Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1) Read online

But Nicholas?

  If his golden eyes had burned, I’d be cast in a molten shell of utter desire. He memorized every part of me with a nefarious eagerness. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t felt me through the kiss. Our bodies pressed together. My chest arched. My hips practically bucked.

  First he claimed my kiss, and now he viewed my vulnerability with roguish excitement. The flush of pink embarrassment colored my skin, dancing over every bit of my exposure. Nicholas shared none of my shame for enjoying this. He actually believed, without a doubt or a moment of guilty humility, that I was his.

  These men were going to rape me.

  But Nicholas? He was honest to his word. He wouldn’t hurt me, and I’d break the instant he touched me.

  Their silence was a whip, and I wasn’t about to get beat again.

  “You were saying, Nicholas…” I didn’t unclench my fists. “Your company’s products are failing?”

  Reed snorted. I swore he smiled at me. “I’ve always said farmers fear the runoff. We should make something organic. Capitalize on that market.”

  Like I hadn’t heard that before. “And what will you do when that product also devastates the local ecosystem, pollutes the water table, and causes birth defects in cattle?” I shrugged. “There’s a reason the Atwood’s farms have never used your pesticides and herbicides. We value our crop.”

  Nicholas didn’t flinch. “We’ve run numerous ecological studies, each of which have passed with no admonishment from any regulatory committees.” He enjoyed this game. “Perhaps it was your farm polluting the water table? Your unhealthy breeding selection contributing to the problems with Atwood livestock?”

  “She had best hope her breeding stock has no complications.” Darius’s voice hardened.

  He was revolting.

  Darius stood, circling me though I tried my best to ignore the sting of his stare upon me. The slap to my breast was quick and severe. I wished I hadn’t shrieked. I had no time to defend myself before he cupped me between the legs.

  Darius twisted his fingers in my delicate curls.

  And yanked.

  “This is disgusting.” He tugged me off balance, gripping on the fine, blonde curls that obscured my slit. “Horrible.”

  Each word was a punch to my gut. I struggled away from him, but his next slap aimed directly between my legs. The shock of the strike drew tears. I dropped onto the ottoman.

  “You think I would give you to my sons unprepared?” Darius leered at me as I struggled to cross my legs.

  “Leave me alone,” I whispered.

  “You will take a bath and shave your pussy so your body will please your brothers. Is that understood?”

  I couldn’t speak. The demand was too mortifying.

  The first time anyone saw my body—and they insulted it.

  Horrible. Hideous. Disgusting?

  This was beyond cruel. My stomach threatened to wretch, but I had nothing inside me but bitterness. I shook my head.

  “No—that’s…no.”

  Darius kicked the ottoman from under me. I collapsed on the floor. I tried to cover my breasts. It only exposed more of me.

  “You will not return until you’re bare. Go.”

  Reed called for his father. His awkward shrug combined honesty with reluctance. “I don’t want to verge on too much information here, but I’m…very okay with how she looks now.”

  Darius straightened his jacket. He nodded, gesturing toward Max. “And you?”

  Max hadn’t moved. He shrugged, glancing from his phone to search for the area I tried to hide. “A pussy’s a pussy. I’m not picky.”

  I tensed as Nicholas and his father shared a glance.

  Nicholas sat like a king. Regal and magnificent and absolutely unreadable in his strength. He became the epitome of stillness. His patience treaded so close to premonition I wondered if he saw how everything would unfold, bend, and break before it happened.

  I searched for his mercy in a desperate, insane moment. He might have been my savior. A protector. A voice of reason.

  Instead, his mellow baritone spoke only to fracture me.

  “Go upstairs, Ms. Atwood, and tend to yourself.”

  Bastard.

  Bully.

  Enemy.

  The indignity of the request was nothing compared to the insufferable arrogance of the man who demanded it. I pushed myself from the ground. Ungracefully, simply relieved my throat hadn’t closed as I savored a particular choice phrase to utter. The frustration stung harder than Darius’s hit, but I wouldn’t test my luck while my flesh was so vulnerable to my step-father.

