Capital Risk (29 page)

“Max didn’t know who was on the plane,” Nicholas said. “We didn’t realize until it happened.”

“You kept it from me.”

“Yes.”

“You lied to me.”

“No. You believed my father killed Mark Atwood, not his sons.”

And still he played these games. He still didn’t understand.

“I can’t believe you think that makes it better,” I said.

“You were in such pain from their deaths. So angry. So vulnerable. Sarah, you are the strongest person I know, but you’d never have forgiven us if I told you the truth. And I can’t survive losing you.”

“You wanted me to trust you. To love you. To
marry
you.”

“I still want those things.” He let the words linger. “What is it you want?”

As if he had to ask. As if he didn’t already know.

As if Max hadn’t fled from me for that exact reason.

The answer came reflexively, so easily it actually frightened me in its bloody simplicity.

“I want my revenge.”

“I wondered when you’d show your face.” Dad wasn’t a subtle man, not when he had something to gain.

Not when he had someone to punish.

He always was a Grade-A asshole. Thought so when I was a kid and confirmed it when I reached adulthood. But it took me a while to realize what a perverted bastard he truly was.

The worst part was that I wanted to be like him for so long I forgot how to be myself. By the time I thought to check on that fucker reflected in the mirror, I saw exactly what I wanted all along.

Him.

Made a man want to shave his neck just a little too close.

“Where’s Bethany Atwood?” I asked. I hadn’t seen my step-mother when I kicked my way into the house. Also hadn’t seen any holes dug in the yard where he might've stashed her body.

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned?” Dad folded his palms over his desk. He leaned in just to make me tense.

“I don’t want to talk about shit that’ll upset her.”

He sighed. “She’s not here.”

“You kill her?”

“She’s my
wife
.”

Didn’t stop him from hurting her daughter. I shrugged.

“Your step-mother is a very sick woman.” He almost seemed to care. “I meant to move her to the estate to care for her…and I had hoped that given the current circumstances of my
retirement
I might have spent more time with her. Unfortunately, the change was difficult for her, and her routine was altered. Her dementia was worse than we anticipated.”

“So where is she?”

“I’ve secured her the best assisted living arrangements. A private nursing company is with her, around the clock.” He checked his watch. “Of which I was scheduled to visit in an hour, so grovel quickly, Maxwell.”

Sarah was going to flip shit. “You put her in a nursing home?”

“A nursing home is for the elderly and infirm. Bethany is at the
farm
.” He waved a hand. “So get on with it. You didn’t come here to discuss Bethany Atwood and I presume you aren’t intending to shove more charcoal down my throat.”

Only if he’d choked on it.

“Let me guess. Your little sister didn’t take the news of her brothers’ deaths well?”

“No.”

“Was she upset?” Dad had gotten off on her tears too many times.

The question didn’t surprise me. My reaction did.

Why I was here surprised me more.

“Yeah, she was upset.”

“And?”

“She was worried about Bump—the baby. Got too worked up.”

His sneer darkened. His gnarled hands untwisted themselves as he pushed from the desk. He wasn’t that big of a man, not in relation to me, even with a leg that fucking hurt just from the brush of my jeans against my hip and knee.

Why had we ever let this bastard frighten us? Beat us?

Even Sarah should have fought better than she did.

Then again, she was smarter than me. Braver. Stronger, despite the asthma. If she had resisted him, he’d have murdered her instead. I would have taken the bullet to the head, but that was me.

I endured enough shame in this life. Couldn’t take much more.

Couldn’t handle it now.

“The bitch is having a girl child, isn’t she?”

Dad waited for my response. What point was there in lying? It was over anyway, either for her or me.

Except I wasn’t ready for the end yet.

“Yeah. It’s a girl.”

I didn’t expect him to swear, but the frustration escaped in a single moment.

“Damn.” The word hissed. His expression radiated hatred. “And she didn’t tell Daddy what the gender was.”

I shivered. The goddamned incest was as bad as raping the girl.

“She thought you’d kill the baby if you knew.”

“Oh, I will,” he said. “She’s right, of course. Had she behaved, had she been even the least bit trustworthy, she would have lived if she promised to try again. Unfortunately, your sister is difficult.”

“Yeah. She’s a firecracker.”

Dad chuckled. “Say it, Max. She’s a
cunt
. You fucked it enough, even if you were too worthless to impregnate the girl without my help.”

“Right. That’s me. Good for fucking nothing.”

“I see what this is. I know what the problem is, son.”

He never called me
son
. Not since before I walked with a limp.
Nicholas
was his son. Not me. Not Reed. Even if I had knocked Sarah up, Nick would have gotten credit anyway.

“Tell me, Maxwell, how does it feel to be
reviled
?”

It wasn’t a new feeling. Not many people had respect for me when my knuckles weren’t scraped and dripping blood. Again, that honor went to
Nicholas
.

