Controlling Interests: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 2) (29 page)

Mike’s startled voice shouted, muffled and faint. “
What the hell. What’s wrong with the engine
?”

Darius patted my hand. “I also had access to the black box. I took the liberty of hiring someone to match the footage.”

“
Son of a bitch!”
Josiah’s cry broke over the pilot’s alert to the nearest tower.

I stilled.

Now I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t unhear their voices. Their confusion. Their fear as the plane pitched down and they faced their certain death.

“
No no no
!”

Mike.

“
Jesus, fuck!”

Josiah.

They screamed in unison.

And then…the crunch of metal overtook them both.

The footage dimmed to black.

I couldn’t breathe.

The video began again.

The hum of the engines. The alert from the pilot.

“
What the hell. What’s wrong with the engine?
”

Mike.

“
Son of a bitch
!”

Josiah.

“
No no no!”

Darius stood. He punched the volume until the sound hissed over the speakers and the screams of my dying brothers ached within my ears.

Then he tossed the remote on his abandoned seat, too far for me to reach.

The bowl of popcorn settled in my lap, and I tasted every greasy, butter coated kernel he forced into my mouth. My lips burned with salt. I couldn’t handle the charred, husked smell.

“You wanted to see your family, Sarah.”

The shaking video of the explosion framed Darius in a hell he deserved and every fire I would ensure consumed him.

“If only you had asked. You didn’t need to leave to see them.”

He watched the screen for a moment, smiling as my brothers screamed in terror. Then, he walked away, leaving me to suffer the looping footage, listen to their bloody screams, and endure the precise moment my family was destroyed in twisted metal and raging fire.

“Enjoy the movie, my dear.”

The world was too small a place to hide from my father, but it was still large enough to lose Sarah Atwood.

Max called me a little after two in the morning.

I pulled off the road, pitching my helmet into the dirt. I didn’t greet him. There wasn’t time.

“How’s Reed?”

Max’s voice wavered—not out of remorse. He’d gone too long without a drink, and reality gave him a hangover worse than any vodka or whiskey.

“Twenty stitches.”

I didn’t swear, even if it was warranted. “What did you tell the hospital?”

“That he was fucking jumped. We said someone knew who he was, tried to take his wallet.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s pissed. And your fucking girlfriend’s gonna answer for it.”

I didn’t blame him for being angry. We all suffered from Sarah’s mistakes. But that meant I had to find her before my father did. Before she was beaten, bloodied, and killed.

If Sarah thought she could instigate the takeover of our company in an afternoon with one bad decision, she had a hell of a lot to learn about patience, commitment, and hiding her intentions.

Escaping the house did nothing to secure her strength—it only harmed Reed.

“Did you find her?” Max asked.

“No.”

“Should we keep looking?”

I tortured myself with that same question for the past three hours.

If
Sarah found a place to stay, and
if
she could be trusted to remain there until the shares transferred to her, then it was best for her to stay quiet and lost.

But Sarah Atwood had a bad habit of tripping into the center of attention, and each time she blundered into the spotlight she risked ruining her life.

“She doesn’t want to be found,” Max said.

“She can’t hide from me.”

“She can’t hide from Dad either.”

Not without my help. Not unless she started to listen to me, to realize I had fucked up, but I still meant to protect her and love her.

But she hadn’t trusted me.

And the feeling was mutual.

“I’ll be at the house in half an hour. Get Reed there. He should probably sleep.”

“Reed’s not staying.”

Like hell he wasn’t. “If Dad thinks Reed split too, he’ll assume he’s helping Sarah. Then they’re both dead. Get him home and put him in bed. Handcuff him again if you have to. Reed isn’t leaving until we find Sarah.”

I ended the call. The bike roared to life under me, and I jammed the throttle.

Sarah Atwood was the only woman who would force me into leather. Because of her, I stole through the night like a criminal on my motorcycle.

Except I was a criminal. I searched for the girl we kidnapped and molested, threatened and beat.

No wonder she ran.

But even if she wasn’t worth billions, even if she didn’t possess the power to utterly destroy my family, I’d never let her get away. I fell in love with her. She was the reason I believed something more precious than wealth and power existed in the world.

She ruined the man I thought I was. Every word from her lips was meant to drive me to my knees, and I willingly collapsed at her feet. She was everything that might have offered me something my fortune couldn’t buy.

Hope. Passion.

Challenge.

Too much challenge.

I gave her the freedom far too quickly. That would change, whether we wanted it or not. Life would be much more difficult for her.

For me.

For us.

I wouldn’t stop searching for her until I could apologize and earn back her trust.

I rarely rode my bike, and it was precisely
this
reason it stayed in the garage. The wind and darkness tricked my mind. The things I once considered important were replaced with foolish thoughts of Sarah, freedom, and the temptation to have everything I had ever desired if I could bend the world to my will.

But the bike wasn’t fast enough to outrun the creeping, lingering sense of dread. I raced the isolated roads to the estate and eventually fell into formation behind Max’s Aston Martin. My bike rumbled into the garage. Max’s car hadn’t parked before Reed jumped out. He slammed the door, pointing a finger in my direction before I pulled my helmet off.

“Don’t you fucking say a goddamned thing,” Reed said. “Not one fucking word.”

The stitches glinted in the dim light, red and raw. I unzipped my leather jacket.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“What did I
fucking
say?” Reed pointed to the gash on his cheek, stretching from chin to ear. Our father highlighted Reed’s largest scar, one finally fading after years of growth and plastic surgery. “Our lunatic father tried to carve my face off. How the fuck do you think I am? I’m pissed. I’m hurt. And holy
Christ
, Nick, if you don’t get the fuck out of my way, I’ll give you a goddamned scar to match.”