  I ignored their admiration as I hurried from the room. I ran. A mistake. The fear chased like a shadow, and I had to sit on the landing between the floors as I wheezed.

  This wasn’t good.

  Not the panic. Not the breathing.

  But in a perverse way, they helped. I stumbled into my room and slammed the bathroom door. The scalding water poured from the bath. I savored the hot air.

  My muscles relaxed in the familiar heat. A steamy bathroom used to slow my attacks. It wasn’t medication, but it’d get me through this.

  At least, I hoped it’d get me through.

  Who was cruel enough to shame a girl about her own body? And who was stupid enough to believe the vulgar lies? Darius meant to get in my head. It wasn’t his words that blinded me.

  Nicholas’s judgment was the razor to my vein.

  What was a worse punishment—altering my body and surrendering? Fighting them and earning Darius’s wrath?

  I had too much to consider and not nearly enough air.

  I gripped the razor, but I had no idea how to bend the right way to protect that softened skin. The warmth of the water comforted me from the first swipe to the last, but the end product wasn’t as sexy as my friends insisted it’d be.

  I looked young.

  Vulnerable.

  Weak.

  I appeared like a woman the Bennetts preferred. It gave me confidence.

  I’d use it to my advantage. I’d let the vulgarity be a disguise.

  But I still shouldered a robe before leaving my room. It didn’t prevent the chill as I clutched the railing and descended the stairs. One express trip to the foyer was enough. But Darius’s shout echoed a dozen times in the expansive hall.

  I wheezed as he ripped the robe from my shoulders and tore me from the pink terrycloth.

  “You disobedient little slut.” Darius kicked my knee, dropping me to the floor. I preferred it there, pressed against the cool tile while the world bashed helplessly against my lungs. “Do you think you’re allowed clothes unless I specifically say it?”

  He kicked me again. I shielded my head, but he didn’t aim for my face. He bruised my thigh, but the strike successfully pried my legs apart.

  “Jesus, Dad, she’s down.” Reed cautiously approached. “Don’t hurt her.”

  I coughed, but only once. The rest was lost to a choked sob I’d never admit to rasping. My legs fell open, and everything revealed to them. The delicate curve of my hip trapped me in femininity. The softened skin, pale and silky from the bath, bared me as little more than a tightness for them to steal.

  Every last fold and petal and virgin sight exposed to my greatest enemies.

  “Excellent.” Darius appraised me like I was a fine wine in his glass. “Unfortunately, I’ve just been called to San Francisco, but this lovely memory will keep me warm during my trip.”

  He clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. “Take her if you wish. Punish her if she requires it.” He pointed to Max and Reed. “You as well, but ask permission from Nicholas. As eldest, he deserves the first night.”

  Sick.

  Depraved.

  Monsters.

  I turned away and folded my legs, earning yet another kick from Darius. Nicholas intervened before he lunged for my hair.

  “Don’t bruise her.” He studied me. “She’s radiant now. I enjoy it.”

  The foot lowered. I edged closer to t
he damned stairs I’d never be able to climb again. My coughing worsened, but Nicholas said nothing. Darius pulled his cell to call his driver. He strode from the foyer and disappeared down the stairs to the garage.

  My step-brothers waited as I shivered beneath them. Reed moved first. He dove for the robe while Max swore.

  “Here.” Reed laid it over my shoulders. “I saw enough.”

  The rage clouded my sanity. I shoved the robe into his arms.

  “Screw you,” I said. “You think you can dress me and everything will be okay?”

  Nicholas offered his hand to get me up. Absolutely not. Crawling was preferable to his help.

  “Ms. Atwood—”

  “You’re all demons,” I whispered. “Especially you, Nicholas. Strap me to the bed now, I’ll never submit to you.”

  Nicholas buttoned his jacket. I didn’t have the strength to stand, but it didn’t matter. The weight of the humiliation crushed me at their feet. I was no longer the admired centerpiece in their charade. I crumpled, weak and angry and flushed with embarrassment.

  “Allow me to speak with her,” Nicholas said.

