Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1) (12 page)

He pulled me from the tree and hauled me to the bike. My vision darkened, but the flush of heat and rage, passion and resistance provided me the strength to preserve my pride. Nicholas ordered me to hold him. I had nothing to clutch but his muscular chest as he returned me to the Bennett Estate.

He tried to intimidate me.

But I knew better. I saw through it, and the glimpse into his mind made every violation and suppressed pleasure worth it.

He wouldn’t take me because he
could
.

He’d take me because he
wanted
me.

And because he dared to touch me, he’d be the first brick I destroyed in the Bennett Estate.

Nicholas delivered me to the mansion. I stumbled off the motorcycle, but he pointed to the columned portico framing the front door.

“Wait there.”

The brief ride was humiliating enough. I wasn’t taking orders from Nicholas, especially if he thought I somehow
belonged
to him. He had tracked me down like a hunter stalking his prey and dared to kiss me without my consent.

At least, I didn’t think I consented.

My lips tingled, along with other places I’d be damned to admit. Nicholas twisted my senses, but it wasn’t just the indignity of his touch that chiseled my resolve into dust. He was the most sensual and attractive and
dangerous
man I had ever met.

My own
step-brother
trapped me in a perilous game I couldn’t win, not if my body ached for something darker. I unsuccessfully exhaled the overheated air from my lungs.

I wasn’t waiting for him. It was too risky to see him again before I learned how to endure the intensity of his stare without falling apart.

If I planned to survive this, I’d have to master Nicholas before he completely dominated me.

I studied the monstrous prison again. The spires clutched for the sky. The dark Corinthian stone blighted the natural beauty of the forest. The hundreds of windows stared at me in wicked accusation, as though they realized I wrecked an elegant dining room to escape from a dungeon of pure extravagance.

I edged through the front door. The foyer greeted me with silence. Nothing was bright in the house. No white marble, no delicate art or soft furniture. Dark tiles and splashes of crimson framed the centerpiece of the foyer—the grand staircase which would lead only to my ultimate violation.

Stairs. My chest hurt just looking at them.

I was certain Darius Bennett installed an elevator within his private sanctuary of opulence and secrets, but I’d be damned if they’d catch me using a crutch. God only knew what they’d do if I revealed the asthma.

One step.

Nice and slow.

A breath.

Second step.

This was pathetic. By the time I made it to my room, Nicholas might have found me, tortured me, and slammed me within my bed.

Third step—

“My dear…where do you think you’re going?”

Of course Darius would find me. I missed my breath, but I didn’t give him the pleasure of watching me pale. I continued my leisurely pace up the stairs.

“Get down here now, young lady.”

His words lulled soft and the perverted whisper of
young lady
unsettled me. He didn’t speak it to be kind. He meant it like a step-father.

And the implication sickened me.

I hid my disgust. “I’m going to my room to think about what I’ve done.”

“I said
get down here
. I won’t ask you twice, child.”

“Fuck you.”

He moved faster than I expected. I managed to rush only two steps before he was upon me. His hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back.

I thought he meant to pin me.

I shrieked a breathless cry as he threw me down the stairs. I bounced once before landing hard against the tile of the foyer. I burned with tears.

No one had ever hit me.

Not my father. Not my mother. Not even Josiah and Mike when I would roughhouse with them.
No one
ever hurt me.

Or pushed me down stairs.

I had to get out of here.

I struggled to my feet, but Darius grasped me before I rose. He hauled me against him, twisting a hand in my hair and pinning me a thick arm over my waist.

His sneered whisper clutched my heart.

“You’ve misbehaved, my dear. I am very disappointed in you.”

His fatherly, bitter tones rumbled felt dirty and wrong. I kicked, but even without asthma I couldn’t match a Bennett’s natural strength. Darius dragged me into the dining hall, aiming for where I tossed his chair through a plate window to escape. Glass littered the floor—a shimmering sea of danger.

I screamed as Darius pitched me to the ground. I tumbled onto the glass, and a thick shard instantly sliced my palm. He missed the worst of the pile, but the few crushed slivers tore at my skin. I bled everywhere, even from the smallest nicks on my exposed arms. His heel pressed against my neck. I struggled, but the movement only ground the glass into me. I stilled.

Darius Bennett looked too much like Nicholas—an older, greying, severe Nicholas who lost the amber tint to his eyes in favor of a lifeless brown. Darius didn’t have the same strong jaw or Roman nose, but the similarities were enough. The brow, his drawn lips. But Nicholas hadn’t played his emotions so vividly. Darius snarled, practically baring his teeth as he threatened to snap my neck with a steady kick.

My chest fluttered with useless breaths—hopefully fear and not the beginning of a serious attack.

A tear escaped as Darius knelt at my side, cradling a handful of glass in his palm. His voice lowered to a hideous threat.

“My dear, consider your circumstances. You are our guest because we need your cunt.” A sharp shard of glass the size of a paring knife danced in his fingers. He pressed the serrated edge against my throat. “The rest of your body doesn’t matter. Perhaps you wish to pick this glass up
piece by piece
with just your mouth?”

He wouldn’t.

“No?” He pressed the glass against my cheek. “What if you cleaned this mess by hand?”

I shook my head.

“Then if you promise to be a good girl…” The glass drifted low. I tensed as it passed my throat but stiffened when he teased the edge over my chest. He swept over my breast and poked my nipple hiding beneath my shirt. “Maybe I won’t have you sleep in this mess all night.”

The shard traced down. Lower and lower, summoning a frenzied breath that forced a tremble over my body.