Still, the only person I tried to impress, the only one I ever wanted to protect, was the little Atwood who fought me and my brothers every fucking chance she got.

Like she wanted to make it harder on us. She should have just been honest.

She wanted a reason to hate the men she was taught to hate.

“She’ll want to kill me,” I said.

“Of course she will. She’s Mark Atwood’s brat. Vengeful little thing.”

“I don’t particularly feel like dying now.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“If I knew that, you think I’d be here? Talking to you?” I asked.

“You haven’t come looking for a handout for a long time. What is it you want? A plane ticket? A place to hide?” he scoffed. “Why would I help you?”

“Got no other place to turn.”

“The prodigal son.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” I said. “You’ve never helped me. You’ve never cared about me. You’ve never done a goddamned thing for me. I’m only asking for the easiest thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“My fucking life.”

“It’s worthless. I’m surprised you want to save it.”

“I’m kind of fond of it. And Sarah’s got five months of reasons growing in her womb to convince her to pull the trigger. She wants me to answer for killing Josiah and Michael Atwood.”

“So why don’t you end it?”

His solution didn’t surprise me. It was the one I expected.

“End what? Murder Sarah?”

“I won’t pretend you have much use to me beyond these matters if you don’t pretend you’re shocked I would ask it of you.”

“You want me to kill a pregnant woman.”

“Max, it will happen anyway. Stop thinking of the child and remember the Atwood. Wouldn’t you rather it be done at your hand? Wouldn’t you rather her last moments be of peace than horror?”

“Jesus.”

“Be a man. She’s fortunate she has a big brother who would be willing to grant her such a kind end. This isn’t about the company or the business now. This is about my son proving that he is my son. This is about answering an insult to this family.”

“What insult? Like you said, I got to fuck her, and now I’m richer than ever since Nick gave me the shares you didn’t reserve for us.”

Dad nodded. “And when Sarah Atwood kills you? When her obsession with destroying this family ends with you sleeping in a shallow grave?” he sneered. “She’s seduced Nicholas and turned him against me. She’s done the same to Reed.
You’re
the lucky one, Max. She hates you. Try to fuck her now. Try to apologize. Try to earn that pretty little smile of hers. You won’t get close. Your own
brothers
will kill you for an Atwood’s pleasure.”

“They wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Don’t delude yourself. If hurting you meant Sarah would pledge her little black heart to Nicholas, he’d slay you on the spot. Mount your head on a pike next to mine.”

He wasn’t wrong. Even Dad didn’t understand the lengths my brothers would go to protect Sarah Atwood.

That was why I came.

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do? Just kill her? What about the company? What about getting a male heir?”

“All this talk of unity and welcoming each other into our families and changing the faces of the board has helped to strengthen our position. Should Sarah die, the control of the company defaults to her mother. As Bethany’s husband, I’m certain the new arrangement will benefit the Bennetts.”

It was always about the money. The family. The honor.

Never about what was important.

Forgiveness
.

And just like Dad, I’d never get to experience the peace that came from forgiveness. It didn’t matter what I did, what I said, what I offered.

Sarah would never forgive me.

Why’d I ever let myself believe otherwise? Why did I let myself
hope
?

Why did I let myself love her?

“What about the baby?” I asked.

“An unfortunate casualty,” he said. “The plan is set, Maxwell. Sarah Atwood will die no matter what you do. The choice is yours. You can either die at her hand, needlessly, to answer for her brothers’ deaths, or you can do her one last favor. You can kill her, quickly and painlessly, and save her from suffering at my hand.” He smirked. “And you know how I long to make her suffer.”

I’d never wash this decision off of me. His voice chipped away my very soul.

This wasn’t a kindness to Sarah. He was torturing me. Forcing my hand for his own amusement, his own ends. This was my punishment for disobeying him and daring to ally with a woman who no longer wanted my help, my apologies, or my heart to beat.

Even Dad knew I was the sick son of a bitch who would do anything to spare Sarah Atwood any more pain.

“Sober up,
son
. Time to take your place in this family.”

I woke in a choked gasp.

The penthouse was cloaked in darkness. Silence smothered my wheeze.

His hand gripped my shoulder. I hadn’t expected the night to come so soon. He hunted in slinking shadow. I couldn’t see him, but it wouldn’t matter. Not now.

“Baby.” Max’s raw whisper scarred the shattering stillness. “Gotta wake up now.”

Nicholas had warned of the danger. I thought I’d have more time.

I thought eight months of their mercy would somehow prepare me for the inevitable. But the days I spent captured within the Bennett’s will were simply the trembling shuffle of a prisoner to the guillotine.

We knew it would end this way.

Why did it frighten me now?

The bed was empty. The coldness terrified me.

