Controlling Interests: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 2) (6 page)

And he chose to punish Sarah instead of me.

She had warmed with pleasure then paled with quiet fear. I embraced her to get close and coil a fist in her hair. She surrendered to my kiss only so I could muffle her cries.

I whispered for her to trust me while clipping a leash around her delicate neck.

The collar choked her, but she endured the humiliation. Her resilience amazed me, but she couldn’t fight every monster that awaited her. She depended on me.

I promised her safety only to deliver her to my father’s den.

My father awaited us behind his desk, requesting Max and Reed’s presence as well. Had the estate not swarmed with caterers and waiters, landscapers and party planners in preparation for our annual barbecue, I would have feared for Sarah’s safety. I loathed how easily I could imagine my father’s chosen tortures, but I was wrong to assume he’d physically hurt her. I underestimated his cruelty. He’d break her without a single touch.

And he’d make me stand in silence as he did it.

He didn’t end his phone call, but he motioned for me to contain her. Max seized her leash, and Reed closed the door.

At least she wore clothes this time, though the sweet, sunshine yellow sundress bound her more effectively than any length of chain. I didn’t trust her to stay quiet, and my heart ached as she fought against my hold over her body and hand muffling her protests.

Whatever my father planned amused him beyond even the excitement he took from beating tears from the girl. He continued his conversation and admired the dress he picked for Sarah. His eyes lingered on her curves.

Christ, I
presented
her to him.

And then I understood why.

“I’ll come down this weekend, Bethany. We’ll take a trip to the coast. You love the ocean so much.”

He spoke to his new wife, to Sarah’s mother, and no good would come from the conversation. Sarah tensed, sparking like metal striking metal. Despite my hold on her, Max’s released flogger, and Reed blocking the door, Sarah didn’t fear a punishment for running.

Not when she fought to rush toward my father.

“I miss you too, darling, but I’ve been busy lately. So many new…” He licked his lips and studied our captive. “Business opportunities.”

He threatened her but taunted me. I tightened my hold across her lips. She didn’t try to speak, but she caused enough trouble without words. Her nails dug into my arm. She might have fretted for her mother, but I met Max’s gaze with the same momentary confusion.

I didn’t recognize the disturbing softness in my father’s voice. His tone rounded, leisurely and mellowed, probably to benefit Bethany’s fragile state, shaded with anti-depressants and the prescribed medications she abused to survive the day. He didn’t condescend. It felt…authentic. My father tried not to upset Bethany, though he captured and molested her daughter, ordering her repeated rape to deliberately impregnate the girl.

Sarah bristled as he placed the call on speakerphone.

“We’re holding our annual barbecue for a few of my business associates today, Bethany.”

Sarah strained to edge closer to the phone, desperate to hear her mother’s voice.

That, I understood.

“A barbecue?” Bethany’s exhaustion infected her enthusiasm. “That’s nice.”

“It will be a special occasion,” he said. “Sarah’s graciously agreed to help hostess.”

I held Sarah tighter. Her mother hesitated.

“…Who?”

Sarah no longer fought against my hold. Without my support, she’d have crumbled to the floor.

This wasn’t part of my father’s plan. He frowned, leaning closer to the phone console. “
Sarah
, darling. Sarah’s still here.”

Reed whistled, earning a frustrated grunt from Max.

The connection crackled, but Bethany lightly chuckled, lucid once more. “Oh, Sarah’s so bright at a party. Sociable. She’ll make you proud, Darius.”

“Always has.”

“Put her on the phone?”

My father faked his apology. “She’s tied up at the moment, darling. But I’ll call you after the party and schedule our weekend. You should get some rest.”

“I do miss her.”

“And I know she misses you,” he said. “She’d do just anything to see you. Soon enough, if everything goes to plan.”

The conversation ended with an oddly sincere exchange of affection. Sarah trembled with rage.

Son of a bitch.

My father didn’t strike her, but a beating might have been kinder. What better way to control Sarah in public? Bruises revealed too much, but destroying her pride and twisting her mind?

He didn’t have to make her bleed to tear her heart out.

My father stilled. “You
do
wish to see your mother again, right, my dear?”

Sarah didn’t answer.

“The men attending this luncheon are family friends and business partners. You will be cordial. You will be entertaining. You
will
behave.” His gaze settled on me. “Wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself, would you?”

He neither expected a reaction nor did I offer him the satisfaction. He waved a hand.

“Don’t leave her unattended today. If she speaks out of turn, drag her into the house and beat her, but not where anyone will see the strikes.”

Like the villains we were, my brothers and I agreed.

“Sarah, if you want your mother to survive this weekend, you’ll be a good girl. You’re my sweet daughter, visiting your big brothers after that terrible asthma attack. You do as they say, and you make me proud.” He grinned. Her silence amused him. “Give Daddy a nod.”

Sarah refused as though the motion would snap her neck. I forced the movement.

“Good. Now, go walk through the property. Make sure the grounds are fit for our guests.”

I hauled Sarah upstairs, and, for the first time, locked her within her bedroom. She swore at me from beyond the door, but I’d preferred her angry with me. I wasn’t chancing any impetuous revenge on my father for either the attempted attack or his threats against her mother.

My brothers and I did as he instructed, heading outside to oversee the barbecue’s setup.

“I used to like having this party.” Reed checked the caterer’s schedules. “Lot more fun when you aren’t in charge of it, and when you don’t have to carve up the guest of honor like the ribs.”

I agreed but remained silent. Today’s hell would be a far different experience from the parties we had as children—the one time we were permitted to laugh, play, and rough-house with the other kids. After Mom’s death, the barbecue became a sticky and boring event in the summer heat, stuck in tailored suits and attached to my father’s side as an awkward adolescent. The past few years offered entertainment, at least. Good food, pleasant conversation, and a chance to interact with them men I hoped would lead me against my father and change the course of the Bennett Corporation.

That opportunity was lost before my father gave the welcoming toast.

I surveyed the grounds for the perfection my father expected in the minutes before the guests were scheduled to arrive for lunch. The caterers set their smokers on the far edge of the property, tinging the garden with the salty-sweet temptation of tenderizing meat. The planners wove thousands of white LEDs into the half acre of rose bushes, and flowers framed the linen-stripped tables, crisp white tents, and the two dozen chairs prepared for an annual display of Bennett hospitality, cordiality, and raw decadence.

We impressed the same people, courted the same money, and served the same end goal—success.

Only this time, our lives would depend on the behavior of the tiny Atwood threatened into silence. Sarah didn’t need a weapon to destroy the family, not when a single scream would echo louder than a shotgun.

“Greet the guests once they arrive.” I instructed Reed. “But Sarah doesn’t leave my side. Our father doesn’t touch her, and she doesn’t talk to
anyone
on the board alone.”

Reed frowned. “But—”

“Don’t let them near her.”

Max didn’t like his orders. “It’s trouble enough having an Atwood at a Bennett Corp picnic, but she can’t deliberately ignore the investors. There’s enough bad blood without causing more trouble.”

More trouble than he realized. “It’ll be safer for Sarah if she’s kept away.”

“What the hell is going on? You aren’t telling us something.”

He was right. I hadn’t told them of the encounter with the board or my father’s knowledge of the takeover, and I wouldn’t. Not yet. Not until I knew exactly what was happening. Not until I had assurances they wouldn’t be harmed. If I revealed the board’s conspiracy, Reed might have stayed calm, but Max?

His greatest inheritance was our father’s temper. If he learned the board threatened him and Sarah, we’d be washed in blood—and most of it would belong to him.

“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.