Takeover The Complete Series - Lana Grayson

TAKEOVER THE COMPLETE SERIES

LANA GRAYSON

CONTENTS Note To Readers Special Bonus Other Novels By Lana Takeover (Legacy Book 1) 1.

Sarah

2. Sarah 3. Nicholas 4. Sarah 5. Sarah 6. Nicholas 7. Sarah 8. Sarah 9. Nicholas 10. Sarah 11. Nicholas 12. Sarah 13. Sarah 14. Nicholas 15. Sarah 16. Nicholas 17. Sarah 18. Nicholas 19. Sarah 20. Nicholas 21. Sarah 22. Sarah 23. Nicholas 24. Sarah Controlling Interests (Legacy Book 2) 1.

Sarah

2. Nicholas 3. Nicholas 4. Sarah 5. Sarah 6. Nicholas 7. Sarah 8. Sarah 9. Nicholas 10. Sarah 11. Sarah 12. Nicholas

13. Sarah 14. Sarah 15. Nicholas 16. Sarah 17. Sarah 18. Nicholas 19. Sarah 20. Nicholas 21. Sarah 22. Sarah - Six Weeks Later Capital Risk (Legacy Book 3) 1.

Sarah

2. Nicholas 3. Sarah 4. Sarah 5. Nicholas 6. Nicholas 7. Sarah 8. Sarah 9. Nicholas 10. Sarah 11. Nicholas 12. Sarah 13. Sarah 14. Nicholas 15. Sarah 16. Sarah 17. Nicholas 18. Sarah 19. Nicholas 20. Sarah 21. Sarah 22. Sarah 23. Max 24. Sarah 25. Sarah 26. Nicholas 27. Reed Epilogue Other Novels By Lana Sneak Peek - While They Watch! A Lana Grayson/Sosie Frost Novel! 1. While They Watch - Sneak Peek Introduction

Sweetest Sin About the Author Also By Sosie Frost Note To The Reader 1.

Honor

2. Raphael 3. Honor 4. Raphael 5. Honor 6. Raphael 7. Honor 8. Raphael 9. Honor 10. Raphael 11. Honor 12. Raphael 13. Honor 14. Raphael 15. Honor 16. Raphael 17. Honor 18. Raphael 19. Honor 20. Raphael 21. Raphael 22. Honor 23. Raphael 24. Honor Epilogue - Honor About the Author Also by Lana Grayson Acknowledgments

To SF Our secret is almost out…

Takeover (The Complete Legacy Series) Copyright © 2017 by Lana Grayson Published by Lana Grayson All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs Cover Images Purchased from: http://www.periodimages.com

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NOTE TO READERS

This story is a DARK romance. Very dark. Sexy…but dangerous and wild. You’ll squirm. Your heart will race. Some content might be a little too non-consensual for certain audiences. But, for those of you who like their romances over-the-top, rough, and remorselessly passionate…this series is for you. Takeover is a menage romance, but no characters will cheat on their way to a happily-ever-after. And, though this is a taboo book, the characters are not blood-related. Are you willing to try? Don’t be scared… This is the dark romance you’ve always desired…

SPECIAL BONUS

s a bonus to readers, my best friend and future co-author, Sosie Frost, has A agreed to offer a bonus book as a special thank you!

AT THE END OF THIS BUNDLE IS HER DARK, TWISTED, AND TOTALLY TABOO NOVEL, SWEETEST SIN. IF YOU love forbidden romance, this novel will be your next go-to secret indulgence, the kind of book you tuck under your pillow at night to read when no one is watching…

OTHER NOVELS BY LANA

The Anathema Motorcycle Club Series (Dark Romance) A war torn club. One grizzled president out for blood. One hardened man exiled from his family. One traitor desperate to reclaim his honor. The world of the Anathema MC is brutal, passionate, and deadly. The only thing that matters more than their patch? The women they love. Warlord Exiled Knight

TAKEOVER (LEGACY BOOK 1)

1

SARAH

I t wasn’t just a hostile takeover.

It was war.

The email jolted my phone. A flurry of text messages and calls rumbled it off the library’s desk. I let it fall. My laptop dinged and threatened to blue-screen as it lagged over the invasion of alerts. A blizzard of emails flashed over the desktop, all attaching stock reports, portfolios, bond liabilities, and profit and losses. My life was a tangled disaster of graphs and spreadsheets that, until this quarter, predicted a booming year for my family’s farm. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” My voice bounced off the library walls, followed by a particularly angry hush from the students studying below. My apology carried too far, and I cringed as the next shush hissed into an unfriendly word. God, did I envy the students just fretting over their midterms. My thesis minimized under the mess of emails, reports, and numbers. The lab would have to wait. Again. I rubbed the exhaustion from my face. I’d have to redo the titrations before I finished the damn thing. That’d set me back another day. It was okay. I could handle it. I flipped through my planner and scribbled a quick note for Wednesday. The little block was filled with names, notes, and numbers. I scrawled in the margin instead. Titration. I could fit it in between my Soil Fertility exam and the presentation for the irrigation proposal designed for our south cornfield. My phone didn’t stop vibrating. Maybe the battery would drain before I was forced to take a call from a nervous investor? A girl could hope. I snapped the buckle around my planner and shoved it into my laptop bag.

Dad warned about this. He knew it was coming, but he thought Darius Bennett and the Bennett Corporation would make the move when he announced the cancer. They didn’t, and the suspense poisoned us as much as his chemo. We prepared anyway. In the hospital, Dad told my brothers every last secret about our company, the farm, and the Bennetts. They were ready when he died. But no one prepared for Josiah and Mike dying in a private plane crash just four months later. And Dad never thought to share his secrets with me. I shouldered the bag and burst from the library, nearly tumbling down the steps leading from the Agricultural and Biosystems Engineering loft. Studying in the loneliest section in the library didn’t bother me. No one was around to watch the CEO and prime shareholder of a multi-billion dollar company crash on her behind. Even better, no one spied me taking a hit from my inhaler. The albuterol sucked, but it was effective. I blamed my trembling on the meds. The Bennetts targeted my family for the past thirty years, but never once stole a single stock from my father’s control. But Dad was dead now. I hid the inhaler in my purse. In a way, the tightness crushing my chest composed me. I couldn’t rush, and I took greater care saving my breath on the most important words—all sound business practices according to my father. Fleeing from Broughton University’s library in a burst of paperwork and bumbling backpacks was not proper Atwood behavior, and I would not grant the Bennetts the satisfaction of seeing me rattled. That bastard family deserved only the same grief they caused me. My phone rang three times before I made it to my car. Our attorney, Anthony Delvannis, did his job well, but he had a bad habit of calling me during lectures and labs. He charged enough that he could have purchased some patience while I failed my classes for his conference calls. And it wouldn’t have hurt to buy a little bit of good news every so often. Apparently, that wasn’t part of the attorney/client privilege. “We have a problem.” Anthony didn’t greet me. He never did—a relic from Dad’s time. Josiah had inherited the same abruptness, but Michael used to tolerate the pleasantries. “Bennett held a press conference.” My fingers tightened over the steering wheel. “And?” “You better get over here.” “How bad is it?”

“I’d advise an immediate response. And I’d convince your mother to make a public appearance.” “She hardly gets out of bed—” “Force her, Sarah. The marriage spooked the board and dropped your stock prices. And now Bennett’s making these statements. Best not to hemorrhage any more money.” Like we had any money left to lose. “I’ll be there in five.” Uttering an uncouth word might have relieved some stress, but my chest still ached. Darius Bennett didn’t deserve a single breath wasted over his name. “Damage control,” he said. “Start thinking.” The call ended. I hated this. I wasn’t Sarah Meredith Atwood anymore. I became Sarah Damage Control Atwood, though Sarah Criminally-Underprepared-ButFaking-It Atwood was probably more apt. The University faded in my rearview mirror. What had been my life’s ambition now shifted. I was Mark Atwood’s only living heir, the last member of my family competent enough to act as owner of the farm—even if I was never intended to touch the books, make the decisions, or involve myself with the corporation. My role was to help Mom, study, and distract the guests at our parties with my pretty dress and sensible conversation. I had a lot to represent. Our farm grew from a little homestead out west into a major, multi-thousand acre empire of diversified crops and ranches stretching throughout Southern California and encroaching deeper into the Southwest. The Atwoods didn’t trade seeds for a pail of milk anymore. And, once I finished my degree and conducted my own research, our seeds would be the foundation for an entirely new division of the company. Genetically modified, drought-resistant, high-yield seed. My research would be something that could really make a difference, a true legacy that would secure the Atwoods for generations and help the farms in Southern California survive. Maybe even in other arid places throughout the world. Dad sent me to the best schools, put me in the best agricultural engineering university, and ensured I had every opportunity to place the family first. But, instead of working in the lab, I was on damage control. Investor problems. Worker grievances. Irrigation administration. We had vice-presidents to handle the dayto-day, but only an Atwood could ease the trigger-fingers of our stock holders. I much preferred the lab.

Anthony’s paralegal waited for me outside. I tossed him the keys to Josiah’s Mercedes and hurried inside as he parked. The receptionist handed me a bottle of water, and I cracked it open before bursting into Anthony’s office without knocking. He hated that. Anthony wasn’t a man who tolerated interruptions, impropriety, or disrespect. He was far too handsome for such strict business practices. If Anthony was anywhere near as intimidating in the court room as he was frowning at his desk, I pitied his targets. Luckily, he represented us. His office hid under a stack of papers and thick files. Dad hired his family’s firm based on their superb organization. Now? Rolled plans, endless contracts, blueprints, and banking statements cluttered Anthony’s tables. Dad’s death didn’t just leave our house a mess. The remnants of his legacy mixed in the papers and clutter left behind by my brothers. Nothing was where it should have been, and everything that made sense was lost in redundant duplications. Except the paper trail telling me where most of our money went. That documentation, conveniently, was missing. The television paused on an image of Darius Bennett. The clean-cut, aging business man decked himself out in imported suits, diamond cufflinks, and a sleek smile that bared more teeth than genuine excitement. His only honest quality was the grey in his hair, and that hadn’t spread fast enough. I sunk into a spare chair. “A press conference?” “Classic Bennett,” Anthony said. He pressed play. The staged conference was meant to be a resource for the company —one of Dad’s initiatives. Face-to-face contact wasted time, but Skype meetings calmed irritated stock holders and quieted jittery investors. Darius adopted it—like he tried to adopt everything else. “Family.” Darius Bennett’s serpent tongue rolled over the word as if it meant anything to him. “It’s the most important connection in this world. The past few months have been a difficult time for my family—all our families. Tragedy shadowed our hearts, but, slowly, we’ve begun to heal with new projects, new friends, and, of course, new love.” “What’s the point of this?” I couldn’t look into his slimy, toad-brown eyes even when he was only a digital representation. I wrinkled the one paper that hadn’t been lost amid the clutter on Anthony’s desk. The marriage certificate weighed as heavily on both our minds as any of the contracts or negotiations Darius could ruin with his publicity stunt. “What’s he trying to do?”

Anthony tapped the desk and ordered me to be quiet. I huffed. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. It didn’t calm me, but it kept me from choking. Even over a video, Darius wielded a malicious power. The coiled rage pitted my stomach. He didn’t deserve any reaction from me—not disgust, not rage, and certainly not a response from my stock holders. “Since the unforeseen and tragic deaths of Josiah and Michael Atwood, the Bennett family has supported, comforted, and loved the Atwoods. Nothing replaces the loss of two children, but the compassion of a new family has lifted the veil of mourning and encouraged a new era of prosperity.” I sipped my water. The chill did nothing to extinguish the flaring of my temper. Compassion? Mourning? Michael and Josiah weren’t even buried before the vulture circled their gravesites and scavenged what remained. But what remained was me, and I hadn’t given him a single taste of our company. The water bottle crumpled in my grip. I didn’t answer Anthony’s glance. Nothing Darius Bennett said shocked me anymore. Anyone not drugged into oblivion on Vicodin and a cocktail of other soul-sucking pills should have realized what he wanted. The grief and drugs had to be the only reason Mom was blinded to his charm. “The Bennett Corporation is committed to the same excellence and success which created Atwood Industries so many generations ago. Family built this farm, and the blood, sweat, and tears of its children forged an empire of new technology blended with good, old-fashioned hard work.” Darius Bennett spoke the truth. He was a snake, but even the ultimate tempter graced the world with honesty every once in a while. “Just a few months ago, I joined my family with the Atwood’s in a quiet ceremony, and this flicker of happiness has blossomed into a unique partnership between two souls lost in a life of darkness and...dare I say, solitude?” I bit my lip and tasted blood. The copper twang of Atwood pride prevented me from pitching my water at the screen. “I wish to extend that partnership.” Darius softened his voice for the camera. It sounded false and sour. “The Bennett Corporation and Atwood Industries have

lived in competition for far too long. As our families have merged, so have our hearts, ambitions, and visions for the future. Beginning today, I am announcing a new conversation—one between business partners. Friends. Family.” He lingered over the implication. “A business proposal between a father and his new daughter.” My profanity wasn’t dignified. I didn’t remember standing. The room swirled a bit too quick, and my cough silenced the string of un-pleasantries bitter on my tongue. Anthony stopped the video. The coughing intensified, but he respectfully waited until I recovered. “Never,” I said. He nodded. “I assumed as much. This is not a formal offer, but the message broadcast to your Board of Directors. Has your mother said anything about Bennett’s end game?” “Mom’s not...” Not the mother I remembered. “I can’t talk to her. She trusts Darius. Always did, even before...” Before she drugged herself beyond the pain of losing most of her family. I was still there, still trying to keep her in one piece. But she was the first battle I lost to Darius. It’d be the last. “He has no claim over the company,” I said. “Doesn’t matter how many times Mom flashes the ring. Atwood Industries is independent of the family. He gets nothing but money. At least I can thank Josiah and Mike for being thoroughly irresponsible and losing it all.” Anthony exhaled. “You aren’t destitute, Sarah. What money remains buys influence.” “The Bennetts are wealthier than us. Always have been.” “Certain members of your board might be interested in this partnership.” He anticipated my frown with a raised hand. “It would make for one very powerful, very wealthy company.” “All under Darius Bennett’s control.” “It doesn’t have to be—” “It’s what he wants. Atwood Industries destroyed, ripped apart piece by piece. He doesn’t care about the money or the company. He can’t wait to cast us out into the street after he’s robbed us of our land.” “He doesn’t have that power.”

“Nothing will stop him until he has it,” I said. “I’m not indulging this. He has no right to call me...to talk about me like I’m his...his...” I wheezed. Anthony had the discretion to pretend he didn’t hear it. My foot bumped my book-bag as I collapsed into the chair. I was only twenty years old. Even Dad was closer to thirty when he took the company from Papa, and he had worked with him from his teens to learn the business. I picked through my memories of dinners where Dad sat still long enough to offer wisdom. Never to me though. He looked to my brothers to protect the company like the warriors our success demanded. Atwood Industries wasn’t supposed to be mine, but it sure as hell wouldn’t fall prey to Darius Bennett. “We have to make the clause public.” Anthony rolled away from his desk. He shook his head, but he didn’t argue as he pulled my father’s will from his shelf. Until two years ago, I had never seen the damned thing. Now, it felt like all I did was pour over the intricacies of Mark Atwood’s Final Will and Testament and the poorly defined agreements my brothers had only started to organize for themselves. “This clause makes it harder on you, Sarah,” Anthony said. “Legal issues, trusts, every difficulty. We could argue against it—the company can be yours.” “I would rather lose everything than let Darius Bennett touch a single share.” “This is your farm too, Sarah.” “That’s why I’m doing this.” I took the copy of the will. “It’s what my father wanted.” Anthony never showed frustration, but he tightened the dashing pony tail that swept most of his dark hair from his face. Neither of us was used to doing business with the other. Anthony was once just the charming attorney who visited us at home and brought Mom and me a box of chocolates before dealing with Dad and my brothers. Now? We were sick of each other—spending too many hours trying to fix too many problems. I hadn’t had a piece of chocolate since the plane crash. “I’m well aware of what Mark wanted for your brothers and what he expected of you,” Anthony said. “But he’s gone. You can take control of your own life now. So the question is...what do you want?” I stuffed the will in my bag next to the homework I had forgotten to complete and the paper I’d never turn in. “I want my father back.” My voice hardened. “And I want Darius Bennett rotting in

jail for his murder.”

2

SARAH

“D id you win?” Dad asked.

I hid the red ribbon behind my back. “Almost.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Second place. But most of the kids were older than me. Like, fifteen. They were in high school.” He waited. I offered him my prize. He didn’t take it. “I can’t display that in my office. Throw it away.” “But, Dad, it…it’s still good. They said so.” “I don’t want you to make me look good.” He packed his briefcase and left me at his desk. “You’re an Atwood. You’re meant to make me look great. You’ll have to try harder.” “I will. I promise.” He didn’t answer, but I earned his proud nod. It was better than any stupid ribbon.

I GRABBED MY KEYS FROM ANTHONY’S SECRETARY AND HIT MY INHALER THE INSTANT I REACHED MY CAR. Early summer was a bad season with all the pollen on the farm. Staying at school was easier on my lungs, but Mom made the worst decision of a lifetime without me being there. I moved home and thought I could balance both school and my family’s mess. I learned that lesson fast. The add/drop forms were signed by sympathetic professors, but I hadn’t returned it to the administrative offices. Dad said Atwoods never quit. As long as we had sun, water, and dirt, we’d survive.

But Dad never took thermodynamics and organic chemistry while managing the entire corporation. Dad hadn’t dealt with Mom slicing her wrists the day of her sons’ funerals. Dad never had to bathe her, dress her, and force her to eat. He didn’t watch as a loathsome man more snake than human took advantage of her depression with superficial words. Ten miles outside of Cherrywood Valley, and our fields traded the buildings, industrial districts, and diners for swaths of green. We owned acres upon acres, but the corn, alfalfa, and almonds still felt like Dad’s, not mine. At least when Josiah and Mike squandered most of our money, they hadn’t lost the most important things: the property, the soil, the crops. Our future. My phone rang. I couldn’t avoid her forever. Mom’s sweet voice dulled—about three hours into her latest dose and already itching for another. “Sweetheart,” Mom said. “Are you coming home?” Her newest obsession was always knowing my exact location. I couldn’t blame her. We hadn’t realized Josiah and Mike went to Vegas until the cable news channels broke with a story about their private plane crash. The police called an hour later. “Just turned into the driveway.” “Good. I have a surprise for you.” If she meant to smile, it didn’t translate over the phone. Mom’s grin used to schmooze Dad’s business partners. Dad said I had her features, but I saw more of him in me—especially our hair, as pale as corn peeking up in the fields. Mom’s went grey before Dad’s diagnosis. She pulled most of it out when he died. Fortunately, it grew back for the wedding. She didn’t let me hang up and prattled on about Grandma’s fancy china she found in storage. She’d be using the plates for dinner, but I didn’t question why. Then I saw the limo. I didn’t bother pulling into the garage. I wouldn’t be staying long. The curtains were pulled back. Mom gave me a wave from the foyer. I didn’t return it. “Is he here?” I demanded. “Who?” “Him.”

“Your father?” I couldn’t tell if it was the drugs or her warped mind that made the mistake. “Step-father.” Mom cleared her voice. “I hoped it’d be a surprise—” I disconnected the call. She waited by the window. My once beautiful mother, reduced to a dumb shell of a woman, orange pill bottle clutched in her hand. I parked the car and counted my blessings. Darius was here, and it would be easier than I thought to shut him down. Whatever game he played, whatever trigger he threatened to pull, it wouldn’t matter. The Atwood fortune and company was as secure as kicking his ass out of my house and locking the door behind him. Mom ushered me through the foyer, boasting about her roasted pork loin. “Your father’s favorite,” she said. It wasn’t. Dad liked veal. “Where is he?” I asked. She pointed to the kitchen—the little dinette area she begged Dad to remodel for her. Dad favored the finer things. Large houses. Nice cars. Expensive trips overseas. Mom liked the simple, country living that supported the Atwoods for generations. They compromised. Mom got her farm house—Dad had his luxury. I grew up in a southern plantation antebellum home—columns and wraparound porches, winding staircases and sitting parlors. The kitchen bathed in a down-to-earth, folksy atmosphere. The wooden table sat eight, far more than the blended atrocity that was my new family. Mom begged me to drop my bag and change before attending dinner. No dice. I pushed the doors open, but my steps crashed to a halt. Darius wasn’t alone. “My dear!” His fake, plastic expression was better suited for ribbon cuttings and photo-ops. He didn’t hide his distaste well. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us.” Mom curled behind me, squeezing my hand. “Isn’t this great? Your brothers are all here, for the first time since the wedding!” They weren’t my brothers.

My brothers were dead and buried. These men were Bennetts. Mom had toasted me at the wedding—sloshed on wine and dulled to incoherence with pills—claiming I was lucky to have five older brothers now. At the time, Josiah and Mike refused to answer. My new brothers—Nicholas, Maxwell, and Reed— weren’t thrilled about the addition either. Darius and his sons trespassed in my kitchen. The house was big, but in his oppressive presence, the walls shrunk and the ceilings collapsed. Every bit of air I managed to sneak into my lungs squeezed out, useless and stale. Four Bennetts or four million. It didn’t matter. I had Dad’s will and final wishes. I had won. “You remember Nicholas, Max, and Reed?” Mom acted as if the men in her kitchen were life-long friends or her own flesh and blood. “Well, say hello, Sarah!” “Hi.” Darius grinned. I hadn’t seen them since the wedding four months ago. I considered it a good thing, especially as my mother pushed me into each of their arms for a dance while Josiah drank himself into a stupor and Mike stormed out after the ceremony. Nicholas was the oldest at twenty-nine, and he was everything I expected from Darius Bennett’s heir. Handsome. Cultivated. Reserved. He danced with me first at the reception, and I hated how polite he acted. He mentioned nothing of the marriage or how I wore the same mourning blacks I had for my father’s funeral. Without the aid of the champagne, I had nothing to brace me against his stare. Nicholas didn’t share his father’s eyes. His strong jaw and dark hair framed a majestically golden gaze—almost a toasted almond and far warmer than I expected. He nodded but didn’t offer more. That was fine. Nicholas had every reputation of his father. Word on the street was he was as ambitious as he was cruel. Our business partners warned when Nicholas assumed leadership of his family, I’d have one hell of a rival. He didn’t scare me. In fact, had I encountered him on campus? I might have blushed instead of glared. “Max, darling,” Mom said. “Your drink is empty. Sarah, get your brother more iced tea?” Max chuckled. Not a gentle, hospitable laugh.

He extended the glass, forcing me to cross the kitchen to pour him tea from the pitcher right beside him on the counter. But that was Max. At the wedding, he had been an absolute force of masculinity and testosterone. His dance was an experiment to see how rough he could lead before I pushed from his arms and stalked away. He didn’t even dance correctly. His steps jolted stiff, and he practically dragged his leg when he moved. Probably deliberate, just to annoy me. I might have slapped him, but I hadn’t trusted the dark bands of tattoos swirling up his arms. Even now, the stylish dress shirt beneath his vest couldn’t hide the hint of his ink. He seemed much older than twenty-seven. He didn’t scare me either, but I wondered if he should have. “Tea it is.” I gave him a refill of the chilled lemon tea. Max’s dark eyes studied me. I ignored him. “Anyone else?” Darius rattled his glass. The ice clinked. “Another whiskey, my dear.” I froze. Mom nodded toward the dining room. She wasn’t serious. Dad’s whiskey? The last of the special cask? The whiskey wasn’t just rare—it wasn’t made anymore. Dad savored each and every drop and reserved it only for special occasions like births or funerals or major, multi-million dollar deals. And Darius had the nerve to slosh it around his glass like two bit moonshine. I seized his tumbler, but the final straw rested at the feet of Reed. Hamlet—my fuzzy goldendoodle—betrayed me. He rolled over and begged for tummy rubs from the youngest of my step-brothers. Reed shared his father’s callous poise, but when he grinned he seemed playful, a brightness that belonged at a beach barbeque, not boardroom. He had a dimple, but only one, on his left cheek. His right side tugged his smile differently, and a scar tore from his neck through his ear. But it didn’t disfigure him. I remembered he had actually enjoyed the wedding. Unlike Nicholas and Max, he danced most of the night with whatever girl was available. He grabbed me twice. Grandma loved him and lamented that a twenty-four year old man was a bit too young for her. He was charming for a Bennett. Then again, Reed and Hamlet probably shared the same litter. Reed scratched his tummy, Hamlet fluttered his leg, and that was all the bullshit I was about to tolerate. “Hamlet.” I had to snap his name twice before he peeled himself from Reed. I pointed to the corner. “Go lay down.”

“He wasn’t bothering me,” Reed winked. “Nice pup.” I slammed the tumbler against the table. Darius folded his hands. “Why are you here?” I asked. “Sprout, Darius has a rule,” Mom whispered. My step-brothers smirked at the nickname. Great. “No business at dinner.” And my real father had his own rules. Don’t put off what needs to be done. The corn would rot without harvest, and the animals would suffer without water. Atwood Industries wasn’t a business. It was a living, breathing ecosystem that would wither and die in the hands of Darius Bennett. “It’s okay, Bethany,” Darius said. “I expected this from Sarah.” Max crossed his arms, but Reed ignored the conversation. Nicholas gestured for me to sit. I declined. “I watched your press conference today, Darius.” I tried to speak civilly and failed. A soft cough forced its way out. I hid it behind my hand. “Are you well, my dear?” “You had no authority to speak for Atwood Industries.” “With all due respect...” Nicholas said. His voice rumbled deep with the smoothness of melting wax. God, it was disarming. “My father was speaking for the Bennett Corporation.” “About us.” Mom started to fret. She stumbled over Hamlet and trembled to the stove. She reached in, forgetting the oven mitts. Reed stopped her before she grabbed the roasting pan. He stole a towel from the counter and removed the dish. Mom thanked him, and he grinned again. “Aren’t you sweet,” she said. “Just hungry.” He took the carving knife from Mom before she picked it up by the blade. “Let me?” “Sarah, come sit so we can eat,” she said. “I don’t have much an appetite, thanks.” I reached into my bag, but Darius interrupted me before I pulled the will. “My dear, I intend to buy your company.”

The words sliced through me, as if he ripped my heart out and stuffed it in our fields’ tilled dirt. He thought my father’s legacy was for sale, that he could scrape out the memories and hard work and blood from our own kitchen with a handshake and serpentine leer. “Get out of my house.” Mom covered her mouth. “Sarah, listen to your father.” “He is not my father.” “And she will never see me as such, Bethany. I told you she would be hostile to this idea.” “Hostile?” Now I did sit if only so the few breaths of air cramming into my lungs did their work. “You come in my home after making statements about my family’s company as if you are a spokesperson instead of a goddamned demon. How dare you!” Nicholas raised a hand, as if he could silence me with the graceful motion. He could, but that didn’t mean I’d ever surrender to their proposal. “Ms. Atwood. We’ve prepared a very generous offer for your company. Above and beyond its value, and more than what your father would have considered an accurate reflection of your assets. We aren’t trying to undermine you.” I knew better than to trust a Bennett, even when Nicholas’s steady demeanor shared none of the false bravado Darius wielded as both sword and shield. “I’m not interested.” Mom touched my shoulder. “Sarah, we were never meant to manage this company.” “Mom, you aren’t running the company. I am. And I’m not selling.” Darius chuckled. “Child, what you do know of directing a multi-billion dollar business?” “I’m not a child.” “Your mother is right. You aren’t meant to control Atwood Industries.” “Neither are you.” Nicholas braced me with a glance before reaching into the laptop bag. “We aren’t insulting you.” He let the vindictive bite in my words pass. How much

patience did he possess? “This is an opportunity to secure your future.” He pushed the contract toward me. I didn’t read it, but I hadn’t pulled my gaze from his quick enough. His confidence might have been attractive if he hadn’t thought himself infallible. Nicholas actually believed his presented offense was an offer of freedom, wealth, and charity. I didn’t need Bennett charity. And I wasn’t comfortable trapped within the shadow of his stare or the buttery smoothness of his voice. “When my father died...” I let the word linger. Darius, the bastard snake he was, didn’t flinch. “His will was very specific.” “And we’ll do our best to honor his conditions,” Nicholas said. No golden eyes or caramel cadence could save his deal. I set the will on the table. Darius inhaled. Josiah managed to get power of attorney before Mom married. That passed to me, and I locked the will up tight from Darius with a perverse pleasure. My stepbrothers watched as I flipped the pages to the clause that would either protect or damn my father’s company. I pushed the document to Darius. His expression slimed into a forced civility. “In the event of Mark Gabriel Atwood’s death, Atwood Industries and all assets as defined in Section 3 (a), shall be passed to his blood male heir.” “A male heir?” Darius’s voice scraped over the word. Nicholas cast a glance to his brothers. Max frowned. Reed tossed Hamlet a piece of the pork loin. I waited for the hammer to fall or a mic to drop. “A technicality, my dear,” Darius said. He cleared his throat. “He didn’t specifically name any of his children. And rightly so. He believed the company would pass to one of his sons, but no one anticipated their untimely deaths.” “The clause stands.” I hoped I was doing the right thing. “And I’ll honor my father’s wishes. As of today, I will hold Atwood Industries in a trust until I have a son.” Mom shook another pill from the bottle. Darius said nothing, but the rage, condemnation, and frustration in his clenching jaw read easier than the rest of my father’s will. The only thing more glorious than Darius’s failure would have been to witnessed such hatred with him behind bars, where the murdering son of a bitch belonged.

Nicholas wasn’t deterred. He flipped through the rest of the pages with a cursory glance. “You could fight this,” he said. “Ms. Atwood, I understand your aggravation, but we are offering you...everything.” “Everything can’t bring my father back.” I stared at Darius. He took my mother’s hand, bringing her fingers to his lips with a sneer. “But this is his land. His legacy. Selling it would be no better than selling his memory. I won’t do it.” I stood. Nicholas followed, but Darius burned where he sat. “I have work at the office,” I said. It was true, I just wasn’t sure how to do any of it. Damage control, investors to call, reports to write, labs to turn in at school. I nodded toward my brothers and relished a deep breath that rejuvenated me more than any hit from my inhaler. “Excuse me, I won’t be able to stay for dinner.” I lashed the bag over my shoulder. Darius didn’t dare watch me leave, but my stepbrothers stared as I stalked from the room. Suddenly, I wasn’t the only one tense in Darius’s presence. Nicholas, Max, and Reed silenced, minding their father like the good little sons of the devil they were. Victory tasted sweet, but I didn’t envy their ride home. I made it to the car before the bittersweet laugh bubbled inside me. Dad would have been proud. My brothers ecstatic. But me? I collapsed in the driver’s seat, staring at a home where I couldn’t stay and land I relinquished to an imaginary son that bluffed my way to momentary freedom. But at least the Atwood name, fortune, and future were safe. I almost hoped the Bennetts would try to fight for what didn’t belong to them. If only to watch them fail.

3

NICHOLAS

L

ife was a struggle to secure two necessities.

Family. Power. With one came the other. It was a simple formula my father preached since I was born, and one I repeated each day as I grew into the man he decided I would become. My father declined Bethany Atwood’s offer to stay for dinner after my new stepsister made one very impetuous mistake. She challenged him in a way not even Mark Atwood had ever dared. She’d stake her life on a company that wasn’t hers and a name that bullied, intimidated, and stole every ounce of begrudged respect it earned. My father wasn’t a forgiving man, and hers was an insult he wouldn’t soon forget. The limo ride to the airport commanded silence. I studied Mark Atwood’s will, marveling in how brilliantly he wove his final wishes to honor his sons. Sarah’s name wasn’t mentioned. If she knew or cared, it didn’t show. The girl waved the will like a flag, as though a strip of paper would protect her. It wouldn’t. And she’d soon learn what a terrible, regrettable mistake she had made. I handed the paperwork to Max. He didn’t care to read it, but, under our father’s scrutiny, he took the papers and shuffled the pages. He wasn’t a man who studied contracts and parsed the law. That was my role. I doubted he’d find any other conclusion. Sarah Atwood played her hand all in—no bluffs, no cheats, and every scrap of luck the Atwoods had saved since they clawed their way into an elite world which didn’t belong to them.

Mark Atwood rotted in hell and danced in glee at this turn of events. It wouldn’t be long until my father lost his patience and sent Sarah there as well. The private jet waited to depart. My father boarded in silence and slipped into his cabin. My brothers left him to brood. My attention drifted to the window and the fading airport below. The cornfields extended even this far from their farm. Acres upon acres of land—all under the control of one little girl who had no idea how much trouble she caused. “She’s cuter than I remembered.” Reed kicked his seat back. Max smacked the ass of our private flight attendant and earned her giggle. “Careful. That’s your sister.” “Family first, huh? What’d you think, Nick?” I poured over the will. How the hell had we lost this? “I wouldn’t want to be Sarah Atwood at the moment.” Reed shrugged at Max. “Didn’t look like she wanted to be Sarah Atwood either.” “How bad is it if we don’t get this deal?” Max asked. I wouldn’t discuss the possibility, not with our father so close. The cabin wasn’t soundproof, and I couldn’t insult his judgment within earshot. Family and power were the most important aspects of life to him—and it was his reason for marrying the Atwood widow and debasing our name to offer the girl more money than their company was worth. “We’ll devise a new plan,” I said. “A new course of negotiations. This isn’t over.” Max lowered his voice. “He has me talking to investors.” “I am as well.” His fist clenched. “You and me got different ways of talking, Nick.” “And neither method is effective at the moment.” Reed stole the will and flipped around the document. “So we expand. Do something besides agricultural support and engineering.” “For how long?” I asked. “We don’t have the luxury of time. The best we can do is free a couple million and form a project outside the corporation.” Max raised his eyebrows. “The Atwoods had the assets we needed.” “That money is gone now.” “And her bastard brothers knew just how to fuck us with it.”

Reed leaned forward. “What the hell is Dad gonna do to that girl?” “Not our concern,” I said. “Bullshit.” I tightened my jaw. I loved my brother, but sometimes he didn’t think like a Bennett, and that was more troublesome than Sarah Atwood. “What wouldn’t our father do to acquire that company?” I said. Reed and Max fell silent. The plane delivered us to San Jose in an hour and a half. We landed, and our driver wove through the redwood forest and private land that separated the Bennett Estate from the rest of the world. The gated monstrosity ruled from one of the tallest points in the forest, surrounded with wilderness and streams—the clean, fertile grounds the Bennett family promised to sustain with our research and products designed to assist agricultural enterprises across the country. Our father hadn’t spoken since leaving the farm. He burned with insult. I understood. Mark Atwood had been the specter of grief that haunted our family for the past seventeen years. We celebrated his death, but none of us anticipated the littlest Atwood carrying on her father’s legacy. Reed was right. Sarah defined pretty—a feisty little blonde with more fight in her than freckles on her nose. She was better suited for college textbooks, not contracts and reports—as if she understood anything about the power they contained. She never raised a hand against my father, but her simple smile was the cat-scratch of her nails against his face. No one ever claimed her family fought fair. In another world, my step-sister might have made an excellent Bennett. We crossed the foyer, our steps echoing over the imported marble. The split, grand staircase presided over the entry hall, an impressive and immense structure carved for the simple purpose of displaying our wealth and the extravagances built for our pleasure. My brothers lived outside the estate as the grounds would pass solely to me. In the rare instances we were brought together, we each possessed our own private wing. But twenty-five thousand square feet wasn’t enough space. Not when Max refused to live off his inheritance, and Reed fought to travel overseas—to find a place beyond our father’s influence. It didn’t exist. My brothers knew their places within the Bennett’s realm of influence. Max, two years younger than me, entered the service, but he never saw combat. Even now, he

attempted to hide his limp, but our name failed to secure him a position on the front, regardless of how beneficial it would have been for our image. Instead, Max oversaw security for the Bennett Corporation. Reed garnered enough sympathy from the fading scars over the right side of his face, neck, and ear that his charity work came easily. His charm helped as well. We had our roles to fill in the family. It was the first time in twenty-nine years I had failed at mine. I staked everything on the assumption she’d sell—not initially, not even amicably —but eventually. We’d wear her down, offer her more money than they deserved for their empire, and treat the Atwood name with a delicacy they hadn’t earned. But I didn’t anticipate my father gloating at a press conference and announcing our intentions, and I hadn’t realized how much she hated our family. The feeling was mutual, but our rivalry existed between Mark and his sons. Undoubtedly, her father had twisted her, confused her, and used her. Sarah didn’t even realize the legal complications she created. The stock would tank. Investors would run. Customers would pursue safer companies. Of course, my offer would stand. At a substantially reduced price. “Follow me.” Our father’s voice didn’t echo, but it boomed over the foyer. Reed clapped me on the shoulder as he crossed into the study, but Max shared my glance, recognizing our father’s strained cadence. While Mark Atwood built his home with every decadent and gaudy architectural mistake, the Bennett estate hadn’t changed for generations. The French manor, framed with Corinthian stone and imported marbles, was beautiful. Spanning foyers and elaborate halls separated vast wings of meticulously sculpted woodwork and refined parlors. Dark woods and darker colors warmed the mansion, and the masonry forged a certain stonework elegancy. The study surrounded a roaring hearth with floor to ceiling book cases and mementos of my family’s world travels. The most recent addition was a photograph upon the mantle, dressed in a solid silver frame and held in a strict reverence of coiled garland. My father’s wedding picture—an image of him and Bethany Atwood embraced in their first kiss. We hadn’t questioned the photograph. My father motioned for me to sit in the wingback mirroring his leather chair. He

made no such arrangements for Max or Reed. He rarely smoked, but a cigar clipped and passed to me first. He left the box for my brothers and reclined. I let the smoke settle over me. Max puffed and relaxed. Reed waved the smoke away from his neck. “Our family is being tested.” My father’s rage blazed like the red-hot end of his cigar. “This company is facing a series of challenges we haven’t encountered in many years. It is up to you, my sons, to save us.” Max nodded. Reed stood, motionless. My father awaited my reply. “Of course,” I said. “We’ll do whatever is necessary.” “The company bears our name. It is the source of our pride, and our face upon this world. And now? We find ourselves in a precarious position.” He drew on the cigar. “We need Atwood Industries. I want Atwood Industries.” Max spoke first, a mistake he consistently made. “Christ. Atwood Industries will bankrupt the family. We can’t keep throwing money at the rat’s nest and hope it burns through the trash.” My father’s fist clenched. I didn’t have time to intercede. “Mark Atwood was a blight upon this world. You should be grateful the demons snarled through the dirt to drag his worthless, miserable hide to Hell.” Max didn’t hesitate. “I am.” “It is a benefit to this family that his sons have died and the scourge of the Atwood name has been scoured from the earth.” “What about Sarah?” Reed said. My father silently seethed, his wrath centering upon whatever memory he harbored of the girl. “In this lifetime, we’ll face two sets of people. Those who oppose us, and those we may use for our own advantage. The Atwoods opposed us.” The chill in his words would extinguish the cigar. “I will spend every cent, pursue every outlet, and spill blood to redeem our family and ensure the Atwoods are cast into the gutter of their own shame.” Reed frowned. “And so that means giving them more money than the accounts are worth? How does that vindicate us?” I waved a hand. “Money is nothing. It’s made and spent, wasted and created every day. But there is only one Bennett family. And now, only one Atwood remains.” My father exhaled. “And had the cunt taken the offer, their land, crops, animals,

and livelihood would have been ours to burn. Instead, we’re faced with greater challenges.” Max nodded. “Then we make her sell. I’ll do whatever it takes.” And he did, often and ruthlessly. But no violence would aid us, not when she twisted the circumstances and bound herself in awkward legality. Inheritance law was difficult enough, especially following her brothers’ deaths. “Selling makes no difference now,” I said. “The company is held in her trust until...” My father twitched. “She presents a male heir.” Reed pulled his phone and made a note. “So we scour their family tree. Find a cousin or something.” “No.” My father offered nothing more. I lowered the cigar. “No?” I hesitated. “We let her retain the rights to the company?” “No, we are not searching for a male heir.” “Then how—” “We have no time to waste. We have less than a year before our influence and shareholders are compromised.” My father shook his head. “We could divert resources to find a distant relative willing to sell, but Atwood’s little bitch would thrive during months and months of litigation.” I straightened. “It is the cleanest solution. A clear-cut buyout. No unpleasant bartering for investors’ votes. No crises. No stock crashes. We’ll present to whomever we can find.” “And it will fail again!” His voice cracked over the room. “She refused our offer. Worse, she humiliated us. Buying the company is no longer an option. And now, we are forced to regain our honor from the Atwoods.” He pitched a goblet of wine into the hearth. The glass shattered. “From the Goddamned Atwoods!” Reed shifted away from the sputtering fire. “Then what do you—” “I want Sarah Atwood’s male heir.” The fire popped. My father’s rasping breath echoed against the crackle of the fire. The blaze fueled the rage churning within him. He stared, but the Darius Bennett I recognized—the man I emulated and respected—no longer existed. A demonic shell darkened over him as fury crept into madness.

I hated myself for the question I was forced to ask. “You want her heir?” My father spoke into the fire. “She forced the clause. Atwood Industries belongs to her yet-to-be-conceived son. All rights and wealth, institutions and assets will be granted to an unborn child.” A chill slowed my thoughts. It should have silenced me. It should have prevented me from understanding exactly what my father wished. Unfortunately, my conscience flaked to ash years ago. I was Nicholas Bennett. The heir to the Bennett empire. My sins, my crimes, and my regrets existed only to protect the family. Reed didn’t understand. “She doesn’t have a son yet.” Max exhaled a curtain of smoke to hide his realization. I shared his shiver. My father’s grin would desecrate everything pure within his power. Like Sarah Atwood. “She will have a son,” my father said. “Her heir will belong to the Bennetts.” I stilled my movements and wished my heart had ceased with it. “And one of you will create it.” The clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock. Not nearly late enough for talk of this nature. Max hesitated. He posed the question to me to avoid the wide-eyed insanity of our father. “You want us to seduce Sarah Atwood?” No. Seduction never crossed his mind. Until Bethany, my father never expressed any sympathy for the family. Their deaths enthralled him, and their misery entertained him. Any misfortune was a cause for celebration. No one would seduce the girl. “I will have an heir to Atwood Industries.” My father didn’t lower his voice, despite the evil he summoned. “I’ll control everything and everyone within that family.”

“But—” “Everything she loves, and everything she has worked so hard to build and maintain, will be lost the instant that girl bears a Bennett for a son.” My father stared at each of us, unshakable and unblinking. “I want that Atwood bitch to regret challenging me. We offered her everything. She refused.” His words haunted the room with vulgar threat. “She will regret crossing me every second of every minute of every day it takes her to grow a Bennett in her womb.” He laughed. “And then I’ll watch as her world is destroyed the instant my grandson is born into this world.” “You want us...to fuck her,” Reed whispered. “No. I want you to breed Sarah Atwood.” The fire crackled. The charring pop didn’t disturb me. I would hear it for all eternity as my father damned our family to the deepest, blackest depths of hell. Max stood too quickly, wincing as he forced his weight over his bad leg. “Holy Christ, Dad.” I poured a glass of wine, offering the Pinot Noir to my father. He accepted. “Dad, you’ve married Bethany,” I said. “Sarah is technically our sister.” “Step-sister,” “Step-sister. But don’t you think the relation is—” “Do you plan for this family to fail, Nicholas?” Did he? What did he think he’d accomplish besides serving us with life-sentences and corrupting a young woman’s innocence? “Of course not,” I said. “Do you intend to let the Atwood whore spit on the generous agreement you created?” He tilted his head. “She did not insult me, son. Her refusal voided your contract. She disrespected you.” “And so I should impregnate my step-sister?” I braved a chuckle. “You said it yourself. The clause is a technicality. She holds the trust. If we present that a sale of the company positively benefits Atwood Industries, she would be within her right to accept—” “Enough.” My father never raised his voice. I gave him his respect, taught through years of agony endured under his crop, molding me into his perfect son. “She’ll never sell. She’ll control the company until she bears a child and raises it with the same delusions that indoctrinated her into the Atwood philosophy.” My father

exhaled. He gestured to my brothers. “Leave us. I will discuss this further with Nicholas.” Max and Reed stiffened, unceremoniously dismissed from the conversation. I envied them. My father appraised me with the grace of an executioner sharpening his blades. “You would disobey me in this,” he said. I lowered my wine. “No. But I question your motivations.” “Why?” “It is not...honorable.” My father laughed. “And what Mark Atwood did to your mother. That was honorable?” I didn’t answer. “Life is a war, Nicholas, and death is too often the only solution,” he said. “Imagine when a birth is the ultimate conquest.” “She’ll never do this willingly.” “And?” I expected it. “You’re asking us to rape Sarah Atwood.” “I’m asking you to protect this family.” “She’ll go to the police. We’ll be ruined.” “Then don’t let her talk to the police!” My father waved a hand over the parlor. “This will be your estate, Nicholas. Your home! If you can’t find one place to hide a scrawny little girl—” “Dad, listen to what you’re saying!” I stood. His gaze followed—invisible shackles binding me to our name, our home, our pride. “You’re asking us to abduct, rape, and impregnate our step-sister.” “For the family.” “Absolutely not.” He asked the impossible, and yet his eyebrows rose, as if he realized the obscenity of the plan. Still he chose to ignore every modern convention of rationality and decency. And for what?

The family? No. This wasn’t for the Bennetts. And it wasn’t for the company. This was vengeance. Pure sadism. He planned an end to a bitter feud that began before I was born and was bound to continue after I died. “We won’t do this.” My father said nothing. He stared, and I struggled to endure the uncompromising commands. I braced for the worst, but I hadn’t anticipated his brutality. I was twenty-nine years old, and he yet surprised me. Horrified me. “Nicholas, you are my eldest son. You are my heir, my legacy to this world.” He spoke softly, intentionally forcing me to hold my breath just to listen. “But understand, I have two other sons.” “Perhaps they’d prefer to do this crime,” I said. “Doubtful.” “Then you realize this is a mistake.” “Nicholas, you will control the company and this family alone, as it has been set for generations.” “I understand.” “I have no real need for two additional sons.” The implication struck like a blade to the throat. I didn’t doubt his threat. A Bennett lost his naivety at a young age. My father had no cause to lie. “You would harm your own flesh and blood?” I asked. “You would deny your family the ultimate wealth, security, and vengeance?” My father stood, a lurking devil. “I love this family,” I said. “Then protect it.” “From you?” “From any danger. The decision rests with you, Nicholas. Convince your brothers to capture and breed Sarah Atwood, or...” His pat to my shoulder suddenly gripped, pinching hard against a nerve he favored to bring me to my knees as a child. I

didn’t wince. “You will be responsible for what happens to this family.” He sipped the rest of his wine and left me to the silence of the study. What choice did I have? I would always put my family first.

4

SARAH

I fell asleep at the lab.

My first time at the facility in weeks, and I wasted it collapsed on the black laminate table, trapped between a microscope, a couple test tubes, and Lady Gaga blaring on my laptop. I checked for drool and groped for my phone. Midnight. What a productive four hours. I stretched. The perpetual ache in my shoulders wouldn’t ease if I didn’t get some sleep in a bed. Last night I curled up in the university library, but I hadn’t studied a word for my midterms. Instead, I blinked through as much of the new agreement Anthony’s office worked up to announce the trust. It granted me executive power to operate the company in lieu of whatever imaginary baby I concocted, but it wouldn’t help me pass Ecology. At least Atwood Industries was safe from Darius Bennett. That made the exhaustion, misery, and complications worth it. Nothing was going to tarnish my father’s legacy—certainly not any empire the Bennetts shaded with their vulgarity. I blinked at the laptop. The measurements were supposed to upload directly into the program. “Damn.” I alt-tabbed through the open applications. Facebook. iTunes. An Amazon product confirmation for a case of K-Cups I didn’t remember ordering but made sense. My head throbbed with a horrible caffeine withdrawal. I spaced out, but I swore I opened the correct spreadsheet. My Biosystems Design coursework stared at me.

Great. I was such a mess I wasn’t even doing the right work in the right lab. Frustrating. I closed out the program. My back ached, my laptop overheated, and I was pretty sure I forgot to eat lunch and dinner. Something had to give. And I had a bad feeling about what it’d be. The state-of-the-art lab belonged to Atwood Industries—and Dad promised my own office once I earned my PhD. It wouldn’t happen now. No matter how much work I had done in the lab, no matter how much I researched and developed, I had a bigger responsibility. When it came time to publish, patent, and sell, the credentials were more important than the private, basement lab. Dad forbade me from working on anything for Atwood Industries at school, and I understood. Less risk for the campus to claim experiments at the university belonged to them. But peer reviews and testing and all the hassle that came from developing a commercial product—especially anything genetically modified— turned into a nightmare and a half. What started as something fun and exciting became an exercise in litigation, patent wars, and corporate level secrecy. Dad insisted nothing about my research leaked beyond the family. Josiah was supportive. Mike called me a nerd. It didn’t matter as long as Dad was proud of me.

“IF MIKE AND JOS GET THE COMPANY WHEN THEY GROW UP…” IT WAS THE FIRST TIME TEN YEAR OLD had thought about it, and my nose scrunched up in confusion. “What do I get?”

ME

Dad parsed through his papers. “Your brothers were made for the company, Sprout. I needed sons.” “Then what was I made for?” “I wasn’t expecting a little girl. It’s only proper for the company to go to my boys.” Dad winked and pushed my textbook toward me. “But you like science, and that helps me.” “It does?” “Sure, Sprout. Daddy has all kinds of people helping to make the corn better before

we plant it. You’ll work in the labs and do research.” “But I want to be a baker.” “Nonsense. It’ll make Daddy happy to have you working hard for the company. Don’t let me down, Sarah. You’re the future of the Atwoods.”

SOME FUTURE. I rubbed my face. I hadn’t drooled on my research journal. Good. The scrawling gibberish? Not so much. Half of my notes didn’t pertain to the research I knew would revolutionize Atwood seed and product. Most of the notebook now filled with scribbled leads on what my brothers worked on and where they had tucked or spent so many millions of dollars. Anthony warned we’d be hit with an audit from the Board if we didn’t get it sorted out soon. Just the thought of an audit gave me a headache—especially after losing most of my credits last semester because of the funerals. My email blipped. Anthony, torturing me after hours again. S—Bennett hired a private investigator to research into Josmik Holdings. I’ll find out more, but be careful with information on open networks. –Anthony “Good luck.” I closed the laptop. “He’ll need it.” Like I had any information about Josiah and Michael’s joint venture. Whatever money they took, spent, or invested was gone. Anthony and I had no success figuring it out. But Darius shouldn’t have even known about Josmik Holdings. The shiver tingled over me. Why would he investigate my brothers’ lost investments? He wanted something they had. Something he failed to obtain before Dad died. And that something was worth murdering for. A crash echoed from upstairs. I checked the time. Midnight? A door slammed from the ground floor offices. Who in their right mind was working so late? I zipped my bag, listening over the clicking pumps working hard to maintain a

vacuum for the projects stashed in the corner. The lab existed in a state of pure noise. Chemistry wasn’t all mixing compounds and dissolving solutions. I spent more time waiting for the machines to finish their tests than doing fun experiments. Erlenmeyer flasks were a lot more exciting when I wasn’t washing them. I listened. Nothing else echoed. I hadn’t studied in the lab in a few weeks, but usually no one darted into the offices upstairs in the middle of the night. All the more reason to head home. It was way past the time I was comfortable being out alone, especially when the last warnings Dad gave was about my security as I had grown into such a beautiful woman. I wasn’t about to think of those implications. Another bump shattered the stillness. This time it didn’t come from upstairs. This time, the slice of a boot crashed on the stairs just outside my lab. The few techs and chemists who used the lab didn’t wear steel tipped boots. They also didn’t lurk in the hallways. And they certainly didn’t take the steps agonizingly slow, clopping a heavy-footed echo in the bare basement halls as though hiding. My chest tightened—the worst moment for that to happen. I edged away from the door with a wheeze. The light switch waited under my hand, but drenching the lab in darkness would be just as suspicious as me bursting out of the room in a dead sprint. Instead, I searched my purse for the phone. Mike and Josiah always carried guns. I regretted never taking up their offer to learn to shoot. A small canister of mace jingled on my key ring. I had no idea if it even worked anymore, but I tossed the cap away. If it was empty, maybe my aching lungs wouldn’t swallow enough mace to hurt me? Or maybe it’d cause a full-on attack. Only one way to find out. Glassware stacked around me, but my only real weapon was a lab stool. The acids and strong bases locked up tight in the storage room. The windows didn’t open completely, and we converted our second cubby into a larger eye-wash station and emergency shower. No hiding in there. The footsteps snapped against the cement hall.

My pulse fluttered. I was trapped. Thud. Quiet. Thud. I counted my breaths. Far too few to be effective. I heaved the nearest stool over my head. The door kicked open. I screamed and slammed the stool against a man dressed completely in black leather. He grabbed the chair before it crashed against his skimask. He jerked me off-balance. I spun from his grasp, but my laptop clattered to the ground. The book bag followed. He lunged. My soil ecology books swung into his jaw. I thought I was quick, but my attacker was bigger, stronger, and far more aggressive. His hands laced over my waist and lifted me from the ground. I screamed, throwing fists and kicks against anything soft and squishy. Except nothing about the mugger was soft. “Let me go!” Something connected. Hard. My toes felt like they broke, but the attacker slumped. I kicked again, missing the fleshy bits I had already pummeled. I nailed his knee with a swift, deliberate aim. He dropped me, but I picked myself up faster than the asshole clawing who needed the wall to stand on his injured leg. The mace didn’t mist so much as it jetted, but the shot of liquid capsicum dosed him with aggravation. Run. The pepper spray showered the lab, and the spiced air tore razor-bladed pain in my throat and lungs. I coughed and abandoned my bags. He didn’t follow. I sprinted up the basement steps, collapsing at the top in a wheeze that scared me more than the attack. I groped for my inhaler in my pocket. “Fu—”

I didn’t have the strength to swear. The inhaler tucked in my freaking purse which was probably long gone with the mugger. Damn. I didn’t carry that much money on me. The idiot attacker would make off with forty dollars, a student ID, and my emergency medication. Hell, the biology textbooks that clattered against his face were the most expensive thing in the lab. I burst outside and bolted to my car. The clicking locks echoed. A symphony in my fear. My fingers trembled as I pushed the ignition, but the rumble reassured me. Like my father’s casual whistle as he kicked my butt in tennis or my brothers’ fistfights at the base of the stairs. Comforting. Normal. I managed to breathe. Kinda. I’d just drive home. Find my medication. Calm down, call the police. Recover my damn lab journal and laptop before the thief made off with something more important, more valuable, and absolutely crucial to the survival of my family. Christ, before the mugger ruined something that had the opportunity to revolutionize agriculture and significantly raise yields in dry, arid climates. Not the most riveting way to save the world, but it’d be enough to put food in a lot of people’s bellies and conserve a hell of a lot more water. My chest ached. I had to get home. Breathe in. Breathe out. I peeled out of the parking lot and sped down the deserted main street. Twin headlights blinded me from my rearview mirror. A car? No. I swore again, wasting more air on useless fear. Motorcycles. Goddamn it. I lived in Cherrywood Valley long enough to realize the Atwoods weren’t the only powerful force dominating the markets. I avoided the bikers as Dad instructed. But these guys weren’t the local Anathema thugs. The bikes roared beside me, and I reflexively jammed the breaks as one cut in front of the car. The rider dressed in solid black, and a shaded helmet covered his face. He swung toward me, and I drifted away, slowing enough to drop a gear. I made it too easy for them to chase me.

My vision darkened as the cough squeezed my chest and head. Not good. I accelerated, but the bikes kept up—speeding, edging close, and risking their own lives to drift ever closer to my car. What did they want? To kill me? To steal the car? Hurting me would do nothing. They couldn’t even kidnap me, not when I was the only one able to release the ransom money. Oh, God. Ransom. It made sense. All the instability, all of Darius’s damn speeches. It was a chance for a criminal to make a move against me—especially if they thought Darius would seize control of the money and company. I was the easier target. God, that pissed me off. Dad didn’t raise me to be a victim. I hid weakness beneath the Atwood name, and I utilized my gifts to forge a stronger image. A better image. Sarah Atwood—gifted student, charming philanthropist... Lost and struggling daughter trying her damnedest to do what she could to keep her mother from slicing her wrists and the company from dissolving to our family’s greatest enemy. I jerked the wheel toward the asshole biker treading too close to my side. I scared him off, but not before the clatter echoed inside the car. The bang terrified me. They punctured my tires! I lurched the wheel again. Wasn’t a great idea. The busted tire shredded over the rim. The car fought and thudded. I waited until the last possible moment before shoving my foot flat against the break and riding through the dangerous shudder that skidded the remaining good tires. I twisted the wheel and accelerated. My turn from the main drag surprised them. The bikers screeched to a halt and spun to chase, but I had a quarter of a mile on them.

Even with my lungs cramping and shoulders tightening, I found my way through the city in the darkness. The bikers hung back. They weren’t Anathema, and that gave me some hope. I sped past the opera house and industrial district, heading south instead of taking the bridge across the river. The town limits blurred by. A couple aching breaths delivered me a mile outside the city. The pain in my lungs didn’t ease until the first of our thigh-high corn sprouted in the distance. The night hid most of our property, but I didn’t care. I was close to home. In my breathless fog, I realized my mistake. Damn it. I led the bikers right to my house. The crushing sob didn’t emerge from my chest. I swallowed another harsh breath. I couldn’t turn around. Stopping so suddenly in the rattling car would allow my stalkers to dive from the bikes and get too close. The car rumbled. Something charred and filled the interior with acrid fumes. I couldn’t make it to the next town over on three wheels. Home seemed to be the best option, and I prayed I’d get there with enough of a head start to find Dad’s old hunting rifle. Maybe Mom knew how to shoot. Maybe Darius would be there? Fuck. I slammed my hand on the wheel. Jesus Christ. Crawling to Darius Bennett for help? How much oxygen had I lost? A flash preceded the second blowout. The back tire popped in a horrible burst of sparks and an explosive thud that stole complete control of the car. I spun out, fish-tailed, and bumbled over the road. The speedometer read a number somewhere between idiotic and absolute disaster. The car skidded off the shoulder. The wooden fence didn’t stop me. In the darkness —in my blinding, aching, oxygen-deprived fear—I slammed on the accelerator instead. My wheels tore into the acres of corn, and the stalks thudded and cracked and beat against my windshield. Screaming did nothing. The car careened into the dirt, sinking deep into our fields and rutting through the crops. My headlight shattered on the fence and what remained dulled with mud and shredded leaves. The frayed tires bounced against the mud before imbedding in the irrigation equipment. The car juked, tossing hard to the right. I shielded my face as it flipped, crashing and shattering every window.

The engine still hummed. But the car stopped. I fell against broken glass. The airbag hadn’t deployed, my only salvation. The dust would have killed me…unless the men chasing me did it first. My vision blurred. The coughing did nothing to clear my lungs. Twice I attempted to turn the car off, missing the ignition and pressing furiously against the radio. Lady Gaga roared against the nightmare. I didn’t have the energy or clarity to shut it off. I was close to home. I thought. Maybe? Get out of the car. Deep breath. Didn’t help. I twisted against the steering wheel. The movement strained an already spasming chest. I had to get out. I had...the door... I pulled myself up, measuring each breath with a slight motion. Couldn’t overexert myself. Not with the pollen. Dust. Debris. I crashed Josiah’s car. My brother would have made sure I was okay. Dad would have been so pissed. At least he was dead. Didn’t have to worry about getting in trouble. I was in enough for a lifetime. My shocked laugh pulled me from the stupor. I shivered, but my legs untangled from the seat. I climbed up and forced my weight against the passenger door. The bikes rumbled from the road. They still chased? What did they expect to find? A wreck like that should have turned me to corn-meal mush. I grunted and shoved the door open, heaving myself up and using my ribs to prevent the door from closing. My lungs hardly worked anyway. Why should they get protected? I clattered to the ground and sputtered in the dirt. My fingers grasped the soil of my family’s land. It gave me strength. Something my brothers never understood and

Darius Bennett would sooner salt than experience. I took a step. One step. Then another. And a third. I stumbled into the corn, away from the car blaring techno pop in the shadows of the field. Another step. Where was I? West field. No. North field? I left town traveling south. Something cold slithered against my ankle. My cry didn’t squeak out. Not when a web crossed over my lips. Corn silk. Pretend its corn silk. Breathe. Run. Too much to do. Someone called my name. Maybe Mom saw the crash? She’d come running if she had managed to pull herself out of bed. But the voice was deep—a melting wax of shadow and heat. Not her. I dodged the thrashing slap of corn as I ran. Destructive footsteps slammed behind me. Did I cry? I hoped the wetness on my cheeks wasn’t blood. I didn’t stop sprinting through the endless, darkened fields of cold, dew-kissed corn. My name again. Closer. I tripped over the stalks and crashed to the ground. Get up. My fists dug into the dirt again as the shadow burst after me. I tossed the handful, but the man in the helmet sidestepped the throw. I kicked. He grabbed my leg. The panic attack won out. My puffing chest hyperventilated me before the asthma

stole my vision. The biker dove to my side, picking me up. I swung another fist, but I struck only black riding leathers, protecting him from the road and my weak hits. He held me close. The dark helmet muffled his call. “She’s over here!” That delicious voice again. Familiar. I struggled to turn over, to crawl away. He called my name and shook me once as my head lolled in his arms. He ripped the helmet off. Golden eyes swirled in my mind. I swore my kidnapper looked like Nicholas Bennett.

5

SARAH

A needle pinched my skin. I jerked awake. Where was I?

The blood drew too slowly, delicately stolen from my vein. They tried to be gentle and failed. Hands poked at me. I shifted, but I couldn’t move. Thick bindings strapped me down, the material stretched taut over my chest and wrists. A hospital? No. The shattering fear shredded me inside and out. This wasn’t a hospital. The hands rolled over my stomach. They tested the few bruises on my skin. My vision blurred and the dark splotches blended into the hazy darkness surrounding me. The fingers moved to my belly. Then lower. Far, far too low. What was happening? And why... It was too hard to think. Hard to see. I didn’t want those fingers. I squirmed from another needle. I groaned. They didn’t care. I stayed at enough hospitals to expect a greeting or kind word or even a brisk order from the doctor to stay still while they finished their examination.

Something was wrong. My pulse leapt, though the sheer exhaustion of waking up layered my body in a strange weight. My mind screamed. Nothing escaped my trembling lips. A doctor moved over me. The white coat fluttered as he reached for a pair of purple latex gloves. I closed my eyes. A chilled invasion sliced through me. I whimpered, but I didn’t have the strength to scream or to shift away. I still cried. The doctor’s fingers prodded inside me. Oh, God. I struggled. It didn’t bother him. He pressed hard on my navel and withdrew after a moment, passing beyond the cold, artificial light aimed between my legs. Exposed. So exposed. A metal tool jingled on a tray next to the bed. The doctor rubbed where the needle prickled. He checked his watch and nodded. And pushed my legs open. “N—no.” “Hush.” My vision darkened again. My head fell against the pillow. I couldn’t yell. Worse, my body refused to fall asleep again. The tool forced inside me. I tensed, but he worked fast. “Virgin,” he said. “She’s healthy.” “St—stop.” They ignored me. A shiver of sickness bound in my stomach. He scraped the tool inside. I lost myself in terrified shivers, but the exam was done. The shock faded after my first gasp. I could breathe. One. Two. Three amazing breaths. Each breath chased the tears of shame with a rush of relief. The doctor spoke in a hushed tone, but I listened only to my inhalations. No

wheezing shadowed my lungs. He hadn’t treated the attack. Did I survive on my own? Where was I? The fatigue blinded me, and it decimated my patience. I couldn’t speak. I kicked instead. The doctor frowned. “—You have two weeks.” He answered questions I hadn’t heard asked. “Give her folic acid.” Another needle punctured my arm. I yelped, but the liquid slurped through my veins like syrup, deadening everywhere it touched. I fought, but the doctor patted my arm. He shifted my pants over my hips. The button remained unfastened. It disgraced me more than anything. A voice spoke from the shadows. “That’s a good girl, my dear.” No. I tried to rise. The drugs hardened my muscles into stone. Not him. Darius Bennett’s words barbed my mind with a living nightmare that followed me into the darkness. “Rest now. We need you healthy, Sarah. You have a very important job to do.”

IT WASN’T MY ROOM. The tall ceiling with delicate moldings wasn’t my own. The bay window overlooked a vast wilderness, not my familiar cornfields. The poster bed stuffed with down comforters. I hated down. I kicked it away before it triggered the asthma. The motion dizzied me. Moving was bad. Whatever drugs sloshed through my system hadn’t fully cleared. I flexed my arm. Someone replaced my blood with molasses, but I was alive. And whoever dared to imprison me would regret leaving me whole. I shivered. I had been kidnapped. Of all the idiotic crimes. Did they expect me to write a check in exchange for my safety? Did they expect me to beg for mercy? Cower and promise never to tell a soul what happened? Fuck that.

I was Sarah Atwood. Atwoods didn’t surrender. We rose at dawn to start working and didn’t sleep until the job finished. My ancestors made our millions tilling, hoeing, planting, and harvesting from sunup till sundown, breaking our backs and sweating our lives away in the summer heat. Once we tamed the land, we tended to the economy. Millions became billions, acres became miles, and corn spun into gold. And still, my father spent his every waking moment inspecting the littlest details of our farms, our books, our crops, our workers, our animals—everything. If my father poisoned himself through chemotherapy while securing a partnership with Sugarweed Corn Syrup, I wasn’t about to beg to save myself from an asshole who imprisoned me but didn’t have the common sense to tie me up. I forced myself to stand. The drugs pumped heavier than my blood, and my balance pooled in my feet. The wooziness jeopardized my bravery, but at least I regained my dignity. The button on my jeans remained unfastened. My stomach heaved. I didn’t remember what happened. I fled from the lab, but the asthma attack turned to fog. My car crashed. That hurt, but I peeled myself from the wreckage and hid within the cornfields. I collapsed, and then... Nothing. Flashes though. A strong chest cradled me—smelling of leather and rich shadow. I liked the scent, but I fought until that first prick of the needle. It should have frightened me, but waking terrified me more. Hands poking. Cold instruments. Blood drawn. I hated doctors’ appointments—if only because I was always there. Breathing and X-rays and allergists and every specialist obsessed with the bits of me that never worked right. I surveyed my arms, chest, and tummy. I hadn’t checked everywhere, but I felt generally unmolested. Still, the tension returned in my lungs. This time I earned the fear. I didn’t know where I was or who had taken me, but I swore no one would touch me

again. Ever. I studied my prison. The digs were far nicer than I expected from a kidnapping. In my mind, I imagined dusty cement and rusted chains, darkness and rats. Instead, I woke in a poster bed puffed with soft mattresses and softer pillows. Muted golds blended with the aristocratic scarlet wallpaper, an older style. Whoever designed the room painstakingly refurbished the elegance without losing the gothic edge. Dark woods and hauntingly beautiful paintings of fairy tales and villains added to the room’s antique sophistication, and my window overlooked acres of shadowed forests and mountainous peeks. We weren’t in Cherrywood Valley. No corn fluttered in expansive fields. No flatness stretched beyond our sight. The farm was rural, but not isolated. Empty wilderness surrounded us. Fear was messy. It stole what tenuous control I held over my breath. I didn’t have my medications which meant I couldn’t get upset. I scoured the room. No phones or weapons, indications of names or locations or clues about what psychopath kept me prisoner. The private bathroom might have dazzled me, but why did they give me such luxury? What use would I have for a separate, brass footed tub outside the stylishly tiled shower? I hesitated before the cherry vanity. The drawers layered with brand new brushes and hairdryers, make-ups and creams, lotions and perfumes. It felt…permanent. The carved dressers contained clothes. My size. My favorite books tucked within a case next to a cold fireplace. A towel rested on the nightstand, folded with a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a shower gel containing flecks of pure gold. The door wasn’t locked. My captors hadn’t kidnapped me. They housed me. What the hell was happening? This was no petty crime, no mad desperation for ransom. I had no idea why I had been captured, but a simple, damning, terrifying truth festered in the darkness.

They didn’t want my family’s money. They hunted me. I’d make sure they regretted every moment of it. My insides chilled. The pleasant room and comforts were more warning than hospitality. They dressed me in elegance and stole samples of my blood after violating me from the inside. I shivered. I peeked into the hall. The sophistication of my room bled into the rest of the home. High-ceilinged hallways arched tall, beyond what seemed practical. My home was big, but this gothic-inspired, decadent prison wasn’t a house. It was an estate. They maintained the mansion with a pride that had long shifted into arrogance. The dark rugs would have been stitched with gold if it was fashionable, and painstaking care crafted the lanterns on the walls, wiring electricity through the original sconces. The manor existed in a timeless, dreamlike perfection of antiquity and modern reflection. A winding staircase yielded to a grand foyer. Chiseled tile and marble columns stretched well beyond the first floor, extending to a ceiling dominated by not one, but three extravagant chandeliers. Their prisms of light filled the impressive hall with a gentle radiance. This was more than anything the Atwoods ever built. Who had this much money? And why would someone so rich kidnap me? The truth prickled at me. I ignored it. My torn, bloodied clothes and muddied shoes didn’t belong in a hall this beautiful. Each step echoed in the isolation. I searched the hall expanding to my left. Every room sealed shut, formal and uninviting. The hostility radiated down the hall to the right as well, but a single door opened, and a cold, flickering firelight cast gold into the hall. It wasn’t polite to force a guest to wander a home. It also wasn’t proper to kidnap her. But it made sense. I knew exactly who had me. I burst through the doorway. The masculine study housed the obligatory bookcases and hearths, worldly mementos and every other indicator of old money they stuffed inside the bloated parlor. The elegance existed only to flaunt their wealth, and whatever beauty I thought existed within the estate rotted in the gluttony of

Bennett greed. “Of course it’s you,” I whispered. Darius Bennett greeted me, a medieval king surveying the bounty of his hunt. He claimed an executive leather chair and shadowed himself in the glow of the fireplace. His gaze revolted me. He looked at me like a piece of meat. He wore a suit, but I expected the shining scales of a serpent to burst from the seams. He slithered down to his den like I was a mouse clamped in his jaws. His sons waited for me as well. Reed crumpled under my glare. Max wasn’t as easy, but I puffed with pride as he tucked an ice pack over his knee. So he was the one who tried to pluck me from my lab? I hoped he learned a valuable lesson. But I ignored both Max and Reed. They weren’t the ones who deserved my ire. Nicholas Bennett watched me in silence. His inspection beat in my chest with a profound, unforgivable fury. I couldn’t easily breathe in his presence, and I hated that we shared the same air. He traded the riding leathers of his motorcycle for a pristine, meticulously crafted suit. He looked just as good in the tight leather that cradled his every muscle as he did drafted in decadence. But clean-cut and regal or muddy and violent, it didn’t matter. The Bennetts were criminals. I didn’t need a ranch’s worth of polished leather to prove their deviancy. “How are you feeling, my dear?” Darius spoke only to watch me squirm. He expected me to be frightened. I was, but damned if I’d let him see it. “How dare you.” I hissed at the snake. He didn’t flinch. “Take me home, right now.” Darius preferred his silence. My first breath stuttered. I coughed, but it was the last time he’d ever see that weakness. I borrowed Dad’s pride and stared down the men in the room. They were supposed to be my step-family. But step-families didn’t abduct their little sisters in the middle of the night. They didn’t slash her tires and nearly kill her in a car crash. They didn’t drug her, transport her across the state, and sic doctors on very private, very off-limit areas.

Whatever game they played, whatever intimidation they planned, was absolutely inappropriate, illegal, and stupid. They’d learn quick I wasn’t just a twenty year old pushover. I hoped. “Kidnapping?” I snorted. “That’s low. Even for you.” Darius offered me nothing. He waited while I twisted myself in fear and rage. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. Before, he saw me as little more than an annoyance, an obstacle he’d destroy just as he ruined everything else in the Atwood family. The blood on his hands terrified me, but I’d fight him. Not just to protect myself and Mom, but because Darius Bennett was the reason Dad died. But now? The hairs prickled on my neck. He let his attention...linger. He looked at me as a woman for the first time. His slimy scrutiny left filth over my curves. He imagined what hid beneath my clothes. His voice echoed in my mind. The memory assaulted me like the doctor’s fingers. I squirmed. They revealed me. Virgin. Darius’s Good girl sickened me with his pride. “What the hell is going on here?” I demanded. Nicholas gestured to an empty chair. He was lucky I didn’t kick the leather monstrosity into the fireplace. “Ms. Atwood.” He hadn’t dropped the spine-tingling warmth from his voice. The deep baritone wrapped over me like the shackles they neglected to snap over my wrists. I didn’t look into his eyes. The last time I did, he held me in the cornfield, protecting me from the cold, the injuries, and my fading breath. He dared to comfort me in the darkness, and his honeyed gaze actually calmed me before I slipped into unconsciousness. He didn’t share Darius’s stare, but I didn’t trust his brand of oppression. Nicholas was, undoubtedly, the most dangerous Bennett. He lured instead of conquered. Nicholas wasn’t a man who favored fists and aggression, not when the confidence warming his voice struck through me like a heated blade. He anticipated my fight, but his endless patience shielded him from my defiance. I could torture him with silence, beat him with my every strength, or sit and

rationally negotiate my freedom. He’d outlast me. I had no idea how to best him, and he had only whispered my name. He gestured to the chair once more. I wouldn’t sit. We were beyond cordiality and honest expectations. My backpack and laptop rested at Max’s feet. The brute was more muscle than brains. He kicked off his suit jacket in favor of a t-shirt. Raging bands of tattoos coiled against his skin, thick and angry. I didn’t dare rush for my belongings. They left my bag unzipped. The Bennetts greasy hands had rifled through all my notebooks. My research journal rested on the table next to Darius’s whiskey. “Ms. Atwood,” Nicholas tried again. He had no right to speak my name, but his voice rumbled over the syllables with a refined grace. “You had a bad accident. You should sit.” “You bastards.” I stared at the journal before glaring at Darius Bennett. “I know what this is about.” Nicholas offered a dry chuckle. “I don’t think you do.” “Sons of bitches!” Reed seized me before I launched myself at his father. Somewhere between my kitchen and the attack on his motorcycle, he lost the playful smirk and dimple that separated him from the other lunatics in his family. “You kidnapped me for my research!” Reed dropped me when I pushed from his arms, but it wasn’t like I posed a threat to Darius. Without a weapon, I’d never escape four men, each stronger, larger, and more imposing than the last. I was a drop of blonde in a den of shadows. I made no excuses for my medical conditions, but I also knew my limits. Getting angry—letting the injustice and pain and inconceivable violation upset me—would land me on the floor, wheezing and humiliated. I would never, ever let a Bennett see me in such a state. But my research? The bastard terrorized me, threatened me, and stole my work. “Are you really that evil?” Darius’s lips curled into a monstrous leer. He reached for the journal, flipping through pages and pages of notes I had scribbled for the past three years. Every initial calculation that led me to a working, testable, and experimental hypothesis

rested in his hands. So much work. The entire future of Atwood Industries. And Darius Bennett pawed through my notes as if he didn’t even care that he held the potential for millions—maybe billions—of dollars under his fingertips. “Most of my family is dead, and you think you can steal the company with an insulting offer. I refuse you, so this is your solution?” I studied each of the Bennetts. “You kidnap me and steal my research. Is it a ransom? You’ll hold my work hostage until I agree to cooperate?” Darius thumped the journal against his hand. “We’ll find a use for it.” The rage tinted my vision. I traded air for the edge in my voice. It was worth it. “You won’t get away with this. I have patents.” I bluffed. Not everything had been protected like Dad insisted. After his funeral, I used the lab to mourn. What happened there was private—my own homage to him. I stopped patenting, and, once Josiah and Mike died in the accident, I hardly had the energy or time to protect my work. Half my journal pages weren’t signed. Most of the experiments hadn’t been replicated. If they took it, I’d lose everything. Darius waded through my indignation. His sneer silenced me. “It isn’t about the research, child,” he said. “You know why you’re here.” My stomach turned. Something had changed. The fire roared. It burned cold. The silence crackled. It hurt my ears. Nicholas stood. He loomed tall, strong, and utterly inescapable. “Ms. Atwood, we didn’t bring you to our home to steal your research.” Max shrugged. “That’s a windfall.” Protecting my journal wasn’t nearly as important as protecting me, and I suddenly realized I had no defense against my step-brothers. “You want my company,” I said. Nicholas nodded. “Yes.”

“You’ll scare me into negotiations?” His eyes hardened, cracking the gold into bitter amber. “No, Ms. Atwood. Unfortunately, your actions have prevented a sale of the company.” “Then why am I here?” Nicholas stepped close, and I stared up at him. Trembling, though I didn’t understand why. He presented himself as a solid, masculine, impenetrable force. Bennett ruthlessness was legendary. He encapsulated everything dangerous and merciless that existed within the family, twisted into his own uses and balanced with a grace undeserving of such a monster. Because he was handsome, he seemed kind. And because he was my step-brother, I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me. But because he was a Bennett, he was neither kind nor trustworthy. And he would hurt me. “You’ve forced us to make a difficult decision, Ms. Atwood.” Nicholas’s voice constricted like every binding I expected and every threat I’d have to fight to survive. But he had me pinned already, restrained and helpless without raising a hand. The kidnapping. The doctor. The blood tests. Only Darius would be so cruel. Nicholas wasn’t his father, but he was a Bennett. And that meant he was the nightmare of his father, brought to life and wrapped in a false comfort, a subdued dominance, and a promised brutality. “Atwood Industries belongs to a male heir.” Nicholas spoke as though we were the only two within the room. As if that would gentle his intentions. “The Bennett family will acquire your company, your lands, and your wealth. Ms. Atwood, your heir will also be ours.” I stepped away. “Y—you think I’m going to...marry you?” Nicholas’s expression crested, almost to remorse, almost softening, as if a monster could emphasize with the fear crippling me to incomprehension. “No. I won’t marry you,” he said.

“I’m not...I won’t sleep with you,” I said. “You’re technically my brother.” “You have no choice, Ms. Atwood.” “No choice?” I stared at him. Was he dangerously proud or an unrepentant criminal? “I don’t have a choice in conceiving my own child? What are you going to do?” He didn’t answer. I wasn’t fast enough to escape them all. “You wouldn’t rape me.” The damning silence sheathed me in untasted violence. The Bennetts cast their noose, but I stumbled into the rope. I stood only because the shock tensed my legs and the remaining sedative pumping in my blood numbed me to the absolute insanity. “You can’t do this,” I whispered. Darius laughed. “Sarah, my dear, what choice did you leave us? The clause bound our hands as much as it did yours. Your company requires a male heir. We will give you that son.” “Absolutely not.” The words sounded stronger in my head. My whimper intimidated no one. “This isn’t a negotiation,” Darius said. “You did your best, but even your father understood you weren’t capable of managing his company. He raised you only because he knew you’d eventually pump out more Atwood swine, and, I’m sure you’re going to do very well at it.” My heart pulsed hard, but it delivered nothing where it needed to go. Tears seared my vision, and I was grateful. At least then I wouldn’t stare at the devil who threatened me with every horrible and despicable evil in the world. “You’re my step-father, Darius. Why would you do this to my mother? You don’t have to love her, but for God’s sake, you still married her, you fucking—” He raised a hand. “Please, Sarah. No need for such language. I respect your mother, and I will honor my vow to her.” “Even you aren’t sick enough to rape your own step-daughter.” “Of course not.” He gestured to his sons. “Your brothers will undertake this task.” “No.” “Three Bennett men. It doesn’t matter to me who has the heir, only that it is

created. Behave yourself, honor our wishes, and you won’t be harmed.” “You’re delusional.” “Fight this, and I guarantee you’ll come to regret it.” “I’ll call the police.” The threat didn’t frighten him. “I’ll call my mother.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ, Darius!” I gripped the chair. I wasn’t even strong enough to puncture the leather with my nails. I hoped they didn’t notice. “I am Atwood Industries. You think you can touch me and I won’t immediately bury this family in every legal, civil, and public relations nightmare money can buy?” “Of course not,” Darius said. “But you’ll behave.” “Why?” “Because you love your mother.” My stomach dropped. “So you’d threaten your honored wife?” Darius nodded. “You’re pathetic.” I pointed to them all, wishing I had chosen a more profane gesture. “I’m leaving, and I’m going right to the police.” Nicholas blocked my escape. His expression reserved no kindness, only dark intent. If the devil hid within beauty, I stared into a golden halo of absolute evil. “Ms. Atwood, you are our guest for the foreseeable future.” Nicholas’s voice promised a false and sinful gentleness. “I’m afraid you aren’t permitted to leave the grounds.” “Not for some time, of course,” Darius said. “Unfortunately, we have a few weeks before you are...of use to us.” I swore. That invasion was worse than the doctor’s prodding fingers. “So you’ll hold me here until you rape me,” I whispered. If Nicholas felt any remorse, any human emotion behind his handsome cast of regal stillness, he let none escape. I mimicked his stoicism if only so I could shatter his confidence and dance over the shards of his broken pride. “What happens when you fail?” I asked. “You’ll never control me.” Darius folded his hands. “My dear, it’s nothing personal. Fight us or spread your legs willingly. The torment is yours to create.” “And my revenge is yours to suffer.”

He sighed. “It doesn’t matter if you fight. It doesn’t matter if you deny my sons. As of this moment, you belong to them. Your body exists only for their pleasure and your womb for the child that will carry the Bennett name.” I swallowed a surge of bile. Darius laughed. My step-brothers didn’t share his amusement. “My dear,” he said. “You’ll remain here as our prisoner, bound within our walls and trapped in your brothers’ beds, until the day you bear a son.”

6

NICHOLAS

I f I was a monster, I found success in my evils.

I no longer recognized the man in the mirror, but at least the sins I committed and the lives I destroyed would protect the ones I loved. I never pretended to be a good man; I simply cared for my family. But I wasn’t born as Nicholas Bennett. I was always recognized as the heir—the firstborn son and the future of our family. My father sculpted, perfected, and beat me into the right temperament to serve as his replacement. He influenced politicians, bought out his competitors, and imprisoned his enemies, but he couldn’t outrun time. One day he would fade. Then I would become his legacy. Except when I’d seize control, no innocent girl would be held captive in her bedroom, waiting for the theft of her innocence and the destruction of her body. I fastened my cufflinks and buttoned the suit jacket. The vest and trousers fit better than riding leathers and concealed weapons. We called for the helicopter, but Max rapped at my door before the pilot prepared to take off. “Reed’s about to split,” Max said. “You grabbing him this time or me?” Max tugged at his suit. He fit in the leather with more ease, but my father hadn’t asked for his usual assistance. He attended me today—crammed between investors and crystal glasses for a lunch meeting. I preferred him at my side. Anything was better for him than crouching in the shadows, drenched in another’s blood. I didn’t have time for my youngest brother’s antics. “Where does Reed think he’s going?” “Anywhere Dad isn’t.” If such a place existed, I hadn’t found it yet. And if Reed ever did, I’d let him go. I’d

also order Max to leave with him. Unfortunately, my father’s rule anchored us within the shadow of our estate and under his unblinking stare. Reed knew better. The situation hadn’t set well with him, but he endangered everyone with his behavior. He endangered the girl. I had no reason to hurry. Reed wouldn’t escape without telling me. The south garage housed our bikes, all three meticulously scoured and cleaned of debris from the cornfield. He leaned against his motorcycle. He hadn’t opened the garage yet, but his bag rested at his feet. It was a step farther than he made before. Usually, he came to his senses before leaving his bedroom. I once caught him on the stairs. Reed seldom lost his smile. The scar on his cheek and ear aged him, but not enough. He wasn’t much older than the girl we captured and locked away. He wasn’t that different either. “I’m gone.” Reed didn’t look at me. He hadn’t, not since Mark Atwood’s death and our father’s sudden compulsion to marry his widow. He said I was too much like him. I believed it. “This is bullshit, Nick.” “Get off the bike,” I said. “Max and I have an appointment at noon. We don’t have time for this.” “You know this isn’t right.” His gloved hands twisted. The leather wouldn’t protect him. No matter what he hid or how far he rode, the Bennett name bled into him deeper than any tattoo or scar. “You can’t tell me you’re okay with this.” “It’s done, Reed.” “You’re going to hurt that girl?” “Get off the bike. We’ll go in the house and talk.” “You are actually going to rape that girl?” I checked my watch. I didn’t have time to justify my actions or pretend to defend anything my father had planned. Max crossed his arms. “You leave, and you make it harder on everyone.”

“Maybe.” The keys flipped into Reed’s hand. “But me and my conscience will just have to deal.” “Why do you care so much about an Atwood?” Max pointed to Reed’s scars. “After everything Mark Atwood did to this family—” “That girl isn’t Mark Atwood.” Reed drew himself up to his full height. He could look me in the eye, but I owned the extra inch and the extra years. “That girl is...a girl. Jesus Christ, she didn’t understand. She thought we planned to steal her fucking research material.” Max smirked. “She took that harder than the news about the heir.” “Fuck this.” Reed shouldered his bag. “If you imprison and rape an innocent girl...” He swore leaned over his bike. “If you want to impregnate your goddamned step-sister? Fine. Do it for Dad. Be his little minion and pound your humanity away. I’m won’t be a part of it.” Max moved too quickly, and Reed’s punch swung quicker than he anticipated. Reed’s fist connected with his chin, and Max spat blood on the cement. I raised a hand before the retaliation began and held Reed’s shoulder. He didn’t dare strike me. “This is repulsive to me as well.” For more reasons than one. “But this is how he’s planned for it to be done.” “What about you?” Reed shared Mom’s green eyes. It made this harder. “How the hell did he talk you into this? I fucking hoped...” He pushed away. “Nothing’s gonna change when you get the company.” That’s where he was wrong. It would change. Given the opportunity. Given the time. But it wouldn’t do any good if my brothers were dead. The company wouldn’t matter. Money, power, politics—a waste. My father existed in a world where cruelty created opportunities for those brave enough to shed their decency and devour those less ambitious. He groomed me for that life, exercising one rule. Family first—at the expense of all else. Pride. Compassion. Sarah Atwood. Until his sons interfered. Some blood had more worth than others. “This is about more than the girl,” I said. “I’ll find a solution, but you aren’t leaving. Not now.” “If you have to ask me to stay, you’re more fucked in the head than he is.”

Max rubbed his face. His knuckles scarred from the last vendor lunch we attended —when my presentation hadn’t swayed our guest, Max’s fist secured what we needed. It was important, my father said, that we experience business first hand. I would present the numbers, and, when solid facts and figures failed, Max delivered the final options with as little mercy as he had patience. Reed understood. He was a smart man—probably smarter than me if he had applied himself in the way our father chose. Instead, he focused on colleges and research, the same experiments the girl had concocted and different avenues for the company. It was appreciated, but it wasn’t his place. We had our roles. Heir. Muscle. Charity. Deviating wasn’t an option. And freeing Sarah Atwood wasn’t a solution. “If you leave, you’ll damn her,” I said. Reed didn’t believe me. I envied his naivety. “He’s demanded all of us do it. Three men. Three times the chances.” “Guess he’ll only have two.” “No.” I tilted my head. “He’ll ensure she’s taken by three men.” Reed exhaled once he realized what I meant. “You would never hurt that girl,” I said. “But our father would.” “You can’t be asking me to do this.” “If he takes her, she probably won’t survive it.” “Goddamn it, Nick.” “Get inside. You have a conference call at three.” Max tapped his cell. “Helicopter’s here.” Reed pitched his bag across the room. Something shattered in the pocket. He gave it a solid kick, but he returned to the house with a profanity reserved more for himself than me. I wouldn’t savor this victory. I laid the bag at the doorway and struck the switch to lower the garage’s gate. Sarah Atwood wasn’t the only one imprisoned within the estate, but once my father sated his perversions, after we stole her innocence and invaded her body, she’d be released. If she behaved. If we all behaved. Ten years ago, I might have had the same crisis of conscience as Reed. Cruelty

existed in many forms. This was just the basest, the most animalistic and vulgar form of power. The personal touch sickened me. I held no respect or love for the Atwoods, but Reed was right. Sarah was a reckless twenty year old girl, but she reserved every bit of her father’s strength, her brothers’ ambition, and her own imaginative solutions to her family’s problems. She was also the most beautiful woman to ever hate me. Even panting and muddy, lost in a cornfield with a cut to her brow and hyperventilating as my brothers and I terrorized her, Sarah was lovely—pale and delicate with hair the same color as silken gold. I lamented that it was her name that would destroy her. She was a fluttering fairy trapped within a garden of stone. Even the tiniest suffered. The helicopter flight would be quick, but my father’s text message vibrated my phone the instant the pilot lifted us from the roof. Instructions. Reminders. Orders. Life was little more than a schedule, and a rigorous one by intent. The Bennett Corporation thrived on out-pacing, out-innovating, and out-maneuvering our rivals. My grandfather built the empire, my father expanded it, and I was born to defend it. To me, that meant security and diversification. To my father, it meant imprisoning the daughter of our greatest business rival and then asserting our control by beating, raping, and breeding the poor girl. Neither of my brothers approved of this plan, but they had as little a choice as the girl. If I was to keep them all alive, including Sarah Atwood, we needed to obey my father. Do as he said. Act like the monsters he raised. I ignored the text message. …Or maybe I’d find another way. The helicopter delivered us to San Jose, landing on the rooftop of a partnered hotel chain. The top floor restaurant might have entertained those who hadn’t just seen the skyline from the air, but it amused the investors. Pleasing those willing to drop millions on our corporation was as important as winning them over through presentations and slide shows. A handsome smile, charming conversation, and direct, no-nonsense negotiation style usually secured our investments. We choreographed the lunch. One cocktail before ordering, a sensible wine with a light meal, and mineral water with a refreshing sorbet for dessert. I permitted the discussion to tread from business to

family, but no further than memories of alma maters and, if the occasion permitted, gentle enthusiasm for children—especially if adult, female, and unattached. Professional matters were kept discreet, approximated numbers offered, and official figures promised at a later date within the corporate offices. And it usually worked. Usually. Our target was an important board member—one of my father’s initial contacts. Samuel Peters approached retirement age with a shuffling gait dancing between arthritis and gout. Max lost his patience the second time Samuel called him Matt, but he remembered me. He liked me. That’s what made his decision all the more puzzling. “Nicholas, I’ll be straight with you.” Samuel scooped a spoonful of the sorbet to his mouth, but missed the cream that lingered in the corners of his lips. “The Bennett Corporation has been good to me and my family, but I had an offer to sell my shares, and, I’ll tell you, it was a good offer.” We expected it. It didn’t stop the disappointment from pitting my stomach. “Our company has seen a seven percent growth each year for the past five,” I said. “It’s a solid investment. Selling now will secure you, but retaining your percentage could see your profits double within the next ten years.” “Doubt I’ll be around in ten years, my boy.” Samuel cracked a laugh as dry as the wallet he pulled from his pocket. He fiddled with the leather and held a photograph toward Max. “I’m trying to take care of my bunny.” He didn’t refer to an animal. The blonde in the picture somehow scrunched her legs onto his lap and pressed more silicon than actual skin against his wrinkles. Max perked an eyebrow, hiding his grimace with a well-timed throat clear. “With all due respect...” I earned Max’s amusement. “Bunny would benefit from the stock as well.” “True. Don’t I know it!” Samuel cackled. “But she doesn’t have a mind for numbers, you see.” Obviously. “They offered me a good price.” He hocked a cough and sipped his water. “You can understand that, Nicholas. I’m an old man. I want to take care of my family and treat them well.” “I understand.” More than anything, I understood. “But you are a voting member of our stock holders, and the company that wished to purchase your shares...”