Reed was rarely angry.

Now, he was beyond enraged.

The stitches were the only reason he had yet to completely fall apart—physically, mentally, emotionally. He shoved past me, ignoring Max as he tossed a bag of pain medications and antibiotics at Reed’s chest.

“I’m done with this bullshit. I’m done with this family. I’m done with
him
.” Reed pointed at the house. “For twenty-four years, I’ve been beat and pissed on. Now I’m expected to do it to someone else. No. It ends now. And if you aren’t man enough to do it then I will.”

I dropped my helmet on the workbench and peeled the gloves from my hands.

“You didn’t tell him Sarah met with Roman Wescott.”

Reed frowned, hissing as the tension tugged on his cheek. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’d rather it be my face than hers.”

Max crossed his arms. “Think she’ll appreciate the sacrifice?”

“This?” Reed pointed to the wound. “Yeah. She’ll understand. But the rest of this insanity? Fuck it. She’d rather burn the estate to the ground than let us help her now. And guess who’s going to get caught in the middle?”

I wouldn’t allow it to happen. “Sarah isn’t like that.”

“Like what?” Reed narrowed his eyes. “Like her
father
? You aren’t that stupid. This doesn’t end without more blood. Look in the mirror, Nick. You’ll be the catalyst for the third generation of this feud.”

I didn’t deny it. But I would end it.

No matter what Sarah believed about me or what she thought she had to do to survive, I’d find her. I’d bring her under my control.

And then we’d start again, not with her as my prisoner, but as my partner. We would control the stock until the moment we could strike. The power would tilt, my father would fall, and I would have everything.

Including Sarah Atwood.

Where ever the hell she was.

“I’m going to bed,” Reed sneered. “And no, Nick. You don’t have to cuff me.”

I wouldn’t try to apologize. Not yet. Not when he wouldn’t listen. Max and I followed, though our brother was beyond our comfort. He muttered to himself, storming up the staircase.

“At least I got fucking blown today. One perk to this fucked up family—”

Something else echoed in the house. I shushed my brother.

Max shrugged. Reed swore. I doubted the painkillers aided any of his senses.

Rumbling bass vibrated within the very walls. Every booming thud punched in my gut.

The estate existed in perpetual silence. My father wouldn’t have tolerated unproductive noise. I didn’t trust it. I stalked the sounds, hunting the thrumming booms and harsh, static crackles haunting our second story.

The music or movie or whatever played was far too loud. Something was wrong. The noise pumped, obnoxious and oppressive, and far too repetitive for a movie.

Far too
realistic.

My blood thickened, surging like molasses through my unwilling heart.

I slammed through the theater’s locked door.

The footage of a crashing plane brightened the theater. The blinding explosion of fire and smoke zoomed in blurry focus on the screen. The flames devoured was little was left of the wreckage.

Instantly, I knew what I watched.

The death of Josiah and Michael Atwood.

Sarah was here.

Sarah had been here.

For God only knew how long.

“Holy shit,” Max shouted.

Reed smashed his hand against the lights, and I dove to the screen, yanking wires out of the projector. The sound didn’t mute.

“
No no no!”

“
Jesus fuck!
”

Then the explosion.

I ripped the DVD player from the cabinet, hurling it to the ground.

Silence.

Except for Sarah’s weeping.

The choked cries would forever rake my nightmares.

My beautiful, unbreakable Sarah sobbed, bound to a chair and forced to watch the footage of her brothers’ plane crash. A black box recording overlaid their final moments of utter horror.

The bindings over her body were too tight. She hadn’t been able to escape the terror, even when her sickness overwhelmed her.

She’d thrown up sometime in the night.

How long had she been here?

“Sarah?” I knelt before her, my hands on her cheeks. She sat in shock, paled, cold, and clammy. Tears streamed over her cheeks. Endless. Constant. “Look at me.”

Her eyes didn’t focus. They hadn’t moved from the screen, even without the video playing.

“Sarah!”

I shook her. She didn’t react. Didn’t move.

I never knew fear until that moment.

I shouted to my brothers. “Get me something to cut her free.”

Reed tossed himself at her feet, swearing again and again as he tried to warm her hand. Max tossed him a knife, and I worked with a pair of scissors. The rope and cords fell away, though they had broken her skin. Her arms and chest scraped with abrasions.

And still she said nothing.

Only cried.

A stream of tears wetted her cheeks, crippled her breathing, and turned her lips a dangerous shade of blue.

“Jesus,” Reed whispered. “She’s been home this whole time. We weren’t here to stop him.”

No.

I wasn’t here.

I failed her.

Again.

Again and again.

No wonder she didn’t trust me. No wonder she retreated into the shocked silence of her mind.

Reed rubbed his face before he remembered the stitches along his cheek. He winced but grasped for his phone to check the time. “How long as she been here? Sarah? Can you hear me? Sarah, say something. Christ, dude. She’s been sick. What do we do?”

I scooped her into my arms. “I’ll take care of her. Straighten up in here and wait for me in my suite.”

Sarah fell limp as I held her. She didn’t speak or help to hold herself against my chest. She just…

Gave up.

Surrendered.

Submitted
.

The only thing I ever demanded of her, and now I had it.

Sarah wrapped herself in a cocoon of silence and lost her every strength into the pit of flightless despair. My father hadn’t touched her, hadn’t harmed her, and yet he stole from her the only strength that fortified her against the nightmare we inflicted.