and sweet, and the blossoming roses and meticulously tended garden aided to the refined beauty of the party. He tugged Sarah to her feet and locked his arm with hers.

  “I am the luckiest man in the world today,” my father said. “I’m surrounded by loyal friends dedicated to the Bennett family and Corporation, and now? I am blessed with not just three, but four children.”

  I’d break the raised champagne flute. Sarah’s hands curled into fists.

  “My darling daughter has completed this family, and I know she’ll unite both the Bennetts and Atwoods. In her time here with us, she has brought us nothing but pleasure, and I’m sure her new brothers would agree.”

  I didn’t look away. My father’s stare needled my spine in suppressed rage.

  “This family has grown, and I fo
resee only more joy in the future.”

  The board members prematurely clapped. Sick, every last bastard.

  “The Bennetts consider family the most important investment in this world, and our little Sarah is the penny that shines brightest. I hope that she, and all my sons, will one day be as proud of their children as I am of them.”

  Deceptive monster. The board cheered, and the others in attendance toasted with their champagne. Every tink of the glasses ruined Sarah with our madness. They celebrated her captivity and inadvertently blessed our endeavor to breed her.

  The guilt poisoned me as sure as my seed infected her.

  I threatened the men who demanded her conception while each and every day I forced the same expectations upon her, betrayed her body, denied her control. I meant to save her life.

  I wanted to possess her company.

  I dared to love Sarah Atwood.

  And yet I let the spectacle continue, if only because I knew of no other way to save her, no alternatives to protect the empires I forged for my future.

  My head pounded. The tension did little to aid my conversation with the board as the caterers served the courses. Reed caught my gaze, mimicking an explosion with his hands. He waited for Sarah to blow. So did I.

  But Sarah Atwood survived her time in our prison through sheer force of will and an unbreakable spirit. She wouldn’t admit her fear of my father, which relieved me. He wielded too much power over her already.

  She said nothing, only studied the fancy lunch in the sun and picked at the salad presented before her.

  She clenched her fork as my father rubbed her shoulders.

  My only relief was that she focused on him. That she wouldn’t realize how many of the Bennett board members leered at her, searching every fold in her dress for any telltale sign of their future profits.

  My father stabbed his salad, piercing a tomato with a victorious thrust. “We ordered the greens and vegetables from the Atwood farm.” He spoke to the table. “A little piece of home for my Sarah.”

  Her fork dropped.

  “Well, we knew the Atwoods grow good stock,” Bryant grinned. Sarah indulged him with a nod.

  “Beautiful too,” my father said. “Everything from the farm is plucked in its prime.”

  She accepted the challenge without knowing what game she played. “It’s the seed we use, I assure you.”

  Bryant chuckled. “Imagine the yield if you’d use our products on your fields. Your crops would flourish with Bennett fertilizer.”

  Her smile was too bold. “Oh, believe me, I already put up with enough Bennett shi—”

  “More lemonade, my dear?” My father ordered a server to refill her glass.

  Jacob Fisher’s glance was entirely too greasy for a plate which had yet to be loaded with fatty meats. “No champagne, Ms. Atwood?”

  “Sarah is only twenty, Jake,” my father said.

  “Doesn’t even get a taste at a party?”

  “Bennetts are nothing if not respectful of the law.”

  Jacob, Bryant, and Clyde chuckled. I didn’t react, but Max and Reed’s glances were not as subtle as they believed. Sarah didn’t appear to notice. She wrinkled her nose as a server presented the table with oysters and passion fruit salads, Thai slaws and the first of the pulled pork sliders, delicately stacked upon the platters.

  “Darius.” Bryant’s wife—a blonde twenty years his junior—snubbed the oysters and pawed through her salad, removing each toasted almond. “Where is your new wife?”

  Sarah trembled as she sipped the lemonade.

  “Unfortunately, Bethany is unwell at the moment. She’s resting at home.”

  “She hasn’t moved here yet?”

  “Not just yet.”

  “For Heaven’s sake, why not? She can’t enjoy living in a dirty cornfield.”

  Christ. I nudged Sarah’s foot under the table before she exposed our crimes not in tearful sobs crying rape but a hissed indignation at the insult to her family farm.

  “My mother won’t leave the farm,” Sarah said. “I never thought I would either until recently.”

  Her voice was the spike driving into my temple, and her glare would snap it in half. I hadn’t been the bad guy for a few weeks. At least it felt familiar.

  “But a farm of terrible memories compared to a new family?”

  Darius shrugged. “Her boys are buried on the farm. Bethany won’t ever leave them.”

  It wouldn’t be a proper barbecue without some mention of a family tragedy. Sarah dropped her gaze, picking at an oyster.

  “Oh yes, terrible spectacle.” Clyde flicked a lighter, puffing on a cigar. “Did they ever learn what caused that dreadful crash?”

  Max answered before I could. “Pilot error.”