“Josmik Holdings.” I steadied my expression. “Yes. They represent a private corporation which was formed by the recently passed Atwood Brothers, Josiah and Michael.” Samuel nodded. “Messy business.” “Indeed.” “Nicholas, I’m sorry. I signed the contract before the boys died. My attorney is preparing the agreements now with their executor. Everything should be settled within the year.” He rapped a finger against the table. “Have you met their sister? Young thing. Pretty. Smart too.” “She’s actually…” I hadn’t admitted it since locking her inside her room. “My new step-sister. You attended my father’s wedding a few months ago.” “Ah! That’s right, that’s right. Well, good, it’s settled then. Speak with Ms. Atwood. She may be willing to halt the sale.” Yes. Sarah probably would, given my father’s persistence. Then again, if his original threat hadn’t crippled her, I doubted we could do much to rattle Sarah Atwood. Max’s hands usually stained with blood, but mine seldom dripped with crimson. My soul, of course, withered and died years ago. I might not have swung the punch, but my orders busted car windows, broke jaws, and threatened more than one family with financial ruin. All in the name of business. All to protect the Bennett Corporation. Samuel shrugged and tossed his napkin on the table. “It’s not the news you wanted to hear. Nothing personal.” He stood, but I raised a hand. “Is there any chance you might be able to cancel the deal. Any chance at all?” “You put me in a tight spot.” “Are you selling for the money?” Samuel returned to his seat. His hand shook over his cane, but he glanced from Max to me. “I’ll be honest. I respect you, Nicholas. I do. But your father...” Max leaned away from the table. We both tensed like we were kids again, sneaking into the pool after curfew. The sting of the crop burned through the years, the precise strikes that hid too well beneath a child’s suit. I urged him to continue the thought before he lost it in a fog of dementia. “My

father?” “Darius is not a classical businessman, not like you. We know how the company made those seven percent gains. The research division was slashed in half. Distribution’s contract negotiations were messy and costly. And the union problems?” I steadied my voice. “Price of doing business in this day and age.” “Maybe.” Samuel sighed. “Darius took a proud company, retained the polish on the outside, and rotted the interior. And that’s hard for you to hear, but his leadership is reactive and quick to burn. His temper gets him in trouble, and, in this economy, his methods won’t stand the test of time.” Max hid his agreement in a quick swig of his water. I didn’t have the luxury of denial while face-to-face with one of our largest investors. “Drought hit the West bad, Nicholas. Farms already had their fertilizers and products purchased, but this year coming up?” He shook his head. “The farmers are gonna need more than rain to stay afloat, you hear?” He was right. I knew it. Reed knew it. That was why he fought to shift our developmental focuses to new aspects of the industry. It was also why he attempted to study law, engineering, something beyond business and numbers. He saw it coming. The rest of the family and the stock holders anticipated it. Even the Atwoods waited for the inevitable. And my father focused only on the short-term profits and quarterly analyses. It wouldn’t always distract the stock holders. Samuel was right. Which meant an opportunity existed that hadn’t before. “What if...” I leaned into the table. “What if Darius no longer led the Bennett Corporation?” Samuel chortled. “Darius Bennett? Retire? Son, he’ll be older than me and still guarding his office with a bottle of whiskey and a loaded gun.” “Not necessarily.” For the first time in the seven years I had known Samuel, he sharpened. He wagged a finger at me, rasping a dry cough. “Now you sound like your father.” “The Bennett Corporation impacts many people’s lives. My family, but also our stock holders and investors and their families. Their...bunnies.” “Very true, son.”

My voice lowered. I had no reason to protect hypotheticals. My back ached, an imaginary pain I would ignore. The strain tightened along the largest scar tracing my shoulders, itching as though it had ruptured. “If the stock holders aren’t pleased with the direction of the company, changing leadership is the easier and more rectifiable choice. I can’t have all our voting members selling stock because of a presented offer that seemed more tasteful than dealing with the issues at hand.” Max hadn’t moved. I ignored the text message buzzing in my pocket. The adrenaline flooded my blood. Our blood. Bennett blood. Either excitement or betrayal would poison me. At least it wouldn’t target my brothers. “What are you proposing?” Sam asked. “Stop the sale.” “Why?” “Because I can offer you better than the Atwoods.” “How?” “A different vision for the company. Safer investments. More sustainable profits regardless of environmental conditions which may impact our largest customers.” “You’ll need help.” Sam scratched his chin. “And a majority of the shareholders are loyal to your father.” “The company is mine by right.” “Not yet, my boy, not yet.” I sipped my water. The thrill that shocked through my body wasn’t fear. It was pleasure. Pure strength. A newfound freedom. “I’ll put the company’s interests before my own. Blood forgives, profits do not. If you give me your support, grant me a little time to speak with our other voting stock holders, I believe I can present you with a profitable solution. I’ll guarantee your continued growth within our company.” “And Darius?” “He’s a businessman.” “He’s also your father.”

A fact he never let me forget. What was a more damning sin—the loss of profits or the destruction of a family? The Bennett family thrived on the power granted by our name, the influence of the men in our bloodline, and the shared secrets taught father to son. Generations of Bennetts wielded family like a sword and armor, and success was our ultimate victory. But times changed. Economies changed. Politics changed. And some Bennetts abused the honor in our name. So why not herald the change and assume what belonged to me before the generations of success and wealth, power and glory turned to the same dust choking our customers’ farms? Sam nodded. “The stock stays.” Max stiffened. Even my brother—a man strengthened by every martial art money could train—folded under the implication. He frowned, but he said nothing. Like all Bennetts, he knew his place. But mine wasn’t right for me anymore. I wanted more. Something conquerable and profitable that would grant me more power than my father ever dreamed. I liked it. Too much. “You won’t regret this,” I said. “And neither will the Bennett Corporation. A change like this benefits us all, Samuel.” He chuckled, shaking my hand—the age old business standard which sealed more than just a gentleman’s agreement. It offered me the opportunity to have everything. To control everything. To own everything. Samuel clapped my brother on the shoulder. “Matt. Nice to see you again.” Max didn’t correct him. His gaze burned through me, but the wine was cool, a rich vintage that the Bennetts preferred. I swirled the crimson and waited as Samuel shuffled from the table. Once, my brother’s silence might have concerned me. But now? I relished it. He wouldn’t be brave enough to offer me congratulations, nor would he break a rigid code of conduct and interrogate me in the restaurant.

A waitress fluttered past. I snapped a finger, and she nodded, hurrying past her other tables and darting into the kitchen to fetch another bottle of wine. “I’ll attend your investor meeting tomorrow, Max.” I thanked the server with a hundred from my jacket pocket and nodded for her to leave. She studied Max, her lips parted ever so slightly, but he ignored the brunette as she shimmied away. “You don’t have to come.” Max downed his wine. “No. I think I should be there. What the hell are you doing?” “What’s best for this company.” “What about the family?” “One and the same, Max.” He didn’t believe me, but it was the first moment in twenty-nine years I thought clearly. I wasn’t protecting the family anymore. The only way we’d survive was if someone saved it—from within and from the external threats that would only further destroy what control we held over the market, the investors, and our customers. A change in ownership would preserve the standards we upheld. And holding the girl captive? It eliminated the Atwood threat, but my father’s longterm solution was cruel. Still, ruining Sarah to seize her company would win the war. Other options must have existed, but we didn’t have time for the battles it’d require. Sarah was almost twenty-one, and that made her dangerous. Her heir would secure us for generations, fortifying a legacy built of darkness, lies, and undeniable wealth. But a single mistake and she’d have the legal and moral power to rip us apart. But I’d fix it. And I’d do it before only the ashes of success remained. But a real plan required time. Management. Escaping the impenetrable will of my father. Max stole the bottle and poured another glass. He preferred hard liquors, but it was unsightly for a man to drink more than a single whiskey at a business lunch. He chugged the wine instead. “If Dad finds out what you just did, he’ll kill you,” Max warned. “What the hell possessed you to be that fucking reckless?” “When have you ever known me to be reckless?” “First Sarah Atwood, now this? You aren’t acting sane.”

“If I can secure enough investors to vote for a change in leadership, maybe the girl will go home. Eventually. Once this is done.” “Eventually?” Max ground his teeth. “What the hell do you mean eventually? Just tell Dad no.” And enrage him? He’d take his vengeance out on our prisoner, then he’d have my actions and correspondence, meetings and parties monitored and scrutinized by his own private investigators and personal associates. No. We had one option, and I pitied the girl I couldn’t rescue. Sarah Atwood would save the Bennett Corporation in two ways. She would either bear a child we created to secure a future which joined our assets —or her presence and inevitable resistance would distract my father while I forged a partnership to depose him. Neither future offered the girl much hope, but I’d never ask forgiveness from an Atwood, even if she was beautiful, young, and completely innocent to the sin trapping her within our beds. My phone vibrated once more. The message was just another complication. Max read my expression and stood as I did. “Problem?” He asked. Slight. Nothing I couldn’t handle. “Sarah Atwood has escaped.”

7

SARAH

T

he mansion was easy to escape.

The estate? Not so much. The Bennetts prided themselves on extravagance, independence, and privacy. Their home wasn’t just a decadent manor comprised of dozens of rooms, wings, and glamour. They owned nearly as much land as us. But instead of planting crops or tending animals, they wasted good, fertile soil on meticulously crafted gardens with sculptures of dark creatures, aggressively coiling roses, and an endless path which stretched beyond the courtyard and into an overgrown forest of shadows and menace. The Bennetts lived in the wilderness by choice, and they were rich enough to buy time. A car took too long to deliver them to San Jose. They installed a helipad on the roof of the estate. A helicopter. The Atwoods were wealthy, but my father wouldn’t dare let his children gallivant across the world in a helicopter. My brothers had to wait for his death before they even felt comfortable traveling in a private jet. The jet that ultimately claimed their lives. Maybe Dad was onto something. I stole a bottle of water before I bolted, but I drained it in a coughing fit as soon as I passed beyond sight of the house. I couldn’t run. A day without medication and the stress of the kidnapping scoured my lungs. The cool water helped, but nothing would combat the hardening of my chest. Even if I had my inhaler, I wasn’t getting far. My feet crunched against broken twigs and scattered pine needles. The cobblestone path wasn’t used often, but I hoped the road beyond the private property would be

populated. Tourists explored even the most scenic road routes, and the Bennetts lived just outside wine country. Someone would find me. When they did, I would reward them for the opportunity to call the police, my stock holders, and my doctor. My main priority was getting the hell off their property. Once I was home, I’d figure out how best to torch that prison to ash. I coughed. The path blurred as the dry wheeze prickled me with a headache. I groped across the road and leaned against the base of a redwood. The redwoods teetered over their estate, and the air chilled in the shade of the trees. Redwoods and firs, oaks and scrub, ferns and stones littered the forest. The view was more exotic than the acres of corn surrounding my home, but the midsummer pollen stuck to my throat. I’d have to go slower. The Bennetts had no idea I suffered from asthma. For all I cared, they’d assume I died of starvation trying to crawl my way across their endless property. Some secrets were too important to reveal. My hike wasn’t the act of defiance I planned. My escape shifted into survival. I had to contact my doctor and fill my prescription. I fell behind on my pills, and I was already anxious without my rescue inhaler. I wouldn’t think about it. The pollen was bad, but as long as I was walking, I’d be okay. If I was free, I’d be okay. Those bastards thought they could trap me in the house. Maybe they hoped I’d cower in the corner waiting for my step-brothers to rape me. Maybe they figured that I’d be too terrified to fight. One thing was certain. They didn’t expect me pitching a chair through the dining room window to make my escape. A Bennett could repair a window with the change in their pocket—but I’d give the Atwood fortune to watch Darius Bennett pop a vein in rage. The rumble echoed in the distance. I pushed away from the tree as the bike thundered along the path. I cursed. My luck depended on whoever followed. Reed wouldn’t hurt me. Max would, but he wouldn’t kill me. And Nicholas? I missed a breath. I couldn’t fear Nicholas. I refused to give any Bennett that pleasure.

But I wasn’t comfortable around him. His golden stare shattered me and then examined every piece to determine how he could use it to his advantage. The cadence of his voice beat against my body harder than my frantic heart. His unbreakable poise rivaled my resolve. Nicholas seared through my defenses with a reserved word and didn’t flinch when I opposed him. I’d rather face Darius than Nicholas. Which was why I didn’t answer the amber-eyed rider as he slowed to my side. Whatever leathers and helmet my step-brother wore while abducting me were gone, cast aside for an imported, tailor fit suit, complete with navy blue pocket square and vest beneath the jacket. He might not have worn a cut displaying his city and club and every dastardly crime he ever committed, but the suit exposed more than he wished. He was stylish. He was arrogant. He was ruthless enough to pursue me on a motorcycle. I was the fox, he was the sportsman, and the twisted machine he rode the noble steed he whipped, tamed, and beat into submission. I hadn’t made it far from the house. And yet he chased. He hunted. He watched me with a wicked amusement. “Ms. Atwood.” The words rolled off his lips—the crashing of thunder or the whisper of fire. Both left me chilled and hot and…flushing. My steps slowed, but not out of respect for him. The quick pace and breathless anticipation of his chase clattered my lungs. I debated stopping to pretend to listen to his terms, or collapsing against the path, forcing him to drag me to my exquisite cell. The bike surged forward, blocking my path. Nicholas must have anticipated I wouldn’t climb on the beast willingly. He adjusted his tie and unbuttoned his jacket before dismounting. No man had any right to be that handsome, especially a Bennett. His mellow gold eyes, brush of dark hair, and regal smile would charm the last dollar out of a collections’ box while crushing anyone that might have protested. Nicholas was built for sheer intimidation. I was small—and not just asthma tiny. My father teased that I was the runt of his litter, his little corn sprout in a bountiful harvest.

I had to look up to meet his gaze, and the effort didn’t go unnoticed. His lip curled, but I couldn’t tell if it was amusement or a challenge. “It’s dangerous to travel this path alone, Ms. Atwood,” Nicholas warned. “You never know what’s lurking in the woods.” “Probably the same evil inside your estate.” “Would you rather my company or the mountain lions’ on this ridge?” “Trick question.” He chuckled. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Home.” His eyebrow perked, but his voice never lost the tempered cadence. He liked this game. “You’re far from home, Ms. Atwood.” “Then perhaps you’d arrange for transportation to see me there safely.” “If you would climb onto my bike, I’ll take you home.” I looked over my shoulder, glancing toward the estate. I realized my mistake too late. I’d rather turn my back on a mountain lion than Nicholas. I deliberately searched his expression, ignoring how just his glance bound me in his stillness. “The Bennett Estate is not my home,” I said. “It is, for the foreseeable future.” “You and I have far different definitions of future.” I might have stepped away, fidgeted as I surveyed any chance to escape. Nicholas didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Didn’t break my gaze. Every instinct I fought to squirm only strengthened him. Even Darius Bennett showed a weakness with the tensing of his lip or clench of his fist when I defied him. Nicholas was unbreakable. He held me captive with honesty as intense as violence. He breathed a callous indifference. I had no idea how to act around him. Screaming would give him the victory. Silence was my implied surrender. His every steady breath cracked my confidence. Slowly. Steadily. Inch by fracturing inch. I wasn’t ready to combat whatever he planned. “If you excuse me…” I swallowed as the words didn’t carry the edge I wished. I hid the wheeze before he realized the pause wasn’t a dare for his reaction. “Thank you

for your gracious hospitality, but I must kindly decline your invitation.” I expected an arm around my waist and a threatening rasp in my ear, but he wouldn’t defile himself with base violence. “You’re walking.” His voice carried like shadow, but this darkness wasn’t cool. It warmed whatever it touched. Wove over my body. Bound my wrists and legs with the shackles of his amusement. “You won’t run? Not even from your captors?” He admitted it without remorse. I didn’t turn. If he wanted to listen, he’d have to follow. And he did. “I don’t have to run,” I said. “It’s been over a day since the kidnapping. People will start searching for me.” “Are you sure?” “You aren’t untouchable, Nicholas. Even your family has limits on power. I own a billion dollar company. I’m expected to email and call and make decisions for various departments at any given time. Someone will notice I’m gone.” I swallowed the pitting fear. “My mother will notice I’m gone.” “Your mother believes you are a guest of the estate while we conduct business.” “Of course she does.” I didn’t stop walking, but every step shoved a dagger of betrayal deeper into my side. “Enough Vicodin and anti-depressants will convince her of anything. But she hasn’t been very useful for a few months. I haven’t had the luxury of help since my father and brothers died.” “I admire your courage, Ms. Atwood, but the nearest public road is over five miles from here.” Five miles. Five miles on no medications. Five miles weakened, exhausted, and terrified. “Then you should be a gentleman and call a taxi.” Nicholas laughed. “Or I have a pilot’s license. I could fly you away in the helicopter.” He wasn’t threatened by me. It was an insult, but what could I do against him? Nicholas’s broad shoulders and muscular chest weren’t hidden beneath the suit. The style accentuated every inch of his form. While Max bulked with the strength he earned punishing and training his body, Nicholas possessed a natural power. Something I never experienced—only bluffed.

The only charity he’d offer would be hauling me to the estate on his bike, and he’d grant me the privilege of clinging to his back. He was hard. He was cruel. And I envied every breath he stole from me. “Take me home.” My voice fell to a whisper. A please tempted my lips. “Why won’t you take me home?” “Come with me,” Nicholas said. “I’ll get you something to drink. We’ll discuss this like civilized people in the comfort of a parlor instead of a stark wilderness.” “I like the wilderness.” I spoke too quickly and showed a bit of myself I didn’t mean for him to see. I licked my lips and tried again. “I prefer the forest to the barrenness of your estate.” “Hopefully it won’t be barren for long.” Absolutely not. “Are you out of your mind?” Nicholas gestured to the bike. “Ms. Atwood, it’s time to return.” “I refuse.” “I understand,” he said. “And so I am granting you two options. Either you come willingly, allow me to see you safely to our home, and we discuss these matters—” “Forget it.” “—Or I subdue you, bind your hands, and you spend your days strapped to a bed, like my father prefers.” “I’m not afraid of your father.” My voice trembled. Nicholas heard. His amusement threaded me into silence. “Are you afraid of me?” He asked. I didn’t answer. My chest hurt, and I allowed myself a pause to breathe anything but his question. It didn’t help. I still imagined him tying me to the bed—helpless, naked, bound for his pleasure with only mercy to restrain him. I had no compassion for the Bennetts. God, what sympathy would they spare for me? But maybe Nicholas was telling the truth. Maybe he wasn’t like his father, didn’t

see me as a woman to rut for whatever animalistic desires overwhelmed him. Maybe he hadn’t imagined me more helpless than I felt now. Maybe he didn’t want me begging. Whimpering. The rush of heat didn’t warm me. Whatever passed between us wasn’t a mutual lust. His dangerous hunger coveted everything chaste and virtuous within me. I could try to hide, but Nicholas would always find me. That power was something no one should have possessed. Not a friend, not an enemy, and certainly not a Bennett. I struggled against every sweaty, vulgar, and passionate image darkening my thoughts and tore my gaze from Nicholas. My breathing eased. He had already invaded my mind. My lungs. How soon until he took my body? “I’ll make you a proposition,” I whispered. “If you release me, untouched, and my research is returned, I’ll forgive this insanity. We can talk about selling the company.” Nicholas prowled closer, his steps silent against the pine needles and cobblestones. I didn’t run, but I prayed for even an ounce of his poise. I endured a calculated silence. He planned it all. Every soul-wracking moment, every tremble upon my skin, every hope and confidence that crashed before him. He planned it. He captured me without touching me. He possessed me without violating me. He owned me without a word. I should have run until my breath gasped into nothing and I collapsed in exhaustion. Instead, I trapped myself within Nicholas Bennett’s will. And if I wanted to survive, I'd have to fight my every instinct to offer him complete and total obedience. “You’re in no position to make demands.” “Neither are you.” His chuckle rumbled, more threatening than his bike. “I’m not afraid of you, Ms. Atwood.” “You should be,” I said. “You’ve invited me into your home. You’ve threatened to

keep me prisoner. You haven’t tied me to a bed, and I don’t think you will. It’s a mistake.” “Is it?” “I plan to tear the Bennetts apart. I’ll crush your estate to the ground brick-bybrick. I will have my revenge.” His voice lowered. “But we haven’t done anything to you. Yet.” “You’ve done enough. You ruined my family.” “You think we killed your father.” “I don’t think it.” I coughed but regained my control. “I know it.” Nicholas frowned. I’d never understand his stillness. Where he waited, I tensed. While he quietly plotted, I braced to run. When he breathed, I struggled over everything betraying me—my body, my resolve, my courage. He was stone, and I was the flooding stream pouring over any available avenue to escape. Except I had nowhere to go. The trees and forest, scrubs and ferns were just as dangerous as the Bennetts, despite how many years I spent studying ecology and agriculture. The trees wouldn’t protect me, the weather wouldn’t warm me, and the very plants I studied would poison me in pollen. I would wither and collapse in the dirt before I fled the shadow of the estate. But I wasn’t about to die. “So what will you do about this murder?” He asked. Plenty. “I’m an opportunist. My father taught me to take whatever luck the world offered and make up the difference ourselves. I’m waiting for my chance.” He stepped closer. I wouldn’t let him see me retreat. “How can I help?” “Screw your help. I’ll earn my freedom, destroy your sick family, and I’ll find the evidence to prove Darius killed my father. You won’t be able to stop me.” “You’re very confident for someone trapped in the clutches of apparent murderers.” “It’s not confidence. I’m right. This is about justice and honor.” “You’re defending Atwood honor?” “Until the day I die.”

“Then you’re brave, foolish, and misguided.” He paused. “But at least you aren’t a monster like Mark Atwood.” The insult ripped through me. I welcomed the adrenaline as I confronted a man twice my size who teased me with the threat of captivity and violence. “What do you want from me?” The forest seized the echo and veiled my words from the world. “Do you want to attack me? Hurt me? Do it. We’re alone. No one would know. No one would see. You have me at your mercy so if you’re going to rape me, just do it and get it over with—” Nicholas rushed, seizing me within his grasp. The shock choked me, and I flailed instead of screamed. Trapped in his iron embrace, he hauled me from the path and slammed me against the base of a towering redwood. I dug my fingers into his suit. It did nothing. Nicholas shook me, forced me against the cool, uncaring tree trunk. He dared to kiss me. Not a gentle, story-book kiss meant to reassure my fears and redeem my trust in the man slinking into the overgrown forest to steal what I wasn’t prepared to give. Not a passionate, lust-crazed demand that would fuel our desire and trap us both in the carnal urges and natural cravings that existed only within the wilds. Nicholas kissed me because I was his. He was my captor. Everything his family promised and everything he threatened would come true. His lips crushed mine with a ragged, possessive heat. My body pinned against the tree as he slammed my wrists hard into the bark. He forced one arm to my side and drew the other over my head. I struggled, but his nibbling, expert pressure against my mouth forced a gasp. From my parted lips, he attacked. His tongue stole a flick against mine. I twisted against his hold. And I was punished. Or rewarded? Nicholas pushed, trapping me against his chest. I weakened in his power, amazed by the stirring unwelcomed sensations sizzling the tempted rapture over my skin. Everywhere he touched burned—a fiery indignity and searing passion. He treated me with disrespect, and I seethed against the strength that so easily took my kiss. The molten response bubbled inside me, folding and rising and taking me with more demands than his embrace. My core tightened.

My legs trembled. I tensed. I hated him. More than Reed or Max. More than Darius. But my body surrendered everything sane and good and reasonable within my soul and blackened it with the corruption of the Bennetts. He held my hands. He pinned me. His strength moved against my petite frame as though he could break through me and the redwood with a single, vigorous thrust. I imagined his ferocity. And groaned. But Nicholas pulled away. His breath tore through his body just as ragged as mine. I struggled to smack him, but he didn’t release my hands. I didn’t think he’d ever release me. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. All the more reason to fight and escape before I decimated what remained of my pride. His crisp scent enveloped me with a clean masculinity. My wrists bruised in his grip. I didn’t care. The threatening promise of his form was too much, too fast, too overwhelming. His presence dulled my senses and forged forbidden and sensual fantasies that layered me with shame. I tried to swear, but I had no strength left to speak. Instead I glowered, and he welcomed my resistance with a low whisper. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ms. Atwood.” He pulled my wrists to his chest, binding me to him. “When it comes time, I won’t chase you. You’ll come to me.” “I doubt that.” His predator grin layered me with goose bumps. “I’ll break you, Ms. Atwood, this is my promise. I will take you, mold you, and control you. You’ll surrender to me. I won’t hurt you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t devour you entirely.” “Why are you doing this?” “Because I learned something about myself today.” His lips pressed against my ear, his words a secret only for me. “I’m doing this because I can.”

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.

8

SARAH

icholas delivered me to the mansion. I stumbled off the motorcycle, but he N 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 sunbleached 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?” “You will soon carry a Bennett in your belly. You should be privy to the information discussed, don’t you think?” I shuddered. “No.” Darius’s pleasure wrenched every last hope from my heart. “You will sit here. Listen to our meeting. Learn our business. And do you know why?” I shook my head. “Because you are insignificant. You are present because no matter what you do or where you go, we will find you, capture you, and restrain you within these halls.” My fingers dug into the leather beneath me. He savored his drink. “You are nothing more than a pussy to fuck and a womb to seed, do you understand?” I scowled. Darius didn’t blink. “Now be a good girl. Take off your clothes.” My heart stalled. My rough intake of air was neither asthma nor shock. It was fear. “Excuse me?” I whispered. “Take off your clothes.” “No!” Nicholas closed the cover on his tablet. Max stretched in his chair, but even Reed inspected me. “I won’t ask again.” “Good. I won’t do it.”

“The doctor said you are not ovulating yet, child.” Darius perked an eyebrow. “At this moment, you are a centerpiece. However, if you insist on defying us, we will tie you down and rut you here like the animal you are. Is that what you would prefer?” They wouldn’t break me. I shook my head. “No.” “Good. We are not barbarians, my dear. This is not entertainment. It is business.” “Raping me is business?” “It’s purely for procreation.” He laughed. “Of course, my sons may think procreating is quite enjoyable.” “You’re sick.” “Take off your clothes, and you won’t be harmed. Refuse, and the clothes come off, and you’ll regret this delay. Your choice.” Damn it. Hell wasn’t the moment my hands tangled in the dirty material of my shirt, but the instant just before. The decision. The beaded thought of terror balanced between self-preservation and modesty. Four Bennett men meant to look upon my body, not as a form of lust or admiration, but because, like Nicholas said—they could. I weighed my options. Weakened by the shade of my asthma, I couldn’t fight them off. Stripping was mortifying, but I’d never handle their touch. Not now. Not until I had rested and prepared for the horrors of such violence. Darius grinned as I tugged the shirt over my head. I ignored my burning cheeks and the bumbling nausea in my stomach. My fingers trembled. I failed twice to unfasten the button on my jeans. Darius clinked the ice in his drink. “My dear, the brassiere?” Of course. They’d want a perverted show while I struggled to degrade myself. It wasn’t like the bra hid much anyway. I was skinny and small and hardly breeding material. Why not reveal all my secrets at once? I bit my lip and unclasped the hooks. And made the mistake of searching for Nicholas. For the briefest of moments trapped in the woods, I almost made a foolish mistake. When Nicholas captured me against the tree—when he pinned my arms and stole my lips and whipped me with blended lust, confusion, and anger—I thought of this exact moment. I imagined revealing myself to him. Welcoming his attention. It was another layer of hell, where all reason burned into cinders of lust and bestial

instinct. Now, the thought was wretched, a bottomless despair, a horrible realization. I nearly surrendered to his kiss. My thoughts had blurred with a longing for his touch. I was attracted to Nicholas, and nothing terrified me more. The bra dropped to the ground, and my breasts were exposed to the wolves. The fire couldn’t combat the sudden chill that only hardened my nipples and humiliated me in their responsiveness. My step-brothers were silent, but they saw everything. Darius nodded. “And now the rest.” This wasn’t my dishonor. It was theirs. They were the ones debasing themselves. They were the ones kidnapping women and destroying any morality that still existed within their family. I yanked the jeans down, accidentally taking my panties with them. But what did it matter? They wanted to see all of me, as if it would frighten me. So fine. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. None of this pleased Darius Bennett. It amused Reed. He gave me a wink. Max glanced over my form and dismissed me to read an email on his phone. 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 the 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.”

9

NICHOLAS

S arah 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.” “We’re her family,” Reed snorted. “Technically.” “And that’s why we’ll help her.” I lifted Sarah into my arms and ordered my brother to the helicopter. “I’ll make Dad understand.” Sarah didn’t struggle. Either she understood I meant to help or she was in that much pain. Or she was dying. I wouldn’t tolerate innocent blood on my hands. The girl wasn’t just a beautiful creature of fire and passion. She was an heir to a fortune and the key to the Bennetts acquiring a company that would preserve our name, wealth, and status for generations, despite the challenges facing us. My motivations were selfish, vile, and cruel. But that was business. And losing our greatest asset to a secret illness wasn’t an option. I was the better pilot, but I wasn’t releasing Sarah from my arms. Reed followed with bottles of water and warm compresses. She wheezed against my chest. I braced her for Max’s flight. Reed shouted what I didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Is she conscious?” He fit a pair of sound-muffling headphones over her ears. They tumbled off until I held them against her. “Christ, Nick. She’s gonna die.” Not if I prevented it. Reed sunk into the seat, head in his hands. “This was fucked from the start.” “Stop panicking.” Max shouted as he kicked the throttle and propelled the helicopter over the estate and to the east, toward the closest hospital in San Jose. Not necessarily the best, but we weren’t in a position to research any pulmonary specialists of Northern California. “We’ll be there in twenty. Keep her alive.” Twenty minutes. Sarah’s head lulled into my chest. Did she even have twenty minutes? I patted her cheek. She jerked away. Her frustration relieved me. At least she was still awake enough to realize a Bennett held her. Then again, she’d fight us until that last breath. A shadow of blue faded over her lips. I felt her heart rate flutter, beating in terror and pain. I was helpless while she was conscious, but I was terrified when she collapsed— when her chest ceased struggling and her body fell limp. “Max!” I shouted. “Fucking land!” The helicopter rumbled over the skyscrapers, and Reed stole the radio from Max. Swearing rarely earned landing clearance in private airfields, but the hospital made an exception. We touched down, and I leapt from the doors before we cut the engine. A handful of nurses and a concerned doctor waited for us at the roof access. I rushed Sarah inside. “How old is she?” The stocky, balding doctor fitted a stethoscope over his ears. “Twenty.” “Asthma attack?” Apparently. “Yes.” “When did it begin?” “Half an hour ago.” “Emergency medications?” Jesus Christ, if I knew all this information when we stole her from the cornfield, I

wouldn’t have left her in the care of frantic nurses, shoving her onto a gurney while fitting an oxygen mask over her face. “She had none to take.” It wasn’t a lie. The doctor squeezed into the elevator with two nurses as a third prevented me from following. “What’s your relation to the patient?” My turn to cough. “I’m her…brother.” The nurse took my information and pointed to the stairwell. “To the waiting room, Mr. Bennett.” I wasn’t leaving Sarah in the hands of strangers, not when I couldn’t trust a word from her lips. Not when I feared abandoning her, frightened and alone in the hospital. I pushed past the nurse to the elevator. Reed grasped my shoulder, preventing me from making a mistake. “Come on,” he said. “Max is taking care of the helicopter. They warned we might get into trouble.” Trouble? Someone dared to question me for saving a life? And not just any life—a woman who belonged to us. To me. Whether Sarah Atwood believed it or not, whether she consented to it, understood it, or even realized the full extent of our ownership of her, she was mine. It might have horrified me a week ago, but that was before I found her. Held her. Before I kissed her. A single taste of her pouty, peppermint pink lips, and she sealed her own fate. Her innocence teased me, and her strength challenged me. No other woman ever excited me into such carnal instinct. Pinning her against the tree? Holding her against her will as I kissed her? Nearly exploding when her body warmed and pressed into mine and bared her own simmering desperation? She was pure temptation—a mistake, a crime, a sin. I nearly let her die. The memory of her kiss shredded me, filling me with the horrible, spine-chilling rasp of her broken breaths.

If she was still breathing. The nurse led us to a sterile waiting room with pasty white walls and mottled blue carpets. Nothing changed in hospitals. No matter the cleanliness or order, each waiting room suffered through a depressing haze. It was too familiar, even after seventeen years of healing. The last time I waited in a hospital, it was to say goodbye to our mother. Her heart failed before my father heard about the accident. Reed rested in the ICU. Max was taken to his second surgery. Back then, the car crash rendered me helpless. I was twelve years old when my mother was murdered and my brothers injured. I had no means to help. But now I was a man, and I was responsible for Sarah’s wellbeing. I had no excuse—not for my behavior and not for my inability to protect the one woman vital to my family’s financial security. The woman who enthralled me into sin. An hour passed. Then another. And finally a third. I didn’t question where Reed found five pounds of chocolate. He offered me a soda, presenting a half dozen alternative flavors when I refused the first. He set his stash upon the table and sunk into a bag of corn chips. “You okay?” The bag crumbled in his grip. “She looked bad.” “It was my fault.” I knew why the phone buzzed in my pocket with the telltale persistence of a dozen hornets. I didn’t answer. “I should have realized she was sick.” “She shouldn’t have hidden it.” “She shouldn’t have thought to hide it. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt.” Reed snorted, spilling half his chips. “Jesus Christ, Nick. Sarah was always going to get hurt. If it wasn’t asthma, it was Dad’s foot imbedded in her skull. Or a belt wrapped around her neck. Or, shit, I don’t know. Internal injuries from when we fuck her half to death.” “Enough.” “This wasn’t ending without her getting bloody.” He tossed the snacks away. “This girl won’t submit. She threw one of our dining room chairs through a goddamned window to escape.”

And I caught her. I had liked the chase. “She’s fighting for her life,” Reed said. “And either she’s going to lose hers, or we’ll spend the rest of ours in prison. Those are the only possibilities.” No. Not the only possibilities. Sarah’s death would be nothing compared to the consequences for my brothers if she didn’t comply, surrender, and ultimately conceive from our crimes. My father would murder his own flesh and blood if it meant securing something more valuable to him than our sacrifice. His sons were pawns to achieve whatever success he envisioned. The company was his real legacy. Shouting echoed from the nurses’ station. Reed swore, but he unwrapped a candy bar instead of moving. It wasn’t as though my father would listen to him even if he’d decided to intervene. That task was left to me. I buttoned my jacket as I approached the arguing nurses barricading themselves from my father with only the benefit of a half door between them. “My daughter in is one of these rooms!” He pounded against the counter. “I demand to see her.” A redheaded nurse tried her best and failed. “Sir, I’m sorry, but the doctors are stabilizing her. She’s resting now, but you’ll be permitted to visit her shortly—” “Unacceptable. The Bennetts own a wing in this hospital. I sat on the Board of Directors for three years. Bring out your supervisor, immediately.” I eased between my father and the irritated nurses and smiled. He seethed. I pitied the poor nurses and doubted they’d have jobs once their shifts ended. I encouraged him to give me a moment with the women. “Nicholas Bennett.” I introduced myself and offered a business card with my credentials and a written cellphone number scrawled on the front. “Did I hear you correctly? Sarah is stabilized?” The stocky head nurse took the card, but she fanned herself with it as she searched me over. She was twenty years too old for me and brandished pictures of her kids pinned to the corkboard behind her computer, but I wasn’t above seizing an opportunity when it presented itself. “She’s stable, but she’s weak and on oxygen. She’ll need to rest.” “Oh, of course.” The charm chipped away some of the nurse’s ice. “She’s a

fighter.” “That she is.” “The thing is...” I lowered my voice. The nurse leaned closer. “My sister’s asthma is very private. She doesn’t like doctors or hospitals—they scare her, what with the history of her condition. She would rest better, and frankly, so would I, if I might be permitted to stay at her side. I’d hate for her to panic and trigger another attack.” The nurse perked an eyebrow. “I’ll keep out of the way. You won’t notice I’m there. Sarah will thank you for it.” After a long pause, she sighed. “She’ll be moved to a regular room in a few minutes. You can join her then.” She fiddled under the desk and slid a “Care Partner” badge to me. “Only you,” she warned, nodding to my father. Perfect. “I understand, thank you.” I tucked the badge in my pocket. “I’ll let the rest of the family know she’s doing well.” My father rushed me when I returned to the waiting room. He gripped my shoulder and hauled me into the wall. Reed didn’t move. “You listen to me, Nicholas.” He edged close, sneering as his eyes flicked up to meet mine. I straightened, rising higher if only to irritate him. “I told you not to bring her to the hospital.” “She would have died.” “What do you think will happen if she breathes a word of this to the doctors?” Reed should have known not to speak. “She can’t breathe.” My father ground his teeth. “She can write. Text.” “She won’t,” I said. My father over-annunciated when angry. He released me when a group of nurses crossed for the break room. “If she even hints to what’s happened—” “She knows better.” “You hope. Get in that room and remind her of what will happen if she displeases us. She doesn’t speak. She isn’t left alone.” He pulled his cell. “I’ll call Doctor Rimes and transfer her care into his custody. We’ll take her to the estate to recover.”

Reed tossed his food to the table. “She’s sick, Dad. She shouldn’t leave the hospital. What if she has another attack?” “Then the little bitch will have learned her lesson.” I didn’t like his tone. “Did you know she had asthma?” My father snorted. “Of course. I had her emergency inhaler.” “What?” “It was in her purse. Max picked it up after she eluded him and his crippled leg.” “You could have stopped this.” “And now she knows. We feed her, clothe her if we so choose, and we’ll administer her medications. If she defies us, we’ll take any combination of our generosity away.” “And if she still fights?” My father waved a dismissive hand. “I disciplined my sons. Why should my daughter fare any differently?” I said nothing. She wasn’t his daughter, not truly, and she wasn’t as resilient as us. Sarah wouldn’t survive the belts, lashes, burns, and running mile after mile on treadmills. He’d have her sleeping without a mattress or going hungry while writing thousands of lines to apologize for a trivial mistake. Sarah didn’t deserve my father’s brand of discipline. “Let me speak with her,” I said. “I’ll control her behavior. It won’t be a concern.” “And yours?” “Excuse me?” My father hissed his words through clenched teeth. “I will not be defied by my own son. You’ll obey me when I give an order. That girl is not to leave our estate—not until she is fucked, bred, and your son is swaddled in her arms, do you understand?” “I’ll take care of it.” I turned, but my father caught my elbow. Squeezed. It didn’t hurt, and I didn’t react. “That isn’t what I asked.” He growled. “Do you understand, Nicholas?” I understood my father’s madness. That wasn’t a lie. “I’ll protect the family,” I said. “You have my word.”

My father released me. I left him with Reed and charmed a nurse to lead me to Sarah. He would keep her prisoner, and he expected me to silence her cries before she had the breath to scream. And I would—only because I couldn’t have her spoiling the Bennett name. He’d secure our future through the suffering of the girl. I had a better plan. My phone chimed with two new voicemails from perspective stock holders sensitive to my vision for the company. I didn’t need an illegitimate heir to claim what would be mine. The stock ticked into my favor. Ten percent, twenty percent, thirty-five percent of the holders. Allied to me. Respecting me. Offering me their allegiance in a fight to save the Bennett Corporation from the madness risking our future wealth. My step-sister would be tamed, and she would return to the estate under my control. A single word from her would bring down my family’s empire. No one would stop me from taking what was mine. And Sarah Atwood was mine.

10

SARAH

I hated hospitals.

I hated hospital beds and their paper thin blankets. I hated the hospital’s noise and beeping machinery. I hated hospital doctors with their cold hands and colder stethoscopes and the lies they spouted over and over. I’d be fine. Just breathe. I was safe now. They’d help me. I wouldn’t be safe or helped. I was hopelessly alone. Everything I had done was to preserve my company and maintain a sense of decorum and strength. Now? I fought for my life—both literally and for the freedom I couldn’t earn even outside the estate. Nicholas Bennett sat at my bedside, checking emails on his phone while I’d slept. My monitors chimed, and the air tickled my nose dry. Oxygen. They only gave me oxygen when I was really sick. Last thing I remembered was falling to my knees and begging Nicholas for help. That stung more than the ill-placed IV. “How do you feel?” Nicholas didn’t look up from his phone. Awful. Horrible. Like someone kicked me in the ribs during an asthma attack. “Fine.” “You’re in the hospital,” he said. “You don’t say.”

“You didn’t give us much choice. I thought you were going to die.” Yeah, I did that a lot. I eased onto the pillows. My body grumbled from a few hours in the lumpy bed. “What time is it?” “Time for you to rest.” It was the same response my father always gave.

“ASK A STUPID QUESTION, SPROUT.” HE “Where the hell is your mother?”

CHECKED HIS WATCH AND RAPPED ON THE ROOM’S DOOR.

“I’m okay, Dad.” My words mumbled. It hurt to talk. I peeked under the hospital gown. My chest covered in bruises! “Oh no.” Dad frowned. “It’s from the CPR. You have a few broken ribs. Sit still.” Good thing I was flat as a board or the doctors would have pounded me down. Was I supposed to feel so horrible? This wasn’t like a normal attack. “Nurse!” He called to a passing woman. “My daughter needs a sedative.” “But, Dad, I’m okay?” “I can’t wait for your mother anymore. There’s ten million dollars riding on a deal at the ranch, I have to get back.” “But—” “This nice lady is going to give you something to help you sleep.” Dad patted the nurse. “Your mom will be here when you wake up.” My lip trembled. The tears fell. I wiped them away in case he thought I was being weak, but moving was pure agony. I cried harder, losing my breath to sobs and then crumpling in more pain when my chest tightened over the whimpers. “Sarah, you’re hysterical. This will help.” The nurse injected the medicine into my IV. I shook my head, but Dad rubbed my foot as my vision faded. “I’ll call later. Sleep tight, Sprout.”

DAD HATED HOSPITALS AS MUCH AS I DID. HE WAS ALWAYS MAKING EXCUSES TO LEAVE. The oxygen dried my mouth. I reached for the bedside pitcher of water but the finger monitor and wires bumped over the tray. Nicholas pocketed his phone and poured a glass. I pulled the tubes off my face before drinking. “The doctors said you’d make a full recovery.” I nodded. “That’s what they say every time.” “It looked bad.” It always did. I sipped again. The water didn’t dilute the antiseptic bitterness on my tongue. The doctors had me inhale more drugs and mists and steroids than I remembered from my past attacks. My chest hurt, but I could breathe. I suffered only from exhaustion now. Josiah and Mike never understood that I was okay once I had the medicines and examinations. An attack scared them witless and usually filled my room with more provisions from home than the nurses felt sanitary. This time, I had only one gift. A dozen roses stashed in the window. Thick, crimson blossoms spilled from a crystal vase. “Reed.” Nicholas answered before I asked. “They’re beautiful.” “Like I said, you looked…worse for wear. Especially with the cuts and bruises.” I touched my cheek. It hurt as badly as my ribs. “Did you tell them my step-father molested and beat me?” “We told them you fell down the stairs during the attack. Tripped over a glass statue.” He folded his hands and studied me. His gaze grazed my skin and rejuvenated everything that was struck. “A statue?” Even laughing caused pain. “Hopefully there aren’t any more statues in my future.” “That depends on you.” “I doubt that.” I coughed. Just a residual strain, but Nicholas offered me more water. He acted kind, but he didn’t sport the “care-partner” badge because he was my stepbrother. He was no nurse. He was my warden. At least he didn’t fret as much as my

real family. Then again, he’d have to care about me to fret. His only concern was that I stayed alive and gave him the child he demanded. Didn’t matter if I was healthy, safe, or statue-free. “It was a pleasurable kiss in the woods,” Nicholas said. “But I didn’t think you’d take it so hard.” I choked on my water. First asthma, now drowning. I wiped the dribble from my mouth and muffled my profanity. Nicholas’s smile was nothing like the harsh, violent menace of his father. My heart thudded faster. The stupid monitors betrayed a quick blipping. Nicholas chuckled. I sipped the water again, tempted to spill it over his expensive suit, chiseled jaw, and perfect wave of dark hair. Raising my arm took too much effort. I should’ve ordered him to dunk himself. Instead I leaned against the pillows and savored every freeing breath. “Are you all right?” He asked. “I can call for the nurse.” “Stop hovering. It’s unbecoming for a Bennett.” “If you insist.” I shifted. Nothing was more uncomfortable than staying in a hospital. I tugged on the blankets if only to distract myself from Nicholas’s scrutiny. “Does my mother know I’m here?” Nicholas lowered his voice, but that didn’t help. The smoothness of his words carried in the whisper—a warmed cocoa cadence that presumed it could solve any problem or subdue any opponent. And it probably could. I didn’t have the strength to defend myself, let alone battle a man who matched me bite for bite and then swallowed me whole. “We didn’t tell her,” he said. “She knows you’re with us, but my father thought it best to wait until you were stable and at home before telling her—” “No.” “You have no choice in the matter, Ms. Atwood.” I exhaled. It felt nice. “I don’t want her to know.” “About the hospital?” “The hospital or the attack. If she knew her only remaining child collapsed?” I hated to relive the memories as much as she did. “After Josiah and Mike…she’s not

capable of handling this sort of emergency anymore. Not her sanity and certainly not her liver.” “But she’s your mother.” “She’s not my mother anymore. My father’s murder tore her to pieces. Obviously she’s not in the right frame of mind. Look at who she married.” Nicholas nodded. “For what’s it worth, my father does seem to…admire her.” “Every woman dreams of the moment a man finally admits that he admires her.” “When my mother died, my father’s heart died with her.” “Your father never had a heart.” “He did for her,” Nicholas said. “What about for his sons?” He arched an eyebrow. “We’re off-topic.” “I like this topic better.” “If you’d rather not tell Bethany, I’ll respect your wishes.” I smirked. “A first time for everything.” “I wouldn’t get used to it.” His phone vibrated from his pocket. He ignored it. He gestured to the oxygen line cast over the bed. “You should be wearing that.” “Florescent green doesn’t match my hospital gown.” He picked it up, and I fell still. His hands brushed my ears, tucking the tube into place. His fingers grazed my cheek. I shivered. The monitor jumped again. My pulse fluttered ten beats higher. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. Oh, yes, he would, in more ways than he intended. I shoo’ed his hands away and adjusted the oxygen myself—like an old pro. “Why didn’t you tell me about the asthma?” I hesitated. “It didn’t come up.” He didn’t buy it. Neither did I. “It was important. The doctor said you’re on three different medications.”

Why would I have told the Bennetts I was sick? Should I have held a loaded gun against my head too? I accidentally met his eyes. The warmth brushed over me like a sun-kissed field. Not good. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of being your extended houseguest.” Nicholas didn’t fall for the sass. “You will be a guest for quite some time. Though, I assure you, the stay can be as difficult or…pleasurable…as you wish.” “You do know how to sweet talk an invalid.” He laughed. “Hardly. You’re stronger here than half the men I do business with every day.” “I bet you say that to all the asthmatic girls.” “Only the ones who deserve the compliment.” The damn monitor beeped quicker. I changed the subject. “How’s Darius faring?” His hesitation was worth the asthma attack. “He isn’t pleased by the turn of events.” “Is he pissed I didn’t die?” “More frustrated that you almost did.” “I do love to disappoint him.” The coughing bubbled from deep—a rattle that alarmed Nicholas. He stood. “I’ll get a nurse.” I shrugged. “It’s just inflammation. I’ll cough for a while.” “You should sleep. I have work that will keep me occupied. You rest. I’ll be right here.” Like I was that stupid. “How kind of you.” “I only want you to be safe.” “No. You want to guard me. To make sure I don’t toss a chair through that window.” “We’re ten stories up. I don’t recommend rappelling in your condition.”

“But nothing is stopping me from pushing this…” I grazed the call button on my bed’s remote. “I could…find a nurse. Tell her everything.” Nicholas expected it. The hard angles of his face shadowed against the glow of the monitors. He folded his hands. “You haven’t yet.” “No. I haven’t.” “Why not?” The cautious edge in his voice pricked over me, sharpening as I dared to challenge him. “The nurses would believe every word. The doctors insisted on admitting you for multiple days, but my father argued and had a nurse fired as he demanded your immediate release into our private family physician’s care. I’ve pledged a new MRI machine to placate the staff for his behavior.” “How charitable.” “It was Reed’s idea. He believed we had enough hospital wings in our name.” Nicholas waited. I said nothing. “You’re returning to the estate. You can’t stop it, even if you push that button.” “Maybe that’s what I want.” He took the bait. “Why?” “I haven’t finished what I started there.” “And what’s that?” “Proving Darius Bennett killed my father.” Nicholas didn’t react. His contemplative, uncompromising stillness revealed nothing. “Do you really think we killed your father?” I shook my head. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. He had cancer. Bad. But he fought it because he was strong and said he’d beat it. And he did. So he went into remission, and the doctors cleared him. But he goes to work one day?” My voice trembled. I swallowed, hard. “He goes to work and then dies in his chair. A Pepsi in front of him.” Nicholas waited. “He never drank anything but Coke a day in his life.” “Hardly the cause for a murder allegation.” “The autopsy was inconclusive, but an hour before he died, he left my brothers a voicemail telling them he loved them. He believed something was going to happen

to him, and he made sure they knew how he felt before...” Nicholas nodded. “Did he speak with you?” My chest hurt. Not the asthma. “No.” “What do you hope to find? “Anything that would prove Darius had something to do with his death.” My finger rubbed the call button, brushing the pad in tight circles. Nicholas watched, waited. I considered my options. Press the button. Scream at the nurse to bring the police. Have the Bennetts escorted from my room and locked behind bars. Get lost in endless legal battles over kidnapping charges and their denials and defamation law suits. Destroy what remained of my mother as I accused her husband of a conspiracy to rape. Spend my life in whispers and lies as the business community, the Atwood social circle, the media, and the world gossiped about my ordeal. I’d never get close to the Bennetts again. They’d serve time, but not for the crime I knew they committed. It wouldn’t be enough. Not until Darius confessed or until a jury formally proclaimed him guilty. But for that to happen, to see my father’s death avenged, I couldn’t lose the opportunity I had. If I stayed, I had the freedom to wander their house, get closer to Nicholas, Max, and Reed, and search for the evidence the police refused to believe existed. “This is the second and last time I will ever ask a Bennett for help,” I said. “This Bennett has a name, Ms. Atwood.” I drew an unsteady breath. “Nicholas, I need your help.” “What do you want me to do, Sarah?” I vaguely remembered him using my real name, calling to me, keeping me awake until they delivered me to safety. His caramel voice rumbled over the word, soft and silken and spoken with such familiarity it flushed my cheeks. I imagined how it would sound breathless, whispered in the masculine growl that he uttered while pinning me in the woods. The monitor beeped again. If I had the strength, I would have tossed my pillow over my face and willed myself to suffocate again.

I was too tired to fight him. Too tired to rationalize my trembling so near to him. I remembered my last gasp of air before collapsing. It laced with his scent—sharp and clean and rugged. I still tasted his lips, reveled in his spiciness, and warmed where his hands had captured me. “I won’t tell a soul what’s happening,” I said. “Promise.” “I doubt you’ll keep that promise once I take you.” My stomach fluttered. I wished I hadn’t already imagined my step-brother in such a way. It wasn’t just wrong because he was an enemy. Nothing in our perverted arrangement made sense. Having those thoughts were as morally reprehensible as what they planned to do to me. “You will help me find enough evidence to convict your father,” I said. “You’re asking me to betray my family.” “Only Darius.” “He’s still family.” I tilted my head. “So am I, and yet you threaten to harm me.” “Not threaten. Promise.” He wasn’t teasing. “But you aren’t Darius Bennett.” “He’s not a father. He’s a monster. He wants you to rape me. To impregnate me. You watched him mistreat, hurt, and humiliate me. Help me find the evidence to put that lunatic behind bars, and I won’t say a word about this insanity.” “That won’t stop what we plan to do to you.” “Screw your plan. I don’t care if you rape me. Avenging my father is more important than whatever happens to me.” For the first time, his professional, composed façade cracked. “Are you serious?” My teeth chattered. I blamed exhaustion, but it was the memory’s fault. I gripped the thin blanket and shivered. “When I was twelve, I went with my father to tour one of our cattle facilities in Nevada. The dust caused an asthma attack. We were far from the hospital. I died twice in the ambulance and once when they finally had me in an emergency room. I was gone for three minutes. Completely flat-lined. The doctor almost called it.” He listened, intently. “That must have been terrifying.” “It wasn’t my first attack, but it was my worst.” “You’re very strong, Sarah.”

I didn’t feel much like it now. “Do you know what I saw while I was dead?” Everyone wanted to know, but no one believed the answer. Somehow, I knew Nicholas would. “What did you see?” “Absolutely nothing.” His expression fell. So did mine. I tugged the blankets higher and looked away. “Everything faded, like I fell asleep. And then instantly, I was back. There was nothing.” “Are you sure?” “Without a doubt.” I swallowed. “This life is my only life, Nicholas. And I’ll do everything I can to survive it. I’m not ready to be…nothing yet.” “Sarah—” “My father’s life was stolen. I can’t bring him back. I’ll never see him again, and for that crime, I will not rest until I get justice. I’ll fight you with every breath my body allows.” “I believe you.” I met his stare and strengthened into the same stone that sealed him in stillness. “If you plan on raping me, I’m prepared to battle. But if you succeed and get me pregnant?” I lowered my voice. “Imagine how hard I’ll fight if I am defending my child.” Nicholas frowned before standing. He leaned over me only so he could whisper, only so he could listen as the betraying monitors revealed just how fierce my heart beat within his arm’s reach. “I admire your courage,” he said. “But you don’t have to fight me.” “Will you let me go?” I pressed against the pillow as he encroached too close. I held my breath, but my aching lungs punished me more than his crisp scent. Nicholas’s spice overwhelmed me. I stilled. “Once I take you, Sarah, you won’t want to leave.” “You overestimate yourself.” “You underestimate how much you’ll enjoy it.” I pushed myself forward, though the effort ripped every last bit of strength from

my body. I trembled, but I wasn’t sure if it was the illness or how close I was to him. “You can force me if you like,” I whispered, “but I’ll never enjoy anything you do to me.” “Trust me, Sarah.” Nicholas dared to graze his lips against mine. I jerked away before my breath shuddered as badly as the sensations in my core. “One night in my bed and you will be begging me for your release.” He kissed me again, the lightest flutter against my lips. I froze. In the wilderness, he attacked. Forced me against trees and bound my wrists in his hands to keep me still. This kiss wasn’t a threat. He promised every word he said with the gentle, compassionate nibble. He promised to rape me. He promised I’d enjoy it. I shivered a good shiver, but I was too exhausted to rub the goose bumps from my arms. “I won’t give in,” I whispered. “You already have.” I blushed as the door kicked open. I fell against the pillows. Nicholas stood. Since when did the hospital pipe in hot air through the oxygen system? Nicholas offered, but Max refused his help unloading the bags and packages tucked in his arms. I gripped the blanket. Reed, I could probably handle now. But after the kiss and the confusion and all the wicked and evil and sensual words Nicholas whispered, I couldn’t fight two dangerous Bennetts at once. I didn’t understand Max at all. He hardly spoke to me. I thought he resented my kick to his leg, but he limped too heavily for that. A lifelong injury must have bothered him, even if he was built like some of Dad’s old-school, indestructible tractors. He’d be handsome if he dared to smile like Reed. He dumped a box of fast food onto the side table—a variety of brands and types, pizza and burgers, salads and tacos. While Nicholas tidied the spilled French fries, Max unfolded a blanket. He didn’t ask before covering me with the softest, fuzziest, most unbelievably pink throw. He put the teddy bear on the bed last. Not one purchased from the hospital gift shop. An expensive, plush bear…dressed in overalls with a straw hat. “A farmer bear?” I didn’t know what to say. “What is…”

“Hospitals are cold.” So was he, even loaded with presents. “I spent a lot of time in hospitals after my surgeries,” he said. “Thought you could use this.” I was in love with the blanket. I nodded. “And hospital food is trash,” Max said. Nicholas poked through the bags. “So you brought her junk?” “Whatever the hell she wants. We’re getting out of here tomorrow anyway.” Max hesitated. He lost the suit jacket and tensed in just the vest and dress shirt. Every muscle flexed. “Good night.” He left before I could even thank him. He left before I could ask him not to leave me alone with Nicholas. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because I couldn’t trust myself. I was too tired to suppress my attraction. Too tired to think rationally. “Are you hungry?” Nicholas asked. “Not in the least. What—” “My brother isn’t much for conversation.” He moved the food from the tray, though I snagged a cup of French fries before they escaped. “But he’s worried.” I snuggled in the blanket. He didn’t look worried. He seemed inconvenienced. Impatient. Thoughtful. “You should rest.” Nicholas pulled his phone and flicked through emails. “Especially if we’re taking you home tomorrow. Our private doctor is good, but the estate isn’t a hospital.” No, it wasn’t. The estate was a prison. And an opportunity. I wasted enough time and almost lost my life in a foolish attempt to break free from the greatest gift I’d been given. I’d brave the asthma, Darius Bennett’s humiliations and beatings, and even Nicholas’s threatened kiss if only to find the evidence to pin my father’s death on the Bennetts. Sacrificing my body to protect my family?

It was worth it. Tomorrow, we were going back. To war.

11

NICHOLAS

y brothers slept in the hospital waiting room, iPads folded on their laps, M unopened sodas and cold food scattered around their impromptu offices. I woke them without a greeting. “We need to alter our strategy.” Max blinked first. He cracked his neck and straightened his bad leg with a grunt. A soda can tumbled over, and Reed jerked awake. “She okay?” Reed asked. “Fuck, she didn’t talk, did she?” “She’s sleeping.” Max checked his watch and rubbed his face. “Want a break?” “No.” “You left her alone?” “Yes.” His expression twisted, a graveled grimace that might have warned me of dangerous ground had I not realized how deeply I already sunk into the mire. “Dad’s said not to leave her alone.” “Don’t worry about Sarah Atwood,” I said. Reed checked the doors before speaking, as though our father would dare to rest within a hospital for an Atwood’s benefit. “She’s got us by the balls, Nick,” he said. “Don’t give her the opportunity to ruin us.” “Oh, she’s trying to ruin us.” I claimed a seat across from my brothers, unable to hide my amusement. “She’s plotting her ways to topple the Bennett Corporation.”

“Fantastic.” Reed rubbed his temples. Max wasn’t as threatened. “What’s a little kitten like her going to do?” “She’s going to prove our father murdered Mark Atwood.” My brothers silenced for a long moment before their laughter chorused within the waiting room. “And how’s she gonna prove that?” Max asked. “I didn’t know we were about to fuck Sherlock Holmes.” “She made me a deal.” “This outta be good.” I shrugged. “She returns to the estate willingly, and I help her gather evidence against Dad.” Max laughed again. “And the rape?” “Presumably, she’ll allow it to happen.” “What a little freak.” Reed shuddered. “Why would she let us do that? She knows we’ll…” His voice lowered. “We’re going to impregnate her. Why the hell would she surrender to something like that?” “She has her reasons.” I folded my hands. “I never said she wouldn’t be a challenge.” “Doesn’t make sense,” Reed said. “What does she have on us?” “Presumably nothing or she would have moved already.” Max didn’t buy it. “She’s smarter than that.” I nodded. “But she’s also impetuous. Naive. She’s a college undergrad, not a CEO. If we were battling Mark Atwood or his sons, the Bennett Corporation would face a significant threat. But Sarah Atwood is not her father or brothers. She’s little more than a child, and she’s too fraught with vengeance to understand how dangerous her circumstances are.” “So what are you planning?” Reed asked. “Just what I agreed to. I’ll help her find the evidence to prove her father was murdered.” “I don’t know what’s more frightening,” Max said. “The fact that we might get away with raping an innocent girl, or that you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“This will work. She only needs to trust me.” “No. She just gotta spread her legs for you.” “Can’t have one without the other.” Max lived and dealt enough darkness. I recognized the growl in his voice, the unspoken intimidation he wielded. “Yes, we can. Dad won’t rest until that girl is broken, bruised, and sobbing.” And there was the fundamental difference between my father’s perspective on business and my vision for the future. He viewed Sarah Atwood with the same bloodthirsty aggression she reserved for our family—and it benefited no one. The Atwoods didn’t rival our corporation directly, but their influence within the agricultural industry could secure or frighten customers. No love was lost between our families, and I was pleased when Mark Atwood was buried in the soil he loved so much. But Sarah wasn’t an enemy. She was a tool. A newfound asset. And a liability, but all great opportunities came with substantial risk. The reward would be far more substantial than whatever problems the little field mouse created. My father planned to destroy the Atwoods and claim everything for our family. Sarah was worth more than a quick struggle and a nine month nightmare. A girl like her—with that determination and strength—wasn’t an adversary. She’d become an ally. My ally. Whether she realized it or not. My phone buzzed. Seven AM and business already started. I answered the call with a warm greeting. “Peter, how are you?” Reed furrowed his brow. He mouthed Peter’s name to Max with a shrug. Peter Handalan didn’t greet me with the same cordiality. He rarely offered pleasantries when discussing any business unless he pulled a minimum two over par on any course. Mid-June meant Peter toured the East Coast greens. I figured he had played a few hours before calling me.

“Nicholas Bennett, I don’t know what stunt you’re pulling, but I swear to God, if this dips our stock in any way, shape, or form, I’ll pull every last share from your godforsaken company and invest in pharmaceuticals like I should have done ten years ago.” I braced for it. “I assure you, Peter. You’ll be glad you stayed with the Bennett Corporation just as soon as certain technicalities and all these…unpleasant details are sorted and finalized.” Reed extended his arms. I ignored his questions. “You want me to vote you in as the new CEO.” “I want the Board of Directors to initiate a vote of no confidence in my father, yes.” Reed bolted upright. Max grabbed a handful of his shirt and tossed him into the chair. I hoped Peter didn’t hear his profanity. “You’re playing a risky game. Since when do the Bennetts supersede their elders? The company is yours when Darius retires.” “Some members of the Board are displeased in the latest financials. They have been for over two years. Eight quarters of struggling growth concealed with layoffs, alternations in management, and product distribution. They’ve noticed, and they feel their investments are mismanaged.” Peter cackled. “Your family is cutthroat, but it doesn’t sniff for its own blood.” “My allegiance is to the company, Peter. Always has been, always will. I’ll work hard to ensure proper growth and new opportunities for prosperity.” “You’ve got Darius’s confidence.” “I have my own skills and abilities. This is the right move. I’m asking you for a pledge. A promise. Gentleman’s agreement, no contracts.” “So your father doesn’t sniff out a paper trail.” “Yes.” “This sort of change rattles a company, Nicholas. One false move and your stocks plummet and customer confidence takes a hit. Are you prepared for the fallout this will cause?” I paused. “The public and investors will be told my father took an early retirement. He was recently wed, perhaps he wants to spend time with his new wife and family. Maybe he wants to sail around the world. Climb Everest. The Bennett Corporation will salute his years of dedicated service, honor him as he wills, and then organize the transition to me. I’ve spent my life preparing for this opportunity, and the investors will feel confident in my abilities.”

Max crossed his arms. Reed held his head in his hands. “I won’t be alone in this,” Peter warned. “You give me the names of the sons of bitches voting with me. Do you understand?” “Of course. I need to speak with one last board member to secure their allegiance, and this messy business will be done quickly, quietly, and effectively, with no disruption to the company or its everyday operations.” “I’m too old for this bullshit, Nicholas. I should be lying on a beach somewhere, getting my cock sucked by some cute Filipino and my yacht refurbished for my wife.” “This deal will guarantee it.” “Yeah.” Peter exhaled. I imagined him puffing a cigar as a golf cart puttered up the green. “I know you’re right. Wouldn’t want to be you though. Darius Bennett isn’t a forgiving man.” “But he is my father.” “For how much longer?” Peter swore. “You get me those names, and we’ll talk again.” The call ended as Peter cackled to his partner about a ball shanked hard to the left. I pocketed my phone. Reed started to laugh, bending over to catch his breath as Max raged at his side. “What in the everloving fuck are you doing?” Reed said. “Holy shit, man, you didn’t even tell us.” “I figured I had your support.” “For a takeover?” Was my brother that naive? “Our profits are failing. Our investors are bolting. Dad is kidnapping and raping women. Is that the man you want controlling our future? Our wealth?” “You don’t have to tell me that Dad lost his goddamned mind,” Reed said. “That happened years ago. But, Jesus Christ. He’s going to find out what you’re doing. Then I’ll be chasing you down on a bike with the tire iron.” I wasn’t worried. “He’s a bit preoccupied with our house guest at the moment.” “It won’t work. Sarah’s nothing to him.” “She’s everything to him,” I said. “He’s obsessed with her, her family, with what Mark Atwood’s will unintentionally promised us. He isn’t watching the Bennett Corporation. He’s thinking about what we are going to lose a year from now. Right

now he’s planning how he’ll finagle his way into being named regent of a stolen empire.” Reed shrugged. “How does this protect Sarah?” Max answered for me. “It doesn’t.” “If Nick seizes control of the company—” “That will take months,” Max said. “You’re missing the point. This has nothing to do with Sarah. We can’t protect the girl.” Reed wasn’t often angry. His voice lowered. Even Mom’s green eyes couldn’t dull the intensity and indignation that scarred us all as our father’s sons. “I don’t care what you say, I don’t care about Dad. I am not hurting that girl. I’ve done a lot of sketchy shit for this family, but rape isn’t one of them, and I’m not impregnating someone by force so my child can be manipulated for our gain. That’s two lives I fuck over. It’s not happening.” “You’re right,” I said. “Which is why we are changing strategy involving the girl.” Max rifled through his laptop bag and swallowed a handful of pain-killers. “Are we letting her go?” “No.” “You want to keep her.” Like he hadn’t had the same fantasy. “Very much.” Reed scowled. “So you can rape her?” “No. I plan to seduce her.” He laughed. “You’re fucked in the head. Why the hell would she fall for you?” “Because I’m a Bennett. I have land. I have our business. I have our wealth…” I shrugged. “And I have my pick of the women.” “This isn’t a woman. She’s an Atwood.” “Perfect,” I said. “Who better to seduce? Who better to have willingly spread her legs and offer me every part of her? I will seduce, bed, and take Mark Atwood’s daughter as my own—a beautiful toy for my amusement.” Max perked an eyebrow. “Since when do you like that type of toy?” I answered honestly. “Since the first time I saw her.” Reed tilted his head. “What makes you think you’re the only one who’ll have her?”

“I’ll speak with Dad and convince him to let me have her to myself. Save her the indignity of serving three men in favor of submitting completely to me.” “What a hero,” he snorted. “Steal the company, rape the girl.” “Experience the girl.” Reed and Max fell silent. I expected it. They didn’t understand the gift that we nearly lost, the beauty nearly taken from the world. I saw through her rage, the shattering shell of her confidence, the strength she bluffed and the simmering hate she wielded as an ineffective shield. Beneath her admirable resilience hid a passionate woman, imprisoned more by her own hesitance than any chains and ropes I might have used to restrain her. Sarah Atwood wanted me. And I’d ensure that fatal mistake would ruin her with pleasure.

12

SARAH

I t was a mistake returning to the Bennett estate.

The creeping stone mansion spilled into the otherwise pristine forest. The dark manor loomed within the shadows and spoiled the vibrant green of the mountain with its splashes of crimson and white blossoming flowers. It didn’t belong here. It was nothing more than a trap. Worse, I set the snare myself. Nicholas carried me through the threshold. I ignored the implication and braced myself for whatever I would find inside. The manor and everything it encompassed etched from unforgiving stone. The foyer. The columns. Even the men. They hardened themselves for endurance and intimidation, chiseling flecks of their humanity into dust. Nothing soft or kind existed in their world. I needed to rest before I could defend myself from them. Darius Bennett met us on the grand staircase, positioned exactly where I took my last full breath and begged his heir for help. I wiggled from Nicholas’s arms. “Welcome home, my dear.” He held a bag of my prescriptions and twisted it within his hand. “You look moments from death.” That I believed. Anger kept me on my feet. The pinpricks of hatred jammed into the base of my skull, but I said nothing, only stared at the bag that contained my rescue inhaler. I anticipated this cruelty. “If you want your medications, you’ll ask for permission first.” He waited for an illadvised profanity. It wasn’t worth the risk. “I trust we can come to an arrangement. I’d hate to see you in such pain again, my dear.”

He hated that it wasn’t a pain he caused. I didn’t waste a word on him. “I’ll carry them,” Nicholas said. “She’s my charge at the moment.” Darius chuckled. “I know an excellent way for her to earn the medications, son.” Bastards. They could keep the meds. Darius thought he could frighten me, that I wouldn’t dare climb the steps he guarded. I stormed forward, but Nicholas grasped my hand. His touch somehow relieved me. My strides weakened the instant we passed from Darius’s view. I panted, slowing as Nicholas guided me into the depths of the house. The hall ended with steel doors, and he pushed a button to reveal an elevator. “I can walk.” It took two breaths to finish the sentence. Nicholas tucked the prescriptions into his suit pocket. “Don’t mistake pride for strength, Sarah. We should never have taken you from the hospital so quickly. You need to rest.” We rode to the third floor, and my stomach twisted. That area belonged to my stepbrothers, each claiming their own wing for privacy. My fingers tightened over the railing. They wouldn’t dare try to violate me. Not when I was sick. Then again, I had no strength to fight them. “You’re safe for now,” Nicholas said. Was I that easy to read? “Why should I believe you?” His eyes burned a bit brighter, the gold hues crisp and demanding. I wished I hadn’t noticed. He led me through the east wing and rapped against the doorframe to a darkened room. The lights flared. Of course the Bennetts had a private theater. The room furnished with amphitheater styled seating, oversized leather chairs, and a screen the size of our barn doors. Max stood as we entered. Reed munched on popcorn made from the actual popcorn cart still spitting fresh kernels. “Welcome to my sanctuary.” Max waved over the wall-to-wall cherry cabinets which completely encased the room. The theater was dark, cozy, and housed a variety of liquors and snacks. He didn’t share Reed’s smile, but I swore he softened his voice when I edged closer to Nicholas. “You can use it while you recover.”

“Oh, but—” Max didn’t let me answer. He flipped open a cabinet door. If Heaven had existed, this was it. “I lost count after a couple thousand movies.” He pulled out a selection and showed me the titles. Action, comedy, foreign, classic. “Whatever you like, it’s probably here.” Reed waved to a cabinet. “Playstation, Xbox, and Wii down there too.” Nicholas guided me to a recliner close to the screen, complete with fuzzy blanket, headphones, and a set of pink pajamas. My stomach twisted. How did they get my favorite pajamas from my room at home? “The doctor is coming at noon,” Nicholas said. “You should be resting when he gets here.” I studied the offering with a guarded suspicion. What were they planning? Popcorn? Movies? Games? I hated myself for envying the setup. I hated myself more for considering their gift. How long was it since I let myself watch a movie? I always had too many classes and meetings and funerals and sharp objects to hide from my mother. Once the farm and company unceremoniously fell into my lap, I’d been consumed by work and email, schedules and classes, reports and P&Ls. When my asthma flared and I was forced to bed on a bad day, I still had classwork to finish and paperwork to sign. My recovery days became opportunities to conference call with Anthony about legal matters. And now the Bennetts were the ones to offer me a chance to rest? Unbelievable. And worse, I almost fell for it. “Stop it.” I pulled away from Nicholas. “You’re creeping me out.” Reed stood, wiping the butter from his hands on his jogging pants. Max wasn’t in a suit either. They wore workout clothes. Their shirts stretched over barrel chests, trim waists, and powerful forms. For a moment—a split second of weakness and

oxygen deprivation—I wondered what Nicholas looked like beneath his regal suits. “What’s wrong?” Reed jerked a thumb toward the popcorn. He grinned. His dimple tugged so effortlessly. “We got junior mints too.” “This!” I said. “All of this.” “We’re just trying to help. Give you a place to recover.” “Yeah, stop it. Christ.” My lungs seized. “Tie me up in the basement. Chain me to a wall. Don’t do this.” Nicholas hesitated. “Do what?” I couldn’t believe I was saying it. “Don’t act like you’re my brothers.” Enough was enough. I reached for the door before I lost the strength to deny the salty beckoning of the popcorn. Max’s words burned through me. “Get in that chair, tuck in, and fucking rest,” he said. “We’re not playing.” Neither was I. “I’ll be fine without your help.” “You walk out of this room, and our father will make your life a living hell.” “He already has.” Max’s revelation laced with poison. “He’ll make us fuck you even if you aren’t fertile.” The hair on my neck rose. I turned, pretending the words hadn’t twisted my stomach. “What did you say?” “Get in your pajamas and rest. If you think you’re strong enough to fight, then fight and suffer the consequences. He will punish you for the hospital, and you won’t like what he’s planning, ovulating or not.” Reed no longer looked at me. He rubbed his face, massaging the lingering scars over his jaw and cheek. “The sicker you act, the safer you are.” I wasn’t about to display any weakness before a Bennett, but the cough answered for me. “He wants us to rape you.” Max spoke the word so casually, as if it were already written in stone and predestined. I trembled when I realized it probably was. “But no one is going to murder you. If you look like you can’t handle it…” He held his arms out. His muscles tensed, dangerously strong and completely inescapable. “We

won’t touch you. Use some common sense.” Nicholas said nothing, but his promise burrowed deep in my mind. He wouldn’t hurt me. Nicholas was many things—ruthless, ambitious. But was he a man of his word? Reed waved the Xbox controller again. Max brandished a number of blue-ray videos. Though my insides turned on me, slithering in the cold fear of what I knew would happen but hadn’t been brave enough to imagine. They would take me. They would try to breed a Bennett son into me. I nearly died in Nicholas’s arms, and, if I was going to recover, I couldn’t risk the added stress of whatever depravity they planned for my virginity. I grabbed a title from Max’s collection at random. Reed called me forward. “What’d you pick?” I held the movie up with a trembling hand. He grinned. He must have known he was charming. “Diehard. Love it.” He tossed me my pajamas and pointed to the powder room behind the screen. “Change in there. We’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? Nicholas nudged me when I didn’t move. His mocha words breathed heat into me. “Do you need help changing?” He whispered. The goose bumps returned. I shook my head. “I think I remember how it works, thanks.” Nicholas didn’t like my tone. He moved behind me, seizing my arms and pinning me against him. I didn’t have the strength to fight, but I regained my pride far quicker than my energy. “Now what do you want?” I hissed. “Sarah, you’re our guest.” His voice rumbled in places that weren’t fair for him to strike. Max perked an eyebrow. “More important than a guest, actually. Do you know what you are?” “An enemy.” “Hardly. You’re a gift.”

“I don’t give Bennetts charity.” “Not willingly.” His grip tightened. “But we’ll take it nevertheless.” “Of course you will.” “But now that you’re in our custody, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, protected, and healthy.” He paused. “I won’t guarantee happy. That’s up to you.” “Don’t count on it.” “You’re in our possession, Sarah. You are a possession.” “For now.” His voice dizzied me. I hated the betraying tingles that revealed too much. My cheeks flushed as pink as my pajamas. He didn’t release me, even as his brothers watched. How was I supposed to fight a man like this? Nicholas spoke of lust and ownership and captivity as though it were an offered romance. Everything he vowed to do was a crime, but yet every time he threatened me with a hint of his intentions, my defenses shattered. Thoughts and feelings and desires rippled through what remained of my rationality. His was a different breed of cruelty. Nicholas deliberately teased me. He whispered with velvet promises laced in blood and wielded the menace of his passion like a blade to my neck. Part of me longed for the moment he finally decided to slice. But I expected Bennett trickery. I braced for beatings and tried to forget the humiliations. But movies? Popcorn? A pledge to ensure my safety? Something didn’t add up. My eyebrow perked. Not all the Bennetts were thrilled with Darius’s plan. Reed didn’t touch me. Max hadn’t approved. Only Nicholas dared to act. He eagerly waited to take me, fuck me, breed me. He murmured those sordid words into my ear just to watch as his stare unraveled my barest threads. I didn’t realize it before.

My step-brothers were monsters, but what if I could twist my newfound family from my captors into my rescuers? Nicholas already agreed to search for the evidence I needed to prove my father was murdered. What would I get out of Reed and Max? I obeyed them without a protest, changing and returning to the theater just in time to offer them a pitiful little cough. Reed lunged over his seat to get me another blanket. Max fumbled with a bottle of water. Nicholas ripped open the prescription bag to find my inhaler. I hid my excitement with another sad cough. They leapt to my aid. These men, my step-brothers, weren’t just my future rapists. They would be my allies. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

THEY DIDN’T HURT ME. AT ALL. For five days, I recovered and just…hung out with my step-brothers. Between their trips to the city and appointments, jobs and company events, they’d catch a movie with me, play a game, or sneak me desserts. It was like it a perfectly normal…family. They didn’t touch me. No one threatened me. I wasn’t scared. No one kissed me, despite the dreams that woke me in a frustrated heat. I camped out on a leather recliner, hidden away in Max’s theater sanctuary. One of my step-brothers managed to baby-sit me at all hours, either so I didn’t escape or to keep an eye on my asthma. Nicholas, of course, ran the company. He worked in and out of the estate, but Nicholas was the only one who lived with Darius in the mansion. Reed and Max, under orders from their father, had returned from their homes only to breed me. Charming. They all worked for the Bennett Corporation, though Max wasn’t meant to join the company. Max was military, or had been, until whatever happened to his leg became too much of a detriment to serve. I didn’t ask if it was a combat injury. He wasn’t forthcoming with many details save for relentlessly mocking my skill at Call of Duty. And Reed? God help me, Reed might have been my third brother. He worked the

family’s charity as the Director of Operations—a general saint in a family of demons. I liked him, even when he slaughtered me at Mario Kart and mocked me for going in reverse around the finish line. “Just ask, and I’ll give you a thirty second head start,” he said. Freaking Mario bopped me with a red shell. I threw the controller as the Princess avatar cried just inches from the finish as the race mercy ended. Reed hopped over his recliner and made a sandwich from the platter stashed upstairs so I wouldn’t hobble to the kitchen. So I wouldn’t cross Darius’s path. He held up the salami. I shook my head. Turkey. I scrunched my nose. He tossed a pepperoncini at me. I ducked. It slammed against one of the recliners and slid in a sticky mess down the back. “Oh, Max is gonna be pissed,” I said. “I’ll buy him a new chair. What do you want to eat?” No more sandwiches. My step-brothers were carnivores. I hadn’t seen a floret of broccoli in a week. “Ever been to Cherrywood Valley?” I shrugged. “You know, when you aren’t kidnapping me?” “Sometimes.” “We have a farmer’s market set up on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There’s a restaurant that takes whatever produce is left over and grills it up. It’s delicious.” He stared at the platter. “I can’t take you home, Sarah.” I hadn’t asked him that yet. “Are you sure?” “Don’t make this harder on yourself.” “I’d like to get out of the house.” “Turn your face blue again. That worked last time.” No thanks. I stiffened as a silken voice chuckled from the doorway. Nicholas’s amusement squeezed everything inside me, but enough of my strength returned that I could finally meet his stare. “Are you bored already, Ms. Atwood?” He asked. “So what if I am?”

“Then we can go to work.” “We?” Nicholas motioned for me to follow. Reed tossed me a blanket. I wrapped it over me if only because my peppermint striped fuzzy pants and chemise didn’t offer me an edge against Nicholas’s suit. My steps slowed as he led me to the study. I clutched the blanket. He did it on purpose—taking me to the same room where his father humiliated me. I had been completely exposed to him here. Bare. Vulnerable. I wasn’t ready to relive it. I recovered, but my breathing wasn’t clear yet, and I slept fourteen hours a day. I’d still be admitted in the hospital if the Bennetts hadn’t demanded my release. My stay in their care had been relatively peaceful, but that didn’t mean I was safe. They counted the days. So did I. I hated that time of the month, but I never thought there’d be something worse than it—a time when everything I knew about life, men, and love would be forever destroyed. My laptop waited in the study. He pointed to a spare chair and claimed the seat before my computer. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “We have emails to answer and a bit of work to do.” “Get off my computer.” “I like the desktop.” He studied the photo I saved—a picture of Mike, Josiah, and I doing handstands next to a crumbling scarecrow. “You have a lovely smile.” “Get off my computer.” Nicholas ignored me. “First thing. Sign this.” He pushed my course add/drop forms toward me. Was beating me to a pulp not a good enough torture for a Bennett? “I don’t like it either,” he said. “But, even if you weren’t in this situation, your family’s tragedy and the company are too much to handle. You figured this might happen, or you wouldn’t have carried these with you.” “I can do it.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the acting CEO of a billion dollar company. Education is important, but it isn’t necessary now.”

“But I’m not majoring in business.” “You aren’t passing either.” I would have hated it more if he weren’t right. I wouldn’t pass with so many incompletes and missed assignments. “Sarah, we won’t let you leave the estate until you have our son,” Nicholas said. My stomach still lurched every time they said it. “You won’t be going to college anytime soon.” My hand thudded heavy against the paper. I poked a hole through the flourish I added to Atwood. Just another sacrifice. I blinked frustrated tears. Nicholas placed the document in a folder labeled Broughton University. His attention focused on the screen. He scanned the emails with a harsh sigh. “Did your father micromanage his company?” “Why would I tell you that?” He pushed away from the computer. “I should be at my office, working on my own projects. Instead, I’m behind so I might stabilize a rival company. I’d take more care with my tone.” “Oh bullshit,” I said. “This isn’t for me. This is a cover-up so no one realizes that I’ve been kidnapped.” “You’re right.” “I’ll return to the theater now, thank you.” He studied the emails. “You are involved in entirely too many corporate affairs. Where are your Vice-Presidents?” He scrolled through an email chain. “Your father and brothers wouldn’t have dealt with this many minute details. No wonder you’re behind on your coursework.” I seethed as he typed out email after email. “What are you doing?” I demanded. “Delegating.” “Well, stop it!” Nicholas read one email more carefully. “Your attorney received a letter from an investor in Josmik Holdings. He says, I might have something for us.” I didn’t react. Nicholas arched an eyebrow.

“Any idea what that’s about?” He asked. He wished. Darius hired a private investigator to dig up dirt on my brothers’ investment. The Bennetts wanted the same information I needed. Too bad I had nothing to give. I shrugged. “Just one of the dozens of fires my brothers started that we’ve been putting out.” If he doubted me, he didn’t show it. He closed the laptop. “You won’t like this next order of business.” “This takeover has been a blast so far.” He handed me another document. I didn’t finish the first paragraph before I crumpled it and threw it at him. “A leave of absence?” “Undue strain from your asthma attack. Doctor recommended.” “I’ll never sign it.” “My father knows that.” A chill sprinted over my spine, despite the pleasant fire crackling from the hearth. “What’s he holding over me?” “Your medication.” Of course was. “He’ll try to scare you. More attacks, less recovery time. Multiple illnesses will weaken your Board’s confidence.” Nicholas didn’t soften his voice. He didn’t have to. His every word squeezed my chest like another attack. “Either you willingly take the leave and let your VPs do their job, or you’ll lose their respect and money.” “I can live without the inhaler.” “Sarah, even your father took a leave of absence when he was diagnosed—” “Don’t.” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Don’t you talk about him.” I stood, brushing my hands through my hair. I didn’t have a lot of options. Making a run for it didn’t end well last time, but at least I’d try to escape the worst decision before I lost all control of my life. Was it worth it? Leaving school? Abandoning the company?

Sacrificing my body? Was it worth destroying everything so I could take down a man who deserved to experience every misfortune that befell my family? Yes. Because it’s what Dad would have made me do.

“SUE HIM.” MY FATHER SPOKE THROUGH A MOUTHFUL OF MASHED POTATOES. HE SHOVELED ANOTHER bite before pointing his fork. “They insulted the Atwoods. Call Anthony. We’ll set up a defamation suit.” Josiah reluctantly shrugged. “Just let it slide. We won’t take a hit from a local paper.” “If they insulted our product, they insulted us. Nothing is more important than our name, son. Our farm, our company, our crops—it’s all part of our blood. And we protect our blood, you hear?” “Yeah. I got it.” Dad threw his fork down. “We’ll do it now. Get up.” “We haven’t even cut the cake.” Josiah stood anyway. “She’s turned fifteen. She’ll be fine.” Mike joined him, mussing my hair. “Catch you later, Sprout.” Dad shouted from his office. They wished me a happy birthday before following. I was actually sixteen.

MY FATHER WORKED SO HARD, HE ACCIDENTALLY FORGOT TO CARE FOR ANYTHING BUT HIS JOB. He would have made me cut out Darius’s heart by now. How was I supposed to avenge him if I had to leave everything behind? My father deserved justice. I deserved a life. But the responsibility that fell to me was the very thing my father never planned for me to have. He wanted a male heir to preserve the Atwood legacy. So did the Bennetts. “Sarah.” Nicholas’s baritone soothed me, a comfort I didn’t want. “You’ve worked

hard. No one will deny that.” “I didn’t have a choice.” Nicholas stood before me. Too close, but I didn’t give an inch. My breathing quickened. It only teased me with the crisp, sharp scent of him. “I wish I had better news for you,” he said. “Let me guess. I don’t have a choice now either?” He shook his head. A shiver grazed me. I didn’t know if it was good or bad. “Your fate is decided, Sarah.” I bit my lip and stared at his. Mistake. “And what fate is that?” I asked. “You’re mine.” For the first time in a week I took deep, healthy breaths, but my body refused them all. Nicholas towered over me. The button on his suit jacket slipped, revealing a trim waist and broad, muscular chest waiting beneath the dress shirt. He was close enough to touch. Close enough to be dangerous. “I don’t belong to anyone,” I whispered. “Least of all a Bennett.” His attention lingered on the ottoman where his family displayed my nudity. I didn’t react. He prowled closer, herding me toward the desk. “I should bend you over right now.” “You wouldn’t dare.” Why did I challenge him? I should have just run. He seized me, and I twisted in his arms. Nicholas was far stronger than me. He forced me over the desk and I thudded on my stomach. He avoided an awkward kick and pinned me with an arm over my back. My skin prickled in a sudden sweat as he moved behind me. His hips pressed against mine. I arched. Reflexively. Instinctually. Completely inappropriately. He curled his hand in my hair and chuckled. “You like this.” Yes.

“No, I don’t.” “Why lie to me?” “I’ll scream.” “And who would save you, Ms. Atwood?” No one. “You’re scaring me.” He didn’t care. “Am I hurting you?” Was that the distinction? Hurting me? Physically, no. He simply held me against my will. Again. Wielded his strength over me and dragged my body where he liked. I couldn’t scramble away without pressing harder against him. He chided me with a soft whisper of my name—an angel’s voice with a devil’s intent. He liked that I still tried to struggle. “This as an opportunity,” he said. “We’re offering you every luxury. No responsibilities. No commitments. Just a beautiful home for you to enjoy with every amenity at your fingertips.” His hands slid over my hips. “This could be a life of pleasure.” I tried to focus on anything but how our bodies touched. “You think this would be pleasurable?” “Exceedingly.” “Raping me?” His voice lowered to a growl. “When I take you, it won’t be by force. You will surrender.” My breath rattled in my chest. “Never.” “It’ll happen. Soon. Why deny me?” “Why would I ever give into you?” His hands tightened. I resisted a groan. “I’m offering you a place in my bed. A partnership with a sweet reward.” “Nothing you ever do to me will be sweet.” “Another challenge?” Nicholas hauled me up only to sit me on the end of the desk. I groaned, too dizzy with fatigue to stop him from spreading my legs. He stepped in, pushing against the part of me he planned to capture. “Would you like a

demonstration?” Yes. “No.” “You’ll have to be more convincing than that.” “Don’t touch me.” His fingers teased over my legs. I beat his hands away, but his warning prevented me from running. “Just behave, Sarah.” “I will fight you every day until I die.” “Don’t tempt fate.” “You plan to rape me,” I whispered. “Impregnate me. Your family killed my father and stole my research. Believe me, Nicholas Bennett, you might take everything from me, but you’ll never win. I’ll bring you all down, man by man, brick by brick, dollar by dollar.” “I’m sure you’ll try.” He gently caressed me, his hands tickling my thighs, hips, arms. Every swipe of his fingers cascaded goose bumps from his touch directly to my heating core. I clenched and didn’t understand why. I debated kicking, but he was far too strong. He’d never let me escape, not when he had me where he wanted me. “You’re fighting the wrong battles.” He drifted lower. I flinched as he followed the pajama’s pink stripe along my inner thigh. It didn’t lead to the trembling crest between my legs. It was either a relief or a travesty. “Just relax, Sarah. I won’t hurt you.” “Why should I trust you?” “Because you’re enjoying this.” The indignity of his words flushed my skin. His fingers teased, but not where they would do the most good. Or evil. Christ, I didn’t even know anymore. “You’re molesting me,” I whispered. “Another fight. Where do you find the strength?” “Get used to it.”

“I do enjoy a challenge.” Nicholas’s inspection traced up my body, the hardened devotion of his stare was a caress of my soft skin. He leaned in. “But I’d much prefer a taste.” “Don’t kiss me.” His lips brushed along my throat. He respected my wishes, but the punishment was worse. He latched onto my neck. Hard. Expecting a squeak or protest. He earned nothing but a cascade of shivers. I arched, my chest bumping his suit. The warmth of his body charred every raw and exposed part of me. I filled with his scent, his strength, and the pleasure of his teeth capturing my neck. I wasn’t losing this battle. I couldn’t. Surrendering to Nicholas Bennett wasn’t an option. I couldn’t permit his touch, not when his hands brushed my inner thigh. He nipped at my tender neck. Heat overwhelmed me, but I’d never feel warm until I pressed against his chest without the barrier of his clothing. What was wrong with me? I wanted, lusted, for the man who captured and threatened to claim me in every bestial way I could imagine. I’d deny him. He’d take it anyway. “Consider this another strategic concession.” Nicholas released my neck only to nibble on my ear. He wasn’t gentle, but his sharp bite intoxicated me. “This is a system of incrementalism. Learn it, Ms. Atwood, it may one day protect your company.” “What are you talking about?” “Little gains. Piece by piece. Grant me these simple pleasures.” His lips trailed along my chin, tasting me as he spoke nonsense and business and threat. “Enjoy this and save your strength for when I take you to bed.” I bit my lip. If that night were anything like this moment—where his touch forced me to imagine every dark and traitorous delight lost beneath him—there would be no fight. His hand brushed over my belly, tickling lower and lower. He waited for my protest. I stayed silent.

He slipped under the waistband of my pajamas with a victorious hum. The barrier of my panties offered no protection as the tips of his fingers drifted to the softness between my legs. Bare. Completely smooth. Just as he had requested days ago. It humiliated me. It gave me a sultry innocence and sensuality. It worked. Nicholas exhaled a profanity. His every muscle tensed, strained against an urge to seize me with brute force. I tempted him with a soft, silky trap. He’d never escape. “Consider it a strategic concession,” I whispered. His finger flicked down. Beyond the shaven softness, I had no control over what happened with my body. I closed my eyes and welcomed the betraying pink over my skin. Wet. Too wet. The damning, revealing desire sealed my fate. As if it hadn’t already been decided. He kidnapped me. He stole my kiss. He saved my life. And now? Was it was a survival instinct that protected me from the ultimate violation, or simply my undeniable need for an unimaginable man? A hardness pressed against my thigh. It was only a taste of what was to come, but the heat incinerated my logic and reason. His touch ground against me, and the cup of his hand claimed the secret it stroked. I flinched as he slipped between the soft petals, exploring the offered wetness from my slit. I arched. It wasn’t to escape. My gasp revealed my every amazement. Nicholas loomed over me, twisting his free hand in my hair. I parted my lips. He accepted the invitation. His touch gentled when I groaned, as though he understood I had never been pleasured beyond my quick, unsatisfying rubbing in

the quiet dark of my room. “If you knew how vulnerable you look...” Nicholas captured my mouth. He flicked a finger over my clit and tasted my whimper. His tongue mirrored his fingers, tracing an aching path within our kiss. “I may never let you go, Sarah Atwood. Not when you submit so perfectly to me.” I escaped his lips. “I haven’t submitted to you.” “Why are you pretending to be so brave?” “Why are you pretending you’ve won?” “Because I have.” His touch drew a hesitant plea from me. The shudder rolled through us both. His finger drifted low, dipping into a wetness that should have been sinful and horrid, deceiving and humiliating. He offered me no warning before slipping into my desperate slit. He swore as I clenched upon the intrusion. I seized, trembled, and absolutely ached. I lost my grip on the table. He moved quickly, wrapping an arm behind my back as my body fell limp. I endured the invading pressure within my core with a slight cry. Instant. Pleasure. I had no idea I’d respond to the violation—the conquering masculinity of a man touching, taking, and exploring an unexplored part of me. His breathing shuddered. Mirrored mine. I either needed another kiss or to scramble for my inhaler. “I’m going to take you, Sarah,” Nicholas whispered. “Again and again. You’ll belong to me. You’ll offer yourself to me. You will give me everything.” Not everything. But close. I smiled. He captured it with a kiss. Stole it with a quick thrust of his finger. “Secrets, Ms. Atwood?” “What secret could I keep from my captor?” My voice teased with the same threat that melted from his words like dripping wax. “I’ll learn them.” “I’m sure you will.” I lost myself in the golden halo of his gaze. “But, by then? It’ll

be too late.” “Too late for what?” “To save yourself from me.” His jaw set. Enough challenges. Enough games. Nicholas Bennett was a gentleman and villain—a man wrapped in the elegance of his status and the power of his name. Beneath the suit and tie, jackets and dress shirts, a feral beast lurked, savoring my every weakness. I tempted it. I teased it. I offered myself to it with spread legs and a wetness that revealed just how badly I’d lost against his prowess. Nicholas wanted more from me than threats and promises. He wanted me. He wanted to watch me surrender and cry out for him and him only. I was helpless to refuse. My body ached without permission. It clenched and fought and bound itself in a passion that squeezed the more I resisted. He thrust a finger within me. Testing my responses. Laughing at my desperation. Higher and higher—desperate and twisted— shameless and refusing, I trembled and realized just how much power Nicholas Bennett wielded over me. I was in trouble. The pleasure was as inescapable as him. I silenced my cry. My body took what it needed and devoured what he forced upon me. He watched as I jerked and tumbled, plummeted from the highest heights of desire to the lowest crest of base pleasure. He withdrew as I shook, and the mew that slipped from my clenched jaw wasn’t gratitude or profanity—but a sense of loss and regret that he released me. I trembled, hard, practically crashing to the floor as my clenching body demanded more. Something terrible and necessary. What did I do? What did I just offer? Sanity returned, and with it every shame. I flushed, fiercer than ever. Nicholas didn’t miss a single rise of my chest or loose lock of hair from my ponytail. I pushed from him and hopped off the table. My legs nearly crumbled beneath me. I

panted for breath. Nicholas surveyed his prize and offered me the inhaler. God damn it. I rushed past him, darting up the stairs to my room too slowly to escape the realizations of my temptation. I’d never be able to resist Nicholas Bennett. And now he knew it.