“Where’s Nick?”

Max’s impatience ached my lungs. “Don’t worry about him.”

I wished I could see him before it happened. “Is he safe?”

“Yeah. For now.”

The thought granted me a little comfort, the barest flicker of hope. “Will he stay safe?”

“Depends on what he does tonight.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“No one plans to get hurt, baby,” Max said. “Sometimes there’s no avoiding it.”

“Like now?”

“Just like now.”

Just like always.

I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t
hurt.
Every touch preluded a new misery. Every kiss ended with the bitter strike of another’s fangs.

I fought and resisted and plotted, and it hadn’t prevented any pain, only delayed it.

At least tonight it would end.

“Do you trust me?” Max knew better than to ask that. He tried again, his voice low, almost apologetic, as if he possessed even a shred of empathy. “Did you ever trust me?”

That answer came easily, burning from the smoldering debris of my broken heart. “No.”

“Good.” He didn’t mean it. “Then I’m not missing anything.”

“I never trusted any of the Bennetts.”

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Max waited, his expression hard, unstable.

“Lot of good that caution did you.”

I rested my hand over my tummy. “You’re going to lecture me? Now? You really think it’ll help?”

“No.”

At least he was honest. I tried to stand. The asthma flared, and I coughed, hard. He didn’t offer to retrieve my inhaler. I leaned to the nightstand. The motion lurched my stomach.

So that was it then. Asthma and nausea. I’d hardly be able to walk. Let alone…

What? Run?

There was no more escaping. It was about to be over.

The finality of it all didn’t bring relief. Fear prickled my neck.

I looked at him, expecting
something
, realizing I’d earn nothing. “What will happen?”

Max anticipated the question.

“It’s gonna be quick.”

My stomach twisted. “Quick?”

“No suffering. No sense dragging it out.”

“Right.”

I puffed my inhaler and stood. Max allowed me to change from the pajamas into a dress. It didn’t matter what I wore when it happened, but at least I’d regain a shred of dignity.

Just for the Bennetts to steal it again.

Max watched my hand tremble as I smoothed the dress. I blamed the albuterol. He probably assumed it was fear.

He didn’t look at me. “If you want…if it makes it easier…I can do it instead.”

It wouldn’t make it easier. Just the opposite.

He tried to explain it, like it’d make it easier on me.

I didn’t need Max’s pity.

I knew this was coming.

“You don’t have to see him,” Max said. “I don’t want you to face him. We can do it…another way.”

I already shamed my family’s name by running once. It wouldn’t happen again. Now was a time for quiet dignity and acceptance. I fought. I survived.

And now came the consequences.

“No,” I said. “It ends like this.”

He didn’t patronize me by asking if I were certain. I made my decision. If he understood it, he didn’t say, but I doubted a man like Max Bennett would ever recognize the dread of blood.

“You know what he expects.” It wasn’t a question or an apology. Max uncurled the leather collar and leash from his pocket. “Last time, baby.”

Even if the asthma hadn’t squeezed my lungs, I doubted I’d have fought the scrape of the collar against my neck. I had been free of it for months. It only made sense he’d inflict it on me again.

The leash clipped, the tiny metal
click
just as loud as any crash of metal bars in a cell or shudder of chains binding my body. It was humiliating and unnecessary. The asthma, nausea, and fear already quieted Bumper.

“It still looks good, baby.”

Captivity never looked
good
. It was ugly and grotesque and so very Bennett. I touched my tummy.

“At least she’ll never know.” I dared Max to speak. “My one consolation.”

“No one will know.”

That was the agreement. No legacy of mine would be tarnished with such terrible brutality. The Atwoods were proud. Strong. And too many of us were now victims.

“He expects you to fight.” Max stood still. His hand curled into a fist.

“You never asked my permission before.”

“This isn’t like before.”

“What’s different?”

His voice hollowed. “This is it.”

“So don’t change now.” I raised my chin for him. “We’re not making memories, Max. Don’t pretend to be noble—”

The backhand came quick, hard. He silenced me with the blow, and I tumbled to the bed. My gasp choked over ragged coughs, but he had what he wanted. A bloody lip. The bruise over my cheeks.

Most men liked their women pale, blushing with inexperience and timid excitement.

The Bennetts preferred me bleeding, bruised, and swollen in more ways than one.

Max didn’t apologize for it, but I added it to the list of his unforgivable offenses. The list grew by the second. He wrapped the leash over his hand, coiling it just to tug me close.

“That’s the last time I hurt you, baby.”

The words forced from an aching chest—tightening with sickness, asthma, and grief. “Every minute near you hurts me.”

“Yeah.” He jerked the leash. I nearly tripped. “Glad I won’t be torturing you anymore.”