  “Horrid,” Clyde said. “I saw it on the news.”

  My father gossiped as though Sarah hadn’t paled at his side. “We all saw it. Just terrible footage.”

  Bryant’s wife couldn’t help herself. “The news showed some of the cell phone videos from the highway. Nothing was left of the plane, only ash!”

  “From what Bethany says, the family didn’t even know Josiah and Mike were flying that day,” my father said. “The news broke before they received a call from the authorities. Just shameful.”

  Sarah coughed. The recognizable rasp clutched my throat. She could hide her tears, but speaking of her brothers still seemed to traumatize her. I reached into my jacket, searching for the inhaler. My fingers grazed the medication before stilling.

  My father already handed Sarah a spare inhaler, anticipating her need before I did.

  It confused her as much as me.

  His smirk aimed for me—proud, cold.

  A challenge.

  I said nothing.

  The dinner progressed, and the conversation turned from the violent deaths of Sarah’s brothers to lighter topics, centering on Reed and his upcoming Bennett Foundation Charity Gala.

  Sarah perked up, abandoning her untouched oyster. “Oh, I can’t wait to attend. Reed’s been working so hard on making it the best event ever. It’ll be such fun.”

  Could she not go ten minutes without endangering herself?

  Reed stiffened, and Max downed his whiskey before looking to our father.

  The gala. In public. Away from the grounds.

  It’d be too difficult to control her beyond the confines of the estate, and far too suspicious if we didn’t let her loose.

  My father nodded. “Of course. We’ll have to check your schedule.”

  “I’ll make room. The Atwoods have never attended a Bennett gala, but I’ve heard so much about them. What better way to unite the families?”

  “Here, here.” Clyde sneered. His cigar burned, and he puffed a ring of smoke into the air.

  My father frowned. “Clyde, please, my poor daughter is asthmatic and recovering from a life-threatening attack.” He brushed her cheek and her defiance faded. “I’m trying to keep her comfortable now. Best not to smoke around someone in her condition.”

  If Sarah didn’t rip his arm off, Max would. I gestured for Reed, but he already moved. He hauled Max from the table and offered to refresh drinks.

  “Of course, of course.” Clyde patted out the cigar. “I would hate to put anyone at risk.”

  “I’m fine.” Sarah’s anger would char the tablecloth.

  “Nonsense,” my father said. “You keep that inhaler close, my dear. Use it anytime you start to worry.”

  She’d shove it down his throat before using it in front of strangers. It hid under the rim of her plate, despite the soft cough she suppressed with her hand.

  “It’s fortunate you are able to recover from your asthma in this beautiful estate.” Bryant said. “Darius, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, these grounds are gorgeous.”

  “Made more beautiful with the addition of my daughter, I assure you.”

  The guests chuckled. Sarah’s eyebrow rose. No good would come from that.

>   “If only I could see more of them.” She sighed as sweet as her lemonade though her tone soured just for us. “I’ve been regulated to a bed most days.”

  “Doctor’s orders.” My father controlled himself. “Best to stay still and let nature take its course.”

  “Oh, nature has a funny way of working things out.” She surveyed the members of the Bennett board without realizing how dangerous a mistake she made. “I’m sure I’ll be on top of the world in just a few months.”

  The servers returned with another course of smoked meats and creamy macaroni and cheese which Sarah seemed to particularly enjoy. I made note of it, if only to somehow treat her with it in the future. At the end of the table, a waiter worked quickly to prepare a plate for a late-arrival. The once empty chair was claimed by a man I hadn’t expected.

  Peter Hannigan took his seat—the lynchpin in the takeover, the last vote I needed and the hardest one for me to acquire.

  I had invited him to the barbecue, but he declined, citing schedule conflicts which, traditionally, meant he was golfing his way along the East Coast. He greeted the men at the table, but he seemed at ease with the core of partners surrounding my father.

  Men who should have been in direct opposition to Peter’s vision for the company.

  I swallowed my profanity.

  My father knew about the takeover. He must have realized which men allied with me.

  Peter wasn’t here on my invitation.

  My vision blurred with frustration. This barbecue wasn’t meant to humiliate Sarah. The bastard punished me.

  “You’ve grown since I saw you last, Ms. Atwood.” Peter grinned, his teeth chalk white against his tanned, wind-burned face.

  She hesitated. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t remember…”

  “You were just a little thing,” Peter said. “Running around your Daddy while he refused my offer for some of his beef cattle. Just a pipsqueak then.”

  “I…suppose I was.”

  “But you’re radiant now.” His voice caught. He appraised her like a damn animal, even in the presence of two dozen business associates and their wives. He toasted my father. “She’s just beautiful. Simply…glowing.”

  My father accepted the compliment and gestured for a passing server to refill my champagne.

  I clenched my jaw. No doubt what we celebrated. It wasn’t Sarah’s health, and it wasn’t the arrival of his glorified step-daughter.