13

SARAH

he Bennetts served dinner at precisely eight o’clock, and I wasn’t permitted T to decline the invitation. My luck had run out on me, leaving me trapped at the table.

I took my seat in silence. Darius preferred that. No one spoke. The roast beef tasted of ash and the mashed potatoes paste. The clinking silverware scratched hard against the plates. Reed didn’t eat either. He also didn’t look at me. His avoidance was my first warning something was wrong. Very wrong. It had only been a day since Nicholas trapped me, touched me, and nearly destroyed me. I spent twenty-four hours hiding in my room, sleeping to replenish some strength. I felt a little better, I woke in the morning with Nicholas’s name on my lips. My nap in the afternoon ended with a new ache between my legs. And now, my troubles were only beginning. “Doctor Rimes visited you today, my dear.” Darius bit through his meat and licked the bloody juices from his lip. I didn’t answer. “He tells me you are doing well.” I waited and tensed, as if I could turn a salad fork into a trident. “It’s time.” Even Max stopped eating. I didn’t understand. “Time?” I asked. “For your breeding.” The fork dropped. Nicholas sipped his wine. I watched the goblet from the corner of my vision, studied the strong hands that grasped the frosted glass. Those hands had touched

me. Pleasured me. Tormented me. “She hasn’t fully recovered.” Nicholas swirled the crimson liquid. “Would it be wise? The strain might prompt another attack.” “Nonsense.” Darius tossed his napkin onto his plate. “Her only job is to spread her legs. If she fights and becomes ill, she’ll have only herself to blame.” “She will fight.” “Then we’ll bind her to the bed.” My heart thundered. They wouldn’t dare. They wouldn’t be so cruel. Darius slipped from his chair. I didn’t make it away from the table. His hand snaked through my hair. Reed stood, but Max hissed his name and forced him to sit. I panted in Darius’s clutches. He shook my head, pulling me around with a sadistic satisfaction. Not a sound emerged from my clenched lips. “Go upstairs. Bathe. Then wait in bed for your brother.” That slimy, grating way he said it. He got off on the idea of abusing his stepdaughter with the incestuous threat. But Nicholas wasn’t my brother. He wasn’t my ally. And he would never be my lover. “You’ll regret this.” My whisper shouted within the dining room. Reed clutched his fists and stared down. Max returned to his roast beef. Nicholas sipped his wine, unfazed, as though his father had simply prattled on about his day attempting to undermine my family’s corporation. “Upstairs, my dear,” Darius said. “Quiet now. No sense aggravating your condition.” I shoved away from Darius. These men were eager to breed me. Not only would they ruin me forever, they’d steal my child once they were done. What the hell was I supposed to do? Scream? He was right. That would prompt another attack. Escape was a dream. I’d never outrun them, not while the stairs

still winded me and panting long sentences revealed just how weak I was. “For Christ’s sake, drug her at least,” Reed said. Darius shook his head. “She deserves this lesson. It will teach her to respect her family.” I’d never respect them. “No drugs. I plan to remember this torture so I can return it tenfold.” “Upstairs, child.” Darius twisted his smile into a sneer. “Don’t keep your brother waiting.” My false confidence burned through me the instant I hid in my bathroom. What flakes of bravado remained charred to cinders in my rage. I started the shower if only for the comfort of the steam, but I stepped within to bide my time. Was. This. Worth. It. I still didn’t know. I had a plan. Dodgy, like everything I tried to do. Risky, but my father told me everything in the world came with risks—capital, market, corporate. No great accomplishment was completely protected and free from failure. I had one chance to end the Bennetts once and for all. I rested against the shower door. At least I wouldn’t die. They’d hurt me, but I was far too valuable to lose. Still, the dread coiled in my stomach. I heaved with chills despite the swirling steam. What scared me more: The loss of control…or giving that control to Nicholas? Nothing more dangerous existed than passion. Passion confused hatred with lust and transformed resistance into submission. I had no defense against Nicholas, not when my own instincts twisted my enemy’s threats into aching promises of pleasure. I slammed my hand against the shower handle. The water trickled off. I let the air dry me. The heat didn’t diminish. Nicholas Bennett waited for me. I swaddled in a robe and returned to my room. Darius greasy excitement terrified me, as though he already witnessed the crime and relished in every glorious moment of my undoing. My fingers tangled in the robe. I tied the knot tighter. It

wouldn’t save me. “You’ll behave for your brother, won’t you, my dear?” His voice crawled over my skin. I wished I could leap back into the shower just to wash the filth from me. “I don’t expect it to be pleasant, but certainly you understand what’s expected.” Max and Reed remained silent, poised near the door, preventing my escape. One step-brother. I could handle one man. I could turn off my mind, forget myself, and abandon hope for a short while. I had a purpose for being here. I’d sacrifice my body, my virginity, to protect my family. I’d take one man if it meant defending my father’s legacy. Darius tugged the restraints from behind the bed. The fear nearly dropped me to my knees. Oh, no. No, no, no. “Nicholas,” he said. “If you would.” “Wait,” I whispered. “I don’t…” Nicholas did as his father commanded, and I hated him for it. Hated the hands that pulled me closer to the bed and the melodic voice that ordered me to stay quiet. I tried again, appealing to Nicholas for any sort of compassion. “No restraints. That’s too humiliating.” “Which part of this wasn’t humiliating?” Darius laughed. “You’re fortunate we haven’t chained you in the basement, naked and rolling in your own dirt. Instead we give you our home, our food, our beds. You deserve nothing of our treatment.” Nicholas ignored his father. He loosened the knot on my robe. The silk fell to the floor. I would never be used to such exposure. Darius hummed as he studied me. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t release you from my bed until every inch of your cunt stuffed with my seed. You’d be bred before the night was out.” My airway threatened to close. Not now. He’d have no pity on me now. Nicholas wasn’t Darius, but I still froze as he grabbed my hand. I tugged away, but his fingers dug into my wrist, no doubt testing for the fluttering pulse beating in

his grip. He pulled me to the bed. The softness of his words did not disguise the vulgar request. “On your back, Sarah,” Nicholas said. “You’ll be more comfortable.” Hardly. I stared at the restraints—the thick bands of leather chained to the bed posts. “I can’t fight you.” I stared only at the horrifying bindings. “Why are you doing this?” He pushed me down. “I won’t ask again.” “Stop bitching!” Darius reached to strike me, but Nicholas prevented the blow. The gold in his eyes hardened to amber. A warning. Nicholas had never lost his temper. He never threatened, never raised his voice. Darius beat me, Max intimidated me, and even Reed’s solid muscle daunted me, but the flash of impatience in Nicholas’s poise struck me to my core. Nicholas was the last person in the world I ever wanted to cross. But to survive this? I had to deceive him. I sat on the bed. He took my left wrist and fastened it with the ugly leather straps. His fingers gentled as I looked away. Soft presses. A confusing touch. He didn’t let the restraints cut into my skin. Yesterday when he touched me, I didn’t need cuffs to degrade myself. “Reed.” Darius snapped his name. “Restrain her other hand.” I stiffened. So did Reed. Darius hadn’t asked Max, the one Bennett most likely to get hard from such cruelty. It was deliberate. Reed wasn’t like his brothers. He took honest care of me when I was recovering, and he did it without Nicholas’s sensual stare or Max’s aggression. Darius hissed as he repeated the order. Reed had been kind, so I spared him from his father’s wrath if only to endure it myself. I extended my hand. He said nothing, wrapping the leather over my wrist with a cold yank. The cuff dug into my skin. He didn’t fix it. My breasts exposed, bared and unprotected. I struggled to sit cross-legged.

Darius snorted. He seized my ankles and stretched me flat across the mattress. I bit my whimper as he spread my legs. My slit revealed to them, but Nicholas prevented him from restraining my legs. The leather cuffs hardly reached my feet. I was too tiny for their deviant punishment. My chest betrayed me, puffing with hyperventilated gasps. I stared at the ceiling as Darius petted my knee. His fingers didn’t stop. They grazed up, up, up. I stilled until he scratched a rough hangnail over my thigh. The flinch shoved him away. The slap to my stomach forced a squeal from my lips. “Sensitive?” He poked my belly, low. Hard. “Not to worry, my dear. The doctor said that was a sign of ovulation.” I twisted, but he smacked again, this time aiming for my breasts just to watch me squirm. A second and third smack hurt, but then he gripped my nipple, twisting until I shrieked and struggled against the restraints. “You listen to me, slut,” Darius whispered. “Tonight is the first night of your new life. Starting now, you are nothing more than a whore. A body to fuck and a womb to fill. Get used to a cock shoved in your pussy. You’ll be fucked like the little bitch you are until you swell with a child. Do you understand?” “Fuck you.” “Unfortunately.” He released my nipple with a cruel tug. “I’ve made my vows. The privilege of your breeding belongs to your brothers. Serve them well, and we’ll be kind. If you are disobedient, I promise you’ll remain in pain every moment of every day.” Darius’s smile caressed as invasive as any rape. “Continue to fight, and I will fuck you myself.” I had no reason to doubt him. Nicholas shifted to my side. It was the first time I feared he’d never be close enough. Whatever bastard mind-games Nicholas played yesterday, whatever part of me he won, whatever slice of my pride he captured for his own—at least he hadn’t hurt me. Just the opposite. He frightened me. Touched me. Stole my sanity. But Nicholas didn’t bind me to the bed so he could beat me into submission. Darius tied me down because he liked my pain. My step-father was a living, breathing embodiment of hell. Whatever strength I reserved for my ordeal wouldn’t be enough to survive anything he would do to me. I searched for Nicholas. Despite me naked, writhing, and bound to the bed for his pleasure, he didn’t look at me. He tensed, watching his father. The tension crackled against my skin.

Max grunted. “I got better things to do than listen to her scream. Nick can figure it out from here.” The violence etched into Darius’s expression diminished, though the hardness in his pants threatened me more than any word he uttered. “My dear, I trust you won’t disturb the entire household?” He joined Reed and Max and laughed as he passed from the room. “You are far too pretty to gag.” The door closed. The steps faded. And I was left to Nicholas’s mercy. I twisted against the restraints, crossing my legs to hide from him. “Let me go. I swear to God—” “Shh.” His voice mellowed without the presence of his family. “None of that.” “Nicholas, this isn’t right. You can’t do this.” “Didn’t my father just tell you to behave?” How did he tame me so easily? His hand grazed my thigh, tracing where Darius had touched. The goose bumps were nothing like the curdling blisters of Darius’s appraisal. A warmth shot through me. No. Nicholas’s touch was even worse. “I won’t untie you,” he said. “Don’t ask again.” “Why?” He palmed my hip. I should have hated how thoroughly he memorized me. My curves. The dip across my navel. The softness between my legs. “You’re very beautiful,” he said. “Delicate.” “I’m uncomfortable.” “Oh, I can make you very comfortable.” I shivered, hating that it was a good, fuzzy sensation that parted my lips. “I don’t like your idea of comfort.” “You liked it last night.” I had no answer for my behavior. “Once. That’s all.” “That would be the true crime, Sarah. To watch you come for me only once?”

This wasn’t happening. “What are you going to do?” “I’ve already told you what I plan.” The suit jacket came off. The first time he had been so undone before me. The black vest beneath tailored fit his frame—just as strong and broad without the benefit of the jacket. I stilled as the button popped open. His white dress shirt tensed against his thick biceps. “You remember, Sarah.” I tested the restraints. Tight. “I didn’t think you were serious.” “I won’t ever lie to you.” That was a comfort, coming from the clothed man prowling around me as I lay restrained, nude and helpless. His hand tickled, tapping a soft path from my knee along my side. I looked away as the goose bumps teased too close to my breast, tightening the mistreated bud. “My father is not a gentle man,” Nicholas said. I arched as he cupped my sore breast, claiming the entirety of my flesh in his palm. The heat was soothing, but the relief centered deep inside me, tucked into a core that clenched to life despite the horrors of my treatment. “I won’t hurt you.” I ignored the fluttering within my belly. “Why?” “Because you’re going to like this. You’re going to ask for this. You’ll beg for me, and I will please you.” The top button of his shirt popped open. The second followed, revealing hard skin, smooth with the tautness of firm muscle and masculine power. Nicholas moved quickly, draping the material off his broad shoulders. A body like his should never have hid within so many layers of clothing. God, he was strong. He thickened with muscle—not the bulky, intimidating form of Max, but a lean build. Enough to impress, more than enough to frighten, and just the perfect amount to completely dominate, with or without restraints. So why was he covered in scars? Thin white stripes of memorized pain struck everywhere—his shoulders, chest, back. But they extended no further than what was obscured by his suit. He had been beaten. Severely. Repeatedly. But not for some years. No wonder he held himself with such dignified poise and served his father in any capacity the monster demanded. He had no choice. I exhaled as he lurked before me, standing at my feet and examining all of my body. “Open your legs,” he whispered. “Don’t hide from me.”

I shook my head. “I won’t ask twice.” He’d have to get used to disappointment. The belt unbuckled with a soft click. I flinched as the leather tugged from his pants. He folded the strip within his hand. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.” My voice wavered. “I said I wouldn’t need to.” He leaned over me, tracing my flushing skin with the teasing lick of the leather. “You won’t misbehave, will you?” My breathing shuddered, but not from the illness. “What if I do?” The lash was quick, nothing more than a flick of his wrist. The belt didn’t sting, but I gasped all the same. He chuckled, and the rumbling cadence of his amusement seared through my core. “I dislike pain,” He said. The belt wove over my skin, tugging as the rough edge dragged across a hardening nipple. “Why fight me? This is an unwinnable battle. You’re restrained. I’m free. You’re naked. I’m in control.” His smile bared his teeth. I craved to feel them sink within my neck once more. “You like that.” “I don’t.” “You’ve already submitted to me, Sarah. Denying it to yourself only delays your pleasure.” “Why are you tormenting me? Just take what you want and leave.” He leaned closer, the belt bopping under my chin to raise my gaze. “What I want is your pleasure, Sarah.” Why did I believe him? “I want to watch you moan. Beg. Whine.” He tapped the leather against my breast. He didn’t hurt me, though he was strong enough to flay me without effort. Instead, the leather teased, sending shivers through me head to toe only to center, forcing the sensation between my legs. “I’ll watch you come again and again until you are too weak to resist when I claim you.” “You’re going to fuck me?” “Oh, yes. Many times.” “And you’ll…” He lashed with a tease over my tummy. Flat and trembling, where his intentions

hoped to spill. “I’ll come inside you.” His voice altered, rasped with an animalistic growl. “You will be mine, Sarah Atwood. My prisoner. My prize. My toy.” He flicked lower, tickling the silky slit I tried to hide with twisting thighs. “My ultimate conquest.” He tapped with the belt. The soft strike rattled me. Every touch, every vibration cast by the kiss of the leather softened my resistance. I knew what he was doing. God, I even knew what he planned. But I couldn’t stop myself from imagining it, wondering about it…wanting it. “Spread your legs,” he whispered again. “You won’t be disappointed.” “I can’t. Don’t make me do this.” “Then do it willingly.” His voice dipped as low as the belt. A single smack arched me up. The surprise untensed my body. He had his opening, and the leather struck what I desperately tried to keep secret and safe. The belt hit rough on my clit, and I whimpered against the slick slap that echoed my pleasure within the room. “Submit, Sarah.” The bed shifted as he settled on the mattress. “Don’t resist me, not when I can offer you so much.” I swallowed as his hand rested over my belly, drifting lower and lower until his fingers covered the heat radiating from my bare slit. I squeezed my thighs tight, but the tiny crease was no match for his will. The flick of his finger arched my back, and, without realizing just how quickly I lost the second battle with Nicholas Bennett, I spread my legs. He was on me in an instant. He lowered his body until his hot breath panted over my exposed pussy. I fought the restraints—too harsh to escape and too frustratingly short to ease the ache he summoned inside me. “So beautiful,” Nicholas murmured. “I would keep you bound forever—tied up and tucked away, just for me.” And he’d probably do it too. Nothing stopped a Bennett. Not rules. Not laws. Not common morality. He hovered close to my slit, gazing over my vulnerable, fragile form. Why didn’t he end it? The moment he touched my skin would be the instant I’d lose myself forever in my

own regret and hunger. He understood that. I dreaded it. So what stopped him? He tortured without the belt or a harsh word. Every second trapped in his power passed in a dozen eternities, ensnaring me in a remorseless need. The terror faded. The injustice and cruelty was lost within the praise of his words and gentle brush of his hands. I shivered. Nothing made sense. Somehow, bound and naked, weakened and helpless, it wasn’t Nicholas I no longer trusted. I didn’t trust myself. “Tell me,” Nicholas said, patient, curled in his web and waiting for me to tangle in his trap. “Tell me, and I’ll give you everything.” An admission. My consent. My dignity? This was a dangerous game we played. I licked my lips, wishing it were his kiss once more. “P—please.” His chuckle would have humiliated me had my broken pride not been immediately healed by the sudden, desperate, passionate kiss he placed directly on my trembling pussy. I nearly bolted from the bed, but the restraints held me as tightly as his sudden grip upon my hips. He forced my legs wider, jerking my body to where he had access to every fold and petal, soft secret and dripping wetness. His lips never left my skin. His tongue danced over my slit, batting my clit, and dipping down low to taste the part of me bound explicitly for his delight. I squirmed. He squeezed my legs and held me down. He chuckled as I moaned and suckled harder against my throbbing, overwhelmed slit. I arched in sudden panic. He’d won. I hated that he was right. Hated that he read me so easily. Hated that he controlled my desire. And I was so grateful he promised not to hurt me that his violation actually buzzed through my head like a stolen gift.

I battled against the leather cuffs. My step-family lurked in the estate, eager for any scream or cry I might have uttered. Instead, I gasped. Shuddered. Lost my voice in an aching plea and twisted my hips for more attention. I no longer wished to escape his relentless pursuit. I had never imagined how delicious a skilled tongue would feel pressed within a part of me I woefully neglected. First his touch. Then his kiss? Only one mystery remained about my body, my reactions, and my untampered passion. He’d take my virginity. I came immediately as I envisioned just how raw and deliberate Nicholas would be. No warning. No explanation. I tensed until I swore everything he did, everything he said, everything he made me do ripped me into a million shattered pieces only to rebuild into an aching, fragile replica of my former self—midway between shattering and flaking into perfect oblivion. He growled. It was my first warning. I quivered and fell limp. My wrists flattened against the mattress, restraints and all. I didn’t have the strength to move or fight. I didn’t have the courage to bluff an excuse for coming so easily against his mouth. I didn’t have any way to defend myself or any reason to deny him. Nicholas rose, his hands ripping over the zipper to his pants. That was the second warning. In the hazy glow framing my vision, a man possessed with lust and overwhelmed with power stood over my prone body. His trousers fell away. Third warning. The ultimate warning. Every thought suddenly silenced in my mind, and the quiet realization deafened me. Twice now Nicholas had teased me into pleasure. Twice now he had twisted my resistance and proved a primal need existed within my nature. He owned my attraction and wove a power over me. I knew what he planned next. His cock hardened, jutting between his legs with every threat he promised and

every masculine command he’d wield. I stared at the thickness. What was I thinking? He moved between my legs, stroking the thickening shaft. Bare. Because he meant to do more than fuck me. Rape. Mate. Breed. All animalistic urges. Nothing sensitive. Nothing sweet. Nothing for my benefit except the pleasure of being used, fucked, and taken by a man for his ultimate intentions. I had to tell him. Before this went any farther. Before someone realized the truth. Before they realized no matter the pleasure, no matter the restraints, no matter the dangerous attraction, I was still in control. I had to tell him. I had to stop this. I had to… Nicholas leaned over me, positioning the thick head of his cock against my quivering slit. He wasn’t going to stop now. No matter what I said or what I revealed. I shut my mouth and wrapped my hands around the restraints’ chains. “Submit,” he whispered. “Do you trust me?” “No.” Every word wavered. “Can you trust me?” “What’s not to trust?” “Everything.” “You are a risk worth taking.” He studied my body, how my hips arched to meet his, how his cock pushed against my glistening slit. “And I will take you, Sarah. Again and again until I’m certain you’ll forever belong to me.” He pushed forward, capturing my shock with a kiss as forceful as his thrust. I expected pain.

I expected humiliation. I expected ruin, sorrow, and loss. His eyes widened, the golden softness as much a gift as his thick arms protecting me from the world. He filled me too suddenly, and I cried out. But the sting of my virginity wasn’t stolen in a violent act of cruelty. He claimed me. And…I claimed him. Our bodies melded, combined, and locked in a sudden and shared passion so consuming I stopped breathing, he stilled, and we shared an absolute shudder of peace. No more fighting. No battles. My body surrendered while his protected. My heat welcomed him. His thickness commanded me. He stole me, but nothing about the ravishing heat frightened me. The blooming pleasure overwhelmed the quick slice that assaulted my virginity. His movements tested me, and my gratitude lashed over him as though I held the belt and struck his sensitive and wanting skin. Another movement. Another sigh. Another wave of acceptance. “Please.” I whispered, but this time, I didn’t beg for my freedom. “Please.” “A cry for mercy?” His words rasped with a waning control. “Don’t you dare take mercy on me, Nicholas Bennett.” “I never intended to.” His kiss silenced my whimpers, my thoughts, and my fading control. His cock stirred within me—deeper than I ever imagined I could be taken. My legs wrapped over his hips. He seized everything I gave and demanded whatever I dared to hide. His muscles strained. His forearms flexed as he dug his fingers into the mattress. He stared at my helpless form, bouncing against the blankets and nearly breaking for more of his godly torment. How did something so vulgar become so beautiful? Passion and desire destroyed everything ugly and banished whatever fear I possessed. I lied to him.

He asked if I trusted him. The answer was yes. With everything. With my body. My pleasure. The imprisonment. His advice. I trusted him to keep me safe. To fill me with the courage I lost combating his father and to reassure me with pleasure when the restraints stole my strength. He hadn’t released me. I became his own personal deviancy as he thrust again and again within my clenching core. He fucked me. He took me. He’d try to breed me. I didn’t understand the carnal need, but I understood a man like Nicholas. He was unchallenged, dominating his opponents through sheer strength of will. This time, I was the opponent. He fucked me with a bare cock and planned to seed me if only to defy the world and claim me for his own. I had to tell him. He kissed me again, and the secret was buried. We tightened together. My hands curled into fists, tugging at the restraints, demanding to touch and hold and imbed myself upon the man who controlled me. He sunk us deeper into the bed. His body pounded against mine in a blind fury of passion. My surrender ripped through me. The cresting intensity rushed with such ferocity I feared the crumbling, aching crush of my body. I gave him everything in a moment, a single blistering fraction of time that darkened the world and captured me within the golden hush of his possession. Nothing prevented it. Nothing prepared me for it. I came, and Nicholas’s growl would have shaken the foundation of the estate, crumbling the brick and mortar I’d threatened. I offered more of my hips, of my tightness, of my taken virginity, and he lost himself in me. A heat splashed inside me, filling me, coating me, jetting deeper and deeper as Nicholas buried himself as completely as he could. Body against body, skin flushed against skin. I arched and gasped, losing my breath and not caring if it ever returned. I cried out just as the Bennetts expected, but only Nicholas’s name passed beyond my lips, as secret as a kiss and as forsaken as my pride.

Oh, God. He had come inside me. And my pleasure rippled as I clenched against the utter dominance of my body. My frantic breathing and rolling shudders frightened me. He flicked his fingers through the restraints to release me from the bindings. As if he thought I’d run, he captured me in his arms. We sunk into the bed, entwined in a kiss and sweaty from a coupling that had been the most terrifying and amazing experience of my life. I clung to him, staring into his amber, flashing eyes with no fear, no hostility, and no cowering plea ever to escape his arms. He said nothing but tucked me onto my side, pulling the comforter up to cover my nudity. He laid beside me in silence. Cradling me. Soothing me. Soothing himself. He thought I’d be shocked. Devastated. Frightened by the seed tucked in my belly and the implications of his mounting. I sighed into the pillows as his finger traced a delicate path over skin that needed something rougher and more demanding than gentleness. I wasn’t frightened. I feared nothing, not now that I understood how strongly I could submit, and just how much power I held over the men who presumed to own me. I had lost the battle. Unequivocally. Almost intentionally. But Nicholas Bennett? He lost the war.

14

NICHOLAS

S arah Atwood slept in my arms.

Soundless. Peaceful. Tamed, for once in her life. It took every reserve of my patience and strength to break her without losing her. I shouldn’t have held back. She defeated me first. I counted the easy breaths which passed through her lips, puffy and pink. They had yet to curl into a smile for me. She sated my lust, and fucking her fulfilled my primal urges in a single moment of unrepentant and bountiful bliss. But I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted her smile. I wanted her trust. I wanted her to understand. I wasn’t an unreasonable man. Selfish, but not a fool. The girl hadn’t believed I would bed her, even after my father abused, terrorized, and humiliated her. But I never doubted for a second that I would take her. I tied her down and took her virginity. Her first taste of passion, and she struggled against leather wrist cuffs. I spread her legs, but her surrender was as elusive as whatever secrets she hid from me. Her body complied. Her words admitted her place. But her mind? She was stronger than I anticipated, more beautiful than I imagined, and fiercer than any I’d ever encountered. And so I held my step-sister down, fucked her like a ravaging animal, and filled her with my every intent to breed her with my child. Then she slept in my arms.

The daughter of my family’s greatest enemy, ruined and pleasured, clung to the arm I draped over her waist. The sun had yet to rise. I preferred the darkness, but Sarah’s pale blonde hair acted as the only bright and wholesome revelation in the room. How innocent could one woman be? I stirred. As much as I longed to remain pressed inside her for the night, I had untied her. I kissed her without the cuffs and held her secure, offering her safety while my mind raged with the conquering, masculine high of chaotic pleasure. I meant to protect and comfort her. And yet, I kept her still so she wouldn’t spill my seed by escaping the bed. Just the thought hardened me. She called me cruel. I believed her. She labeled me a demon. What defense could I give? She claimed she didn’t trust me. She lied. How many times would I be forced to destroy her innocence? She wiggled. The greatest and worst temptation in my world cuddled against me. During the taking, I’d gripped the mattress instead of her, fearing the severity of my lust. In the predawn darkness, the absolute stillness of secret between night and day, a delicate and fierce woman rested in my grasp. I’d already stolen her once. Tasted. Claimed. Seeded. One crime committed, another tempted. My hand wove over her hip. She sighed. My fingers teased for warmth in the cradle between her legs. Her hips edged closer. I flicked my finger against her clit, reveling in the slickness I left within her. Sarah mewed. It was the only sound I craved. The tip of my finger traced a tiny circle. She panted awake, but my strength pinned her between my chest, hardening cock, and teasing touch. I’d offer her such a reward for just a moment of obedience.

Her hand gripped my wrist. I didn’t let her push me away. Another few circles and she fell limp. Those perfect lips parted once more. She breathed my name. It was the only word that rivaled the simple thrill of her protests. I nibbled her ear and she rewarded me with a sweet shiver. “Tell me how this feels.” “Invasive.” I chuckled. “It’s soft, Sarah. Warm and wet.” Her words wavered. “Haven’t you tormented me enough?” “Never. You enjoy the torment too much.” Her wetness betrayed her. My cock throbbed for a taste of her. I’d take anything that would ease the rage in me, pacify my need, and silence the demon that demanded another cruel claiming. But I doubted anything could quell that dark instinct. A raw passion burned my veins and blinded me to everything humane and respectable. I angled her hips against me. Her words silenced as the head of my cock pushed once more into her tender, inexperienced body. Too weak to deny me and too slick to prevent me, I thrust. The violation shocked her. She tensed, gripping my hands, holding her breath, fluttering with a rabid pulse that tickled against my chest, I pushed. She shuddered in a soundless wave of pleasure. And I had her once again. The tightness fractured me, crumbling away my honor and searing me with the savage determination. “You will be mine,” I whispered, as if she had any doubt. “From this moment. You belong only to me. Your body. Your pleasure.” I tested her, watching as she pawed against the thickness spreading her apart. “Everything you are will be mine.” Her nails sunk into my arms. “You’ll never have all of me.” “You can’t fight me.” “I’m not,” She whispered through threaded gasps. “You’ve captured me. You’ve won all you can. But it was never a fair game, Nicholas.” “I decide what’s fair.” My teeth pinched against her neck. “And I decide the rules.” “Not this time.” “Always. From this moment on.”

I thrust harder. She accepted me. Her chest puffed in excitement. Her perfect breasts, kissed with the delicate raspberry buds, captured in my hand. She whimpered and tightened around me, and the pleasure rolled from the base of my spine. I blinded myself to everything but her. I lusted for her innocence and softness, and I took the petite wisp of her body and every feminine curve that made her irresistible. And still, the agonizing realization stalked me. No matter how hard I fucked her, how firmly I held her, or how many demands I forced on her, Sarah Atwood was stronger than I expected. Her submission came naturally, but I’d never break her. I no longer wanted to break her. Her panting desperation twisted my control. She arched against me, and I slammed as deeply as my cock would fit. My orgasm shadowed hers. I grunted and emptied myself in her, again and again. She squeezed me and came. Her pussy milked my throbbing cock, greedily accepting my seed into her core. Nothing compared. Years of self-sacrifice and protection to ensure the Bennett line wasn’t tarnished by whatever woman happened across my path, and now? I released inside Sarah, perfect and tantalizing. It was a shame she didn’t want it. A crime that I did it. And a crisis of conscience that I felt no remorse in satisfying my desire. Her panted breaths ended with a cough. The sound stilled my heart. I pulled from Sarah before she was ready, and her soft, protesting murmur refueled my passion. I ignored my unrelenting hardness and stood, rifling through the pocket of my suit jacket. Her inhaler tucked safe inside, hidden from her provided she asked politely, sweetly, and obediently for the right to breathe. My father’s wishes disgusted me. I handed her the inhaler. She hesitantly took the medication. Sarah said nothing, watching as I collected myself and disguised my evil in the civilized suit and coat. Her cheeks flushed as she tucked the blanket along her body. She acted as though I hadn’t memorized every last inch of her slim form. “How long do you think you can keep me here, Nicholas?” Her voice softened, heavy with satisfaction. “How long will you hide me away and tie me to beds and take me?”

“Forever.” “You know that isn’t true.” “I’ll make it so.” She bit her lip. “You can’t keep me captive, and you can’t keep me from finding your family’s crimes. This won’t last.” The only crime my family committed rested within the bed, seeded with my lust. But Sarah was right. It wouldn’t last. Sooner or later she’d understand the truth about her father, the dire circumstance of her position, and how dangerous her life had become. So I’d keep her tucked away. Hidden from the world. Protected from my family. Sated with my cock. “Sarah Atwood, I’ve decided no one else will touch you.” Her amusement was a bluff of hope. “Darius already decided everything about my fate. I was yours last night. He’ll feed me to Max today. He’ll make Reed take me tomorrow.” Her voice lowered. “Strategic concessions? You had your turn.” The fury billowed within me, a hot rage of jealousy I had no right to experience for my family’s prisoner. I ground my jaw. “I’m the heir to the Bennett fortune. This estate. The company. The family—and everything in it—belongs to me. That includes you.” I paused. “Behave yourself, be respectful. Act obedient for once, and I will rectify this.” “Why?” The stirring returned. It wouldn’t be controlled, and I’d never explain it. Instinct and logic warred within me, and the animalistic passion mauled every bit of humanity away. “Because the child you’ll carry will be mine. I’ll have my fortune, my company, and you for my pleasure.” Now I earned her smile, but the sweetness wasn’t meant for me. “You are a Bennett. You’ve stolen, beaten, and broken every piece of land, every company, and every person you’ve ever wanted. No one has ever defeated you. No one has ever stopped you.” She had my attention. “Until me.” “A challenge, Ms. Atwood?” “You’re no challenge to me.” “Will you wait here, or should I restrain you again?”

She snuggled in the blankets, matching my need heartbeat for heartbeat. “I’m your captive, trapped in this home. What harm could I possibly do?” Entirely too much in the opinion of my father. I said nothing but returned to my room, showered, shaved, and dressed as though I were a successful businessman and not a prowling creature of the night. Sarah was a problem. Her words and defiance entertained me, but it would enrage my father—and I wouldn’t be able to protect her from his retaliation. He threatened her, promised that my brothers and I would rape and impregnate her, and I saw it in her eyes. Fear. My father offered a woman to us, and she became a perverted family secret that would topple the entire Bennett Corporation. When marrying into the Atwoods didn’t secure his fortune, he exploited his step-daughter, a girl he neither loved nor pitied. Provided she breathed—provided she told us when she couldn’t breathe —he’d be satisfied. But given the option, Sarah Atwood would be beaten and starved, raped and tortured, stored in the dark and left to conceive in utter misery. I’d never let it happen. My father awaited me in his office. Seven o’clock, not a minute late, as he rigorously cropped into my hide as a child. I settled across from his desk. He scowled at his email, but spared a moment to meet my gaze. Nothing but cruelty existed within his presence. His was a hardness he taught me to mimic, something to replicate and pass on. If we succeeded, the Atwood-Bennett heir would no doubt encompass every lesson, every beating, every brutal warning we endured as children. When to speak. When to act. When to think. And, above all else, to obey him without question. “Is it done?” He asked. I nodded. His excitement crawled upon my skin. “Did she bleed?” “She was a virgin.” “Was she behaved?” The memory teased me with a warmth forbidden within my father’s office. Despite the fireplace and windows, the room maintained a perpetual frost, as if the poison of our company’s products sliced through those uninitiated to his pestilence. “She was compliant,” I said. An understatement.

“Unharmed?” “Of course.” He snorted. “She won’t respect you if she doesn’t fear you, son.” “She respects me. She understands just what is anticipated during her stay with us.” “Good.” His attention returned to the computer. A dismissal. I waited. A long moment passed as I dared to interrupt his work once more. “Yes?” “She will be mine.” The monitor clicked off. “Yours?” “Yes.” “Go on.” I folded my hands. “Sarah Atwood is the sole heir to the Atwood fortune. I am the first born Bennett. A child would secure both worlds, both companies, both reputable family names. Should she conceive, the boy would be my successor. Should it not be my own blood?” “Bennett blood is Bennett blood.” “Then Max can have the company. Or Reed.” I read his expression. Neither option pleased him. “I am willing to take the girl and do what must be done.” “Of course you are,” my father nodded. “And if these circumstances were altered, if we had more time, I would permit it.” “There’s plenty of time.” He snapped his chair upright. “No. Mark Atwood wormed his way into the heart of our investments and stole, bought, and bribed more influence than we ever imagined. Taking the girl, forcing an heir, is of utter importance. Our company is in distress, and Atwood Industries and her wealth must pass to us.” That I understood. I steeled my expression. “All the more reason to secure her trust. If I tame her, keep her under my control, she may not resist us.” “She might be complacent, but once she turns twenty-one, she’ll be unstoppable.” He exhaled. “She isn’t just an opportunity to grow our wealth, Nicholas. She will conceive the collateral we need to save our fucking family.” “All the more reason to keep her for myself. I don’t frighten her, but if she is raped by us all, she’ll never work with us. She’ll turn against the family.” “She’s already against us, Nicholas. It’s foolish we even let her walk the halls

unrestrained.” “She is helpless here.” “Perhaps a door will be unlocked or a phone left untended. Perhaps she’ll shatter another window and escape again. She is a liability.” He rapped his fingers on the table. “I preferred it when she couldn’t breathe.” I didn’t. “I can control her.” “Three men will impregnate a woman faster than one.” He grinned. “You’re a Bennett, my son, but you aren’t Superman.” “Give me a month.” “You’re serious?” “I want the girl. I want the child. I’ll take the risk and build my legacy the way I see fit.” My father stared through me. I had nothing to hide. No shame in demanding what was rightfully mine. I didn’t fear the moments I spent tangled within Sarah’s embrace. It’d reveal only lust and domination, especially to a man who understood nothing else. “Will you ensure she behaves?” My father asked. “Yes.” “Can you breed her?” “I’m certain of it.” “So be it.” He lifted his chin. “But we have very little time before this crashes around us, Nicholas. The investors are nervous. The clock is ticking, and our allies shrink by the moment.” If only he knew. “I understand.” “Don’t disappoint me.” I would, sooner rather than later. I eagerly awaited the day. “Of course, Dad,” I said. “I’d do anything for this family.”

15

SARAH

I t was time to move.

Unfortunately, I tucked deep in the blankets and reveled in the cascading warmth left in Nicholas’s wake. I lost too much time in a dreamless, contented nap. I woke achy and dazed. A part of me hoped Nicholas would return. I silenced that insanity and stuffed it deep, deep down. No doubt he’d still reach those secrets. I wasn’t wasting any more time. I peeked from my doorway. Silence greeted me. The stillness hung heavy in the halls—a foreboding barrier that almost convinced me to camp in my room like Nicholas ordered. Wasn’t gonna happen. I showered and dressed in protective jeans. No more helpless pawing within their territory like an invalid in baby pink pajamas. The game changed. Everything changed. I prepared for the wrong outcome. Nothing happened the way I imagined, and I didn’t know if I was better for it or not. I slipped from my room, pulling the door tight. The Bennett estate was carved from the stoic coldness of the masonry itself. No laughter or joy echoed in the halls. When they were boys, Josiah and Mike invented stair-sledding and tore up Mom’s hardwood just before Mike broke his collarbone. And every spring, Mom pumped classic rock from the living room loud enough to hear it outside as she planted flowers. Once, I hid a goat in my closet for a week—until he snuck into dad's office, ate half of his laptop's keyboard, and did terrible things to his office chair. My house was a flurry of activity—a farm, a business, a lively home full of noise and excitement. The day it quieted was the worst day of my life. The same depressing stillness drifted within the corridors of the Bennett Estate.

I thought rage would lead me as I tested the secrets of the mansion. Instead, I endured an insufferable curiosity. It wouldn’t help me as I faced the serpent and searched for the right place to slice in his slippery underbelly. Somewhere inside Darius Bennett’s sanctuary was proof that my father’s death came at his hands. Even worse, Darius still had my research journal. It was a crime far worse than offering me to his sons. Twice he attempted to destroy my family. He failed with my father—the farm hadn’t fallen and the fortune hadn’t passed to him when he tricked my mother into marrying him. He also failed with my journal—the experiments were only part of the ideas I had, the plans I drew, and the projects I believed could aid Atwood Industries and every agricultural business struggling in an arid region. His third and final attempt to end us would fail too. No matter how I responded to Nicholas, I had the upper hand. Except my mind still dizzied with the softness of his breath upon my slit, the weight of his body thrusting into mine, and the utter oblivion of peace that crushed me in pleasure under his touch. He ordered me to obey him and remain in my room, quiet and out of the way. To protect me? To own me? Probably just to confuse me. Damn Bennetts. The hall window faced the front of the estate. A limo came and went. Nicholas hadn’t returned. I avoided Max. Reed hadn’t come to visit and I doubted he would, not after that terrible moment when he tightened the restraints around my wrist and let Darius slam me into bed. The solitude was fine. I’d take this tour of their estate alone. The first door was locked. As was the second. And third. They disabled the elevator at the end of the hall. Why bother building such a lavish mansion if everything was bolted shut? No one rushed at me as I tip-toed across the stairs. I stole through the foyer to the hidden rooms tucked behind the parlors and dining halls, kitchens and libraries. Darius’s office spanned the rear of the mansion, looming at the end of a windowless, escapeless hall. The heavy oak door arched tall, closed tight and foreboding. I swallowed.

It had to be in there. Answers. Evidence. What belonged to me and what would make every abuse worth the suffering. I listened, but only the low hum of air forced through the register rumbled within the corridor. Now or never. I slunk along the wall, reaching for the knob as though testing for fire on the other side. I wouldn’t doubt if a blazing flame awaited me. Darius was a demon, and he’d sour the ground with brimstone wherever he lurked. He was evil. I saw it, experienced it, fought it. And it scared me more than I dared to admit. Locked, like everything else in my prison. The thickness in my chest wasn’t good. I held my breath as I tempted fate, or maybe fate had taken my breath from me. I sighed. Darius wasn’t on the estate, but nothing would stop me from getting into his office. I pulled two bobby pins from my hair and stripped their plastic buds with my teeth. When we were younger, my brothers broke most of my hairpins on the locked closet in our parent’s bedroom. They promised to tell me what they tried to steal from Dad when I got older, but I figured it out when I hit the right age. The pin bent and fit into the lock. I tensed as it jiggled. The tumblers clinked like an avalanche of stone. No one shouted. No one came to stop me. The door popped open. I shifted inside before anyone witnessed my trespass. The office might have been Darius’s heart and soul if he possessed either human quality. Part library, part conference room, part throne. His desk loomed in the corner of the room, surveying the gardens, the pool, the patio outside his windows. He’d ripped up the forest and replaced beauty with garish granite and imported plants, bent and broken to his will, like everything else in the godforsaken house. I dove over his chair. The desk spanned an elegant L shape with a dozen drawers. Cabinets stretched behind me, bordering the walls and hiding more compartments and cubbies. I nudged the keyboard. The computer was locked, of course. I didn’t dare mess with it. I respected myself too much to imagine what Darius’s sordid mind might have concocted for a password. I ripped the first drawer open and accidentally scattered pens and paperclips. I swore, fumbling over the dropped rubber bands that snapped my fingers as I tried to gather them. My vision blurred, and I smacked my head under the desk. “Damn it.” Just being in his office terrified me. Touching what he touched. Sitting where he sat

as he decided who would molest me first. I sucked in a breath and coughed as it stuck awkwardly in my chest. Not a good sign. I forced myself to move slower. I replaced the drawer with a soft click. The papers on his desk revealed nothing. A contract. A color quarterly report stuffed under a gold and marble clock. No pictures of his family? No trinkets or memorabilia? I doubted his computer desktop was filled with a collage of my step-brothers as little boys, running on a beach or climbing around the Santa Cruz Mountains. Hell, I couldn’t imagine it, but I hardly understood Nicholas Bennett now. I couldn’t picture him as a child. Just as I couldn’t imagine what our son might look like. The trembling returned. The search was supposed to distract me, not force my thoughts into the mire that was the bedroom’s tossed blankets and discarded clothing. He slept beside me all night. Why the hell would he do that? I still felt his warmth, imagined his touch, and wetted for whatever else he wished to give. I hadn’t protested when he woke me by entering me again. He simply answered a prayer I offered in my dream. Had he not taken me, I might have asked for it anyway. Of all the foolish, incomprehensible, dangerous things I ever did, offering myself to Nicholas would only end in my ruin. And yet I knew I’d do it again. “Idiot,” I whispered. “Probably have brain damage from the attack or something.” The drawer next to Darius’s computer housed only tax information for the house. The second drawer contained copies of important documents—insurance, birth certificates. I pulled a paper from an older folder. A death certificate. Helena Bennett. 1998. Nicholas’s mother? I tucked it into the folders. Not the memento I would have kept. The chair tripped me as I clattered to the bottom drawer. I bit my profanity and yanked the door. A manila folder rested over a collection of other papers and leather binders. I recognized my handwriting on the paper that slipped from the

pile. My research. “Son of a bitch.” I lifted the folder. It contained every scrap of my research journal. Ripped from the book. Photocopied. Vandalized. The journal had been stripped. Undoubtedly scanned and cataloged and critiqued by his research team at whatever division of Bennett Agricultural Supply he deemed fit. This violation prickled my skin more than any touch, lick, or bite. Nicholas’s desire coated me from the inside, but I hated the bile thickening in my stomach more. I flipped through the pages. It was all there though mostly out of order. They even copied my doodles and bubble letters scrawled in the margins of the notebook when I got too tired to read the figures on my labs. My life was in this research—everything that had been me before my family died. I had a plan. A future in a field that I liked and something I was good at. Something that would have made Dad proud. Cutting edge, ridiculously bad-ass fields that would have helped us. I reorganized the pages, but the newer the date, the less data I had. Numbers and graphs trickled away. A message from Mike scribbled in the corner—a note about Dad’s chemo. Another page passed. I wrote a phone number for the funeral home. I flipped again. The numbers were unreadable. I had to redo the experiment after drinking too much when Mom announced her engagement. Another page. A scribble of dress sizes and shoe dyes Mom requested for the wedding. Then a blank page. Mike and Josiah’s plane crash. The research stopped. The numbers now scrawled between phone messages and dates and endless acronyms of the divisions I was supposed to oversee and the directors I was supposed to help and the endless wills and bonds and assets and liabilities I was supposed to deal with. A yellow highlighter scrawled through one of the columns I listed. Darius marked something. I squinted.

Josmik Holdings. Son of a bitch. How the hell did he keep finding information about the holding? Everything my brothers did was so tied up in wills and trusts I hardly had the authority to run the company, and that was before I opened my mouth and proclaimed Atwood Industries untouchable except for my male heir. Great idea. Darius Bennett knew something about Josmik Holdings. My stomach tensed. That was my key. It wasn’t like I’d find a bloody knife stashed around his office to proclaim his guilt in my father’s death. But money was a weapon that couldn’t be washed in bleach or buried in the backyard, deep and secret. If I could get information about my brothers’ financial secrets—if I learned what they did with all the money they spent—I’d find the evidence of Dad’s murder. Maybe Josiah and Mike had already figured it out, and the proof waited for me to find it. I took my research. The originals were probably in a safety deposit box somewhere, but at least I had something. One mystery solved. How the hell was I supposed to solve the other? What if I couldn’t prove anything that would implicate Darius in Dad’s death? The door’s handle clicked. The bile rushed into my mouth. It wouldn’t matter now, not if Darius killed me for breaking into his office. I tucked the folder under my arm. The door opened. I bolted. Darius roared as I ducked through the doorway, skirting under his arm. He swung, but his fist only clipped my shoulder. I didn’t stop. Except I had nowhere to run. “Little fucking cunt!” His bellow rumbled over the mansion. I sprinted, but my chest tightened almost immediately. I wasn’t recovered enough to marathon around the estate. I avoided the steps and rushed into the kitchen. Darius’s boots slammed behind me. How was a man his age so fast? I scooted around the marble island and dove over the counter, clasping the handle of the chef’s knife imbedded in the butcher’s block. The steel rang as I unsheathed

it. Darius stilled under the kitchen’s archway. He shed his suit jacket and quietly rolled up his sleeves. I regretted not grabbing the cleaver. The grey in his hair hadn’t slowed him, and the cracking of his knuckles heralded a charge. He was older, but his sons were built like him. Strong. Fit. Etched from stone and just as unbreakable. I brandished the knife before me, crossing my arms over the folder. “I should have tied you down like a little whore.” Darius stepped closer. “Gagged your mouth and plugged your ass. Left your cunt exposed for the only goddamned reason you’re of any use to anyone.” “Get away from me.” I aimed the knife like I knew what I was doing. “I swear to God, I’ll hurt you.” “My dear, you’ve never truly experienced pain. It’s about time someone showed you.” He lunged. Instinct won. I turned from him and screamed, kicking at his ankle and sprinting even as he grabbed a lock of my hair. The sting forced tears, but I didn’t stop. I slid around the corner to the dining hall and ducked behind a thick chaise tucked in the front parlor. The dark material stretched to the ground, and I fell to the carpet, pressing my face against the elegant design and silencing my hitching breath with a hand over my mouth. Darius swore, raging down the hall. The powder room door crashed against the wall before slamming shut with a hideous crack. I ducked farther down, my fingers trembling over the knife. Christ. What the hell was I supposed to do? My mind blanked in terror. Only one thought broke through the panic. Nicholas. Where was Nicholas? I peeked over the couch. Darius’s fury overturned chairs within the smoking room. I had a decent head start for the stairs. Upstairs had closets to hide in. Dark corners. I’d have to use the knife. I almost heaved.

I hurried over the chaise and scrambled through the parlor. I wasn’t watching where I ran. I searched over my shoulder for Darius and crashed into a solid chest instead. Someone seized my wrist and twisted. The blade dropped to the floor. Reed. He clapped a hand over my mouth before I screamed. I fought his grip, but he shook his head, the questions in his voice icing over as he realized my cheeks wetted with tears. I clutched the folder. I protested as he peeled the research from my hands, but he released me. “Downstairs.” He picked the knife off the floor and shoved the folder within the couch cushions. “Downstairs,” he hissed. I stepped away. He continued down the hall, calling to his father. “Hey! Why the hell is everyone screaming?” Reed, dear-heart of the Bennett clan and a friend who deserved a better partner at Mario Kart. I hurried down the stairs as he delayed Darius. Not that I knew where I was going. The estate was huge, a sprawling complex of marble, granite, and hardened masonry. The polished steps glittered gold in false warmth. I leapt down the last three stairs and turned hard to my right. Nope. The room spawned into a giant gym, lit by fluorescents and cluttered with weights and machines and no easy way to escape. I turned, losing myself in a game room. Promising, but too open. A plasma television built into the wall, surrounded by black leather furniture perfect for the Bennett’s man cave. A beautiful bar was captured in the glow of an unlit fireplace. I ducked into the corner. I couldn’t hide under the poker or ping pong table. The room housed pinball machines and old arcade styled games that looked much easier on an iPhone. I’d be spotted behind them. I swore and hid in the bathroom, crouching between the toilet and sink like a damn coward. I shivered. Reed would protect me just as well as Nicholas. I hoped. Stay in the room. Goddamn, I hated that he was right.

But Nicholas wouldn’t let his father hurt me. Not after all the declarations masquerading as endearments. If he wanted me, if I was supposed to be his, he’d have to prove it by protecting me. I’d never fight my step-brothers again if they kept me safe from Darius Bennett. Reed shouted as the lights flickered on in the game room. I wound myself into a tight ball. It did nothing. Darius’s foot cracked through the door. The wood splintered over me, as sharp as the dragging clutch of his nails against my shoulder. Reed called for him as he heaved me from the bathroom. “You little bitch!” Darius tossed me against the pool table. I crept backward but lost a fight with my lungs. I didn’t dare run as I sputtered and coughed. Reed hadn’t moved to intercept his father. He wouldn’t abandon me. He wouldn’t let Darius… “Get on your knees,” Darius growled. “Dad,” Reed said. “Easy. She’s still sick.” “She’s not sick. She’s dead. On your fucking knees.” I didn’t move. Reed edged closer, but he didn’t have Max’s aggression or Nicholas’s demeanor. Darius ignored him. He grabbed a pool cue from the display against the wall. Reed lunged for me. He didn’t make it. The pool cue slammed against my back, driving me to the floor in a flash of pain. The stick splintered in two. I screamed. Didn’t matter. Darius had another. I covered my head as a second strike rained over me. The third lashed my shoulder, thudding hard against bone and instantly welting. I struggled, but Darius ceased his beating only to point the cue at Reed. “One step, boy, and I fuck her ass with it, do you understand?” Reed swore. “Jesus Christ, she’s just a kid! Let her up!” The cue slammed against me. I rolled, but Darius crushed the second stick against my ribs. My vision flashed white. My chest heaved without air. “She’s not a kid. She’s your sister, our fucking whore.” Darius seized the broken cue and lifted me by my shirt. I fought against his arms. “And it’s time she learned

her goddamned place in this family.”

16

NICHOLAS

S arah screamed. Terrified. Trapped. Pained. I kicked the chair from my desk and slammed the phone console. The conference call had been on speakerphone, and her shrieking silenced the conversation. I batted the phone off the hook and offered a false chuckle. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” My hand cracked the receiver. “I need to postpone this meeting. I’ll email you a time when we can next convene.” I crashed the phone onto the cradle. Sarah screamed again. The haunted agony in her voice would shatter bone. Or maybe that already happened. No woman screamed like that without cause. I sprinted from my office, jogging the steps two at a time to the foyer. Max peeled from around the corner, bare chested and wet from the shower. He tugged his pants over his hips. “Dad’s got her.” Max dried his face. “Jesus.” I didn’t answer, and I didn’t wait for my brother to limp down the stairs. Sarah had quieted, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. Or worse. I knew what my father planned for her. The sexual abuse was left to his sons—as though he offered us a gift. He expected our savagery over a woman without the strength or ability to protect herself.

And yes, part of me enjoyed that. Part of me wanted nothing more than to have taken her again—forced her to her knees if only to hear that timid, uncertain mew of my name as my cock sunk within her. But I hadn’t made her scream. Or cry. And I’d never, ever hurt her. My father wouldn’t understand that, but he hadn’t held her, tasted her, breathed her. He hadn’t experienced her heat or how beautiful she looked arched in pleasure as her body milked every ounce of desire from me. And he would never experience that. The rage seared through me. Hot, white, deliberate flashes of hatred and disgust blinded my sight. I hadn’t run through the halls of the estate since I was a child— since my father slammed me against the wall and slapped me across the face while reminding me Bennetts didn’t run. Others waited for us. And so they did wait. My family waited while my mother rushed me to the dentist to repair my broken molar from his swipe. Sarah’s cries shrilled in the game room. I launched inside as my father tangled her within his arms, tearing the clothing from her flailing, bruised body. He hauled her around the waist, forcing her against the pool table. He didn’t stop as she gasped in a shocked pain. The tattered shirt ripped from her shoulders. She kicked as he reached for her pants. He slapped her face. “What’s happening here?” I didn’t swear. I didn’t attack. I didn’t even look at my fucking brother as Reed paced the room, begging him to be careful with the girl. My father’s assault slowed. He parted from Sarah’s spread legs just as he finally managed to unbutton her jeans. She didn’t roll away when he turned. I didn’t know if she could. Shatters of the pool cues splintered over the floor. A leather chair toppled before the television. Broken glass glittered on the bar. My father’s knuckles bled. Sarah coughed. “Your sister misbehaved.” Goddamn it.

I gritted my teeth. I told her to remain in her room. She promised. But the Atwoods never were trustworthy. I learned that lesson seventeen years ago, and I prided myself on never allowing their false words to determine the future of my company or to interfere with the safety of my family. But Sarah Atwood wasn’t Mark. She didn’t realize the power she held or the threat she posed or how everything she represented would eventually destroy our empire. She was just a girl. Tiny. Fragile. Stubborn. Passionate and strong. And my father would break her for it. I should have left her retrained. It would have been an act of compassionate foresight. Instead, it was my weakness that trapped her within his arms. “What has she done?” I asked. Sarah stirred, her fingers grasping the pool table for leverage to slide away. My father hadn’t granted her permission to move. He raised a hand. She screamed before it pitted in her gut. Reed grabbed my arm as I rushed the table. The only good he did so far. “You little sister trespassed where she didn’t belong.” I frowned. It was his second incestuous reference. Either he knew how uncomfortable it made Sarah, or he liked the implication more than I realized. His trousers tented. It sickened me. Violence enthralled him, and the helpless girl groaning under his hand would only excite him. “She broke into my office.” He teased her with the jagged edge of a broken pool cue. “Attempted to steal some of my belongings.” “My…journal…” Sarah gasped. My father thrust the splintered cue at her throat. He pushed until she whimpered. “Sarah, quiet,” Reed said. “Just stay quiet.” Was she suicidal? The idiot girl would willingly climb into the lion’s den and hope the prowling beast wouldn’t rip her to shreds? “Little girls aren’t supposed to leave the bedroom.” My father licked his lips. He jerked the button of her jeans open, gripping the denim. “From now on, we’ll have to ensure you can’t get out of bed.”

“Let me talk with her,” I said. My heart pounded white sparks of fury as Sarah struggled to prevent my father from removing her jeans. “I’ll find whatever it was she stole.” “So will I.” The pants ripped down. Her pale panties clashed against the violent red felt of the table. She scrambled backward. The shattered pool cue jammed between her legs. My father scowled. “Either she apologizes, returns what she took, and proves her obedience, or…” The wood pressed hard against the gentle cotton of her panties. My stomach pitched. Every shred of rationality drained from my blood, my mind, my muscle. “I’ll dig my fucking way to her goddamned womb and make sure a Bennett jerks off in there.” “I’ll take care of this.” My voice hollowed as Sarah trembled against the bite of the wood. “Leave her to me.” “No.” My father ripped the bra from her shoulders. The panties tore next. “I’ll teach this lesson.” Helpless. Fucking helpless. Sarah pawed the pool table. Her bare skin had been a gift, hidden from view in the darkness of the night, wrapped around me in the morning. Every secret exposed, every little heat and slickening petal a treasure reserved for me. She shrieked, kicking and punching and attempting to cover herself. Now her nudity wasn’t a gift. It wasn’t beautiful. It was agonizing. A thick strip of wood rested at my feet. I picked it up, spinning the shard within my fingers. Sarah yelped as my father pinned her neck against the table, slapping her breasts twice, three times, just to watch the blossoming pink bruise spread over a dark welt left by the pool cue. He’d hurt her. He’d kill her. And the only way to stop him existed in a pool of blood. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. The wood cracked in my hand. I lunged forward.

Max’s punch to my kidney nearly toppled me to the ground. He pitched the splinter away and shoved me aside. “Dad.” Max curled his hands within the towel wrapped over his shoulders. He brushed it through his wet hair. “I was supposed to fuck her tonight. I’ll take care of her.” Reed helped me to my feet, though my murderous intent burst for Max instead. He expected it. The simple shake of his head warned me. My stomach heaved. Was I really about to kill my father? Jesus. My father arched an eyebrow. “Can you handle her, Max?” My brother shrugged. “I tend to be a disciplinarian by nature. I’ll ensure she learns her lesson before, during, and after I breed her.” Sarah shook her head. My father uncurled the hand from her throat. I didn’t recognize my voice. “I thought we had an arrangement.” “Nicholas, the situation has changed.” He stroked Sarah’s side, brushing his hands along her lower belly. She flinched as he parted the soft folds of her slit. “The girl must be disciplined properly to learn her place within our home.” “I can teach her.” He nodded. “Son, she will learn how to behave once she’s impregnated. We can’t delay it, not if she’s acting out. Pain is an excellent motivator.” A shard of glass dropped from Reed’s hand. He hid his bloody palm in his pocket. “Max’ll do it,” Reed said. “I trust his abilities. His girls are always so…” He held my gaze. “Respectful.” My father grinned. “A man after my own heart.” Max stared at the naked, trembling girl. “I’m just old-fashioned. I teach women to respect me before I bed them.” I tasted blood. Reed’s stare was enough of a warning. Max would take her then. Punish her. Beat her.

Fuck her. And I knew why. The frustration would shatter my bones, rend my muscles, and choke me on the unspoken profanities. My father would forever scar Sarah Atwood. At least Max would leave her alive. My father released Sarah and tugged on his suit, brushing away the straying bits of glass and wood from his rampage. His demeanor once again encompassed a sense of composed calm, but I saw through shell of a man. Evil lurked behind his passive nod. “She’s yours then, Max,” he said. “Do with her what you will.” Sarah tucked her legs under her as she struggled to escape the pool table. Max snapped his fingers at Reed. “Borrow your belt?” He asked. Reed had no problem offering Sarah up, but the son of a bitch would give us away. His delay lasted a second too long. Max sneered, but Reed moved before he barked the order again. His hands jerked over the belt. He tossed it to Max. He turned, but my father’s command prevented him from escaping. “You will watch this,” he said. We all would. We all deserved to suffer. Max tested the leather belt, but the loop he created wasn’t meant to lash her. Sarah flinched and shielded her face as though she expected a strike. Her eyes flashed pale, wide and terrified. My heart would shatter with her. She didn’t know it, couldn’t possibly understand it, but sacrificing her to my brother was the only way she’d live to hear my apology. Sarah flinched from Max, but she couldn’t escape his authority. The belt jerked over her neck. She fought. Ripped at the leather, struggled to get away. “Enough.” Max had no patience. He immediately tightened it too hard around her throat. Sarah choked, but she should have been accustomed to losing her breath. She went still. Max waited, counting the passing seconds as he earned her fear. Sarah gasped as he finally let her breathe. He fashioned the belt into a leash and tugged. “Come with me, baby,” he said. “Follow close.”

She no longer looked at me. Her shoulders sagged. Abandoned. I’d have taken the pain to spare her what was coming. Max helped her from the pool table, an arm around her waist. She crumpled to her feet, but attempted to rise. Max gently twisted his fingers in her hair and tugged on the leash. “No, no,” he whispered. “Crawl for me.” She shuddered. My father laughed. Reed met my stare. A plea to stay quiet. Strength to endure it. The unspoken order to hide my rage to protect the girl. And I’d do it. I’d let Max ruin her if only because Sarah Atwood clawed her way under my skin and burrowed deep where she didn’t belong. Her fight, her desire, her delirious heat. She filled my head with unnecessary confusion and dirtied my fingers with dirt from her grave. Keeping her for myself was a dangerous lust. My father would have noticed. Every second she spent wrapped in my arms was more reason for him to steal her and leave her bloody and broken. To him, Sarah wasn’t a woman. She was an enemy to be bred and a fortune to acquire. Her womb was the only reason she lived, and she was fortunate for the opportunity to offer it to us. The Mediterranean styled bar set apart from the game room with rolling arches and lavish tiles. Max wrapped the belt over a column and forced Sarah to straddle the marble. He tangled her hands in the bound leather and pushed her forward until she pressed her breasts hard into the stone. “Flogger or crop?” Max played with her hair, carefully tugging it from under the leash so as not to pinch her. Sarah shook her head. He patted her cheek and asked again. Her bare shoulders trembled as she clutched the column. “Flogger. Or. Crop?” Her voice wavered. “I…don’t know the difference.” The poor girl. My father laughed. “Flog her. It’ll teach a greater lesson.” He settled within a leather chair, admiring how Sarah curled around the column. She cradled against it, either trying to break through or find a way to hide her nudity.

I should have stopped it. I should have taken her, let her cling to me, protected her. But my father watched for signs of disobedience. He expected my fight. Now was not a time to challenge him. Not with the plans I had in motion, and the deals I made in the quiet dark of betrayal. More was at stake than the lovely paleness of Sarah’s unbroken skin. Billions of dollars, each and every penny depending on his life. If he believed I was anything but his devoted heir, the company would fall. And if he thought I forged any sort of loyalty to Sarah Atwood, the girl would be flayed alive. Had I plunged that wooden shard into his side, we’d have lost everything—the company, the money, and our freedom for the crime. Sarah unwillingly sacrificed another innocence for the Bennett family. Max grazed the soft skin along her back. She winced as his hand drifted low, just barely touching the curve of her ass. He pushed her high onto her knees, encouraging her with a whisper. “I’ll return,” he said. “Stay still, baby.” Max moved quickly, nodding to our father and limping only once he believed no one looked. I distracted myself at the bar, preparing three tumblers of whiskey. My father accepted the glass with a grin. He gestured to the seat beside him. Sarah couldn’t see me behind her, but I saw everything. I’d watch it all. Every bite of the flogger. Every blossoming bruise. Every cry. And I’d make sure this was her last punishment. Max returned, and Sarah flinched with each of his lumbering, uneven steps. She squeezed the column. “Max, please…” Her whisper hadn’t broken yet. The shadow of pride lingered in her plea, like she bargained for her freedom. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll behave. I’ll go to my room. I won’t bother anyone—” The flogger whistled before it struck. Sarah’s words curled into a surprised, blistered scream. She slammed against the column, but the belt prevented her from escaping. She crumpled. Max gripped her hair and moved her back into place. “You aren’t to make a sound,” he said. My father snorted. “Make her scream. Let her realize no one will come to save her.” “No.” Max stared at the pink welts creeping over her back. He rubbed a hand over the tender area. “She gives me a headache.”

Sarah would be silent if we forced her to scream, and she’d shriek if we demanded she remained quiet. She swore between gasped breaths, but the insults lessened as Max called to me. “Nick?” He waved a hand. “Your tie?” He was smarter than my father believed. He took Reed’s belt, my tie, and he bluffed him into thinking we got off on the charade. The designer tie was one of many, but at least it looked as good resting between Sarah’s lips as it did complimenting my suits. The dark silk knotted within the pale blonde of Sarah’s hair. She fought it, only until the tickle of the flogger brushed her side. Max praised her behavior. She wouldn’t be passive for long. He stood and surveyed his prey. Max wasn’t a subtle man. I understood his preferences even if I didn’t particularly share his methods. The flogger flicked over his hands. Sarah wasn’t prepared for his strike. The leather kissed her skin before biting. A jagged crisscross of welts rose from where he previously hit. Her cry muffled. Both Max and my father enjoyed it. Reed downed his whiskey without a sound. Another swipe. Sarah jerked, and Max wove his hand over her neck, brushing her fine blonde hair to admire the redness he created. A third hit. Sarah coughed over my tie. Whatever she said was lost within the struggle. It hadn’t been polite. I credited Max’s forethought in gagging her. The fourth hit startled her. The fifth pained her. And the six drove her to tears. She sunk against the column, gasping for air and fighting to stretch the aching skin flushing her back. Her fight earned her no mercy, no pity. The belt only tightened around her neck. The next strikes crippled her in a breathless agony. Quick flicks of Max’s wrist sliced her skin. The leather wrapped over her sides and tucked against her thighs. It nipped the sensitive welts already abused from my father’s assault.

Max flogged her, but his attack was less severe than the beating with the pool cue. How the hell could my father hurt such a delicate creature? The whiskey soured, but its fire extinguished whatever foolish pride might have prevented any more of the spectacle. Sarah should have known the consequences. She shouldn’t have left her room. She shouldn’t have tested me, teased me, enthralled me with her touch. I should never have let her go. Her weeping drove my father to the edge of his seat. His hands wove over themselves, as though imagining touching her bruised skin. I trembled in a untested fury. Max knew what to do. Another strike conquered Sarah. She sunk to the floor when her knees no longer supported her. She didn’t bother hiding her breasts. Her legs twisted, but the pink promise between her thighs flashed to everyone. The temptation destroyed us all. Sarah couldn’t fight. She wouldn’t struggle. She’d offer before the flogger touched her again. I would have taken it. Not a man alive wouldn’t have launched, buried himself inside her, and marked her for his own. I wondered if she’d ever forgive us. I wondered more when I started to care. The flogger dropped. Max’s quick glance was enough of a warning. “She’s ready.” He seized the belt and released her from the column. “I’ll keep her in one piece.” My father surveyed her injuries once more. “She’s meant to be bred. Do whatever you wish, but seed her cunt when you’re done.” “Of course.” Sarah gripped the leather around her neck as we rose. Reed disappeared. I lingered, buttoning my jacket. She fumed in spitting hatred. Her teeth ground against the tie. Sarah imagined it was me. It was the first logical thought the girl had.

And I’d let her hate me. I’d let her curse me. I’d let her blame me. What was about to happen would be far worse than enduring her temper. I left Sarah Atwood, naked and helpless, within the arms of my brother. And I could do nothing to protect her from his desire.

17

SARAH

T

hey left me alone with Max.

I sunk against the column. The belt around my neck constricted. I didn’t want to be flogged anymore. I hated my nudity. I ground my teeth into the tie. It tasted of salt. Tears. Humiliation. How dare they beat me? I expected it from Darius Bennett. Hell, I was surprised I still lived. The chase through the house only delayed his rage. I should have realized the hunt excited him. I had no idea it would thrill his second son as well. Max gifted me a sanctuary to recover from my asthma attack, and he anticipated my needs in the hospital. But that didn’t make him an ally, and I’d forever regret even considering that any Bennett might have helped me. My step-father controlled everyone and everything within the estate. No one would help me. No one would save me. They all would eventually hurt me. Including Nicholas. Foolishness bound me to the column, not the leather belt strapped around my neck. I was beaten because of my idiocy, arrogance, and naivety. It was my fault I now faced Maxwell Bennett. But I thanked my every fading fortune that I was not at Darius’s mercy. “Are you hurting, baby?” Max unraveled Nicholas’s tie. I debated staying quiet. I wasn’t that strong. “What do you think?” The flogger rose and fell before I prepared for it. The leather lashes stung against my heated skin. I yelped, crashing against the marble.

“I think you should be more respectful,” he said. “Hard to respect a man wielding a weapon.” “I’ll use my hand if you prefer.” “You’re a monster.” Max circled me. He bent at the waist, tipping my chin with the flogger. The soft leather surprised me. It burned like fire against my back, but teased like a caress when he wished it. I tried to hide my breasts. “I asked if you were hurt.” His voice edged hard. Not the conquering cadence of Nicholas. A touch of violence and threat shadowed his words. Max wasn’t wearing a shirt, though the sleeves of tattoos and tribal thorns obscured most of his skin. The ink practically pulsed in the sheer strength of his form. Muscle upon muscle. Whatever he did wasn’t a workout, it was obsession, a compulsion to become bigger, stronger. I wasn’t ashamed that my gaze drifted over his body, away from the dark severity of his features and onto the remorseless strength pooling in the twitching of his pecs, the steady breathing rocking his abs, and lower. A thick V defined his hips, and his hardness held his trousers upon his waist. He favored one leg. Had my hands not been tied, I might have struck at his injury. But I behaved. Even with a bad leg, I wasn’t fast enough to escape from a man so fiercely sculpted. “Sarah,” he said. “Tell me if you’re okay.” Like he deserved to know. “I’m still breathing.” “I’ll take it.” The flogger jerked away. I flinched with it. I wished he’d release the belt around my neck. Instead he made me crawl to him as he sat in one of the leather chairs. He tugged the leash, forcing me between his legs. He admired my nudity and all the shivers that rolled over me. The belt pinched before I considered popping him where it counted. I forced myself still, hoping he wouldn’t strangle me in some perverted kink I didn’t understand. “You haven’t thank me,” he said. “Why would I thank you?” “I just saved your life, baby.”

I shivered. “You beat me.” “And had it been my father, you’d be raped with a broken pool cue, beaten, and left to bleed out in the garage.” He jiggled the belt and smirked. It didn’t soften his expression. I didn’t think anything would. “You’d be dead, sis. So you better thank me for saving your beautiful ass.” Christ, he was telling the truth. Darius would have murdered me. But what did Max expect in exchange for his kindness? “Thank you,” I whispered. “Good girl.” “Can you let me go now?” “Not a chance.” I kicked. The leash tugged, and I fell deeper into his lap. My bare breasts pushed against his legs. “I didn’t say to move,” he warned. “Max, please.” “Please, what?” He laughed. “You don’t get it, do you?” “Get what?” “That this?” He caressed the belt wrapped over my neck. “This is your life now.” “It doesn’t have to be,” I whispered. “You don’t have to do this. You could let me go.” “Did Nick let you go last night?” I didn’t look away in time. He saw my blush. Worse, he felt me tense. Max sensed every bit of betrayal and anger, confusion and blame I pitted on his brother. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “Nick does what’s expected of him. Always did. Always will.” “It doesn’t matter what he did. Forget him.” “Can you?” “Max, I’m asking you. Please. You don’t have to…to…” “Fuck you?” He studied my body. The flick of his eyes over my bare form was every bit as humiliating and degrading as he could make it. “Yes. I do.”

“Why?” “Because my father expects it.” He jerked the belt. I resisted, but he tugged and toppled me on his chest. My palms rested against his muscle. His whisper added yet another tension around my neck. “And because I want to fuck you.” “You want to hurt me?” “You’ve been calling the Bennetts monsters ever since we met. Consider this your validation.” “You could be different.” “I’ll only say this once, baby.” Max drew me closer. “I’m not Nicholas.” “I never said you were.” “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Of course you don’t.” The heat from his body passed into me. I shouldn’t have gotten that close. I didn’t understand what was happening. His muscles flexed. The panic fogged my mind. He’d break me in two. “Do you get off on this?” I whispered. “Beating women?” “Yes.” “Why?” “What’s not to like?” Max shifted me to the floor. He kicked at my knee and adjusted the belt, forcing me to sit with my legs open. He saw everything. I raced the twisting of my stomach to cover myself before the shame colored me pink. “You’re a beautiful woman,” Max said. “And you’re helpless. I enjoy that.” “Monster.” “You like it too, baby.” His words resonated deep within my belly. I didn’t cower as he loomed over me, not when he would have liked it, gotten off on it, and used it against me. I braved his dark gaze. I wish I hadn’t looked. “I don’t like this,” I said.

“You’ve already submitted to me.” “You’re delusional.” “I’ll show you.” The flogger danced across his hand. I whimpered as it crossed over my chest, catching my nipple within the sting of the leather. “You like the fight,” he said. “You like resisting. Challenging us. Thinking you have a choice.” “I do have a choice.” “You don’t.” He silenced me with another slice of the flogger against my belly. “And the sooner you realize it, the safer you’ll be.” “I’d rather be in danger than become a toy for a Bennett.” “Then you’ll be both, and you’ll still lose.” The damn leather again. I yelped as he struck only to watch my body welt. I hid a lot of things, but the sting was as impossible to conceal as the streaks of pink spread in its wake. It wasn’t fair. “Are you afraid of me, baby?” He asked. Why lie? “Yes.” “Good.” I tensed as he stood, preparing for the inevitable strike of the flogger. It didn’t come. Instead, he grunted and rubbed his thigh. Even he couldn’t hide everything. I took a chance. “What happened to your leg?” The weapon didn’t crash down. He permitted my question, though his harsh sneer faded within a tense moment. “What do you think?” He kept his hair cropped short. Worked out. Inked most of his body. Held his head high. “Military accident.” I said. “You got hurt in the army.” “Reserves. And no. I never saw any action.” He tapped his leg. “Titanium rods. Shattered my femur, knee, tibia, and fibula, shredded everything, in a car crash. They should have taken the damn leg.”

An anger shadowed his admission. I braced myself as the flogger rose again to punish me for my curiosity. The leather didn’t strike. He rolled it over my arms, my side. A shiver caught me. How did something painful still feel so soft? “You have no idea what’s happened, do you, baby? Not in this house. Not in our lives.” I swallowed. “So explain it to me.” He didn’t. The flogger rushed down, striking my back once more. I bent forward, unintentionally offering him just another bit of sensitive skin to claim, another moment to watch me groan. He didn’t hit as hard, and the sting washed away too quickly. I feared the warmth it left behind more than the bite. Another hit. I bit my lip, but the gasp still mewed too much. Max twisted the ends of the flogger and pushed. I flushed as my chest presented to him. The leather kissed my breasts. The sharp prickle morphed into something… different. My core clenched. What was happening to me? “I need your help,” Max said. The flogger snapped again, but the confusion shielded me from the pain. “And I’ll make you a deal to get it.” “…What?” The flogger cracked harder. “Don’t move. Don’t open your fucking mouth. You’re going to listen now, and you’re going to think long and hard about what’s best for you.” Another hit, this one grazing my belly. The fine trail of the leather dipped a little too low. A sharp peck struck between my legs. I collapsed onto the floor. Max didn’t care. The heat didn’t either. A rush of dizzying adrenaline protected my sensitive slit. I shuddered as it rolled over me. It hurt. It warmed. It tingled.

“What can I offer you?” I swallowed. “You’re the one with the whip—” He hit. Harder. I cried out against the stinging crash of the leather. He hadn’t broken skin. Hadn’t bruised me. Hadn’t seriously harmed me. But the stings dug deep, like Max understood the raw ache his instrument caused. I shuddered against the next smack. “It’s a flogger, baby. Get used to it. You’ll be experiencing it a lot. Does that scare you?” Depended on who held the weapon. I didn’t answer. He tickled the leather through his fingers. “Listen, Sarah. Be smart about this. You are going to do everything I say.” “Why?” “Because if you submit to me, if you swear you won’t resist me…” The flogger pressed against my lips. He waited for me to kiss it. I obeyed only to keep him talking. “Then I can make it so that I am the only one who hurts you every again.” “I don’t….” My words faded. “Is that supposed to comfort me?” He bent down, his bad leg awkwardly supporting him. No matter how unsteady his step, the darkness of his expression, thickness of his jaw, and intensity of his presence revealed a man far stronger than just the physical strength bulking his muscles. I might have cowered in his stare, but I saw no cruelty. None of Darius’s blind hatred. Sadism, but no brutality. “If I hurt you, I can protect you.” Max whispered. “That doesn’t make any sense.” “I’ll tell my father I’ll take complete control over your discipline, and he’ll agree.” He was lying. Had to be. “Yeah, and Nicholas said he would be the only man to fuck me. What makes you think you can convince Darius?” “Nicholas pushed his luck, and my father hates when people question him.” Max brushed my cheek. “But he would let me be the one to break you.” “Why?” “Because hurting people is all my father trusts me to do. I’m the second born. I scavenge for whatever piece of the company I’m allowed to claim. Nick has an image to maintain. I get what he doesn’t want dirtying his hands.” None of this made any sense. I picked my words with caution. “What if I say no?”

“Then the next time you act out, my father will take pleasure in satisfying every last vendetta he has against your family.” “And how would you help me?” The flogger tickled my breasts. My nipples hardened against the gentle tail. “I don’t want to kill you. I want to break you. Watch you submit. Keep you quiet and tame while everything comes undone.” “As appealing as that sounds…” I steadied myself. “I’m not choosing which Bennett I prefer to beat me.” “Do you want my father to hurt you?” “Do you?” I didn’t bother fighting the leash. “No? Then don’t offer to hurt me for him, just stop Darius from doing this!” “We can’t.” “No. You won’t. There’s a difference, and I’m the one who gets hurt because of it.” “We’ve all earned our beatings, baby. Believe me.” Max’s grip might have broken the flogger in half. He swore, twisting the leather. His eyes darkened. “Will you help me?” “I can’t do anything for you.” “Yes, you can. He needs you to behave.” “Who?” The flogger cracked hard. I gasped as Max growled over my pain. “Nicholas.” The heat ground within me. His name shivered over my every welt and ache. Max didn’t give me time to recover. “You have to be compliant. You have to obey us and do as we say even if it means getting fucked like a little whore. Make my father think you’ve given up. Let him believe he’s won.” “Why?” “Because Nick is plotting a takeover of the Bennett Corporation.” The shock pounded my chest like an instant asthma attack. My first breath was ravaged by sheer, perverted excitement. It bound my pain and melted it into beautiful relief. I stared at Max. “Are you serious?”

“My father is running our company into the ground. We’re losing money. Losing investors. Nick isn’t a man to inherit a problem. He’s taking control now.” “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “You aren’t a threat to us, baby.” “I must be, or I wouldn’t be your prisoner. You wouldn’t be asking for my submission. I wouldn’t be…” I quieted over the words. “I wouldn’t be bred by you.” “Mark sealed your fate. Don’t blame us for taking what is offered.” “It’s not offered.” “Isn’t it?” Max brushed his hand through my hair. “What would you give to see Darius Bennett humiliated by his own sons? Dethroned and cast aside. Left with nothing?” I practically salivated at the fantasy. “What is that worth to you?” Max asked. “Everything.” “Is it worth your submission?” His words curled over my neck, tighter than the belt. He tested just how badly the stirring rage built within me. “Would you spread your legs and let us fuck you, fill you?” “I thought I didn’t have a choice.” “You don’t. Not in this. But you have an opportunity.” “What opportunity?” Max pushed me down, twisting me until I rested on my hands and knees. I squirmed, but his hold on the belt held me steady, exposed and vulnerable. “You can enjoy this.” He could see my every curve. Every shudder. Every single part of me I had kept secret until the Bennetts captured me, stripped me, and tasted me. He didn’t caress me. His hand struck my ass, hard. It should have hurt. It should have mortified me. It should have enraged me. But the proposition was too good to be true. Darius Bennett, displaced by his own son. A secret takeover, a humiliating and

degrading act of aggression that made resting naked and exposed on my hands and knees seem pleasant in comparison. “Will you submit?” Max whispered. His hand warmed over my flesh. The fingers drifted too close to my slit. I squirmed —mostly to escape, but a part of me desperately needed a reassuring touch. He spanked me again. My cry echoed in the room. “What will you do if I submit?” I asked. “I’ll fuck you, baby.” “But…why? If Nicholas takes over—” “I’m not Nicholas.” The warning was sealed with a harder strike. I shuddered, my fingers digging into the carpet. Max wove his hand over my body, touching every place I had been bruised or welted. He didn’t offer his touch to soothe me. He explored. Pushing. Pinching. Earning my protesting squeals and watching as I twisted in my own agony. Was it agony? Nicholas didn’t frighten me. He had no need, not when a single touch, his heated glance, and the oppressive weight of his body over mine dominated me so thoroughly. I allowed myself the pleasure of submitting to a man so formidable, confident, and assertive that it wasn’t humiliating. It was right. But Max? He beat me, and whatever natural reaction I had for Nicholas mirrored in the stinging bite of Max’s hand. The constant strikes confused me. Slap after slap stung, but my skin faded the harshness into a heated protection. What began as pain and fear prickled away, leaving only the pure sensation of his aggression. I swallowed. “Nicholas didn’t hurt me.” Max’s hands gripped my hips. His hardness ground against me. “Baby, I’m always going to hurt you.” I believed him. “If you do this for me, no one else will ever lay a hand on you. I promise. Every lash, every spank, every agony will belong to me.” His words tangled in my mind. How could something so horrible reassure me?

“Can you really promise that?” “My father is looking for a reason to frighten you,” he said. I stilled as his hand looped over my waist, traveling down, down, down. “And he knows I can and will frighten you.” He captured my slit in his hand and smacked it hard enough to earn my squeal. I flinched away, but his fingers found every humiliating and earned wetness caused by his attention. I whimpered, but he ignored my protest. His touch wasn’t possessive like Nicholas’s. He sought my clit and rubbed. Hard. Why did I get wet for him? His intentions were dark. His hand ground my most sensitive area, just to watch how my body pulsed and shivered. I arched as he thrust a finger within me. The tightness gripped him, and I prayed he didn’t feel my shudder. A fool’s prayer. The quick pleasure enhanced the flogger’s bite. Every sensation—pain and pleasure —centered deep inside me. His finger sunk in deep and captured the confusing feelings. “I’m going to fuck you,” Max admitted. “Are you gonna fight me?” “I don’t know.” He tested me, withdrawing slowly enough to earn a protesting moan. “Listen to me, Sarah. We need you to behave. You can distract my father so Nick can make his deals and take this company. That means you doing what we brought you here to do. Last long enough, and we’ll keep you safe.” His hand slipped back to my stomach, caressing the part of me he thought he’d own. “Not a bad trade, baby. You give us an heir, and we get rid of my father. He won’t be able to hurt you or your family ever again. That’s worth a little fuck, isn’t it?” He had no idea. What should have been a punishment and horror became my greatest opportunity. My head rested upon my hands, and my fallen hair hid a revealing smile. Max demanded I submit, but he didn’t know the power that submission offered me. I’d do anything to protect my family—that included indulging the Bennetts. And it also meant deceiving them. I bit my lip, hiding the tease in my voice. “I…guess I have no choice.”

“You never did, baby.” His growl heated the air. His hands claimed my hips once more. The leash tugged, and he pushed my head against the carpet. I shuddered. He wasn’t like Nicholas. Not in his demands. Not in the way he positioned me and readied himself for the taking. I pinched my eyes shut as his pants unzipped. My stomach fluttered, and I counted my staggering heartbeats. It’d be quick. Hard, but I could handle hard. Nicholas was gentle, but even his strokes had verged on overwhelming. My core clenched in a good way. In anticipation. I took an unsteady breath. It was all the permission I could give. Max’s cock pierced inside me. And the undeniable pleasure of his invasion shocked us both. I hadn’t prepared to accept his entire raging thickness—not so soon after Nicholas claimed my virginity and took me in the morning. I stretched, and the heat blistered through me. His cock filled me in an instant. I groaned. So did Max. It didn’t hurt. The slickness coating my thighs betrayed me. Whatever Max did, whatever games he played and pain he caused, wasn’t the sadism I expected. I thought he’d want me to hurt and cry and beg. God, was I wrong. Max forced my submission and rewarded my surrender with pleasure. He grunted, slamming deeper inside of me as my body rejected everything sane and logical and embraced the ache created from his hands. He twisted my pain. Max invaded my mind and shattered my every hope of selfpreservation. What should have disgusted me heated my blood. What might have harmed me wetted me in preparation. I didn’t submit because I chose to surrender. I submitted because I had to. Because Max was too powerful, too strong, too overwhelming to refuse. I reacted to protect myself, forging desire from fear. I quivered under him. My fingers clenched in the carpet, and his thick arms pinned me, teasing with the leash binding me to his body. But I was too small to oppose him and too weak to escape from the barrage of his thrusts. I’d never be able to fight him.

But I wouldn’t have to. Max promised he’d be the one to hurt me. And I believed that promise. I held onto that promise. It was easier to fear one man than defend myself against Darius’s unbridled, murderous rage. Max wasn’t Nicholas. His pace drove me to the floor. His strength slammed against me, as if he wished to hear the scrape of air from my lungs as he fucked. I had no support. No hope. No escape from his thrusts. Who would choose to escape such passion? The untamed and wild dominance stole my fear. I couldn’t fight, and I couldn’t stop the swirling tightness from crippling my body with the shadow of pleasure’s final crest. I fell limp as Max demanded it from me. He positioned my hips to steal my strength. His cock reduced me to a trembling, shivering, desperate shade of myself. I whimpered as my pussy claimed even more of his thickening length. So different from Nicholas. So much rougher than Nicholas. Just as pleasurable. Just as confusing. Was this always how Max fucked? Did he take his pleasure from women as they writhed and begged and endured? This wasn’t sex, it was aggression. He thrived on the power taken from spread legs and animalistic mounting. I wished it hadn’t excited me. I wished my core hadn’t squeezed. Max picked me up, holding me against him as his hips drove his cock deeper, harder, faster, unending. His hand twisted under me, and his fingers teased the sensitive, aching nub. He flicked my clit and thrust faster as I murmured in protest and encouragement. “Come for me, baby,” he whispered. I shook my head. “You said you’d submit.” I said a lot of things. I couldn’t remember any of it now. Max slapped my thigh. The sharp pain dizzied me. I accidentally clenched, and we both surged with the sudden bliss. His cock slowed as I fought the intrusion. He liked that and slapped again. “You’ll lose this fight,” he warned. “Take me. Come on me. Let me break you.”

He couldn’t. I was already broken—enraptured and bewildered and absolutely lost in the Bennett’s power. “Sarah,” Max panted my name. “You gotta trust me. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll give you pleasure. I’ll protect you.” I had no idea what he’d done to me, but one undeniable truth existed in his rampage. I believed Max. And I believed him when he promised Nicholas could end the Bennett cruelty once and for all. Nicholas’s victory was worth offering myself to his brother. The orgasm was meant to shatter, break, and destroy me. The pleasure only strengthened me and revealed both of us to each other. I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. The agony that teased me was better served in utter silence. I arched and tensed as Max pinned me to his chest. I let the humiliation of his punishment coil into something primal and natural. Again and again he struck me. I offered my wetness and reveled in the enraged pounding of his cock. His final thrusts lost me in a haze of passion. I surrendered to pleasure. He came. The squeeze of his hands would bruise my hips. The shudder of his body would forever sear in my mind. The shared passion would bind me to him in a way I didn’t understand. This was submission. So different from the bond with Nicholas, and yet, so physical with Max. His endless heat jetted within me. Again and again, as desperate and forceful as Nicholas. Max fucked as though he were determined to be the one who claimed my body for his own. And maybe he was. The Bennetts promised many things—my safety, my protection—but they all wanted something damning in return. I fell onto the carpet as Max pulled away. A shiver of delicious pleasure rolled though me. I wondered if he’d touch me again. He didn’t. Sadist. I panted, trying to force myself up. The adrenaline and indulgence swirled into a dizzying promise of peace, but the aching bruises and welts crossing my skin

tightened with each passing moment. I’d hurt soon. It didn’t scare me. Max tugged the belt from my neck, his fingers rubbed where the leather had bruised. “You won’t regret this, baby,” he said between harsh breaths. “Nick’s got a plan. If it works, my father won’t ever harm you again.” “But you will.” “I’ll have to.” I briefly touched his hand, but the intimacy frightened me more than anything Darius might have done. I looked down, seizing the moment of submission, the control he so desired over me. The control all the Bennetts wished they had. “Do this for us,” he whispered. “Let us take you and accept what happens to your body. You’ll earn your revenge over my father.” I already had it. Nicholas secured it for me. If I survived, I could have it all. I’d win. And, while I waited, my step-brothers promised me the pleasure of a lifetime. “I’ll help you,” I said. “However I can.” My conscience prickled. I ignored it as Max hiked me in his arms to carry me to my room. He grunted against his leg, but I admired his determination. The injury should have slowed him, just like my asthma complicated everything. But Max wouldn’t let an illness or injury define him. I knew the feeling. He didn’t hide his limp. Christ. He trusted me. Who was making the worse decision—me or my stepbrothers? I only hoped I’d earn their forgiveness as easily as their trust, if only so I’d live to see the end of this madness. But deception was the only way to survive. Until I could punish Darius, see him rot in jail, and watch him suffer at the hands of his eldest son, I’d have to keep my secrets from my step-brothers. But mine wasn’t a secret that would stay hidden for long.

18

NICHOLAS

M y brother was a dead man.

I crashed through his doors, cracking the frame against the heel of my hand. The bone might have splintered as much as the wood. I didn’t care. Max possessed an animalistic strength, but he wasn’t quick. I hauled him from a chair and jerked him enough to unbalance his good leg. His glass of whiskey shattered against the floor. I slammed him into the wall and cursed. “The fuck is wrong with you?” Max swung at me. I wasn’t as easy a target as the girl. I dodged, shoving my forearm into his throat. Max grimaced, but he ceased struggling. “Get your shit together.” He held my stare. “And get your fucking hands off of me.” “Did you hurt her?” “What?” I pressed harder. “Did you hurt her?” “Jesus Christ,” Max hissed. I let him up, watching with mindless satisfaction as he rubbed the soreness from his neck—not unlike the leash he strapped over hers. The belt had bitten into Sarah’s pale skin. She’d be bruised for days. Everywhere. Her back. Her neck. Her entire body. Wherever Max touched, blood followed. Bruises, broken bones, threats, anger, violence.