I followed him from the bedroom and stared ahead into the darkness. The gentle glow of a nightlight in the nursery lit our path. I ignored it, and I forced myself to forget everything delicate and perfect, soft and wonderful within the lovely room. It wouldn’t help me now.

Hamlet padded to my side from the kitchen, his muzzle wet from a late-night drink. I scratched his head as he loyally followed.

“No, Hamlet,” I said. “You gotta stay here. Be good.”

Max urged me to move. “Let’s go. He’ll be okay.”

“Someone will make sure, right?”

“Yeah.”

Hamlet whined as the door closed.

Max didn’t bother trying to hold a conversation with me. He knew I’d give him nothing but silence. The car ride to the Bennett Estate sped through the cover of darkness. I remembered the path, memorized the trail to hell that led from beautiful mountains and into the growling maw of hell. The car parked outside the front door. He trusted I wouldn’t lose my composure and bolt.

Much had changed since the first time I escaped from the Bennett Estate. The chair through the broken window didn’t grant me freedom. It signified a new life for me, trapped in Nicholas’s will, abused by Darius’s intentions, and punished for every mistake and moment of disrespect by Max’s hand.

Maybe I once liked it. Maybe I once danced through the danger and fed off the adrenaline rush we both experienced from the crash of leather against my skin.

But what was fantasy to me existed as Max’s reality. He knew only bloodshed, just like his father.

That evil waited for me, lurking on the grand staircase inside the estate’s foyer.

Darius Bennett once tortured me with a smile and false gratitude.

No longer.

He crashed against the white marble of the staircase, and the clap of his heel echoed over the entirety of the mansion. His eyes stared—stark, menacing, and utterly empty. Just like his mansion, his halls, and the expanse of gluttonous extravagance within the manor.

He was just one man, and yet so much more.

Bastard and rival.

Murderer and abuser.

Rapist and father.

His very presence chilled my core. He once ripped through me. He stole every warmth, every hope, every ounce of my courage. His touch rendered me empty, but his cruelty didn’t break me. Instead, every hollowed and worthless scar filled with burning, rampant hatred.

I hated this man.

I hated his name. His power. His corruption. I hated the way his eyes lingered over my curves, as if he weren’t yet satisfied in my destruction and would seize me again.

He longed to hurt me.

And he had.

But that was then. He could do little else to me.

I re-forged my dignity to stand before him once more at the end.

And it was Darius who cracked instead.

“I should have simply killed you and ended this charade.” He spat the words. I knew he wished to strike me. Given time, he would. “But I thought you might be trusted to fulfill at least
one
purpose to
one
of your fathers.”

His steps punished the stair beneath his boot. If he wished to stomp me, no need for the theatrics. We were both beyond posturing now.

“So…” He forced me to look up and meet his chilling gaze. “Our baby is a girl?”

“It’s not your child.”

“I should hope. A daughter is of no use to me.” His hand caressed my cheek. “Even the simple pleasures fade after time.”

I shook him away. Max didn’t let me escape. The leash passed to his father.

“Even when you’re flat on your back you can do nothing right,” Darius said. “Or when you’re on your knees or pushed over a table. Tell me, my dear, when did you feel the most
useless
under me?”

“Did it make you feel powerful?” I asked. “Hurting a woman who couldn’t defend herself?”

“It felt good at the time. Even better now that I imagine you
still
feel it.”

Not that I’d admit. Darius reached for me. I flinched, but Max presented me to him. His hands wove over my tummy, daring to touch Bumper, waiting for my reaction.

He didn’t have a right to touch me, and every moment his hands lingered needled me with dread.

It was supposed to be faster than this.

He wasn’t supposed to touch me again.

“Come with me, Sarah. I have a surprise for you. I think you’ll like it.”

The leash tightened in his grip. He dragged me to the stairs, but I tripped. I twisted to land on my behind on the bottom step. Darius aimed to kick. I hid my belly, and he grazed my hip.

“You aren’t even waddling yet. Get up. You’re fine.”

Max didn’t help me. If he felt any guilt, any worry, it never crossed his features. In his father’s shadow, any bit of light, hope, or cry for redemption darkened into the same beaten submission Darius so often sought from me.

He did his part.

I expected nothing more from Maxwell Bennett. His part was done.

Darius forced me up the stairs, into the wing I only dared to enter in fits of madness. I didn’t believe in an afterlife, but demons were as real to me as any monster lurking in children’s tales or the nightmares of the tormented. My proof existed in the man leading me on a leash to a newly remodeled room adjoining his bedroom. He pushed me within.

Blue.

Stark, but blue.

A cold, institutional blue paint splashed the walls in fake cheer. The white crib and changing table, rocking chair and dresser did nothing to welcome a new life. Only coldness existed here. Only the same extravagant furniture and art chiseled from the Bennett’s wallet. The room decorated with everything stylish and designer, fit for a prince but not a loved son.