  Reed hesitated. Max had the right idea. He pulled his phone and nudged Reed to follow. Their steps faded, but the thudding of my heart would echo throughout the house.

  Nicholas knelt only once his brothers passed from the room. He laid the robe over my shoulders.

  “Consider this a lesson in strategic concessions, Ms. Atwood.”

  My expression blanked.

  “Permit my father his small victories. Concentrate your strength on what matters. Granting him his perversions will protect you. Challenge him on every little thing? He will make you suffer.”

  I coughed again. Nicholas thought I cried. I didn’t know which weakness was worse.

  “Why don’t you take a razor below the belt and then we’ll talk?” I said.

  “If we’re being honest—”

  “—I don’t want your honesty—”

  “I’d take you however I could get you.”

  His words wrapped me tighter than the robe, a heated promise. I tensed.

  “I’d take you innocent with those beautiful pale curls, or I’d enjoy you completely bare, soft, and wanton. All that matters is that I’m the man who will ultimately taste you.”

  “Rape me.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Why did you side with Darius?”

  He stood again. He might have thought I’d do the same, but my body locked. Pure adrenaline pumped my blood for me. I coughed again—unproductive and dry.

  “My father expected me to side with him.”

  I spat the word. “Coward.”

  “In a few days’ time, you will be bred by your three step-brothers. Is a bit of nudity the worst thing you can imagine?”

  Well, when he put it that way—it sounded just as bad.

  “You challenged my father when you fled. Had you stayed where I ordered and done as I said, I might have convinced him you were already sufficiently punished. Instead, you defied me, angered him, and suffered the consequences.”

  “Shaving my…” I gasped. “That’s a consequence?”

  “No. My father beating you senseless would have been the consequence. Hopefully you learned how best to behave.”

  “This is not my fault.”

  “But it is,” he said. “You aren’t thinking in terms of concessions, only pride. Why fight him on every term when you are negotiating for something far more important?”

  “My freedom?”

  “Your life.”

  “I’m not giving him any more victories over me. Once was enough.”

  “You’re in his house, Ms. Atwood. You’re at his mercy.”

  “He has no mercy.” My words clipped without air.

  “Not for you. But, if he thinks he’s broken you, this might go easier.”

  “Why would I give in?”

  Nicholas brushed my cheek with his fingers, so gently I jerked as if he had struck me. But Nicholas would never hurt me. I understood that now. He had no cause to beat me, no obsession to watch me bleed.

  He offered me a single escape, but it wasn’t freedom.

  “Surrender, and when the time comes, I will be the only one to take you.”

  I coughed again. The gasp didn’t return air. The thickness in my throat finally closed.

  Then, the panic.

  No matter how strong I believed I was, or how I once controlled it, or how much I understood about my body, my courage always disintegrated when I tripped over my first missed breath.

  Nicholas knelt as my breath hitched—a quiet hiccup that made him chuckle. His smiled faded as I gripped his arm. I dug into his jacket. My nails tinted blue.

  “Ms. Atwood, come with me. I’ll get you some water.”

  I coughed. It caused only pain. Soundless agony bubbled in me.

  “What’s wrong?” Nicholas demanded. He shouted for his brothers when I didn’t answer.

  I clawed at my neck. The brief sip of air I managed did nothing. My head pounded. I fell forward, slapping my throat, my chest, trying to make him understand.

  Reed rushed into the room first, diving to our side. “Sarah?”

  Max limped after, watching from a distance. “What the hell’s wrong with her? Is she choking?”

  Nicholas shook his head. He helped me onto my back. It didn’t help. My vision darkened, but the horrible coughing squeezed my chest. I pushed him away as much as I pulled him close, struggling against the pressure consuming me from the inside out.

  Betraying me.

  Destroying me.

  Bennett wouldn’t need to hurt me. My Atwood blood cursed me from the day I was born.

  “Sarah!” Nicholas cradled me against him. Not the first time he did it. Maybe the last. “Sarah?”