And Sarah endured it all. “Answer the question,” I said, before imagining her pain drove me insane. “Did you hurt her?” “You saw what I did. Take a wild guess.” “Did you fuck her?” Now he laughed. “Holy shit, Nick. What the hell broke in your head?” “I won’t ask again.” Max ignored me. He limped—more noticeably than usual—to the muted TV. The World War II documentary shut off. A half bottle of whiskey rested on the table. He poured another drink. As if he hadn’t already damaged his leg, Max worked each night to destroy his liver as well. “You’re losing it over an Atwood.” Max offered me a tumbler. I declined. “Not even the right one. She never should have gotten involved in this.” “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We need her.” “Some of us more than others.” “Did you traumatize her?” “Probably.” I exhaled instead of swearing. No sense revealing more of my aggravation, not when I already threatened my brother with the same physical violence he inflicted on the girl. “I had her. It was under control.” My voice lowered. “I tamed her.” Max snorted. “You never had her.” I expected the challenge from Sarah, not my brother. He clinked an ice cube in his drink. “None of us have her,” he said. “She’s got something she’s hiding. Thinks she’s untouchable. She says one thing, believes another, and defies us with every breath she takes.” He sipped the whiskey. “Any punishment that happens is her own damn fault. She’ll be lucky to survive.” I knocked the glass from his hand. “She has to survive!” Max wasn’t deterred. He drank straight from the bottle instead. “Get some perspective,” he warned. “Either have a drink or get the hell out of the

house. If he sees you like this—” I growled. “Like what?” “Like you care about what happens to her.” “Of course I care! Everything hinges on her. Our wealth. Our company.” “Then why are you worried? Between what Dad did and what I finished, she’s not going anywhere. She’s probably sleeping it off now.” I didn’t dare imagine it. Just the possibility rent my mind. The beating was savage, and Max’s punishment severe. What happened after? The softness I claimed during the night might have been defiled. She might have screamed instead of moaned. Bled instead of warmed. Cried instead of experiencing the crested bliss she deserved. I told her to stay in her room. Why the hell hadn’t she listened to me? “She learned her lesson,” Max said. “She’s not tame. Not yet. But she won’t cause problems.” “How do you know?” “When I got her on her knees, I made a deal.” I didn’t get blood on my suits. He was fortunate. I said nothing. “I told her I’d keep her safe if she lays low, lets things happen, gives in to us,” Max said. “She agreed.” “You’ll keep her safe?” “You want Dad beating her? He knows what I like. He’ll give her to me. Let me rough her up when she gets it in her head to fight us.” “So you’ll be the one to abuse her.” “The only one to discipline her.” He saluted me with the bottle. “Come on, Nick. This is why Dad keeps me around. I inflict the pain. Our little sister will learn pretty fucking quick how to behave, and if it gets her the fuck away from Dad? I count that as a win.” “Until you hurt her.” “She was always going to get hurt.”

I didn’t answer. Max frowned. He leaned forward, balancing the whiskey on his bad leg. The alcohol gave him too much courage and not enough common sense. “This isn’t about me.” His laugh grated against the sudden silence of his suite. “Jesus, Nick. Are you fucking jealous?” The conversation wasn’t productive. “Sober up.” “We’re not done.” Max lurched to his feet, preventing my exit. He stepped too close, stared at little too hard. “You come into my room. Slam me against the wall. Fight. You answer my goddamned question.” “I don’t have to answer to you.” Max laughed. “No. You never did, did you?” “Why should I?” “You’re absolutely right.” He extended his arms. “You. Nicholas. The eldest son. The heir. The future of the Bennett Corporation. Who am I to you?” The drink held him. It wasn’t my brother talking. Then again, I wasn’t feeling much like myself either. “This is fucking amazing,” Max said. “I’ve spent twenty-seven years living in your goddamned shadow. Who the fuck would have thought that you, of all people, would be jealous of Darius Bennett’s crippled son?” “You aren’t crippled.” “Might as well be.” Max slammed a hand against his leg. It hurt him. He was too drunk to care. “We all have our roles to play, Nick. You’re the heir, the company is yours. I was supposed to enroll at West Point. Make the family look good and serve the country. I was born just to take the heat off of you when our billions bribed whatever goddamned politician we chose.” He shrugged. “It didn’t happen that way, and Dad’s never let me forget it. And neither will you.” “You’re drunk.” “And you’ve always believed you were better than me.” I said nothing. “All those deals you created and friends you made and negotiations you settled and companies you acquired…” Max coughed over a swig of his drink. “Who wouldn’t be impressed? But what about the men we bribed? Those guys I had to scare. The blood I spilled? Who did that for you? Who stained their soul for you? Who is the one son-of-a-bitch who took that fall so you would be…praised.” “We do everything for this family,” I said. “I’ve always done everything for this

family.” “You thought she’d be yours.” I stilled. Max edged closer. “You thought you could organize this takeover yourself. Kidnap the girl. Steal her fortune, company, and body. You’d get it all if you could just control the girl.” He snickered. “And you can’t.” “I will.” “You know what the best part of all this is?” Max asked. “I suppose you’ll tell me.” “I’ve spent my every waking moment working for this family so you could benefit, and I’ve never once complained.” He laughed. “You’re the one who told me to do this to Sarah Atwood. You’re the one who said she had to be fucked and bred. We had to make a goddamned bastard child so we could claim her company and save our asses. Reed bitched. I told you it was dangerous. But you…” He pointed to his broken door. “You rush into my room and accuse me of hurting the girl when I was just doing what you asked of me, like I always do.” And if he knew why, we’d all be in danger. He was right. My father didn’t need a reason to cast off the weak. Originally, I made the sacrifice and resigned myself to the crime. I accepted that the beautiful girl trapped in her room would be raped, again and again, until our satisfaction grew within her womb. And now? Max stared at me. “Listen to me, Nick. I’m not gonna challenge you. And I’ll do whatever vile and bloody crime this family requires. But…” His smile bared teeth. “Sarah will give us her son. That child will become the newest generation of the Bennett family.” Max leaned close. “I’m not going to stop until I’m sure that Sarah Atwood’s bastard is mine. You can have the company. The glory. The fame. None of it will matter because it will be my son who takes it from you. And Christ, that’ll fucking eat you alive.” Never. I didn’t answer him. It didn’t deserve an answer. It would never be answered. I slammed the door behind me. My brother presumed to take what was mine? Unacceptable. Sarah Atwood belonged to me. Her body. Her submission. Her womb. Everything.

I shouldn’t have gone to her, not raging from my brother’s insubordination. Not so soon after Max had parted from her. It was selfish, even to learn if she was safe, see if she had been harmed, and know if she were frightened. My motivations weren’t honorable. I didn’t act to protect her. I hunted her only to ensure she’d survived. And I’d rescue her—if only to become the man who’d ultimately break her. I had no idea what I’d find in her room. A terrified woman. A beaten and broken girl. An armed and violent Atwood diving for my jugular. I entered and found nothing. Her bedroom was dark, the bed unmade and a pile of tattered clothing tossed haphazardly in the garbage. A robe rested over the blankets. The bathroom door pulled up, but the steam escaped from the sliver she forgot to close. The shower pattered inside. I edged open the door. The heat clouded my already sickened mind. Thick, rolling fog permeated everything, concealing tiles and mirrors and obscuring everything that might have revealed me. She waited in the heat, trapped in the thick air and wrapped in a soft cocoon of quiet. Peace that I eagerly shattered. Whatever had happened hadn’t broken her. She hummed a soft song, and the heavy steam carried a creamy, fruit-kissed scent that watered my mouth as though I had already seized a bite of her. I cast off my jacket. Slipped the tie from around my neck. Her cough stilled my heart. The rasp was too harsh for her delicate frame. All rational thought dissolved within the steam and swirling heat. I pushed the door aside and captured Sarah’s scream with a clapped hand over her lips. She flailed, but I pinned her chest to the wall and drove my body against hers, trapping her between the marble tile and pulsing shower. The water practically scalded me. I didn’t care. The suit clung to my shoulders, and the heavy press of my pants ached with the raging hardness that came alive within sight of Sarah, naked and dripping. I had her in my grasp, exposed for my inspection.

Her body flushed in the heat, but not enough. Thick welts damaged the perfection of her skin. Jarring bruises jutted over her side and ribs from the pool cue so expertly aimed by my father. Hidden beneath the pale blonde locks of her hair, her creamy neck blossomed with a sinister mark. My brother hadn’t even removed the belt when he fucked her. Sarah Atwood called the Bennetts mad. The truth must have hurt as much as her punishment. The marks on her skin, the heat of the shower, and her pale blue eyes would drown me in savagery. Her knees scuffed with carpet burns. I imagined her under Max. He took her like a barbarian. He took her how I longed to take her. Every inch of her perfection and every marred bruise and scratch enraged me. I turned her around, revealing her beautiful chest, flattened belly, and the soft silk between her legs. She hadn’t been spared. A single lash looped over a raspberry pink nipple. What had he done to her? “Nicholas, leave me alone.” She dared to take that tone? She hoped a little pout and hardening her timid voice would deter me from utter perfection? I grasped her cheek, tangled my hand in her hair, and dipped her head for my kiss. I wouldn’t permit her to give me an order, and I’d steal her last breath just to taste how valiantly she fought against me. “Were you harmed?” I grunted as she pushed my chest. She arched, but it only exposed her neck. I dove, nipping at the spreading bruises staining her paleness. “Harmed?” She groaned against my lips. “He beat me.” “Did he…hurt you?” She swallowed. “You know better than to ask me that.” Yes. He hurt her. I watched him beat her. I watched as she struggled against the strike of leather against her flesh. Of course that hurt her. It wasn’t my question. “No,” I whispered. “What did he do to you?”

Her eyebrow rose, a perfect peak that tempted and challenged. “You mean when you left me with Max? When you abandoned me for my punishment?” “Yes.” “I think you can guess.” “I’m not guessing. You will tell me.” I heaved a frustrated breath as she quieted. I didn’t recognize my voice. I didn’t recognize the words. “Please, tell me what he did to you.” “Before or after he fucked me?” Rage. The fiery blindness of gut-wrenching rage flashed in my vision and stole every chill from my body. I erupted in heat and molten agony. Max called it jealousy. It wasn’t. This was something more primal than jealousy. It was need. Obsession. A staked territory and an intrusion of the most mortal mistake. I launched at Sarah, grasping her injuries and her curves, her softness and the aching slit she could no longer hide from me. She weighed nothing. I lifted her against the wall and edged between her thighs. I threatened her with my lust and forced her legs to wrap over my waist. Sarah’s hands tangled in my shirt. I should have ripped the damn thing off. I didn’t need clothes anymore. Why would I ever barricade myself from the woman writhing against me? She arched for me, murmuring my name. I grasped for my zipper and struck her silken slit with a knuckle. It wasn’t only her desire that slickened her. A primitive fury clawed at me. Max came inside of her. “You’re mine,” I growled. “Don’t forget that, Sarah Atwood. You belong to me.” “Are you sure?” She whispered. She tempted a fate she’d never escape. I tensed. “What did he do to you?” “You can figure it out.” “Did you come?” Her expression shifted. The pink kissed her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.

“He didn’t hurt me.” “Wasn’t my question.” My cock released from my pants. She panted for it. I licked her bottom lip. “Tell me if you came on him.” She gripped me tighter. “You don’t deserve to know, Nicholas Bennett.” It was like she got off on challenging me. Like she didn’t understand the game she played or how desperately foolish her resistance would be. I didn’t give her a reprieve. I didn’t ask if she were ready. I didn’t even grant her a moment to adjust. I slammed inside of her, taking every last inch of the body my brother tried to claim. She arched, scratching at me in the pitted heat of my aggression. Her moan shrilled, but the pounding water and closed doors of the estate would prevent anyone from hearing how she cried my name. Her tightness gripped me. Her heat drowned me. Her slickness infuriated me. My brother didn’t deserve to take root within the sanctity of her body. I thrust hard. Instinctual. Demanding. Each forceful push and deliberate pull cleansed her of the past moments and centered her completely on me. Sarah clutched me as I pinned her against the stone. She shook. Her eyes glazed with excitement, but she flared with a heat that seared through me. “I made a deal with Max,” she whispered. Her words chopped as I thrust deeper at the mention of his name. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My cock was too hard and her body too broken for me to concentrate on anything but taking her for my own. I silenced her with a kiss. She resisted. “Nick, what are you planning?” As if fucking one of the most beautiful, temptingly forbidden women in the world wasn’t enough, she demanded I reveal what madness I devised. The sheer power in my plan, the absolute carnage it’d cause and the wealth it’d generate would have hardened me without her heat clutching my cock. “You don’t deserve to know, Sarah Atwood.” Her breathless groan earned my grin—a predatory bite that should have frightened her. Instead she shuddered and pushed against me, trying to unpin herself from my length. It wouldn’t happen.

I fucked her harder, forcing her arms over my shoulder and driving her again and again against the wall until her welted and bruised back punished her for me. She embraced me, whimpering into my neck as the wracking pleasure weakened her within my hold. She panted and cursed me and kissed my neck as my hardness thickened for her. “You’re going to take over the Bennett Corporation.” Her words brushed my skin with silk and sandpaper. “Why?” “I have to.” “Bennetts don’t turn on each other.” I slowed, propping her against the wall to watch the rising of her chest. My movements drew more waves of pleasure from her. She stared at me, wide-eyed, eager. Waiting. It wasn’t an opportunity to capitalize on my family’s misfortune. She genuinely wanted to know what I thought. She wouldn’t like the answer. “I had no choice.” I kissed her lips, her chin, her neck. “You played your hand. I played mine.” “But your father—” “My father demanded we imprison and rape you,” I whispered. “And, had I not convinced Max and Reed to fuck you, he would have killed them.” Sarah stiffened. I didn’t let her escape. It destroyed me more than it hurt her, and the only sanity and reason I could find was buried with her warmth. I moved faster. She shook her head. “He…he’ll kill them?” “I need you, Sarah. More than you know.” “Nick, you can’t…your father wants you to breed me.” “And I will.” “No, listen—” “You have to let this happen. You have to let them take you, and we have to impregnate you.” I kissed her again. Her lips parted. “I will do everything I can to overtake my father, but it depends on you. Everyone’s safety depends on you.”

“Nick, you don’t under—” She groaned. “How can you ask this of me?” “Because Reed will never fuck you. He’ll refuse.” I slowed my movements. “And if he doesn’t take you, my father will.” She tugged me closer. Just the thought terrified her. She couldn’t imagine the horror, but I knew exactly what my father would do to her. He’d kill her. He’d kill Reed. He’d kill Max. And I’d be left with everything and nothing. “You have to convince Reed to take you even if he means he’ll be the one to…” I cursed the thought. “Even if he’s the one to give you a son. I’d rather he claims you —” “No one is claiming me.” Odd words for the woman imbedded on my cock. I thrust deep just to watch as her head fell back. The dark bruises on her neck exposed her shattered innocence and re-forged strength. “You’re wrong.” I held her tight, grinding as deeply within her pussy as I could get. “You are made to be claimed. Built to be taken. Ready to be bred.” Her smile quivered. “And if I’m not?” “It won’t matter. I’ll have you anyway.” She shuddered. The heat pitched within me, and her parted lips whispered my name and secrets and truths I had no patience to hear. I seized her mouth and buried inside her, losing myself with a perfect heat, a stolen body, and my own ragged obsession demanding every ounce of my seed be lost in her tightness. Sarah arched as I did. Cried out as I grunted. Submitted as I took. The heat seared inside her. Jet after jet, promise after promise, intent after intent. Sarah Atwood would be mine. Her body would warm for me. Her will would break. Her pleasure would submit to mine. And the child she’d conceive would belong to me. I’d possess her completely—mind, body, and soul; past, present, and future; in defiance or utter obedience. If she didn’t conquer me first.

19

SARAH

I was to be nude at all times.

Darius’s perversions weren’t sated while he watched Max beat me. The instructions came in the morning. No clothing. No covers. Nothing but the brush of cold air against my aching skin. The remnants of the punishment striped me with bruises. Darius inflicted the worst of it. My ribs screamed from the strike with the cue, and Max’s flogger did the rest. What hadn’t been jostled and pitched, beaten and broken, was driven into the shower wall again and again within Nicholas’s feral thrusting. I despised Nicholas for leaving me with Max. I hated that he returned to mark me as his. And I silently begged he wouldn’t leave me alone for the night. He did, and I slept, but it wasn’t enough. I needed all of my strength for Darius’s next demand. It was Reed’s turn to fuck me, and the thought scared the hell out of all of us. I didn’t fear Reed. He vowed never to hurt me, but I had no idea how he’d react. It was just as likely he wouldn’t touch me. Or, in his kindness, he’d deny his urges and tempt his father to take his stead. And so I was naked, and I hoped my body would appeal to a base impulse buried deep in my step-brother. Darius offered me a new gift. “A proper collar, my dear.” He snapped the leather into place, forcing me to my knees before him. Max handed him a leash—leather, tailored, and remorselessly expensive. “You will crawl for your brothers. Bend over when they say. Present when they order. Take their cocks when they wish.”

I didn’t dare glance to Nicholas, standing silently at his father’s side. I’d already been fucked when they wanted to take me, positioned the way they longed to see me, and filled with their every dark desire. Except I knew something Darius didn’t. Secrets that would tear the Bennetts apart. Secrets my family would have killed to learn. For years, Dad longed to watch Darius Bennett writhe like the worm he was. He didn’t live to see it. But I would. Darius passed Reed the leash. He held it too tightly. I coughed and edged closer to his legs. “She’s all yours, son.” Darius reserved no patience for Reed. His stare bore through him, just as fierce and unforgiving as the flogger stuffed in Max’s pocket. Reed wrapped the leash in his hand, pulling me closer, as though that would protect me from his father. It wouldn’t. Nothing would. But I was glad he did it. “You will fuck her,” Darius said. “Think you can figure it out?” Reed tensed. “Yeah, I got an idea of how it’s done.” “You will come inside her.” “I don’t need instructions.” “Are you sure?” Reed said nothing. Darius scowled. “Don’t worry.” Max snapped the flogger with a sadistic precision. The leather cracked against my side. I lurched onto Reed. He nearly dropped the leash. “Her pussy’s so tight you couldn’t pull out if you wanted to.” My stomach prickled with sickness. The insult came so easily. I curled my fists, hiding the roughened carpet burns from when he took me. Nicholas pulled his phone and answered an email, as though he didn’t even care that his youngest brother held me by a leash and Max gloated his victory over me. God, I was trusting Bennetts. Nothing could be more dangerous, but I wallowed through indignity and regained an ounce of control. It’d be worth it. It had to be. Reed tugged the lead, leaving his father with a humbled nod. I attempted to rise.

Max slashed the flogger again. I dropped to the floor. Nicholas’s bronze eyes briefly passed over me. “Crawl,” Max said. “It suits you.” I shivered. The heavy darkness in his voice carried the same authority as it did on my knees yesterday. He didn’t do it to correct me. He played a game for his father. But what was he thinking? His order would only discourage Reed. I tugged his pant leg to offer my reassurance. Reed ignored me. The hardwood hurt against my raw knees and hands, but it wasn’t as bad as where my skin pulled tight over the welts and bruises. I had to crawl slowly, and I knew, without a doubt, every Bennett savored the view of my slit as my hips rolled. I flushed under my step-brothers’ gazes, but I loathed that Darius saw. He didn’t deserve the sight. Not that my step-brothers did either. What was I getting myself into? I inched over the carpet, stumbling as Reed’s pace increased. He didn’t look at me, and the hard jade in his eyes was not the Reed I knew lingering beneath the shell of the Bennett name. I jerked to keep up with him. Nicholas walked by my side to the stairs. I didn’t want to know how he matched my speed so effortlessly. I didn’t want to know why his presence soothed my jumbled nerves. Every strike that bit my skin faded under his touch. Every humiliation transcended shame and morphed into a beautiful expression of utter lust in his embrace. But every secret I kept from him burdened me with a horrible weight. I should have told him before all this happened. Before Max and the beating, before Reed damned himself to a darkness he didn’t deserve. Before I’d shuddered in absolute pleasure in Nicholas’s arms. Instead, I kept my mouth shut, and now wasn’t the time to blab secrets and jeopardize everything. We reached the stairs. Reed swore as I timidly attempted to push myself along the marble. He reached down, hauled me into his arms, and then settled me over his shoulder. The leash swung free. I didn’t know what to do. I grabbed it, clinging to the leather as Reed adjusted me against his body. “Reed, make her crawl.” Darius’s displeasure echoed in the hall. “How else do you

plan to teach her respect?” “I’m gonna fuck her, aren’t I?” He said. I held tight to him as a simmering rage tensed the muscles pinning me against him. “Christ, all this voyeur shit is getting old. I got her from here.” His shoulder dug into my bruised ribs, but Reed didn’t let me go until he reached his suite. The door slammed behind us. He tossed me on the sofa and immediately covered me with a shirt that missed the hamper by two weeks. “Wear that.” He turned so I could dress. “And take the fucking collar off.” I tugged the shirt on, catching his scent of salt and ocean. Reed’s hair bleached light in the sun. His suite was decorated with surf boards and pictures of reefs and corals. Newspaper clippings and blog posts framed his sea-side décor. I didn’t have to ask why all of his photos were taken when he was a teenager. The surfer in Reed existed in a world before college and Bennett responsibilities. I unraveled the leash as Reed sunk into the chair before the TV. He didn’t turn it on. “I haven’t been in any of your rooms before.” I was reduced to small-talk. My summer finishing classes never taught me how to engage a man ordered to rape and impregnate me. They always were a waste of money. “This isn’t my room,” he said. “But—” “I have a penthouse in San Jose and a home on the coast—Half Moon Bay, for the surfing.” He gestured toward the surfboard on his wall. “But, my father decided that we should all be under the same roof to accommodate our guest.” I hated the edge in his voice. He didn’t look at me. Didn’t move. Didn’t even glance at my bare legs tucked under me as I sat. His shirt hung loose over my curves. It should have comforted me. I felt as exposed as ever. I wasn’t naked, but it was close enough. Stripped and vulnerable and forced into a situation neither of us could handle. Except instead of trembling under Nicholas’s touch or tensing for Max’s punishments, I had nothing forcing us together except Darius’s expectations. Darius would hurt me if Reed didn’t fulfill his duty. And he’d kill my step-brother if I couldn’t convince him to hurt me. I had no idea how to protect either of us.

“I won’t fight you,” I whispered. Reed’s eyes blazed a dark, furious green—not nearly as regal as Nicholas’s constant composure or Max’s haunting reprimand. “I don’t want to do this to you, Sarah.” “I’ll be okay. I can handle it.” “I can’t.” “You won’t hurt me.” “That’s not the point.” I folded my hands before I clenched my fists. My words were too forceful. “I’ll just…lay there. I promise. I’ll look away.” “Jesus Christ.” He stood, knocking over the coffee table with a sudden kick. His hands wove through his hair. “You think that’s how I want you? Just lying there? Enduring it?” “We don’t have a choice.” “Maybe I’ll be the reasonable one. Maybe I’ll be a fucking man and not rape you.” “But your father will.” I wrapped my arms over my chest. “And I don’t…it’s not an option.” “Of course it’s not.” Reed snapped. “But instead you’ll spread your legs for me with no issues?” Who were we kidding? I laughed. “We’re all gonna have issues because of this.” That wasn’t the right answer. Reed exhaled. I froze as every hesitance coiling in his soul turned to suspicion. “What aren’t you telling us?” My stomach tightened. Everything. Nothing I could tell them. Not yet. I hardened my voice, hedging the question. “I’m not a helpless little girl,” I said. “I know what I’m doing.” “So it’s all part of the plan to get raped by your step-brothers?” “If that’s what it takes.” “Takes for what?”

I didn’t even know anymore. Everything they had done, every way I had been touched, every moment I spent beneath Nicholas dizzied me with stark confusion. I’d see Darius Bennett decimated. I thought this was the only way to do it. Reed paced his suite. He grabbed a bottle of rum from a cabinet, but he didn’t drink. He swore. “You have no idea what’s happening.” Apparently not. He wasn’t the first of my step-brothers to allude to something darker, something frightening lurking unspoken and undiscovered within the estate. I didn’t like it. “So tell me,” I said. “It wouldn’t matter.” “Maybe it would.” I bit my lip. “I know Nicholas is planning to take over the Bennett Corporation. He’s pushing Darius out.” Reed laughed. “It won’t work. My father is too connected. Too powerful.” “Nick is dedicated.” “Nick is as power-hungry as my father. He’ll do whatever he can, however he can, to get what he wants.” He held my gaze for the first time. “He does nothing out of kindness. The sooner you realize that, the safer you’ll be.” “I’m not afraid of Nick.” “You should be.” “I’ll handle him.” “Sure.” Reed perked an eyebrow. It wasn’t a playful gesture. “It’s all fun and taboo and naughty. Fucking in secret and pretending to hate him.” “I’m not—” “You’re safe until you get in his way. And, Sarah? You’re already in his way. You are the single greatest threat to the Bennett Empire, and you don’t even realize it.” “Funny.” My patience evaporated. “Hard to be a threat when you’re captured, fucked, and bred.” “That’s the beauty of it,” Reed said. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. We’ll burn ourselves to the ground.” He paced again. I covered my thighs with the couch’s pillow and dug my fingers into the stuffing.

“What are you talking about?” I didn’t like his frustration. The sincerity of his voice hollowed, jagged and frustrated. “Reed, what are you hiding?” “You first.” I lied. “I have no secrets.” “Then I guess I don’t either.” “Reed, please.” “Do you know how fucked up my family is?” He asked. I tugged on the leash. “I have an idea.” “My childhood was nothing but pain and misery. Nick made it out unscathed. Max got it the worst. But…” He tapped his right ear. “I lost most of my hearing from one good clip against the head. My tie wasn’t fashioned correctly in a family picture. My father found that… unacceptable.” None of it surprised me. Was that why he was scarred? “I’m sorry.” “We survived. He groomed Nick to be the heir. Max was supposed to go into the military, but I guess you figured out how that ended.” He paused. “I admire you.” “You do?” Reed crossed to the TV stand and pawed through the video games stacked inside. He tossed me my smuggled research journal. It was only the copy I stole, but I clutched it just the same. “You’re passionate about what you want to do,” he said. “I wish I had that choice.” I tapped the folder. He didn’t know the half of it. “My dad encouraged me to go into genetics.” “Yeah. I get how that works. I’m the third son.” I shrugged. “The Bennetts are an old family, and we adhere to certain traditions. The eldest is the heir to the fortune. The second son enters the military and honors his family’s name. The third…” He smirked. “Clergy. I took over what my mother did. Charity work. Ensuring the Bennett name shines like gold while we hold a woman prisoner in our rooms for our pleasure.” “You have a choice. You can escape Darius.” I clutched at the pillow in my lap. I was so close. “I know he had something to do with my father’s death.” “Sarah.”

“Help me. Nick’s takeover will ruin him, but if I could just find out the truth—” “Stop,” Reed held up a hand. “Don’t make me pick a side. I like you, Sarah, but you won’t like me if you keep pushing.” Goddamn it. I looked away. Suddenly, his shirt wasn’t long enough. I tugged it further down and adjusted the pillow. He noticed. “Did…” He asked the question softly. “Did they hurt you? When they took you?” “No.” “I’m afraid I will. It scares the shit out of me.” He wasn’t lying. I sighed. “Nick was gentle, and Max wasn’t frightening. You won’t hurt me. You aren’t Darius.” He fell onto the sofa. “That’s the problem. He expects things from me.” “He has a lot of expectations for his sons.” “We’re all gonna get hurt by this. I hate seeing you in pain.” “Don’t worry about me.” He sighed. “I gotta. Especially when I know what I have to do.” The silence crawled over me. I dreaded it more than any touch. “Maybe we can fake it?” I asked. Reed snickered. “My father anticipated that. He doesn’t think I’ll rape you.” “I already said I wouldn’t fight.” That didn’t help. “I’m not the Bennett you want, Sarah. Don’t pretend.” Dangerous territory. I didn’t like where the conversation headed. My fingers threaded through the buttons on the shirt. I didn’t take it off, but I was tempted, if only to distract Reed from stumbling on any other secret I wasn’t ready to admit. Enough games. Enough torment. Delaying it wouldn’t help either of us, and it wouldn’t protect Reed from his father. It didn’t protect me. I steadied my voice. “How do you…Should I lie on the bed?” Goosebumps prickled over my skin. Reed silenced. His jaw tensed, and he stood so suddenly I flinched, the memory of too many strikes with a flogger all too real. He didn’t apologize.

“Bed’s fine.” Reed didn’t wait for me. I heaved a silent breath and softly padded after him. His shirt just barely covered my curves, hardly hiding the last traces of lashed welts still coloring the back of my thighs. Why was this so hard? Nicholas took me bound to the bed, wrapped in his arms the next morning, and slammed against the shower wall. Max beat me into a puddle of myself and seized what remained. But this was Reed. Reed. Warm, caring, and somehow good Reed. Max might have promised his protection through sadism, and Nicholas challenged me in every conceivable way, but I recovered from the asthma attack with Reed. Played video games with him. Watched movies. He was a nice guy. A sweet guy. A friend. And I’d break as soon as he laid over me, filled me, and claimed me with every deviancy his brothers possessed. His room flooded with brightness—white and clean and washed in the crystal blue of the ocean. The warmth faded as he pulled his shirt over his head. I might have admired his perfect beach body had the darkened tan of his skin not been sullied by the flicks of his scars. The same injuries adorned Nicholas and Max. What had Darius done to his sons? And why did he have such power over them as grown men in possession of every wealth, luxury, and opportunity? “Do you…” A flutter of panic built within me. I coughed it away. “Should I undress?” “What do you want?” Reed asked. Nicholas. “I just want this to be okay.” “You think this is ever going to be okay?” His voice chilled with the classic Bennett threat. “Do you think you’ll be able to return to your life once this is done? Do you know what we plan to do to you?” “I figured it out.”

“I’m supposed to hold you down. Fuck you. Finish in you.” I nodded. “You know I’m supposed to knock you up?” “Who are you convincing?” I asked. “Me or you?” “Why aren’t you scared?” I answered him with every honesty. “Because I can’t let myself get scared.” I’d make this easy for him, before he had any more questions or pried into something I couldn’t reveal. The stress thickened the breath in my chest, but Nicholas’s warning replayed in my mind. I wasn’t going to let Darius Bennett win. He wouldn’t hurt my step-brothers, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to touch me. I pulled the shirt over my head. The material fluttered to the ground. I didn’t hide myself—not even as the chill of the room stiffened my nipples. His eyes feasted on me, studying the swell of my breasts, the trimness of my waist, and the bared and silken patch that so enthralled his brothers. “I’m not asking for romance,” I said. “Let’s just do it so Darius doesn’t have reason to suspect anything. So he doesn’t hurt me. Let him live this perverse fantasy long enough for Nicholas to do what he has to do to free me.” “You’re never going to be free,” Reed sighed. “If you think Nick will release you once my father steps down, you’re in more trouble than you realize.” The back of my knees collided with the bed. I didn’t know I retreated. Reed wasn’t as intimidating as his brothers—he was younger, brighter, and acted as though he actually meant to spread warmth with his single, amused dimple. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t as strong, fierce, and overwhelming as the Bennett name demanded. His scars hardened him. Without his smile whatever violence caused the trauma to his face and neck proved Reed was just as tough as his brothers. He stood lithe and graceful, possessing a perfect balance of strength and playful arrogance. As he breathed, the muscles over his chest tensed. Not nearly as defined as Max, and not as inherent as Nicholas. A swimmer’s strength. He hardened. My nudity had the desired effect. “On my back?” I asked. “Why are you being so damned formal? Did you ask Nick how he should fuck you?”

I wasn’t about to tolerate his tone. “Nick tied me down when he took my virginity. Max choked me with a leash. Sorry if I think you might have a particular position in mind.” “Should I get some restraints?” “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Should you?” “For Christ’s sake, Sarah.” “You tell me! I’m trying to make this easy on us.” “Easy?” His voice rose. “You think this is easy for me?” “I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll try to be more sensitive —” “Goddamn it!” Reed pushed me onto the bed. I didn’t appreciate the force. I ground my teeth. “I’m trying to help.” “Help?” My voice edged with impatience. “I knew this was going to be hard for you. Excuse me for trying to ease you into it.” Reed stepped away, laughing and swearing in the same breath. His grin widened, but the coldness prickled my spine. “Holy shit, Sarah, don’t you get it?” “Get what?” “Do you think I don’t want to take you?” The word echoed against his room. He stared at me. “Sarah, my every goddamned thought anymore is how badly I want to fuck you!” I stiffened. Uh-oh. Reed turned from me to kick an ottoman from his path. He paced, ignoring me on the bed though he found my reflection from the mirror hanging on his wall. “I have been fantasizing about this since we first captured you.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t think I could. Reed groaned. “Christ, I’ve counted the hours until I get my turn!” I twisted my legs under me. My voice weakened.

“But…you didn’t…You’ve been defending me?” “Fuck.” Reed slammed a hand against the wall. The mirror fell. That was fine. My wide-eyed reflection revealed entirely too much of my shock. It didn’t calm Reed. Nothing would. “I know it’s wrong,” he said. “The last thing I should ever imagine is fucking you. But every night I’m dreaming about sinking inside you. Sarah, you have no idea what you do to me.” Obviously. I tensed as he approached. He pushed me, dropping me against the blankets with the faintest touch. “Here’s the sickest part.” He fell to his knees beside the bed and gripped my hips. I yelped as he tugged me to the edge and exposed every part of me. I didn’t fight. I didn’t even cover myself as he spread my legs and groaned at the first gaze of my slit. “I shouldn’t want you. You’re my fucking sister.” Those types of thoughts didn’t help anyone sleep at night. I shook my head. “Step-sister, Reed.” Why the hell did I try to correct him? It didn’t calm him. If anything, it made him more…aggressive. “Like it matters. You’re family. I shouldn’t imagine fucking you. Filling you.” My hands cupped his on my hips. The warmth surged through me, far too close to my vulnerable pussy waiting just inches from Reed. “Maybe we should talk about this…” I whispered. “What’s to talk about?” Reed’s voice layered with a heavy desire as he stared at me. His attention was every bit as overwhelming as Nicholas’s presence or Max’s strikes. The shudder surprised me. “I shouldn’t want to taste you. To touch you. To take you. But I do. Know why?” I shook my head. He didn’t see. “Because I’m not supposed to. You’re my prisoner. You’re a fantasy no reasonable man would ever imagine. It’s…forbidden.” His words tickled my skin. I whimpered as he licked without warning—a single, long taste of my spread slit. I arched. He dropped a hand over my belly to keep me still. I wasn’t trying to get away. “Look at you.” He murmured over a mouthful of me. A shiver quivered me against his tongue. “You’re absolutely helpless.”

“I didn’t think you’d like that.” He licked me again. “Who wouldn’t? You’re here. Beautiful. Fucking softer than any other woman I’ve ever…” I arched as he sunk his tongue within me. My confusion wound tight. I shifted away. He didn’t let me go. “Know what’s even worse?” He whispered. “Know what makes me every bit as evil and depraved as my father?” My voice couldn’t steady. “You aren’t.” “I am.” His tongue toyed with me. I wasn’t ready for pleasure. I wasn’t ready for his admission. “He wants us to use you. He expects us to breed you. And, God, Sarah, nothing gets me harder than thinking about what I might do to you.” I tensed. He expected it. His attention turned fervent, suckling and licking at my core as I panted against his ravishment. “I’d love to hold you down, fuck you, come inside, and keep you in my bed until I’m certain it’s my child growing inside you.” So did all the Bennetts. It was a universal trait—some sort of masculine need to dominate and oppress, to claim and capture, to taste and tease. I expected it from Nicholas. I understood Max’s aggression. But Reed? I didn’t think he had such thoughts. “I won’t molest you,” he breathed. The words vibrated against my clit. I gasped. “I think you already are.” “Then I won’t indulge any more than I already am.” I groaned as his tongue struck against me once more. “It’d be hard to get me pregnant then.” He adjusted himself, unzipping his pants and taking his hardness in his hand. His lips sealed over my clit, and the rolling intensity drove me to silence. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Jesus, he was far from hurting me. I hadn’t expected any pleasure from Reed, even though his brothers seized me, tormented me, and dragged me through layer after layer of relentless bliss. I imagined awkward thrusting, hollow shame, and frustrating moments trapped within my own mind as his heat forced inside me.

But Reed was generous outside the bedroom. Why did I think he’d be any different with my legs spread and body offered? I gripped the mattress and fought the revealing groans that threatened to escape my parted lips. Reed’s insistence overwhelmed what fragile defense I mounted. I fell limp against the bed. Why did sex with three men—three Bennetts—feel this damn good? I should have been mortified. I should have been emotionally scarred, thoroughly damaged, and shadowed for the rest of my life. Was something wrong with me? Was something wrong with them? The shuddering rumbled within me, and I couldn’t stop it. Nothing I did short of fighting Reed and escaping his fixation would have stopped it. Reed anticipated my every tremble. He caught my lust, bound me with sensation, and relentlessly chased my hips as I bucked against the blankets. It didn’t matter. He commanded my body and took what he wanted. And he wanted my pleasure. I arched and crashed and shredded myself. The brightness of the room haloed in my vision. Sweet tingles and darker consequences gifted my orgasm to Reed. I offered as easily as he seized, and I had no idea what he’d expect in return. I hadn’t imagined this. I hadn’t hoped for this. My fear faded in the trembling shock of his attention. I gently laughed. Of course Reed would be gentle and kind, even after revealing his darkness. I panted. Reed lapped at the wetness between my legs. I shifted as the strike of his tongue lashed like the flogger. He had me convulsing, and I kicked at his side. He groaned but didn’t release my clit from between his lips. He nipped instead. “Again,” he ordered. I covered my face with my hands as the pink flush betrayed how wonderfully skilled he was with his kisses. But another orgasm? Maybe Reed was as ambitious as Nicholas. “Just…a minute…” I whispered.

“Again.” He suckled. Hard. I pushed to my elbows and jerked away, but Reed’s hand was quicker. He forced me down on the bed, warned me with a muttered growl, and then returned to feasting between my legs. “Reed…wait…” He didn’t listen. Reed didn’t just ravish. He suffocated me in my own desire. I was in trouble. He moaned as I twisted and ached. My voice cracked as I cried out against his torment. He flipped his tongue over my clit, winding it again and again until I pulled at the blankets in crippled agony. He’d torture me with pleasure and call it kindness. “Reed, please!” I edged up on the bed. He was stronger than me. His hands gripped my hips, and he tugged me to his mouth. His tongue whipped me, testing my tightness. I moaned for mercy. Like all Bennetts, Reed didn’t understand the word. He pinned me against the bed with one hand. His other furiously pumped his cock, stroking me in time to the pistoning tongue he teased inside me. I gasped. He wouldn’t fuck me. The thought relieved and disappointed me. He pleasured himself as he savored me, offering me the delicious bliss he denied himself. Sweet, idiot Reed. I arched again, biting my lip as painful shudders cracked through me. I wasn’t strong enough to resist him—not after the asthma, the stress of his brothers’ attention, and the pain that still struck me from the punishments. I cried out into the room, dug my hands into the blankets, eased away from his devouring. It didn’t matter. Reed captured me as thoroughly as Nicholas and as aggressively as Max. And, like them, he wouldn’t let me go. A second orgasm crested over me, layering my skin in a sheen of exhausted sweat.

He didn’t stop. “Again.” His tongue and lips and words would dissolve me. “Again, Sarah. Enjoy this.” Was it enjoyable? My body hummed and fought and offered more and more of my wetness for him to taste. Pain lashed with pleasure, tightening over my chest in an artificial restraint that would either kill me with intensity or worship me in rapture. I couldn’t think. My breath rasped between shrill groans and begging for more or less or God only knew. The heat chilled me with shivers, and the trembles burned me against the sheets wrinkling in my clutches. And still his tongue savored and stole and adored. “Don’t ever stop coming for me, Sarah.” Reed’s order flicked at the end of his tongue. Who was I to refuse? The third peek cracked my voice and lost my words to moaned nonsense. My body rested heavy against the bed, spent and exhausted and thoroughly fucked without Reed once pressing his thickness within my desperate core. I ceased struggling if only to ensure I could still breathe without fracturing into delirious pieces. Reed groaned against me, tasting every shiver. His voice turned rough. He pumped his cock harder. Faster. A punishment. “Sarah…” He warned. “I gotta do it…” He might have slit my throat then and I would have thanked him. His weight shifted over the bed, and his movements jerked hard. His cock thickened in his hand. It throbbed against his palm. The angry red head pulsed. I quivered beneath him as he edged between my legs. “Quick,” he promised. “I’ll put it in and come. I promise. I won’t do anything else.” I nearly wept. Was it possible to be tortured with compassion? Maybe it was his plan all along. Sweet, kind Reed—more of sadist than Max and a greater manipulator than Nicholas. Maybe he wanted me to beg. Maybe he wanted to watch as I wound myself tight in stress, exhaustion, and

confusion. Maybe he planned it as my greatest humiliation of all. Or maybe he was just Reed, and he wanted to protect me. His cock hesitated at my entrance for only a moment before his grunted instinct seized control. His movements stretched me open inch by thickening inch, as though he were afraid he’d hurt me. He’d drive me insane. I shattered with sensitivity. I arched my hips and stole the rest of his length before he dared to thrust within me. His groan mirrored my own. I clutched at his hands on my waist, struggling to hold onto anything that would grind me against his fullness. “Fuck,” he swore again and again. “God damn, Sarah. I gotta come.” I squirmed against the bed. “Don’t.” “I’m sorry. I can’t—I have to—” He didn’t understand. Damn the blind fool. He had no idea. He’d make me say it. I gasped. “Don’t stop!” Reed stiffened. His hands dug into my flesh—the first time he hurt me and he didn’t even realize it. “What?” “Just take me,” I whispered. “It’s good, Reed. Don’t stop now.” “I…” His words cut with guilt. “I can’t do that to you.” His cock already imbedded me. I shifted, driving him deeper. Our bodies tensed. It wouldn’t be long. Not now, not since I had been torn apart and fit back together and his urges tightened his every muscle. “You aren’t hurting me,” I whispered. “Take me.” He swore. His grip hurt, but his thrust broke with his own hesitance. He nearly pulled out. My hips reflexively shifted, offering more to him. The shudder thundered over me. He wasn’t cruel enough to leave me to Darius. But if he stopped, Reed Bennett was just as merciless as his brothers. He seized my hips and wrapped me in his arms. I yelped as he rolled, falling onto his back and letting his cock pierce me from below. I fell awkwardly over him. The

timid rocking of my hips was a moment of pure instinct. “You like it?” He gritted his teeth. “Then I’ll give it.” “You like it too.” “Too much.” I moved over him, but I hardly had the strength to find a real rhythm. I shrugged as his cock throbbed within me. Reed helped. He held me tight and guided me in place, drawing me against his thick demand. “You’re absolutely beautiful,” he whispered. “I bet you say that to all your step-sisters.” I giggled as he groaned. His hands tightened over my waist. He drew me against his cock, pumping me up and down until I squeezed him too much to accept anything but pleasure. I was on top, but he didn’t give me an ounce of control. He allowed me to set the pace, only because my timid motions teased his cock. He helped me as my inexperience trapped me with a possessing fullness and no idea how to ease the tension within me. I begged my step-brother to fuck me, and he savored my shame and chased away my fear. His reward pounded me from below, and I spread my legs to grant him every access. “I can’t hold back,” Reed whispered. “You know what I gotta do.” The cresting pleasure seized control of me too. He’d do the same thing Nicholas did with the same fury Max had thrust. They planned to claim me. They thought they’d fuck me, conquer me, and watch as the evidence of their mounting proclaimed them a master over me. Christ, if they knew. I sunk deeper against Reed, taking every bit of ecstasy I could steal from the Bennett under my spell. I hadn’t meant to seduce them or be seduced. And I never planned to take satisfaction with their desire. I intended to mislead, destroy, and ruin them. How easily they did the same to me. I dug my fingers into Reed’s shoulders, breaking myself in a stolen orgasm I didn’t deserve and he didn’t give. His words grunted into a feral growl, and he seized my hips, driving me down upon his thickness as he jetted. Thick. Hot. Consuming.

Useless. We bound together, shuddering in time and moving in breathless demand against each other. The crushing pleasure tormented us, and, when my first full breath returned to me, I met Reed’s stare with as much gratitude as trepidation. But he hadn’t figured it out. None of them had. And the greasy guilt of the secret stained me from the inside. He rolled me off of him immediately. His breathing rattled, but he tucked himself within his pants and tossed his discarded shirt at me. He turned while I dressed. My heart clenched. I couldn’t imagine losing the beginning of what friendship we had. “Reed…” I fumbled with the material, pitching it over my head. “Wait. Talk to me.” “Sarah, don’t move.” He clutched his phone. “I have to…he asked for proof.” Oh. Ew. He guided me into the bed. It was the first time I fought him and closed my legs. I covered my face and sunk into the blanket. “But…” I grunted. “This isn’t…” “I know.” The phone’s camera clicked, and my stomach almost heaved with it. But the humiliation was quick, and I didn’t have to see it. Reed tossed the phone away. I pinched my legs shut once more as he pawed through a drawer next to his bed. He pushed a folder into my hands. “That’s for you,” he said. I hadn’t caught my breath or steadied my fluttering heart. Reed panted, leaning against the wall on a muscular arm. We shared a shiver even parted from each other. Flipping through the folder’s contents exhausted me. I couldn’t focus, but I recognized the scrawling insignia and faded lettering. “You’re giving me one share of the Bennett Corporation?” I perked an eyebrow.

“So…you fuck me, then you insult me?” For the first time in days, Reed’s smile returned—a beaming, mischievous grin that soothed the thoughts and fears jumbling inside me. “Never know when that’ll come in handy,” he said. I arched an eyebrow. “Do I get voting rights?” His amusement faded for only a moment. “Ask Nick.” “I’ll just make sure my accountant labels this stock as risky.” “You’d be surprised.” He quieted. “What is it?” I asked. “Forget it.” Reed sighed and returned to the bed, scooping me in his arms before I could sneak away. He pulled me to his chest, and I crashed against his salty, sea-tempted scent. It wasn’t bad. Oddly comforting. He found the last show we’d watched on Netflix during my stay in the theater and settled in before the television. None of this was normal, but I appreciated it, especially as my legs had yet to stop trembling from his delivered passion. I let him wrap his arm around me, even smirking as he kissed my forehead. He didn’t draw his attention from the TV. “I know I’m not Nicholas—” “Reed—” “And I know you’ll never think of me as your brother.” I swallowed. “But I’ll take care of you just the same. No matter what happens here, no matter who is the one that…” He shrugged. “You’re not gonna get hurt. I won’t let it happen.” I snuggled against his chest. “Goddamn it.” “What?” I stole the remote from him. “I never wanted a Bennett for an ally.” “You got one.” For now.

I didn’t have only Reed. I had all three of them under my thumb, in my possession, and stricken with my lust. And yet, the sudden allegiance with my step-brothers filled me with dread. They expected more from me than I could give, and I needed more from them than they knew. What the hell would happen when they realized the game I played? And how badly would it hurt when they abandoned me?

20

NICHOLAS

I never considered myself a criminal.

Ambitious—yes.

Determined—of course. Ruthless? One had to be merciless in our line of work. To succeed and achieve both survival and wealth, ruthlessness was a common trait and necessary evil. I also never considered myself gentle. Sarah Atwood dined at our dinner table—naked, for our pleasure. And it had been my idea. To protect her, she needed to learn humility. I tried to shame a woman who had no reason to be ashamed by her utter perfection. But how else was I supposed to assume my authority over a woman who wielded the power to force me to my knees with a single word? Every flush of delicate, pink innocence that haloed her body pitted my stomach. Three men had taken her. My father expected her to be humiliated and lost, broken by our strength and damaged by our violence. He wanted us to rape her. Hurt her. Ruin her. The only thing Sarah Atwood did was ruin us. And I had no idea how she did it. The collar secured around her neck—her only adornment. She arranged the table cloth over her lap and covered her breasts with an awkward arm. She abandoned her dinner and left her bread uncut to preserve her useless modesty. Instead, she fiddled with her fork, clattering it to the plate when the air conditioning rattled through the silent dining hall.

She yipped a breath and searched over her shoulder for the root of her fear. “My father won’t be joining us.” I sipped my wine. “He remained at the office this evening.” I admired her courage though she wasn’t brave enough to admit how he terrified her. The tension shivered from her body. She gulped her wine and earned Reed’s smirk as her arm accidentally revealed a sinfully pink nipple. “I’d like to get dressed,” she said. I sliced my steak. The bloody juice soaked a mound of mashed potatoes. Sarah picked at her salad. “No,” I said. Reed shifted. Max perked an eyebrow. None of it mattered. Sarah bristled, waiting for my explanation. She wouldn’t receive it. “I’ll strip if he comes back,” she offered. “I said no.” “Why?” I chuckled. “Don’t you think three men would prefer the company of a naked woman?” Reed nodded. “Steak and tits. It’s not a bad deal.” “You’re unbelievable.” Sarah’s glance silenced Reed’s chuckle. “You think this will humiliate me?” “Yes,” I said. “Fine.” Her arms dropped and her beautiful chest puffed proud. Her attention fell to Max. He no longer focused on the food. “Can you please pass the butter?” Max’s grin issued the challenge. “No.” “Christ.” “Come get it.” Sarah stiffened. We waited. She tossed her napkin and stood. My cock couldn’t harden any more. The softness of her skin still marred with bruises, but the pale tease of her body held more power over us than any command, whipping, or restraint.

I might have ordered her to strip, but she bared our souls with a single sway of her hips. She circled the table, leaned over Max, and waited for my approval. Her breasts brushed Max’s arm. He grinned. She didn’t tease. Sarah dared. I tamed my jealousy with a bottle of wine and fierce devotion to my brothers, but Sarah still devastated my control. I entertained a fantasy of tossing her over the table, breaking glasses and pitching dishes from my path. I’d rut her right there. Let my brothers watch as I earned her squeals, forced her to come, and filled her with my authority. Max took her, but I buried myself within her almost immediately, marking her again as mine. Reed had his taste, but I had yet to take her again. It would be rectified. Sarah hoarded the butter and sipped the last drops of her drink. Reed casually shifted the bottle toward him as she reached for it. She sighed. “Reed, may I have some more wine?” “Nope. You’ll have to come around.” “You guys are acting like children.” “Most fun I’ve had since this afternoon.” He gave her a grin, dimple and all. She didn’t react, but in her caution, she revealed everything. After all the deviancies we forced upon her, it was Reed who triggered her shame. What had he done that drove her to silence? My brother wasn’t cruel. My father doubted he’d even touch the girl. How did she convince him to fuck her? A moment passed. Max scraped his fork against his plate. Reed surrendered and offered a refill. The stillness laced with a perverted inelegance. “So.” Reed was never one for awkward silences. The wine glugged into her glass. “Which one of us was the best fuck?” Sarah choked. “I’m not answering that!” “Why not?” “Why not?” She covered her face. “Because you guys forced me into bed!”

“I’m just curious.” “And you’ll stay curious.” Max dropped his fork. The flogger wasn’t a usual utensil at our table, but he rubbed the leather anyway. It rested next to his plate. His grin pinned her in place, though she fixed on the weapon. “I’m curious too,” Max said. Reed folded his arms behind his head, forsaking his dinner. “Come on. What’s it gonna hurt? We all had you, so who was the best?” I didn’t speak. Sarah’s eyes flicked to me in a moment of weakness before looking anywhere else. She’d deny me. That was fine. All the more reason to return to her tonight and recover what was rightfully mine. “Stroke your own egos,” she said. “You all raped me like fine, upstanding gentlemen.” Reed laughed. “And you liked it.” Max’s voice lowered. “Be a good girl and answer the question, and maybe we’ll do it again.” I sipped my wine. “There is no maybe.” Sarah’s shudder didn’t go unnoticed. My brothers and I shared the same smile. The little Atwood, trapped within the Bennett’s lair. She tried to hide the tightening of her nipples, the rise of her chest, squirm of her hips. Her puffy lips parted only enough to let the tip of her tongue tease over the plumpness I longed to bite. “You were all…” Her voice wavered, but not in fear. “Good.” “Just good?” Max expected more. She cleared her throat and sipped her water. The glass condensed, and she rested the chilled goblet over her breast. Her nipple teased harder, a little nub begging for attention. “Well…Reed was very…” Her eyebrow perked. “Attentive.” Reed grinned, tilting his chair with a cocky flourish. “I aim to please.” Sarah waited for me. I said nothing, gesturing with my wine for her to continue.

“And Max…” She bit her lip. “He was demanding.” The flogger edged into his grip. Sarah exhaled a heated breath. So she had liked his treatment. My little Sarah, taken in hand. She was a fragile thing—delicate and timid and perfectly submissive to me. I hadn’t needed to be attentive, and I never required a flogger. When Sarah’s hesitant glance fell to me, I knew exactly how she felt about our embrace. Because I felt it too. She was flawless. From her whispered breaths to her silken, heated core. Every inch of her body was created for me, and it was by my grace and patience I let my brothers have a fleeting moment with perfection. No matter how much Reed had offered her, or how intense Max’s strikes had been, Sarah Atwood belonged to me. She knew it. They knew it. And she’d never escape me. “And Nicholas.” Sarah flushed. The deeper the pink, the harder I became. “He was…passionate?” It wasn’t the word she meant. I’d have to correct it. Soon. Just so she understood how passionate I was. “So.” Reed leaned in, flashing his dimple. “When do we try again?” “Classy.” Sarah tossed her bread at him. “Eat your dinner.” “Rather eat something else.” “Reed, I swear to God.” “Get used to it, baby.” Max shared Reed’s enthusiasm. “You got off easy before.” “Stop making puns!” “Little girl, the fun’s just starting.” Sarah tucked a fallen lock of blonde hair behind her ear. If possible, she looked even gentler. A trapped fairy fluttering at our table. But she ignored my brothers.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she said. “Why not?” Reed stabbed his steak. “Working so far.” “This isn’t working. This is insanity. You guys can’t keep me here forever.” Max shrugged. “We don’t have to. Just until we knock you up.” Sarah said nothing. It wasn’t as though she had forgotten the purpose of her stay, but she stiffened like it was the first time she had understood our intentions. Like it was the first time she considered it. And she still wasn’t afraid. Why was that? “It’s not going to work.” She tried to scold us. “This plan is foolish. And…and cruel. And impractical.” “This will work, provided you are amenable to it,” I said. “Yeah, well…” She attempted diplomacy and failed. “I’m not. This got out of hand. And…we’ve all done things that I’m sure we’ll regret sooner rather than later.” “Doubtful.” “You’re working on the takeover, Nick. Once you have the company, you won’t have a use for me anymore.” It wasn’t true. We needed her more than she understood, more than she could have possibly realized. And I couldn’t tell her why. “Sarah, we’ll take care of you,” I said. “We’ll provide for you, protect you, and ensure you are comfortable. In return, we ask only for your cooperation.” She huffed. “It’s not cooperation. You’re keeping me prisoner. There’s no reason for it. You know I’ll do whatever you want to take down Darius, but you don’t have to…” “What?” “You don’t have to rape me anymore.” “Have we ever raped you?” She touched her collar. “Did you ever give me a choice? You’re keeping me here against my will. You’ve made me drop out of school. Forced me to take a leave of absence from my job. You won’t even let me leave the grounds.” “And you won’t. Not yet.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” She appealed to Reed and Max but earned the same silence. “You guys don’t understand what you’re doing. This plan isn’t going to work.” “Why?” A prickling suspicion tingled in my gut. I trusted my instinct in business, and I didn’t like how frantic Sarah’s breath rumbled in her chest. “What’s wrong with our plan?” “I can’t…” Her voice wavered with hesitance. She swore and looked away. “It’s insane. You can’t hold a woman against her will and breed her like savages.” “You said you understood. You promised your submission.” “And you had it for those nights,” she said. “I did my part. Now you have to do what’s right and help me find evidence of my father’s murder.” How was I supposed to find what didn’t exist? “Sarah—” She anticipated my argument. Her hand slammed against the table. “People are going to start questioning where I am. They’ll wonder what happened to me, where I’ve been, and when I’m coming back. How do you plan to fight that?” Reed shifted. Max gestured for me to field the question. The family heir had many rights—I just never expected breaking an innocent girl’s heart to be one of my responsibilities. “Your mother has spoken on your behalf,” I said. The thought sickened me, but I downed my wine to fortify my resolve. “She’s explained the severity of your asthma to your Board of Directors. She convinced them you’re still sick and seeking additional help.” “At Darius’s request, no doubt.” “Sarah, you sealed your own fate when you revealed the clause in your father’s will. You aren’t in control anymore, you’re a figurehead.” “I’m still in charge.” “Not with the leave of absence. Your Board controls hiring now, and they’ve begun nominating new candidates for CEO.” “How do you know that?” “I answer your emails.” Her jaw clenched. “How dare you.” I exhaled. “No one expected you to take the company. Sarah, you’re a twenty-yearold girl with no business experience. If a billionaire heiress suddenly drops from the public eye following a family tragedy and severe health issues, no one will

question it. Your company, the public? They won’t miss you because no one will realize you aren’t exactly where you’re meant to be.” “You son of a bitch.” She kicked away from the table. “I can’t believe I ever…” Trusted me? Not a single moment passed that I hadn’t shared the same disbelief. She stalked from the dining room. Max and Reed exchanged a glance. “That could have gone smoother,” Max said. “Let’s see you fuck her now—get that heir without her kicking the shit out of you.” I silently swore. An aggression wove within me, ignited by the pure instinct rampaging my thoughts. She ran. I would chase. The adrenaline surged. The urge to claim her as my own poisoned me. Everything was at my fingertips. The girl. Both companies. The ultimate wealth. I could do it. I could have it all. But it depended on her. How had the Bennetts fallen so far that our survival depended on our greatest enemy? But Sarah wasn’t her father. She wasn’t a monster. She was a beautiful, spirited, unbroken woman who surrendered under my touch and still fought me as though she had an escape. Or a secret? The thought burned me. Something gave her courage beyond what she should have possessed. My father terrified her. Our goal disgusted her. And yet she offered herself without a fight. She accepted us, came for us, even flirted with us, and it wasn’t because she thought she’d seduce us and learn a family secret that labeled Darius Bennett a murderer. She had something else up her sleeve—even when we ripped the clothing from her. I tossed my napkin to the table. “Excuse me.” Reed laughed. “She’s gonna tear your throat out.” “I’ll be on my guard.” I hesitated only to drink the rest of my wine in hopes it’d dull the animalistic urge to chase, seize, and dominate. Sarah dressed before I rapped on her door. She expected my intrusion. As I entered,

her robe closed, securing in an ugly knot. The restraints still tickled her bed, dark leather tempting the delicate pink of her sheets. She followed my gaze. “Forget it, Nicholas Bennett. You lost that privilege.” “You’re lucky we give you the freedom to go unbound.” She pointed to the leash strewn across the bay window. “You want to bind me? Go ahead. It wouldn’t surprise me.” “Sarah.” “Do you even understand how fucked up this is?” Her blue eyes paled so beautifully when she was frightened. If I was a better man, I might have taken her in my arms and comforted her against every nightmare I inflicted. “Please tell me you know it isn’t right.” “Of course it isn’t right. But this is how it has to be.” “Why?” “We knew this wasn’t fair, Sarah.” “I want to go home.” It was the first time she said it. I knew the demand would hurt. I didn’t know how badly. Her plea twisted, barbed, and bled me like a blade to the side. It wasn’t the need in her voice that agonized me. It was my refusal that ripped out our hearts. “This is your home now.” Sarah gnawed her lip. I’d kiss her if only to spare her quiet whimper. “Don’t do this. I told you I would help. I protected your brothers. I gave myself to you. Why are you torturing me when you’re so close to taking the Bennett Corporation?” Because I wasn’t anywhere near close enough. And every moment spent arguing instead of taking her was another second, minute, hour, day, week, month that sped us closer to disaster. “I have to do this,” I said. “You don’t.” “You have no idea what’s at stake, Sarah.” “Then tell me!” Her frustration caught in her chest. She coughed, harsh and

painful. “You haven’t told me the full truth.” “Neither have you.” Silence. She stepped back. Her voice hollowed. “Am I just a prisoner? Am I just someone to breed and toss away? Or…am I…?” I didn’t answer. She braced to run, but I didn’t hold her in place. She restrained herself. “What am I to you?” She whispered. “Honestly, Nick.” What was she? Everything. My torment. My salvation. She was the one woman in this world capable of culling my greed, allaying my ambition, and restoring my conscience. She was a delicacy more tempting than money, power, and success. But she was also the greatest threat to the empire I planned to build, and she had no idea why. “Dangerous,” I said. “You’re a danger to everything.” “That’s not what I meant.” “You are mine.” My voice lowered. “Anything else is irrelevant.” Her breath escaped in a tremble as I touched her cheek. The heat burned my fingertips. She promised a more treacherous warmth, one that would lose me within her forever. “You have a choice…” Her whisper silenced over my kiss. She eased away as my lips teased her chin, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I’ll offer it once.” “I’ll take everything you offer.” She braced against me as I moved to the bed. Her legs locked. I growled low in my throat. She froze, but she wasn’t frightened. “We share something,” she said. “You feel it too. A bond. I think that deserves honesty.” “I agree.” Her fingers curled over my arms. She wetted her lip, expecting another kiss. “I can either be your friend, your step-sister, maybe…more?” Her words caught over a word she didn’t dare speak. “Or, I can belong to you in that perverted way and fight you with my every breath.”

“An ally or a slave?” “Make a choice, Nick. And you better make the right one.” An Atwood for an ally. Sarah for a lover. The perfect woman for something more—a relationship full of warmth and compassion, built on a mutual trust. Such a luxury was denied to my family. Every muscle flexed hard within me. Who was she to force me to choose? What power did she think she had? The thought crushed me. She had the authority. Sarah was everything I wanted. But if she knew what power she possessed, the revenge she could take, the lives she’d ruin—Sarah would rip out my heart to destroy the Bennetts brick by brick just as she promised. She could give me every choice, every chance, but it wouldn’t change what I had to do. I had to protect my family. I had to protect it from her. And she’d never forgive me. Her stolen kiss was a moment to savor. She eagerly surrendered, and the heat passed between us in a delicate, peaceful, uncomplicated promise. I pulled away, only to nibble her bottom lip. She moaned. It would be the last delight she’d offer willingly. “You belong to me.” My words fell upon her like the strike of a hand. “From now until the day you give me my heir.” It wasn’t the illness that took her breath. I hoped I wouldn’t be the one to stop her heart. “You are mine, Sarah Atwood.”

21

SARAH

“A

re you ready to behave?”

Darius expected an answer? I gnawed over the ball gag—the ugly, horrible, humiliating piece of rubber clenched between my teeth. My jaw ached. My bare chest covered in my drool. Gross. Darius, of course, loved it. My step-brothers did nothing to prevent it. I blinked against the blindfold. It was a good thing I couldn’t see them. The trip to the wine cellar wasn’t pleasant, and Max’s strikes with the flogger layered me in tears. Was it worth it? Probably not. The profanity aimed at Darius hadn’t helped me, eased my rage, or moved Nicholas in any profound manner. The next time I acted out, the next time Darius dared to stroke my breast when we sat down for dinner, I’d plunge a knife through his hand. The next time. I ground my teeth against the gag. The pain did nothing to quell the rage bubbling within me. Even I started thinking in terms of next time. Then again, it wasn’t hard to imagine a next time when my step-family bound, blindfolded, and gagged me, then tossed me naked into a wine cellar. My arms tied over my head and screamed with strain. The flogger’s bite did its job, but the chill hurt more.

In two days, my world shifted from delirious pleasures to untold horrors. My step-brothers hadn’t touched me since my fight with Nicholas, but Darius planned many things. I’d be damned if I let any of them near. “Messy, messy.” Darius pulled the gag from my mouth. “Filthy girl. Be good, and we might let you take a bath.” My jaw hurt. The blindfold ripped off. Even the gentle light of the wine cellar shocked me. I preferred the darkness over Darius. “Cold?” He asked. His hands brushed over my goose bumps. The chill of the cellar hardened my nipples. He liked that. I flinched as he squeezed too hard. “Apologize for being naughty, my dear.” I stayed silent. Max approached, twisting the flogger in his hand. Darius nodded. The snap of the leather struck my breasts. I lost my balance, and my arms jerked. The bindings hurt more than the weapon. Max was too good at this. Reed exhaled, but he said nothing. It was probably for the best. His father could sniff out weakness, and I didn’t need his bullshit promises to protect me. The Bennetts spoke only lies. Lies and betrayal and hatred. “Apologize, Sarah.” Nicholas checked his watch. “We’re on a schedule.” I fought against the chains binding me to the wine case. I’d either rush him or pull the damn shelves down and end my misery. I refused to look at him. I loathed the caramel rumble of his voice. I hated his penetrating eyes searching my body. He allowed his father to rage over me. What the hell happened to the Nicholas who woke me with whispers and promises? The Nick who rushed into my shower and took me in the scalding water in passionate, conquering lust? How did he possess me with such unrelenting desire…and then toss me away? Why the hell had I ever let him get that close? I offered him a part of me. I warmed with the possibility of a connection more secure than chains and stronger than lust. And I thought—I felt—as though he would understand. We were both heirs. We fell

to the mercy of our families and the burdens that encompassed such honors. I thought he would help me. But Bennetts only helped themselves. The damn room was too cold. I shivered, and my mouth dried. I was hungry and thirsty. How long did they keep me tied up? Hours? It had to be. But I’d survive it. Their cruelty burned through my confusion. I was finally thinking clearly. My stomach threatened to heave as Darius spanked my ass. His fingers dug into my soft flesh. “Tell Daddy you’re sorry.” Oh, he was a freak. His little incest perversion was getting weirder. Darius got off on it, and every time I reacted to the terms it made the game more fun for him. “You aren’t my father,” I whispered. “Get away from me.” “But I am your father now, my dear.” His excitement turned lecherous. “Did you disappoint Mark the way you disappoint me?” “Let me go.” “Good thing he’s dead.” Darius stared at the crest between my legs. “Imagine how he’d react if he knew you were too busy getting fucked by your brothers to manage his company.” I yelled, but the flogger bit before Darius raised a hand. The tears came too fast. “Apologize, girl,” Darius said. I hated myself. I hated him. “Sorry.” “Sorry, what?” I wished to be gagged again. “Sorry, sir.” Darius laughed. “Oh, nothing that formal, my dear. Try again.” My stomach rolled. Reed and Max shifted, but Nicholas didn’t react. Heartless fucking bastard. “Sorry…Dad.” “Good girl.”

I shivered again. Uncontrollable. I’d throw up, but they hadn’t given me anything to eat since I mouthed off. Max released the restraints on my wrists. My arms fell, and, as the blood trickled into them, I crumpled in half, cowering to ease the pain. Darius kicked my side. “Get up,” he said. “We’ll let you rest.” A kindness? No way. Darius set only traps. I refused Reed’s hand and struggled to my feet. My chest tightened from the constant pressure of the bindings holding my arms up. I longed to grip my inhaler, just to be prepared and know I had it under control. I bit my lip instead. I’d never ask for it. No sense degrading myself twice. They led me up the stairs. I stole a towel and cleaned my chin and chest from what I drooled over the gag. Darius prevented my escape upstairs. He pinched a nerve above my elbow and ordered me into the nearest powder room. He pushed me inside. My heart thundered. He reached into his pocket, and I expected a gun. “My dear, if you would.” Darius handed me a pink box. “Quickly now.” It wasn’t a weapon. I flipped the box over. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” The pregnancy test was name brand and guaranteed for early results. “Forget it,” I said. Darius grabbed my hair. He threw me into the wall and sneered as I lost my balance. I crumpled to the floor. He pitched the test at my chest. “My sons’ part in this is done,” Darius said. He pointed to my step-brothers, lingering in the hall. “They fucked and seeded you. Let’s see if you’ve done your job.” “You are all insane,” I said. “Let me out of here.” “Sarah, my dear. We are only asking for a little cooperation.” That word again. They asked for my pride, my dignity, and my family’s lasting legacy. They deserved none of it. “You will take this test, or my sons will bind you to the floor and fuck you until you’re raw, bruised, and visibly swelling with a child. That might take some time.”

I hoped he didn’t see me tremble. “One of these options is more pleasant than the other.” He smiled. “If not as satisfying.” He would order them to do it. And I knew, with every betraying confidence, he’d earn their obedience. I’d fight. They’d overpower me. Max would beat me, Reed would endanger himself to save me, and Nicholas would drive me to the brink of insanity, wrapped in his heat, scent, and cruelty. And it wouldn’t be like the last time I offered myself. No surrendering. No kindness. No…desiring them. It’d hurt. And I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I wanted time to rest, to plan, and to hide in the darkness for a few minutes. I wanted my heart to stop breaking. I shrugged. “Fine. I’ll take it.” Darius didn’t move. Neither did my step-brothers. I exhaled. “I said I’ll take it.” I stared at the box. “Give me a minute to figure it out. I’ve never taken one before.” Reed snickered. “You pee on it.” “Thanks.” Darius bowed his head. “We’ll wait.” The cold shock pitted inside me. Oh, God. No way. He didn’t think that he’d stay? I cleared my throat. “I need my…privacy.” “No, you don’t.” The box crushed under my hand. “I agreed.” “So take the test.” What the hell was wrong with this family? “Not…in front of you!” “How else will we be assured you’ve taken it properly?” I’d throw up before I did…that in front of an audience. In front of my step-family. In front of Nicholas.

I shivered. This was worse than the beatings and the bindings, the gags and even being restrained for my first experience with a man. The fear prickled through me. I swallowed the tremble in my voice. “We’re waiting,” Darius said. He reveled in my discomfort. “You were in the cellar for hours. I assumed you’d be grateful to use the facilities like a civilized woman instead of a pet whore.” No end existed for their depravity. No matter how hard I fought, how badly I struggled to preserve even a fraction of my pride, the Bennetts sensed my weaknesses. I did not want to do this. What kind of a man forced a woman to humiliate herself in such a way? I had even allowed them to touch me. My skin crawled. Never again. “Fine.” Darius nodded. I ripped open the cardboard and pulled the test kit. The box and wrapper pitched into the garbage. I clutched the applicator. How was I supposed to do this? It was beyond mortification. It’d be a moment of utter, horrid submission to a perversion I didn’t think existed beyond the far corners of the internet. But at least it’d be quick, and it’d be over, and they would be disappointed. That gave me a little courage, despite the bile threatening my pride. Darius expected this to be the end. I was fucked by three men during a dangerous time of the month and filled by them all. The test should have been the final blow. Dehumanize me, strip my privacy. He’d watch as I suffered through taking the test then crumbled at the result. But only because he thought I was pregnant. Maybe after the shock wore off, I’d jam the damn stick down his throat. Reed had the decency to look away. Max braced with the flogger like I’d make a break for it. And Nicholas? He watched.

He waited for this exact moment since the first day he kidnapped me. He wanted me to be pregnant, needed it badly as his father did. And why not? I was nothing to him but a name and a womb. Not Sarah, but Atwood. Not lover, but woman. My weakness for him, the momentary break where I thought I might have trusted a Bennett, still gave him power over me. Nicholas Bennett sold his soul to steal my family’s fortune. I waited for his moment of sweet disappointment. My fingers trembled over the applicator. A creeping blush pinkened parts of me I didn’t know could reveal my embarrassment. “Get on with it.” Darius clutched the door frame. I had no way to hide. I took a breath before an attack made it more sickening. I sat and hated my nudity. They waited. Eager. Desperate. I pinched my eyes shut and tried to think of anything but how the gentle trickle sealed some sort of perverted, horrible fate with the Bennetts. It was worse than the bindings. Worse than threatened rape, than Darius’s touch. I didn’t mean for the light sob to escape—more a fit of anger than genuine shame. But it happened, and I couldn’t take it back. I finished, cleaned, and stood, pitching the applicator onto the counter and slamming a hand against the handle. “Two minutes,” Darius said. “Easy, my dear. This might be a happy occasion.” It would be. For me. I washed my trembling hands, pretending not to notice how close the Bennetts crowded within the doorway to the powder room. I also ignored the stick. The box. The instructions. Even the time. Reed counted, though his silent numbers audibly rushed toward the end. He nudged Nicholas. “Okay,” he said. “Check it.” I didn’t help. Nicholas edged in front of his father. His eyes caught mine in the mirror. I rewarded the false warmth of his golden gaze with a knowing perk of my eyebrow. “Negative,” he said.

My mouth dropped in mock surprise. “Really? No way?” “Negative?” Darius ripped the applicator from his son’s hand. “How the hell is that possible. All three of you fucked her.” I sighed. “Well, you know how these things go.” The men stood in a stunned silence. I escaped from the powder room and shrugged. “There’s a lot of things that factor into it. Stress and diet and environment. Sometimes getting raped repeatedly by your own brothers just won’t do it.” “Enough,” Nicholas said. “We’ll take another one in a few days. It’s still early.” He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. “I’ll piss on everything you give me, Nicholas Bennett, it won’t change a thing.” Darius checked his watch. “Nicholas, handle this. I have a meeting.” I grinned as my step-father bristled, stomping from the room. I called after him with a sweet smile. “Bye, Dad.” “Jesus Christ.” Nicholas took my hand. I jerked, but he hauled me into the smoking room. He hissed at Max and Reed, and they chased after Darius. I fought him, but Nicholas tossed me on the couch and covered me with a blanket. The door slammed shut. His mocha voice strained over an ill-concealed anger. “Are you insane? My father looks for reasons to hurt you!” “Everyone’s hurt me lately.” I wrapped the blanket over my breasts. “Why shouldn’t Darius have a chance too?” “Don’t tempt him. It’s dangerous.” “Dangerous enough that he’d beat me, strip me, and force his sons upon me?” I waited for Nicholas to show one ounce of remorse. That damn stillness. He’d turn to stone before betraying what he thought. “I think I understand just how dangerous he is.” “You give him a chance, and he will burn you alive, Sarah.” “Then why doesn’t he?” “Because you’re still useful to us. He threw you in a sixty degree cellar for three hours today because you insulted him. And that’s him holding back.” I curled my arms over the blanket. The fuzzy warmth calmed me, hiding everything Nicholas had seen, touched, and taken before I realized I slept with the devil.

“You said it yourself. He’s going to keep me alive. He wants my child.” “No. He’s punishing the Atwoods. Breeding you is just part of his sadism.” I gritted my teeth. “Hasn’t he already done enough? I’m trapped here. My brothers are dead. He killed my father.” “He never touched your father.” Liar. The son of a bitch liar looked me directly in the eyes with a cinnamon promise and melting voice and lied to me. He had no shame, no honor, no dignity. There wasn’t a profanity strong enough. “He didn’t murder your father, Sarah,” Nicholas said. My chest tightened, stealing my words from me. That was good. He didn’t deserve a single sound from my lips. “Do you want to know how your father died? Do you really want to know?” Nicholas leaned in, his arms pressing into the sofa. He trapped me and still spoke lies. “Your father died from natural causes. He died because he had complications from the cancer.” “How dare you.” “He died,” Nicholas continued, “because he was an old man who endured more chemotherapy than he could withstand. He went into remission, but he died because his body was weakened.” “That’s not true.” “You are looking for someone to blame. You’ve imagined every way you could pin his death on the Bennetts.” “Because Darius killed him!” “No. That’s not the reason.” Nicholas stared at me, through me, into me. “You weren’t as close to your father as you thought you were.” “Let me up.” “He didn’t love you as much as you loved him.” I yelled, but my voice broke. “How dare you!”

“Mark Atwood didn’t name you in his will. He passed every cent of the family’s fortune to his sons.” “They were older than me!” “But he wrote no provision for you. No trusts. Nothing! He left the money, company, and land to Josiah and Michael. He let them decide if you were worth a pittance.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “He had plans for you. Just like my father had plans for me and my brothers. You were meant for R&D. Always. He put you in science camps and tutoring. He forced you to choose genetics as your field of study.” “He didn’t force me,” I said. “You did it because he wanted you to. Because you did everything to get noticed by your father, and he paid absolutely no attention to you beyond what he could profit.” “I don’t have to listen to this.” Nicholas frowned. “If you knew what he had planned for your research? What he already did? You wouldn’t have stepped foot in that lab. You’d be relieved my father stole your research journal.” The pain in my chest was more than just the asthma catching my breath. I accidentally clutched my neck. Nicholas pulled a spare inhaler from his pocket. He held it up before handing it to me. “Your father hid your asthma. Why?” I didn’t take a hit of the medicine. “Because it was my illness. Why share what weakens us?” “He was ashamed of you.” “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking right now—” “Mark Atwood wanted a son,” he said. “A third son. To mirror the Bennetts. Instead he had you. He made do with what he was given.” “My father loved me.” “He was incapable of love.” “What the hell would a Bennett know about compassion?” My lungs would crush before they allowed a scream. I tried anyway. “You’re a monster, Nick. You’re twisting his memory.”

“He was twisted when he was alive.” I trembled. Everywhere. Why didn’t he just beat me? Hurt me? Break my heart again? Anything but this. “You’re lying,” I said. “Every word is a lie. You’re trying to confuse me, but I know Darius killed my father.” “I wish he had.” I slapped him. Nicholas didn’t react. He took my hand, and I whimpered in rage and fear and a helpless urge to strike him again. “My father isn’t the murderer.” His voice lowered. “Yours is.” I stilled. Both of us heaved useless breaths. I shook my head. “What are you talking about?” “Mark Atwood is a murderer.” “That’s not true.” The gold in his eyes faded into a murky, dire sorrow that coated me in forlorn misery. I lost him in that moment, a memory that stole him to a place that frightened him more than his father. “Mark Atwood murdered my mother.” He should have just struck me. I gripped the couch. The Bennetts never told the truth. They never followed through on their words. He was lying. He had to be. “I was twelve years old. Max was ten. Reed eight. We weren’t supposed to be in the car with her.” “Car?” “The crash took her life and nearly killed my brothers as well.” “I don’t understand. How did my father murder your mother if she died in a car crash?” Nicholas didn’t hesitate. Sincerity frosted his voice. “He paid a laborer from your farm to sever the break line. Once the job was done, Mark reported him as one of the many illegal day workers under your employ and had him deported.”

“Bullshit.” “We didn’t realize the car was compromised until she hit the highway. By that point, there was nothing we could do.” A soft echo of pain shadowed his words. I didn’t want to listen anymore. “The car flipped twice before landing in an embankment. I was thrown clear. My brothers weren’t as lucky.” I tried to escape. He held me against the sofa. “I saved Max first because he screamed the most.” “Oh, God.” “I dove into the wreckage and chiseled my brother from between the seats. His leg was pinned and turned to jelly. It dislocated as I pulled him out.” His voice hollowed. “He never passed out. Not even when the paramedics vomited in the grass after realizing every bone in his right leg was pulverized.” Christ. Max’s limp. The crash. His plans for the military. “Reed was trapped. His face broke through the glass. He had major lacerations, so bad I could see his jaw through his cheek. He went into shock before I even got him out of his seatbelt. Nearly died on the way to the hospital.” He paused. “Ask him how many plastic surgeons we saw before they could piece his face together well enough for him to smile.” God. Reed only had one dimple. The scars had faded, but I hadn’t asked how he got them. Nicholas’s pain manifested in a quiet anger. I trembled in his silence. He was a good liar. A really good liar. He had to be lying. “And my mother…” He heaved a breath. “I saved my brothers before going after her because she would have wanted me to help them before her. It was how I was raised. I was the oldest, and I had a responsibility to take care of them.” I couldn’t handle any more. He didn’t let me look away. “The car caught on fire before I could free her, and the flames spread too fast for me to do anything. I didn’t get close before it was engulfed.” He hesitated but forced through the memory. “I heard her screaming.” “Oh god, Nick. I’m so sorry.” “I don’t need an Atwood’s pity.”

“It’s not pity.” I said. “It’s sympathy. No one should have to experience that.” A shaking breath rattled his body before exhaling into nothing. “Your father was evil and heartless,” he said. “He murdered my mother, and it still wasn’t enough. Everything he did was meant to hurt my family.” “I’m sorry about your mother,” I whispered. “But my father wasn’t the man you’re saying he is.” “I’m not wasting my breath convincing you. What happened, happened. Nothing can change it.” Callous. Cold. Like all the Bennetts. “And if it is true?” I let the question linger. “Does that justify what you’re doing to me?” Nicholas hesitated. The pain in his expression mirrored mine. I clutched the inhaler. I wished I could hold him instead. “It has to.” A final strike. My heart thudded in hope only to shatter upon his cruelty. Nicholas said nothing else. He rose and left me to my medication. At least he knew not to ask if the tightness in my chest was the illness or the agony of his total abandonment.

“SARAH, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.” Dad stole the inhaler from my hand and pitched it into the living room. The few engineers he guided into his office flinched as the case shattered against the wall. “We’re Atwoods. We don’t wheeze. Do that somewhere no one can see.” Mike picked up the inhaler and tugged me from Dad’s meeting and into the bathroom where the cigarette smoke hadn’t permeated. “Don’t worry, Sprout.” Mike winked at me. “One day, I’ll be in charge. And you can huff and puff anywhere you want.”

I WASTED THE MEDICINE ON A SOB. The second dose helped, but it didn’t ease the grinding nausea eroding my stomach. I held tight to the blanket. Nicholas Bennett was a liar.

He hadn’t helped me, he hadn’t protected me, and he used me only for his own gain. I couldn’t believe a word he said. I wouldn’t. Not when everything that happened to me within their grasp was meant to break my spirit. It hadn’t worked. He hadn’t won, even after he and his brothers took turns attempting to ruin me. I lived, and I would keep on living because Nicholas Bennett was a liar. I wouldn’t believe his deception. Not when I endured everything they stole, abused, and hurt to defend the name of a monster.

22

SARAH

I ’d never find evidence that Darius killed my father.

Nothing incriminating existed in the Bennett Estate. The only crimes within its walls were the ones they did to me. The ones I did to myself. I thought I could handle it. I imagined walking into a den of depraved beasts and staring evil in the eye until I got the answers I wanted and the respect I deserved. Hard lessons. I wouldn’t discover a bloody weapon in Darius’s drawers, but the Bennetts obsessed over something else. The company. Wealth. My family. Maybe I wouldn’t find proof of murder, but money was just as damning. I had to follow that trail. It was the only option I had left. I snuck through the estate, ensuring Max’s suite door was pushed tightly closed before I edged into the theater. The Playstation 4 had an internet browser. Something the Bennetts obviously didn’t remember. I hadn’t had a chance to use the console alone, and I counted the seconds it took to power on. I swore at the damn controller as the cursor inched across the screen and typed the URL character by aching character. I held my breath. The email client popped up. I checked the clock. I probably had less than ten minutes to get my answers and rush back to the room before they realized I had access to the outside world. I couldn’t imagine the punishment if they caught me. Of all the people in the world to contact, I emailed my lawyer. God, I was getting corporate.

Anthony, I need everything on Josmik Holdings. Now. –S Radio silence was not conducive to a proper attorney/client relationship. Anthony’s response came immediately. S—Are you safe? Your mother said you were staying with the Bennetts. I can be there by the afternoon to get you home. –A Anthony had a sixth sense for danger. Usually it worked well in negotiations, but I couldn’t let him jeopardize my mother’s safety to rescue me from Darius’s torment. A—I’ve got it under control. Don’t come. Need an answer –S We wasted time. I jiggled the controller and begged the screen for something to pop up. S—Nothing’s available to us. Whatever deal your brothers made existed outside my firm. Got information on a secret trust. They didn’t want you to know.–A The hairs on my neck rose. Something lurked within Josmik holdings that terrified every one of the Bennetts. So why did my brothers hide it from me? A—The Bennetts have more information on Josmik than us. They know something. Why?—S The email replied immediately. S—They must be involved in the trust. Your brothers were working on a business plan—I don’t know what. They disregarded most of my advice after your father died.—A Damn. I thumped my head against the controller. I had another question, but each press of the letters twisted me into a greater knot. I stole my inhaler from my pocket before I pressed send. I preferred the tight coughing over the dread clutching my chest. A—Helena Bennett died in a car crash in 1998. Do you know anything about it?—S I refreshed the browser twice. Three times. Nothing returned. I checked the time. My step-family never wasted the day, not when there was money to earn. Each second past seven o’clock gave them cause to look for me. I refreshed again, my heart stalling as the email appeared. Sarah—I don’t advise questions of that nature. Forget you asked it. Like hell. I responded quick. Why?

I held my breath until the email flashed. Because you won’t like what you find.—A “Goddamn it.” I tossed the controller. I didn’t trust Nicholas Bennett, his brothers, or his father, but Anthony? My father relied more on our attorney than his damn oncologists. Sickness washed over me. I flipped the Playstation off and rushed from the theater, bolting to my room just as my stomach heaved. I fell to the bathroom floor. My father—a murderer? It wasn’t possible. My father wasn’t terribly kind, but he didn’t have time for kindness. He worked hard for the company—for the family. There wasn’t a crime in that. And he hated the Bennetts, but he would never have tried to murder them. Not a woman. Certainly not her young children. No one could be that evil. The memory buried deep. My mother rushing into my room when I was little. Three, not even four years old. Mike and Josiah tagged along, sleepy and irritable.

“UP, SARAH. GET UP.” MOM SANG GRANDMA’S “We have to go. Off the farm.”

MILKING SONG FOR THE COWS TO GET ME OUT OF BED.

But I liked the farm. She tugged a little book bag filled with clothes over my shoulders and told me we were going on vacation. I yelled and stomped and ran from her. She shouted, but Dad welcomed me with open arms. Mom hurried after me with tear-stained cheeks and a flurry of angry words I wasn’t allowed to repeat. “Take your sister.” Dad pushed me at Josiah. “Beth, we need to talk.” “It’s on the news,” she spat. “She’s dead.” The door slammed. Mike covered my ears as the smack echoed and Mom yelped. Dad’s voice carried. “Good.”

I THREW UP AGAIN AS SOMEONE’S STEPS ECHOED AGAINST THE TILE. I DIDN’T BOTHER HIDING. “Go away, Nick.” It wasn’t Nicholas. “Your sickness might have been a good sign had I not seen the test, my dear.” Darius waited as I struggled to my feet. My stomach heaved again. “What do you want?” He wetted a washcloth with warm water and passed it to me. I took it, hesitantly. “Do you want to know the truth about your father?” He asked. My throat closed. What kind of trick was this? I met his toad brown eyes and shook my head. “I don’t trust a word you say.” Darius tugged on the sleeves of his suit, adjusting the diamond cufflinks that he wore even within the privacy of his own home. “Get dressed.” Not the order I expected from him. “Why?” “Because you’re coming with me today.” “Where?” His smile trembled my gut. “We’re going to the Bennett Corporation Headquarters. I have something to show you.” I shook my head. “I’m fine here.” “Do you want to know the real Mark Atwood?” Darius buttoned his suit. “You have ten minutes to get ready before I rescind my offer. Dress professionally, Sarah. You’re representing your family.” Damn it. Was he serious? He’d take me to the main office? Why? The answer hit me harder than any of his strikes. We’d be alone. Separated from my step-brothers. Away from Nicholas’s intervention, Max’s promised abuse, and Reed’s kindness.

He bribed me with secrets about my family, but I feared he’d lead me straight into hell. Anthony’s warning and Nicholas’s revelation churned my stomach. I was certain— absolutely certain—Darius was responsible for Dad’s death. But now? A creeping fear punctured through me. Christ. What if I was wrong? What if I was taken and fucked, seduced and abused for…nothing? The sickness returned. I didn’t let it out. I pushed beyond Darius and dove for my wardrobe. He handed me the outfit he preferred. The skirt did nothing to settle my stomach. But I had only one way to find out what happened. One way to end the insanity. I’d give Darius one opportunity to tell me the truth, and God help him if he lied. I wasn’t fighting for my father’s legacy anymore. I’d thrive on my own revenge. I didn’t trust Darius, but I followed him to the limo parked outside. He answered a call as soon as the driver had his instructions. I scrunched in my seat as far from him as I could without offering him the satisfaction of watching me squirm. The road twisted and turned for miles without pavement markings. No cars rumbled near for twenty minutes, and every mile traveled within the wilderness stole another flake of my courage. Darius probably hoped I’d be demoralized by the distance, the isolation. The joke was on him. I wrecked my own confidence, dashed upon a foolish belief that I could protect myself from his demons. His phone buzzed again. He brushed a finger over my arm. “She’s with me.” He hummed. “Consider it a…bring your daughter to work day.” “Get off of me,” I hissed. Darius smirked and ended his call. “Your brother. Checking up on you.” I didn’t ask which one. It didn’t matter. I guessed. Darius sneered. “You fucked him more than once, didn’t you, you little slut?” I didn’t answer. He chuckled. “Thought you could ensnare him? Thought you’d seduce him, and

he’d fall in love with you and release you from our custody?” “Seduce him? If I recall …” I threaded my words in bitterness. “I was the one tied to the bed.” “He doesn’t care for you, and he never will. You are nothing but a cunt for Nicholas to fuck.” So I learned. I didn’t react. “You weren’t impregnated this month, my dear.” Darius looped a lock of my hair behind my ear. “But I assure you, my sons were raised with Bennett ambition. We always get what we want.” I had no reason to doubt him, especially as his eldest son stood at his side. Nicholas could rot in hell, but he was still an ally. I said nothing about our encounters. It’d kill me, but I’d protect him as long as he stole the Bennett Corporation and humiliated his father. The ride to San Jose prickled with an unsavory silence. I ignored Darius as he answered emails and took calls, but his attention wasn’t on his cell. He stared at me. Searched over my curves. Shifted against the bulge in his pants as we drew nearer to the headquarters. No matter how much I hated my step-brothers, their desire had been just that. Desire. And in my moments of weakness, I shared it. But everything Darius did, every word he said, and every breath he took riddled with bestial sadism. The limo parked, and he attempted to take my hand. I leapt out as the driver opened the door. The Bennett Corporation compound was housed on its own plot of land in the middle of the city—a five story complex of modern architecture and classy design. Enough people wandered the street to make escaping easy, especially as a police officer parked one block away. Darius took my elbow and squeezed. “It would be unwise,” he whispered. “Painful to you, and certainly a tragedy on your poor mother. Come with me. Don’t make me regret this trust.” I didn’t trust him, but I still followed. A marbled and ostentatious foyer welcomed us into the heart of the Bennett Corporation. Artificial light and chlorine kissed fountains decorated the lobby. The ceilings stretched multiple stories, but they painted it a fake blue. Suits and ties and heels and skirts filled the morning rush of employees to their offices. A stale

whiff of coffee permeated from the kiosk parked within an imitation jungle of ferns and flowers. Was everything the Bennetts touched fake? When my family went to work, they toiled outside, in the real plants under an honest blue sky and prayed for the water that freely tumbled from the Bennetts’ fountain. Then again, my father spent more and more time trapped in our company’s offices. And I hadn’t touched soil in years—not when most of my experiments were conducted within the RNA of the crop, not in tilled dirt. Darius reserved a private elevator as CEO and owner. He pulled me inside, ignoring the nods and well-wished good mornings from his employees. I shuddered as he refused to release my hand. The elevator moved too slowly. I studied the mirrored panels. I was still bruised—pale and tiny next to the greying demon that possessed enough strength to overpower me and reveal my rage and grief and damning emotions I tried to hide. The doors opened. The silence of his private floor descended like another gag stuffed in my mouth. My skin brushed with goose bumps, and every rational thought barraged my head with warnings to stay tucked within the elevator. “Come with me, my dear.” Darius bargained with blood. “You’ll appreciate this.” I swallowed, immediately regretting the breath that refused to squeeze from my lungs. Our steps echoed in the vast hall, and Darius led me to the thick, spanning door that sealed me inside his office. The sterile space existed only for efficiency and business. The windows spanned the entire office, but the stark light that trickled in fell cold upon the black leather furniture. He offered me a seat before the sprawling executive desk. He claimed the throne behind it. And smiled. “It’s been some time since an Atwood graced my office,” Darius said. “I’m here. Let’s talk.” He didn’t offer me coffee or water. His phone blinked on do-not-disturb. I winced as I realized how tightly I crossed my legs. “I wish to…clear my name,” Darius said. “You believe I am responsible for Mark

Atwood’s death.” “Yes.” I stated it strongly, even as the conviction faded in my head. “I didn’t.” I expected as much. “Nicholas told you about his mother?” I ground my jaw. “He said that my father hired the man who severed her car’s break line.” “It’s true.” “Do you have proof?” Darius folded his hands. “If I had enough to convict him, he’d be in jail now, rotting away for taking my wife and nearly murdering my sons.” “I can’t prove you killed my dad, and you can’t prove he killed your wife,” I said. “What’s the point of this? It’s getting us nowhere.” “My dear, I told you. I wish to clear my name.” Darius stared at me. “And to damn his.” He ruffled through a file next to his desk and offered me candid pictures of a farm. Photos of alfalfa and corn, potatoes and onions—each plant thriving in a cracked soil that shouldn’t have sustained such quality. He allowed me to read the documentation attached to the file. “Transgenetic drought-resistant crops grown on an African farming collective.” I flipped the page. “This is a non-profit project?” Darius nodded. “Keep reading.” The scientific journals revealed the program’s experiments into a specific genome of the plants they cultivated. My heart fluttered at their results. Hearty plants, durable crops, seeds that’d withstand arid climates and a product relatively unscathed by the harsh conditions of its growth. “Similar to your research?” Darius asked. I wouldn’t rise to his challenge. “Similar, but not exact,” I said. “It’s what I planned to study when I finished my degree.” “Yes, it is.” Darius absently studied a photo. “Your father realized it.” “My father was always interested in my research.”