He dragged the tip over my stomach to the hem of my shirt. I swallowed bile as he focused on the crest between my legs. The glass prodded where nothing should touch.

Son of a bitch.

My hands curled within the glass shards. I swore and threw the dust at his face.

“Little bitch!”

The backhand struck harder than I expected. He laid me out before I had a chance to run, but his second strike never fell.

Nicholas loomed over us, his hand gripping his father’s wrist. Reed rushed to my side, hauling me up from the glass. He pushed me behind him, just far enough to give me a momentary head start if his father dove at me once more.

Darius dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, but he’d never admit that an Atwood harmed him. He snarled, pointing to the glass.

“Clean this up,” he said. “Then come to us in the smoking lounge, do you understand, young lady?”

He didn’t have the right to call me
young lady
.

“She’ll clean,” Nicholas said.

I blushed the instant he spoke. Darius growled and left me to my chore. Reed and Max followed, dutifully, as proper sons and lapdogs.

Nicholas waited, as though he expected a moment of gratitude for preventing the second blow. I hardly believed the first one had fallen, and the pain was only now blossoming over my cheek.

“I told you to wait for me,” he said.

Was it an apology or another punishment? I brushed the glass from my clothing, amazed I wasn’t more injured. Blood smeared, and the cut in my palm burned, but the sting distracted me from Nicholas’s sharp glare, a prickle worse than any of the serrated shards scratching my skin.

“Next time, you
will
listen to me.”

I didn’t answer. He didn’t offer to help. Was it all intimidation? He didn’t threaten me, but what could hurt more than the damning kiss he forced upon me in the woods?

A kiss that took my breath then and now.

He followed his family and left me to my hell.

I fantasized about scratching the elaborate dining table with the glass, slashing through the original art decorating the walls, or simply leaving the shards for Darius to imbed in his feet.

But damaging a fine mahogany, ruining a precious painting, or forcing a maid to tend to my mess was just as distasteful as the vulgar words Darius whispered with wicked honesty. That revenge would be petty and would probably end with me locked in a room. I couldn’t lose the freedom to explore the estate—to search for any reason, any evidence, for Darius Bennett murdering my father.

Running away nearly blew my chance.

I wouldn’t be so selfish in the future.

I cleaned my injuries and swept up the glass. The activity exhausted me, and I hid within a powder room, wheezing. My body demanded a rest, but I didn’t have the time.

Darius ordered me to his study once I was finished. God only knew what he wanted. I was more than content to make him wait, but my caution warned me to behave.

If I needed an inhaler—or a doctor—I couldn’t give him reason to deny me.

And so I joined them.

Too many Bennetts waited for me in the dark shadows of the parlor.

The books on shelves darkened an already threatening salon, but the fire in the hearth roared. The bottles of bourbon and whiskey, brandy and cordials rested half-empty on a cart.

Darius obviously enjoyed this room—a private retreat for him and his sons. He ruled like a king, surrounded by decadence, scented by the charred wood from the fire and polished leather of the chairs. My step-family waited in silence, their seats arranged in a semi-circle framing the fireplace and ignoring the most precious piece of art Darius owned—the antique grand piano waiting in the corner.

A footstool was positioned in the center of their circle.

Darius didn’t react when I entered. The hairs on my neck prickled. I hesitated.

I fucked up.

I fought him for a momentary victory. In my panic, I threw the glass and earned whatever punishment he plotted. The fight was as reckless as thinking I could escape from the estate to find any medication.

No.

It was never about the asthma. I lied to myself as ineffectively as I lied to Nicholas.

I tried to escape because the Bennetts terrified me. And now? The dread tore me apart before the men even touched me.

“My dear.” Darius gestured to the ottoman. “Come join us.”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s not an invitation.”

I didn’t let my gaze drift over Nicholas. Reed stared into the fire. His hair—a sun-bleached brown—matched the highlights and shadows within the hearth. He helped me from the glass. If I thought any Bennetts were capable of kindness, he might have been an ally.

But Reed was no friend. Neither was Max. For as prestigious and wealthy as the family was, rumors whispered of Max’s personal touches to finalizing deals. Torched cars, shattered windows.

Broken bones.

Max walked with a severe limp, but he wasn’t weak. A kick dropped me from his clutches once. He wouldn’t let me get that lucky again.

This wasn’t a parlor. It was a dragon’s lair, carved for Darius and his sons, and it was the last place I should have entered.

I claimed the seat.

Darius nodded for Nicholas to continue reading from the tablet in his lap.

“Profits from production of the Weed and Wrangler division rose three percent from last month,” Nicholas said. “It was our most significant growth overall, but down four percent from where we were this time last year.”

“Reasons?”

“Distribution costs, supplier delays.”

What in the world? I expected hellfire. Instead I got a board meeting. Lately, I started believing they were one and the same, but I didn’t expect business from the Bennetts.

“Suggestions?” Darius snapped his fingers and pointed to the whiskey.

He gestured for me to serve them.

Son of a bitch. I curled my fist to hide the blood. The gash stung and my cheek throbbed where he struck me. Enough bruises would line my skin from the fall down the stairs, and I could only imagine how bad the rest of me looked from the car crash.

Whiskey was easy. I tipped the decanter and let the alcohol spill into his tumbler. I hoped it would poison him.

Nicholas swiped across the tablet. “I’ve created a three point plan to regain our ground. I’ve instructed our CFO to present—”

“One moment, son.” Darius curled a finger for me to stand.

What now?

“My dear, as an honored guest in the Bennett home, you are welcomed to attend this meeting as a show of good faith.”

Sure, I was. “What good faith?”