  I had no choice. It was stupid of me to hide the illness. I stared into his dark, caramel eyes—a color too beautiful for the man he was. The one I thought he was? I forced the words out.

  “As—asthma.” I beat my useless chest. “H—help me.”

  Sarah Atwood collapsed in my arms.

  It was the second time I cradled her limp body to my chest.

  “What the fuck did she just say?” Reed hovered over her. “Asthma?”

  I batted him away and lifted her from the floor. Was that why she was so small? So fragile?

  The girl weighed nothing. I rested her on the parlor chaise. Her cuts reopened. Blood leeched from her arms, hands, and neck onto the white couch. A thin line dribbled along her perfect breasts.

  Almost perfect. Perfection wouldn’t struggle and heave and choke to breathe.

  Her lips turned blue, and her coughing rasped far too shallow to be effective. Her body lurched, but still she clung to me.

  I had no idea what to do for her.

  “Should we sit her up?” Reed knelt before her, trying to hold her still. He rushed to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water. “Give her this.”

  We padded pillows behind her. Sarah slumped and turned her head. The water dripped from her lips, blending with the crimson cuts on her neck.

  “Jesus.” Max gritted his teeth. “You gotta call him, Nick.”

  My father was the last person who needed to know our prisoner slowly suffocated. I nodded, though the decision churned my stomach. He wouldn’t care that she suffered.

  Why didn’t I realize she had asthma?

  We studied the Atwood stock and bonds, hired private investigators to trace her brothers’ activities, secured corporate allies and tucked them within her company. We knew everything about Atwood Industries and nothing about Sarah.

  My father planned for us to bed and breed her. We purchased clothes for her, provided lotions and makeup, and prepared her room. But we neglected her most important amenity.

  A rescue inhaler.

  “Got a problem.” Max lowered his voice as he spoke into the phone. “The girl’s sick...Not sure....An asthma attack, I think.” He paused. “No,
definitely not faking it.”

  Max’s frustration mirrored my own. He ended the call. “He said to call Doctor Rimes.”

  Absolutely not.

  “Rimes is an hour away,” I said. “She doesn’t have that long.”

  Reed flipped through his phone. “Dude, this is serious. Every one of these websites says to get her to a hospital.”

  Max crossed his arms. “She’s not getting out of the house. Dad will carve her lungs out himself. He’s not risking her escaping.”

  “Look at her!” Reed stood. “She can’t run away like this.”

  Sarah’s grip weakened. I knelt before her, helpless as her delicate blue eyes widened, teary, and dulled to the color of a rich ash.

  Last time I held her this closely, it wasn’t terror that made her tremble.

  It was rage.

  Indignation.

  Desire.

  But I didn’t see it then. The coughing. The walking. The weakness. The attack had lasted for a while, and she pushed herself beyond her strength.

  She didn’t tell us she was sick. She hadn’t trusted us. And now, she was in trouble.

  Unacceptable.

  The girl was our captive, but she was the only woman—only person—I met who intimidated my father to violence. He loathed the Atwoods, but his hatred of Sarah bordered on personal obsession. She returned it, punch for punch, even when she could no longer defend herself.

  She was the most remarkable woman I knew.

  I tied her robe closed to calm her, though she was lovely, even in distress.

  How beautiful would she be when we conquered her?

  “Max, we’re taking the helicopter,” I said. “You fly. Reed, call the hospital. Tell them we’re on our way and give them our flight information.”

  “Are you insane?” Max wove his fingers through his hair. “If she goes to a hospital, they won’t just treat her asthma. Not when Dad punted her down the stairs and rolled her in glass. They’ll ask questions. She’ll tell people she’s been kidnapped and fuck us over.”

  Reed offered the water again. She turned away. Gripped me harder.

  “I’d rather explain a kidnapping than a murder.” Reed exhaled. “We don’t have a choice.”

  Max swore. “We take her to the hospital, and Dad will kill her himself.”

  “She won’t talk.” I cupped her chin. She choked and gasped, but she was still listening. “She knows if she tells anyone what’s happened to her, our father will hurt her mother. She’s not ready to lose the only family she has left.”