“No, my dear,” Darius laughed. “He was interested in progress. Profit. Your research was secondary to his goals.” “You don’t know anything about my father. He committed to R&D because he understood the environmental threats facing the agricultural business in the west.” “Spun better than a PR department,” he chuckled. “Your father cared only for his own business and farm. Everything he did and every penny he spent was meant to profit only the Atwoods.” “This research,” I tapped the folder, “and the experiments I did? It’d help everybody.” “He didn’t help anyone, only himself.” Darius pulled another folder from his desk. “This should be illuminating.” I opened the folder. My heart sunk. “One of your father’s first initiatives was forging an R&D team to study, create, and patent specific genes that would benefit his company. Once the genes were secured and the product created and the money tucked safely within his bank account, he ensured no other laboratory studied anything similar to what he patented.” Darius took a great satisfaction in my trembling. “How many of Atwood’s development products are actually on the market?” None. I cleared my throat. “It wasn’t part of our business plan,” I said. “The past few years we focused on the water shortages and droughts. My father got sick, and we didn’t have the initiative we needed to…to…” “Benefit every farmer in southern California? To offer products and produce that would revolutionize agriculture?” “The science was new. My father didn’t understand it.” “Yes, he did. Your father knew exactly what the science meant. And that’s why he squashed it.” The folder trembled in my hand. I continued reading. The farming collective with their beautiful plants and healthy, lovely vegetables. Sued and dismantled for patent violations. I thumbed through the rest of the papers. Not just one project squashed. Dozens.

Non-profit companies and university research. Small labs and large industries. Individuals. Charities. When someone researched anything even remotely similar to our patents and developments, Dad descended with an army of lawyers and dozens of lawsuits claiming our work had been infringed. The most recent suit stabbed through my chest. The African initiative—a nonprofit attempting to stop hunger and grant sustainability to rural and desperate villages—sued, dismantled, and pending restitution. Dad cited my research as the cause to shut them down. He used my name. “Your father knew the value of that research. He also knew how pivotal it would become.” Darius leaned over the desk. “But why release a revolutionary product before the market is sufficiently desperate?” “No.” I seized a breath. “This was just…protecting the research. He wouldn’t have hid it. He was sick. He couldn’t take on this many projects. But if he hadn’t died—” “Sarah, he planned to sit on your projects and the science that would literally save hundreds of thousands of lives from hunger.” “It’s not true.” “Like a proper businessman, Mark Atwood knew he’d earn more from the products when they were in demand. Ever wonder why your father invested so much in political super PACs and organizations? Those groups lobbied for farmers’ tax breaks, subsidies, and all the irrigation water they needed to drown their droughtridden lands with water-demanding crops despite the harsh environment not supporting their product.” Darius plucked the folder from my hands and replaced it in his desk. “Your father planned to wring southern California dry, profit from the crops he sent overseas to rot in storage, and patent and hide the one solution that would ease the demand on the environment and provide hungry people around the world the means to feed themselves.” I trembled.

“SARAH!” DAD WAS MAD. I HID IN THE DOORWAY. HE’D SHOUT JUST AS LOUDLY IF I APPROACHED desk or waited in my room. “You worked on our research in the university lab!”

HIS

Only once. I entered the results, that was all. Dad raged, running his hand over a bald head. He forgot he lost his hair to the chemo last week. “It was just an Excel sheet,” I said. “I’m sorry, Dad.” “Never take our work out of the lab!” He didn’t have the energy to slam a fist on the table. He could hardly even raise his voice. “If the school finds it—” “They won’t.” “If they find it, they’ll claim it for themselves. Any work done within the University is their property! You could have cost this family millions, Sarah! Billions!” “I…I didn’t mean to.” “You never mean to.” He sighed. “Sarah, I don’t know how you’re ever going to help this family when I’m gone.” “Dad, you aren’t dying.” “Good. Because I certainly can’t trust you, now can I?” “You can. I promise.” He waved a shaking hand. “It’s fine, Sprout. I should have expected this. Just be more careful and go to bed.” I didn’t let him see me cry. “I’m sorry, Dad. I love you.” “Yeah. Goodnight.”

DARIUS’S SMILE ONLY GREW. “Your father was ruthless, my dear. He was violent. Vindictive. And he was obsessed with my family. The car crash was only one opportunity he took to harm us. Our warehouses were constantly damaged with vandalism and violence. One of his migrant workers was to be charged after he attempted arson on a fertilizer factory in Texas. Do you know what happened when he was arrested?” My voice weakened. “My father had him deported too?” “Your father had him murdered in his jail cell.” No.

I clutched the arm of the chair as Darius laughed. “You didn’t know your father at all, did you, my dear?” I closed my eyes. It didn’t help. The room swirled and tilted, and I suffered through a wavering breath that did nothing to ease the strain building in my chest. Was it true? Nicholas’s pain was too real, and Anthony’s warning too abrupt. I searched through reluctant memories. Dad’s late nights at the office. The patents he forced me to file. Mom’s arguments. The time she tried to leave. The black eye when he didn’t let her. He taught me nothing about the business. He never included me in meetings. He posed for pictures only with Josiah and Mike. He hadn’t named me in his will. God. What the hell had I done? I adopted his work ethic and ambition, but I inherited something worse. His hatred. I shared his every loathing heartbeat for the Bennetts, and, in my blindness, I trapped myself in their grasp. Darius rose from the desk. He circled behind me, but I didn’t notice until his hands rested upon my shoulders. The goose bumps returned. I shrugged, but it didn’t cast him away. “I understand. It’s difficult to hear.” And he loved every second of my torment. The breaking of my heart was a far more effective punishment than any gag or flogger or bindings. His fingers pressed hard. I stiffened. “And now you see why we have taken you in. Given you a new family.” I swallowed. “Don’t twist it. You kidnapped me.” “Only to do what must be done.” He petted my hair. “Your father spent his life attempting to suppress the Bennett Corporation. It’s time we had our revenge and take what is due to us.”

“Your fight was with him. I’ve done nothing to your family.” “Sins of the father…” Darius chuckled. “My dear, I’ve been lenient with you, if only because I anticipated it would be difficult for such a young girl to understand her new place in this family.” His fingers dug into me. “No longer, Sarah. You have a very important role to play for my sons, and I will not accept any further disobedience.” “If you think I’ll let any of this happen without a fight, you’re as insane as you are cruel.” “Cruel? I haven’t been cruel yet.” I didn’t have time to prepare. The backhand blinded me. I stumbled, but Darius caught me before I tumbled from the chair. It wasn’t a kindness. He forced me over his desk. The shock of the wood struck under my lungs, prying the air from me in a painful wretch. Darius pulled my hair and slammed my head against the desk as I twisted to escape. The slam blitzed me with pain. I stilled. Blinked. Heaved. Nothing came out. A darkness warred with the light from his windows. “Since the beginning, you’ve been a nuisance in my household,” Darius hissed. “I’ve given you too much freedom, and you’ve bewitched my sons. They’ve taken pity on you. It ends now.” “Maybe your sons aren’t monsters.” “Maybe they didn’t fuck you enough.” Darius’s strike wasn’t a spank. He meant to hurt. I lurched over the desk, but he spoke over my shout. “Your life is going to change, Sarah. We were benevolent, but you didn’t show the proper gratitude.” “You beat me.” “I didn’t kill you.” He leaned over me, his breath foul against my face. “I offer you my generosity, and in return? You refused to give me a grandson. That disappoints me.” “Get used to it.” “I will not rest until you are swollen, broken, and pregnant.” “I’ll kill you before that happens.”

“Like father, like daughter.” He sighed. “You only respond to violence.” His hands groped my hips. His touch was nothing like the gentle brush of his sons’ exploration. He gripped me. The sickness rose again. I batted his hands away with a shriek. He ripped my hair back. “You’ve been a naughty girl, my dear.” Darius slapped my ass again, eager to listen for my screaming. I didn’t recognize my fear or my frantic cries when he pitched my skirt up and pulled my panties to my knees. “Your father should have taught you better manners. Not to worry. Your new Daddy will help you become a proper little whore.” I fought against the desk but earned only another brutal strike that seared me with hot tears. I kicked. Darius dodged. A third strike. “Let go of me!” I struggled. He hit again. I shrieked. “Don’t touch me!” Why was I even screaming? Why was I wasting air? Darius had no respect for me, and his grip bound me with every evil he promised. I tensed for another swipe. He beat my head against the desk, laughing as the force echoed in his office. The pain cracked through me. I weakened, and my vision darkened. It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough to dull the horror of what Darius planned. Agony burst within my chest. The panic surged with an instant asthma attack, and I wheezed against my futile scream. His fingers prodded. I squeezed my eyes shut. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They had promised. Each one of them. Reed swore he’d protect me like a real brother. Max vowed he’d be the only one who would ever hurt me. And Nicholas? Darius forced a finger in me with a grunted profanity. The sensation nauseated me. Nicholas said I would belong to him. I was his. He promised it, again and again. He whispered it while I was in his arms and he

growled it while he came inside me, filling me with his every devotion. I was supposed to be his. Darius spat. The hot spittle trickled over my skin. He withdrew his hand only to force the wetness between my legs. I struggled. No. Not between my legs. He didn’t aim for my slit. “I took a vow with your mother.” Darius caressed my hips, my curves, my behind. Every touch prickled like a thousand needles, burned like spilled wax, and ached like his relentless strikes. What he planned would hurt far worse. “I won’t disrespect her honor by knocking up my step-daughter.” “So don’t hurt me,” I whispered. “You only seem to understand your place when you’re imbedded on a cock.” Darius hauled me up by my hair. His sausage fingers pressed hard against a part of me that hadn’t been touched. I never wanted to be touched there. A shiver rolled over my spine. “This lesson will benefit us both. I love to hear an Atwood scream.” His finger jammed inside that most vulnerable part of me. And I screamed. God, did I scream. The violation was nothing like what my step-brothers forced upon me. Where their touches had been passionate and meant to tease, Darius intended to rip me apart from the inside. The tears fell and my whimpering begging filled the office. I swatted at his arms, twisted from his grip to escape. His hold on my hair was too harsh. He ripped out of me only to spit again, forcing his wetness over my budded entrance. He shifted. His zipper tugged down. My mind splintered. I screamed, even without the invasion of his finger.

He liked that, but I didn’t know what else to do. Darius Bennett wanted me to suffer, and he’d deliver that torment with his cock. He’d brutalize and sodomize me for his own perverse enjoyment. I’d never known a fear like this. Not when I watched the smoldering wreckage of my brothers’ plane crash on the news. Not while my step-brothers chased me through the city streets and wrecked my car within the desolate stretch of my family’s property. Not even when I realized how badly it hurt that Nicholas abandoned me. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I clutched the desk as though it were the only means to protect me, but the arresting terror wouldn’t let me escape. The desk angled my hips up for Darius. In my horror, I offered him every access to a part of me that should have never been touched. I pleaded with Darius to fuck me anywhere but there. “This won’t be pleasant for you.” His words already crawled within me, twisting and clawing a way for the rest of him to enter. “But from now on, nothing will be pleasant for you. The sooner you realize, the easier your life will become.” The fat head of his cock pushed against me so suddenly I had no time to fight. My nail splintered as I tried to claw away. His hips thrust forward. My body refused in a wave of nauseating pain. He smacked my ass and tried again. The agony shredded through me. My scream begged for mercy, but Darius managed only to hurt me, not to imbed himself. He swore and ground against my hips. My vision darkened. Why wouldn’t I just pass out? My world would end in incomprehensible misery. I didn’t understand the shouting. Darius jerked, releasing me before any of his grotesque length sullied my violated body. I scrambled away, hauling myself over the desk and across the polished wood in a

blaze of utter panic. The floor captured me as I tumbled. I kicked my panties away before they tangled around my ankles. I collapsed against the wall and tugged my skirt down, down, down. Nicholas pitched Darius into his chair and slammed a fist against his jaw. Darius spit a tooth onto the floor. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He yelled. “You can hear her screaming from the elevator!” Darius roared, but Nicholas punched again. He seethed, leering over his father with a menace I didn’t recognize. I curled into a tight ball and shuddered. “Do you want everyone in this building to know you’re raping your stepdaughter?” He heaved an unsteady breath. “They’ll call the police, haul her off, and we’ll lose her for-fucking-ever?” Nicholas seized a handful of Darius’s suit and shook. “How the hell would we survive then?” The coldness damned me. Nicholas saved me. But for what? To protect me? To spare me pain? To take me as his? Or to ensure his investment hadn’t been compromised? I stumbled to my feet. Darius sneered at me—disappointed he hadn’t rutted me into pained, ruined submission. “She misbehaved.” “Then let Max handle it before you kill her and jeopardize the entire company.” Nicholas kicked his father’s chair. He rolled, striking the window. Not nearly hard enough. He deserved nothing but broken glass and a ten story fall to Hell. “I’m taking her home,” Nicholas growled. “Put your cock away. You almost cost us everything.” Nicholas gripped my arm. I struggled, but the panic and pain, exhaustion and utter terror leaded my reactions. I wept as the door closed. Darius sealed inside, trapped in his own frustration and sadism. The elevator closed. Nicholas didn’t release me. I hadn’t expected his kiss.

I didn’t think I’d warm to his touch. I never knew he could be so gentle. He cupped my cheeks and shuddered, dropping his forehead against mine and surrendering to a trembled fear that rivaled my own. “Jesus, Sarah.” He kissed me again. I clutched at his arms. “You have to stop me, and you have to stop me now.” “Stop you?” “Tell me you need me. Ask me to hold you. Beg me to stay.” I stared into his eyes, lost in the protective gold. “Why?” His breath panted in raw agony. “Because if you let me go, I’ll kill my fucking father for hurting you.”

23

NICHOLAS

R age.

I never experienced true rage before. This was worse than anger. More violent than wrath. Less civilized than madness. Hearing her scream iced my core. Witnessing how he tried to violate her clawed through everything composed, guarded, and rational inside me. I hit him. And it felt good. It wasn’t enough. I had never wanted blood before—not even when my mother died in front of me and my brothers howled in agony. Then, I wanted what all Bennetts craved. Retribution. Justice. Revenge. But I never murdered. Not until my father touched what wasn’t his, hurt what he had no right to harm, and attempted to take what I’d already claimed. Sarah refused my help until we reached the safety of my Mercedes. I helped her into the seat. She grimaced as she repositioned her skirt over her thighs. We left her panties in my father’s office. If I wasn’t careful, I’d wreck the car in a fit of unbridled fury. I clutched the wheel but took her hand before she cowered too far from me. I kissed her delicate fingers. She trembled, but her breathing worried me even more, especially as she wasted her breath on crass insults reserved for my father. I hated that I hadn’t cared enough for the woman in my possession to learn the

signs and triggers of her illness. That was my fault. “How is your asthma?” I asked. “Can you last until we’re home?” “My home?” She shivered, but the steel in her eyes hardened the blue into refined grey. Her life would be nothing but disappointment caused by my cowardice. “No.” Sarah’s lip quivered. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I doubted it, but I knew better than to argue with Sarah Atwood. The silence pierced my head in a migraine of regret. The fear still held me. I’d forever endure nightmares about what might have happened. Reality finally struck both of us. She realized her fate. I saw what would become of my beautiful, brave Sarah once my father sated his lust. The one thing she asked of us was to protect her from my father. I failed her. I should have protected her. She wasn’t hurt because I was too preoccupied with my own plans for her and my company. My father hadn’t outplayed us. I wasn’t weak or out of options. I failed Sarah because I hid from her. Nothing used to frighten me in this world, not when I had the wealth, power, and ambition to overcome any challenge. But I met my match. I surrendered to Sarah Atwood. She bound me so tightly in beauty and gentleness and grace I’d relinquished every means of escape. Her words teased. Her lips enthralled. Her body tempted. My enemy. My opponent. My step-sister. She’d forever destroy what had been the Bennett Empire, and, for the first time, I didn’t care. I lost myself within her, and I’d give my name, my inheritance, and my last breath just for a chance to hold, taste, and love her. Even if it was only for the fleeting moments while I kept her captive in my life. I trapped her at the estate, scooping her into my arms and carrying her into her prison. She squirmed. She wanted to scrape her pride together, patchwork but functional. How she always survived.

Sarah protested, but her fingers curled into my suit. She held on as tight to me as I clung to her. I’d never let her go again. I hadn’t allowed her to trespass in my wing or explore my suite, and I didn’t grant her the opportunity now. I locked the door behind us and delivered her right to my bed. Sarah trembled in the center of the classic poster bed—king sized for me but absurdly large for my captured fairy. She sunk onto the black sheets, her hair the only bit of pale brightness I’d permit in my bedroom. She glowed within the dark walls and draperies. My decor didn’t suit the little farm girl clutching the blankets. Then again, nothing inside the Bennett estate did. Sarah adapted to everything we forced upon her—her room, her schedule, her body. I approached, cupping her face and studying the damned bruises that stained her perfect skin. Who could mar such beauty? “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Can you forgive me?” Sarah straddled the edge even when no one challenged her. She wept with desperation, but her voice hardened with every foolish resistance she reserved for me. “Depends,” she said. “What are you apologizing for?” Dangerous question. “For my father. For letting him take you. For him almost hurting you.” I leaned in. She permitted my closeness, but the kiss broke over her rasped sigh. I cursed myself for forcing it, but she pushed forward, taking a deeper, gentler press of my lips. She’d draw the very blood out of me with that kiss. “Give me more than that apology, Nick,” she whispered. “Tell me there’s a soul in there somewhere.” My soul died, broken, bruised, and hurt than the girl trembling before me. She wasn’t ready to hear my true confession, and I wasn’t ready to reveal it. “I’m sorry that I need you to be mine.” I touched her cheek. She leaned into my hand. “Nothing else makes sense. You are more than my captive, Sarah, but every beat of my heart is a living agony when you are not trapped under me.” She looked away. I hated losing that kindness.

“I want to trust you,” she whispered. “Then trust me. I know I am a monster, but I’m your monster. I swear I will do everything I can to protect you.” “Tell me why I’m really here.” Sarah didn’t realize she gently rocked herself. “You stole me. Imprisoned me. Kept me here. Planned to breed me, but it isn’t just to steal the company. I know it isn’t. Tell me. What are you hiding from me?” I wasn’t the only one with secrets. Mine would ruin lives. Hers? “You have to share yours first,” I said. “Who says I have a secret?” I searched her expression. “Today was the first time you showed any real fear.” “And today was the first time you dared to oppose your father.” It was the truth, and I didn’t know what would come of it. But she wanted secrets, and I couldn’t give them. It wasn’t just her at risk. My family, our future, the very livelihood of a multi-billion dollar business rested upon our decisions and depended on our crimes. If she knew, if she acted, my father would do worse than rape her. I knelt beside the bed, pulling her close. “I can’t tell you. It isn’t safe.” “Nothing is safe, Nick. Not here. Not trapped between restraints and floggers and passed around for three men to be used and fucked and…” “I’ll protect you. So will Max and Reed. I swear to you, Sarah. Trust us. Do this for us. Be here for us, and I’ll find a way to free you.” “Do it now.” The soft plea refueled the helpless rage simmering under my skin. “Nick, please, I’m asking you as a sister and a friend and someone…” Her voice trembled over the aching truth. “Someone who is falling in love with you. Please, let me go.” “Sarah…” “I can’t be here anymore. I thought I had this under control. I thought I’d handle it.” “You can.” She dug her fingers into the bed. Why was it so damned dark in here? I couldn’t see her face, I didn’t know if she was crying. How was I supposed to console her?

“Everything is wrong.” Her words choked. “I thought I was doing this for my father. I wanted to redeem him. I tried to honor him.” The crushing heartache in her voice tempered my rage. I pulled her close, letting her wrap her arms around me in whatever way she needed—friend, brother, lover. It didn’t matter anymore. I let her cry, and she let me see her weakness without fear. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You shouldn’t have learned like this.” “I could survive this when it was to protect the Atwoods. But now?” “You can still survive this.” “But why?” Her voice hardened. “Why put myself through this torture?” “Is it torture?” “Your father tried to rape me.” It was selfish. I held her tighter. “I won’t ever hurt you,” I promised. “Every minute with you is pain.” “But you’re strong enough to take it, Sarah. I know you are.” She sank deeper into my arms. “You aren’t giving me a choice, Nicholas Bennett. Am I always going to be your prisoner?” “If that’s the way to keep you here, so be it.” “That’s not fair.” No. It wasn’t, but I was beyond fair. The rules of the world—the laws and morals, principles and ethics—didn’t apply to us. To me. My name, my money, and my power offered something more than what normal men possessed. Sarah Atwood could beg and plead, and I would never let her go. If only because I feared that she wouldn’t come back to me. And that made me more of a threat to her than even my father’s vengeance. Sarah’s whisper begged for the wrong things. She should have asked for affection, devotion, and seduction. Those I offered. But mercy? Mercy didn’t exist within my embrace, and forgiveness would never rest within her heart. “Nick, if you love me—”

“I do.” She shuddered. “Then please.” She couldn’t support herself any longer. I laid beside her, cradling her against my chest. She clutched at me, the tears damp on her cheek. I stoked her hair, rubbed her back, accepted her warmth. But I wouldn’t let her escape from my possession. “I hate to cause you pain,” I whispered. “It will always end in pain,” Sarah said. “Nothing can survive this, Nicholas. Our families have hated each other for generations. Your father will stop at nothing to break me. You refuse to let me go.” She rolled over only to bury her head in my chest. “Even if this were different…you’re my step-brother. God, everything about this is wrong. We have nothing to keep us together and everything that will drive us apart.” “Trust me.” “We’ll never trust each other. We’ll never let ourselves.” “Then depend on me. Know that I will find a way to keep you safe.” “Even from you?” “Especially from me.” Sarah burrowed deeper. She fit perfectly against me, snuggled against my jacket and digging her fingers in my shirt. Her breathing shuddered only as she drifted into a fitful sleep. The horrors of her day hadn’t stolen her courage, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been scarred. The Sarah Atwood who challenged me, fought me, and forced me to confront the depths of my sins hadn’t escaped unscathed. I feared for her. It was the wrong thing to fear. Sarah never needed my pity or my strength, my kindness or my pledge of foolish love. She needed only to wait for me to fall asleep.

I WOKE SUDDENLY. SHE WAS GONE, AND, IN THE HAZY fearing she had been taken by my father.

PANIC OF MY FATIGUE,

I

BURST FROM THE BED

I rushed from the bedroom. She wasn’t in my suite, and the door opened into the hall. My blood chilled. Would she always refuse stay where I put her? I prepared for battle, already texting my brothers with an order to find her before my father did. I was wrong to worry for her. My office door propped open—the lock picked by a clever hand of someone who learned her lesson from the last time she spied on what wasn’t hers. This time, she didn’t focus on Darius’s office. The heir had the same information. I was too late to stop her from finding it all. She sat at my desk—papers strewn across the top, folders opened, the computer on and my email displayed for her to study. Her scowl darkened with every step I took. I waited before the desk. “A secret trust,” she said. “My brothers had a secret trust built specifically for an inheritance in my name when I turn twenty-one.” And so we began the descent into Hell. “Josmik Holdings,” I said. “Josmik fucking Holdings.” I waited as she pitched a folder at me. “My brothers negotiated with your Board of Directors.” I exhaled. “Your father and brothers held a proxy takeover of the Bennett Corporation. They contacted our private investors and offered them an exorbitant amount of money to betray my family and promise their shares to the Atwoods.” Sarah’s voice shrilled with shock, rage, and utter surprise. “And they succeeded!” “Some of them. When your brothers died, the deal stagnated. You were named the beneficiary of a secret trust only to be accessed when you turned twenty-one. They tried to protect you by limiting your involvement.” “This isn’t happening.” “In less than a year, the trust will be available to you.” The words bittered in my mouth. “Your brothers secured a large quantity of our stock. That’s why we’re holding you here. That’s why we planned to keep you.” Sarah laughed—a frantic, frightened laugh that crippled her against my desk. She

stared at me, her voice a light waver against the darkness. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered. “You knew this all along.” “I did.” “In ten months, I’ll possess a controlling interest in the Bennett Corporation.” I said nothing. I had nothing to say, nothing to do, and no hope to offer my family save for the depravity we forced on Sarah Atwood. We could hurt her, terrorize her, abuse her, and it wouldn’t make a damn difference. In less than a year, it would be us begging for her mercy. Sarah Atwood would control the Bennett Corporation.

24

SARAH

M y step-brothers paced Nicholas’s office.

Reed sunk into a chair and held his head in his hands. Max stole a bottle of whiskey from a hidden cabinet under the window. Nicholas remained still, as always. He was the only one who dared watch me. “You hid this from me,” I said. The realization refused to stick. They didn’t answer. I pitched the folder and all its damning contents on the table. “You hid this from me!” I didn’t know who I yelled at—my step-brothers or my real family. Stocks. Investments. Secret trusts and hidden agendas and proxy wars to steal and punish and humiliate. And my father won. My brothers won. They secured the deals. Somehow. They approached the right members on the board and convinced them to hand over their stocks in exchange for… So much money. Damn it. Mike and Josiah didn’t waste the money. They spent every cent they could get— every penny that might have been reinvested in the farm, in crops, in research— and they used it to punish the Bennetts. Our families would do anything to hurt the other. Burn money. Murder. Ruin futures. Kidnap and betray the one innocent person who had no idea any of it was

happening. “This is why you stole me,” I said. “You kidnapped me and devastated my life because of this deal.” Nicholas nodded. “Yes.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I covered my face. “You’ve beaten me. Fucked me. Kept me locked in a goddamned basement. You father almost raped me today.” Reed and Max stiffened. “Yeah.” I lost my nerve as they paled. “When he took me to your company and told me all the dirty little secrets about my father and what a monster he was. He tried to rape me. He almost f—fucked my…my…” I couldn’t say it. Had Nicholas not been there, not saved me, held me, and hid me away within his arms, I wouldn’t have survived both the revelations about my horrible father and the torment of Darius’s touch. I thought my life was over. Instead? “I’ve won,” I said. “You can’t do a thing to me now. I’ve won.” Nicholas’s whisper was gentle, but it didn’t dull the pain of loving a man who held me captive. His every word enthralled me, but the darkness and mistaken trust would damn me forever. I didn’t care. The excitement burned within me. I won. I had nothing to fear from the Bennetts. And the surge of raw, uncompromising victory sealed my first real smile in weeks. My step-brothers didn’t share my excitement, but they didn’t understand. All the battles, all the stubborn defiance, and all the endless warring now had an end. Why did Nicholas hold me prisoner when I’d be his willingly? “Sarah,” he said. “Forget what you saw. It makes no difference.” I grinned. His words resonated within my head, twisted to punish him instead. “Why are you fighting me, Nicholas Bennett? It’s over.” He took my hand. The heat from his touch burned through me, surging with the whirling, coiling emotions of my discovery. I’d cry. I’d laugh. I’d leap into his arms

and let him comfort me and take me in the promise of our newfound freedom. “It’s never going to end,” he whispered. “You know what we have to do to you.” “You aren’t serious.” “We wanted Atwood Industries out of greed, but we need it for our security.” My stomach dropped. Now I understood. “You’re trying to breed me so I’ll trade the baby for Josmik Holdings.” “Unless we find a way to block the trade and retain our investor’s shares, keeping you was always a failsafe to ensure the company didn’t fall.” Max said nothing, sipping his whiskey. Reed paced without looking at me. I let Nicholas pull me into a hug, holding me tight as he plotted his ways to force my surrender. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I hated to deceive you. But I swear, you will be kept safe. Protected. Loved. Even in this ugliness, I won’t let you get hurt.” I didn’t answer. Had none of them listened to me? Watched me? Why hadn’t they tried to understand a single thing about me? They freaked about the asthma and obsessed over the calendar for the proper time to fuck me, but they never stopped to think. To ask. Why didn’t they realize how strange it was that I’d let three men—my stepbrothers—force me into bed with the intent to breed me like an animal? “You guys…don’t know, do you?” I shifted from Nicholas, holding each of their gazes. “I mean, you never thought it was possible.” “That what was possible?” Nicholas asked. “That you could rape me as many times as you wanted, and it wouldn’t matter.” “I’m sorry, Sarah. I am. But it will happen. It has to happen.” I didn’t answer, not because I feared the finality in Nicholas’s decision or because, regardless of how wicked his words were, I felt coveted in his possession. The game had been frightening and seductive.

But now it was done. They should have realized. So much suffering might have been avoided. Did I ruin everything or save myself? How to begin? “When I was eleven years old, I was rushed to the hospital for severe abdominal pain,” I said. My step-brothers shared a puzzled silence. “My father didn’t believe me when I said I hurt, so I didn’t get to the hospital quickly enough.” They didn’t answer. I perked an eyebrow. “Ovarian cysts are unusual for someone that young.” Nicholas darkened. I waited. They didn’t move. They still didn’t understand. “There were complications. Internal damage to my fallopian tubes from when the cysts burst.” I tensed until I thought every bone in my body would crack under the strain of their stares. “I’m infertile, guys. There won’t be a male heir for Atwood Industries because I can’t get pregnant. And that is a secret only my mother knows. I’m surprised she didn’t tell Darius.” I expected victory to taste sweeter. Reed was the first to start laughing. A rushed, bewildered laugh that muffled as he rubbed his face. “Holy shit.” He grinned. “We’re fucked.” Max poured another drink. “No. She is.” I extended my arms. “There is nothing you can do to me now. I have every advantage. Atwood Industries still belongs to me, and in a year, I’ll have the controlling interest in your company.” Max didn’t flinch. “We can stop some of the sales. You’ll only retain a portion.” Reed tucked his hands behind his head. His wink stunned me to silence. “No. I’ll give her control. She has one of my shares. She can buy the rest.” Nicholas spun, his eyes a molten, charred amber. “What?” “Fuck it.” Reed said the words slow, staring at his brother. “I’ll take the money and run. Get as far from this fucking lunatic asylum as I can. I told you, I’m not going to be a part of this. When Sarah turns twenty-one, she’ll get my stock too, and she can burn this fucking family to the ground for all I care.”

Max leapt over the couch and reared to punch. Nicholas hauled him off before Reed took aim for Max’s bad leg. He forced them apart and turned to me with a wild stare. He ripped his jacket off, but his motions weren’t meant to frighten me. They frightened him. “Everyone stop.” He ordered. “Stop and fucking listen to me.” I hated the frustration in his voice. “Nick, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but—” “Quiet.” The snap in his words struck like a whip. “You have no idea what you’ve just done. No idea at all. You’re still thinking of this as a rivalry. As a way to punish the Bennetts and redeem some sort of pride for your family.” He swore again. “You just lost whatever chance you had of surviving this.” “But it’s over—” “My father will never let the Bennett Corporation fall to Atwood control.” “He doesn’t have a choice.” Nicholas’s expression hardened, fierce and shadowed with rage. “Yes, he does.” I retreated as Nicholas stalked toward me, his words punctuated with each echoing step. “My father will torture you. He’ll beat you, starve you, rape you, and inflict every horrific torment he can devise to force you to sell.” He breathed, wild and fierce. “There won’t be a damn thing I can do to save you.” “Saved from what?” “He’s going to kill you, Sarah.” The shiver rocked me. I fell against the desk. “You said your father wasn’t a murderer,” I whispered. “I said he hadn’t murdered.” Nicholas curled his hands into fists. “Not that he wouldn’t. He wants the heir, but he’ll protect the family first. If he finds out you’re infertile and there’s no way to trade for the stock, he will kill you to save the company.” “Christ.” Reed stole the whiskey from Max. He swore after the gulp. “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” “He’ll kill you too, Reed,” Max said. “Selling your shares? Are you an idiot? If you die, your portion reverts back to the family. He’d slice your throat before letting you make a deal with Sarah.”

“He’ll do it anyway,” Nicholas said. My heart thudded with a newfound sorrow. I didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to imagine them in danger. “Dad forced me to convince you to help. That’s why I pushed you to take Sarah. If you didn’t, he said he’d kill you. I believed him.” Enough blood threatened to spill. Reed and Max stared at their brother. My tears prickled. Would any of us survive this? What was left to win? Nicholas sighed. “Sarah, if you aren’t pregnant by the time you’re twenty-one, my father will murder you to avoid losing the company.” “But…I can’t. The doctors said…” “Did they say there was a chance?” Reed asked. “Slim, if any at all.” I wasn’t about to give them hope. “But it won’t happen. I have to get away from Darius. That’s the only thing we can do.” Max snorted. “You can’t hide from my father. No one can. There’s too much money and power. He’ll hunt you like a dog. If he found the man who killed our mother hiding in the middle of Central America, he’ll find a little Atwood billionaire, no matter where she goes.” “Then I’ll sell the stock. You can have your fucking company.” “It’s not about the stock.” Nicholas approached, gently stroking my cheek. “It’s about your family. He’ll protect the Bennetts until his dying breath, but he’ll kill to hurt you.” Christ. Nicholas was right. I saw it in Darius’s eyes. Felt it in his urge to degrade me. He tried, and he failed, but I knew the Bennetts well enough to realize they’d never stop, never surrender, and never allow someone like me—a woman they saw as no challenge—to gain control over them. I gritted my teeth. I’d never surrender to Darius Bennett. And neither would Nicholas. “We should kill him,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe the words slipped from my lips. “Darius. Before he kills me.”

“Darius Bennett is the CEO of one of the largest and wealthiest privately owned corporations in the world,” Nicholas said. “He can’t be murdered. Not without starting major investigations into our family and company. It would be a media phenomenon, and every law enforcement agency on the West Coast would descend on us.” He exhaled. “His will is clear if he dies of unnatural causes. We’d lose everything.” Max narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that?” “You don’t think I’ve planned it? Thought about it?” Nicholas gestured towards me. “He kidnapped an innocent woman and plotted with her innocence. That isn’t a man who deserves to live, but he’s a man who must if we want to save our company and inheritances.” “So what do we do?” Max asked. “We’ll move on the takeover. My father doesn’t know that Sarah’s learned about her inheritance. We’ll keep it a secret.” Reed swore. “That means we can’t give him reason to believe she’s infertile.” “No,” Nicholas agreed. “We can’t.” The silence hung. I knew what they wanted, and it wasn’t to free me. The excitement fueled his strength. “Sarah.” He brushed his hand over my cheek. I wished I hadn’t shuddered. I was strong, but I’d never be strong enough to resist him, to fight him, to deny my every surrender to him. And he knew it. Max and Reed knew it. And that was why my victory would ultimately end in defeat—a sweet, desperate defeat that’d forever bind me within his clutches. “I’ll protect you,” he said. “We’ll all protect you.” Promises. Always promises. Only this time, I believed him. Without the secrets restraining us, and with the ticking clock measuring my life in single, frightening moments of possession, I had no reason not to trust Nicholas Bennett.

“But it won’t work,” I whispered. “Keeping me here is a mistake.” “It’s only our option,” he said. “The longer you’re here, the easier we can convince my father that you are our prisoner, the easier it will be to keep you alive.” “And when I don’t get pregnant?” “Leave that to me.” “We can’t fake it.” “Who said we’d fake it?” The panic and fear, adrenaline and excitement poisoned me into quivered confusion. Nicholas’s touch provided the simple antidote. Trust. Devotion. Passion. I stilled. “But…you can take me as often as you can—” “I plan on it.” The fierce dedication in his words blistered me with heat. I blushed, but my perked eyebrow offered him a challenge. “How?” I whispered. “You’ve all had me, and I didn’t get pregnant.” “Then I try again.” Nicholas’s voice rumbled low and thick. “And again. And again. Every day.” “Every day?” He seized my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. His lips pressed hard against my throat, and I flushed as I caught the gaze of my step-brothers, stunned to silence. “You’re not going anywhere, Sarah Atwood.” His breath heated my skin. “The safest place for you is right here. In my arms. In my bed. I’ll protect you. I’ll take you, and I’ll ensure you’re carrying my child before my father has cause to harm you.” “You’re insane.” “And you’re mine.” His hands tightened against me, capturing me in a kiss before I could struggle away. Max and Reed watched in silent shock.

Nicholas didn’t care. I gasped as he pushed me against his desk. He forced me down with that Bennett arrogance promising a dark, twisted, and primal act. It dominated us both. Reed called our names. Nicholas didn’t look at him, his jaw clenching as he explored my prone body. He palmed my thigh, but I knew better than to refuse him. He opened my legs and stepped between. “Don’t move.” Did he command me or his brothers? “This is the beginning of the real takeover, Sarah. You belong to me. Your body. Your future. Your safety.” My skirt peeled down. He ripped open the buttons of my blouse. My breathing shuddered as the bra tugged away. My step-brothers saw everything. I paled, but my struggling ceased as his hand crept along my chest, sealing tight against my neck. “Don’t fight me,” he whispered. “We’ve already had you. You know what we expect.” The thought was once horrifying. Now it shivered through me. I’d never deny the sheer animalistic instinct roaring through him. I won. I’d keep my company and protect myself by threatening their empire. Nicholas demanded an heir, but my body would never betray me, not even to their hedonistic and primal desires. I had won. And my prize for my conquest? Nicholas’s love. Max’s aggression. Reed’s kindness. The possibilities and pleasures, victories and empowerment dizzied me. Three men. Three step-brothers. Three protectors. Three lovers?

Nicholas’s urges might have once shamed me. Instead, I welcomed his hand against my neck, and surrendered to the instinctual submission of a woman possessed within the strength of her man. He admired me. His hardness pressed against my slit. He moved to his zipper. I searched for Max and Reed. Would he really take me in front of his brothers? The answer came suddenly, a quick, fierce, demanding stroke of his cock directly into my core. I arched, my gasp fading to a low groan. His cock stretched me, filled me, and claimed me, and I only arched against the desk to accept more of his length. My face flushed, but I’d never resist Nicholas again. His brothers watched his savage thrusts within my body, listened to my gasped moans. And they waited with fierce stares and fiercer intent. Hungry. This was wrong. God, everything about it was wrong. I shouldn’t have let him do this. Welcoming him with such betraying wetness only sealed his command over me. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be his. I wanted everything he couldn’t give me—his love, my freedom, even his promise to be with me forever. I groaned. He was my step-brother. A Bennett. My family’s worst enemy. And I wanted nothing more than for him to lose himself within me. “This is your life from now on.” Nicholas grunted as his motions were meant to take, not tease. I bounced against the desk, held in place only by a grip that would have been cruel had it not delivered me to pleasure. “You will be mine. Taken. Used. Fucked and filled until you’re bred, and nothing is going to prevent us from getting what we need.” His words weren’t kind, but I didn’t care.

I felt the emotion behind them. The anger. The devotion. The utter fear that even his basest urges wouldn’t be able to save me from the hell he created. He kissed me. I whimpered against him, struck by the ferocious gold of his gaze. His cock drove inside me. I grasped him, clenching over every offered inch of his depraved protection. I couldn’t hide my thrill, not when Nicholas knew exactly how to hold me down and force me to accept his love the only way he’d offer it. He fucked with brute strength. Claimed me with unrepentant dominance. Nicholas tangled us in a passion so twisted he’d capture me, ravish me in front of his brothers, and claim me as his captive all to prove his devotion. I tensed. I’d never fight him. He assaulted me on his desk, his aggressive thrusts brutal and frightening. But I accepted him and every shudder that bound me to his lust. He promised he’d protect me. The orgasm overwhelmed me within his strikes. I crumbled against him, offering my hips despite my silent and tempted step-brothers watching as he pounded me. I cried out, whispering his name, drawn into utter pleasure and the sheer intensity of his strength. A surge of heat jetted inside me. Nicholas claimed me, forced my submission, and offered me his adoration. He shuddered over me, but his words excited me more than his raging aggression. “I love you,” he growled. “More than you can possibly know. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means sharing your body to save your life.” I panted, but Nicholas didn’t give me time to rest. He hauled me off the desk and faced his brothers. I was forced to my knees before them—trembling, weak, and slick with his claiming. “Everything has changed,” Nicholas said. “We have no time. If we want to save her life, Sarah has to conceive.” Max and Reed hadn’t moved, but their eyes feasted over my every quivering movement. I shuddered, looking up to Nicholas—so stern and still it was as though he hadn’t spilled his every secret and longing inside of me. “This isn’t about pride or ego.” His authority drew his brothers’ attention away from me. “This is about ensuring her survival. I need your help.”

I twisted my fingers in the carpet. My body hadn’t broken the haze of pleasure. The thrill whipped me, and the raw aggression and arrogance of his conquering left me breathless. Nothing would stop Nicholas Bennett from securing his heir and path to the Atwood fortune. He’d do it by taking me until I surrendered in my own selfish desire. Then he’d offer what remained to his brothers. He spoke the truth. I belonged to him. And what should have terrified me only sealed my fate in endless passion and strict, unforgiving pleasure. He pushed me forward. I fell onto my hands, bowing to my step-brothers as the air thickened with their own instinctual urge to dominate and take. Nicholas’s voice growled with ambition, hardened with challenge, and threatened with lust. “Who’s next?”

THE END

CONTROLLING INTERESTS (LEGACY BOOK 2)

1

SARAH

I expected abuse, rage, and violation from Darius Bennett.

Instead, he offered me a pink sundress and white strappy sandals. Darius asked me to join him for dinner. It was more likely I’d claw his damned eyes out. The gifted outfit rested over my unmade bed. I regretted leaving the comforter tucked and the pillows so neatly stacked. The message was clearer than if Darius had caught me within Nicholas’s arms. I didn’t sleep in my own bed last night. Then again, I hardly slept at all. “I’m not having dinner with that man.” I faced my step-brothers and dared them to argue. “Not after he attacked me.” Nicholas remained silent though no words spoken in his caramel cadence would sound as satisfying as the crunch of his fist against Darius’s jaw. His hand bruised. Neither of us cared. I kissed every last scape on his knuckles. Then I kissed more than his hand. I shivered. The sensual memory threaded with apprehension. The dread wasn’t nearly as bad as the lingering sense of utter helplessness which remained long after Darius’s assault. Fear didn’t lash me. Humiliation, frustration, and rage humbled me in ways I didn’t know I could be humbled. I made a promise to myself then and there. I would never be that helpless again. I tossed the dress into the corner before Reed tumbled on the bed. He grinned. The flashed dimple meant trouble.

“Dinner?” He folded his arms behind his head. “There’s only one thing I want to eat now.” I fully anticipated reliving the passionate and bewildering night in bouts of blushed awkwardness, but Reed wasn’t helping. I tangled my fingers in the buttons of Nicholas’s suit jacket as I lingered before my step-brothers half-nude with mussed hair and puffy lips. Reed had no sense of propriety. Or modesty. Or tact. “There’s a limit to your puns,” I warned. Reed was immune to shame. “Make you a deal. I’ll stop making puns when I knock you up.” “Great.” I tugged at a fresh towel from my linen closet. “Then the Bennett Estate just turned into a comedy club.” Max reached over my head, slamming the closet door and nearly taking my fingers with it. His shadow loomed, menacing. I weighed my options. If he wasn’t carrying his flogger, I had more wiggle room to oppose him. “It helps to have a little optimism, baby,” he said. “Optimism?” Max was more predator than hero. “We’re doing this for your own good.” “How magnanimous.” “Just doing as we’re told, right, Nick?” The air thickened. And I was still very exposed. Nicholas said nothing. Max retreated, and I clutched the towel against my body. Nicholas’s jacket hung over my curves, but it offered no protection. All three of my step-brothers had touched, tasted, and tempted every last bit of me. And I enjoyed it. All of it. Christ. Life wasn’t easy before, yet I handled my illness, school, the funerals, my mother, and the company with a smidgen of grace. It wasn’t neat and tidy, at least I wore clothes for most of it.

Now? Well, I wasn’t wearing much of anything, and everything I thought I had under control twisted in the Bennetts’ shadows. How was I supposed to confront the tattooed, muscle-bound behemoth who ordered optimism just hours after rutting me over the arm of a couch? Was I just supposed to ignore the green-eyed charmer who winked before he ripped me from the floor to take his turn with my spent body? And what defenses did I have against Nicholas Bennett? He dominated me. He protected me. Then, he gave me to his brothers. And I obeyed him. I accepted every touch and kiss and caress. But, even as Nicholas and my step-brothers enthralled me with pleasure and conquered me in lustful savagery, we all understood our places. I owned him. I owned them all. The stock my family bought and the influence they garnered guaranteed me a controlling interest in the Bennett Corporation. In less than a year, I could ruin them for the virginity they stole, the skin they bruised, and the life they destroyed. They planned to rape me. Imprison me within their home. Impregnate me. They thought they’d control me. Except, in the best and worse decision of my life, I fell in love with Nicholas Bennett, and I allied myself with Max and Reed. My controlling interest in the Bennett Corporation was nothing more than a sword without a hilt. I could swing it, but was I willing to slice off my hand just to strike down Darius Bennett? That answer was easy. Yes. I’d spill every last drop of my blood to destroy Darius. No punishment existed that suited a villain more snake than human, but I’d invent a torture fitting for the venomous fiend, if only to prevent the worse sin of all. He terrified me. And I’d never let him frighten me again. I kicked the dress and ground the silk into the carpet with a satisfied twist of my

heel. No way in hell I was wearing any clothes he picked out. “You guys deal with Darius,” I said. “I want to take a shower.” Reed tensed the same as his brothers, but only he dared to question me. “A shower? Already?” I wouldn’t detail the particulars of my current situation. I flushed. “I’m…sticky. Yes, I want a shower.” “Shouldn’t you…” He really shouldn’t have pointed. “Keep your legs up?” “I think my legs have been up for long enough.” Bennett pride was truly a marvel to behold. My step-brothers shared an unrelenting arrogance which only amplified after a night of demonstrating their virile masculinities. They smirked. There’d be no living with them now. Hell, I’d be lucky if I ever got a full night’s sleep again. And the warm shudder that rocked me was the first thread of the tangled emotions that strangled me. Max stated the obvious. “Dad’s gonna want you there for dinner.” “I don’t give a damn what Darius wants.” “You want to get hurt?” Reed frowned. “Max, come on.” “Honest enough question,” Max said. After spending my last few hours getting slammed, gripped, and tossed man to man, brother to brother, I both loved and loathed the newfound aches within me. But no matter the gentle touches and pleasurable nibbles, my step-brothers couldn’t ease the stinging bruise on my cheek. They couldn’t kiss away the strikes only now fading from my sides, and they’d never heal the tightness in my chest— either an unfortunate fracture or the lurking asthma threatening what Darius hadn’t fractured. I didn’t want any more pain. I agreed to Nicholas’s plan. I’d stay silent about the secret trust and offer my body for whatever heir they thought they could create. But that sacrifice was enough.

I deserved a little protection. “Don’t let him hurt me,” I said. “Simple as that.” Max had the least patience of my brothers, but even he was silenced. “I don’t care how you do it, or what you tell him.” I held each of their gazes—Max’s dark intimidation, Reed’s gentle green, and Nicholas’s golden vow. “I won’t let him hurt me again. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret. I…don’t want to lose you guys.” Nicholas nodded toward the door. They hesitated, but, ultimately, his brothers obeyed. As always. Reed winked before they gave us privacy. Privacy. A strange word for a girl who just had sex with three men. Three brothers. Her step-brothers. I tossed the towel away and faced the only man capable of delivering such depravity. Under the heat of his honeyed gaze, the whisper of his velvet voice, and the brush of his secret touch, I’d have surrendered again. “What can I do?” Nicholas drew too close to me. I faked confidence and pretended his approach hadn’t twisted me around his finger, will, and command. What could he do? An excellent question, only it had no answer. Nicholas veiled his secrets and forged a path to his desires by using whomever and whatever he needed to get what he wanted. And that was me. But what could he do against Darius? What would he do when his attempts to create an heir failed? What could he do when falling in love bound us to a world of pain, sorrow, and danger? Nothing. And everything. My life would either end in a splash of blood or suddenly begin with a newfound wealth. I could topple the Bennetts with a whisper and be destroyed with my next

breath. “Are you okay?” He asked. It was a simpler question. “Are you?” He didn’t answer. He abandoned his tie sometime during the night, and I wore his jacket. Nicholas was never so untended. I teased the buttons protecting my nudity. He noticed. He studied my fingers. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” “You rescued me when your father tried to rape me only to hand me over to your brothers.” A button opened. “Then you watched as they took me, again and again.” The memory darkened him, but not into rage. He leaned close, and his breath warmed my baring skin. I stilled, trapped within the intensity of his golden gaze. “They might have taken you, but you are in my possession.” He unfastened the second button. “Never forget, Ms. Atwood. My brothers are permitted a taste, but, ultimately, you belong to me.” The jacket slipped from my body. I stood naked, trembling in his heat, so very tiny before such a proud man. Nicholas dressed once more, feathering the jacket over his shoulders as he admired me with a victorious arrogance. “You should stay with me,” I whispered. The suit composed him, but it did little to hide his excitement. I edged to the bed. “We could rest for a while.” “Are you really thinking of resting?” No, but I needed it. “Well, we’ll…get some champagne.” “What are we celebrating?” Did he have to ask? I grinned. “My victory, of course.” “Is that so?” “We should drink to my newfound stock portfolio. Or maybe my family’s foresight in securing the shares necessary to bring down the Bennett Corporation.” I tempted him with the destruction of his life and the tease of my body—probably the most dangerous way to antagonize a Bennett. Nicholas never took the bait. “Get your shower,” he said. “And then please come to dinner.” “No.”

“Concessions, Sarah.” “I don’t know what’s more ridiculous—you and your concessions or Max and his optimism.” A quick whip of the terrycloth wrapped the towel over my body. The material was too short and Nicholas’s quiet dignity too intimidating. “How can you even look at that man?” I said. “There’s not a part of me that doesn’t wish a thousand hells on my father.” “Then why?” “Sarah, no matter what I do, he’ll drag you to that hell with him. I won’t give him that chance.” Nicholas brushed a hand on my cheek. I let him linger too long, but he had already seen me at my most vulnerable. He held me when I cried and comforted me as I broke down after his rescue. Part of me hated letting a Bennett see that weakness. The other part of me, the part not soured by the name Atwood, wanted nothing more than to be consoled by the man I was beginning to love. “Don’t be afraid of him,” Nicholas said. “I’m not.” It was a lie. “We won’t let him hurt you.” “Where have I heard that before?” I spoke too quickly. Nicholas pulled away. The frustration crackled around him, a charge of simmering anger and disappointment. I didn’t deserve the guilt for his regret even if he didn’t blame me for acknowledging their failure. I groaned. It should have been simple. Get kidnapped. Endure the rape. Gloat when my infertility thwarted their plans. Find evidence of my father’s murder. The plan had crumbled. I became a willing prisoner, they never raped me, and my infertility would force Darius to kill me to save his company. And my father? My father wasn’t murdered. Even if he was, he was too evil to avenge. Nicholas reached for me. It didn’t matter where he touched, just as long as he did.

His finger traced where my neck hollowed into my shoulder. “I have the takeover,” he said. “They wait for my signal. Once it happens, I’ll have control of the company. He won’t be able to touch us.” “When will that be?” “No more than a couple months.” “I could be dead by then.” “You could be pregnant.” I rolled my eyes. “Good luck.” “You as well.” Even Nicholas’s patience had limits. He paused. “Sarah, I’m asking this as a favor. Come downstairs and eat, be quiet and polite, and don’t give my father cause to hurt you.” “It’s not my fault that I’ve been abused.” “No. It’s my fault. It always will be.” His kiss did nothing to chase the remorse from his words. I welcomed the nibble of his lips, but, like all our time, we existed in stolen moments and dangerous secrets. What should have connected us in quiet peace was only the reminder of the war to come. Nicholas had his responsibilities. His expectations of his own duties and the tasks his father forced upon him. The invitation to dinner was not one we could refuse. I preferred starvation. “You can do this,” he said. “But don’t let him think anything has changed. He can’t know you’ve allied with my brothers or that you’re unable to conceive, or that you are aware of the Josmik Trust.” Nicholas forbade me from speaking the very secrets I longed to scream. If Darius realized how badly I already cracked the foundation of the Bennett Estate, he’d slit his own throat instead of mine. I agreed with a reluctant nod. Staying quiet would be more difficult than standing before the monster again, but the payoff was worth it. “Fine,” I said. “But I’m not wearing the damn dress.” “Dinner’s at eight o’clock.” I might have asked Nicholas to stay if only to borrow some of his confidence. For the first time in hours, I was alone.

That only gave me the silence to think. And I had no idea what I was doing. I showered, letting the thick, rolling steam fill the bathroom before I dipped under the water. The heat soaked through me, the water embraced me, and every evidence of the wildest night of my life rinsed away and circled the drain with the remnants of my sanity. Not only did I fall in love with a Bennett, I let all three of my step-brothers have their way with me. At the same time. And not just once. I thudded my head against the tile. It was easy to submit at Nicholas’s hand. I never thought I’d find any comfort in the possession of another, especially a man who tracked me through the night and stalked me over road and cornfield to kidnap me for his family’s twisted benefit. He kept me as his pet and prisoner. And I longed for him to join me under the water. Christ. I wasn’t just digging my grave. I sat at the bottom of an open pit, kicking the dirt walls and ripping at roots to collapse the damn thing over me. This was a dangerous game made riskier by my loyalty to Nicholas. Every second trapped in the luxury of the Bennett’s prison endangered me. No matter the love and promises, escape was the only logical, sane, and safe solution. But leaving would enrage Darius. Potentially hurt my step-brothers. Ruin Nicholas’s chances to destroy his father in the planned takeover. If I left, every second of my freedom would tempt Darius to end my life before the trust awarded to me. At least if I stayed in the estate, Nicholas, Max, and Reed could protect me until we concocted a better plan than hoping they’d get me pregnant. Was it worth the risk? Probably not. Was it worth attempting if it meant Darius would rot inside his own family? Definitely. Silence cursed the estate. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and forced myself from the room. My pulse deafened me to everything but the voice screaming in my head to hide, push the dresser in front of the door, and arm myself against the evil that was Darius Bennett.

I waited at the top of the grand-staircase. Fifty stairs to compose myself. The first ten punished me as though I stepped upon broken glass. My nails clawed against the banister, aching as I fought instinct and descended. My shoes clipped against the stone in a distinctive echo. Jos-Mik. Jos-Mik. Jos-Mik. At least it offered an imagined poise. Money. Power. Stock. It only mattered to me if I had it all and Darius had none. Now, it was the only weapons I had. They waited in the dining room. I was five minutes late, and Darius Bennett had counted every spent second. His eyes weren’t dead, but the specks of color decayed into a dingy brown. He claimed the head of the table and surveyed his family, his home, and his prisoner as though everything in the world had bowed at his feet to produce what he wished. What wasn’t delivered, he took with violence. During the night and into the day, I stayed with my step-brothers. Not an inch of my body went unexplored, and every pleasure was meant to break me. But I hadn’t broken. Not even close. So why did my resolve crumble? Three men took me during the night, but the only touch I could remember was his. Darius’s cold grip on my hips. The searing pain of his attempted invasion. The foul promise of his lust. He punished me then. I’d be fortunate if he didn’t kill me now. I couldn’t do this. My knees buckled. I’d either collapse in sobbing horror before Darius, or I’d leap over the table and aim a dinner knife for his jugular. But I’d vowed never to show weakness in front of a Bennett again. They foolishly left a knife at my place setting. “My dear, you decided to join us?” Darius greeted me with a smile that bared teeth

and words that curled over my throat. I froze, and I didn’t know if that made me hate him or myself. “Your dinner is getting cold.” I’d choke on it before I managed to swallow. Prickles of panic stabbed at my skin. Nicholas pulled my chair out for me. When I didn’t move, he took my wrist. I flinched, maybe to pretend like I didn’t trust him or maybe because it was a legitimate recoil. Nicholas hesitated before his grip tightened. I despised this. I had every reason to fear Darius Bennett, but not cause to suffer from it. I once confronted the man who kidnapped me, eager for the fight. I accepted that my step-brothers were meant to rape me. I used my infertility as a shield and sacrificed my very freedom to defend my family’s honor. In a matter of weeks, everything changed. The man I defended didn’t deserve my loyalty. The men I feared protected me. And now? I knew something Darius didn’t. I would own him. Whether or not he thought he could violate me. Whether or not he’d try again. I. Owned. Him. I took my seat, and our family dinner began. “You aren’t wearing the dress I picked out,” Darius said. I didn’t answer. “Sarah, you are my daughter, and I expect you to act as such. You will wear what I lay out for you.” He hummed. “Besides, I thought you’d look very pretty in it.” Every word grated me until I shredded like the pot roast simmering on the platter. I reached for the wine. “No, no.” Darius’s tone would turn the food rancid. His light, patronizing chastisement stuck as hard as a slap to the face. “No alcohol for you, child. We aren’t taking any risks.” It wouldn’t matter, but I couldn’t say it. I gritted my teeth as Nicholas passed me a glistening goblet of water. Reed grabbed a dinner roll. “You aren’t twenty-one yet anyway. Hate for someone to slap us with kidnapping and underage drinking.” I perked an eyebrow. “Heaven forbid.” Max exhaled. He stroked the flogger he kept at his side. Always. The damn thing

intimidated me, infuriated me, and delighted me. I understood the warning. Like Nicholas said, I was supposed to be quiet and polite. “My dear, you haven’t taken your vitamins.” I tensed, refusing to look at Darius. Nicholas did his bidding, passing the tiny crystal ramekin to my plate. I stared at the pills inside. They had to be kidding. In what universe would I ever take any pill Darius offered me? I might have been a fool for staying at the estate, but I wasn’t suicidal. Darius sipped his wine. “A prenatal blend of folic acid and vitamin D, and a woman’s multi-vitamin. All excellent for the baby.” I tasted blood. “I’m not pregnant.” “You will be, soon enough. Someone should ensure you’re taking proper care of yourself.” I didn’t appreciate his concern. Darius surveyed my body as though he could see through my clothing. I hoped he didn’t notice the goose bumps. “I can manage it myself.” “But all this stress.” His voice gentled. It only sickened me. “It’s too much for you. First your father’s death. Then your brothers’ accidents. Your poor mother was so traumatized, and then there was your school work and the company.” “What about getting kidnapped? Being held prisoner? Getting—” My throat mercifully closed before I uttered the R word. “All stress is bad stress.” “And you’re the cause.” Darius chuckled as he cut his meat. “Hush, child. Hysterics are so unbecoming.” Nicholas gripped my knee under the table, but I wasn’t the one he should have controlled. “I’m not taking those pills.” “Doctor recommended. You can take them in the morning with your asthma medication.” “Oh. So now I’m allowed my medication?” “You need to be healthy and strong. And, my dear, if our little experience in my office proved anything, it is that you are neither healthy nor strong.”

“You son of a bitch—” “Language, Sarah.” Darius’s warning was exactly the melodic tone he’d take with a child. “We are at the dinner table.” “How dare you!” “Lower your voice.” “You tried to rape me!” Darius cast a glance to his sons with a smile. “In my preferred method, you wouldn’t have suffered any consequences.” I burst from my chair. “Fuck you!” “Ms. Atwood,” Nicholas said. “Enough. Sit.” No way. Not now. Not if I was to confront a man who showed no remorse for his cruelty. Max frowned. He tapped his fingers on the flogger. “Apologize.” “For what?” Raw anger surged inside me, poisoning me with hatred. “I’m not taking your vitamins. I’m not eating your dinner. And I won’t be spoken to like I’m your…your—” “Daughter?” Darius met my gaze. “Sarah, it’s time someone accepted you as their daughter. It’s not as though Mark ever loved you—” “Don’t you dare!” I lunged over the table. Nicholas caught me before I grabbed the carving knife from the roast. I swore and twisted, beating at his arms. His grip loosened only as a second pair of hands seized me. The coiled tribal tattoos were once warning enough. Now it didn’t matter. Max forced me over the edge of the table. I yelled, but the first strike of his hand ached even through the denim. No! Darius insulted me, terrorized me, humiliated me, and I was the one who got hurt. I couldn’t let it happen again. Not while Darius watched. Not while he seasoned his meat and sucked the juices from his finger, grinning as Max pinned my arms behind my back and unhooked the button on my jeans with a casual pop. I swore as the denim was yanked down. My panties fell next. The strike against my backside echoed within the dining room.

“Enough, baby.” Max spoke with words too soft for the monstrous crack against my defenseless body. “Don’t pull this shit at the dinner table.” “Let me go!” His grip only tightened. Struggling did nothing, and Max positioned to avoid my kicks. Another blow. Harsh and cruel. The anger bubbled in my chest. I held my breath if only to will an asthma attack over the crushing defeat of a sob. A third strike. Max knew how to hurt. I thought I knew how to take it. But that was before—before Darius trivialized his attack, before my step-brothers aided in my shame, before Nicholas refused to help as Max laid me across our dinner, bare and exposed, for his hand to slap in violent punishment. Why weren’t they helping? Ten terrible spanks crumpled me in tears. Max nodded to his father and passed the butter to Reed as I peeled myself up. I shook Max away as he offered to help with my jeans. I handled that defeat on my own. “Disruptive child,” Darius sighed. “Take her upstairs and dress her properly for a dinner with her father.” Nicholas nodded, taking my elbow. “She’ll return when she’s decided to behave.” Darius arched an eyebrow but merely buttered his bread. “Good luck, son.” The carving knife rested too far from my hand. Nicholas yanked me from the room before I uttered another profanity. I resisted his hold until he tossed me onto my bed. The door slammed behind us. Nicholas loomed over me. “Have you lost your mind?” I wasn’t prepared to fight him too, not while the adrenaline surged and Darius’s words echoed in my ears. Darius deserved to die. To be hurt. To fear, just as I feared. And his sons... “You didn’t stop him,” I hissed. “No, we didn’t.” He pointed to the door. “I told you to behave. You knew what would happen if you challenged my father.”

“He insulted me! He threatened me!” My words chopped against my horror. “He gloated about almost raping me!” “Sarah, he thinks we’ve raped you too.” The fires fueling my rage sputtered and extinguished under Nicholas’s gaze. He was right. God he was right. And in my terror, I nearly exposed us all. “Sarah, you have to trust us.” Easier said than done—especially with Darius’s crawling words grating my skin and Max’s strikes aching my behind. Nicholas hesitated, the gold in his eyes fracturing into a hard amber. “You do trust me, don’t you?” “Nick—” “Sarah, what happened downstairs had to happen. My father can’t suspect anything. If he learns how I feel about you—” “I know.” He knelt beside the bed, taking my hand in his. His kisses delighted my fingers, chasing away the pain, frustrations, and fears. But not all of them. My twisting stomach answered the most important question for me. Did I trust Nicholas Bennett? No. But I had to try. “I will protect you,” he whispered. “But what happens in my bed and what has to occur before my father are not one and the same.” “I hate him, Nick.” It wasn’t what I meant. I did hate Darius, but something far worse controlled me. I feared Darius Bennett. Surrendering to that fear would ruin us. “If you’re going to survive, if we plan for any of this to work…” Nick’s mocha words caressed me, even in warning. “You have to promise to submit. You have to control yourself…or it isn’t just you who will get hurt.”

The bite to my anger was lost in a sigh. “I know.” “Give him what he demands, Sarah.” “What happens when he demands me?” “It won’t happen.” I picked up the dress, but my fingers twisted in the soft silk. “Darius has always gotten what he wanted when he wanted it. It’s only a matter of time.” “Not if you behave.” Designer fashion was hardly worth risking my life—or the safety of my stepbrothers. I shimmied into the outfit. The pink silk fit perfectly, a delicate and modest design that complimented my petite curves. It was the perfect outfit, something any father might have chosen for his young daughter. I shuddered. Nicholas breathed the compliment. “Lovely.” I reluctantly followed him back to the table, humiliated like an errant child ferried away while she pitched a tantrum. He led me before his father. I swallowed my pride only to choke on it. “Sorry.” The apology soured my stomach. Darius lowered his fork. He waited, chin raised with an aristocratic dignity that hid his perversion under the guise of silvered hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and perfect suit. “Sorry...?” Darius prompted. “For my behavior.” “Try again.” Nicholas squeezed my shoulder. I’d forgive myself once the trust gave me control of the Bennett Corporation. It made every sacrifice that much easier. “Sorry, Dad.” “That’s better.” He smiled, sincere only in its attempt to shame me. “Now you can eat your dinner before it gets cold.” I took my seat. “Oh, my dear, the dress looks lovely on you.”

Lovely. My stomach twisted as I choked down the vitamins Darius offered. Lovely. It was the same word Nicholas used to describe me. It meant nothing, but my skin still crawled. Nicholas asked me to trust him. I’d never survive my captivity if I made the same mistakes twice.

2

NICHOLAS

“N icholas, come into my office.”

Dad sounded mad. What didn’t I do right this time? “You’re in trouble.” Max snickered so our tutor wouldn’t hear. Reed gurgled behind him, bashing his blocks into the wall. “Trouble!” I didn’t make Dad wait. I knocked on the door to his office before entering. Dad had the firecracker I thought I hid centered on his desk. Uh-oh. “What is this, son?” It was supposed to be a prank on the nanny until Max dropped the matches in the pool. “I told you these were not allowed in the house,” Dad said. “Unless you’re trying to set the estate, the forest, and half of California on fire, you don’t light firecrackers. And you certainly don’t hide them from me.” The crop pulled from Dad’s desk. I tensed. “Nicholas, I’m your father. You do not keep secrets from me, is that clear?” “Yes, sir.” “Remember, son,” he said. “You will never be able to hide things from me. I will always know.”

HER BREATHLESS COUGH WOKE ME IN THE NIGHT. Sarah hid the asthma during the day, but, when she slept, her greatest insecurity came to life. She wheezed in her sleep, shifted against me in nightmare, and

murmured soft words when my hands brushed her curves. Sarah was only honest when she was asleep. Fortunately, I hadn’t asked her for truth, only submission. The delicate creature sharing my bed was more fairy than girl. Her hair was pale as corn, her eyes wide and innocent, and her temper quick and punishing. Circumstance trapped her between two worlds. She belonged at home and on the farm and with what remained of her family. Instead, I kept her in my command, between my sheets, and captured within my will. If we were all honest, her captivity bound me as much as it restrained her. I loved her, and because of my obsession, I’d never let her go. One day, it would ruin me. But until then? Sarah Atwood slept naked in my bed. And she was mine. I shifted the blankets. Sarah pouted, her lip puffing with sleepy indignation. My pillows swallowed the petite, defenseless girl within the dark sheets and my darker intentions. The peak of her breasts tantalized me, but my greatest temptation rested in the crest between her legs. Her bare, silken slit promised softness, warmth, and the greatest pleasure I had ever taken. She had been a virgin only weeks ago. But, under my control, she was teased, ravished, and filled. By more men than me. If lust heated my blood, then jealousy was the spark that would consume us in flame. A darkness more perverse than obsession demanded either violence or an immediate, animalistic satisfaction. As a Bennett, I waited for neither. As a man in love, I’d offer Sarah my soul, carve out my heart, and spend every cent to my name if it meant keeping her from danger. Except I was what endangered her, especially as I forced her in my brothers’ arms to submit, rut, and create an heir. I should have wanted to kill my brothers, but Reed prioritized her release, savoring her moans and whimpers. Max mounted her like an animal and broke her with ecstasy. Sarah’s gaze found me with every thrust, every swelling oblivion she rode. They flooded her with seed and protected her by stealing what belonged to me. But I needed them. She needed them. Sarah’s life depended on her captivity, her submission. Her breeding. And the thought that should have sickened me was the very sin that hardened me

beyond rational control. She stirred as I shifted over her body. I tasted the soft skin between her neck and shoulder. The bite was meant to warn her. Sarah gasped as she woke with a man pressing between her legs. Eventually, she would understand what I expected of her. She gripped my shoulders, but she didn’t push me away. I wouldn’t pretend to be noble. I wasn’t the man she deserved, but it was my name she murmured as I slipped inside her soft, slick, desperate folds. I’d keep her prisoner, bind her with every rope and chain, and trap her within my arms just to drive the breath from her body with my demanding strokes. She was mine. As was everything. The woman. The estate. The companies. Her protection and my deception were one and the same. I thrust inside her, tempting her surrender, tasting her cries, loving how tightly her fingers dug into my skin as I pressed her deeper, harder, faster into the mattress. Selfish. Monstrous. Traitorous. Each time I claimed Sarah, I expected her to fight—to twist, cry, flee, and beg. I promised a fate wrought with horror, and I twisted an innocence so pure and lovely she had yet to understand why I controlled her so easily. I took her body as my reward, my sin, and my salvation. Her warmth was the promise of Heaven that drew me from hell. It was a crime to savor how she accepted my invasion, but she destroyed me as I destroyed her. An absolute beauty haloed her features as my ruthless conquering woke her with ecstasy and rutted her into lustful, gluttonous fantasy. Sarah was every warmth, every hope, every comfort denied to me in life. Her arms promised safety. Her body offered perfect acceptance. I didn’t deserve to be loved by such perfection, but I would never fucking lose that blessing. Nothing in this world meant more to me than the woman trembling under me, murmuring my name, and depending upon me for her safety. My claiming flushed us both with heat, and Sarah gasped a quivering breath before

clenching completely around me, dazing me with the absolute beauty of the woman beneath me. Her orgasm whispered in a glorious mew, but mine earned her groan. I jetted inside her as deeply as her body accepted without crashing through her. It wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. Every rapturous moment and erupted heat only demanded more from me. More than I could give, more chances than I could offer, more danger than I could fight. I claimed her, bedded her, and filled her, but dread coiled inside me. The bruises on her cheek had hardly faded. The trauma to her body hadn’t healed. I feared nothing I did would prevent the inevitable. Infertile. Unless she conceived, it’d be impossible to save her without spilling blood. But nothing in this world stopped a Bennett before. “Morning.” I didn’t pull from her. Sarah brushed the straying blonde locks from her face. “Think we’re beyond greetings this morning.” “You’re so damn beautiful.” “You don’t have to charm me, you already got what you were after.” She arched, pressing me deeper inside her. The heat of our desire melded, and she giggled at the mess. It hardened me more. “Stay with me today?” I’d do so many things for this woman, including sharing her perfection and potentially losing the chance to create her heir. But spending the morning locked in her embrace was beyond my power. I was already late. “We have a meeting with the board today.” I kissed her before she asked the question. It wasn’t time to instigate the takeover. Not yet. Not until I secured every vote and protected Sarah and my brothers from the inevitable fallout. “I can’t miss it.” Sarah shifted. I didn’t let her up. “Don’t move.” I pressed against her belly. “I read you’re supposed to lay flat for fifteen minutes.” “Did you also read the definition of infertile?” “Do this for me.” She surrendered, resting her arms over her head. Her chest puffed and the gentle

slope of her navel to her hips nearly convinced me to stay between the sheets. I kissed a trail over her neck and pulled from her heat. “But I was liking that,” she pouted, snuggling back into the blankets. “Good.” I paused. “I’m giving you to Max today.” “You’re giving me to Max?” Hearing it from her didn’t make it any more palatable. But what choice did I have? Time was against us. Nature was against us. My father expected results. One month without a conception was reasonable, maybe even two, if the websites I studied were accurate. But my father was not a patient man. He prioritized creating the child, but he would kill her if she was close to earning the trust. The punishment for losing our chance to seize Atwood Industries would be severe. And so I’d give her to Max and Reed. To save their lives. To save her life. And to create the life that would end this madness. I wanted that heir. Christ, did I want her child to be mine. Only then would Sarah be safe. Only then would she belong to me and me alone. Only then could I have my wealth, my companies, and my love combined in to a single, unstoppable empire, more powerful and profitable than my father ever dreamed. And I’d do it with her. For her. Even if it meant giving her to my brothers to ensure at least part of that dream became reality. I dressed, but she didn’t let me prepare for work in peace. “You think you can just give me away?” “Yes.” “What if I wasn’t feeling Max today?” She bit her lip. “What if I thought Reed should have his way with me?” She tested me. What did she expect? Jealousy leeched into my blood, but Sarah at least found comfort in their arms. Her moans. Her shudders. Her trembling orgasms. Her pleasure was the greatest beauty in this world, even if it confused her to cry out for Max and Reed. Then again, my reaction was curious as well. A dark possession blinded me, but I hadn’t gone mad. Just the opposite. Everything about Sarah enthralled me, even

when I wasn’t the one enjoying her. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’ll stay with either Max or Reed today.” “And…you want them to fuck me?” The command came easier knowing I was the first to take her in the day, and I’d be the last to savor her at night. “Yes.” “Do you trust them that much?” She asked. “I trust you.” “Are you sure?” “Should I have reason to doubt you?” She flushed. “What if I enjoy it with them?” “I hope that you do.” “But…” She sighed, staring at the ceiling. “You can’t be okay with this. Nick, I don’t…I’d hate for this to tear us apart.” “Where are you sleeping, Sarah?” “It’s too early for riddles. I’m in a bed?” “In my bed.” I leaned over her, capturing her cheek. Her wide-eyes stared up at me, entirely too bright and hopeful for the world in which I damned her. “You will sleep every night in my bed. You’ll wake every morning in my arms. Is that clear, Ms. Atwood?” I brushed my thumb over her puffy lip. “They touch you because you are given to them. They fuck you because I order it. And you will receive them because it is what you are meant to do.” Sarah didn’t pull away. She never did, even when it was in her best interests. “Remember this moment,” she whispered. “Right here, right now.” “Every second with you is forever seared in my memory.” “Good.” Her voice was a tempting challenge. “Remember this conversation on my twenty-first birthday.” “Why?” “Because, Nicholas Bennett, once I own you and your company, you’ll be obeying my orders.”

“And what would those entail?” “You touching me because I want it. You taking me because I command it.” It was a defeat worth earning. She leaned in, but I denied her, if only to watch her pout. “You’ll get that kiss once I return,” I said. “I’ll hope for more than a kiss.” Dangerous girl. I pushed her back onto the bed as she dared to sit up. She obeyed with a quirk her eyebrow. She quieted, but she wasn’t tamed. Not yet. Her soft curves nestled into the blankets. For a single, indulgent moment, I imagined how beautiful she would look with the gentle swell over her belly. I hardened again and ignored the fantasy that bordered on sin. The cool shower steadied my base instincts. I dressed and let her sleep. The helicopter stood by to take me to San Jose. I texted Max from the air. Sarah’s yours today. His response was delayed. Should I marinate her, or can I treat her like any old piece of meat? I didn’t have time for his games. Keep her safe today. Make sure she behaves. Where’s Dad? Where else? With me. Board meeting. Can you keep it together? Did I have a choice? I had to control myself, just as I had to force Sarah to apologize to the monster who mistreated her. A punch to his face wasn’t enough. Not when my fists still clenched, my teeth gritted in obedient silence, and my blood dissolved all Bennett loyalty. I detested violence. I hated my father more. He met me within the main conference room. I wasn’t as late as I thought. Only four of our shareholders had arrived. Of course, they were the members of my father’s inner circle. Old money.

Billions of dollars sat at the table, a soft majority of it in my family’s pocket, but it wasn’t enough. Money bought power. The men who helped to make our company grow, the ones who invested and fought and profited, they always coveted more. Then Josmik Holdings waved a stack of Atwood cash under their noses. Some refused, but others? Just like Sarah Atwood, some temptations were too hard to resist. “Nicholas, sit.” My father took his seat at the head of the table. He greeted me with sincerity. I believed none of it. Was this what he did to her? Lured her to his office. Offered her a chair. Sunk in his teeth for the kill? I chose one of many available seats. Odd. Where was the rest of the board? “Should we get started?” My father accepted a mug of coffee from the brunette secretary he kept too close during the day. I declined the coffee. She moved to the man opposite me—Bryant Maddox, one of my father’s long-term investors and the only son of a bitch more dangerous to the young secretary than a Bennett. He did take a cup, though his request for sugar came with a pat to her ass. She shifted from him and tended to the other men—each older, richer, and less trustworthy than the last. “We don’t have a quorum.” I paged through my emails. I received nothing explaining their absences. I hated ill-manners more than tardiness. “We should postpone for other board members.” My father dismissed his secretary with a pleasant smile that wouldn’t have fooled a child. “This isn’t a formal meeting,” he said. “We’ll only discuss old business. No sense disrupting everyone’s day.” My father never played his board meetings informally. Usually, the stockholders would arrive—on time and accounted for—settle into their seats, and throw softball questions at us regarding the business, the profits, and the direction of the company. Most of the questions I answered. My father would summon a CFO to field more the complicated inquiries. The business was formal, stagnant, and the board didn’t delve too deeply into the Bennett Corporation. What was going on? “Nicholas,” my father said. “Can you give us an update, son?” The clenching of my gut wasn’t just intuition. Twenty-nine years of fear, apprehension, and the strike of a cane against my back taught me more than

respect. I learned my father’s expectations with every bleeding punishment. Something was wrong. I cleared my throat. “An update on what exactly? Monthly projections? I have some data from the second quarter pending, I might be able to estimate profits—” “No, Nicholas. An update on Sarah Atwood.” Even her name stuck in his throat like wax. He couldn’t speak of her without tempting whatever vile aspect of his nature heated his blood. It heated mine too, but at least I admitted I was dangerous to Sarah. I delayed as long as I could. The board waited patiently. “Sarah Atwood knows nothing of Josmik Holdings,” I said. They nodded. “We have some time yet before she is awarded her inheritance, and I’m encouraging the stockholders who entered agreements with Mark, Josiah, and Michael Atwood to reconsider their arrangements.” I met my father’s gaze. “I have no doubt we will maintain control of the Bennett Corporation.” “Yes, yes, we have full confidence you’ll secure our lost stock.” Bryant leaned over the table, rapping a finger to emphasize his hissed his question. “Have you fucked the girl?” “Excuse me?” “Sarah Atwood.” A portly stockholder spat her name, clanking his spoon on the sides of the coffee saucer as he stirred in milk. Jacob Fisher perpetually sweated, and I waited for the day he’d dab his forehead with a hundred dollar bill. “Have you taken the girl yet?” I stilled. This wasn’t a stockholder meeting. Christ, it was an execution. Adrenaline surged into me, tightening my muscles for a fight I hadn’t expected. What did my father know? The bruise on his face faded, but my punch hurt his pride more than his cheek. Was this his retribution? My father told the board we kidnapped Sarah Atwood. Why the hell would he tell the board? “I’m not sure what you’ve heard…” I met my father’s gaze. He offered me nothing. “Sarah Atwood is a guest of ours.” Bryant snorted. “Is she pregnant yet or not?”

“I—” “For Christ’s sake, Nicholas,” Bryant said. “We don’t care how you do it as long as it gets done. Did you create Sarah Atwood’s heir yet?” My father didn’t warn me. He didn’t tell me he revealed the secrets. He let me walk into a lion’s den and admit to raping the girl we held hostage. What the hell was he planning? My father shook his head. “Unfortunately, my sons’ first attempt was unsuccessful.” “You do it right, Nick?” Jacob snorted. “She ain’t a cat to skin. Only one way to do it.” “Did they all try?” Stanley Bisson spoke from the end of the table, pointing a gnarled finger toward my father. “You have two more sons.” “They’ve all taken their turn, yes.” Stanley approved. My stomach turned. “And they…won’t be a problem if they decline to do their family duties?” Bryant asked. “Nicholas can be quiet convincing,” my father said. “My sons all prioritize the needs of the family.” Prioritize? My father threatened to kill my brothers if they didn’t rape Sarah. “Such a pretty girl. Imagine her hair with Reed’s eyes.” Stanley slurped his coffee and earned the agreement of the other stockholders. “Their boy would break a lot of hearts.” My father nodded. “And make us quite a bit of money.” “They’ve always been good, loyal boys,” Bryant said. “I’d hate to see anything happen to them.” Stanley frowned. “They know it’s not worth risking their necks to disobey their father. They’re smart lads.” The table chuckled. This was all wrong. Not only was my family’s sin exposed beyond the confines of the estate, it was sanctioned by an unspoken portion of our Board of Directors. Raping and breeding Sarah wasn’t just a means to secure our own wealth. The board encouraged our crime because the horror it’d cause was in the best interests of the goddamned Bennett Corporation.

It wasn’t the first time I cursed Sarah for rejecting my offer to sell her company and be done with this insanity. How the hell was I supposed to protect her now? “How long should all this…messy business take?” Clyde Leonard hadn’t touched his coffee. He rubbed his balding head. “Let’s ensure this whole sordid affair is handled quickly.” “Nicholas.” My father waved toward me. “Do you have a projected completion date?” This was sicker than anything we had done. I hadn’t hurt her, but speaking of our vile intentions was a rape of everything beautiful I experienced in my perfect moments with Sarah. I tempered my words with caution. I hadn’t rebuilt my complete composure yet, not since I stopped my father from mounting Sarah like a rabid beast. I tensed to fight, to maim—to kill. But I could do none of those things. And so I lied. “It will be done soon.” “And you’re sure you’ll get this heir?” Bryant’s voice bore no sympathy for the woman expected to carry the child. “It will be a Bennett?” “Yes, it will be a Bennett.” “But what if she doesn’t get pregnant?” He abandoned his coffee. My pulse quickened. “Why wouldn’t she?” “Any number of reasons—maybe she escapes.” “Impossible,” my father said. “I see no other option to save this company if we don’t have a Bennett in her belly by the end of this year,” Bryant said. “Hell, by the end of the summer.” My father shrugged. “We have contingencies to make her conceive.” Bryant waited. He expected me to answer. I hated that it had been my own idea. “We’re…taking her every day,” I said. “To ensure we don’t miss any fertile times.” “Excellent.” “We’ve worked far too hard and too long to lose the company now,” my father said. “My son understands what we need to do. When Sarah Atwood conceives, we’ll secure Atwood Industries, and the trust she’s inheriting will be forgotten. The alliance with the Atwoods will make us more profitable than ever, and my son—” He patted my shoulder. “His legacy will be secured.”

Bryant stood with a grin. “Well, good luck, Nick. Here’s hoping to some happy news in the coming months.” He pointed to Darius. “Looking forward to the barbecue. Tell me I’ll get to meet this little lady of ours.” “She’ll be the guest of honor.” Son of a bitch. Wasn’t it enough we kidnapped her? Did he seriously think we could shuffle her between guests at the annual fucking barbecue? No one had that much control over Sarah Atwood. My father’s selected partners shuffled from the room, questioning how soon they could get to the club before tee-off. My blood chilled, pumping fractured ice through my chest. The tightness would destroy me. Was this how she felt when she was scared? When I tied her to the bed? When I threatened her to conceive a child? Christ, the only thing that could save her now was the very thing my father and the company wanted most. What I wanted most. I was no different from the cackling men discussing an innocent girl’s future. They coveted money while I desired nothing more than absolute control of her body, mind, and soul. And I had it. My father wasn’t the only danger. I couldn’t protect Sarah if I craved the same things. Only a monster lusted for such power over an innocent girl. And only a Bennett would succeed in claiming her. If my father didn’t damn us all by revealing our plans to men loyal to money over blood. I slammed my laptop closed. He watched me with baited amusement. “Nicholas.” He thought he could speak to me. Every decision this family made, every crime, every life we ruined, was because of him. I learned from my beatings, I earned my fortune, and I did everything he ordered to grow into a creature more demon than man. But he wasn’t going to hurt her. Not ever again.

“You told the board we kidnapped and raped Sarah Atwood,” I said. “Yes.” “Do you want to go to jail?” “Do you want to lose the company?” “What if she talks?” “Cut out her tongue.” I exhaled. “What if the board talks? Those are expensive tongues.” “Why would they jeopardize such a fantastic opportunity?” He buttoned his suit. “You have a lot of work to do, Nicholas. Your sister won’t resist us forever. We’ll break her and secure our fortunes as she bears the next generation of Bennett.” “Or else?” “Or else what?” “If she doesn’t conceive?” “That’s up to you, son. You can watch the company fall, our family crumble, and fail to avenge your mother’s death…” Goddamn it. “…Or you can pull the trigger yourself. Nothing stopping you now, of course. I simply imagined Sarah Atwood would rather be raped and left alive than shot dead in her prime.” Son of a bitch. “If this is brought to light—if they say anything to anyone—we’re ruined. Sarah will be gone, we’ll be jailed, and we’ll lose everything regardless of how many men fuck the girl.” My father stood. “Or, we’ll be richer and more powerful than ever, and justice over the Atwoods will be served.” This wasn’t about vengeance for Mark Atwood’s crimes, and it wasn’t for the money. My father trapped Sarah Atwood because life and chance toyed with her fate. She lost everything when her family died, and I lost myself chasing her, holding her, loving her. I turned to leave, texting the pilot so I could return to the one who needed more than my money and family name. My father called to me, his voice a dark threat. “I know, Nicholas.”

I stopped. “Did you think you’d hide it?” Damn it. Sarah. I revealed everything I felt for her when I attacked him in a blind rage. How could we have been so careless? She slept in my bed, looked to me when frightened, and only uncoiled her hand from the carving knife aimed for my father’s neck when I called to her. My devotion to Sarah Atwood would damn her. He knew. And he tortured me in front of the board to prove his power over all of us. “Nicholas, you aren’t as powerful as you think. Not yet.” His scowl clipped his words. “This is how you challenge me? I raised you. Molded you. I made you the man you are.” “So you’ve taken the blame?” He snorted. “I expected this from your brothers, not you. I thought you’d understand. I hoped you would join me, so we could secure our future together.” “You were wrong.” “This complicates things, Nicholas.” His steps clipped hollow against the thin carpet. He drew too close. “I expect you to protect this family,” he said. “I’m protecting the one who matters.” My father laughed. “And when the takeover fails? When the stockholders sense the derision within our fold? You don’t have a majority, Nicholas. You never did. You never will.” He stepped closer. “Every moment you spend chasing the impossible will only ruin you for the future. This takeover will never succeed.” Jesus Christ. The takeover. The surge of awareness chilled me, head to toe. It was never about Sarah. The girl was his obsession, but she was a toy to him. A woman to breed and a source of entertainment when he was bored. My head pounded. I was reckless.

The realization bled from me as though the flogger turned on my skin. Every plan, every freedom I promised Sarah— Gone. He knew about the takeover. He knew more about the takeover than I did. And he could stop it. I said nothing. He sighed. “Never mind, son.” His voice hardly warmed, but it gentled for me. Only me. “I was your age when I began to challenge my father.” He expected a response. “I don’t doubt it.” “But do you know the difference between you and me?” “There’s many.” “Not as many as you would think,” he said. “However, one is most important.” I stilled as he leaned close, patting my shoulder. “Son, when I confronted my father, I was strong enough to win.”

3

NICHOLAS

om set the baby in my arms. He didn’t look like a book. Why did she call him M Read? “This is your new brother,” Dad said. I shoved at Max as he pinched me. “I don’t need another brother.” “Family is important, Nicholas.” Dad patted my shoulder. “One day, you’ll be in charge of your brothers. They’ll look up to you, and you’ll have to do what’s best for them.” “I don’t want a brother. Why can’t I have a sister?” “Maybe in a few years.” Mom shushed the baby when he started to fuss. Max pawed at her too, but Dad pushed him away. “Let’s enjoy your new brother for now. He looks so like you.” Not really. He was just a wrinkly little thing—all chunky and pasty. “I guess. Don’t know why people want babies anyway.” Dad frowned. “Babies are very important, son. You’ll need to have a baby one day.” “Why?” “Because you’re a Bennett, and your sons will carry on the family name.” “Make Max do it.” Dad chuckled. “You’re the eldest, Nicholas. It’s up to you. But you’ll understand when you’re older. Trust me.” If he said so.

MY FATHER USED SARAH ATWOOD TO CONTROL ME.

He didn’t realize the depth of my feelings for her, but he had yet to forgive my initial protest against breeding the girl, and the takeover confirmed my hesitance to commit the apparent crime. My taking of Sarah was no longer a sin, but it would damn us just the same. My father wasn’t threatened by my plans to succeed him. He rose to the challenge. 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. He should have removed mine. My father took her hand. I thought his touch would bruise her skin. “I want you to meet some very important friends of the family.” He gestured across the table. “Bryant Maddox, Jacob Fisher, Clyde Leonard. These men help to make the Bennett Corporation great. They…share our vision for the future.” In more ways than one.

They plotted with my father, but they had the class to admire Sarah with only polite smiles so close to their wives. “She’s the very image of Mark Atwood, isn’t she?” Bryant said. “Uncanny.” Sarah stiffened. “So I’ve been told.” “I almost miss that ol’ son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “Made business…exciting.” Exciting was not the word I would use to excuse the behavior of a man who murdered my mother and nearly killed my brothers. “Does she take after her father?” Bryant winked at Sarah. “No,” she said. I knew better. “But, I assure you, I am very much an Atwood.” She might have replaced Atwood with warrior, arsonist, or fool, and her words would have been just as powerful. The conversation turned one-sided, and Sarah appeared content to sit in cold silence. That pleased my father. Sarah was meant to be little more than a table setting, a pretty little blonde feature meant to elicit compliments and parade his ultimate authority over her family, her name, and her body. He hadn’t raped her, but she’d bear our scars for the rest of her life. “A toast!” My father raised his glass as the caterers wheeled in silver dishes brimming with pulled pork and smoked briskets, barbecued chickens, roasted lamb, and racks of salty ribs. A breeze blended smoky and sweet, and the blossoming roses and meticulously tended garden aided to the refined beauty of the party. He tugged Sarah to her feet and locked his arm with hers. “I am the luckiest man in the world today,” my father said. “I’m surrounded by loyal friends dedicated to the Bennett family and Corporation, and now? I am blessed with not just three, but four children.” I’d break the raised champagne flute. Sarah’s hands curled into fists. “My darling daughter has completed this family, and I know she’ll unite both the Bennetts and Atwoods. In her time here with us, she has brought us nothing but pleasure, and I’m sure her new brothers would agree.” I didn’t look away. My father’s stare needled my spine in suppressed rage. “This family has grown, and I foresee only more joy in the future.” The board members prematurely clapped. Sick, every last bastard. “The Bennetts consider family the most important investment in this world, and our little Sarah is the penny that shines brightest. I hope that she, and all my sons,

will one day be as proud of their children as I am of them.” Deceptive monster. The board cheered, and the others in attendance toasted with their champagne. Every tink of the glasses ruined Sarah with our madness. They celebrated her captivity and inadvertently blessed our endeavor to breed her. The guilt poisoned me as sure as my seed infected her. I threatened the men who demanded her conception while each and every day I forced the same expectations upon her, betrayed her body, denied her control. I meant to save her life. I wanted to possess her company. I dared to love Sarah Atwood. And yet I let the spectacle continue, if only because I knew of no other way to save her, no alternatives to protect the empires I forged for my future. My head pounded. The tension did little to aid my conversation with the board as the caterers served the courses. Reed caught my gaze, mimicking an explosion with his hands. He waited for Sarah to blow. So did I. But Sarah Atwood survived her time in our prison through sheer force of will and an unbreakable spirit. She wouldn’t admit her fear of my father, which relieved me. He wielded too much power over her already. She said nothing, only studied the fancy lunch in the sun and picked at the salad presented before her. She clenched her fork as my father rubbed her shoulders. My only relief was that she focused on him. That she wouldn’t realize how many of the Bennett board members leered at her, searching every fold in her dress for any telltale sign of their future profits. My father stabbed his salad, piercing a tomato with a victorious thrust. “We ordered the greens and vegetables from the Atwood farm.” He spoke to the table. “A little piece of home for my Sarah.” Her fork dropped. “Well, we knew the Atwoods grow good stock,” Bryant grinned. Sarah indulged him with a nod. “Beautiful too,” my father said. “Everything from the farm is plucked in its prime.” She accepted the challenge without knowing what game she played. “It’s the seed we use, I assure you.”

Bryant chuckled. “Imagine the yield if you’d use our products on your fields. Your crops would flourish with Bennett fertilizer.” Her smile was too bold. “Oh, believe me, I already put up with enough Bennett shi —” “More lemonade, my dear?” My father ordered a server to refill her glass. Jacob Fisher’s glance was entirely too greasy for a plate which had yet to be loaded with fatty meats. “No champagne, Ms. Atwood?” “Sarah is only twenty, Jake,” my father said. “Doesn’t even get a taste at a party?” “Bennetts are nothing if not respectful of the law.” Jacob, Bryant, and Clyde chuckled. I didn’t react, but Max and Reed’s glances were not as subtle as they believed. Sarah didn’t appear to notice. She wrinkled her nose as a server presented the table with oysters and passion fruit salads, Thai slaws and the first of the pulled pork sliders, delicately stacked upon the platters. “Darius.” Bryant’s wife—a blonde twenty years his junior—snubbed the oysters and pawed through her salad, removing each toasted almond. “Where is your new wife?” Sarah trembled as she sipped the lemonade. “Unfortunately, Bethany is unwell at the moment. She’s resting at home.” “She hasn’t moved here yet?” “Not just yet.” “For Heaven’s sake, why not? She can’t enjoy living in a dirty cornfield.” Christ. I nudged Sarah’s foot under the table before she exposed our crimes not in tearful sobs crying rape but a hissed indignation at the insult to her family farm. “My mother won’t leave the farm,” Sarah said. “I never thought I would either until recently.” Her voice was the spike driving into my temple, and her glare would snap it in half. I hadn’t been the bad guy for a few weeks. At least it felt familiar. “But a farm of terrible memories compared to a new family?” Darius shrugged. “Her boys are buried on the farm. Bethany won’t ever leave them.” It wouldn’t be a proper barbecue without some mention of a family tragedy. Sarah

dropped her gaze, picking at an oyster. “Oh yes, terrible spectacle.” Clyde flicked a lighter, puffing on a cigar. “Did they ever learn what caused that dreadful crash?” Max answered before I could. “Pilot error.” “Horrid,” Clyde said. “I saw it on the news.” My father gossiped as though Sarah hadn’t paled at his side. “We all saw it. Just terrible footage.” Bryant’s wife couldn’t help herself. “The news showed some of the cell phone videos from the highway. Nothing was left of the plane, only ash!” “From what Bethany says, the family didn’t even know Josiah and Mike were flying that day,” my father said. “The news broke before they received a call from the authorities. Just shameful.” Sarah coughed. The recognizable rasp clutched my throat. She could hide her tears, but speaking of her brothers still seemed to traumatize her. I reached into my jacket, searching for the inhaler. My fingers grazed the medication before stilling. My father already handed Sarah a spare inhaler, anticipating her need before I did. It confused her as much as me. His smirk aimed for me—proud, cold. A challenge. I said nothing. The dinner progressed, and the conversation turned from the violent deaths of Sarah’s brothers to lighter topics, centering on Reed and his upcoming Bennett Foundation Charity Gala. Sarah perked up, abandoning her untouched oyster. “Oh, I can’t wait to attend. Reed’s been working so hard on making it the best event ever. It’ll be such fun.” Could she not go ten minutes without endangering herself? Reed stiffened, and Max downed his whiskey before looking to our father. The gala. In public. Away from the grounds. It’d be too difficult to control her beyond the confines of the estate, and far too suspicious if we didn’t let her loose. My father nodded. “Of course. We’ll have to check your schedule.” “I’ll make room. The Atwoods have never attended a Bennett gala, but I’ve heard so

much about them. What better way to unite the families?” “Here, here.” Clyde sneered. His cigar burned, and he puffed a ring of smoke into the air. My father frowned. “Clyde, please, my poor daughter is asthmatic and recovering from a life-threatening attack.” He brushed her cheek and her defiance faded. “I’m trying to keep her comfortable now. Best not to smoke around someone in her condition.” If Sarah didn’t rip his arm off, Max would. I gestured for Reed, but he already moved. He hauled Max from the table and offered to refresh drinks. “Of course, of course.” Clyde patted out the cigar. “I would hate to put anyone at risk.” “I’m fine.” Sarah’s anger would char the tablecloth. “Nonsense,” my father said. “You keep that inhaler close, my dear. Use it anytime you start to worry.” She’d shove it down his throat before using it in front of strangers. It hid under the rim of her plate, despite the soft cough she suppressed with her hand. “It’s fortunate you are able to recover from your asthma in this beautiful estate.” Bryant said. “Darius, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, these grounds are gorgeous.” “Made more beautiful with the addition of my daughter, I assure you.” The guests chuckled. Sarah’s eyebrow rose. No good would come from that. “If only I could see more of them.” She sighed as sweet as her lemonade though her tone soured just for us. “I’ve been regulated to a bed most days.” “Doctor’s orders.” My father controlled himself. “Best to stay still and let nature take its course.” “Oh, nature has a funny way of working things out.” She surveyed the members of the Bennett board without realizing how dangerous a mistake she made. “I’m sure I’ll be on top of the world in just a few months.” The servers returned with another course of smoked meats and creamy macaroni and cheese which Sarah seemed to particularly enjoy. I made note of it, if only to somehow treat her with it in the future. At the end of the table, a waiter worked quickly to prepare a plate for a late-arrival. The once empty chair was claimed by a man I hadn’t expected. Peter Hannigan took his seat—the lynchpin in the takeover, the last vote I needed and the hardest one for me to acquire.

I had invited him to the barbecue, but he declined, citing schedule conflicts which, traditionally, meant he was golfing his way along the East Coast. He greeted the men at the table, but he seemed at ease with the core of partners surrounding my father. Men who should have been in direct opposition to Peter’s vision for the company. I swallowed my profanity. My father knew about the takeover. He must have realized which men allied with me. Peter wasn’t here on my invitation. My vision blurred with frustration. This barbecue wasn’t meant to humiliate Sarah. The bastard punished me. “You’ve grown since I saw you last, Ms. Atwood.” Peter grinned, his teeth chalk white against his tanned, wind-burned face. She hesitated. “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t remember…” “You were just a little thing,” Peter said. “Running around your Daddy while he refused my offer for some of his beef cattle. Just a pipsqueak then.” “I…suppose I was.” “But you’re radiant now.” His voice caught. He appraised her like a damn animal, even in the presence of two dozen business associates and their wives. He toasted my father. “She’s just beautiful. Simply…glowing.” My father accepted the compliment and gestured for a passing server to refill my champagne. I clenched my jaw. No doubt what we celebrated. It wasn’t Sarah’s health, and it wasn’t the arrival of his glorified step-daughter. Glowing. The word sickened me. Peter Hannigan and I spoke only a week ago to finalize my bid for the takeover. Somehow, my father not only contacted him, he promised more than I did for his vote. But I offered stability, a change in the business’s direction, steady profits… Who knew how much of Atwood Industries my father offered Peter, but, as he gorged himself on our food and leered at my captive, he considered himself a richer, more powerful man with acres of corn and thousands of cattle earning him extra millions.

My father. Bryant. Jacob. Clyde. Stanley. And now Peter? The barbecue wasn’t the only meat served on a platter for the wolves. Sarah would be next. I hadn’t anticipated this. I didn’t think it a possibility. But I wasn’t going to present her to the hounds for their amusement. Sarah’s lemonade was empty. I didn’t even pretend to aim the pitcher over her glass. The iced liquid spilled over her beautiful dress. She shrieked, but I stood, gripping her arm. “Sorry,” I grunted. “Clumsy. Let me escort you to the house so you can change.” I didn’t let her answer. She escaped the table before my father could flick the handkerchief from his pocket to brush a straying ice cube from his suit. Sarah stumbled over the walkway as I forced her toward the house. “Nick, what the hell?” She searched over her shoulder. The kitchen was crowded with too many caterers. I dragged Sarah into the smoking room and closed the door, narrowly avoiding Reed’s foot edged in the entry. Both my brothers slipped inside. Sarah held her arms out—sticky and miserable. “If I didn’t think the Bennetts were freaks for kidnapping me, I’d know it now.” She scowled. “Who the hell has a barbecue with linen tablecloths and oysters?” Reed grinned. “Supposed to be an aphrodisiac—” I hadn’t the patience for my little brother and interrupted him before he finished. “Sarah, go to your room and stay there. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.” Max and Reed stilled, but Sarah never obeyed when I issued a command. “Why?” “It isn’t safe here.” “But…” She rolled her eyes. “These are your investors.” “Not anymore.” Max swore. Reed tugged Sarah close, ignoring the sticky drink coating her dress and arms. I’d let him hold her, comfort her, but unless she was tucked between all three of us, I’d never consider her truly safe. If we even could protect her. What I planned to do with her, to her, was anything but kind. Unfortunately, we had no choice. No other alternatives.

Sarah had to conceive, regardless of her health or whatever she believed was wrong with her body. My father wasn’t the only danger to her now. “What’s wrong?” It wasn’t often her voice trembled, but Sarah Atwood was right to feel fear, if only because I was afraid too. But she wouldn’t like how I’d chose to defend myself. “I just lost my majority,” I said. “What does that mean?” It meant that I’d failed her. It meant that everything I worked for, everything I planned, and the only way I had to protect her was not only gone, it was flaunted in front of my face by my father. He orchestrated the entire event, including revealing his alliances in a deliberate attempt to humiliate me. And it worked. I couldn’t share Sarah’s gaze. “It means I just lost the takeover.”

4

SARAH

“A

ll alone, baby?”

I flinched. My sandwich flopped onto the floor. The iced tea nearly followed, crashing into the sink. Max and Reed laughed as I peeled myself off the kitchen counter and hid my trembling hands. “Not funny.” My voice hardly raised above a whisper. I flushed. Darius wasn’t even in the house, and I still tip-toed around the kitchen like a coward. “What are you doing without your leash?” Max twirled the leather around his finger. Reed tisked his tongue. “Nick freed me before he left for the office.” “Isn’t he a sweetheart.” I didn’t like wandering downstairs. Without Nicholas at my side, my steps echoed too loudly, the stairs ached my lungs, and the shadows reached gangly fingers at me. Groping. Petting. Hurting. If it weren’t for the empty fridge in Nicholas’s suite, I’d have stayed tucked away in the corner of his bedroom until I turned twenty-one. I wasn’t an optimistic person—even with my billions, I couldn’t buy luck, bargain for my freedom, or sell the damn company which now depended on an imaginary heir. I had to be pragmatic. I’d never conceive a child, Nicholas’s takeover failed before he moved on it, and I was trapped within the dungeon of a monster as his little play toy. Darius had paraded me around the barbecue to his friends and partners, presenting me as a perfect daughter.

I couldn’t scream while the beast dared to touch, compliment, and degrade me. No one knew what he had tried to do. What he almost did. What he would have done if Nicholas hadn’t rescued me just in time. Suddenly, I wasn’t very hungry. Frustration curdled my stomach, but biting my lip drew blood. I imagined it wasn’t my own. That helped. Reed didn’t let me run. He tugged me into the dining room, setting my food aside to set me on the table. Max stole a potato chip. I pushed the plate toward him. “You okay?” Reed’s dimple usually offered instant comfort, but it didn’t help now. “Would you be okay?” His fingers drifted over my arms, tickling where Nicholas had kissed in fierce silence as we showered. I wasn’t used to Reed so freely touching me. Neither was he. “Nick asked us to…check on you.” “He actually spoke to you?” I’d be jealous if I wasn’t worried. Reed’s fingers tangled in the dress straps. He brushed one over my shoulder. “He hardly talked to me this morning.” “The takeover shit fucked with him.” Max drifted closer only to clip the leash on my collar. He tugged and teased me against his hand. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll take care of everything.” I didn’t doubt their commitment, but their solution would never work, no matter how much Nick hoped. Tried. In unforgiving silence, he took me that morning in the shower. I braced against the slippery tile as he burrowed himself within me again and again, grunting in a frustrated burst of muscle and force. It might have frightened me had I not recognized the adoration in his eyes. Except, after, the gold hardened, fracturing into an amber remorse. Nicholas left, angry and sullen. But he promised to take care of me. I didn’t need false hope. Their plan would never work. If I wanted to survive, I’d have to protect myself even without their breeding. Nothing meant more to me than surviving. I had to live, if only so I could secure my

future, my wealth, and my power from Darius’s defeat. I’d watch him crumble, make him squirm and panic, just how he humiliated me at the barbecue. My revenge would punish Darius with the same fear and shame he forced on me. Until then, Max twisted my leash, and Reed flicked down the strap of the dress protecting my curves from the hungry gaze of my step-brothers. Nicholas demanded my submission. Some orders were easier to obey than others, especially when commanded by two sexy, attentive, and demanding men. Max no longer frightened me, and I didn’t suffer the unfamiliar awkwardness around Reed. Now, my insides fluttered in different ways when presented before them. Max bulked and lifted, forging a strength that threatened more than it protected. Dark, spiraling tattoos striped his chest…and lower. Max took pride in his ink, preferring the symbols to a designer suit. A Bennett didn’t use tattoos to intimidate, but Max possessed a darkness that forced my pleasure instead of earning it. Not like Reed. Nothing about the sun-bleached surfer was menacing…unless I happened to fall for the dimple framing his charming smile and silken laugh. Everything Reed did was meant to earn my pleasure. His simple affection conquered me without Nicholas’s possession or Max’s flogger, and he did it with an expert’s precision. I blushed under their attention. Both of my step-brothers honed their bodies to perfection. And they planned to feast on mine. Reed bundled my dress over my hips. “Panties?” He groaned. “Really?” I shrugged. “Gotta make it hard on you.” “Believe me, Sarah. I’m plenty hard.” Max’s voice lowered. “You’ve got orders from Nicholas, baby. No sense playing games.” A strange thrill tickled over me. Nick left me to his brothers and expected them to do all manner of twisted and sensual things. He knew they’d fuck me, and he encouraged them to tease and fill. Nicholas swore conceiving would save my life, no matter the man who did it. I expected him to bleed with jealousy, but he hadn’t. If anything, he took me harder, faster, more intensely than before. Did Nicholas like sharing?

I shivered. A new warmth built in me, without the bite of the flogger or Reed’s skilled touch. Did I like being shared too? I did. Oh, what did that make me? I was the luckiest woman trapped in the unluckiest of circumstances. Each of my step-brothers offered me something vastly different. Reed’s attention was all for me. Max’s dominances awoke a dark and mysterious urge inside me. And Nicholas completed me, his every touch a hope that we could end the captivity. Reed’s palm wove over my thigh, encouraging my knees to spread. He moved between my legs, lowering his lips to the hollow of my neck. I shuddered. Reed noticed. He winked at his brother. “Doubt you need the leash,” Reed said. Max wasn’t convinced. He waited at my side, letting Reed take control. They both forced me down against the table. I tried to close my legs, but Max slapped my thigh. My panties peeked, too white and innocent for the eager gazes of the men determined to taste, mount, and conquer me. “The leash is half the fun,” Max said. “You sure?” Reed’s finger brushed the tempting white of my panties. He teased the right spot, flicking across the sensitive area twice more. “I have her attention without slapping her around.” “It’s not about the slapping.” Max curled his hand over my neck and squeezed. “It’s the control. Nick hates getting rough, but I had hopes for you.” “Maybe I don’t need to be rough.” “Don’t you want to dominate her?” That shiver again. I knew Reed’s answer before he did. He whispered the truth in a thousand hushed desires and revealed his intentions only once we tangled together in an embrace that suffocated us in passion. My sweet and gentle Reed longed to claim me as badly as Nicholas. But it tortured him to think of me that way—helpless and bound and completely at his mercy. I shuddered. Nicholas was demanding enough. He’d never strike me to earn my obedience, just as he no longer bothered binding me to the bed with restraints. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use them. If given the chance, my step-brothers would all tie me down for their enjoyment. Nicholas loved me. Reed worshiped me. And Max?

“You’re a bad influence on him,” I said. Max loomed. The shadows in the room followed. “Think I’m corrupting my little brother?” Reed rubbed his finger over the softness hidden beneath the panties. My voice trembled with the delicious shiver. He grinned. “I think your little brother knows what he’s doing,” I whispered. “I think he’s curious to see what you can handle.” Max tightened his grip on my neck. “And what he can do.” Uh-oh. It had been days since my stepbrothers last frightened me. I allied with them, but the trust was slow to grow, earned more within their arms than how they protected me with my clothes on. Max liked crumbling my defenses, but no Bennett deserved the delight in rattling me. “Shouldn’t you let Reed decide what he wants?” I asked. The dimple returned, every bit as dangerous as the flogger in Max’s pocket. My brothers didn’t answer. I arched an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I decide how to be taken?” It was rare for Max to laugh. He pushed Reed aside and flipped me over, pressing my tummy into the table. The dress rose high over my hips. Max twisted his fingers in my panties. I didn’t dare move. I didn’t push him away. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to release me. “Nick’s been feeding you fairy tales, baby,” Max warned. “There’s no friendship in our bedrooms. You are ours to take now, and you should thank us for every fucking thrust.” He ripped my panties down. His caress wasn’t as soft as Reed’s. It never would be, and I couldn’t imagine a moment spent with Max that wouldn’t be fraught with violence and lust. “Remember. We’re doing this to save your life.” “You enjoy it,” I said. Max didn’t need to touch me to prove it. “So do you.” “Then why not offer me a choice? Afraid I wouldn’t give in?” Max’s hands roamed. He traced over my slit. I met Reed’s gaze as Max’s fingers slipped within my tightness. Reed grinned.

“You’ll never just give in, baby. You’ll always fight us. And I know why.” I couldn’t speak, not as his touch ground against my slickness and revealed just how much I enjoyed his torment. “You think we’ll actually succeed,” Max said. “You think we’ll put a little Bennett baby in that tummy and steal away all your precious land and fortune.” I laughed. Their fantasy hadn’t even crossed my mind. “Maybe. But you know you’ll fail. No baby. No company.” I arched. “I doubt you want it anymore.” “Oh?” I met Reed’s stare. “Why get me pregnant when you could just fuck me all day, every day? This way, you can molest me without consequence.” Max snickered. “It’s not molesting if you’re pushing back, baby.” Reed’s breathing roughened into a pant. I sunk my teeth into my pouting bottom lip. Max kicked my legs out wide as he leaned close. He spoke to Reed though the threat clenched everything inside me in a sudden heat. “She won’t break if you get a little rough,” Max said. His hand tangled in my hair to arch me to him. The bite of pain was nothing compared to what he could do with a flogger, but he hadn’t indulged in that part of his deviancy. Yet. No way was I getting out of this unscathed. “Sarah knows how to submit, don’t you, baby?” I accidentally rocked against the hardness in his trousers. “You’d think.” “Need some proof?” Yes. About eight and a half inches of it. His fingers weren’t enough, and neither were the layers of material separating us. Max wove me so easily into his will, but I flushed as I realized just how much of my secrets I revealed to Reed. Then again, Reed brushed a hand over my parted lips. I timidly kissed the pad of his thumb, and his smirk rewarded me while challenging his brother. “Go ahead. Let’s see how she submits for you.” His finger sunk into my mouth. I nibbled before wrapping my lips over the offering in a leisurely suckle. “Then I’ll show you the right way.”

“You think you know better than me, little brother?” “Only one way to find out.” This wasn’t a game I’d win, and yet I couldn’t wait to play. I didn’t struggle or fight when Max’s belt jingled. It might have dropped to the floor or struck over my bottom, and either possibility would have delighted me. Reed’s murmur urged me to suck his finger harder, faster. I imagined I savored something other than his finger. Only one thing was missing. One person. Nicholas gave me to his brothers, but, afterwards? We didn’t sleep—we pawed and groped, fucked and groaned until we passed out against the twisted blankets. Nicholas’s jealousy drove him between my legs every time I whispered how deeply I had been filled. God. How would he react if he learned Max and Reed made a game out of my submission? It wouldn’t enrage him. Just the opposite. I’d drown in desire before the day was over, and Nicholas would revive me only to plunge me within our passion once more. Max’s fingers tickled over my slit. I would explode right there, right then, just from the mere thought of my stepbrothers fighting over my slit, arguing over who would take me first, trading me from hardened cock to cock as I was fucked and used and mounted like an animal in heat. And maybe I was. I’d trade my rest for another touch, forsake safety for another kiss, and deny my own freedom for their gifted pleasure. It wasn’t submission, it was madness, and I trapped myself in the asylum with my three chosen torturers. I tensed as Max leaned close, his words distracting me from the hardness grinding against my thighs. “Be a good girl for me now, baby.” His hands roamed, but not where I hoped he’d touch. Not my slickened folds. Not my desperate slit that welcomed him, needed him. “Show Reed how I make you—” His finger drifted too far, too fast, too much.

The nightmare struck. I shrieked as even the gentlest rub of that area assaulted me with memory. My stomach heaved. I couldn’t deal with an invasion to that tender place, not yet, not so soon after Darius attempted to hurt me there. The panic overwhelmed me. I bit Reed’s finger and lunged backward, flailing and kicking to escape from Darius’s grip. Max’s grip. Was it Max? I didn’t know. The flashes of pain and memory blinded me. Oh, God. He couldn’t touch me there. Anywhere but there. Tears blurred my vision. My foot connected with something hard, and Max roared. I earned my freedom in a shout and bolted from the table, tripping over a chair and collapsing against the dining room wall. Just how I crawled when I escaped Darius. Helpless and fighting to escape. Degraded. Dehumanized. Terrified. Max swore. His leg gave out, and he nearly collapsed, his grip white against the table’s edge. Reed rushed to help. Max only batted him away with a swipe that looked more like a sucker-punch. I meant to apologize. I meant to help. But every word I might have uttered lodged in my throat. Darius emerged from the archway of the dining room. I ground myself against the wall, ripping my dress low over my exposed slit. My stomach turned as Darius grinned. He watched me fight Max and crawl away in panic as though his son tried to attack me. And it made him proud of his boy. Reed hid his bitten, bleeding finger. “Didn’t know you were home, Dad.” Max was unable to stand. I had no idea how hard I kicked him, but he had yet to

unclench his jaw or look at me. Darius nodded. “I came home early to speak with Sarah.” My stomach dropped. Max grunted. “She’s busy.” “Oh, by all means.” Darius grinned as I tucked the dress tighter over the places he never deserved to see again. “Please finish. Send her to my office once you’ve… done your part.” My step-brothers didn’t answer, but I nearly screamed as he left me to their mercy. Son of a bitch. The memories and horrors emerged from my nightmares—a new form of torture. Darius didn’t even have to attack me to destroy my courage. My chest ached. I coughed. Groaned. I was not losing another breath on Darius Bennett. “You okay?” Reed offered his hand. He’d touch me. No. I pushed him away before he helped. I pretended that it was pride and not fear of being touched by a Bennett that drove me to my feet. Christ. Darius hadn’t even raped me, but I still sickened with damp sweat and the crawling, shuddering itch of grimy hands and chapped lips. Max swore and rose, wincing as he rested his weight against the table. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it or if I needed to say anything. I flushed and hated the heat on my cheeks. “Max, you touched…it made me remember...” He wasn’t mad. Why wasn’t he mad? “I get it. Wasn’t thinking, baby.” “No.” I didn’t want him to get it. That only made it worse. I edged further from Reed. “I…it’s fine. Goddamn it. Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t... Sorry.” “Stop apologizing.” Reed spoke too softly. “It’s okay. We understand.” “No, you don’t.” “Sarah, you’re allowed to be upset.” No. I wasn’t about to let myself panic over what Darius tried to do. It was done. It

was over. He was a monster, and he could do nothing more to terrify me. Nothing. If I got upset, he’d win. I wasn’t giving him that much power. Reed called my name until I met his gaze. I hated the sympathy in the charmed green of his eyes. “Don’t try to be brave. He almost raped you, Sarah.” “Yeah, well, so did you!” I snarled, but the words ripped through my chest, as though the truth punctured my lungs. My step-brothers silenced. It was the wrong thing to say. I didn’t mean it, and yet I did. Fuck. Everything was wrong. Ruined. And it was Darius’s fault. “I won’t let him get in my head,” I said. Reed didn’t give up. “Sarah, he hurt you.” “So? I’m not going to live my life afraid of where the bad man touched me.” I brushed the hair from my face. “He won’t control me. I refuse to fear Darius Bennett.” Saying it didn’t make it true. Only one way to get my closure. I unceremoniously dressed and faced my stepbrothers. “I’m going to meet with him.” Max laughed. “The fuck you are. We’re calling Nick. I have no idea what Dad plans to do with you.” “And I don’t care. This ends now.” Reed took my wrist as I turned to stalk after Darius. “You’re not going in there alone. Not after what happened last time.” “He won’t try it again.” “How can you be sure?” The thought sickened me. “Because he already taught the lesson.” Max’s expression darkened. “He’s not in it for the lessons, baby. He wants to hear you scream.” “I live to disappoint him.”

“Fuck.” Max hobbled after me and pointed at Reed. “Call Nick. Get him home before she gets hurt. I don’t feel like killing Dad today.” Now there was a possibility. A bloody, horrible, deliciously appealing possibility. Before his tortures, I never considered ending a life. But some people didn’t deserve the chances they had or the souls they damned. “I’m going alone.” I didn’t wait for Max to limp after me. “I’m owed an apology.” Too many fears nauseated me. Too many unspoken threats stuck in my throat. I suffered too many nightmares and offered myself to his sons in too many ways just to pretend I was safe. But no safety existed in the Bennett Estate. Nothing they did was right, and yet, I still surrendered to the lesser Bennett evils if only to prevent Darius’s cruelty. Or did I submit to my step-brothers because I enjoyed it? Christ, I didn’t know anymore, and only blood would offer clarity. Spilled or betrayed, it didn’t matter. Darius intended to hurt me, and so I’d make my very existence a reason for him to hate waking each morning. I’d ruin Darius Bennett before he ruined me even if I had to offer my body again and again to the men who wanted nothing more than to claim me and reap the benefits for their own wealth. Money didn’t matter. Family didn’t matter. But I’d endure every torture of hell if it meant I could watch Darius suffer through the same horrors he inflicted on me. Nick didn’t have a majority for the takeover? That was fine. I’d crush his father for him. And they’d all be lucky if they recognized the Bennett Empire when I was done. Hate thickened into venom in my veins. I stormed the corridor to Darius’s office, the same hall where I once fled from the raging beast only to trap myself within Max’s punishments. Then, I feared what pain he’d inflict. But in my irrational, frantic anger, I denied every beat of my heart punishing me with fear. It ended now. I kicked the office door open.

And my rage bled into shock. Darius welcomed me from behind his desk. He clicked his tongue and sent the fluffy golden hairball scampering in my direction. His words trapped me between pounded heartbeats. “I brought you a present from home, my dear.” I crumbled to the ground as the goldendoodle slammed into my chest. He yipped around me, licking my face, hands, and plopping onto his side to demand belly rubs. “Hamlet?” I stared at Darius. “Why do you have my dog?” A dozen horrible, heart-breaking tortures scoured my mind. I searched his curly coat, but Hamlet didn’t look injured. Or worried. Or anything but a couple pounds heavier and spoiled with a fresh grooming. He wiggled, kicking his hind legs in desperation for my scratches. “My little girl shouldn’t be without her puppy.” Tears replaced the rage. “You’ll hurt him.” “Nonsense.” Darius dismissed the accusation with a frown. He offered me the chair opposite his desk, but I learned his tricks from the last time. I stood, holding Hamlet’s collar to keep him close to my legs. “I rather like dogs, as do your brothers. Hamlet is perfectly safe. I promise.” “Like I’d ever take your word.” He pretended he hadn’t heard the bitterness in my voice. “My first wife was allergic to dogs. We didn’t know about hypoallergenic breeds then. You are fortunate to have a pet with your asthma.” Hamlet was one of my greatest loves in the world, and he never once judged me for a single attack, even when I hid my wheezing in my bedroom and hugged him to avoid worrying Dad. Aggravating Dad. This was wrong. All of this. I expected Darius Bennett to attack me, hurt me, rape me. Instead he delivered my dog and even throw him a damn milk-bone from the bag he kept in his desk. What was he doing? The hair on my neck prickled. I prepared to run. “I figured it’d be wise to bring Hamlet to the estate. Your pup requires more attention than your mother can provide.”

“Why? Did you kill her?” Darius also pretended he hadn’t heard that. The frustration mounted in my chest. He showed no restraint before. Even a foul glance would have earned me a slap across the mouth. What was his game? “Sarah, she can’t possibly take care of Hamlet. Not with her early onset dementia.” Now I did sink into the chair. Hamlet’s cold nose pressed against my knee. “What did you say?” He held my gaze. “Last weekend’s trip to the farm included an appointment with the best neurological specialist in the country. Fortunately, the doctor suggested many experimental avenues we may pursue. Also, she spoke of some promising pharmaceutical products. You’ll be pleased to know I invested a considerable amount of money into those companies to facilitate their research.” He lied. He had to be lying. “She’s depressed, Darius. It’s not dementia.” “You must have known. You saw the signs.” “Well, she married you, so obviously something’s wrong. But that’s nothing medication and an annulment won’t fix.” “Is it so strange for you to believe that I might love your mother?” “You’ve never loved anything in your life.” “That’s not true. I love my sons.” And that’s why he threatened to kill Max and Reed if Nicholas hadn’t convince them to breed me. I snorted. “You love your power over them, your power over everyone.” “My power over you?” I arched an eyebrow. “No, you just get off on that.” Darius poured an ounce of whiskey into his tumbler. He offered me my own drink. Apple juice. It was the first time he treated me as a guest. Was it poisoned? Drugged? Sweat beaded my brow. I’d be sick before he finally attacked me.

“Your mother’s safety depends on your behavior here.” He said it as though it were obvious. Rational. “But I would never willingly hurt her, not unless you gave me no other option.” “That makes me feel so much better.” “I don’t care how it makes you feel.” “How can you say you love her when you tried to hurt her only living child?” Darius tapped his fingers around the tumbler. “You’re still upset about the incident at my office.” “Incident?” “The world is larger than your wounded pride, my dear. There are more important matters for your consideration.” “You tried to rape me.” “But I didn’t.” “You still tried.” “Nicholas and I have an arrangement. And you have your own duties.” I stood, regretting not taking the juice. At least then I’d have something to shatter on his desk. “You don’t come near me again, do you understand me?” I hissed. “You don’t touch me. You don’t look at me. You don’t even think of me.” “Are you pregnant, Sarah?” Rage hurt. I never realized how painful hatred could feel. It slashed at my chest and infested my mind. “No.” My voice lowered. “I’m not.” “Then I can’t guarantee your safety, can I?” “You’ll regret this.” “So will you…if you don’t obey my sons and provide us the heir we demand.” Wouldn’t he be surprised? “You will never control me.” I stared into the eyes of the devil and shielded myself in borrowed bravery. “You can kidnap me, hold me, beat me. Hell, even rape me yourself. It won’t matter. You can do nothing to me.” He didn’t react. Why didn’t he react? “Is that so?”

I’d scream and ruin it all. I’d praise my family’s foresight and scratch the word Josmik into the pristine hardwood of his desk. The blood in my veins sparked and ignited. I’d whisper it. I’d tell him that I had won. And then I’d cackle as he raged in a pitiful fury when I stole everything from him. But I didn’t say it. Revealing the trust would bury me before I had my chance to witness his destruction. “We’re done here.” My warning didn’t move him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch my dog.” He didn’t need to strike me to crack every bone in my body. His voice captured me in quiet dread. “Sit down, my dear. Your manners are atrocious. You will not address your father this way.” “You aren’t my father.” “Sit. Down.” I debated running, but I remembered what happened last time I tried to hide in the Bennett Estate. I was done fleeing, done with the abuse. I sat. Darius was pleased. “That’s my girl. I only ask that you act as a proper lady.” “Provided you act like a man and not a demon.” “You’ll regret those words.” I tensed. “When you beat them out of me?” “No.” Darius pushed a folder across the table to me. “When I offer you everything.” Oh, Christ. Last time he offered me secret documentation, my entire world crumbled under the weight of my father’s hypocrisy. I still hadn’t collected the shattered pieces of my life I lost when I tangled myself in the Bennett’s insanity. My ill-fated attempt to honor my undeserving father ended only in tears. I opened the folder. My original research journal rested between the pages of a contract.

He gave me Hamlet and my research. No threats. No raised fists. No unbuckled trousers. The anticipation of his violence would kill me. What the hell was he doing? “I’m willing to enter into negotiations with you,” Darius said. “My research division was very interested in your work. They understood you were early in the experimentation process, but they insisted the ideas were sound and profitable. I’m interested in buying your research.” My heart stopped, but that was fine. Not like my lungs were willing to breathe. “Buy?” “I understand your…situation is difficult. You’ve lost Atwood Industries whether you realize it or not. Your company is held in trust for my future grandson. I am offering to buy this research from you, Sarah, not your company. The money you’d make would be yours.” Money? I flipped the page. I hadn’t seen that many zeros since my attorney revealed how much Josiah and Mike spent when they took control of Atwood Industries, when I thought they squandered it instead of purchasing the stock and influence they’d use to ruin the Bennetts. It wasn’t real. It was a trick. A distraction. I expected a knife or gun in Darius’s hand. I flinched away. He handed me a pen. Any agreement with Darius was signed in more blood than ink. Nothing he offered came without conditions. No way was I reading the contract now, not when it was just as likely he’d attack and rape me over the scattered pages. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” The words trembled from my lips. I pushed the folder away. “You’d never give an Atwood that much money for college genetics work.” “I’m not paying for the scribbles. I’m paying for the vision.” “And once you get it?” Darius chuckled. “My dear, we can pretend you’re a guest of this family, or I can

lock you in the basement for your brothers to fuck until you were ripped, raw, and bleeding. If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead, just like your bastard father and his wretched sons.” He folded his hands. “However, your womb is worth a great deal to me, and so I am offering you a choice.” “You never gave me a choice before.” “Our original arrangement stands. You will bear a son for this family, and that child will inherit Atwood Industries.” “If you think—” “I’m presenting you with a proposition beyond that original agreement, an offer extended between two like-minded businesspeople doing what is best for their company and their lives.” “I’ll never entertain any offer from you.” “Care to view the dollar amount again? I assure you, it’s generous. As is the opportunity to work in our R&D division once the child is born and weaned off your breast.” “What?” “And once you’ve completed your education, of course. I’ll need someone to head a new Agricultural Engineering Research and Development department. Who better to oversee your own projects than you?” “You’re kidding me.” “You are not meant to run Atwood Industries, my dear. Once my grandson is born, Atwood Industries and the Bennett Corporation will be forever linked. I am offering you a chance to do what you’ve always wanted.” Bullshit. I didn’t even know what I wanted. I never had a chance to do what I wanted. My father chose my path from a young age, forcing me into genetics and engineering. I did as I was told until his death. Then the Bennetts kidnapped me before I could even try to run my family’s company. And now this? Money and a goddamned job in their company? Why hadn’t Darius just beaten me to a bloody pulp and had his way with what remained? “Think it over, my dear. Or…speak about it with Nicholas.” His eyebrow rose. “If you’re so inclined.” Shit.

I threw the papers at him. “Nicholas and you can rot in a shared grave for all I care. I’ll never sign anything over to you.” “There’s no timeframe for these negotiations, Sarah.” He gathered the contract and replaced the pages in the folder. “My office is always open to my little girl.” I wasn’t his daughter. And my real father never let me in his office. My head spun. I stood, lost in numbers and insults, fear and the cold dousing of my rage with confusion. Darius whistled, and Hamlet padded over to him. He tugged at the collar around his neck, freeing Hamlet from the leather and leash. “There we go.” Darius made no attempt to loosen my collar. “He should be allowed a bit of freedom, wouldn’t you agree?” I didn’t respond. I couldn’t think of a goddamned thing to say. Sundresses and barbecues, a small fortune and my knucklehead pet. I might have handled a beating and rape from Darius Bennett if only because I understood every moment in his presence was a war. I refused to retreat. And yet I slunk from his office just as humiliated as ever. Darius neither hurt nor threatened me, and I had no idea what to do without the familiarity of his violence. But I would learn. I’d steel myself against false generosity and his perverted games with me and my step-brothers. In less than a year, I’d own the Bennett Corporation, and I didn’t care how much of my blood spilled, my pain screamed, or my body broke. I wasn’t about to surrender to Darius Bennett. He hadn’t struck me, but I felt the blow just the same. I had underestimated him. It would never happen again.

5

SARAH

“W hat do you think of the offer?”

Nicholas flipped through the contract a second time but still said nothing. He wouldn’t find anything hidden in the pages. I already scoured the agreement, but the only bewildering clause existed in the remarkably generous price for the research. I didn’t trust it. Neither did Nicholas, though he revealed only a momentary aggravation as his gaze fell to the bed. “Your dog is sleeping on my pillow.” I suppressed a giggle. “Cute.” “Does he have to sleep on the bed?” “Hamlet is eight years old. Sleeping is pretty much all he does.” “He can’t commandeer Reed’s pillow?” “Not unless you want me sleeping in Reed’s bed too.” The contract dropped to the table. Nicholas exhaled. “Hamlet can stay.” “I knew you’d be willing to negotiate.” He didn’t share my smile. Instead, he stilled, impenetrable, completely unreadable, even to the woman who fell in love with him. I spent so many days worrying about the lash of a flogger and Darius’s sadism. I forgot the most dangerous Bennett slept beside me, fastened my collar in the morning, and had his way with me at his will. Nicholas never hurt me, but I’d never forget that he was the one who chased me off the road and kidnapped me from my

own property to bring me to his family’s lair. Nicholas once surveyed the world and saw every weakness he needed to exploit. But now? He had changed. He was distracted. Blinded. It had something to do with Darius, but Nicholas revealed nothing. That hidden truth would rot us from the inside out. The time for deception was over—lost when my step-brothers and I forged our alliances. But it hadn’t been that simple. Nicholas said he loved me, yet he refused to free me from the cruelty, the terror, and his bed. And now he kept more secrets. I let myself trust my step-brothers, hoping we’d be safe if we protected each other. But Nicholas Bennett could destroy that trust with a single word. I was too vulnerable, my desires and feelings too exposed. Then again, maybe that’s what trust was. Was that why it was so hard to give? “Did he talk to you about this offer?” I asked a question that would have been foolish only days ago. Nicholas, heir to the Bennett Empire, knew everything, controlled everyone, and made every decision in strict cooperation with his father. Until now. His hesitance curdled my stomach. “No.” “Nick, please. Tell me what the hell is going on.” “I don’t know.” “Why is he doing this?” “I don’t know.” “He offered me a job.” “Sarah, I don’t know.” Nick buttoned his jacket. He wore the suit like armor, but his defenses were stripped. We hid our love, the infertility, Josmik, everything, but one slip and Darius would learn the truth. I was the chink in his armor, and Darius always aimed for the kill. I pushed the contract away. “Christ, Nick. Maybe he knows about us.”

“No. Impossible.” “He hasn’t hit me. Hasn’t tried to hurt me. Now he offers me money? Hamlet?” “Sarah, he doesn’t know anything. And we’ll keep it that way.” “He’s an evil, horrible man. He doesn’t need to rape me. He’s trying to get in my head.” “And it’s working.” Nicholas’s mocha voice hardened. “You should never have met him alone.” “I’m not afraid.” “Fear will keep you safe. You aren’t a coward for avoiding him. Letting him think he’s won is the only way to save your life.” I tensed. Even Hamlet whined, yawning before burying his head under the pillows. “What aren’t you telling me?” “I have to go to the office.” I gnawed on my lip. Now was not the time to broach the subject, but it was the most conversation I had from Nicholas in days. I took a breath. “I have an idea for the takeover,” I said. “I can fix it.” “So do I, and it isn’t for you to worry about.” “Nick—” He pulled me into his arms. I hated how his embrace was exactly what I needed. Every time I faced Darius, I returned raw, shaken, and confused. Only Nicholas’s touch calmed me. He was every breath my chest denied, every whisper lost to fear, and the guiding hand tightening the bindings over my body. I shouldn’t have loved him. I never meant to stay for him. I wanted to believe him. How could I love someone I didn’t trust? What was he hiding? “I’m going to make this right,” he said. “It’s not over. Not yet.” A kiss was our only true honesty. His love was desperate and precious, and it shielded me from the moments of pain and terror that threatened to rip us apart. The kiss warmed as much as it ordered me to obey. “I’ll take care of this, Sarah. I won’t let you get hurt.”

Nicholas meant it to be a comfort before he left for the office. And it was, but comfort wouldn’t last. I wasn’t waiting to be saved anymore. Not when Darius controlled me and my mother, not when he threatened Max and Reed, and not while Nicholas risked his future to protect mine. I had my own plan, an idea so devious it would punish Darius in ways he never, ever imagined. If they’d all agree to it. Unfortunately, Nicholas Bennett would never approve a plan that gave me more power than he possessed. And so I had to go to the one Bennett who could convince his brother to sacrifice his pride to save us all. And Christ, would he love humbling Nicholas. I snuck through the estate, keeping to the shadows in my own cowardly apprehension. I hadn’t dared explore the basement since the day I nearly lost my life to Darius, when he gave me to Max for my punishment. Bruises faded, but I still trembled, even without the monster chasing me in a furious rage. The gym’s lights flicked on, and muffled rock music blasted between the jarring crash of weights against metal. Max knew I was there. His leg probably throbbed in my presence. It wasn’t the first time I brought the behemoth to his knees, but it’d be the first time I’d apologize. I heard enough stories about Maxwell Bennett, and I witnessed his strength firsthand. Max didn’t own his floggers and whips because he trained horses. He craved pain. His leg hurt him every moment of the day, and he took his relief by inflicting the same agony upon others. He punished the Bennett’s enemies and disciplined me with an eager hand. And still, his aggression was one of the few protections I had against Darius. He administered my reprimands and ensured his father didn’t touch me in anger. Just another Bennett who earned my fragile trust. Max sweated, bench-pressing an admirable amount of weight. He replaced the equipment and sat up, the hard-packed core of his abdomen clenching. Every muscle flexed, and even the tattoos striking his chest and sides in swipes of violent tribal markings tightened with a dangerous strength. Except his scarred leg. His mesh shorts revealed more secrets than any of the tattoos. Scar after scar marred his twitching, lean muscle, and not a single brush of ink touched his pale skin. A thick bruise colored his knee.

Max rarely exposed his leg. Judging by his darkened scowl, I wasn’t a welcomed guest interrupting the morning routine. “Hi.” I leaned against the doorframe. “Can I join you?” Max laughed. “You?” “I’m supposed to lightly exercise to help with the asthma.” Key word: Supposed. The doctors encouraged it, as though I hadn’t been a co-ed CEO managing funerals and union contracts, depressed mothers and my own kidnapping. “Arm or leg day, baby?” “Arms, I guess. Is that what you’re doing?” The implication insulted him. Off to a good start. Max ignored me, splashing most of his water over his head. The cascading drops teased over the impressively chiseled muscle of his chest. I took a chance. “I’m sorry about yesterday.” “It’s fine.” “Did I hurt you?” “I’m fine.” “Liar.” Too much. His gaze threatened to end more than the conversation. Max didn’t like to be teased. He demanded respect. To get him on my side for this plan, I’d have to earn that respect. “I just thought I should apologize. I didn’t mean to kick you. I panicked.” “And I said it was fine.” That was that. He stretched and selected a ridiculously heavy barbell to lift with one hand. He curled his bicep and did two repetitions before the silence slayed me. “Please, don’t be mad at me.” The equipment thunked onto the rack with a jarring clang. He patted the powder from his hands. “You don’t want me to be mad?” “I need a favor,” I said. “There it is.”

“No, it isn’t like that.” Max perked an eyebrow. Maybe it was exactly like that, but I didn’t have time for guilt. “I’d like you to talk to Nick, to convince him to do something for me.” He shrugged. “Suck his cock. He’ll do whatever you say.” Not the plan I had. “I’m need more help than that.” “Well, I’m not sucking him off.” “Max, be serious.” “You don’t understand anything about the Bennetts, do you, baby?” “Nick respects you.” Max rubbed his face with a towel and scowled. I stood my ground. I wasn’t brave; I simply faced the one Bennett I could outrun. “I’m the second-born.” Max towered over me. “Nick doesn’t respect me. He controls me.” “That’s not true.” “Always has, always will. It’s the way Dad raised us.” “But can’t you—” “Baby, Nick can oppose Dad, but one word from me? He’d rather a dead son than a crippled one.” I had no way to comfort a man who was worth more to his father dead than alive. We all had our reasons for hating Darius. At least it unified us. “I have a plan,” I said. “If you promise to help, we can stop Darius. We can save your life and prevent him from—” “From what?” Max grinned. “Your life is already over, or don’t you get that?” “And here I thought we were trying to be optimistic.” “You’ve been kidnapped. We made you drop out of school and every one of your social circles. Nick forced you into a leave of absence from your company. I don’t care what he told you. You will never get the power back, not after you promised Atwood Industries to an unborn, imaginary child.” He paused. “And if by some miracle we knock you up? You really think you can finish college and run a company if you’re nursing some brat?” I didn’t let him intimidate me. “Then you see why I need your help.”

“Yeah. Life’s a bitch when you have no other options.” “Stop it, Max. I’m asking as a friend.” “I’m not your friend.” “Then I’m asking as your step-sister.” Now he sneered. “Spread your legs and ask me again, sis.” “Max—” “Run along, baby. Go sweet-talk Nick and get Reed to drool over you. You don’t want me involved.” “Nick won’t listen to Reed. You’re the only one who can get in his head.” “That doesn’t mean I’m the one who’ll help.” “It means you’re the only one who can.” I stepped closer. “I know you try to make yourself into some kind of monster, but I’m not afraid of you, Max.” “You will be, one day.” “Don’t say that.” His aggravation faded, but the darkness remained, layering his voice in threat and…something else. Something that prickled me with goosebumps. Remorse. “One day…you’re gonna hate me,” he said. “The things I’ve done, the punishments I give?” “It’s not true. You do it to protect me.” “One too many lashes, and it’ll happen. I’ll break you.” The thought broke only my heart. “Max, I trust you.” “You shouldn’t.” “I’ll never hate you.” “Don’t make promises.” He was never gentle, but he tugged on the collar around my neck as though it were a caress to my cheek. “I can apologize for everything, but you’ll eventually realize my words are worthless. You will hate me, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise.” “What are you talking about?” I didn’t fight as he drew me closer. I lost myself in his unforgiving muscle. “Max, I can handle anything you give. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m not going to be the man who tests you.” “You already have, and I’ve survived it.” I bit my lip. “I’ll prove it.” “You have nothing to prove.” “I want to apologize for hurting you,” I said. “Let me earn your forgiveness.” “Nothing to earn, baby.” “I’m offering.” My pulse leapt as Max leaned in, his scent a masculine tang of sweat mixed with leather and spice. “Don’t tempt me, Sarah.” His words layered in threat and heat. “I’ll only warn you once. If you want to get hurt, I’ll hurt you. Nothing would piss off Nick more than sending you to him with a pussy full of seed and lashes on your back.” Something primal existed between my step-brothers, a competition I didn’t understand. I belonged to Nicholas, but that didn’t mean Max wouldn’t take his pleasure at the expense of his brother. He tossed his towel away. Max yanked my dress over my head. I shuddered, suddenly trapped within his clutches. He pulled me to a piece of exercise equipment with too many benches, straps, and weights for me to figure out. He stretched my arms up and wrapped my hands over a support bar built into the equipment for chin-ups. “You don’t move your hands.” I arched an eyebrow and released my hold. Max’s slap struck my breasts. The lacy bra protected me from the harsh strike, which only annoyed him. He wrenched the bra away and tore my panties down. “Uh-oh.” I returned my hands to the bar. “I warned you.” He kissed my shoulder only to rock me with a harsh bite. “You’d think a girl in your condition would listen.” “I don’t have a condition.” “Not yet.” “Not ever.” “We’ll see.” Max bit again. I winced, but he liked that. “Always resented Nick’s orders, but, baby, this is one command I am eager to obey.” Goose bumps prickled me as the gym’s cool air brushed my flushing skin. He

followed the trail over my arms. Max’s hands were seldom gentle, yet I leaned into his grip. Growing up, I imagined soft kisses and tender touches and all the romance of the books and movies. I never once hoped I’d be trapped and bound, taken and shared. And I never thought I’d be at the mercy of my step-brothers and their lust. It wasn’t about following orders or tasting something forbidden. They all desired the same thing. To conquer me. The Velcro wasn’t a good sign. Max strapped my hands to the bar over my head. “Restraints in a gym?” I whispered. He shifted behind me. His stare tickled like a caress against my curves. “Wrist wraps, for lifting.” “Oh.” “You wandered into a perfect playroom, baby.” That I did, and I wasn’t sure if I regretted it yet. I squirmed. Max looped my leash over the bar, forcing my chin higher. He admired his work. “You make a beautiful captive.” “Do you really consider me a prisoner?” “You really want an honest answer?” He pressed against me. His hardened cock throbbed, aching for a promised release. “Nick’s not here to save you.” “I don’t need to be saved.” “You sure about that?” Yes. He wouldn’t save me anyway. Nicholas was too obsessed with securing my safety. He’d impregnate me any way he could, even if it meant using his brothers. Even if it meant breaking me to conquer everyone else. Max demanded my submission with a sharp spank. But Nicholas? How could I deny a man who twisted my hatred into passion and healed me with undeniable love? He ruled me, just as he’d rule over the Bennetts, the Atwoods, and all the world if he so chose. And, as a symbol of his control, he gave me to others. A taste, he called it. Maybe he meant to create an heir to steal my company.

Maybe he thought it was the only way to save me. But I understood him now. Nicholas offered me because he liked it. He savored the power he held over his brothers—not only in his orders to take me, but in their borrowed indulgences. Nicholas was proud to pull me from beneath them and return me to his bed under his authority. No matter what they did, his brothers were left with only the memory of my skin against theirs. And Max played into his hands, either willingly or because he had no other choice. Not that it mattered when he had a naked woman bound for his entertainment. Max parted from me to retrieve an item I’d either love or hate. How cruel did he plan to be today? “Jump rope.” He tucked the wooden handle under my chin. The rope tightened in his fists, the beaded, plastic kind I remembered from when I was a kid. “Hate these things.” The last time I tangled in jump rope, I fell and chipped a baby tooth. Josiah and Mike thought it was hysterical. “I’m not a fan either,” I said. “It’s hard on my leg.” Max positioned behind me. “I do it anyway.” “Why?” “Gotta have pain to see improvement.” That wasn’t it. I knew better. “You mean, you punish yourself because you’re in pain,” I said. The rope whistled through the air before it struck, and the dozens of beads connected with my back in a sharp, blinding crack. I surged forward, but the restraints trapped me. I shrieked. Max loved the sound. Served me right. I shouldn’t have pried into his head. But that didn’t mean I’d stop. “Easy, baby,” Max whispered. “We’re just getting started.” “I can take it. Can you?” “I told you not to tempt me.” “Answer my question,” I said. “All this work, it’s not just exercise.”

The jump rope whipped as unforgiving as any belt. The snap of the beads scared me more than the sting, but I lurched forward as the rope sliced harsh against the tender flesh of my hips. The bruises that faded would be replaced. My pale skin no longer freckled with the dusting of innocence, but flushed against the constant threat of punishment, humiliation, and sadism. Max dug his fingers into the welts where the rope kissed. “Why else would I exercise? If you’re calling me vain…you might be right.” “It’s not vanity.” “You don’t think I look good?” He fisted my hair. “Baby, you just voluntarily offered your ass to get whipped. Don’t lie. You fucking love how strong I am.” The lick of the jump rope couldn’t compare to the threat of his hands. Nothing stilled me as effectively as his grip over my neck. I warmed in ways I shouldn’t have warmed, but I stopped trying to understand why every raw sensation blended delight with confusion. Pain was just another form of lust. I arched just to feel Max’s hardness. “Speak for yourself. You love how helpless I am.” “What’s not to love? Arms bound. Back welted. Pussy fucking wet as sin.” He hadn’t touched me, but only because there was no need. I felt the slickness on my thighs. After my kidnapping, I became an entirely different woman from the little girl struggling to uphold the Atwood name. I was braver than I thought I could be, putting my body on the line to learn the dark secrets that revealed the limits between pleasure and pain, alliances and enemies, life and death. I liked the new me. But I didn’t trust how much she was willing to sacrifice. “You like doing this to me,” I said. “You like causing another pain.” Max struck me again. Harder. Almost vicious with the intent to earn my squeal. He didn’t scare me. I twisted against the restraints. “You’re as much a masochist as I am.” Another blow. Wasn’t enough to stop me. “You punish yourself with all these exercises. The jump rope. The leg days.” Max hesitated before the next hit. I thought he’d stop. He only aimed higher, lashing between my shoulder blades. I blinked tears, but the pain dissipated into a

thousand shivers that centered too deep and too intense within me. “You hate your injury, but not because it hurts you. You hate having to prove your worth to your family. You call yourself crippled, because you don’t know what else to be.” Max swore. The rope beat quicker now. One, two, three painful strikes that instantly welted my back, my shoulders, and down to the curve of my hips. I gritted my teeth, but I didn’t hide it. Not my tears or the quick, searing, aching demand that coiled me in trembling anticipation for something more than unrepentant blows. It was hard to talk, but he couldn’t silence me. Even if he tried to. “You became a monster and adopted the violence. You embraced pain because it was a part of you, and you could use it to make yourself useful to the family.” I tensed for the worst of the whipping. “You’re second-born, Max. That’s what really crippled you. Your injury just brought it to life.” “I’d be careful if I were you.” I didn’t recognize his voice. My breathing hitched with pain and adrenaline. “You don’t want to be part of the Bennett family, and you don’t want this life. You don’t want to fuck me. You’re doing it because you have to.” “That’s where you’re wrong.” I screamed over the last strike of the jump rope. It clattered to the ground. Max ripped the restraints off my wrists only to toss me face down over the exercise bench. “I always want to fuck you, Sarah Atwood. I’ll send you back to Nick’s bed with more than fucking bruises on your skin.” “You think you’ll get me pregnant?” “Fucking hell, baby, I wouldn’t deserve it, but I’ll die trying.” Max shoved my head low on the bench. His shorts tossed away, and the thickness between his legs pushed against my slit, threatening me with the sheer size of his raging cock. He didn’t prepare me, but the pain he caused was as much an aphrodisiac as Nicholas’s caramel voice or Reed’s loving tongue. “You’re going to regret every fucking word.” His cock impaled me in a single, brutal thrust, far harder than Nicholas ever took

me and deeper than Reed had explored. My whimper didn’t slow him. Max knew he didn’t hurt me. Despite the ropes and bindings, threats and tugged hair, the cock invading my core twisted fear into delight. He split through me, claiming my heat and dragging both us down into a world of shadow, sin, and pain. I collapsed immediately, his weight crushing me with the forced stroke into my tightness. I shuddered through every frantic thrust of his cock. My breasts ground against the bench, and each slap of our sweat-soaked skin dizzied me with his ferocity. “You aren’t doing this to protect me,” I gasped. “You’re trying to prove a point.” “That I can knock you up?” Max arched me so he could seize my breast. He curled his cruel fingers over my nipple and squeezed for my squeal. “Yeah. That’s a pretty good point.” “No. You’re still proving your worth. You’re not breeding me to save your family. You’ll come inside me so you can save yourself.” His thrusts quickened, too hard and too fast and forcing my silence in the swelling heat. His grip punished me. He slammed my body against his hips, and every slice of his cock erupted a growing tension within me. The pressure ached more than any of his strikes against my bruised skin. His hands trembled. I clutched his arms. “You’re as trapped in this estate as I am, Maxwell Bennett.” Max roared. He thrusted as deeply as he could, and we crested together. Not because we willed it, and not because we wanted it. I came because I had won. He came because I understood. My body rolled in violent shudders, crying out against the surge of warmth flooding my core. Max groaned, thrusting again and again, forcing me through intensity, pleasure, and pain. I collapsed against the bench with a whimper. Max didn’t rest with me. He didn’t caress me, whisper sexy words, or hold me against his warmth like Nicholas. He ripped from my shaking body and escaped from the truth. I’d said too much. He tugged his shorts over his hard, raging, glistening cock. I didn’t move. After a

minute, he rested a hand against my shoulder. “You okay?” The first gentle touch he ever offered me, and he accidentally pressed a painful welt. “I’m good.” He picked me up before I was ready and sat me on the edge of the bench. Nicholas usually kept me still, flat, and stuffed with his seed. Max didn’t care. He didn’t meet my gaze either. Ashamed. I should have comforted him. I should have asked if he was okay. If I could somehow…help. I might not have loved Max, but I cared for him. Greatly. Not like a lover, and certainly not a brother, but as someone I wanted to trust. I touched his hand. He allowed it. But, without the courage of lust, the barrier of pain, or the freedom of release, it didn’t feel right prying where I didn’t belong. I licked my lip. It’d swelled where I’d bit to survive the whipping. “I…have a plan to fix the takeover. We can still do it, but I need you to talk to Nick.” I sucked in a breath. “Will you please help me?” “Baby, I was always going to help you.” “Oh. Good then.” “No, you don’t get it.” Max stood before me, knocking my chin up to meet his gaze. The intensity hadn’t diminished, but a foreboding darkness shadowed his intentions. Christ. He was keeping secrets too. “Sarah, I will always help you. You hear me? No matter what happens now or in the future. You ask, and I’ll come running. Even…if one day you hate me. Or fear me. It doesn’t matter. I will live my life to help you.” I blushed. It wasn’t sincerity that possessed him, but sheer intensity, a desperate energy. I kissed his forehead. He didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” I said. “I have the perfect solution to end all this insanity, but you’re going to have to convince your brother. Because, believe me…there is no way Nicholas Bennett will ever agree to my plan.”

6

NICHOLAS

I f my father didn’t kill my brother first, I’d murder Max in a cold-blooded rage.

Sharp, crisscrossed welts marred Sarah’s back. The lines bruised her, whipped by the expert hand of someone who understood his strength but hadn’t wielded the restraint I expected. That I trusted from him. I tasted the fury—a vibrant copper that accompanied a new instinct, one that demanded curled fists and pain to relieve the frustration poisoning my judgment. Violence wasn’t my solution. But what solutions of mine had worked lately? Sarah sat stiffly on the couch, edging away from the cushion. Reed peeked at her shoulders before she could chase him off. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “That’s from a rope?” “A jump rope. It had those plastic beads on it…” Sarah blushed, the pink darkening to a red. “I’m fine. Really.” I wouldn’t let her defend Max’s actions. “No, you aren’t.” I promised to protect the delicate girl only to deliver her into the perversions of a savage. She argued with me, but I had no patience for her, not when I used all of my restraint to remind myself that my brother shared my blood, and; therefore, deserved a chance to explain before I personally disinherited him. Max, of course, offered no apology. I expected as much. “Should we…get her some ice?” Reed asked. I saw red. Max sighed. “I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

Sarah groaned. “I’m fine.” Christ, how badly had we manipulated the girl that she’d defend the beast who bruised and tore her skin? “Nick,” she said. “Really. I’ve been through worse.” Not the reminder I needed. Sarah unsuccessfully ordered Hamlet to sit. Reed hollered as the dog’s wagging tail pitched a glass onto the floor. Hamlet didn’t notice. He buried his head in her lap and jarred her against the couch. She winced. She hurt. Max would feel the pain ten-fold. If I didn’t kill him first.

MAX AND REED WEREN’T DISCHARGED FROM THE HOSPITAL YET. I took my place beside my father at my mother’s grave. The minister dusted the coffin with dirt. My father embraced his silence, steadfast, as he shook hands with those paying their respects. I mimicked him, his stillness. “You saved your brothers.” The minister patted my shoulder. “Without you, they would have perished in the crash. You are a hero, Nicholas.” I didn’t feel like a hero. Heroes didn’t cry in the cramped funeral parlor bathroom and wash away their tears with sweet cherry scented soap. I smelled it over the flowers. I hoped my father didn’t. “A special bond exists between brothers,” the minister said. “Nothing more profound in this world. They trust you with their lives, and yours with them. It is a love nothing can break, not even death.” My father returned to the hospital after the funeral. He forbade the doctors from taking Max’s mangled leg and ordered them to sedate Reed when tore at his stitches after hearing of Mom’s death He ordered me to stay and receive the condolences for my mother. I refused. Someone needed to comfort my brothers. If only because it’s what Mom would have wanted.

I LEFT SARAH WITH MAX, AND HE REPAID ME WITH HER PAIN. I DIDN’T LET HIM AVOID MY GAZE. “You will not harm her again.” Reed shouldn’t have said it. “Better Max than Dad.” “This wasn’t a punishment.” I steadied the rage in my voice. “This was his own fun.” “Nick, drop it.” Sarah sighed. “I said I’m fine.” “How am I supposed to trust her with you?” I asked. Max stretched against the couch, arms behind his head as though pleased with his work. “You might have seriously hurt her.” “I didn’t.” “You have no restraint. No control.” “She’s walking, isn’t she?” “I asked you for help.” I loathed the implication. “I allow you to touch her because I hope to spare her pain, not cause it.” “For Christ’s sake. A little whipping isn’t going to fuck with her. Not when we’re all trying to knock her up. She should be begging for a flogger instead.” Sarah’s cheeks flushed as she stood. “Enough. I’m not sitting here while you guys measure your dicks to see who fucks me the right way.” Reed grinned. “It’s me, isn’t it?” She ignored him. “Nick, even if it were possible, I don’t like the thought of conceiving just to save my life.” Neither did I, but it was better than my father murdering her because she inherited a secret trust. A majority of the board allied with him, and I hated that I could no longer judge the number of votes I had to take the company from him. But what should have been my primary concern was lost in rage. The woman I loved was hurt by a man I trusted. And now, regardless of her pain, I’d take her to bed—not driven by jealousy, but because I needed to know that she was okay, unharmed, and safe. We lied far too easily to each other, but, in moments of passion and tangled in pleasure, everything was revealed. Everything except the corruption which infested my board of directors. Sarah

didn’t know how many men beyond our family demanded her rape and breeding. And she wouldn’t learn. I loved her too much to ruin her with the evil of others. And so I’d lie to keep her safe. I’d lived an honorable life before I took Sarah Atwood, before she corrupted me with her perfection, broke me with her touch, and damned my soul with her love. If protecting her meant shredding every ounce of human decency left within me, I’d do it. But I feared it still wouldn’t be enough. “I have a plan.” Sarah announced it to the room, but Max and Reed averted their gazes. Shame…or maybe defeat. Either way it wasn’t an emotion a Bennett should have revealed. Sarah surged forward. “I know how to fix the takeover. I know what we can do to ensure you get the votes to cast your father out of the corporation.” “A plan?” I repeated. “Just…hear me out, Nick. Before you say anything.” So it’d be that kind of plan. If it involved leather jackets, my motorcycle, and stealing her out of the country, it wouldn’t work. I already tried and dismissed it as an impossibility. My father would find her, but he wouldn’t waste money dragging her back. Not when a bullet and shallow grave would end our troubles. But I obliged her. I settled into the wingback closest to the hearth. The last time I claimed a seat and watched her perform, my father ordered her to strip. She faced me with a courage I never expected, and I admired every ounce of her bravery. I decided then to take it for my own. And I did. “Your takeover?” She broached the subject with caution. “It failed. Darius still has control of the Bennett Corporation, and he probably will retain it for some time.” “It’s more complicated than that,” I said. Max dared to speak to me. “How complicated?” More than he knew. “Nothing I can’t handle.” “Well, I don’t want complicated anymore,” Sarah said. “Nick, I’m inheriting

Josmik in about nine months.” A magic number. “Nothing can stop it, right?” She asked. Not without killing her. I nodded. “So why are you fighting my inheritance?” Reed and Max didn’t listen to her pitch. They watched me, waited for my reaction. And then it made sense. She went to them first. And, together, they’d present their plan to me. “You no longer have a controlling portion of the Bennett Corporation,” I said. “But you have enough shares to make it…difficult, if you so choose.” “My goal isn’t to be difficult. I want the controlling interest.” “That won’t happen.” Her eyes revealed so many things she didn’t say. “It can if I’m given additional stock. If I can earn it, I can use Josmik and the purchased shares to take a majority and vote out your father.” She didn’t know how dangerous the board was. They would never sell an Atwood her shares. She had all the stock she could possibly acquire, and my father’s partners controlled the rest. “Sarah, there isn’t any more stock you can cheat, buy, or steal.” “Yes, there is,” she said. “And you’re going to give it to me.” She silenced. My brothers revealed nothing. They waited for my reaction, for my decision, as they always did. Since when did Sarah Atwood have such control over them? “I’m going to give…what to you?” I prompted. Sarah held my gaze. “Everything.” “Everything?” “I will buy your complete portion of the Bennett Corporation. Reed and Max already agreed to sell me theirs, but you hold the largest percentage. With your stock and Josiah and Mike’s collected shares, I’ll have my controlling interest. I will own

everything.” My voice lowered. “You want me to give you…” My entire life. My fortune. My empire. My future. Absolutely not. “Sarah, this isn’t a game,” I warned. “I never said it was.” “You don’t realize what you’re asking.” “I’m asking to combine our power. I understand the risks, but this will work, Nick. It’s our only chance.” “You are jeopardizing the stability of both our companies. This is stock for a corporation worth billions.” “I know.” “Do you understand what would happen to the Bennett name if an Atwood seized control of our family company?” Sarah bristled. “Yeah, I do. About the same thing that would happen if I waddled onto an Atwood farm eight months pregnant with a Bennett’s bastard heir.” Damn. I wasn’t ready to admit that concession. Reed’s sigh was heavy. “Nick, dude, this the best idea I’ve heard since you tossed her naked over a desk.” I anticipated him siding with her. Reed had already pledged his stock. He’d surrender his name and carve out the genes he shared with our father too, but that didn’t make it a good idea. It just proved Sarah wasn’t the only one in danger. My father already threatened Max and Reed for refusing to harm Sarah. If he knew they allied with her? That they offered their birthrights to an Atwood? I couldn’t protect everyone, and no place in the world existed where we’d escape my father. He’d spend millions to track down anyone who wronged him. I saw it firsthand, remembered the money spent and the days wasted while he tracked the man who severed the break line in my mother’s car. Killing Mark Atwood would have only drawn attention to us, pin-pointed the crime to our name, but he made an example of the one he hired. He’d do the same to my brothers without thinking twice, especially if they betrayed

our family. “No.” I said it gently, but it struck Sarah harder than any of the welts on her body. “No?” She shook her head. “You don’t understand the plan.” “I understand it.” “Then why?” Max frowned. “We can’t risk it anymore, Nick. Dad’s not going to stop until she’s knocked up or dead. Who the hell knows what he’ll do next, or what he’s told the board about your takeover attempt.” A valid concern. “This is too dangerous. Why risk her life? He’ll kill her before the contracts are signed.” “That’s not true,” Sarah said. “This is the cleanest, safest, best solution we have. Why oppose Josmik if you can use it to your advantage?” “And what advantage is that?” I asked. “Think of the money lost between the stock transfers—” “Oh, please. This isn’t about the money. You have the money. Don’t pretend you’d mourn the loss of a couple million dollars when this plan would guarantee you control of your entire company.” “Would it?” She hesitated. Max and Reed tensed. It took only a moment for her to spark with a quick fury. Sarah shuddered, but not in our offered pleasure or her nightmarish fear. I rarely saw her angry. That was good. The little fairy turned imp, and she seethed in solemn rage. “You don’t think I’ll give it back.” Partly. The Board would skin her alive before they let an Atwood control anything relating to the company. If the vile men lurking in my father’s shadow encouraged their future CEO to kidnap and rape an innocent girl, I imagined what they’d expect to prevent her from seizing our assets. Her words trembled. “You don’t trust me.” “Sarah.” Christ. She should have asked anything else of me. Anything. I’d kiss away her pouted lip and spare the pain she tried to hide. But not this. “You don’t think I’d return the control. That I’d…”

“Destroy the Bennett empire brick-by-brick, starting with me?” I held her gaze. “Sarah, I love you. And you know I am doing everything in my power to protect you.” “Are you?” Why was it easier to love than it was to trust? I wanted Sarah Atwood. The dark fantasies I imagined of her tied to my bed, wrapped within my arms, or swelling with my child were nothing compared to my dreams of her being happy. I couldn’t risk freeing her—not with the power she wielded or the threat of my father—but I still hoped I treated her well. If not now, then eventually, once the madness ended and the takeovers cleared and… Once she conceived my son. I needed her in my possession. I had to defend her from the board. I was the only man who could stop her from harming herself. “What good is a promise with this?” I said. “This requires a contract. Signed and notarized and witnessed. Sarah, no agreement is completely secret. Someone would know, someone would tell my father, and you would be in even more danger.” I paused. She was unconvinced. “This plan will only work if you stay alive until you are given the trust.” “So keep me alive.” “Then you have to conceive.” She scowled. “Or, you could sell me your stock now and end this game with your father.” “How?” “Here’s an idea.” Her voice chilled. “Why don’t we kill Darius before he kills me?” The air thickened. Max nodded, as though he agreed, as though he’d ever dare to actually raise a hand against the man he loathed as much as he longed to impress. Reed said nothing. He’d never get his hands bloody, not when he had the courage to simply walk away, strike out on his own, and make his own life beyond our family crest. The thought burned me, but the fire suffocated with Sarah’s broken expression. The edge in her voice wasn’t bravery. It was fear.

She really didn’t trust me. I didn’t know if that was wise or an insult. “Don’t assume I haven’t considered it.” I softened my voice for her. Those wide eyes stared at me, pale and shaken. “Don’t you think that hasn’t been the first, last, and only thought for weeks?” “Then…” She crossed her arms and hugged herself. I should have been the one to hold her. “It’s our only option.” Poor girl. It was never an option. “Sarah, believe me. I planned. I thought of every possibility. It won’t work. If he dies, and it’s suspicious in any way, his will stipulates everything freezes. The money, the stock, the company. Everything.” Max rubbed his face. “If I know Dad, he’s already pointed fingers at us. We opposed him one too many times. I’m sure he knows we’ve considered it.” “And I’m the sole heir to the Bennett Corporation. Billions of dollars are at stake. The police would look to me first and foremost.” “And Reed and I would inherit our own money. We’d be just as culpable.” “He’d rather dissolve the company than reward disloyalty,” I said. “I won’t let that happen.” Reed snorted. “I don’t care about the company.” “I do,” I said. Sarah tensed. “I am not putting the company or money before you,” I hated that she even thought it. “But the Bennett Corporation is mine. I’ve worked my entire life to assume leadership, and I’m not going to endanger it, our money, our employees, anything if I’m not convinced you’ll be safe.” I paused. “And I’m not.” Max frowned. “Why? If Dad’s dead, who would fuck with her?” The four remaining members of a board I couldn’t control—and they’d show less restraint than my father. They wouldn’t care about acquiring Atwood Industries, but they’d do everything to ensure Sarah never gained a single share of the Bennett Corporation. Sarah had only hope and impetuous courage to guide her. Revealing the board’s corruption would destroy both. And God only knew what my brothers would do if they realized men they trusted their entire lives would murder them for refusing to aid my father.

“I understand Dad,” I said. “I’ve spent my life learning from him, studying him, mimicking him, and I’ve come to despise everything he expects of me. Every decision I’ve made was meant to make me a better man than him. I’ve ignored his lessons and attempted to manage this family and company the way I think it should be run.” I tapped my temple. “But I know how he thinks. He is always two steps ahead. He knows we would kill him if given the opportunity.” “Then why wait?” Sarah said. “Why not just do it. You know what he tried to do to me! He’s a monster. He doesn’t deserve to live, not after what he’s put me through.” I stood, buttoning my jacket. “And that’s why your plan won’t work.” “Why?” I brushed a hand over her cheek. She didn’t flinch away, despite the tightening of her jaw. She bit back a hundred insults to feel my touch. The desire would either safe her life or ruin her before I could help. “You want revenge. I can’t blame you. But you aren’t being rational. Vengeance isn’t clean. You’ll get hurt.” “This isn’t about revenge,” she said. I insulted her. “This is about protecting me.” “And I will.” She didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe me. Sarah held my gaze only to rip out my heart. “The only way you can protect me is if you let me go.” How many times would she force me to tighten the collar over her neck, trap her in my bed, or repeat the damning truth? She was mine. Forever. “I can’t let you go.” “No. You won’t let me go.” “You are safer with me than you are alone in the world hiding from my father.” She meant to be strong. Instead, her voice laced with hope. “Then come with me.” It was a greater impossibility. Not with my role in the company, the expectations, the possibilities I had in play that would save us all without bloodshed. “Enough, Sarah. I know you’re frustrated.” “I’m not frustrated!” Her voice rose. Hamlet galloped to her side, bumping her hand before she wound herself up. The damn dog comforted her more than me or my brothers. “I can’t live like this anymore. I won’t slink around the estate because

I’m afraid of a beating. I won’t be paraded like Darius’s long-lost daughter so he can humiliate me before his partners.” It was far worse than humiliation, but I wasn’t ready to break her spirit just yet. It was easier for her to hate the Bennetts than to endure the betrayal of the outside world. At least I could protect her from that. “Sarah.” “He’s planning something. He wouldn’t offer to buy my research and bring me Hamlet and not lay a single finger on me if he didn’t have something planned.” “Nick scared him off a bit,” Reed said. “He’s not going to try anything with you again.” It didn’t comfort her. Just the opposite. “You don’t understand. I don’t care what Darius does to me…” Her eyes paled with dread and memory. “But what if he makes you guys hurt me? He’d have you beat me or starve me or…” Her words edged with the threat of panic. “We’re trapped, and as long as he’s alive, we’re never going to be free of his sadism.” She coughed. Harsh. It did nothing. She couldn’t breathe, and, suddenly, neither could I. The choking gasp frustrated her. She clawed at her neck as someone would swat away a fly, but this was no mere inconvenience. Reed moved quickly, helping me set her on the couch. Another cough. I knelt before her and offered the inhaler as a tear stained her cheek. Not fear. Not shame. Anger and confusion and a defensive hatred. She scowled as I forced the medication in her hand. She refused. “Don’t start,” I warned. I uncapped the inhaler and threatened to push it into her mouth. “We’re on your side.” She tensed but reluctantly puffed. Reed kept her close, rubbing her back with a comforting hand. Max forced himself to kneel beside me, patting her knee. She tolerated us, taking her first clear breath of air with a frustrated gasp. My brothers and I let out our held breaths too. We hated the asthma as much as she, and for the same reason. The helplessness,

the uncertainty. Every night she coughed in her sleep, and I woke, dreading the next time an attack stole her strength and she collapsed, helpless in my arms. Christ. If it wasn’t my father or the board, it’d be her own body. I cupped her pale cheek. “Are you okay?” She was too weakened to lie. “It’s not right that he has this control. I hate not knowing what he’ll do to me.” She was right. My pulse thudded with fury, adrenaline, and absolute sorrow. I was supposed to love this woman. Instead she cowered before me in terror. Or rage. Both were too ugly of emotions for someone so beautiful, so strong. I looked to my brothers. “She doesn’t feel safe.” Max shrugged. “None of us do.” True, but I could offer Sarah some protection, a little reassurance even in the darkness. Something she could use to give her strength. “She needs to have a safe word.” Reed snickered. Max didn’t. “A safe word?” Max grunted. “Nick, nothing about this family is safe, sane, or consensual.” “No, I like this idea,” Reed said. “If we all want to trust each other and pretend this family is halfway functional, she should have an escape.” “Don’t you think Dad will get suspicious if she screams out a word and I stop beating her ass?” Reed shrugged. “So she says the word, and you flip her over. Flog her stomach instead of her ass. Or shove her down and make her blow you instead.” Sarah flinched. Her soft words were meant to call Hamlet to her side. A cover for her trembling hands. “This will give her some control over what happens. If something overwhelms her, she should have an escape, even if we can’t stop it altogether.” “You understand what we’re saying, baby?” Max asked. “Yeah.” She pocketed the inhaler. “I guess.” I loathed the thought of her so frightened or hurt that she’d scream for mercy, but if it helped her, calmed her even a little around my father, it was worth it. She let me take her hand.

“Listen to me, Sarah,” I said. “The phrase can’t raise suspicion. My father must not realize we’ve allied together.” “Okay.” “If you’re overwhelmed or frightened…” Only one phrase would delight my father as much as her pain. “You will scream out I hate you.” She pushed me away. “I would never say that to you, Nick.” A relief. “My father doesn’t know that. He expects it.” “Darius can rot in hell.” She stood and immediately coughed. I didn’t have to move. Max and Reed pushed her onto the couch. Max kept her still, Reed gave her his water. We offered her comfort she didn’t want and options that did nothing to truly save her. She’d fight me on the safe word if for no other reason than she’d hate to use it. She’d never voluntarily admit her fear or beg for mercy. Was I so different? Her takeover, led by the stock she inherited, was her real safe word. And a viable one, even if my gut told me trusting an Atwood, even my Sarah, would only end in ruin. But we had no other options. Sarah suffered an asthma attack simply thinking of my father. I wasn’t going to risk her health because of my pride. “Sarah.” I ignored the churning of my stomach as I made the promise. “I’ll sell you my stock.” She puffed with excitement. I stopped her before she spoke. “But it doesn’t happen now. For any of us.” I nodded to my brothers. “Call it a failsafe. If we have no other options when the trust is awarded to her, then we’ll sell, and she’ll take control.” “Nick, thank you!” She hugged me. “I promise. This will work.” I lived for her touch, but I pushed her down, forcing her to listen. “We don’t move on it now.” Her eyebrow rose. I wasn’t fighting her on this. “We say nothing. We do nothing. No money exchanges, no contracts are written. The day you are awarded your trust is the day I give you my stock, but not a moment before, or I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Once I’m in control I won’t need to be protected anymore. We’ll win this, Nick.” I wasn’t about to deny her hope. But I was prepared to lose everything if Sarah Atwood’s vengeance extended beyond my father? No. But I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to trust the woman I loved as badly as she wanted to trust me. But we weren’t fools. We didn’t say it, but we felt it. In every breath, in every promise, in every kiss, we waited to see who would betray the other first. And I knew it would be me.

7

SARAH

R eed rifled through the mini-fridge. He jiggled a bottle of water at me.

“No.” I snuggled into the leather chair with my blanket. Hamlet’s wagging tail beat at my feet. “I hate you.” “O-kay.” He held up a small carton of orange juice. “This?” “Nope. Hate you.” He flashed a can of pineapple instead. “This?” “Hate you.” The dimple disappeared as he slammed the mini-fridge shut. He tossed me a soda and knocked the blanket over my head. “Safe word doesn’t apply to beverage choices.” Max grumbled from the DVD player. “Or the movie selection.” I shrugged. “I’m just practicing.” Nicholas ended his call. I smirked as he plucked me from my chair and settled me onto his lap. “You want to practice using your safe word, Ms. Atwood?” His voice dripped sin like melting wax. Every drop stung me more than the last. “That can be arranged.” Nothing good would come from his threat. Nicholas captured me, bound me, and held me as his hostage. I had no defenses against the warmth of his fingers or the spiced sharpness of his scent. And he knew it. Trusting him wasn’t my greatest weakness, it was the power I offered him, the submission he desired, and how easily my body responded to the simple closeness of resting in his arms.

Like any other lover. Girlfriend. Prisoner. Heiress. I liked the sound of that. Nicholas’s phone chimed. I grabbed it before he did, flipping through the alert. “Nick?” I flashed the screen at him. “Why does this app think you’re ovulating?” Reed snickered. “So that’s what we’ve been doing wrong.” I thumbed through the brightly colored program, decorated with daisies and pastel greens and more information about my body than I felt comfortable having in my own head, let alone someone else’s iPhone. The happy little app dinged with the word the Bennetts loved more than any other. Fertile. Nicholas took his phone. He held me tighter against him, like he thought I’d try to leap away. I debated it. The past couple days suddenly made much more sense. My stepbrothers hadn’t touched me, not even Nicholas. Now I knew why. They were… saving up. Oh, Christ. I should have been insulted. I should have lectured them or fought them or did something to shame them for their perversions. But it was better to let them hope. They could track me on a calendar or hold me down to fuck day after day, but the Bennetts would never get their heir. I wished I had the courage to reveal everything to Darius, and not just the infertility. The stock. Josmik. How I earned Reed and Max’s alliances and wedged myself within Nicholas’s heart. Darius tried to steal my family and its fortune, but he played his full hand and exhausted everything he could do to me. I won. And if Nicholas wanted to ravish me in nightly delights for a lost cause, all the better. His attentions shielded me from the nightmares and the insult of my kidnapping, abandonment of my company, and nights in a strange bed. Not that Nicholas’s bed felt strange anymore—only returning to it with welts on my back and the touch of another man seemed bizarre.

Then again, Nicholas eagerly reminded me where I rightfully belonged. I did enjoy his lessons, even if they were programmed into an alert on his phone. “What are you planning?” I bit my lip. “Should I be worried?” His voice promised more than he revealed. “Just what do you think is about to happen, Ms. Atwood?” I had a good imagination. I arched an eyebrow. “Do your worst, Nicholas Bennett. I’m not afraid of you.” He brushed his lips against my neck, murmuring between heated breaths and gentle kisses. His voice rumbled everything secret inside of me. “You aren’t meant to fear me. You were made to obey me.” “I won’t do that either.” “You will. And I won’t need restraints or whippings to earn your obedience.” “What will you use?” “Nothing.” My stomach twisted, but I wasn’t sure if I welcomed the fluttering. “You’re confident.” “You’ve already surrendered to me,” he said. “And I’ll prove it.” “How?” He nipped my neck as Max sunk into the chair next to us, entirely too close for such sensual talk. The screen flickered as the movie started. Nicholas curled his arms over me. “No talking during the movie, Sarah. Bennett house rule.” I couldn’t resist. “How would you stop me?” Max answered for him. “We’ll find something to stuff in your mouth.” I quieted, imagining the salty taste of his cock. The thought promised more fun than watching Batman for the second time in the month, but I traced an imaginary zipper over my lips. It disappointed Max. I smirked. Nicholas threatened me with obedience, yet my step-brothers expected me to misbehave. What good was submission if they waited to see how I would inevitably challenge them? Maybe I wouldn’t.

Just this once. I cuddled against Nicholas’s chest, curling my fingers in the silken vest he wore under his jacket. Even at home, Nicholas preferred his slacks and dress shirt, refusing the casual shorts Reed wore or jeans like Max. It wasn’t the pajama party, sleeping bags, and popcorn I’d sneak into Josiah or Mike’s bedroom, but I could handle a quiet night under my step-brothers’ control. I thought. The movie began just as Nicholas’s hand twisted in the hem of my dress. He hesitated, as if he expected me to bat away his touch so near his brothers. But that wouldn’t be the obedient thing to do. I wouldn’t hide, even if Reed and Max happened to see the flash of my thigh and the tracing of Nicholas’s fingers. They watched more than that before. They experienced it before. Again and again. One after the other. In the wildest, most overwhelming night of my life. My pulse fluttered, but I didn’t stop his hand. Nicholas’s voice rumbled against my ear. “You know what phrase to practice saying, don’t you, Ms. Atwood? If you use it, I might take pity on you.” Pity? It didn’t matter how many times I surrendered, I had no need for a Bennett’s pity. “I’m stronger than you think.” He hummed. “What did we say about talking during the movie?” “But you—” His kiss silenced me—a nibble that demanded, conquered, and quieted. He had no right to control me so thoroughly. The graze of his lips stole my protests. His wicked tongue flicked against mine. It was not an innocent touch. His scent enthralled me. It bound me against him with the strength of chain and the gentle tickle of a feather. Spicy and masculine, sharp and clean, Nicholas was everything dark that lingered beyond the halo of a fantasy. He was once my warden, preventing my escape and responding to my every challenge with greater defiance. When I walked, he followed. When I fought, he overpowered me. When I angered, he responded in blind passion.

His kiss tempted me, revealing my inexperience. I understood nothing about my body, yet I eagerly submitted to the demands of a man more experienced. Far more powerful. How was I supposed to resist Nicholas? I had no reason not to believe him when he vowed to protect me. But that was a harder submission that parting my lips and permitting the tingling victory of his tongue against mine. I so easily loved the man, but my instincts warned me not to trust the Bennett. He palmed my thigh. I curled against him. His fingers teased, but where he intended to touch, the wetness I couldn’t deny, hid between my crossed legs and the layers of my unspoken resistance. I studied the hardened length of his jaw. Perfect. His countenance was forged for a lifetime of authority, the world of wealth, and nights of stolen passion. Each of my step-brothers possessed an unnatural appeal—Nicholas’s golden eyes and uncompromising grace, Max’s dangerous strength and thriving hunger, and Reed’s charming dimple and playboy simplicity. His hand squeezed the swell of my thigh. I squirmed in a restless struggle against the delicious thrill. I shouldn’t have been attracted to them. It was wrong to let Nicholas fondle me in front of his brothers. It was worse he let his brothers take me. My life was a series of mistakes that somehow ended in pleasure. This was another moment I wouldn’t regret. Every right decision and necessary complication and lost reward tangled within the hem of my dress, easing higher and higher with his encouraging tug. A murmur accidentally slipped from my puffy lips, eager for the return of his kiss. “Sarah, quiet.” Reed chastised with a smirk. “Watch the movie.” I didn’t dare apologize, not for my breathy whisper or my revealing sigh. Nicholas parted my thighs just enough for his hand to paw lower, exactly where I needed him to touch. Nothing compared to Nicholas’s attention. Just the barest of brushes, the slightest bump of his knuckle against my panties enraptured me more than Max’s flogger or a delicate lick of Reed’s tongue. His second stroke pressed harder. My shiver pleased him, as did my eager humiliation to arch my hips toward his tease.

Once, Nicholas used ropes and bindings to touch me. Now? I willingly gave myself to a Bennett. He explored the silk of my panties with a bold possession. The material gathered to the side. The darkened theater hid my vulnerable body from my step-brothers, but the exposure still flushed my cheeks. Nicholas darted a finger against my slit. He easily slipped within my slickened folds. And growled. He was allowed to make noise, but the instant I whimpered, his gentle touch turned to pinch. I quieted only as I realized his stroking was not meant for my excitement. His attention focused on the movie and not the trembling woman tensing in his arms, silently begging for the next flick, rub, or press. Cruel. That’s what he was, and I was a fool to ever think otherwise. I shifted toward him, and Nicholas slowed his touches. I relaxed, and he began again, circling my sensitive nub and savoring each twitch of my breath. I gripped his arms, but his pace didn’t increase or slow. He just…touched me. Heat twisted within my core, punishing me for my eager wetness. I wanted a lick. A kiss. Something big and thick that could pierce through me and silence the demanding insanity that nearly drove the whimper from my lips. I was supposed to be quiet. I was supposed to submit. Was I supposed to just let Nicholas tease me into oblivion? It was easier to be held down, forced to spread my legs under his command. I had no idea how to ask for relief, not even from the man I was foolish enough to love. He teased, and I shifted against his lap. It earned a harder rub of my clit. The sensation rocked me. I tensed and shifted again. Grinding against a Bennett. Christ, I’d have died of embarrassment if he didn’t suffocate me with heat first. The shudder rolled over me, promising a blistering end to the torment. I arched again, striking the same spot with a harder touch. I bit my lip and slid against his fingers. Nicholas hummed. He removed his hand.

And pulled his phone. My nails might have sliced through his shirt had he not suddenly stood. He scooped me into his arms and unceremoniously set me in Max’s lap. “I have to answer this email,” he said. An email? Was he kidding? I raced to soothe my hair and pull my dress down. My core ached with a bitter disappointment, but the shock chased it away. Max grinned as his hands roamed where Nicholas had just abandoned. “You’re free to say the safe word, Sarah.” Nicholas said, a dashing tease in his tone. “If you feel the need to practice.” Max wasn’t as subtle as his brother. He tormented me with every aggression Nicholas expertly hid. Max didn’t tickle a path up my leg or gently guide my legs open with soft caresses or practiced demand. He ripped my panties aside and impaled me against his finger in a single, brutal thrust. My body shuddered in a war of shame and thrill, insult and lust. I struggled against his harsh strokes, but every violation of his touch layered me in the promise of instant, uncoiling shivers. Nicholas watched as I breathed a gasped plea. I bucked, eager for my sudden cresting… Max chuckled and dragged his finger out of my tightness just before my peak. Oh, God. They were toying with me! “Easy, baby.” Max pinned me as I squirmed, desperate to escape the aching torment of my stolen moment. “You’ve gotta behave first.” Behave? I struggled, but his finger plunged within me again, stealing my strength and engulfing me in burning desperation. “You don’t get to come until Nick says you can.” No, no, no. The instructions horrified me. I blushed as though they had simply cuffed me to the wall and taken the tightness they owned.

What did he mean? Permission for my own orgasm? Did he expect me to beg? To ask? How much power did Nicholas wield over me? Max thrust a second finger inside me, testing the heat and wetness and absolute foolishness that was me submitting to my step-brothers. I knew better than to offer them my body. Nicholas was right. He didn’t need the collars and leashes. I captured myself in my own confusion and secrets. My pussy clamped over Max’s fingers. He scolded me and withdrew, tasting the slickness as I panted in a pained frustration. “Of course…” Nicholas pocketed his phone, his attention returning as I suffered in Max’s sadism. “You can always practice using the safe word.” Christ. They expected it. They meant for me to beg for their mercy as they dominated my body and stole my pride in twisting delight. Absolutely not. I resisted them before, faced each of them with an unrelenting determination to protect myself, my family, and every last secret I kept. And each of them defeated me in their own way. But not this time. Not now. Nicholas demanded my submission, but he anticipated my challenge. He offered me relief…if I admitted my weakness for my step-brothers’ touches. I wouldn’t give in. If they wanted to torment me, they’d torment me. I was ready to play the game. No safe word would whisper from my lips, no matter how delicious their torture. But Max’s attention forged a new type of agony. The sensations raked me with sweat and trembles. I didn’t fight him, didn’t even whimper as his fingers forced through my tightness and sought the secret spot deep within me that buckled my courage and crippled me in his arms. I bit my lip, but Max saw through my resistance. He drove me to a breaking point,

teetered me over an edge of utter damnation, and then withdrew once more. I panted in his lap and fought the rushing heat scalding me from the inside. Max loved every moment of it. It wasn’t the sting of leather, but he reveled in any pain he caused, even if it came at the expense of my pleasure. His strength was too much. I’d never escape his grip. Again and again he buried his fingers in the most desperate part of me and punished me with the peak of my satisfaction. Then, he’d kick me into the bottomless, hopeless, frustrating pit of my own depravity with no reward. Only frustration. Only need. Max’s frantic pace shuddered my entire body in breathless paralysis. I arched, but he shifted me, cradling me against his chest only to drop me into Reed’s waiting arms. “Fuck,” I groaned. Reed winked. “Not yet.” Christ, it only got worse. Not Reed. I’d never resist Reed. He broke my every defense, cracked my hesitations, and toyed with my frustration. He pushed my legs apart and gave a playful smile. Reed pretended his attention was meant to prove his devotion. I knew the truth. He’d undo me with desire. He was a friend. He was my first ally. Hell, he was almost like a real step-brother. But Reed was still a Bennett, and his amusement was delivered in cruelty. The flick of his finger teased with softness, but even his gentleness jerked and flinched my body. I demanded more. Under Nicholas’s instruction, Reed had spent hours learning every secret of my body. He meant to take me just like Nicholas, to leave his mark within me. He’d learned how I reacted, wetted, and crested, if only so his seed had the best chance to steal what belonged to his brother. They were all lunatics. And I couldn’t stop wanting them. Reed didn’t have the patience of his brothers. His attention drove me too fast to the

peak and damned me too low when I dropped without satisfaction. I fought him, gripping his wrists and gasping for breath. He laughed. “Safe word?” He pinned my arms. “Come on, Sarah. You used it for everything before. Just whisper it to me.” He glanced at his brothers. “I won’t tell anyone.” I said nothing. I asked for nothing. And Nicholas watched with a cruel enthusiasm for the moment I’d finally crack and beg for the relief he’d give. As if it wasn’t obvious. As if it hadn’t been his plan all along. The damn app revealed it. Today was their best shot at saving my life or stealing my company, whatever they pretended the reason was now. Their games were meant to torture me, to make me eager for the moment they’d all take me, rut me, and then claim me with their seed. Nicholas watched. Max clenched his fists. Reed grunted against his own limits. And I fought my orgasm with the same base pride that controlled my stepbrothers. It wasn’t about the company anymore or the inherited money or even the power promised from their success. It wasn’t about Atwood Industries or the trust damning their family. Lust consumed them, and the primal urge to dominate wouldn’t be sated with a taking of my tightness. They wanted something…more. They wanted me. They wanted my child. And each of them competed to be the man to do it, to claim me as a woman was meant to be claimed, and to rule over the others as the one who succeeded where they had failed. I was lost between each of them, a prize yet to be won. No matter the chances or my protest, regardless of what would happen, my life, my body, my very existence belonged to the men I hoped to trust. I was their pleasure. I would be their salvation. And now, I had no chance to escape. “Fuck it.” Reed didn’t know his own strength. “I’m not waiting anymore.” Thank God.

His hand went to his belt. “Christ,” Max said. “Don’t you have any patience?” “None at all.” Reed was over me before I covered myself. He peeled my panties off and slapped my hands as they hid the slit between my legs. He ducked low, lapping at my wetness as I shattered into sharp anguish. I struggled, but even my sweet, gentle Reed denied me relief. He spread my thighs, prepared to seize the part of me that slickened for any kindness he’d offer. But he hesitated. Reed looked to his brother. “Nick?” My cheeks flushed too pink. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had to ask for permission. Nicholas sat still, motionless, observing my every shudder. “She knows the safe word.” His voice would ruin me forever. “And she knows the reward if she uses it.” Reward? I groaned. Nicholas still withheld my release. I couldn’t imagine what other depraved things he’d inflict upon me. Reed leaned over my spread legs. My step-brothers watched me before. Each of them had a taste, a moment, or even a whole night with me trapped beneath them. Reed jerked his cock, somehow ignoring his brothers’ gazes. It was easier for him. They weren’t watching his movements. They stared at the wetness between my legs, the hidden swell of my breasts beneath the delicate dress unceremoniously bundled at my navel. But they watched as Reed’s thick cock sunk within my slit. They listened as my once silent pleas mewed into a timid moan. They waited while he had his fill and I suffered in my own refusal to ask for the peak I deserved. Reed angled my hips and drove deep enough within me that I called his name. It didn’t stop him. My body burst with a fervent need, but it wasn’t a fight to surrender to my step-brothers. Each of them had already feasted on me, fucked me, earned my orgasms, and claimed me as theirs.

This time? I battled myself. I wouldn’t speak the word. I wouldn’t submit to my own weakness. I wouldn’t let them control me so easily. But wasn’t that what Nicholas always intended? Either I betrayed myself or I surrendered to the rules he set, the demands he wanted, the deviancies that burned through the tatters of my innocence. Either way, he won. My fingers slipped from the ottoman, and the quiet pace of my breathing quickened. I arched. Reed withdrew, swearing with every passing second he was forced from my warmth. “Not allowed,” He winked. “Gotta ask first, Sarah.” My legs still parted for him. In the dim light cast from the projector screen, his cock glistened with my wetness. It only excited me more. He answered my cry by plunging in me. I gripped him instead, closing my eyes and fighting the waves of intensity determined to break my mind and lose me within the rampage that was his conquering of my body. My time with Reed was never measured in sensual heartbeats like with Nicholas or lashed pain with Max. It was an eager game, a race to finish if only to tease the other for taking so long. Christ, was that a mistake. I gasped against him, fighting the tension building within my core. Every thrust dizzied me with frustration. I panted his name and struggled, offered my hips and beat against his tensing forearms. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Reed grunted. “Say the magic word, Sarah. You can too.” Absolutely not. Or was I crazy not to? I didn’t even know anymore. I bit too hard against my lip and fought every coiling pound of my heart. Reed groaned, filling me in three quick thrusts. Heat. Too much heat.

Our bodies pressed together, and I stretched over Reed’s shuddering, thickening cock. Jet after jet of seed flooded me, and I fought the instinct to clench and join him in a shared excitement. “Way to go, champ.” Max laughed. “I’m getting you a stop-watch for Christmas.” Reed flipped his brother off as he pulled from me. “Let’s see you do better.” Uh-oh. I should have expected what was about to happen, but I hardly remembered to breathe, let alone defend myself from my step-brothers. Max accepted the challenge. I squealed as he hauled me from the ottoman and onto his lap. My fingers dug into his t-shirt, but my timid tugs weren’t enough to deter him. He bundled my hair in his hand. “You gonna say the words?” He jerked my head. “Come on, baby. Just whisper them to me.” I stayed silent. He grinned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.” He freed his hard cock from his jeans. My stilled. “But…Reed just…” “I don’t’ care?” Max’s words bit with lusted threat. “I’m gonna fuck you till you scream that safe word, baby.” Oh, God. I didn’t doubt him. I searched for Nicholas. The bastard sat motionless, savoring a glass of red wine. His nod gave his brother permission to proceed. The torment wouldn’t end. But the pleasure waited only for my word to begin. Nicholas didn’t raise a hand to punish me. I did it to myself. I squeezed Max’s shoulders, fighting my desperation. He straddled me over his lap. I held on tight. It didn’t prepare me. Nothing ever prepared me for Max’s demands. He was built to impale, to crush, to dominate and hurt and force.

And yet, I collapsed against his chest, moaning a quiet fatigue into the hollow of his shoulder. His cock slid easily within me, slickened with the heat left by Reed. The seed slammed ever deeper into me thanks to his brother’s furious thrust. Max gripped my hips with a brute strength and a profane grunt. “Hold on, baby,” he said. “You’re gonna enjoy this.” He stole my balance, my breath, my every thought. He hauled me to the tip of his cock, the angry and swollen head that aimed for the deepest and most sensitive part of me. I whimpered as he slammed me down just to hear my moan. The grinding of his hips forced his length deeper, harder. A complete invasion of everything I was. I stretched over him and ached against the denied release. In any other time, any other moment, any other fantasy, I would have surrendered immediately, collapsed in his arms, and offered every last bit of my tightness. Now? I held my breath as he lifted my hips just to torture me once more. Another pummeled strike. Another aching groan lost in sudden assault and denial. My thighs slickened with Reed’s seed and my own arousal, rendering me a humiliating mess of use and desire. Max laughed, impaling me onto his growing cock and watching as I shuddered with every invading thrust. He’d break me apart before he emptied within me. Or maybe that was his goal? And mine. God, I wanted to come. I struggled within his aggression. Taken once and marked only to be stolen and fucked again. The air thickened with a primal determination, a masculine craving to control not just the whimpering woman bouncing upon a thickness too big and rough to oppose, but to conquer those who would dare to challenge their hold over me. Three men. Three frustrations. Three instinctual urges to rut, seed, and claim. And I lost myself within my own agony—the fading line between pride and surrender, instinct and protection, sensuality and arrogance. The fizzling, heated, painful longing rent my muscles in sheer pain to release. I’d never denied myself before, never thought my step-brothers would deny me.

The words were a dark temptation. Just a peep. A whisper. They listened for it. They played me and rutted me and tortured me to earn that moment of satisfaction when my body collapsed, my mind broke, and my will shattered to their own obsessions. But maybe… I arched. What if I didn’t say it? What if I teased and just took what they had denied? What would they do? Max’s cock slammed into me once more. I willed him deeper, harder, fuller… The crack against my behind fractured my reverie, but the blinding pain of the spank only heightened the cruel invasion and endless sensations. I clenched. “No, you don’t!” Max hauled me off his lap and tossed me onto the chair. So. Close. He loomed over my spread legs. “Naughty fucking slut.” Slut. The slur might have insulted me if I hadn’t squirmed on the leather, soaked in my own slickness and the seed of a man who had already taken what he wanted. Max tugged my legs to the edge of the chair, spreading me in ways that exposed the swollen, silken puff of my slit. He fisted his cock as I tried to escape, to breathe. Max slapped my thigh. I went still. “You know the words. You’re not getting off that easy.” Christ, I wasn’t getting off at all. And now? I was getting a punishment. He leaned over me, raging cock in hand. I bolted. He moved faster, determined to impale me with what I had almost taken in my fevered madness. A reprimand for assuming I could challenge him, oppose him, defeat him… The slice of his cock almost broke me in half. Max pounded my slit, his fists gripping the back of the chair as his fury drove his motions. My legs spread, and he trapped me under the force of his body again and again. The air squeezed from my chest and the courage from my trembling form. I whimpered, fighting his power over me and the quaking demand of my core to accept his violation.

Deeper. Harder. Faster. I turned my head, and it was my greatest mistake yet. Nicholas watched every stroke, every tightening of my body, every second another man—his own brother—thrust within me. My struggle didn’t move him. He ignored my pleas. Nicholas merely waited for the moment to grant me permission to come and sate my exhausted body. He wanted this for me. His brothers weren’t a threat to him. He didn’t dread offering me to them or watching me fight my own need for two other men. Nicholas wielded an absolute control over each of us, and that power excited him more than money, success, or the empire he might have built from the claiming of my body. Christ, how was I supposed to oppose him? How was I supposed to survive this? I had to trust him. Falling in love with Nicholas Bennett was my only defense against his limitless power. Max roared, his strikes too hard and fast for anything but his own excitement. He seized my hips and held me in place, slamming his cock deep inside. For the second time, masculine heat filled me. For the second time, I panted in sheer frustration and madness. I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore. Especially as Nicholas rose to take his turn. “I’m impressed, Ms. Atwood.” He unbuttoned his cufflinks only to roll the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows. I read every secret in the golden flare of his eyes—a brightness so righteous I believed I was the villain for opposing him and not the victim of a cruel game with crueler expectations. “Stronger than you thought?” My voice weakened in his shadow. He tilted his head, his finger pressed to his lips. “No speaking, Ms. Atwood, not unless I give you permission.” More restrictions.

More rules. More insanity. My body ached everywhere—my head, my chest, the pounded and neglected pussy that coated with seed and yet still demanded more. He pointed to the ottoman at his feet. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I surrendered. But I gave into him. And my reward? Nicholas peeled the dress from my body. He dropped me, naked and trembling, onto my knees upon the ottoman. I exposed everything to him and offered my step-brothers the vision of my surrendered form waiting for the next man, the final man, to claim me as his own. Only this time, it wasn’t just a game. It wasn’t a quick thrill or practiced sadism. Nicholas permitted his brothers to take me, but I belonged only to him. And he would prove his dominance. I held my breath, but the heat of his swollen cock pressing against my abused slit was every relief I demanded, every reassurance my body craved, and every pleasure I denied to myself. I gripped the leather. Nicholas chuckled. His thrust would end me. A blitz of sensation rampaged through my tender core. Harsh and soft, pleasing and painful, demanding and loving. I was lost before he started. He possessed me. He owned me. He stole me. I hadn’t the strength to fight him. No way to resist the invasion of his cock. No reason to not accept every gifted inch of his devotion. I shuddered, but Nicholas didn’t hurt me. He didn’t tease me. His hands gently caressed my curves, savoring the surrendered shivers and delicate secrets so helpless under his hold. His movements stirred too deep in me. The emotion stole my thoughts, layering me in a whimpering helplessness for his touch, his embrace, his whispered promises. The velvet cadence of his words guided me from one shudder to the next, comforting me as his thrusts increased and his demands nearly broke the last of my resistance. “Don’t give in now, Sarah.” His arms wrapped over me, arching me to him as his

cock buried completely within my aching slit. “You’re so close.” “Can’t…” “Yes, you can.” His teeth nipped my neck. “Wait for me.” “So…close…” “I want to hear you say it.” Even if I had the strength to speak a safe word, the last phrase I’d ever utter within Nicholas’s arms was something so dreadful. Not when every moment spent tortured by his body delivered me closer to an endless, savory, mythical satisfaction I could no longer deny. I shook my head. “But…love you…” Nicholas laughed, his lips kissing my neck as his thrusts pounded me with demanding, unyielding instinct. “You’re right.” He gripped me tighter. “I don’t like the safe word either.” “But...please….” “I do like please, but you can do better than that.” His words weighed with a strict, undeniable command. They tortured with darkness and savored with permissions for me to repeat. “Come with me.” “Oh, God, yes.” Easily. Eagerly. Desperately. But I should have expected a challenge from Nicholas Bennett. “Tell me where you want me to come.” And there it was. I stiffened. Reed and Max smirked, but nothing about Nicholas’s tone shared their amusement. He wanted to hear it. He wanted to feel it. He wanted me to think about the alert on his app and the implications and the risk involved with offering myself so bare and vulnerable and unprotected against all three of my step-brothers. It was a wicked game, and it meant nothing. But the words dusted upon my lips.

His thrusts beat me, driving me to a brink I didn’t know existed and a pain that seared me in an eternity of heartbeats and mind-shattering ache. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I couldn’t fight him. His cock thickened, and his breath raged within my ear. I tensed with him, bound to the same relief and weeping for a release before I collapsed in utter defeat. “Nick…” My voice trembled, ineloquent and desperate. “Nick, please…” “Say it.” Submission. Submission of my mind. Of my soul. Of my body. He wanted me in every way a man could possess, but I denied him that, every time he touched me, every time they took me. Something in his confidence rattled me. I feared saying it, almost as though it would come true, almost as though he could control a part of me I shielded from even the will of a Bennett... Need blinded me. I panted, arched, and cried his name. “Nick, please.” I deserved every last strike, every pain, every pleasure. “Come inside me!” The words delivered us to the brink, dazzled us in pain, and lost us both within a burst of heat that crippled me from the inside out. Without Nicholas’s grip, I would have collapsed upon the ottoman or floor or dissolved into a nothingness that existed beyond my tired, spent, and broken form. I convulsed within the sudden freedom granted by the fracturing of my pride. Wave after wave, heat after heat, breath after breath. The world slowed and crumbled. Nicholas’s touch melted me, blistering with the same heat he poured within me. An eruption of warmth soothed my tormented core, but it only enhanced the daze of my submission that lost me to vision, sound, and everything that wasn’t Nicholas. I shuddered, again and again, crying his name and bursting to tears. He took me into the strength of his arms before I crumbled. I clutched the power and heat and scent and him, but still the damning waves of cresting, unending ecstasy tore my muscles and leaded my body. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t feel

anything over the stillness of my heart—or maybe it was a raging, fluttering pulse that so ceaselessly beat. His kiss stole my precious air. The wracking pressure clenched everything inside me, and my slickness coated my slit and thighs with more excitement, more seed. Nicholas murmured words of affection and love and admissions I couldn’t yet return. He shattered me. His hand brushed my cheek. He put me back together. He cradled me within his lap, and I stole any bit of strength he could offer. He gave it all, holding me close as the world faded into the comforting darkness and shielded shadow. He kissed the tears away. I braved the golden stare. It saw through me, but I forced a smile anyway. Nicholas’s whisper bound me under his control. “I didn’t expect you to last.” Me either, but I’d never admit it. “You can’t break me, Nicholas Bennett.” His words promised only ravaging domination. “There’s no need. You’re already mine.” His kiss exhausted me. I fell limp in his arms, just how he had planned. I rested, granted only a moment of peace. “Damn.” Reed’s laugh was wicked. “Let’s make her do that again!”

8

SARAH

he Bennetts T mansion.

often boasted of their twenty-five thousand square foot

And every inch of it had trapped me like a prison. No freedom. No escape. They tucked me away and the real world carried on without me. Even worse, I measured my captivity in humiliating cycles. Three failed pregnancy tests since Nicholas kidnapped me. Three failed tests since I last drove, made a phone call, or answered my email. Three tests since I last lived like a normal person without a collar around my neck. The estate was always so quiet, like a lingering despair leeched from the walls. If I couldn’t steal the keys Nicholas’s Mercedes, Max’s Aston Marten, or Reed’s bike, the least I could do was sneak outside. A bikini packed within my dresser. I hesitated before changing into the vulnerable suit. I never used to fear being exposed. I hated it. Cowering in my bedroom only gave Darius more power over me, but it also kept me safe. Christ. It wasn’t as though I had a lock on my door anyway. Nicholas was my chain and deadbolt, but hell if I knew which side of the door he secured. “Come on, Hamlet.” I whistled for him to follow. “Time for some fresh air.” He bumbled along beside me, droopy with sleep. At least I had a bodyguard…even if he’d trip over his own feet before charging to my side. The pool was my first real test of the estate’s boundaries, and it shamed me that it took so long to make my break. I ignored the fear that prickled my spine. I wasn’t

letting Darius get to me, not now that we finally had a chance to defeat him. Once I earned my trust, I’d bury Darius Bennett in stolen shares. Big talk for someone who tip-toed onto the patio so no one would hear. I shivered in the cold shadow of the estate’s Corinthian stone. The wings and windows, arches and balconies jutted against the pristine landscape. Darius built a temple of wealth and opulence without regard for the natural beauty inherent in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The gardens shielded me behind roses and grape arbors. The serene salt-water pool, licked with fountains and teased into infinity edges, circled the mansion and trickled to the garden with a clean, blue and white tile. Artificial and cold, like all things Darius. But the space was charming, and the poolside cabana offered me a lounger and radio. I turned the music on low and collapsed on the chaise with a book. The minibar was stocked with soda, and I tossed Hamlet a couple ice cubes. He chased after three before falling face-first into the pool. About what I expected. He crawled out and snoozed in the sunshine while I relaxed and enjoyed my book. We both flinched when Reed jogged through the garden, shouting my name. “Sarah? Where the hell are you?” I sighed. Hamlet flipped out, bursting from the pool only to dive onto the grass and roll his way to my step-brother. “Christ, there you are.” Reed hobbled between Hamlet’s darting circles. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” I glanced around the cabana—perfectly still, quiet, and serene before he excited my dog. Reed faked throwing a ball. Hamlet stumbled into the pool and dove to find the imaginary toy. “Should I have left a note?” I asked. Reed rummaged through the mini-bar and found a beer. He chugged it despite the sun hardly reaching its prime. “Don’t pull that passive aggressive bullshit with me. Nick’s the heir. He can afford to fuck around.” I snickered. “Your panties are wound today.” “I’m supposed to be babysitting you. I answer one call, and you’re gone.” I tugged on his arm to read his watch. “I’ve been out here for like, two hours.” “Christ.”

“Hell of a phone call.” “It’s a disaster. We lost the cream puffs.” I closed my book. “My God. Have you informed the president?” “They’re for the Bennett Foundation Gala, smartass. I’m trying to finalize these preparations.” He jiggled his bottle for the last few drops. “Jesus, it’s one crisis after another. The lights, the band, the food. The bakery called to cancel, said they had a fire. I told them to get in line. I’ve been putting mine out all week.” “Time to bust out the apron.” Reed didn’t look at me. “I gotta do something. They’re…kinda my mom’s thing.” I quieted. “She used to be the one managing our charity events. She had one signature dessert—these cream puffs. People would attend just to taste them. It’s pretty much the only thing of hers I tried to…replicate.” It wasn’t my place to feel guilt for her death, and yet the weight of my surname would have sunk me to the bottom of the pool. “There’s a place in Cherrywood Valley,” I said. “Josiah dated the owner for a while —Chocolate Haven. She helped…” My turn to wade through grief. “She helped with their funerals and wakes. If you give her my name, she’ll drop everything.” Reed grinned. “Look at you. Helping a Bennett.” “You’re no Bennett. You’re my Reed.” “You mean it?” “Of course.” The dimple flashed. “I wonder what you’ll call me when it’s my baby in your belly.” “You really have no tact.” He held his hands up. “Just saying. I got a good feeling.” “Maybe next time.” The smile faded, like the sun hid behind a cloud. “Fuck, seriously?” “Took the test this morning.” I winked. “Atwood Industries is safe for another month.” “Damn it.” I flicked through my book. “Yeah, well, you tried your best. Made hay while the sun

shone and whatnot.” Reed snickered. “You fucking love this.” “Don’t you?” “Yeah, but I don’t broadcast it.” “How am I broadcasting it?” He gestured over my bikini. “Exhibit Fucking A.” “Oh, come on.” “That little string thing?” Reed grinned. “You’re begging me to rip it off, bend you over, and fuck you right here.” “Wishful thinking.” “You’d love it.” I shook my head. “I’d let you love it.” Now he had my attention. The book closed. Reed charmed, though he didn’t apologize for the agonized pleasure he and his brothers forced me to endure only a few nights before. “You know me.” He leaned close, the sea-green of his eyes revealing everything. He’d be sinful if he dropped the smirk. Reed didn’t hide his excitement, not in his voice, and certainly not in the hardness testing his jeans. “I just want to give you the experience of a lifetime.” I gave him a fake pout. “But I’m not fertile anymore. Boo hoo.” “Doesn’t matter to me.” Reed offered pure temptation. “We have our orders. Fuck you, fill you, and repeat.” “It won’t do any good.” “Isn’t that the fun of it?” I didn’t answer, returning my attention to the book, but hell if I remembered a single word I read. Reed’s voice shivered every part of me protected by the tiny bikini. “Who would have thought. Little Sarah Atwood has three men under her control.” Was he serious? I tugged on my collar. “Yeah, right,” he said. “We might snap a leash on you, but we’re on our knees first

before you’re bent over. You get everything out of this deal. Passion. Luxury.” I sat up. “Imprisonment. Torture. Almost raped.” Reed frowned. “Nick.” Low blow. Like I wasn’t trying to rationalize how the hell I could love the man who held me captive. “You panicked and came looking for me after two hours.” I patted the inhaler resting at my side. “You know I can’t get very far, but you still worried about Darius’s reaction. Don’t pretend like this is a spa vacation. I’m your prisoner.” Reed tensed. I hated the look, especially as his excitement was one of the few diversions in the estate. “Then all the more reason for me to make your stay…more enjoyable.” He knocked the book from my hands before pulling me to the bottom of the chaise. I kicked, but it only spread my legs further. “What are you doing?” My scolding didn’t deter him. “Reed! We’re outside!” “You really think anyone can see you out here? Christ, Sarah, we take a helicopter to work.” Reed’s fingers dug into my bikini bottoms. I giggled and batted him away. “Trust me, we’re remote.” “Not gonna happen!” I twisted, but he grabbed my ankle. He leisurely licked along the side of my foot. The shiver knocked me to my core. “Oh, that’s not fair.” He sucked my big toe. I shuddered in a delicious thrill. “Ew, stop that.” “You don’t mean ew.” “That’s my toe.” His studied my bikini bottoms. “Well, you won’t let me get any closer.” “Not while I’m sunbathing.” “Got news for you,” Reed pointed to the cabana. “You’re not getting a lot of sun.” I sighed, pushing myself up on my elbows. “Can you keep a secret?” “No.” “Figures. I’m the only Atwood that couldn’t work the farm. My skin’s too fair. I’d turn all rosy if I get in the sun.”

Reed’s devilish grin should have been a warning. “I like making you turn pink.” “Different kind of flush, Casanova.” He laughed. It pinned me like the crack of Max’s flogger or Nicholas’s golden stare. He pulled his shirt off in a fluid movement that tensed every etched muscle of his chest and abs, including the lean V that disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. “Give you a choice,” He said. “Either you let me turn you pink, or….” I followed his gaze to the pool. “You wouldn’t.” “Either way, that bathing suit is coming off.” I edged off the chaise. “Don’t you dare.” “Don’t I dare what?” I shrieked, but Reed was quicker. He dove for the strings of the bikini. I giggled and squirmed, but he pulled me into his arms. I expected losing the garment and an hour of my life to pure teasing. He aimed me for the pool instead. “Reed, no!” I batted at him. “No, no, no!” Reed cackled. He trapped me in his hold, and we tumbled into the pool. A rush of cool water and tickling bubbles burst over me. I sputtered as Reed broke us through the surface with a wild laugh. I pushed him, but he grabbed for my bathing suit. My struggle excited him. Lately my sweet Reed loved pinning me down. Or maybe he always had. “You dunked me!” I swatted the hair from my face. “You ass.” “Who sits for two hours beside a pool and doesn’t jump in?” “Who sits outside for two minutes and then forces everyone in?” “Much more fun in here.” The water burning my nose and lungs said otherwise. I splashed him, but Reed lived to swim. He pulled me closer when I tried to doggy paddle away. His fingers roamed, exploring the goosebumps prickling my sun-kissed skin. The bikini top’s strings unraveled, and I held the material over my breasts, standing chest to chest with Reed. The temptation to brush along his smooth, tanned muscles nearly dropped my arms from the bikini.

Reed’s body strengthened from waters more turbulent than the few bubbles we kicked with our dive. The trophies in is room, the newspaper articles, even the hint of his sun-bleached brown hair revealed a secret life no Bennett should have exposed. All Reed needed was a surf-board and an escape from his cream puff fiasco, and he’d be a new man. A different man. Probably a better man as much as it pained me to think it. Living in the shadow of the estate and suffering through Darius’s madness would ruin him. Darius already threatened his life. In another time, I might have considered Reed a real stepbrother. I knew in my heart he was more than just a Bennett. He had…hope. A future. A way to get out of the violence that poisoned his brothers. That was if he didn’t drown me first. He dunked me under the water once more, and I had no idea if he planned to torment or fuck me. He seized the suit, but I had my freedom. I splashed away from him, hobbling to the edge of the pool. My arms covered my bared breasts as Reed hooted from the deep end, brandishing my top in a victorious fist. “Haha.” I clutched at myself and slipped from the pool. “Give it back.” “I’ll trade you. Top for the bottoms.” “Na-uh.” “Then I’ll get them myself.” I giggled as Reed hauled himself out of the pool in a burst of fluid strength. He raced at me just as Hamlet buzzed behind my feet. I tripped, and Reed scooped me into his arms. It wasn’t a rescue. I hit the water before I realized he jumped. Beneath the ripples, he grabbed my feet and poked my legs. His fingers tangled in my bottoms. I pinched his side. Hard. He backed off but didn’t release me. Something changed. We surfaced, but his arms wrapped over me once more, entirely too tight. The air squeezed from my lungs like he meant to ring the water from me. My chest pressed hard against his, and I whined as he tangled a hand in my hair and pulled. Too hard. Much too hard for Reed. “Ouch!” He didn’t let me go. Maybe it was a test? I remembered my word. “I hate you!” He rearranged his grip, but his voice edged hard. “Shut up, slut.”

My stomach pitted. Slut? This wasn’t part of the game. This wasn’t anything like my Reed. I struggled from his grasp, but the true horror lurked behind me. “I heard screaming, my dear.” Darius’s voice chilled the water into ice. “Is everything okay?” Reed was right to hold me. I clutched him tighter, pressing my bare chest hard against the safety of his body. My hair screamed against his grip, but I didn’t care. Every inch of my bared skin prickled with creeping dread. Darius had seen me nude before, he had even groped me and tried to do worse. But my pride reforged itself in the past weeks, and those damn sundresses teased me with a modesty that only left me more vulnerable when violated. My courage evaporated. The last thing I wanted was Darius Bennett staring at my exposed body. Reed sensed it. His arms covered what they could. “We’re fine. Swimming.” “Is that so?” “Just fucking around.” Darius paced the concrete, his shoes clipping the stone and drawing the attention of Hamlet. Reed turned me before Darius touched my dog. Hamlet, of course, flopped onto his side and offered his tummy. I tensed, waiting for a kick or a punch to punish my innocent pup. He only petted Hamlet, earning a wagging tail and kicking leg. “You should be more careful, Reed. Sarah might be in a delicate condition.” My fingers dug into his shoulder. Reed didn’t react. “Yeah. Sorry, Dad. We were just having some fun.” “My children should have fun. But, son, you must be careful with your baby sister. She’s just a little girl yet.” That tone. That horrid, perverted tone. I had no idea if Darius saw me as an adult woman to breed or a small child clutching for her daddy’s hand. He introduced me as his daughter, yet he offered my body to my brothers. I knew he got off on it, but I didn’t know how much. Every slimy word

from his lips was meant to frighten me. And it worked. I should have never given him that power. I should never have allowed him to think of me as his daughter. “Yeah, got it,” Reed said. “Sorry. Don’t know my own strength.” “Well, boys will be boys. Right, Sarah?” I didn’t answer. The water lapped at my body, and punishing goose bumps prowled over my bare back. The sun shone, but it wasn’t bright or warm enough to banish the demon watching, waiting, savoring. His mind rotted with sin, and in some ways, it relieved me. I knew what he wanted with me. But I should have prepared better for it. Reed too, but the day his soul anticipated such wickedness was the day I’d lose him forever. Darius claimed one of the poolside chairs. He smoothed his trousers and sat, watching us wade in the water. Reed felt my trembling, but he couldn’t hold me tight enough. Darius gentled his voice, a snake bite to just the rattle. “It’s nice to see my children getting along.” Oh no. I ignored my instinct to push from Reed and duck into the water. He had the same thought. But releasing wouldn’t prove anything. What had Darius seen? What did he assume? Had he watched us laughing together? That wasn’t such a crime. Darius ordered me to spend time with my step-brothers. Hell, he knew I recovered from my asthma attack in Max’s theater under their careful supervision. But I hadn’t laughed near them. I hadn’t let them chase me, splash me, and strip me with such a victorious grin. I hadn’t acted friendly with them. How much of my alliance with Reed did we reveal? “Reed, you must share your secret,” Darius said. “Sarah always gets so sullen with Nicholas, and she just screams bloody murder with Max.” Reed stilled. “She got tired of fighting me.”

“Good.” The word grunted, like a satisfied lover taking his thrill. “I’m glad she’s obeying her brothers now. Like a proper sister.” I hoped he’d leave. I should have expected his perversion. “Sarah, there are better games for little girls and boys to play.” I shuddered. Reed drifted us away from the edge of the pool. “Dad, come on,” he said. “I got this under control.” “Son, you should enjoy your time with your sister, but…” Darius shook his head. “I can’t risk endangering her. Not when she might be in a delicate state with all that seed swimming in her tummy.” He wouldn’t have done this with Nicholas or Max. He treated Reed like a child because he hadn’t hurt me, he hadn’t wanted to hurt me. Darius didn’t trust his son to rape me, and for good reason. Without a threat against his life, Reed never would have tolerated Darius’s bullshit. Except now? I didn’t think we had a choice. But Darius spoke of protecting me. That was new, but it didn’t mean I trusted it. I’d endure a thousand of Darius’s tortures before I submitted to what he believed was a kindness. Darius picked up a sun-warmed towel. “Come now, Sarah. Out of the water.” My nails dug into Reed’s shoulders, nearly drawing blood. Darius lost his patience after my obstinate moment. His voice lowered. “Now, Sarah, listen to your father. Out of the pool before Reed starts to play rougher.” He stared at his son. “I would hate to see him dunk you when it’s already so difficult for you to breathe.” I wasn’t going under the water, not under his order, and not when I didn’t know if he’d let me up. For all I knew, catching me laughing with Reed was enough to damn me. The Josmik trust was already too much of a liability. I wasn’t giving him any opportunity to kill me. And I wasn’t forcing Reed to hurt me. Not again. Even if I could handle it, I wouldn’t be responsible for breaking the spirit of my first friend in the Bennett Estate. I slipped from Reed’s reluctant hands and shielded my bare chest. Hamlet barked as I emerged from the pool, cautiously picking my steps. “Time to dry off, little one.”

I drew only as close as I needed, hiding my breasts under my arm. I held out a hand for the towel. His lecherous grin prickled like needles over my skin. I wish I had drowned. He patted his knee, spreading his legs for me to approach, entirely too close to the hardening bulge within his trousers. He’d touch me. My chest seized tight, locked with a choked breath of a profanity I longed to speak and the scream from my nightmares I desperately hid. I could run. Dash to the house. But I knew how that ended, and so did Darius. This time, Nicholas and Max weren’t in the estate to stop him. But I had Reed. Reed wouldn’t let him rape me. The memory of the pool cue slamming against my ribs haunted me with doubt. Reed hadn’t helped me then, but he couldn’t let it happen again. I thought. I hoped. I honestly didn’t know, and that scared me more than anything Darius might have planned. It was only a towel. I’d pretend it was just a towel. My stomach heaved as I stepped within Darius’s embrace, tucked too closely to a body I still remembered pressed against mine. The towel rubbed over my back, and Darius hummed. Pleased. He wrapped the material over me tight and tugged me near. Trapped. “There, there,” he said. “All safe and sound now. I know how rough my boys can be.” They learned from the best. The fluffy towel brushed over my arms in gentle, careful strokes that covered me in a layer of invisible grime. It wasn’t right. Not his touches. Not his apparent kindness. He got off on incest, on hurting his daughter in either affectionate fantasy or his violent desire.

The towel bumbled over my curves. He tisked his tongue. “Arms down, Sarah.” No way. I wasn’t exposing myself to him again. Not after what he did. Not after what he still planned to do. Reed was too far away, and Nicholas… I wasn’t about to think of Nicholas while his father groped my trembling body. Darius gripped my arms, the force of his hands hidden within the seemingly gentle caress of the towel. I tensed. He pressed, hard. “Don’t worry, my dear.” The smile was enough of an invasion. “If you can’t depend on your father, who can you trust?” Good fucking question. His grip would break my wrist. My arms crashed to my sides, and Darius peeked inside the towel. My breasts exposed for him, flushed pink with humiliation and dripping damning droplets of water from my tightening nipples. He palmed the towel and shushed me with a lullaby threat. The material kissed over my breasts. I expected him to hurt me. Instead, he dried my arms and shoulders, neck and chest, as though I were his child pulled from a bath. That made it so much worse. “Sarah, you’ll never dry off if you’re wearing those bottoms.” The towel laced with razors and every drop of the water sharpened the blades. Reed swore from the pool. Nothing he could do now. Nothing anyone could do. Darius saw me naked before. What was left for him to discover or me to hide? I feared him, but I wouldn’t let him see it. I slipped the bottoms from my body and dropped them on his knee if only to watch a ring of dampness spread over his trousers. I braced for a slap. Darius didn’t react. It scared me more than his violence. “Good girl.” The towel lowered, slipping down to cover my exposed behind. He bundled it in his

hands and, with a delicate swiftness, he rubbed over my belly. Low. Gently. Lovingly. As though he thought I was pregnant. The towel swiped, catching over my hips. I didn’t move as his deviancy buried the material in my slit. Once. Twice. Three times was too many for an innocent drying. I didn’t let him see me flinch, but it didn’t matter. He made his point. His attention turned clinical as he finished with my legs before tightening the terrycloth over my shoulders. He stood, forcing me to look up. “All dry. Doesn’t that feel better?” I didn’t answer. “No pouting. You can play with your brother later. Understand, we have to be careful with you, Sarah, just in case you’re carrying a little Bennett in your belly.” I didn’t blink. “And if I’m not?” “Let’s think positively, my dear.” “I’m not an optimistic person.” Darius’s gaze traced over the curves hidden beneath the towel once more. “I am, Sarah. And I have no doubt you’ll give us what we want. Nothing is denied to a Bennett.” “Prepare to be disappointed.” I braced again for a slap. He did nothing. Darius had never once exacted any restraint with me, especially when I threatened his livelihood and future. He shook his head. “You’ll see,” he said. “Fight us if you must, but, within the year? I will have a dutiful daughter, a new company, and a grandchild uniting our families.” “You will have nothing but ruin. I guarantee it.” “Enough, Sarah. I won’t have you hysterical. It’s dangerous to baby.” A dozen expletives filtered in my mind, and a dozen more urges to gloat, to reveal the negative pregnancy test, to dash his hopes and exclaim the truth about Josmik

and my infertility. “You have no idea what danger is,” I said. “If you did, you never would have let me roam free.” “It’s true.” Darius brushed his hand along my cheek. Pushing him away would have only dropped the towel and revealed my nudity. “I do spoil you, my dear. Forgive me, but having a new daughter is such a…” His gaze lingered to my hidden curves. “…Simple delight.” Reed hopped from the pool. Darius’s voice hardened. “Fuck her again.” He didn’t even look at me. “I don’t care if she is fertile or not, make sure she understands her place in this family.” He left us alone, but turned halfway to the house. “And, for Christ’s sake, son, don’t take her in the pool. Fuck her for conception, not your kicks.” I bundled inside the towel as Darius stalked to the mansion. I breathed easier only once Reed gathered me, hiding me within the cabana, hidden from the estate’s windows. I collapsed on the chaise before the shudders rolled over me. Reed knelt at my feet. The green in his eyes darkened like heavy storm clouds. He angered, but it wouldn’t help. My soft and gentle Reed was worth more than all the bullets and blood in the world. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You okay?” My stomach betrayed me. I swallowed bile. “He touched me.” “I know. I couldn’t—I didn’t know what to do.” “Don’t tell Nick.” Reed grimaced. “Sarah—” “He’ll just freak if he knows Darius got…close again.” “I would have stopped him if he…” “I know.” Reed drove his fingers through his wet hair. The drops didn’t bother him. They caressed his strength, highlighting the muscles and power that were useless against anything within the goddamned estate. He swore, pushing from the ground with a grunt. “This can’t happen anymore,” he said. “I’m done.”

“Done?” Reed grabbed his phone, swiping a few times before typing something with such force he nearly cracked the device in two. He paced, checking the time and counting days on his fingers. “We’ll charter a plane,” he said. “We’ll…” I blinked. “Wait, what?” “The night of the gala will be chaotic enough. We can slip out after. Take the plane, stay in Mexico for the day, then fly out from there.” “Fly?” “I’ll pull money before we go, and we’ll stop somewhere so you can access your accounts. Then we vanish. Go to Belize or Thailand or somewhere. We’ll find a nice resort.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “I’m getting you out of here, Sarah.” Reed’s voice hardened. “Like I should have done at the beginning of this nightmare.” My chest ached—a quick relief and a dreaded terror all wrapped into the same choked breath. “Are you serious?” “This isn’t going to stop. It’s only gonna get worse. He’s going to kill me unless he watches me rape you to a bloody pulp. And, Sarah, I swear, I will not hurt you.” “Don’t make promises, Reed.” “I’ll make all the goddamned promises I want. I’m getting you out of here.” “Reed, we can’t.” “Yes, we can. We’ll do it quick. No one will know.” I grabbed his hand, surprised he trembled more than me. “Think about what you’re saying.” “You don’t know what he’ll do to you,” Reed said. “Christ, I don’t know all of what he’ll do to you. If you aren’t pregnant—” “—I’m not—” “Then we’re all gonna get fucked. But I can get us out of here.” He forced the gentleness into his words, but the dimple still reassured me. “We only gotta run for a year. We’ll go party around the world. Live it up like two billionaires should,

right? Have some fun. See the sights. Be together.” My heart ached for him. My handsome, good Reed. He was a man I could have fallen for, had things been different. Had I not needed a friend. Had I not given myself to Nicholas. “Reed.” My heart broke as I whispered the truth. “I’m sorry. But I’m not in love with you.” “I’m not asking you to love me, I’m asking you to let me save you.” He kissed my hand. “Sarah, I told you before. I can be a friend or I can be your brother. Right now? I don’t care what you think of me so long as you let me help you. I can’t protect you if we’re in his shadow. But if we get out? I will make sure you’re safe.” I believed him. Reed was the only Bennett who made any goddamned sense, and yet I was still the one forcing him to hurt me. I was the one rejecting the only sane idea anyone had in the past three months. I looked away. “I can’t.” “Why the fuck not?” If I didn’t speak it, my tears would have revealed it. “Nick.” “Christ. He can take care of himself.” “So can I.” “Not now. Not in this. Not from him. God only knows what my father is planning.” Whatever it was, it wasn’t divinely inspired. I shook my head. “I will protect my company and family,” I said. “But if I’m going to protect myself, I have to end this my way. Darius hurt me. I’m going to hurt him too.” “You can’t.” “I will. I’ll take everything he has, everything he built, and I will burn it to the ground.” “You won’t be able to stop him,” Reed said. “Whatever you plan to do, whatever power you think you have? It’ll destroy you. You’re too good for all…this.” “But I can end him!” “And my motorcycle can get us to San Jose in forty minutes. We’d be out of here

before anyone knew we were gone.” “What about Nick?” Reed collapsed on the chaise, wrapping an arm over me. He pulled me close. I swallowed. “Do you trust Nick?” “Do you?” I wished I hadn’t asked myself that question every minute of every day since they first kidnapped me. Despite every pounding instinct in my mind, I nodded. “I have to.” “Now you sound like a Bennett. Blindly following the one with the most to gain.” “He also has the most to lose. The fortune. The company.” “You.” I shrugged. “It’s a risk we all have to take.” “My father will never leave you alive if he thinks the corporation is in danger.” I bit my lip, sneaking a peak at him. “It already is.” “You told Nick you’d give it back.” “I know.” Reed hesitated. “Did you tell him the truth?” I tightened the towel over my shoulders, hiding my disgusted and terrified shiver. I was violated again by a man who deserved every hell I could inflict on him. No way was I leaving the estate. The instant I ran was the instant Darius learned everything—the trust, the plans, the alliances with my step-brothers and how foolishly I fell for his heir. They’d have to reveal my infertility. And then? My step-brothers would be in danger. My mother killed. And my future? A heartbeat from fortune or pain. We had a plan. We just had to see it through. And Nick? “Nick will just have to trust me.”

9

NICHOLAS

Sarah before she descended the stairs, hauling her into my arms and I seized cupping a hand over her mouth. And I hated how desperately she clawed at my grip. To get away? To hold me closer? Probably both. I kicked the door open to her room and shoved her inside. My hand wrapped too tightly over her stomach, but she ceased her struggling. “You have to listen to me.” I hadn’t released her. Christ, I didn’t think I ever would. Not after what was going to happen. Not when I knew she would never come back to my arms. “Sarah,” I said. “Don’t say a word. Don’t fight. Just…listen.” Sarah rarely listened, even when it might have benefited her, even when it might have spared her pain or torment. Her bravery was more important to her than her safety. But it wasn’t to me. And in this? Once she realized what would happen today? What waited for her downstairs? She’d have to be brave, and she’d have to behave. I could promise her the world, but hiding her secrets and keeping her safe were two challenges determined to

crash head-on. Her survival depended on her complete and total submission. I tried to protect her. I thought of locking her in my suite and taking her to my office, never out of my sight. In my fear, I took her night after night, even when the only benefit was pledging my devotion to her. She wouldn’t conceive, but at least we promised our love in the darkness. A love I knew I was losing. I owned her heart on borrowed time. And I would break it if only to ensure it continued beating. I’d thought I’d have everything. Both empires. My fortune. Sarah at my side. I was supposed to be the future of the family. Instead, I threatened our very stability. The empire didn’t unravel—it collapsed. I was only beginning to collect the pieces large enough to fit it back together. I silenced Sarah’s questions with a greedy, selfish kiss. I savored the innocence that controlled my every thought, decision, and regretted mistake. “Do you trust me?” I whispered. She hesitated. In every aspect of my life, I wielded absolute authority, and the one person I expected to submit knew better than to surrender completely. “Depends.” The calmness shattered her. “Why are you scaring me?” “Because I’d rather you hate me than fear what’s about to happen.” Sarah tried to flee. I pushed her onto the bed, and I knelt before her. Her delicate frame tensed, ready for battle. I witnessed too much of her frustrations and earned too few of her smiles. It shouldn’t have been like this. “He killed my mother, didn’t he?” Sarah wavered, but she didn’t cry. At least I could ease that fear. “Your mother’s fine. I promise.” She shuddered. Her relief washed away a flood of terrible thoughts. “Then let Darius do his worst,” she said. “Don’t.” I took her hand. “You can be as brave as you like to march around the house, but you don’t have to be that way with me.” “What way?” “Like you have no one to protect you.”

She looked away as I drew her fingers to my lips. “Nick, I can handle myself.” But she couldn’t. Not for much longer. And that’s why I made the decision. “I need you to trust me. If we can get through this, everything will change.” “Get through what?” Not yet. “I found a clause in the trust. One we overlooked.” Sarah groaned. “I’m really starting to hate these clauses.” I kissed her hand again. It didn’t relieve her. I didn’t expect as much. But the opportunity would make up for it. “The trust is set to award on your twenty-first birthday,” I said. “I can make it happen sooner.” She sucked in a quick breath. A flicker of hope colored her cheeks. I held her gaze. “The trust can be released early if all parties agree to an amendment.” “We…change the terms?” She asked. “We’re only altering the timeline of the distribution, not the allocation of the resources. If all parties agree, there’s no reason we can’t award the trust to you before your birthday.” “How soon?” It was eagerness that endangered her, how quickly she imagined the victory without considering the complications. Then again, Sarah was young, and she was never meant to manage the legal and financial interests of her family’s holdings. She wasn’t like a Bennett. In some ways, it was a blessing. In others, Sarah was damned because she didn’t understand how a Bennett thought, the lengths they’d go to maintain their power. “I have the consent of all parties but one,” I said. She gasped. “You’ve already started it!” I had to. The last pregnancy test offered me no other options. My father wasn’t pleased. Neither was the board. Billions of dollars rested in the infertile womb of one young woman, and only my brothers and I knew the truth. My father might have tolerated months of failure if we kept Sarah’s captivity as a family sin, but the Bennett Corporation measured success in quarters. Three months passed with no progress.

And my company demanded results. “I approached the men who sold to the Josmik trust,” I said. “But the plans are not finalized yet.” Sarah stood, giggling as she twirled around me. I envied her enthusiasm. “Then we did it,” she said. “This is really it. Nick, we won!” I took her hand and guided her into my arms. “One investor hasn’t signed the amendment yet, and it requires a unanimous agreement. I need to convince Roman Wescott to sign.” Which was unlikely. Wescott was a difficult enough investor when he approved of the Bennett family’s business. After he betrayed us to Josmik, he owed me no favors. He never offered them before. And now, he refused to return my phone calls. “Roman Wescott?” She crinkled her nose. “He met with my father and brothers before. A land deal, or something with the cattle.” “I don’t doubt it.” “Then it’s perfect! If he knows the Atwoods, he’ll sign it over. I know he will.” She laughed. “Hell, I’ll throw in all the Atwood almonds to get him to sign. Then he can figure out how to water those damn trees in the middle of this drought.” “Sarah.” She snickered. “Wow. I can make a ton of improvements to the fields when I inherit a new fortune courtesy of Darius Bennett.” And there it was again. That tone. A shadow to her voice which cursed her in hatred. Sarah no longer desired freedom. She wanted only to watch my father crumble in humiliation and defeat. And that made my brothers’ promise of stock dangerous. With every passing day, every passing insult she faced from my father, she tightened the noose around our necks. Why would she return the stock when she could ruin my father’s every accomplishment? “Sarah, this is bigger than a war with my father.” She nodded, but promise of vengeance ignited her temper. It wasn’t about the money or stock or futures. She worked to defend her family and their memories. I knew just how much she would sacrifice to save what was hers. It was why I loved her. And why I had to protect her.

“Sarah, we need a concession first.” Her excitement turned to despair. For as easily as I read her, Sarah cracked through my barriers. She was the first person besides Max who ever fractured that façade. Neither of them should have wielded that power, but Sarah learned more about me in three months than Max had in a lifetime of banishment in my shadow. “What kind of concession?” She hesitated. “Nick, what the hell is going on?” “My father is waiting for you downstairs.” “Isn’t he always?” “Sarah, he also knows the trust might be awarded early.” She gnawed on her lip. She bit the puffiness more than she kissed. In another world, I would never have let it happen. She’d have no worries, no fears. Just passion and pleasure and every promise of love. “You know he wants an heir,” I said. Her voice embittered. “More than anything.” “There’s a doctor waiting downstairs with him. He’s here to administer the fertility drugs.” I prepared for a slap. She retreated instead, forsaking the distance between us. The few feet felt like miles, so far it was as though she had never once settled within my embrace. “Fertility drugs,” she said. I held her gaze. “Yes. An injection. One medication delivered in the days before ovulation, another to induce it.” “But I’m—” She whispered. “Does he know I’m infertile?” “No.” “Then why the hell would he force me to take fertility drugs? Nick, you can’t let him do this.” “He’s convinced our timing is wrong. Or that we’ve not studied your cycle correctly.” Sarah groaned. “Even if I could, there’s no guarantee I’d conceive if you took me on the right day at the right time.” I nodded. “He knows. He…doesn’t like the odds.”

“Darius Bennett doesn’t like nature’s odds, so he’ll pump me full of chemicals before admitting defeat?” “Sarah—” “No way,” she said. “I’m not letting him touch me with any drugs. It’s not going to happen.” “It’s only for a short time. Until I secure that last investor.” “It’s hormones! This is dangerous!” “We only need a month or two—” “Two months?” Sarah held my gaze. “Nick, I am not doing this. What happens if I get sick? Or if they cause some sort of crazy cancer? Or if I actually…” She didn’t say it. Despite the horrors she faced and the fortune slipping through my fingers, I still hoped. What if the drugs helped to get her pregnant? What if she conceived? What if my every demand to dominate her ended with an heir? She would have my child. My legacy in the world. A new generation of Bennetts richer and more powerful than we ever dreamed. As quickly as the temptation struck, my mind darkened. What if that child was used as a pawn in a horrific game between feuding families? What would he do when he learned he was conceived in domination and darkness instead of the love of two people? It was the first time I thought of the heir as an actual baby. A part of me. Living. Breathing. Cuddled against Sarah’s breast. My vision seared with fury. No one would ever hurt Sarah, but I’d kill before anyone harmed our child. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “It’s still impossible.” Then why did the thought still hurt so much? “Do this for a month,” I said. “We’ll give my father what he wants, and he can waste his time hoping for a miracle. This is going to end, Sarah. I promise you.” “I won’t take the drugs.”

“We don’t have a choice.” “There’s always a choice!” Her voice layered with frustration, sadness. “Reed offered to run away with me.” The implication was a knife to the heart. Max earned my ire for daring to mark her skin, but I never expected betrayal from Reed. My youngest brother had more courage or common sense than me. “Why did you stay?” “Because of you.” Sarah didn’t dare fall into my arms. She straddled the same insecurity I battled, trapped between passion and fear. “I wasn’t about to leave you. I’m in love with you, Nick. Even though I know it’ll only end badly.” “It won’t. I promise Sarah, I will earn everything for you. The company, our wealth, your freedom. It’ll be yours.” “I don’t want it.” “Don’t give up now. Don’t let my father scare you. Trust me. I can do this for you.” “It’s not for me. You’re doing it for yourself.” “I’m not.” Her voice trembled. “Downstairs, the most evil man in the world is prepared to do horrible things to my body. Your plan is to let it happen.” “If he knew I was organizing the amendment, he’d murder you this instant.” “So, you let him inject me with hormones.” “Sarah, I promise you—” “Are you hoping I’ll get pregnant?” My silence was the answer she feared and expected. She struggled just to look at me. “How can I trust you when this plan is an easy way for you to get what you want?” “I’ve never been dishonest with you. You knew every time I took you, I was trying —” “And if it works?” “You said it wasn’t possible.” “But where does it end?” Her voice hollowed. “More drugs? More sex? What if he decides to do it himself—”

“He won’t.” “I can’t take that chance.” “Sarah—” “And what happens if you’re successful?” She hardened. No longer the little fairy trapped in my grasp but a force of nature roaring for destruction. “How do I know you won’t seize control of my company?” “How do I know you’ll return my stock when you take over the Bennett Corporation?” Silence. The stalemate broke only with her whisper. “Don’t you dare judge me for being scared,” she said. “Not when the collar is around my neck, and the scars on my body came from the hands of a Bennett.” “Sarah, I don’t judge you. You are the strongest, most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” I touched her cheek, my thumb brushing the hint of freckles dusting her skin. “If I had a fraction of your courage, this would already be done.” “Don’t say that. You’re the only reason I’m holding myself together.” “I don’t deserve you.” “You’re probably right.” She leaned into me. “I know you can be a good man, Nick. I want to feel safe with you.” “You are.” “Prove it?” It wasn’t a challenge but a plea. “I can. I will.” I held her tighter. “Max may protect you from pain, and Reed might have offered to take you away, but I am the only one who can end this madness.” “Then what aren’t you telling me?” It wasn’t a secret—it was the one truth that would devastate her. I couldn’t reveal the board’s interests yet, not when I needed her cooperation to take the drugs that would save her from my father. “I haven’t told you I loved you today.” She pushed. I didn’t let her escape. “I haven’t you told you how much you mean to me. How badly I hate what he’s doing to you.” “Ready to shout it from the rooftops?” “No. This doesn’t have to be shouted,” I said. “I tell you, over and over, that you’re

mine. And I like that thought. Part of me demands I prove it to you every morning and night. And part of me wants to kill my brothers for touching you.” She went still. I bumped my forehead against hers, breathing in her sweet, fruitkissed scent. “I have no right to claim you, Sarah Atwood. In truth, I belong to you. I’ve been yours since the moment we met. Now every time I hold you, kiss you, or slip inside you, I lose even more of myself.” I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “But I would rather fade away completely than spend another second pretending to be the Nicholas Bennett I once was.” “Sweet words from the man holding me captive.” “Do this, and I’ll have more than words to offer you.” “You’re asking a lot.” “I always do.” She sighed. “We can’t give him some other concession?” “This is the last one.” “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispered. “Don’t make me regret this.” I already was, if only because her life measured in months and was worth only the billions her obedience secured. I removed the collar from her neck, but simply guiding Sarah to her new fate bound her more to me than if I forced her to crawl at my feet. My father waited for us. Introduced me to the doctor. And Sarah trembled as he handed the prescription’s instructions to me.

“WE MUST FIRE ONE HUNDRED PEOPLE FROM ENGINEERING.” My father expected my answer, studying me from beyond the desk. I scanned my reports. “One hundred?” “The quarterly reports aren’t great, and the board isn’t happy. What do you think?” He waited as I let the silence linger. “Nicholas. This is your first real test. I gave you the presidency of the engineering firm before the board felt it was appropriate. Don’t make me regret this.” As if the board had any real say in our company’s decisions. I flipped through the

pages. Checked the math. Tallied the salaries and healthcare, benefits and accumulated time. Twenty-one years old and I managed a multi-billion dollar branch of our company. No decision came lightly. “I planned for fifty,” I said. “We’re looking for stability.” “I planned for sustainability.” My father folded his hands. “This is business, Nicholas. Liabilities and assets. Either one hundred people are fired or—” “Then fire them.” My father nodded as I flipped through the papers one last time. He expected an explanation or a protest, but I could do nothing with the failing division he gave me. He tested me with the livelihood of one hundred employees. Any weakness, and it’d be another hundred losing their jobs to teach the lesson. I didn’t speak the truth, but I didn’t lie to my father. Not entirely. “My calculations were incorrect.” I accepted his offered whiskey. “I don’t like being wrong.” “You’ll learn, son.” He toasted me. “I’ll teach you. One day you’ll run this company and family exactly as I plan, just as effectively as me.” No. I’d do it better.

MY FATHER EXPECTED ME TO INJECT SARAH MYSELF. AFTER THE POKING AND PRODDING, BLOODWORK AND inspections of her exposed and trembling body, the doctor and my father decided it would be me delivering her medications every morning. Beginning right then. She didn’t look at me. She didn’t look at the needle. And she didn’t look at my father. She prepared herself for battle. That was why I loved her. That was why I hurt her. That was why I had to betray her this one last time. The drugs would either secure our future or rip us apart. I pushed the syringe’s plunger. It would be the last time I hurt her.

10

SARAH

“L

oop the rope under her breasts once more.” Darius studied me from behind his desk. “It can be tighter. I’m not taking a chance on her running.”

Max glanced to Nicholas before obeying the order. We were fortunate Darius didn’t notice. The rope cast tight over my body, twisting over my breasts, binding my stomach, and, worst of all, stretching between my legs. It tugged my slit, and within moments of Max finishing his last knot, the pull of the nylon overwhelmed me. The sensation shifted from weird to painful. “Walk, my dear.” Darius spared me no sympathy since the failed pregnancy test. If I was to make a public appearance at Reed’s charity gala, he would punish every moment of my freedom. “Are you comfortable?” “No.” “Good. Dress her. Adjust whatever rope shows through the material.” He commissioned the dress from a French boutique. It glittered as if spun from sunshine itself. Nicholas bundled the silk and helped set it in place as the bindings limited my movement. The sleeves hung low over my shoulders, and the corset dazzled with subtle accented stones. The ropes hid perfectly under the ruffles as the gown teased the floor in sweeping, silken movement. No one would see what Darius Bennett hid beneath the silk. That was a secret kept between a father and his little girl. The stylists finished before the bondage. He surveyed my hair and pale pink lipstick as though I were a living doll—a toy for him to torture, dress, and exploit. The bright gown did nothing to age me. I looked like a girl off to homecoming, and the light makeup and darling curls masked me in angelic innocence. A perfect daughter.

A helpless prisoner. The thick ropes constrained my chest worse than the corset. Darius didn’t care. He planned for me to be uncomfortable and bound, unable to easily escape. The tug of the nylon burned against my breasts, ached my chest, and tormented my clit until it hurt. It would be a miserable night. “Lovely,” Darius said. “You’d be more beautiful if you were swelling with a child, but soon enough. Nicholas, you will escort her.” Nicholas had said nothing while his brother bound me in lengths of rope. Now he offered his arm. It wasn’t a gentleman’s courtesy. He had escorted me too many times this week, guiding me to his father’s office where he injected the fertility drug under Darius’s supervision. The humiliation would happen for twelve consecutive days before the final injection induced my ovulation. I hoped Darius wouldn’t supervise that aspect of my treatment. Nicholas held my elbow and Max attended my other side as we ducked into the limo. They tried to shield me from Darius. It didn’t work. Anywhere his voice grated was too close. The leather seat twisted the ropes under my dress. I squirmed, but the bindings cut into every sensitive spot on my body. Darius noticed. “Does it hurt, my dear?” Not that I would admit. My silence amused him. “At least you’re an obedient little girl when there’s ropes digging into your cunt. I should have done this weeks ago.” He rapped the closed glass separating us from the driver. The limo departed. “This should be an easy night. You are not to speak unless spoken to, Sarah. You will not leave your brothers’ sides. You will remain polite and courteous. Am I understood?” It was less demanding than the orders my father issued when the Atwood’s attended events. “I wouldn’t dream of disrespecting the Bennett name,” I said. “Not when it could cost me so much.” It wasn’t the answer Darius expected, but screaming rape in a crowded ballroom would tank my future company. I’d ensure the Bennett Corporation thrived in their profits and success before I ripped it from Darius’s clutches. He didn’t react. I braced for a slap across the mouth, or a veiled threat for Max to tie

the ropes around my neck instead. “I know you’ll make Daddy proud.” Max shifted, but Nicholas possessed an uncanny ability to remain still, steadfast, and unaffected. I envied his skill almost as much as I feared his father. Darius hadn’t pricked me with the needle of the fertility drugs. He hadn’t beaten me or tried to rape me. His tortures turned…mental. Offering to sell the research? Dressing me in pretty little outfits with darkness strapped beneath? Presenting me to his partners and board members as his new daughter? He didn’t raise a hand when I challenged him. That was worse than anything he’d done in the past. Reed requisitioned a popular ballroom for his extravagant gala. Black tie was apparently a family tradition, but Reed’s event offered more creativity than what Darius permitted within his iron-fisted expectations of his sons. Spotlights and a string quartet greeted the arriving guests, the more famous of which delighted the crowded red-carpet with quick photographs. I squinted. A comedian, sitcom actress, and mayor posed for a picture. Not a bad haul, though Atwood events usually commanded more State Supreme Court justices and lobbyists than celebrities. The gala supported the Bennett Foundation, but the head of the household directed the assigned personal assistants to guide us to a secondary entrance. He preferred something low-key. Something less likely for me to make a spectacle. Or escape. As if the ropes constricting me in every horrible, disgusting place would let me run away. “Smile, my dear.” Darius offered his arm. “All eyes are on us.” He wasn’t lying. Though his touch should have left a line of bruises over my skin, his hold appeared nothing less than gentlemanly—fatherly—as the crowded ballroom parted for us. Worse, I clung to him for support. The ropes burned as much as the shame, especially the one tucked between the folds of my slit. Every sway of my hips dragged it deeper. I leaned on Darius, as if I trusted, admired, or respected the damned toad. I would have preferred the gala see the bondage wrapping my body than my reliance on my step-father. Darius molested me without a single touch. I wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much it panicked me.

So I pretended I didn’t care. For one night, I escaped the Bennett’s prison only to enter a world of even worse restraint. Money attracted money. I recognized most of the gala’s attendees. The Bennett and Atwoods circles overlapped, even if the families never did. My presence was more surprising to the guests than the appearance of an action movie star. I hadn’t seen most of these people since my brothers’ funerals. I’d endured less stares at their wake. An airy waltz strummed from the string quartet. The rumble of conversation, chortled laughter, and hushed gossip threaded throughout the beats. The cocktail hour was little more than a checkered flag to begin judgement. Despite the formal dress, waltzes and blossoming, white flowers transforming the Versailles-inspired ballroom into a lovely garden, nothing changed from the dayto-day cutthroat lifestyle of high society. The Bennetts might have been the only family with the gall to kidnap and rape, but that didn’t mean their guests didn’t look upon me with a presumption worse than hatred. Pity. “Sarah Atwood!” One of my father’s former golfing partners shook my hand in passing. “So sorry I never caught you after Josiah and Mike’s funerals. Hopefully, you’ll be well enough soon to take over where they left off.” Great. Everyone heard about the asthma. The secret my father kept hidden was what Darius shouted to the masses to explain my social disappearance. I accepted the compliment with grace and tried to slither from Darius’s arm. His hold only tightened. The Bennett’s friends offered greetings, business associates toasted Darius, and strangers admired our charming new family. Darius showed me off to people who benefited from knowing I was still alive, and I was forced to shuffle at his side, bound by the unseen, aching rope. And there. Only twenty feet from me. Roman Wescott. The investor who might have ended all of this insanity. He was younger than I anticipated, and far more handsome, if not a little…guarded. He packed with lean muscle, but his eyes chiseled just as hard as his physique. Grey, like carved stone. He conversed with a small group near the bar, but stood too far to be properly greeted without alerting Darius to my intentions. If he saw me or Nicholas, he

didn’t react. Darius checked his watch. “We will stay through this cocktail hour. I have one more person for Sarah to greet…if she behaves.” Since when did I ever meet his expectations? His arm entwined in mine, as tight and revolting as the ropes restraining my movement. I hated that I forced pleasantries with his friends. Hated that I squirmed under his hand. That I suffocated in his musky cologne. The curl of his fingers was a measured humiliation. He pretended he was a real step-father—that he hadn’t forced me over his desk, stripped me of my dignity, and attempted to violate me with pain. I slammed my heel against his foot as he dared to guide me away. This ended now. No more pretending. No more waiting for trusts and scheming in the shadows. I wasn’t cowering any more, not when I had the money, the power, and the alliances of his sons. This time, he was going to fear me. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on me.” Max downed his champagne. “Aw, fuck.” “Sarah, not here,” Nicholas warned. Darius twitched, concocting a dozen different punishments and perversions to punish my disobedience. “Be a good little girl, and take Daddy’s hand.” I tasted the profanity on my tongue, undignified and rich with venom. I didn’t have a chance to say it. “Darius, darling!” I recognized the voice, that melodic, southern softness. For twenty years, that voice praised and comforted, mourned and wailed, but I never heard it call so lovingly for Darius Bennett. Nicholas took my wrist if only to prevent me from crumbling to the floor in a mess of silk and chiffon. I stared at the thinning woman gliding over the ballroom. “Mom?”

My mother eagerly kissed Darius, smiling at him with a grin that tore through my gut. She never once looked at Dad like that. “Oh, Sprout!” She extended her arms for a hug. “I had no idea you’d be here!” Me either. I couldn’t move. “Go on, my dear,” Darius said. “Give your mother a hug.” The monster bound me to my shame with knotted ropes then led me to the one woman who had no idea of the danger he posed. I didn’t care. Mom was there. She was okay. She wasn’t hurt. I collapsed in her arms. She had lost weight, but the depression wasn’t entirely Darius’s fault, not when the funerals, pills, and empty house did more harm than anyone. Her eyes puffed with dark circles, but she covered them with enough makeup and false charm to hide her grief. But her smile. That was genuine. And I didn’t realize how much I missed it until it aimed for Darius. “Isn’t she just lovely?” She asked. Darius nodded. “Takes after her mother.” “Oh, you cad.” I didn’t release her. “Mom, are you okay?” “Of course, darling. I’m enjoying your brother’s wonderful party.” I hugged her again, whispering in her ear. “Mom, really. You can tell me.” “Sarah, what’s gotten into you?” She laughed. “You act like you’ve seen a ghost.” Nicholas and Max mercifully remained silent. I tried again. “Mom, I haven’t seen you in forever.” “Oh, hush, Sprout. It hasn’t been that long.” My chest ached. “It’s been almost three months since…I left for the Bennett Estate.”

“Three months? Couldn’t be.” “You haven’t seen me since then…even when I was in the hospital.” “The hospital? For what?” Nicholas took my hand. I was grateful. Mom frowned in confusion. Darius kissed her temple. “Her asthma, remember? We took care of it though. Our daughter is good as new. And her brothers have tended to her needs.” Vile. Wicked. Bastard. “Poor thing,” Mom said. “Always did have such dreadful attacks. Mark hated it.” “She’s safe with us. I told you I’d look after her.” “Hopefully, she hasn’t been too much trouble.” “Little Sprout?” Darius grinned. “Oh, she’s earned a very important spot in our family.” She laughed, but her amusement bled with fatigue. Her hands trembled as she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waitress. Darius carefully replaced it with a club soda instead. Mom drank without realizing the difference. “Bethany—you can’t have alcohol with the new medication.” “Right, right. So hard to remember these things.” He brushed her hand. “I’ll remember for you, my love.” This was sick and wrong. The woman before me was a shell of my mother, and the bastard at her side prayed on her depression. He couldn’t love Mom. He used her for the money and company he never received. Now he bartered my body for her safety. But she loved him. Christ, if she only saw the monster he really was. But I knew better. If she learned the one man she had left in the world was a demon who abused her only surviving child? It’d destroy her. Whatever remained of her.

“Oh, Nicholas, don’t you look dashing?” Mom teased him with a pat to his cheek. “And Max? I hardly recognize you. Sarah, couldn’t you just eat your brothers up?” Sure, if they didn’t eat me first. Reed’s timely appearance rescued us. He seized two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter just to force something into Max’s hand. He addressed my mother with pure charisma. “Bethany.” He didn’t look at me. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Now the party can get started.” Mom chuckled. She leaned against Darius once more. “Now I know where he gets his charm.” The cluster of Bennetts attracted a parade of tuxedos. They descended upon Darius. Nicholas edged between me and a man I remembered from the barbecue, prelemonade fiasco. Bryant. His greeting was laced with a sweetened threat. He was one of Darius’s primary partners, but something beyond the Bennett Corporation’s feud with my family darkened his gaze. I didn’t appreciate his Cheshire grin. He stared so hard I feared he’d see the ropes, but he studied only the midline of my dress with a scrutiny unbecoming of a man who didn’t have an apologetic tumbler of hard liquor in his hand. “So nice to see you again, Sarah Atwood.” He looked at me but spoke to Darius. “She gets prettier by the day.” “She is a vision,” he agreed. Nicholas squeezed my elbow. A warning to be cautious? “How are you, Ms. Atwood?” Bryant asked. “Still enjoying your stay with your brothers?” “Step-brothers.” Something in his tone demanded the qualification. “And I feel I’ve taken advantage of them for too long. I should return home soon, to be with my mother.” “Oh, nonsense.” Mom laughed. “I won’t be a burden.” Darius patted her hand. “Sarah, I can take care of your mother. You need only to focus on yourself. These past months were trying for you.” “And yet, my stress remains.” I shook free of Nicholas’s arm. “I’m eager to return to work and focus on my company. I have many ideas for Atwood Industries in the

coming year.” And the Bennett Corporation. Bryant sipped his champagne. “A lot of things can change in a year, Ms. Atwood.” I didn’t like his tone. Something lingered in his words beyond the usual company arrogance. Darius agreed. “Look at what happened just this year. Your father, your brothers, the asthma. You must concentrate on what’s important.” The ropes pained me. I raised my chin. “And what would that be?” “Family.” “You can’t put a price on blood,” Bryant said. I shivered. “But some might try.” “If it’s in the company’s best interests.” My stomach flipped. I edged closer to Nicholas. The creeper’s tone screamed danger. He spoke with a veil over his thoughts but not his amusement. Mom didn’t notice. She pointed through the crowd. “Now, Sprout…” Mom aimed her attention for a college aged man with tousled hair and a grin with too much tooth. “That’s the Livingston boy. Remember him? Robert?” I remembered, even if she didn’t. “Richard.” “Yes, Richard. That’s right. You should go talk to him.” “Why?” “He’s premed with a trust fund the size of our back field.” “What?” “You should start looking for a nice boy, Sarah.” She took Darius’s hand. “I wish I’d tried harder at your age. Things might have turned out differently.” Bryant chuckled. “Bethany, don’t go pressuring the girl. I’m sure she’d rather enjoy her family now. Isn’t that right, Nick?” This time, his words stuck with the subtlety of champagne thrown in my face. I chilled. Mom shushed him. “Oh, Bryant, you don’t know what it’s like. Both your children are grown and married. I won’t be happy until Sarah finds a nice boy and settles

down.” Bryant grinned. “Eager for those grandbabies?” Darius slithered his arm over Mom’s shoulder. “Aren’t we all?” I didn’t like this. Not at all. Something was wrong. Nicholas pulled me from the cluster before they saw my shiver. “Excuse us,” he said. “This is a party, after all. If Sarah would care to dance…?” Mom’s aww was unnecessary. “Oh, Nick. And here I thought Reed was the charmer.” This wasn’t charm. It was necessity. The ropes punished my sore slit and bruised breasts. I could hardly move, let alone dance, but Nicholas pulled me to the floor anyway. He held me like a proper gentleman, but he couldn’t hide me from Darius’s stare. An entire ballroom or a thousand miles could separate us, and Darius Bennett’s menacing gaze would still find me. Pin me. Hurt me. I squeezed Nicholas’s hand until my fingers turned white. “You’re hiding something,” I said. “What haven’t you told me?” He spun me in perfect rhythm, as though we were two friends, two siblings, enjoying the party, the music, the laughter of those admiring an Atwood and Bennett in harmony. But it wasn’t harmony. It was discord. And it broke my heart. “Darius’s partners know we’ve kidnapped you. They’ve demanded you remain at the estate until we secure the future of your company.” The lights and music blended into a dizzy blur of noise and pain. I pretended to smile as we swayed to the music. “How do they know?”

“My father told them.” “He told them? Everything?” Nicholas held me tighter. “Everything.” I tasted the scream, but my lungs collapsed before I uttered a sound. “The Bennett Board of Directors ordered you and your brothers to breed me?” Nicholas guided me through the dance, but I had no control over my steps. The ropes would hang me now. I couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t let me pull away. I could do nothing while we waltzed within a gala of close friends and allies, social partners and potential investors. I was trapped. “You didn’t tell me.” My words weakened as the ropes strangled me beneath my dress. “You didn’t tell Max or Reed.” “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” “Of course it does!” “My father involved only the investors he trusts.” “Nick, those are the ones who hold the majority.” “Once you inherit the trust, this will be nothing,” he said. “You’ll control the board, regardless of what they’re doing to steal your company.” Like it would matter. Like I could face the men who damned me to a life of imprisonment and abuse. “Don’t pretend, Nick.” My fingers clutched his arms, but it’d be my voice that sharpened enough to draw blood. “You did nothing to stop it. You agreed with the board and did everything they told you to do.” “To save your life.” “You haven’t saved me at all.” I had to get away. The longer I stayed in his embrace, the more likely I’d collapse against him and use his strength instead of my own. He had captured me that way once. It wouldn’t happen again. “I thought your father was evil. If I had known your entire company was this demented, I’d have set my farm on fire just to end this insanity.”

“Sarah—” I couldn’t escape Nicholas’s arms. He led me into a swaying circle as though he planned for the dip in the music and charming swirl. “You kept this from us.” “If Reed and Max knew, they might have attacked the board. Who knows what my father would have done.” He paused. “And I didn’t want to frighten you.” “Well, I am frightened!” I searched his honeyed eyes for anything to protect me from the madness. “If they would plan my rape, they would plan my murder.” “I won’t let it happen.” But he let everything happen. He read my expression, and the truth slashed us both with regret, remorse, and despair. I mourned the trust he’d never earn. So did he. “I have to stop this,” I said. “If they suspect you know anything—” “They’ll what? Inject me with fertility drugs? Force me to have sex with my three step-brothers? Let Darius beat me any time I try to fight? What else can they do to me?” “Kill you.” “Only if I don’t fight back.” Our dance continued. But my heart shattered. The Bennetts didn’t know what happened when an Atwood was pushed past their limit. Dad ignored me in favor of my brothers, but I inherited as much tenacity as Josiah or Mike. We would ring the sky for rain and tear through the earth to destroy any weed that strangled our crop. The Bennett Corporation was the very definition of a weed. They were a coiling, tangling, worthless infection of rot that stole the sun from everything good and pure. They’d be ripped from the soil and cast in the heat to bake and wither. Darius Bennett roamed the gala like a damned champion of charity and generosity. He was respected because of his name and status and where he sat in the board room.

I had surrendered to the Bennetts for long enough. Now it was my turn to take what I deserved. Justice wouldn’t cleanse my wounds. I demanded vengeance. I’d steal everything that was Darius’s and cast it into hell with him. And I knew just how to do it. Roman Wescott. I’d find him. Earn his vote. Secure the trust. I’d free myself from my imprisonment. Because I couldn’t depend on anyone else to do it for me. “Good evening, everyone!” Reed took to the stage as the music ended. “I’m Reed Bennett, and I’d personally like to welcome you all to the 15th annual Bennett Foundation Charity Gala.” The audience applauded. I stayed at Nicholas’s side, though I didn’t know if the ropes or his presence hurt me more. “Just a little history for you guys,” Reed said. “My family started this charity when my brothers and I were children. I was eight years old when my mother was killed in a terrible car accident, and my brother and I were severely injured. Fortunately, my family is blessed with the resources to handle such traumatic events, including our numerous surgeries and long recovery.” My chest tightened. What recovery? Darius subjected Reed to dozens of plastic surgeries to reduce the scarring to his face to preserve the Bennett image. Max should have lost his leg. Had his father been compassionate, he wouldn’t have lived in agony. “Many families aren’t as fortunate as mine, and they need help to cover the costs of an unexpected emergency. The Bennett Foundation is in place to help those families focus on what’s important—healing, recovering, and getting children home where they belong.” The gala clapped. Reed waved away the applause. “Before we begin tonight, I have some good news to share,” he said. “The Foundation is pleased to announce we’ve already raised seven hundred thousand dollars, and our auction hasn’t even begun.” Another applause, only this time, a man near the stage waved his hand. “It’s for a good cause. I’ll give another ten thousand now!” Reed winked. “What a totally generous and completely unplanted offer from Mr. Benjamin Hart.” Another hand rose, this time a rugged, frightening man who didn’t belong in a

tuxedo called out to Reed. “Fifteen thousand to my godson!” Reed nodded. “And fifteen thousand from Tovial Aren, my godfather. Make sure you all bid on the Harley that Tovial and the Temple MC donated for the auction. This year, the bike actually has a VIN number!” The gala laughed as Tovial curled a fist at his godson. Reed held up a hand to speak. “In all seriousness. I’d like to thank our largest donors for their generosity. Of course, I have to recognize my father, Darius Bennett.” The room exploded with applause. My stomach turned. He listed three other names, though only one dug into my mind like a bullet through my skull. “Roman Wescott,” Reed announced. “You’ve always been a great supporter of this charity.” The bindings either tightened or my asthma threatened me. Reed gestured to a photographer. “Actually, if you all wouldn’t mind coming to the front for a picture.” Two of the benefactors eagerly parted from their friends for a chance to gloat their generosity in the newspaper. Roman declined, though the cheers of the crowd pulled him from the back of the room. My heart thunked with every step he took. Nicholas gripped my elbow. “Don’t,” he warned. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t.” “I’m not allowed to mingle?” “No.” “Your rule or your father’s?” “Can’t it be both?” “It wouldn’t surprise me.” I meant it to hurt, but he was right. Neither of them would let me speak with the one investor who could award the Josmik Trust early. But if he didn’t see me now, Darius would stuff me into the limo and only the devil could predict what he’d do when I was imprisoned behind his walls once more. I wasn’t waiting for Nicholas to earn his support. Not now. Not anymore. This was my only opportunity. I sucked in as deep a breath as the bindings allowed. My arm surged into the air. “I’ll donate two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

The gala silenced. Nicholas released me. “Atwood Industries gives two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!” “I…” Reed’s shock stole his confidence. What others would assume was excitement, I knew was dread. Because I felt it too. Darius’s prickling stare burned through me. “And two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from Sarah Atwood my, uh, supremely generous step-sister.” The applause started stunned, but all attention turned to me. I did as Dad taught and accepted their cheers with the grace inherent to the Atwoods. Nicholas stiffened. His voice growled, low. “Get up there before my father kills you,” he said. “Now.” It was an expensive few minutes bought in the company of a man who had no idea the power he wielded, but I would have paid double for the chance. My billions were worth nothing if I was killed before I spent it. I endured the gossiped whispers and tucked between skirts to reach the stage. Reed met me at the stairs, surveying the gala as though he expected open gunfire. And maybe he did. I leaned close as the charity’s benefactors slithered before a photographer. “What the hell are you doing?” He whispered. Hell if I knew, but I was going for it. “Can you see the ropes through the dress?” “The what?” I took that as a no and decided it was safe to take the picture. I slid beside Roman Wescott with a charming grin. The photographer worked quickly as the waltzes played and the crowds dispersed for the auction. Three flashes and we were done. “Distract your father.” I ordered Reed. My heart ached. “And Nicholas.” “Sarah, what’s going on?” I didn’t answer. Roman thanked the photographer with a cordial formality. He didn’t linger, but that was fine. I hurried to his side before he returned to his associates at the bar. “Mr. Wescott!” He turned. His eyes hardened like chipping stone. “Ms. Atwood.”

“Yes!” I held my hand out, reflexively, and offered as firm a handshake as Dad insisted a woman should have. “Yes, I’m Sarah Atwood.” “A pleasure.” It sounded more like a dismissal, but I wasn’t done. I hadn’t even started. “I was hoping I could speak with you.” “I apologize, but I don’t conduct business at social events.” “My father taught me the same,” I said. He had Nicholas’s presence, but he seemed far older. “This will only take a moment. You had an agreement with my brothers.” “Ms. Atwood, I’m not entirely sure we should discuss this matter here.” It was true. I cast a glance over my shoulder. I didn’t see Darius, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see me. “I understand. But Mr. Wescott, I want you to know that I am as serious about Atwood Industries and my family’s commitments as my brothers were.” “Ms. Atwood, the Josmik Trust was not intended—” “I realize it was not meant for my name, not intentionally. But, I assure you, I am uniquely qualified to assume the very same responsibilities my brothers’ anticipated in forming this arrangement.” “I’m sure you are.” He raised a hand to silence me. “But this is neither the time nor place nor gathering to discuss such business.” “I understand, but—” “You are eager, Ms. Atwood. These past few months have been difficult on all parties.” He handed me his card. “We will set a meeting where we may talk without such discretion.” It wouldn’t work. My stomach twisted. “My time is…limited. This might be our only moment to speak.” “And I know what that moment would entail, which is why it will not be discussed here. The business you propose would transfer control of the Bennett Corporation to you. Your family wished to unseat Darius Bennett. It was the reason I agreed to the Josmik Trust.” “Then you see why it’s so important. You understand the temperaments of the Bennett Board of Directors.” “I do, and that’s why it’s foolish for you to meet with me.” He smiled as he spoke of my impending murder. “But I am curious now. Monday, Ms. Atwood. I’ll leave the day open. If you can keep the appointment…” If I survived until then. “…At

least I’ll know my shares will be secure with someone cunning enough to earn them.” He offered me a nod and returned to his associates. I memorized the address on the card and discarded it before I was caught with the evidence. Monday. It didn’t give me long to plan an escape, especially as Darius intended to inject me with the final fertility drug on Tuesday. I was out of time. Darius and the board expected a pregnancy. And when they didn’t get it? I either surrendered my future to Darius, or he’d steal it from me. Both outcomes would end in blood, sweat, and terror. But I would be the one victorious. And I’d win, even if I had to use a Bennett as my sacrifice.

11

SARAH

R eed’s lips trailed a gentle, soft path along my neck.

Timid shivers rocked me, centering low, just where he knew to tease, circle, and tempt. We didn’t need the handcuffs, but I told him I thought it’d be…fun. The lie sickened me, but it was my only chance to save myself. If I didn’t take the opportunity now, I doubted I’d have another in the future. “You okay?” Reed’s lips warmed my neck, my blood, my shame. I nodded. He didn’t believe me. “You’re distracted.” And it was hard to stay that way. I rested against Reed as his hands caressed my every exposed curve, vulnerable secret, and flushing heat. “I’m okay.” He frowned, the dimple lost in concentration. His hand brushed my cheek. “What happened after the gala?” “Nothing.” “Sarah.” Reed didn’t punish me with his strength like Max or dominate me with a possessive stare like Nicholas. When he held me, he cared. Legitimately. But underestimating him was more dangerous than giving Max a weapon or Nicholas my forsaken promise of surrender. The blankets tangled under us, kicked as he dropped me on the bed, smacked me with a pillow, and seized me in his arms. He promised his suite was a safe place— clothing optional.

That made it so much harder. To protect myself, I had to cut off the head of the snake ruling the family. But Darius didn’t bleed crimson. His heart pumped money, wealth, success. Stealing the Bennett Corporation from Darius would torture him more than a blade to the side or bullet in the chest. Or pool cue to the ribs. Fist to the temple. Violent assault over his desk. I trembled in memory as Reed wedged between my legs. He saw it and made no effort to take what I had willingly given before. His voice softened. “Did my father hurt you?” He traced the bruise under my breast. “Aside from…the ropes?” “No.” The answer surprised us both. “That’s not like Dad.” “I know.” “Expensive risk.” I grinned. “For a good cause.” I didn’t say if it was the charity or upsetting Darius. Reed guessed. “You think he’s up to something?” He asked. I didn’t have to lie. “When isn’t he?” Reed’s hand caressed my bare body, avoiding the tiny spot below my navel where the fertility injections had struck for the past ten days. “You deserve better than this,” he said. Maybe. Probably. I was getting there. “I’m okay.” “Can I help?” God, was I tempted. “Trust me. I have a plan that doesn’t involve a passport.” “Wasn’t talking about leaving.” He spread my legs, gazing over my soft, slickening folds.

“Let me take the fear away,” he whispered. “Just for a little while.” His kiss centered on the part of me most desperate for his unique brand of kindness. The first lick flattened me against the bed. The next twist of his tongue earned my quiet murmur. The third, the knowing exploration of everything deep inside me, demanded my every attention. Reed was as much a Bennett as Nicholas or Max. His dominance just manifested in different ways. He didn’t force. He didn’t hurt. But I was just as helpless against his aggression. He devoured me whole and sunk his tongue in to taste. Each pulsing tease of his lips curled over my sensitive clit. What had been abused by ropes healed within his caresses. My hips raised, pressing against his mouth. He liked that. I liked that. The handcuffs jiggled over my wrists as I arched in a quick and demanding excitement. With great reluctance, Reed had admitted the restraints got him off. I wished I could be the one to help him explore that dark part of him, or that I could somehow reassure him. But the cuffs were the only chance I had to escape. I twisted my hips, and the whimper came naturally. The murmur was a dread I suppressed for the past three months. At least the flinch was honest, if not meant for someone far more frightening than Reed. “Sarah?” Reed looked up as I jammed my wrists against the metal. “You okay?” I nodded, too quickly. The handcuffs clattered. Reed didn’t wait for me to ask. He just knew. Or thought he did. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Hold on.” Reed unclasped the metal and tugged the cuffs off. I gave him a relieved shrug. “This is why you have a safe word.” He knocked his forehead against mine. “I thought I could…I was curious…” I hated lying to him. “I’m okay now.” “Good.”

It wasn’t fair. I couldn’t have trusted anyone more than Reed while I was cuffed and immobile. Like all Bennetts, he got off on domination, but unlike the others, he deserved the submission. I met his gaze with a coy bite to my lip. His eyebrow rose. “What are you thinking?” He grinned. “That you don’t need handcuffs to get what you’re after.” “And what is that?” Good question, even I wasn’t sure. “Obedience?” He shrugged. “My offered body?” “Not a bad start.” I glanced down, savoring the view of his cock, pulsing hard and impatient for attention. “Pleasure?” “Well, who doesn’t want that?” I pushed him to the pillows, but Reed didn’t budge. He didn’t respond to a pout either, but a playful stroke of his cock did the trick. “You focus so much on me.” I caressed him, loving his honest shudder. “Let me treat you for once.” “Really, I don’t need it.” His voice deepened. “Sarah, I’m ready to go.” “It’s not about being ready. It’s about being pleasured.” “No. It’s about filling you up with seed. Nick’s orders.” “Well, this is a…roundabout way of getting there.” Reed might have refused, but the instant my lips lowered to the heated head of his cock, his fist wrapped solidly in my hair. I took him in my mouth, but Reed yanked my curls, refusing to let me sink fully around his shaft. A test? His grin turned wicked. No. A trial. Reed wasn’t an oppressive, sadistic lover like Max, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious about the power he wielded, the delights he demanded, or the control he

commanded over my body. I licked the thickness of his shaft, tasting his salty strength. His growl encouraged me. I tickled my tongue along the underside of his length—down, down, down— until his fist gripped my hair too hard. My teasing returned to the head. He liked that too. Then again, Reed was always the most agreeable Bennett. And the easiest to manipulate. Christ, did I hate doing it. Every gentle lick and timid swipe of my lips became an apology. I sucked, using my hand to pump more of his length. It worked. Reed abandoned his hold of my hair to lean back, his arms crossed behind his head. At least he’d be happy for a moment. At least he’d be savored. At least he’d know I never meant to trap him in the middle of it. “Sarah.” His voice rasped. “You gotta stop that now.” Every muscle tensing his perfect body glistened with a lover’s sweat. Reed wasn’t a patient man. It was amazing he let me torture him as long as I did, especially as he normally buried inside me just to hear my cry. He was greedy. He was demanding. And he was my Reed. I didn’t stop. My hand curled over his shaft and tugged harder, tasting his heat and the delicious warning of his excitement. I flicked my tongue, mimicking every tease he ever gave me. He grunted a profanity. “Sarah, I gotta fuck you.” No way. I couldn’t. I wasn’t about to reward myself with his warmth, touch, or the delicious fill of his cock inside me. This was for him. About him. He hissed my name, but his grip knotted in my hair too late. I sunk low against his shaft and tried to swallow every bit of his jetting seed. It was the first time I ever did that. I grinned. Reed didn’t. “Shit.” Reed fell against the pillows in a shudder of relief and misguided anger. “Fuck. We weren’t supposed to do that.” I didn’t pull away from his cock, and Reed didn’t push me off. He rubbed his face and enjoyed the lasting tremors of my tongue. I flicked a figure eight as he groaned. He didn’t see me reach for the handcuffs.

“Christ, Sarah.” He pulled me up to his side. “Give me like…ten minutes. I’ll fuck you then.” “It’s okay, Reed.” “No, it’s not. I promised Nick.” I slid my hand with the cuffs under the pillow. “Nick won’t care.” “He wants you pregnant. Swallowing my load doesn’t do that.” His hesitation was cute. “At least…I don’t think so. I hope not, or I got a couple girls to call.” “You guys refuse to believe me. I’m very, very infertile. So just…enjoy it.” Reed exhaled. I wished my stress melted as easily as his. “Well, I did. Thanks, I guess.” His reflexes dulled from the release. I launched, slamming one cuff around the brass metal of his bedpost and the other around his exposed wrist. He laughed as I did it, the dimple almost encouraging me. “Sarah, babe, I’m not into this.” He winked. “You aren’t either.” “Just…listen to me.” He clattered the cuff against the railing. “Easier ways than this.” I shifted from the bed, gathering my lost dress on the floor. He watched me, eyebrow arched. “Reed, promise you won’t get mad?” “Oh, shit.” “Reed—” “What the fuck are you doing?” I swallowed. “I have to go.” “Go?” “But I’ll be right back.” “What?” “It’ll be really quick. I promise.” He jerked forward, but the handcuffs caught on the bedpost. I didn’t recognize his scowl. “You’re leaving?” “I promise I’ll come back.”

“Why the fuck would you come back?” “Okay, look,” I said. “I’m meeting with Roman Wescott.” Reed grunted. “That asshole?” “Yes. He’s the only one we need to amend the trust to award it early.” “Are you insane?” “I’ll be in and out. Darius won’t know I’ve gone to meet with him.” Neither would Nicholas. The dress slipped over my head. I couldn’t find my panties, but that wasn’t unusual. “I have to do this. If I can get him to help me—” “Now you’re asking for help?” It was a good thing I cuffed him to the bed. “I offered to get you out of here. You told me no. You couldn’t leave Nicholas. It was impossible.” “And it was. Then.” “What changed?” “Everything.” Reed tested the cuffs. “I’m a good listener, sweetheart. I can’t do much else now. Enlighten me.” “You did offer to help me once,” I said. “Letting me do this is helping me.” “No,” he said. “It’s helping yourself.” “Right now? It’s the same thing.” “Nick won’t see it that way.” Like I didn’t already know that. Like I hadn’t already endured that betrayal and ignored every rational warning in my mind. Like I didn’t realize Nicholas couldn’t rescue me on his own, not with the board determined to burn my fields by slashing through me. He warned me to stay away from the one investor in Josmik Holdings that could end Darius’s rule. Did he assume I’d jeopardize the trust? Or did he keep me away because he feared how much power, stock, and hatred I would possess when it was done? His reasons didn’t matter. He wouldn’t stop me. I had to live long enough to watch Darius lose everything. This was how I was meant to do it. “Nick will have to understand,” I said.

Reed nodded. “You think he trusts you?” “I don’t think any of us trust the others.” “You know you could always trust me.” He softened his voice. “Come on, Sarah. Unlock me so we can talk with my boxers on.” I didn’t free him, but I tossed him the boxers and the TV’s remote control. His jaw tightened. Without his smile, the scars on his face and cheek and ear were suddenly visible. I rifled through his discarded pants. “I’m sorry, Reed. Where are the keys to your car?” “Porsche?” “Sure.” “Under the visor.” I nodded. “I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll fill her up with a full tank. I promise.” “Don’t bother. He’ll find you anyway.” “Darius won’t know I’m gone.” “Not talking about my father.” Reed’s voice darkened. “I’m talking about Nick.” I didn’t want to imagine it. “He’ll understand.” “I doubt it. I’d rather run from the man who thought he lost you than from the man who thinks you stole everything. If you go and talk to Wescott, he’ll know you’re seizing the company.” “I am seizing the company. What difference does it make if it’s today or if it’s on my birthday?” “A couple months is a big difference,” Reed said. “Enough time for Nick to save the day.” “Well, I can’t wait.” “You have to.” “Reed, they’re going to kill me if I don’t conceive.” He tilted his head. “They?” So he didn’t know. Nick kept it secret, even from his brothers. Was he that desperate to protect me?

Or did he really think he could stop it? “The Bennett Board of Directors knows about me,” I said. “They sided with Darius. They voted to have me raped and bred so they can save the company. And if you refuse? They’ll look the other way while Darius kills you.” Reed paled. “Jesus.” “So, if anyone asks where I am, just tell them I’m taking care of some errands.” I turned to the door. Reed swore, tearing at the cuffs on his hand. The bed shook as he yelled for me. “Sarah, wait! You can’t go! If that’s true, it’s suicide!” And that fear made my decision for me. I took a breath. “I’d rather kill myself then give Darius Bennett the satisfaction of pulling the trigger.” Reed’s voice hardened. “Yeah, that’s great. But remember where else he’s aiming the gun.” My insides chilled. I stilled. “See the problem? You march out that door, you kill us both.” “But...I handcuffed you.” Why did I argue? Why didn’t I just go? Why couldn’t I leave without Reed understanding? “He’ll think I trapped you. He can’t blame you.” “My father has never missed an opportunity to blame one of his sons for their failures.” I didn’t have any other options, and Reed was always too honest with me. “If I let you go, will you try to stop me?” “Yes.” It hurt. I knew he’d say it, but it still hurt. “Then you are just keeping me prisoner here too.” He didn’t hide it. “Yes.” “That isn’t fair.” “Sarah, you said you’d submit to keep my father happy.” “And get raped?” My voice shrilled. “Is that worth keeping Darius happy? Watching him destroy my farm and my family’s honor? My mother?”

“It’s better than being dead.” “Not if Darius wins.” “The only victory is the one you’re imagining,” he said. “We are talking blood. Life or death. Forget the company. Forget the feud. Vengeance won’t save you.” “It’s more than just vengeance.” “Yeah. This feud is about people too. The ones killed in car crashes. The girl stolen in the night.” “You don’t get it, Reed.” He tried to soften his voice and failed. “Yes, I do, I know you’re afraid of him—” “I’m not.” “Sarah, you are so afraid of my father you aren’t thinking clearly. Admitting your fear doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.” “If I get scared it means I’ve given up.” Reed tugged the handcuffs, but not to escape. He wanted to hold me. That was worth running from. I wasn’t admitting anything. I wasn’t letting Darius get into my head. I was doing this to save myself. And nothing he could say would stop me. “I’ll come back,” I said. “And we’ll pretend like this never happened.” “That’s not possible.” Reed stared at the ceiling. “If you leave, we’re gonna have a problem, and I won’t be able to fix it.” My chest ached, but it wasn’t asthma. “It doesn’t have to be fixed. Nothing is broken.” “Do you know why I fuck you, Sarah?” I stiffened. Reed didn’t mean it to be harsh, but it was the roughest he ever dragged his words. “It’s not about knocking you up. It’s not about obeying Nick. It’s because I’m trying to give you a taste of pleasure, something that will give you the strength to fight.” He shrugged. “I told you before I’d protect you however I can. Sarah, I told you. I’d rather meet my father in hell than let him hurt you.” “I remember.” Reed looked away. “But I can’t protect you from Nick.” I stilled. He stopped struggling against the cuffs, but with his surrender came

something else. Anger. Insult. Betrayal. “I hope to God you can control Nick,” he said. “Because I don’t care who you ally with in this house, if you cross Nicholas Bennett, no one will be able to save you.” “I have to try.” I hesitated. “Can you forgive me?” He didn’t answer the question. “You’re just as ruthless as they are.” “Only because I have to be.” “No.” Reed’s voice stung. “You’re choosing to be. You don’t realize how much blood will spill.” “I didn’t draw it first.” “But they’ll draw it last.” Reed tucked his arms behind his head, but only I flinched as the metal clanged. “Trust me, Sarah, my father will make it hurt.” “I’m not afraid of him.” “Yes, you are.” His voice layered with remorse. “But you haven’t seen half of what my father is capable of. If you leave, he will give you a real reason to fear him.”

12

NICHOLAS

“S arah Atwood has escaped.”

It wasn’t the first time it happened, but it was surprising it took this long for her to attempt it again. My father didn’t agree. His voice corroded with venom. “I’ll find her,” I said. “Yes, you will, after you’ve returned to the estate. First you will free your brother, and then I will meet with all of my sons to discuss what must be done.” “…Free my brother?” “Don’t delay, Nicholas.” His words sliced with a familiar rage that would split the long-healed scars on my back. “The little cunt’s final fertility treatment is tomorrow. I will have her home and bedded or it will be the last time I give her the opportunity to escape.” Christ. I slammed the phone on the receiver only to immediately call for my helicopter. What the hell was Sarah doing? If she was lucky, my father would break her legs and chain her in the basement to be fucked. If she truly angered him, he’d do the same and then kill her. The thought shredded my heart, and the threat of madness fueled my veins with rabid fury. If my gut twisted and blood poisoned when my father merely looked at her, what monster would I become if he dared to lay a hand on her? And how could I prevent it? Sarah didn’t listen to me. Willful disobedience made for

a sensual challenge but a terrible epitaph. Her safety depended on my one command. Submit. And still, she defied me. At each and every turn, she disobeyed me. And now she had escaped. It was hard enough controlling her when she was at my side. She fled from our home to go…where? Anywhere. Anywhere she could free herself from the Bennetts. Anywhere she’d be rid of me. Sarah was slipping away. I held her in my arms, promised my love, and damned her to a life of captivity and horror. She blamed me for all of it—my father’s attempted rape, the fertility drugs, the conspiracy of the board. And she was right. I’d vowed I’d do whatever I could to keep her safe. Except free her from my possession. And the instant she realized it—when she truly understood my obsessive devotion —I’d lose her forever, no matter the restraints, seclusion, and madness that bound her within the estate. All the more reason to find her before she did something reckless. Something more reckless. The helicopter arrived within a quarter hour. I texted Max from the air. Where are you? He responded with a slight delay. The estate. Enjoying the show. What show? You’ll fucking see. I didn’t have time for cryptic games—not from my father, not from my brother, and not from Sarah Atwood endangering herself in a foolish attempt to return home or hide from my family until she inherited the trust. The trust. Christ.

Sarah never retreated, she only delayed to arm herself. The helicopter was halfway to the estate, but I didn’t order the pilot to return to San Jose. I knew exactly where she was. If she had any common sense, she’d hurry to the mansion before my father traded the last of his patience for a loaded gun. If she wanted to survive, she’d leave me and never look back. But the thought of losing her was a pain that surged with dark desperation and unjust rage. Sarah Atwood was the true cornerstone of any empire I’d ever build. Nothing else tempted me. Nothing else moved me. I needed Sarah in my life, at my side, in my bed. I didn’t trust myself to deny the selfish desires. My love endangered her more than my father’s wrath. The helicopter landed. I met my brothers within Reed’s suite. Nothing prepared me for it, and yet, somehow, I knew this was how it would happen. “Oh, Christ, the cavalry’s here.” Reed knocked his head against the headboard. He wore only a pair of blue boxers. The color matched the light bruising on the wrist trapped in a handcuff. Max snickered from the corner, twirling a set of keys in his hand. “Would you tell him to fucking unlock me?” Reed clattered the metal around his wrist. “This isn’t as comfortable as it looks.” I surveyed the room. No signs of struggle. No sign of Sarah. Just my youngest brother, handcuffed to his own bed. Like a jackass. “How…did this happen?” I imagined it quite vividly, but I hoped I was wrong. Sarah slamming a chair through a window and running was acceptable panic. But overpowering my brother? Her escape was premeditated, and it would enrage my father. “I’ll let you out,” Max said. “Just gotta say your own little safe word.” “Fuck you, I have to piss.” “That’s not it.” He dangled the keys in front of him. “Say Sarah Atwood made me her bitch. Then I’ll uncuff you.” Why weren’t they worried? “Where is Sarah?”

Reed shrugged. The handcuffs jingled. She managed to restrain a man twice her size. Sarah was as impressive as she was idiotic. “She left about six hours ago.” “Six hours?” It was like she tried to enrage my father. Max frowned. “Where’d she go?” My brother pointed to the cuff. “I wasn’t at liberty to follow her. She stole my car and left.” “She stole your car?” Max’s voice rose. Reed huffed. “She sure as hell wasn’t taking my bike. Don’t worry, she said she was coming back.” “Why in the hell would she come back?” Max paced the room, but he made no effort to unlock our brother. “Where’s her dog?” “She left him.” That reassured me. “She wouldn’t leave Hamlet with our father.” Max swore. “What the hell happened?” “Christ. We were just messing around. I wasn’t paying attention. She cuffed me and ran.” I didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but my mind was nothing if not a bastion for jealousy. “Why did you have handcuffs?” Reed had the decency to look shamed. “She said she thought’d it be fun. Then she pretended to freak out with them on. I took them off because she was scared. Now I know she’s one hell of a liar. She blew me, cuffed me, and left.” My spine stiffened. “She blew you?” Reed’s eyes jaded with impatience. “Yeah, cause that is the pressing issue at the moment.” “You don’t make a lot of babies that way,” Max said. “Fuck you.” “Now you’re getting it!” “Enough.” I checked my watch. “Max, let him up. We have to meet our father

downstairs.” “He’s pissed,” Reed said. Max unhooked the cuffs. “No shit.” “He’ll hurt Sarah.” “No.” Max didn’t look at me. “He’ll make me do it. And it won’t end well.” I cursed the horrific thoughts that stained my mind. “If he doesn’t decide to kill her first.” My brothers silenced. I wasn’t giving up yet. “We have to find her before he does.” “Why?” Reed rubbed his wrist. “Let her go. Do you think she’s stupid enough to come back?” Stupid? No. Naive? Yes. If Sarah wanted to hide her meeting with Roman Wescott, if she wanted to ensure the amendment to her trust stayed secret, she didn’t have a choice. She had to return. My father’s suspicions damned her each minute she strayed from the estate. Once she was returned and safe, we could lie. Make up a story about her fleeing in terror instead of an attempt to deliberately undermine the Bennett Corporation and institute a hostile takeover. Sarah’s one salvation was the fate she denied. My father wouldn’t have cause to kill her if he believed breeding her was still the viable option. Creating her heir was still his first priority, murder his contingency. Unless she forced his hand. Unless she loaded the gun and stood before the barrel. But Sarah didn’t trust that I would prevent him from pulling the trigger. And she was wrong. I wished she realized how wrong she was. I avoided violence, but only because I played our options, calculated the risks, and worked to secure empires instead of vendettas. But if the time came for blood to spill? I’d slit my father’s throat before I let him take her perfection from me. Reed leapt from the bed. Max tossed him his pants, but he darted first to his liquor cabinet to swig from a bottle of whiskey. He took the bottle with him to the bathroom and returned a minute later, a quarter of the amber liquid gone. He rubbed a washcloth over the abrasion to his wrist.

“Gonna be worse than that downstairs,” Max warned. Reed tossed the bloody cloth in the hamper. “I’m a grown fucking man, not some little blonde troublemaker. What’s Dad gonna do to me?” “Think long and hard about it. If you aren’t pissing your pants, you don’t know Dad.” “Fuck this.” Reed downed another mouthful of whiskey and grunted against the sting. “I’ve had enough of this goddamned family. I’m done. I’m not dealing with this bullshit anymore.” “You oppose him, and he’ll punish Sarah for your insolence,” I said. Reed’s voice hollowed. “Yeah, well, she made her choice, didn’t she?” The harshness shocked me. Reed was always so eager to help and appease Sarah. Whatever happened between them pissed my brother off. More than I expected. Did she realize? She put herself in danger, but no handcuffs would ever convince my father Reed was helpless in her escape. Sarah underestimated my father. And this time, she wouldn’t be the only one punished for her disobedience. Reed tugged a shirt over his head and headed downstairs without a word, without a plan, and without a hope to survive what awaited him. Max and I followed as he kicked in the doors to our father’s office to confront the monster. He never learned. His punch slammed Reed’s jaw before my brother prepared himself for the strike. He slumped, but my father pointed to us. “Hold him up,” he said. “Both of you.” This wasn’t a good sign. I hoped my father would display some restraint. He hadn’t harmed Sarah in weeks, except for the ropes which tore her skin at the gala and an incident in the pool she refused to reveal. My father attempted to break Sarah’s mind instead of her body, to spare her any accidents if she had been impregnated. But he had no reason to protect Reed. My father never offered mercy to those who opposed him. Max and I steadied Reed on his feet. My father rubbed the ache from his knuckles

and sneered. “You helped her.” Reed spat blood. “How the hell would I do that? She cuffed me to the damn bed.” “And why would you let that happen?” I tasted the same challenge as Reed, but, unlike my brother, I had sense to not indulge it. “We did it enough to her. Thought I’d see if it was as fun from the other side.” He held my father’s stare. “It’s not.” I braced for the bastard to strike. So did Reed. The attack never came. “You were careless, boy,” he said. “You let her escape. Who knows where she might have gone or who the little cunt has spoken to.” “Good question,” Reed said. “Maybe she went to the Board of Directors?” Son of a bitch. Reed and Sarah obeyed none of my orders and consistently made life more dangerous for us all. Max knew not to react. Reed scraped the last bit of luck he had. “You told the fucking board we held her captive, and you’re worried about Sarah getting loose?” His voice rose. “Half of the motherfucking board sympathized with the Atwoods. They sold their stock. Why would you risk any of them knowing that we’re trying to breed her?” My father’s rage would shatter bone. “They don’t care about that girl! No one gives a damn about Sarah Atwood—it’s her fucking womb that’s worth billions. Christ, if it were any other organ I’d chop her open and rip out her entrails myself.” I didn’t doubt it. His hand slammed against the desk. “We need her womb. We need the baby you have yet to conceive! That little bitch is one fertility treatment from ovulating, and you let her escape!” And there it was. The key to saving her. Sarah was only one injection away from ovulation. For all my father knew, she escaped because she was afraid of conceiving. He’d believe it. He lived to watch her cower in fear. “Nicholas, you will find her and bring her to the estate.” Eagerly. “Of course.” “We’ve given that bitch free rein of this house. It ends now. She is here for one

purpose and one purpose only, and she has yet to fulfill her responsibilities.” My father dared to hold my gaze. “I hoped my sons understood.” Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he expected. I was tempted by the same greed and lust for power. I inherited more than just a company, an estate, and an empire from the monster. The same evil in him lurked in me. I denied that calling, but the darkness crept in my soul and ached to possess Sarah Atwood in complete and utter dominance. But I wouldn’t become my father. The day I surrendered to that beast was the day I damned Sarah to a true hell. “You will fuck her,” he said. “Each of you. Again and again until we are certain the fertility drugs were not a waste of my time. I don’t care if she cries or begs or screams.” He considered it with a leering amusement. “In fact, I’d prefer it.” “Holy Christ, you’re fucked up.” Reed had too much time to think while bound within his room, and his thoughts were not ones he should have voiced in my father’s presence. “What happens if we do get her pregnant?” He struggled forward, but Max and I prevented him from making a worse mistake. “What happens when her stepbrothers knock her up? You expect her to bargain the company for her baby?” “The heir is the only matter of consequence to us.” “It’s not a matter or consequence! It’s a child.” “Reed, I no longer believe you have our family’s best interests at heart.”

THE CROP CRACKED OVER MY SHOULDERS. I didn’t groan. It made Dad proud, but it wasn’t enough to dull the pain. Across the room, Max stuck out his tongue. This was his stupid fault. He was the one who snuck into Dad’s office. And it was his idea to use Reed to scout. The baby couldn’t do anything right. Three strikes of the crop and Max had cried. I lasted five. “Bring the boy over,” Dad said. “Darius, no.” Mom held Reed close. “He’s only four.”

“He’s old enough to learn.” The crop pointed at me. “And Nicholas is old enough to realize his brothers’ behavior is his responsibility.” Dad took off Reed’s shirt. He faced my little brother toward me. Reed thought it was a game. I didn’t warn him. Dad forced me to watch. “Next time, Nicholas, maybe you’ll remember to keep him out of trouble.” The crop lashed down. Reed would never stop screaming.

MY FATHER TAUGHT US TO PRIORITIZE TWO THINGS IN LIFE—FAMILY AND POWER. Our greatest sin wasn’t kidnapping, torturing, and breeding Sarah Atwood. It was dishonoring the family. Disobeying my father. Placing another’s needs before the success, wealth, and bond of our name. “This Atwood whore has confused you, Reed,” my father said. “You’ve forgotten who you are. What you represent.” “We’re wasting time.” I drew his stare. “Sarah escaped hours ago. Let’s go and find her before she gets farther away. Who knows where she is now.” My father folded his arms. “What did she tell you, Reed?” “Nothing.” “You were with her last.” “Yeah, we don’t do a lot of talking when I’m…” He took a breath. “She’s not all that good for conversation.” A lie. My father chuckled. “She’s not meant for conversation. She’s meant for fucking.” “Haven’t I done that?” “Have you?” My father’s tone shifted—wild and accusatory. “You are Reed Bennett. My son. You were born to represent me.” “Yeah, I get that.”

“I made you to empower this family. Our wealth, our company, it means nothing if the world doesn’t know our name and understand we are meant to own them.” Reed shrugged. “What if I want something different?” My father turned, stalking to his desk. “That right is not yours. Not if you wish to wield the Bennett name. Not if you expect your billions, your power.” “All our money didn’t prevent Mark Atwood from stealing our investors. Our power did nothing to keep Sarah Atwood under control.” Fuel on the fire. I wished my father’s punch had knocked Reed out. “Our name didn’t do shit for us,” Reed said. “And the only Bennett people will ever remember is the one Sarah is forced to conceive. I take no pride in that.” “Our name is the only reason you and Max are standing here today.” My father’s sneer was meant to insult them. It worked. “When that car crashed, do you think the doctors would have worked as hard to scrape your skin from the asphalt if your name wasn’t Bennett?” He pointed to Reed’s face. “No other family would have paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to sew your face back on your skull. They would have let you live, scarred and ugly, without any hope of a decent life.” “It wasn’t my injury that scarred this family,” Reed said. “The only reason you tortured me with those surgeries was so you looked good. So you wouldn’t be ashamed of your deformed youngest son and his crippled brother.” “Reed, enough.” I didn’t trust the vein in my father’s forehead, the one even Sarah Atwood hadn’t managed to throb. “This isn’t helping us find the girl. We’ll deal with this later.” My father stilled. “No. We’ll deal with this now. Bring your brother to me.” Neither Max nor I moved. My father pulled a knife from the desk. Reed swore. “What are you doing?” I threaded my voice with weary impatience, not the gutpunching fear that summoned the adrenaline. “I’ll take the helicopter to Cherrywood Valley and see if she’s at the farm. Max and Reed can search San Jose on their motorcycles. We’ll find her—” “We don’t have to search.” My father pointed the blade at Reed. “He knows where she is.” “Why the fuck would I know?” Reed asked.

“Because you’re friends with the little whore. You helped her. Comforted her. Your baby sister told you where she was going, and now you’ll tell me.” Reed stayed silent. My brother knew. Sarah told him about the board, about Wescott, about everything. My father was right. And if Reed spoke even a word of it, Sarah would die. Reed played dumb. “I have no idea. She said she wanted to see her mom. Check with Bethany.” My father didn’t believe the lie. He called to me. “Bring him here.” I delayed as long as I could, staring at the knife in his hand. “Let’s just find Sarah —” “I said bring him here.” No. Even his cruelty had limits. I would not allow my father to harm my brother. “If Reed sees no benefit to being a Bennett, if this family is so scarred, then why hide what nature intended?” My father’s shrugged. “Or, what that little whore’s father intended.” “Jesus, Dad,” Max said. “What are you going to do?” The knife flashed. Reed said nothing. “He either tells me where the Atwood bitch has gone, or I’ll earn back the thousands of dollars I wasted giving him a chance to honor the Bennett name.” He was insane. He threatened to cut Reed’s face, to etch away the years of plastic surgery and reveal the ugly scars underneath. He would maim his own son. And, in his madness, he expected us to help him do it. “Where is she, Reed?” My father asked. “Last chance.” I had to find another way, some possible chance to spare my brother pain and save Sarah. I pushed him behind me. But my brother fought my arm. He snarled at me, his words as certain as a slam to the gut. “She made her choice, Nick.”

The madness would take us all. Reed thought he was protecting her. He wouldn’t tell my father, even if the consequences would forever scar him. I couldn’t let this happen, but time slivered against the edge of my father’s knife. I had no options. I couldn’t spare my brother his pain and save the life of the woman I loved. But Reed would do it for me. “Sarah left.” Reed shrugged. “I don’t know where she went.” My father tapped the blade in his hand. “I’m disappointed in you, son.” “Aren’t you always?” “Hold him down.” Max refused. I forced Reed forward instead. He swore, though the word aimed for both me and our bastard of a father. I deserved more than his profanity. I deserved more than my brother’s ire, Sarah’s distrust, and my father’s gratitude for pinning my youngest brother to the desk as the knife raised. I deserved the tearing slice to my face. Reed screamed. I’d remember that sound too. And I’d ensure it was the last pain my father ever caused.

13

SARAH

“M om!”

The front door slammed behind me. I let Reed’s car idle in the driveway, practically steaming from the three hour speed run from San Jose. I made a two-hundred and fifty mile detour before my meeting with Roman Wescott. I hoped it’d be worth it. “Mom?” I sprinted through the halls. “It’s Sprout! Where are you?” The patio door opened. Mom brushed the dirt from her hands and dropped the garden trowel in the coffee can tucked in the corner. “Sarah, no yelling in the house. I heard you all the way in my flower garden.” Her voice slurred, and an orange pill bottle jingled out of her pocket, but I didn’t care. I wrapped her in our first honest hug in three months, our first real embrace since Josiah and Mike’s deaths. It was our first touch which didn’t mourn a lost husband, father, or hope. “Sarah, what’s gotten into you? Is Darius here?” I shuddered. “No. Look, Mom. I can’t stay long.” “You haven’t stayed long in months.” Her disappointment chided me. A sharp pang of sorrow struck me to the core. “Mom…I haven’t been living here.” “Right, right.” She waved a hand. “So kind of Darius to offer to take you in.” Kind was not the word I would have picked, but it wasn’t the time to argue. I herded Mom into the master bedroom and opened the closet. The clothes piled high, but

she had always bribed a farmhand to help her fold the laundry. “Mom, pack a bag. You have to stay with Aunt Sharidan for a while.” “Shari?” Mom made a face. “Oh no. I haven’t seen my sister since the wedding, and even then I had two glasses of wine too few to deal with her.” But Aunt Sharidan was the closest relative I could think to take her in, though San Francisco would plop into the bay once they started to fight. “Why are you running around?” She asked, “Honestly. Put my bag down.” The clock on the wall ticked entirely too fast for me to pack more than a few pairs of jeans, a couple shirts, and a random assortment of her toiletries. “Sprout, stop. What are you doing?” “Mom, I need you to go visit Aunt Shari. Don’t argue with me, please. I can’t explain now, but I will later. I promise. Just…go get your shoes on.” “I’m wearing shoes.” I glanced down. “Mom…two of the same shoe.” Mom held out her foot, cackling as she realized her mistake. “Oh, look at that. Serves me right for not wearing my glasses.” I wasn’t so sure. Her bag zipped tight. I’d call Aunt Sharidan from the car. It’d take a bribe to keep Mom there, especially since her relationship with her sister only worsened with age, but I’d sell half the corn fields if it meant Mom could be safe. If only for a little while. If only so Darius wouldn’t be able to hurt her for what I was going to do. I sighed. It was stupid to even return to Cherrywood Valley. Stupid and reckless and utterly selfish. I meant to drive straight to Roman Wescott’s office, plead my case, and convince him to amend the agreement. I planned to collect my trust and find a way to defend myself from Darius. But I didn’t make it close to San Jose. I left the estate and immediately headed south. Toward home. Back to Mom. A desperate part of me needed to sink in her arms and cry, to reveal everything horrible and frightening and disgusting that had happened at the Bennett Estate. I wanted to beg for Mom to be my mother again.

We’d hire security, find a safer home, and then finalize her divorce. Darius would slit her throat if I so much as whispered about his treatment, but if she were free of him, we could try to rebuild our life and farm. Maybe then we’d be safe. I would inherit my trust. I’d help Nicholas depose his father. And then? I searched the house to find her cellphone charger. My steps slowed in the kitchen. There was no more then. I was an idiot. Idealistic fool. A little girl who denied that anything was wrong in the storybook fantasy of her family. The pilot light flickered on the stove with no pots or dishes near. “Mom?” I called. “Are you making tea or something?” Mom followed, still fretting about my rampage through her drawers. “No. Why?” I didn’t answer. Mom brushed her hands. “Where did all this dirt come from? Heavens.” She tisked her tongue. “Did you want tea, Sarah? Good gracious, you come bursting in here shouting all manner of nonsense, trying to get me to visit Shari of all people, and now you want tea. I swear, sometimes I think you are just a clone of Mark.” I flicked the knob on the stove. “You…left the stove on.” “Oh. Whoops!” Whoops? She might have set the house on fire, and all she could say was whoops? My stomach dropped. She hadn’t been the most level-headed woman since the funerals, but I thought it was the depression. The medications. Darius was right. She fluttered to the cabinet. “Well, now I’m tasting tea anyway. Put some water on, Sprout.” I hesitated, but Mom flipped a towel at my behind. She laughed as I visibly flinched against even the smallest nip of the cloth. She didn’t ask why I feared a strike. I wouldn’t have told her anyway.

I filled the kettle. Mom set tea bags and sugar on the table. She hummed as she worked. When was the last time she hummed? Three months ago, Mom could hardly get out of bed, torn between the excitement for her new marriage and the crushing despair of her mourning. The pills helped, until they didn’t. They stole the once vibrant and vivacious woman who was my only companion in the family. A family that didn’t want me. No. My father didn’t want me. Josiah and Mike loved me. They were older and far busier with Dad, but they snuck me sweets when I was sick and let me sleep in their rooms if I had nightmares of earthquakes. I hadn’t visited their graves since they died, not after Mom took the razor to her wrists just as the funeral procession arrived at the plot in our far field where they’d rest next to Dad. I hadn’t visited Dad either, not that he deserved it. My chest tightened. Coming here was a mistake. It’d be the first place Darius would look, and Mom the first person he’d hurt. I tried to defend my family, but at my first opportunity, I lured danger to it. We weren’t going anywhere. I couldn’t trust Mom to go anywhere. She offered me a fruit salad wrapped from the fridge. “Fresh from the garden.” She pushed the fork toward me. “Bet you miss that. Darius doesn’t appreciate good fruits and vegetables.” Neither did his carnivore sons. Sons who would be on their way to find me. To capture me. To imprison me with him again. I had no idea what would await me when I returned or how angry Nicholas would be. I savored a bite of the watermelon and aimed for the honeydew immediately after. “Sprout, tell me why you’re so worked up?” Mom spun her spoon in her tea. “You

aren’t yourself.” I didn’t even know who myself would be anymore. I left the Bennett Estate terrified and enraged, but the revenge I sought wasn’t as righteous as before. I demanded blood, not for the sin perpetrated against my family but the darkness Darius forced me to endure. Did that make me as ruthless as Reed thought? The way he looked at me crushed my heart in mounting guilt. I never meant to hurt him. I’d probably hurt them all before it was done. Except they hurt me first. What was I supposed to do? Mom hovered. “Looks like you could use a treat too.” She tucked a plate of chocolate chip cookies under my nose. I abandoned the fruit. “Your father loved those cookies,” Mom said. “They were the only compliment he’d ever give.” The cookie fell to the plate. Almost a year of mourning, and she never once said anything disparaging about Dad. I tried my hardest to remember anything she ever said bad about Dad. I couldn’t. Then again, until a few weeks ago, I had nothing negative to say either. I blinked away a damning tear. “You never told me what a monster Dad was.” Mom’s teacup lowered. She hesitated. “He wasn’t a monster.” I nibbled the cookie. “Helena Bennett?” “So you’ve spoken with Darius.” “Nick.” “It was a long time ago, Sprout.” “That doesn’t forgive what he did,” I said. “No,” she agreed. “But Mark never asked for forgiveness.” “You never said anything.” “No.”

“Did Josiah and Mike know?” Talking about Dad no longer weakened her, but her voice slipped when I mentioned my brothers. “Yes, I suppose they did.” I hated to think it. “Didn’t they care?” “You know your brothers.” She trembled. “Knew. They thought they’d change the world.” “They might have.” She nodded with a pursing of her lips. “Some things aren’t meant to be.” And some things in the world were cruel and unfair. The house stood too silent without my brothers rumbling down the stairs, late for school, late for a date, late for work. Dad called them irresponsible. They were the greatest men in the world. They never should have died. Too many things went wrong, and too many lives destroyed with theirs. It should have ended with Dad. I hated myself for considering it. I hated him for writing me out of the will, out of the company, out of the family. “Dad never thought I was as good as them,” I said. “Did he?” Mom stirred another lump of sugar into her tea. It was her third cube. She must not have remembered dropping the last one. “He never saw you, Sprout,” she said. “Had he looked, he would have realized you were so much like him.” “That’s not a good thing.” “It can be. Mark was successful because he was shrewd. He saw his opportunities and did what he had to do. He provided for the family. Some people would call that ruthless. He considered it life.” She paused. “He died before his time. And your brothers…” “Yeah.” “But that’s in the past. No sense dwelling on such sadness. We have a new family to care for.” Even half a state away, Darius Bennett turned my stomach.

“Mom, I want to take you far from here. I’m going to get you away from Darius.” “Away from Darius? Whatever for?” I stood, casting the cookie into the sink. “He’s evil, Mom. Absolutely evil.” She gave me the same look she always did, as though my overactive imagination concocted another crazy story. “You’ve never had any love for the Bennetts, but I hoped you’d try to come to terms with this—” “If you knew the man he truly was—” “Sarah, I’ve known Darius Bennett since I was thirteen years old, and I’ve loved him nearly as long.” I stilled. “You what?” “Darius and I were childhood sweethearts. Had his family not moved to San Jose and mine not entwined with the Atwoods…my life would certainly look very different.” “You aren’t serious.” “Our lives took separate paths, but nothing has made me happier than reuniting with the first man I ever loved. It’s healed a lot of wounds I thought impossible to mend. He’s given me a new hope.” She tapped her fingers over the teacup. “I’m not well, Sarah.” “Don’t say that.” Any of it. “Your brothers knew. They tried to help me, but I said they were being foolish. However, all the mourning and stress has only…strengthened the condition. I didn’t tell you. I don’t want you to worry.” “Mom—” “Darius is a loyal husband. And you see he is a devoted father. He cares for me, and he cares a great deal for you. Please give him a chance, if only to grant me a bit of peace while we battle this next hurdle for our family.” She was serious. Every word, every hallowed implication, every failing hope. She believed Darius would save her. I didn’t have the heart to warn her what happened when she trusted a Bennett with her life. “You should have sold the company.” Mom stared only into her teacup. “You don’t need this stress. This hassle.”

“I could have handled it.” “You weren’t meant to handle it,” she said. “I was glad he didn’t leave the company to you.” “Mom—” “Sell, Sarah. Before the Bennetts knock the price off our farm. Get every penny you can before they realize we don’t have a male heir to run the farm and that you… well, sweetheart, you’ll never have a baby.” It wasn’t stopping them from trying. I let my voice drop. “I’m not selling. It isn’t even possible now that the clause is public. Besides, you don’t know the shit Darius is trying to pull to get the company.” She tisked her tongue. “Don’t you fault Darius for being financially-driven. He could do a lot with this farm.” “He’s not financially-driven. He’s vile.” “Sarah, you are an Atwood. Mark Atwood’s daughter, no less.” Mom sighed. “No one is guiltless in this world. An Atwood loses their innocence very quickly.” Only if it was stolen. Strapped to a bed and taken. Offered. Given. Savored by Nicholas Bennett every night thereafter in boundless passion. I gave myself to a man I didn’t know if I feared or trusted, loved or blamed. The phone rang. I didn’t have to guess who called. I rose. Mom tapped her lips and promised a secret. “Darius, love.” Mom breathed a gentle hello into the phone. “What a surprise. No, no. I’m not busy at all.” I shook my head, prepared to run or hide or fight. Neither of my options would keep us safe. “Sarah?” Mom looked at me. “No, I haven’t seen her. Isn’t she with you?” I mouthed a thank you. She nodded. “Oh, yes, I’ll call you the instant she comes by. Let me know if you hear from her. Love you too.” She returned the phone to the cradle. My heart lurched into my throat.

“Mom, you won’t tell Darius about my infertility, will you?” She chuckled. “Of course not, sweetheart. That’s the sort of issue you need only to discuss with your future husband. It isn’t my place to tell. But Darius does know some wonderful doctors…when you do meet that right man, of course.” I feared I had already found the right man. Or maybe I loved the wrong man who consumed everything innocent inside me. I stood, stepping into Mom’s hug. “I gotta go,” I said. “Just…be careful.” “Unless I develop an allergy to corn, I’m perfectly safe.” She frowned at her packed bag dropped in the middle of the hall. “Sprout, don’t forget your things.” A punch to the gut hurt less than my forced smile. “I’ll come back for it.” She kissed me goodbye, and I didn’t want to think it might have been the last time. I hurried to Reed’s car. Darius wouldn’t trust my mother, and my step-brothers could fly a helicopter. They’d search for me at the farm first. But only Nicholas knew where I’d ultimately go. If he hadn’t already stopped the meeting from happening. Three and a half hours of aggravation, panic, and traffic did little to ease my fraying nerves. I pulled into Roman Wescott’s building with a pounding headache and the clutching fear that every Bennett would await my arrival. But I was alone. And Roman Wescott welcomed me into his office with a waved hand and concerned frown. Without the pretense of the tux and gown, I feared he saw me for what I was—a fleck of blonde, petite and slim, clutching a purse that hid two different types of asthma medications. He wasn’t Darius Bennett, but I couldn’t be sure the wealth the Bennett family provided hadn’t lined his pockets and warped his mind. And just because he made a deal with my father and brothers didn’t mean he was sympathetic to any of the Atwood causes. If he was so willing to sell his stake in the Bennett Corporation to their lifelong rivals, was it even worth trusting him? My world shrunk the instant I escaped the claustrophobia of the estate. I had no one to trust and everyone to fear.

Roman Wescott offered me a chair. I crossed my legs, hoping the pleasant sundress and windswept hair appeared business casual. “Thank you for meeting with me,” I said. I admired the sleek, modern office, filled with glass tabletops and a view of downtown San Jose. “You have a lovely office—” “Ms. Atwood.” Roman’s dark eyebrows rose. “Skip the pleasantries. I know why you’re here.” “I suppose you do.” “You want the Bennett Corporation.” I mimicked Nicholas’s practiced stillness and rested my hands on my knee. “No. My interest in the Josmik Trust is…personal. I’m simply acting toward a resolution.” “But, once the trust is awarded to you, you will possess a considerable interest in the Bennett Corporation.” “Yes.” “Do you want complete control of Darius Bennett’s company?” I tiptoed around the question. “If it’s in the best interests of my investment. But you would not have entered an agreement with my father and brothers had you not anticipated that particular outcome.” “True,” he said. His dark countenance revealed nothing. “So why did you do it?” His chair creaked as he leaned away. “Do what?” “Why did you agree to sell your interest in the Bennett Corporation to the Atwoods? You know the history and the feuds—” He wagged a finger. “No. I don’t. Any rivalry between the Atwoods and Darius Bennett existed solely between the families. I didn’t invest my fortune in a petty family squabble. I’ve chosen to secure my wealth in a company bound for success and driven by profit and innovation. That is why my father partnered with John Bennett. And that is why, when Mark Atwood approached me, I agreed to terms. Darius Bennett is not his father. He is not protecting my investment.” All good news. “I am not my father either,” I said. “I’m not Josiah, and I’m not Mike. But I am an Atwood. Success runs in my veins. We draw it from the very soil itself. You can trust me with your investment. The contractual amount for your shares is held in escrow, waiting to be finalized.”

“I’m sure it is.” “So why not sell early?” I asked. “If you no longer trust the direction of the Bennett Corporation, sell now, before the stock dips or…any other unpleasant circumstance endangers the company.” “And what unpleasant circumstance would that be, Ms. Atwood?” Roman’s eyes flashed like marble. “You do see the…complications this sale poses, don’t you?” What did he know? How many members of the board understood my captivity? How many encouraged Darius’s plot? Why wouldn’t he just sign and avoid the danger of such a conspiracy? “I’m doing what I must to protect my family’s interests and secure my father and brothers’ final project,” I said. “It was their decision to approach the members of the Bennett board.” “I highly doubt they anticipated the challenges that would arise for you.” “Nevertheless, I am willing to face those challenges.” “Indeed. Here you are. Asking me to amend an agreement to destroy a company which yielded me a profit over the years. You’re asking me to ruin my personal and business interests even though you were not present in the initial negotiations.” He smiled, but not for my benefit. “Ms. Atwood, the only reason you sit before me is because you are the last surviving Atwood.” I nodded. “It’s true.” “It’s much to ask from a young woman managing a legacy her father never intended her to have.” “Ask yourself, Mr. Wescott. Do you believe Darius Bennett will protect your family’s investments in the future?” “It’s unlikely.” “There’s your answer.” “What is your incentive, Ms. Atwood?” He bid me to reveal more than I wished. “You are a billionaire heiress. What do you need with this potential revenue?” “I have many reasons.” “Name one.” Survival. Revenge. Blood. I swallowed.

“Security,” I said. “Are you sure it won’t just endanger you more?” “Nothing can endanger me more.” “Maybe.” He sighed, folding his palms. “I want to help you, Sarah Atwood.” I didn’t react. “Mr. Wescott, it isn’t help. This is a business arrangement which will benefit us both.” “Please understand this decision does not come lightly. I have spent my life working for the Bennett Corporation—investing time and money and energy into a family I supported.” “I understand.” “Nicholas Bennett is a strong leader. He would lead his family and corporation to success.” “I completely agree.” Roman shook his head. “He would. If he were given the opportunity.” The hair on my neck prickled. “I bear no resentment for Nicholas Bennett.” “Maybe you should.” I didn’t respond. Roman leaned in, his hard stare revealing a lifetime of secrecy. He was no older than Nicholas, and yet he radiated wisdom, mystery, and danger. Though he was quite attractive, his words haunted me. “I’ll agree to the amendments, Ms. Atwood. You can inherit your trust and engage the Bennett Corporation as you see fit—under one condition.” I didn’t like conditions discussed without a lawyer or witness. “Darius Bennett is not a good man,” he said. “His plans have severe consequences for everyone in the corporation, and his hatred lives on in his sons.” I said nothing. He held my gaze. “Ms. Atwood, I will consider signing this agreement only if you agree that the stock you receive, the interests you control, and the power you’ll possess in the Bennett Corporation remain yours.” “I don’t understand.” “If you want this trust, you will assume control of the Bennett Corporation.” His command stopped my heart. “And you will never sell your control back to Nicholas

Bennett.”

14

SARAH

I thought the estate was empty when I returned.

I was wrong.

Darius Bennett seized me in the foyer. I shouted, but his hand curled around my neck before I could call for help. His fingers stained with blood. He squeezed. It wasn’t the first time I couldn’t breathe in his presence. “Where have you been, my dear?” The slithery rasp of his voice did not pretend to be kind. “We’ve been so worried about you.” I said nothing. His grip tightened. Hard. Too hard. I coughed. It made no difference. My hands clawed at his hold even though struggling would only excite him. Darius liked when I tried to fight him. I’d learned that the hard way. My pounding heart broke. Had I been quick, had I not panicked and went to find Mom, I might have made it back before anyone but Reed knew I had gone. Now the estate stood quiet. Empty halls and emptier rooms awaited me, despite leaving Reed chained to the bed for too long. Way too long. My step-brothers weren’t home. Nicholas wasn’t here. Only Darius. I was alone with a monster who trapped with a grip more demonic claw than hand.

“You’ve been very naughty.” Darius held me close. The decaying brown of his eyes hardened with something worse than his usual threats. Delight? Anticipation? It curdled my stomach. “You know you aren’t allowed to leave the grounds without permission.” His attention cast down, practically shredding through my dress. “You know you aren’t permitted to leave your brothers’ beds.” That tone. His words gambled between youthful chastisement and lechery, and every melodic syllable and growled intent promised something sick. His sadism rivaled only his perversion. He whispered terrible secrets against my flesh. “You do not disobey your father.” He cupped my cheeks with both hands, bumping his forehead to mine. What might have been fatherly compassion disgusted me, his every touch a march of stinging insects that coiled over my spine. “Does Daddy have to punish you?” I shook my head. I’d play his game and stay quiet. I’d do whatever he wanted if he’d let me go. Killing me wasn’t the worst thing Darius Bennett could do. He wouldn’t stop until I begged for death. And I would. God, I knew I would. I tried to be brave. Tried to pretend Darius had no control over me. Tried to lie to Nicholas every morning when he woke me from my nightmares. He chased away the fear with gentle hands and gentler reassurances. Then, I felt safe. Now my lungs filled with Darius’s stale scent, a blend of cigar and leather. His drifted his paws from my cheek to my shoulders. He leered as I began to tremble. I swore I’d never let Darius see me afraid of him. He wouldn’t give me a choice. “You are a spoiled little whore,” Darius whispered. “Do you think you have the right to look us in the eyes? To argue with us? To run from us?” His nails dug into my elbows. It wasn’t his blood that stained his skin. “Do you know what I’ll do to you?” I didn’t let myself guess. I wouldn’t explore that dark and terrible place in his mind.

“I can starve you. Beat you.” He licked his lips. “I can ensure you’re raped every hour on the hour until your belly bloats with a child. I don’t care if you’re in pain or frightened or cold. The only thing I care about is right here.” He cupped my stomach, low, aiming for the womb he didn’t realize was barren. “If you don’t start to grow a little Bennett soon, Daddy’s going to be very disappointed in you.” I nodded. “Come with me, my dear.” Darius grasped my wrist, tugging as he led me to the stairs. His fingers crushed my bone, but I’d wrench my hand off if it meant escaping him. No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They promised it wouldn’t happen. That they’d protect me. Nicholas swore he wouldn’t let his father touch me again. But they weren’t here. They were looking for me. Darius jerked my arm. Something terrible in my wrist popped. I yelped, but he didn’t care. Darius dragged me up the stairs, into the darkness of the estate. Why did I come back? Why didn’t I just run? Why did I do this to myself? Nicholas. I wanted Nicholas. I wanted the chance to be with him and love him and escape with him. No matter the horror or pain or demons, I needed him. We struggled to build a life in shadow even when we knew it’d incinerate the instant it came to light. How was I supposed to love a man who captured me, sacrificed me, and deceived my trust? And how was he to love me when I betrayed him to save myself? I tripped over the stairs. It didn’t slow Darius. My hesitations and pleas, protests and screams would never stop him. He forced me to my feet, leading me up, up, up, into the desecrated secrets of his world and the depraved recesses of his mind. Where was Reed? And Max? God, where was Nicholas? My chest ached with a breath that trapped too deeply within my lungs. I fought the

asthma and ignored my fear. Neither would help me survive the pain, shame, and destruction Darius willed. But I only needed to survive. Darius revealed too much of himself. He’d keep me alive. Broken, but alive, and that was his greatest mistake. I sacrificed everything before. I’d surrender my body if it meant I’d live to strike him down. He hauled me to the landing, and I blinked back tears. But Darius didn’t aim for his private wing—the desolate stretch of hell I hadn’t dared to explore. Instead, he forced me into Max’s sanctuary, the theater tucked within his hall. He took me to the first place in the estate that had offered me a moment of…comfort. He didn’t plan to rape me, but that didn’t mean I was safe. He’d hurt me however he could. I never thought I’d be eager for the bite of a belt or the rage of a flogging. Pain I could handle. Pain I had endured, both at his hand and Max’s twisted protection. But without my step-brothers, I had no idea if Darius had the restraint to end my punishment before it turned into a murder. He didn’t have Reed’s compassion, Max’s awareness, or Nicholas’s undying patience. Darius possessed only absolute cruelty. And I experienced a brutality that knew no limits. But that didn’t explain why he forced me to sit in the leather recliner centered in the room. I stilled as he ripped the extension cord from a gaming console hooked to the theater system. He tested the strength of the wire and faced me. His smile waged a cautious, lucid, merciless war. Even my heart shivered. Whatever he planned would be worse than rape. “I talked to your mom.” Darius leaned over me to twist the wire against my chest. He looped it behind the chair and bound me against the leather. The cord nearly sliced me in two. He liked how I bit my lip to silence my squeal. “You didn’t ask for permission to leave, but I understand. You missed your family, didn’t you?” I swallowed my profanity. No sense endangering Mom.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You went home, my dear.” I didn’t answer. Darius wrapped the cord around me a second time. It cut into the sensitive skin beneath my breast where he already punished once with his ropes. I didn’t let him see me flinch. “The first time I asked, she lied.” He tightened the cord as he growled the word. I pinched my eyes shut. His force drove the air from my lungs. “My own wife. Lying to her husband to protect her whore of a daughter. Sarah, I won’t stand for that.” Oh God. He tied me too tightly to even tremble. “Fortunately, Bethany is a devoted wife. She understands that I am her husband.” Darius knelt before me and surveyed his work. “She told me all about your visit. She said you acted…strangely. And that you were desperate for her to visit your aunt.” His voice lowered, the shadow of pure, utter hatred rumbled in his voice. “How dare you try to interfere in my marriage.” My mouth dried. How could she have told him I was there? She wouldn’t have betrayed me, not if she understood what she was doing. A breath escaped in a pained cough. She…forgot. Whatever illness cobwebbed in her mind captured a memory of my visit but not my plea to keep it secret. One conversation with Darius, and she spilled everything to him. What else would she eventually forget to keep quiet? How long did I have before she revealed my infertility? “She’s not well.” I steadied my voice. “I wouldn’t trust a word she says.” “I’ve learned how to decipher her. Despite your ill-intentions, your mother was thrilled that you came to visit.” I didn’t answer. He tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I know you miss her. I know you miss all of your family.” “It’s expected when someone’s been kidnapped.” The gentle hush to his voice was worse than any profanity. “We’ve tried to make you a home here. You know I’ve thought of you as my little girl.”

He thought of me in ways no daughter should ever have been imagined by a loving father. His touch burned me with a warned shiver, but the cords bound me too tightly, biting through my skin even as I remained silent, pressed hard into the recliner. Darius’s hand slid along my leg, savoring the soft skin of my knee. I looked away, but he only explored. His fingers pressed no higher than the uncomfortable swell of my thigh. “I try to be a good father,” he said. “But it’s difficult raising a disobedient little girl who doesn’t respect her family the way they deserve.” He wouldn’t pry a single word from me. His fingers dug into my skin. I’d bruise, but I’d survive. “You understand, don’t you? Your father just wants what’s best for you.” The grip turned painful. He’d rip my leg off if I didn’t acknowledge him. I nodded. “I have enough trouble keeping my boys in line. I’d hate to think that my little slut daughter would cause as much mischief as them.” “Where are they?” “Your brothers?” Darius’s voice lightened. “Oh, there was a…bit of an accident. Nothing for you to worry about.” An accident? Blood on his hands. Oh God. “Darius—” He wagged a finger. “Now, my dear, I told you. Nothing so formal.” The word soured on my tongue. “Dad. What kind of accident?” He ignored me. “It warms my heart how much you care for your brothers.” What did he know? I didn’t react. “You’re probably worried they’ll end up like Josiah and Mike—dead and burnt and scraped together into a bundle of charred flesh to be buried.” He should have just hit me. I’d be sick. I wasn’t ready for him to mention my real brothers. He didn’t deserve to speak their names, let alone use their death to frighten me. “You miss Josiah and Mike. Your mom does too. Luckily for my girls, I have

something that can take the pain away.” Nothing he offered would ever give me comfort. I twisted. Just the memory of my brothers exposed every raw and vulnerable nerve for him to fray. My father’s death destroyed the family. Josiah and Mike’s deaths destroyed me. And Darius knew it. Of course he knew it. He saw it at their funerals. He heard it in my voice every time an insensitive asshole demanded details of their crash. Only a bullet to the head would end that pain. And he wasn’t kind enough for that. “I have something for you,” he said. “It took me a while to acquire it, and it cost a decent amount of money, but…” He caressed my cheek, his thumb pausing over my lower lip. He pushed as though he expected me to suck on it, but he turned before succumbing to that fantasy. “Nothing is too much for my little girl.” “What are you talking about?” “I can give you one last chance to see your brothers.” Darius tapped my nose as I stared at him, bewildered. “You stay here.” He chuckled at his joke as he surveyed the bindings. “Daddy will be right back with your present.” What. The. Fuck. My stomach hollowed. He left the theater. I fought against the wires binding me, but Darius knew how to trap someone within his grasp. My skin sliced against the cords. I couldn’t escape before he returned. He carried a DVD. None of this made sense. Darius paused at the popcorn cart tucked against the wall. He added oil and kernels to the popper while humming a quiet tune. The machine whirled to life and kicked out bright kernels of fluffy popcorn. I flinched with each jarring pop. He added a handful to a bowl and pumped glob after sickening glob of thick, gooey butter over the popcorn. He sat the bowl next to me and tightened the cords behind the chair with another cruel twist.

“Are you comfortable?” He admired his work, how the bindings forced me stiff against the chair and raised my breasts high. My hands lost feeling. He didn’t care. “I know it’s a bit much, but I don’t want you to miss a single moment of this.” He waved the DVD in the air. Had he gone completely insane or was this just par for the course? I tempered the question as best I could, but my voice still trembled. Not like I could be calm when my skin abraded under the rope, the bondage ached my back, and his grin radiated pure evil. “Darius, what the hell are you doing?” “We’re going to watch a home movie.” “What home movie?” Darius tapped the DVD. “Why, one of your brothers, of course.” I didn’t understand, but the dread prickled over the parts of my body that hadn’t yet gone numb. He settled in the recliner next to me, pressing a few buttons on the remote. He shoved the bowl of popcorn at me, chuckling as the ropes didn’t allow me to even flinch away. “Don’t worry.” He pressed a kernel to my lips. “Let Daddy help.” I tried to refuse the greasy popcorn, dripping fake butter and offered from fingers that smelled of cigars and blood. Darius forced the bite into my mouth. I spat it out. “Let me up! What are you doing?” My voice rose. “What do you want from me?” He frowned, shushing me with a finger. “No talking during the movie. Bennett house rule.” Now I would be sick. A button on the remote dimmed the lights. The screen projected a shaky video of a rest stop overlooking a busy desert highway. The cellphone video focused on a group of teenagers before spinning upwards, capturing a small, private jet flying entirely too low. It wobbled. Then it lost altitude. “Oh, God,” I whispered.

It was a true home movie. Darius found a recording of their plane crash from the cellphone video that captured their deaths. “Shh.” He pressed another kernel of popcorn to my lips. “Watch, now, Sarah. This is the good part.” I squeezed my eyes shut as the camera focused on the plane pitching to the ground. I accidentally opened them in time to see the fireball. The plane crashed nose-first onto a highway in Nevada, missing the traffic on the road but disintegrating on impact. Mom and I didn’t know they had crashed. We didn’t even know they were on the plane or out of the state. We didn’t know they had died before the cable news channels splashed the screen with the crawler. Billionaire Atwood Brothers Killed In Private Plane Crash “This footage was difficult to find.” Darius offered me more popcorn. I swallowed if only to keep from throwing up. He pointed to the screen, proud of what he forced me to watch. “The FAA used it for their investigation, but I spoke to the right people so that my little girl could see her brothers one last time. And here we are!” The video ended. I released my breath. Sweat poured from my body, but I shook with unending chills. It was done. Over. I’d forget what I saw. Banish it into the deepest pits of my mind. Darius patted my hand. “Sarah, you are my daughter. It’s time I share with you the secret of the Bennett’s success.” He leaned close, as if revealing a grand mystery. “Family is the most important thing in this world, so I hope you can appreciate what I’ve done.” The screen brightened. The video began to replay. “No, no, no,” I whispered. “Darius, don’t.” The rest stop near the highway. The blue sky. Their plane rolled again.

This time I didn’t close my eyes. This time, I died with them. “How could you?” I didn’t recognize the strain in my voice—the months and months of forsaken mourning I suppressed to protect Mom from herself, prevent our farm from failing, and to manage the mess I thought my brothers left behind. “Why…why are you doing this?” “No need to thank me.” The footage replayed again. I struggled against the ropes. Nothing freed me from the damning bindings, but I’d have torn my body in half if it meant ending Darius’s sick punishment. “You’re a monster,” I whispered. “This was why I went to Mom. To get her away from you. To save her before you torture her too.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Darius studied the remote, squinting at the buttons in the darkness. “I love Bethany. She obeys me as a proper wife should. You, however, are more…difficult.” “If you think this will make me behave—” “Hush, Sarah. I forgot the best part of this DVD.” He pressed the remote. My world shattered. 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.”

15

NICHOLAS

he world was too small a place to hide from my father, but it was still large T 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. Hope. “Sarah.” I called her name, ordered it, as I hid her within my suite. I set her on the vanity counter and drew a bath. “It’s over. I’m here now.” Nothing. The water splashed into the tub and steamed, filling the bathroom with an oppressive heat that usually helped her lungs…had she not given up trying. Her breathing shuddered. She made no attempt to cough or choke or gasp against the closing of her throat. Her lips trembled in blue tightness. Her eyes—the sharpest gaze which ever dared to challenge mine—faded to a sickly grey. I wasn’t letting this happen. My father wasn’t taking her from me. Not like this. Not ever. I pulled the dress off, but shivering rattled her body. What had once been tight with curves and feminine secret thinned too much. Stress and fear eroded her, hardening her from the girl I loved and into a woman who knew only pain and sorrow. I ached with her, just as lost and sick and helpless to prevent crimes that never should have happened, to protect the blood that never should have spilled. Sarah. Reed. Who was next? How long before my father murdered his sons in his quest for greed and dominance? And what about my greed? Blood destroyed my family’s bond. Narcissism corrupted what remained. What was the point in having it all if I destroyed everything acquiring it?

Sarah coughed. The rasp would drive me insane. She suffered at night and now she suffered as she woke, trapped between reality and the horror of my father’s cruelty. The tub filled. I didn’t bother removing my jeans or shirt. I settled with Sarah in the water, letting her rest between my legs. The water stirred her, and she flinched as the warmth stung where the rope had bitten. I apologized, but I brushed handfuls of water over her chest, arms, and neck, cleansing her of the sickness and restoring the flush of warmth to her silken skin. I wove my fingers in her hair. Her weeping quieted. She finally woke, squirming against my body, but edging closer. She hid her face within my soaked shirt. “I don’t want popcorn again,” she said. “Ever.” I had no idea what to say to that. “Deal.” Her voice wavered. “Why didn’t he just hurt me? Why would he do this?” It wasn’t a question I wished her to ask. It was an answer that only my father’s eldest son would understand. Beating her did nothing to break a woman already broken by hatred. The only way my father could punish Sarah Atwood was to destroy what made her so determined to defeat us. Her family. My father forever tarnished the memory of her brothers with a black and evil knowledge no one should have possessed. Their last moments were theirs, not a burden for her to bear. “Where were you?” She whispered. “Where I shouldn’t have been.” I tightened my arms over her. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” “You’re always sorry.” Honesty. It served no purpose but to feed my guilt. “I know. It changes now.” “You always say that too.” “Things are different now.” “No.” Her voice hardened. “They’re exactly the same. We promise each other the world and then destroy those vows the instant a secret is easier to hide. We end up here, always. In pain.” “No more secrets then. No more running. We’re stronger than he is.” “Maybe. Now. But I’ve seen how this will end. We’ll fight to be together, swear our love, and then we’ll ruin each other because it isn’t possible for us to have

everything.” “Then I only want you.” “You don’t mean it.” “I do.” “You’ve chased power your entire life. Why would you give it up now?” Easy. Easier than any deal I ever made, dollar I ever spent, and selfish desire I ever put before others. “Because you are the one irreplaceable thing in my world. You are everything to me. And I swear to God, Sarah Atwood, I will spend every minute for the rest of my life proving it to you.” “And your father? The fertility drugs? The companies?” “Forget them. I only want you to be safe.” “I don’t feel safe.” And I hated myself for it. “You will.” “What about trying to get me pregnant? This ridiculous scheme to keep me alive?” “It’ll end.” Sarah rested against me, the tears returning. “This won’t end until he’s gone.” She whispered of our greatest problem and one of our only remaining solutions, but the risk wasn’t worth the complication. Not yet. Not until we had no other options. I held her tighter. But how much longer could I risk leaving her so vulnerable? The rap at the door startled her. She dove against me, but Max’s voice eased her thrashing. She stilled as he entered. I nodded to the warming towel against the rack, and he helped to pulled her from the water. The towel bundled over her. He leaned down to hold her close. I stilled, edging from the water as a sudden chill chased through my veins. Max’s words shadowed with regret, remorse. I didn’t trust Max’s restraint. I didn’t know what he’d say.

“You will never understand how sorry I am.” His voice rumbled low. He covered her with the towel, but his hands fell limp to his sides before he helped to dry her. “Baby, I will never, ever forgive myself. You get me? I won’t rest until I earn your forgiveness.” Sarah didn’t understand. Max stole her to the bedroom. I peeled the dripping shirt from my skin. I kicked off the jeans, replacing them with a fresh pair of trousers as Sarah rested on the bed. She huddled against the blankets. Reed sat in silence across the room, his stitches just as dark and ugly now as they were in the shadows of the garage. Sarah stared, her lip trembling as fresh tears rolled over her cheeks. “He did that to you?” She whispered. He nodded. “My fault?” His nod came slower. I’d have scolded him, but Sarah hadn’t regained enough strength for lies. Not yet. She covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s done,” I said. “And you’re safe. That’s all that matters.” Her gaze hadn’t left Reed’s new scar. She tensed, her voice a deadened, frightening shade of resignation. “He tried to hurt me.” He did hurt her, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Sarah took her first full breath. It chased the hollowness from her words. “My brothers are dead.” I looked at Max. He said nothing. “It doesn’t matter how many times he tortured me with the video,” she said. “Even if I watched it a million times, they died only once.” I brushed the hair from her face. “Don’t. You don’t have to be brave.” “Yes, I do,” she said, holding each of our gazes. “I lost Josiah and Mike. But now I have three more brothers, three men I love. And you guys are still alive.” Her eyes flashed, pinning me in place, promising the same intensity she once used to oppose me. “And I won’t let Darius separate us. Not after he’s already taken so much from me.”

She let me pull her to my chest, though the limp and frightened girl was replaced with something more dangerous—someone volatile and more unpredictable now than before my father threatened her with the memory of her family. “I’ll stop him,” she promised. Who was she convincing? I didn’t trust the hollow shock in her voice. “Before this is over, Darius Bennett will fear me. Nothing he does will ever hurt me again.”

16

SARAH

D arius Bennett slept soundly in his bed. I’d ensure he never woke up.

A knife twisted in my hand. A cleaver from the kitchen. I didn’t remember stealing it. I didn’t remember anything. It was too hard to think over the sound of my brothers’ screams. They ached in my head. An endless ringing. A demonic cry from beyond the grave. It echoed and twisted and would never end, even with the knife, even with the darkness, even with the images finally over… Darius Bennett slept soundly. He didn’t deserve that peace. Night after night, I slept in quivering terror. His hands never left me in my nightmares. I bled and fought and struggled. And I hated it. I hated him. I hated the control he wielded over me. Nothing he said, did, or hurt would ever compare to the horrors I imagined myself. Darius was no longer a man. He was my ultimate fear. He corrupted every strength I had and every future I might have possessed. As long as he lived, I wouldn’t. As long as he breathed, I couldn’t. No matter the ropes or threats or locked doors in the Bennett estate, the chains that bound me most effectively weren’t twisted over my body. They invaded my mind. I stepped closer, but the knife weighed heavy in my hand.

I could do this. I had to do this. I had no other way to protect myself or the ones I loved. Every day Darius’s eyes feasted on my curves. I knew what he wanted, what he imagined. I pretended to be brave. I stilled my trembles and cleared my voice and met his gaze. But every second spent peering into his blackened soul corrupted my courage. Faking my bravery only exhausted me. Fear would kill me before it he did, if not from a strike too hard against my temple, then the asthma would do it for him. I wasn’t going to live a life cowering from my shadow waiting for a demon to emerge from my own hell. Darius changed the game. It wasn’t just me getting hurt anymore. Another step toward the bed. I stared at the monster. My hesitation was every mercy he refused his own son. He’d hurt Reed in an effort to find me. But Reed proved to be as much my brother as Josiah or Mike. It didn’t matter though. How long until Darius’s blade slipped and the steel punctured his heart instead of the scars on his cheek? How long until Darius blamed Max for my misbehavior and flayed him for my escape? How long until he learned that it was Nicholas who gave me strength? I loved Nicholas, but I hated myself for never trusting him. If I had, maybe a knife wouldn’t have trembled between my fingers, clutched white-knuckled in my hand. I snuck from Nicholas arms, torn between nightmare and hallucination, only to stand before the origin of my every fear. And I froze. The spine-rending terror paralyzed me within the shadows of his lair. No surging forward. No retreat. Just stillness. Waiting. Clutching a knife. My brothers’ screams tore through my mind. Hours. I endured it for hours. At least it was quick for them. They died once in a flash and it was done. I died with them thousands of times.

My heart stopped with theirs. My breathing staggered in their panic. I didn’t share their pain, but that was nothing. I’d suffered enough of Darius Bennett. He was a demon for forcing me to watch the footage, but he was a fool for not realizing how much it would enrage me. The knife twisted in my hand. Darius Bennett slept soundly in his bed. My brothers slept soundly in the ground. That injustice would be righted. “Well, go on then, my dear.” Darius hadn’t shifted. The leeching darkness of his room blinded us, but his skulking stare tore over my skin. My heart shuddered, twisting from my chest as though I aimed the blade for me instead of Darius. “I assume you’re here to kill me.” Darius’s voice crackled. “Unless you wish to warm my bed?” My stomach heaved. No doubt that’s what he wanted. But why hadn’t he done it yet? The violent and lust-crazed Darius Bennett fostered a cunning and calmer monster—one who bided his time, punished with a caress, and preferred madness to blood. He had me alone in his house, helpless against his strength, and he didn’t strike. He didn’t hurt. He hadn’t touched me. I didn’t understand. Darius acted as though I wasn’t a threat. He treated me like a child. Or like he thought I was carrying a child. The bastard infected my mind. He took pride in how every minute of his torment, of his indifference, silenced like a slap to the mouth. “You’re a monster,” I whispered. “Do you know how cruel you are?” “I have my limits,” he said. “I didn’t show the video to your mother.” “But you could.” “Why should I? I don’t need to break her.”

I swallowed. The lie thickened my tongue. “You haven’t broken me.” “Yes, I have.” “No.” I touched the knife with both hands, if only to reassure myself that the weapon was in my palm and not his words. “Never. I won’t let you.” “Because you’ll kill me?” “Yes.” “Then do it.” My eyes adjusted to the dim light. Darius slept without a shirt. Greying chest hair curled over his heart. He crossed his arms behind his head. I ignored the bulge between his legs. “Come, my dear. Climb into bed. Stab me. Hurt me. Kill me.” Do it. I silently repeated the words, filling my mind with something other than the constant screaming of my brothers. Do it. End it. Stop him. Save yourself. Save them. Do it. “Sarah.” He called. “Come now. You disappoint me.” “I’m glad.” “I always meant to claim you as my daughter. But this weakness shows me the truth. You are not my blood.” “I never was.” Darius sighed. “I had such hopes for my little whore. Fuck your brothers. Endure your breeding with a modicum of grace. Birth us a son.” “Screw you.” “I hoped my little girl would be happy, healthy, and fucked until she couldn’t stand under her own power. Isn’t that what every father wants for his daughter?”

“You aren’t my father.” “And what a time to remember it.” Hatred and disgust seized my mind. Pure insanity. My brothers’ terrified cries. The knife trembled in my hand, but I was still strong enough to imbed it in his worthless flesh. I dove at Darius’s chest, slashing and kicking and cursing. The blade caught him. Tugged. I laughed as it slid within his skin and dragged down, down, down. He bled. And I loved it. But the slice only enraged him. Darius roared. His fist slammed me in the gut. The knife snapped from my hold. I fought, but the darkness trapped me as effectively as Darius. I fell against the bed, screaming until the cold bite of the metal pressed into my neck. Darius straddled me, his laugh a serpent’s hiss. “You think you can walk into my bedroom in the middle of the night, threaten my life, and not suffer the consequences?” The knife drew blood. “Have I taught you nothing, my dear?” He didn’t move. Neither did I. I fought the cough that might have driven the blade through my neck. “So why don’t you kill me then?” I stared where his eyes might have been, if the evil polluting his soul hadn’t eroded everything human and left only twin pits of hell. “Do it. Kill me.” “And ruin the opportunity to breed you like a dog and take your company? No, Ms. Atwood. You’re more useful to me alive.” “Are you sure?” Rage faked my confidence. “What happens when I seize control of the Bennett Corporation before you get your bastard child?” The knife stilled. I let the sneer color my voice with hatred. “Josmik Holdings is mine. It passes to me as soon as the amendment is finalized, and I just had a very productive meeting with my last benefactor.” Darius’s hand drifted over my chest. He groped and punished, gripping hard against a breast sore with the lash of rope. I ignored the throbbing hardness

between his legs. “It won’t work, my dear. My son and I regained the stock we needed to keep control. You are a wealthier woman because of the trust, but you are of no consequence now.” “I have a majority.” “How?” I savored every word and only wished I might have seen his reaction instead of enduring his rage. “Your sons gave it to me.” The slap cracked against my cheek. The first real emotion I forced from Darius in weeks. I grinned, tasting blood. “Nicholas? Max? Reed?” Their names offered me courage. “We made an agreement. They gave me their stock so I might get rid of you.” “I didn’t know you could make those kinds of deals on your knees.” “The Bennett Corporation is mine. And my first order of business?” I leaned up, whispering in utter delight. “Stealing your sons. Taking your wealth. And leaving you with absolutely nothing.” Darius tossed the knife away, but his hands braced my wrists. He pinned me. Savored how helpless I was beneath him. He leaned down close, his breath hot and panting against my neck. I shuddered as he licked the soft skin. “You are an Atwood, through and through, aren’t you?” He shifted against me, his hardness growing despite the threats I whispered. “Always preoccupied with your own gain, how to take your vengeance, what is best for you.” His hand pulled at my thighs, trying to force them apart. I twisted and fought. “You never stop to think what might benefit the family.” “How does slicing Reed’s face benefit the family?” “How does sneaking in my bedroom in the middle of the night with a fertile womb secure our assets?” Darius slapped me again. “You think only of yourself. You’re a selfish, entitled little whore. I don’t know how you ensnared my sons, but it doesn’t matter.” He gripped the waistband of my pajamas. I shouted, kicking at his arms.

“This ends now. Take my company. Bewitch my sons. Once you are fucked and bred, none of your wealth will matter. Stealing that cunt will be worth all the stock, power, and billions to my name. Do you know why, my dear?” His hand pressed low, gripping a part of me he so often stole in my nightmares. I stilled. “Because every torturous second you carry my son, you will suffer. You will bear the destruction of everything that is yours and the creation of everything that is mine.” I batted his hands away. He hit me again. My breath lost as he punched hard against my belly, where he planned to inject every foul and horrible poison from his body. “I will ruin you, and I will enjoy every minute of it.” I screamed as he ripped at my pajamas. The sudden flood of light stilled us both. Darius roared, curling his fist for a punch. The choked, rasping grunt of his breath stilled his fight. Nicholas hauled him from the bed, trapping his father in a headlock meant more to break his neck than keep him still. Max pulled me from the blankets only to toss me into Reed’s waiting arms. He faced his father, but Nicholas held him firm. It wasn’t Max’s responsibility to protect me. Now, it was Nicholas’s turn. “You will not touch her.” Nicholas’s voice tainted with a rage I didn’t recognize. The spiced smoothness twisted, splintering into the dagger sharp threat of glass. “Not now. Not ever again.” Reed hid my face in his chest. Sweet and naive Reed. He thought I’d be frightened. I’d eagerly watch Nicholas break his father’s neck and kick his lifeless corpse into his own blood. “Let me go.” Darius didn’t struggle, as though he didn’t believe the thinly veiled madness trembling Nicholas’s once-eternally still hands. “Release me, son. Now.” “Don’t you fucking look at her.” Darius’s choked gasp didn’t beg for his life or plea for mercy. He laughed, again and again, each demonic chuckle slicing my courage. My step-brothers circled me, protecting me from Darius’s touch, and yet, somehow, despite their rescue, my world still tore apart piece by corrupted piece. “You idiots.” Darius grunted against the arm in his throat. “I told you to fuck her,

not indulge her. This was why I wanted her gagged and bound.” “Don’t give me more of a reason to hurt you,” Nicholas warned. The thick muscles of his arms twitched with untapped strength, straining for the moment to snap both his sanity and his father’s neck. “She convinced you to betray me?” Darius sneered. “She told you to sell your stock?” Max scowled at me. “He’s right. You should have been gagged.” “And you think…what? She’ll return it when she’s done?” Darius cackled. “Christ, sons. Are you that blind? For a minute, I didn’t know if I held Sarah or Mark Atwood against that knife.” It wasn’t a compliment. My stomach twisted as Darius spoke too reasonably for a man whose life threatened in the curl of his son’s bicep. “You can’t trust the little slut. I taught you better than this. You know the Atwoods have made it their life goal to destroy us.” “And you haven’t tried to destroy us?” Nicholas grunted. “Kidnapping? Rape? Selling this secret out to the board? You beat us into submission as children, threatened us as grown men, and forced us into violence to preserve our power. No more.” “I made you the man you are, Nicholas.” “You made a monster.” “And because of it, you have the power to end this feud and protect this family. I told you to fuck and breed Sarah Atwood so that the next generation of her family’s blight would be ours. It would have ended the struggle, secured our future, and earned you a son worthy of our name.” “That isn’t how I planned to build my empire.” “This is the only way to seize it!” Darius stared at me. “You either breed the girl or put a bullet in her head—” Nicholas twisted, silencing his father with a growl. “What if I kill you instead?” “Then how does my eldest, my heir, receive his precious inheritance?” Darius laughed. “You need me, son. You need me for the company. For the estate. For the money. If my death is the least bit suspicious, our assets are frozen and my sons are given nothing. I would sooner let the company dissolve than let my traitorous son hand it to a little Atwood whore.” “It’s worth it,” Reed held me tighter. “Kill him. We got enough money.”

Darius growled. “I should have slit your throat.” Nicholas swore. He slammed Darius into the wall hard enough to crush his nose. Blood poured from his face, but Darius only groaned in aching disappointment. As though he expected more from Nicholas. As though he didn’t even care his life was meant for his son to end. “Now you have a suspicious death,” Darius spat blood. “Broken noses don’t look like heart attacks.” “You deserve to die for the hell you’ve put this family through.” Nicholas breathed heavily. He looked to his brothers, speaking through gritted teeth. “But I’m not going to do it.” “That’s my boy,” Darius grinned. “Let’s hear your master plan.” “We’re leaving. Tonight. And you won’t stop us.” Darius’s nose gushed crimson. “I’m in no position to argue.” “You resign from the Bennett Corporation, effective immediately.” “Name you in my stead?” “Yes.” “And, with me gone, you think your little sister will let the trust dissolve so you can keep your company? I didn’t raise a fool.” Nicholas didn’t look at me. “And you will not touch Sarah Atwood. You don’t look at her, talk to her, or come near her ever again.” Darius sighed. “We’re not done with her.” “Yes, we are.” “Remember the opportunity that exists between her fucking legs.” Nicholas seethed, but he didn’t end the life that still threatened us, even pinned to a wall and weakened with spilling blood. “Agree to these terms, and you’ll get a decent buy out. You get to live.” “How can I trust your word, son?” His gaze seared through Nicholas and aimed for me. “You’ve already lied, betrayed your family, and attempted a hostile takeover.” “You can either doubt me and die or take your chances and live.” Reed’s hand tightened over me. Max shifted too, sheltering me from Darius’s twitching lip and resigned sneer. I didn’t hold my breath. Darius Bennett stole it in fear and lost it in the cunning twist of his brow.

I feared him more now that he was struck against the wall. I’d revealed too much. He looked inside my soul and saw the only power I possessed was a frail bond with his sons. I was nothing to him, only a womb to be filled and life to snuff out when he was through. Nicholas demanded that I submit if I wanted to survive, and I’d pretended as long as I could. But it didn’t protect me. It only exposed a lie I now shared with the man who would ruin us all. Darius didn’t yield. He merely lowered his fists. “Go then, Nicholas,” he said. “Take the whore and watch as she burns the world around you.” “And the resignation?” “You’ll hear from me first thing in the morning. That, I promise.” Nicholas shoved his father away, watching as Darius choked over a freeing breath of air. “Congratulations, Nicholas, the Bennett Corporation has never had such a judicious leader.” Darius laughed. It curdled my stomach. Not because he showed no remorse. Not because he held a knife to my throat. Not because he’d threatened and attempted to rape me again. But because I recognized his false surrender. Nicholas let his father go. It was our worst mistake.

17

SARAH

W e should have run.

Out of the mansion, out of the city, just escaped and never looked back. But Nicholas didn’t run. Bennetts never retreated, they simply relocated their battlefield. Worse yet, my step-brothers weren’t afraid. They didn’t think we had to keep moving. They thought they’d won. I didn’t feel much like celebrating. I also was a piss-poor example of a trophy of their victory. I cleaned the blood from my neck, but I didn’t need a scar to remind me that attacking Darius was foolish, careless, and utterly reckless. Nicholas took my hand as we packed a bag and left the estate. He forced me behind him on his bike in a chilled silence. Reed didn’t look at me. Max grunted when I worried for Hamlet. But Nicholas kissed my forehead. Reed tucked his jacket over my shoulders. Max drove a car instead, just so we could take my dog with us. He even allowed Hamlet to sit up front on the imported leather. I should have apologized. We all should have apologized. But we said nothing. Only ran. We escaped to Max’s penthouse in San Jose, hardly past the shadow of the estate looming in the mountains. The basement housed a private elevator, and we slipped upstairs to Max’s claimed upper floor. Hamlet bounded down the hall, bouncing at

the door as though we weren’t hurt, exhausted, and suffering from the horror of the night. I patted his head, but he was too excited to have us all together again, close and safe. That, I understood. “In.” Max’s order wasn’t soft, and he didn’t offer it with a Baby. I squeezed past Nicholas and Reed and shuffled in the entry, rubbing the cut on my neck as the door locked behind us. I didn’t know if I should have thanked Max for taking me in, or if my reaction was just another mistake in a line of fuck-ups that would make our lives miserable. I waited in awkward silence instead. His penthouse was dark and industrial and every bit as intimidating as him. He decorated it cold and sparse. A bachelor pad for the bachelor who hardly lived there. Max pointed over the open floor plan. “Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Living room.” He headed to the corner, flipping on the lights over an array of bottles and shakers. “Bar.” Reed spoke for the first time in hours. “I don’t care what you make. I’ll have two.” His stitches flashed. He shouldn’t have ridden his bike such a long distance. The helmet pressed his cheek, and the cut oozed. I didn’t know how badly he hurt, and the mountainous back roads and dark turns were dangerous even for someone who wasn’t…maimed. Reed knocked open a pill bottle from his pocket, swallowed too many, and followed it with a splash of offered whiskey. He didn’t smile. He couldn’t, not without hurting his injury. My chest seized. I wasn’t the one who made the slice, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t responsible for his pain. All of their pain. Was it worth it? I left Roman Wescott’s office without an agreement, unable to close the deal. Darius was right, he just didn’t understand why. If I wanted to destroy him, I’d first have to betray Nicholas. I would steal everything from him—everything he worked for, everything that was promised to him, everything he planned for so long to change and improve. And now, Darius knew about our fucking alliance. What I spat in hatred and anger damned me to the Bennett Corporation. Was I still worth more pregnant than dead?

I needed a drink too. Maybe the whole bottle. Hell, just the glass pushed against my throat to finish what Darius had threatened. Nicholas guided me to the couch. I followed, but my steps tripped. I gripped the dark sofa just to stay standing. “Reed…” All three of my step-brothers frowned. Individually, I could handle the intensity of Max’s gaze or the unfamiliar scowl touching Reed’s lips. But collectively? Even the gold of Nicholas’s eyes obscured into a muddied amber. I already said enough tonight. They didn’t want to hear anymore. I quieted, slipping onto the couch to cradle my legs to my chest. I still had Reed’s jacket tucked over my shoulders. He hadn’t asked me to return it. Yet. I clutched the leather, held it against me with the same ferocity I clung to Mike and Josiah’s pillows after the news of their crash. I’d lost two brothers already. I couldn’t lose these men. Not my gentle Reed who’d just as eagerly toss me in a pool or carry me away from danger. Not my Max, the one who understood the frustration when the world used our illnesses and injuries to define us. Not Nicholas. My Nicholas. My chest ached. Tears slipped before I could stop them. The fear returned. So much fear, an endless barrage of thoughts that needled my chest with consequences that gutted me as though the knife had actually struck. Now that I admitted it, I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t been afraid— even before the Bennetts. Mom’s breakdown. My brothers’ deaths. Dad’s cancer. I rubbed my cheeks with the backs of my hands, cleansing the tears. The San Jose skyline filled the floor to ceiling windows. Despite the flashy lights of downtown, the night seeped into the penthouse. In the distance, the Bennett Corporation headquarters glowed, framed against the

mountains. We weren’t far enough away. I didn’t know where we could go. Even if I went home, I ran from the man who sent his sons to chase me on bikes and pluck me from my own cornfields. If my stepbrothers took me, Darius could do the same. If he came after me. When he came after me. My step-brothers revealed nothing beyond their own exhausted silences. I assumed they relived their side of the events. They’d finally escaped their father, though I hadn’t given them a choice. They opposed a man more violent and brutal than any of us believed. At least, for them, it was over. But they hadn’t been trapped under him. They hadn’t heard the disgusting rasp in his voice. His threats weren’t meant to scare me. His hiss, the words he spoke, the futures he imagined, what he intended to do. Darius was desperate to punish and claim me. If he had his way, he’d make me suffer in humiliated agony— “Sarah.” Reed’s voice lured me from the darkness. He offered a drink. “You could use it.” My hands trembled as I grasped the glass. I sniffed it, and the alcohol burned more than my tears. “Not supposed to,” I said. Max tossed me a blanket. “Don’t think that matters much anymore.” “I guess not.” I took the shot, grimacing as the liquid set my mouth on fire. I didn’t need any more heat rushing to my head. I handed the glass to Nicholas. He shot the rest. “Guess you can sleep here.” Max poured a second drink and gestured to the kitchen. “There might be a frozen pizza in the freezer. Haven’t been here for a while to check.” My voice hushed. “I don’t think I can eat.” Reed snorted. “Make it. Getting your face cleaved works up an appetite.” What did they want from me?

An apology? More tears? A plea for forgiveness? I pushed away from Nicholas and threw Reed his jacket. He hissed as the sleeve swept against his cheek. He deserved it. Or maybe he didn’t. Hell if I knew. “I panicked.” I thought I’d scream. My voice trembled instead. “I tried to sleep, and all I heard, all I saw was that video. Over and over, hours of my brothers dying!” Nicholas waved his brothers away. “Sarah.” “I snapped! Everything is just this horrible blur. The footage. You guys finding me. I thought I was in the theater, and then I woke up in the bathtub with you, and then I don’t know what happened afterwards. I couldn’t think. I just…acted. And then Darius…he tried…” “You should rest,” Nicholas said. “You’re tired.” “She’s not tired.” Max slammed the pizza in the oven. “She’s traumatized! Jesus fucking Christ, he knew exactly what he was doing making her watch that shit.” Nicholas exhaled. “I’ll handle it, Max.” “Did you know he had that footage?” He asked. “That was the black box recording. Where the fuck did he get that?” Reed’s voice hardened. “Of course he had it. He probably had it all along. You know he wanted to hear what was on that tape.” Max swore again, slamming his drink into the sink. It shattered on impact. “What the fuck did he tell you, Sarah?” I swallowed. I couldn’t think about it anymore. Didn’t he realize? Couldn’t he tell? I shook my head. Max didn’t care. He pushed every limit I had, fed off of every pain inflicted on others and, for some reason, wished it on himself. Including this one. But he couldn’t protect me from this punishment. None of them could. “Sarah!” Max’s order verged on threat. “What did he say?” “It’s fine,” Nicholas said. “Sarah, you don’t have to think about it.” Max’s voice darkened. “He might have told her anything.” “He didn’t.”

“How can you be sure?” “We’d know.” Nicholas’s voice had yet to melt back into the caramel steadiness. The calm was gone. A razor’s warning remained. I didn’t recognize it. His stillness wasn’t patience, it was…predatory. A rage-fueled awareness, a deadly trap set with no escape. His hug shadowed me in a false peace. “Forget what you saw, Sarah. And what you heard. Consider it a nightmare.” “A home movie.” “What?” “He called it a home movie. Said I didn’t have to go home to see my family.” My heart ached for my lost brothers. “I didn’t know how much I missed them until…” “Holy fuck.” Reed collapsed in the chair by the window. He looked out, away from us. “Goddamned lunatic.” I swallowed. “Reed…” “Don’t.” “But, I have to—” “I said don’t.” He stretched his neck as best he could, wincing as the stitches tightened. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t. I could feel it—a tension that wasn’t there before. I hated whatever walls suddenly separated us, but I wouldn’t rest until I ripped them down and begged Reed to forgive me. “I thought I’d return quicker.” The explanation was weak. “But after what you said…I wanted to get to my mom. I tried to get her away from Darius. I didn’t know —” “Jesus, Sarah. What do you want from me?” Reed swallowed another pill. “I kept my mouth shut about where you went. I didn’t tell him a goddamned thing you didn’t just fucking shout right back at him. But you got what you were after. You had your vengeance. It’s done. What happened, happened.” “I’m sorry.” Reed sighed, meeting my gaze. He offered a simple smile. A momentary truce. I’d take it. “I’m fine. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

It wasn’t true. I didn’t feel safe. He didn’t seem fine. For months I planned, schemed, and fought for a way to escape from the Bennetts, but none of my imagined scenarios hurt this badly. I lost Reed. I was losing Max. And Nicholas? Our relationship balanced between secrets, lies, and a fragile trust that crumbled and rebuilt every passing day. Loving him was a constant fatigue but also a healing thrill. I wouldn’t let him slip away too. The pizza bubbled in the oven. Max limped to the kitchen to shut off the timer and dropped an iPad in my lap. “Here.” I bit my lip. It was the first piece of technology with access to the internet they gave me in months. “What do I do with this?” “Whatever you want,” Max said. Nicholas sat too close, watched too intently. I didn’t trust my voice. “Are you sure?” The gold would burn me, scald me with a solemn authority. “Yes.” “Are you…are you freeing me?” “Yes.” “Forever?” I touched the collar over my neck. “You’re letting me go?” What a horrible question to ask the man I loved. Yet I asked it, and he answered, and my heart fluttered with the same joy as when he admitted his feelings for the first time. Nicholas leaned close, his hands warm and fingers quick as he unfastened the leather from my throat. He tossed the damned thing to the table and rubbed the redness from my skin. “We don’t need a collar anymore.” His touch chased my trembling away. “I don’t need this anymore.” “You never did.” “I wanted to keep you mine, in all ways.” “I’ve always been.” I held him close in a breathless gratitude as his touch warmed my cheek, my blood, and the thoughts frozen in such horrible memories. “We

belong to each other. I’m forever yours, Nicholas Bennett, whether you hold me with chains or a whisper. Loving you isn’t surrender. It’s the only thing I’m meant to do.” He beckoned me to his side and cradled me against his chest. The blanket pulled over us. He gently stroked my hair as Max stormed in the kitchen and Reed chewed too many pain-killers with his drink. Nicholas’s steady heartbeat dulled the echoing hell screaming in my mind. I slept against him, clutching him, seizing a moment of safety and peace I never thought I’d experience within a Bennett’s arms. One moment was all I earned. One precious moment when the world stilled, Nicholas was mine, and my stepbrothers shared a cautious laugh over Hamlet’s desperation for a piece of pepperoni from their pizza. That peace was too fragile. The security an illusion. And my freedom? Lost the instant the Bennetts decided I would be theirs. The gunshot jolted me awake. Nicholas swore, pushing me to the ground. Reed dove over me, but the shot didn’t aim for us, only the lock on the door. Hamlet burst from the living room to hide in the bedroom. My step-brothers shouted for me to follow. I didn’t make it in time. The penthouse door splintered and slammed against the wall. I should have known better. I should have expected it. I never should have let my step-brothers stop running. I longed for the bullet. Darius Bennett aimed for my step-brothers instead. “I’ve taken a few hours to consider your proposal, Nicholas.” Darius stepped into the penthouse. The gun didn’t waver. “Your terms are unacceptable. I’ve come to renegotiate.” Max rushed forward. Darius fired, aiming for the window overlooking the city. The sliding glass door shattered. It was our first warning.

“Where is she?” Darius said. “Sarah, stand up.” Reed’s knee pushed into my back, pinning me against the ground. He perched over me, and Nicholas answered in my stead. “We have nothing to discuss.” Nicholas faced his father without fear. “Sarah is mine. The company is hers. You have no recourse. Leave before you hurt someone.” Darius exhaled, as though he mourned for the son before him, or maybe he mourned that he still lived. “Nicholas, I raised you better than this. I groomed you for excellence. You wore the mantle of our name with pride. I trusted you. I wanted you to succeed.” How could a man so deranged sound so…sane? Calm? Normal? Darius wielded a gun as though he held a cigar, and addressed his son as though he wouldn’t inevitably turn the barrel on me and end the madness we thought we’d escaped. “I taught you nothing was more important than family,” Darius said. “Max understood it. He knew what had to be done to protect our interests.” “Fuck you,” Max hissed. “He blames me, of course,” Darius said. “Each of you blame me, but it’s the father’s role to guide his sons, whether or not they understand the need for disciplines, the denials, and expectations.” He paused. “I had hoped you would learn with a son of your own.” My stomach rolled. Reed forced me down. The gun raised. “Let me see my daughter. Bring her to me.” “No.” “Do you understand what will happen if she assumes leadership of our company? If it isn’t a Bennett son who ultimately grows in her womb?” “Yes, I do.” “You’ll lose everything, Nicholas. And not just the money and the power and company.” His voice lowered. “You’ll lose your little whore too.” I fought against Reed, but I couldn’t free myself of his grip. Nicholas said nothing. Darius chuckled.

“You surprised me. Truly. The takeover attempt? Then, I didn’t understand it. It felt too early for you to test your power. But now, I see.” I doubted that he did. Darius reached for the collar on the table. He ran his fingers over the leather. “You betrayed your family, company, and future for a moment of pleasure. You trusted an Atwood whore with your life. And now? You’ve squandered the wealth this family inherited and every future cent we might have acquired. All because of her.” Nicholas didn’t flinch. “This isn’t about Sarah.” “Yes, it is.” The gun pointed too close to Nicholas’s temple. I pushed Reed away and crawled to my feet, despite Nicholas’s insistence to stay behind. My step-brothers tried, but they couldn’t protect me from Darius’s stare. Hungry. Insistent. Victorious. Darius meant to kill someone tonight. “Even though my loyal sons, my own flesh and blood, have forsaken this family, I have not.” He looked to each of my step-brothers, demanding their full attention. “I propose two solutions to this problem. And because I am a fair man and father, I will let my sons decide the fate of this family.” It wasn’t fate, it was judgment. Whatever solution he offered and decision they made would ultimately end in blood. “Proposition one,” Darius said. “I kill Sarah and end the threat of her takeover in one painless shot.” “No.” Nicholas didn’t hesitate. “Then I kill all three of my sons.” My chest tightened. All three? I didn’t doubt his cruelty, but Darius wouldn’t dare. Not if it left him without an heir. Unless he already planned for his next son. “I will not tolerate this disloyalty,” he said. “Not when I am presented with a beautiful alternative, just waiting for someone to do it right.”

He leered, and I understood exactly what he wanted to do. “I’ll take Sarah for myself. Fuck her. Impregnate her. And our heir?” His eyes pierced through me, as violating as any touch. “Our son will possess the future of both the Bennett and Atwood families.” “You’re insane,” I whispered. “Hush, now. Daddy’s talking.” “You won’t touch her.” Nicholas wasn’t intimidated. “If you want to kill us, try. You don’t have enough bullets to stop me before I rip your goddamned head off.” “Let’s find out.” The gun rose, but Max leapt first, diving at his father with a knife stolen from the kitchen. Darius expected it. He slammed the butt of the gun against Max’s nose and kicked, aiming solely for the weakest part of his leg. Max crumpled to the ground, slicing, but catching only Darius’s suit jacket with the blade. The gun aimed. “Odd,” Darius murmured. “You’d sacrifice yourself for this Atwood.” I shouted, shoving past Reed and diving in front of Max. Nicholas captured me in his arms, but not before my plea stalled Darius’s tensing finger on the trigger. “Yes, my dear?” “Please, don’t!” My nails dug into Nicholas’s arms. “I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t hurt them!” “Somehow, I doubt you’ll do whatever I want. Tempting though, child.” “I swear it. Please. Let them all go.” “Christ, you are a little whore. Are all three of my sons that taken with your cunt?” “Leave them out of this? If you’re going to rape me, then just do it and get it over with.” “How romantic, child.” “What the hell do you want?” I spat. Reed called to me, his voice hard. “Sarah, shut up.” Darius waved Reed into silence. “No, she’s free to ask. It’s a simple question. Do you know want I’ve wanted ever since we first invited Sarah into our home?” I answered for them. “My heir.”

“That’s right. And I trusted my sons to do as they were meant to do. Three men, three chances for success.” He raised the gun as his smile twisted. “I have a third proposition.” Oh God. Nicholas tightened his arm over me, pulling me into his embrace. It wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough. Nothing he did or said or offered would ever be enough to prevent what Darius planned to happen. “My sons will take responsibility for this family. They will do what must be done to save it.” He extended his hand for me. It was either his touch or the bullet. I didn’t fear for my blood, not while Nicholas held me, Reed protected me, and Max already crumpled to the ground in his own attempt to save me. They were spared, but they weren’t yet saved. That was up to me. I approached Darius too slowly for his liking. He tisked his tongue, seizing my hair and slamming me against him. The thin dress never stopped him before. He ripped through the neckline and dropped the tattered material to the floor. My step-brothers swore. I didn’t. I forced myself into silence. How was this any different from what already happened? Nothing had changed. Not the exposure or humiliation. Not the dread poisoning my body or the tremors threatening my resolve. Darius Bennett had already captured me. Then, I braved any illicit touch or pain to defend the false memory of my father. This time, I’d protect ones who deserved it. A real family. Men who risked everything to save me only to have the danger pointed at their temples. Darius could do nothing to me he hadn’t previously done. If he still believed I could deliver him an heir, all the better. I offered my body once. I’d do it again to save my step-brothers, the only real family I had left.

The gun pressed under my chin. He reached into his jacket. “I didn’t forget what day this was.” He removed the syringe from his pocket and showed it to me. The needle was far larger than the previous fertility injections. I tensed as he used his teeth to remove the cap and spit it away. “This is a momentous occasion. Do you know what this injection does?” Yes, but I didn’t answer. “It induces ovulation,” he said. His hand brushed my stomach, gripping the flatness he deluded himself into believing would eventually grow. “You’re ready now, my dear.” He ripped my hair, but his voice softened too much for the threat of the needle and the fist gripping my panties. He shoved them down, but they didn’t come all the way off. That shamed me more. The strewn panties and ripped bra were worse than nudity. Darius exposed only what they needed. Only what they’d take. Only what he meant to hurt. And he wanted them to hurt me. Though Darius Bennett didn’t care what happened to me or my body, Nicholas, Max, and Reed did. They refused, willing to take a bullet over causing me pain. But that wouldn’t save any of us. Or them. “It’s okay.” My voice broke as I comforted them for the evils they’d do to me. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t, but I made the choice for them. Darius twisted my hip and aimed the injection. I winced as the needle plunged too hard and too fast into the fleshiest part of my thigh. The medication burned. Darius tossed the syringe to the ground. He yanked my hair to keep me still. “You’ve had three months to impregnate her, sons, but maybe you aren’t doing it right. So listen to your father while he explains. This is your whore.” He pointed the gun too close to the crest between my legs. “This is where you fuck. And now, all three of you are going to do your part for this family right now, do you understand?” Three men. My stomach heaved. I wasn’t ready for this.

There wouldn’t be any kind words, soft touches, or sensual teasing. My body wouldn’t warm in submission without understanding why I offered myself to them. It wouldn’t be fun or loving or a treat like what Nicholas had planned for me that night in the theater. Reed paled. Max didn’t look at me. But Nicholas? He stared at me. Permission. A reason to do it. An apology. I didn’t look away. “I trust you.” I had to. Three men. I could handle three men. These men. If it meant saving our lives, even if it protected us for only a few hours, it was worth the sacrifice, no matter how reckless. I submitted if only to survive. I submitted to save them. Darius tossed me to the ground, the gun aiming only inches from my head. I cowered before my step-brothers, flinching as his voice rasped with perverted authority and chilling composure. “Who’s first?”

18

NICHOLAS

T

he gun pointed at Sarah’s head.

“Your turn, son,” my father said. “Don’t worry. She’s warmed up for you.” The barrel nudged her temple. Her voice shifted after Reed and Max seized her. No more promises of trust. No more comforting murmurs. Sarah repeated only three words through gritted teeth. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” And I believed her.

THE BINDINGS CUT OFF CIRCULATION TO MY WRISTS. That didn’t stop me from fighting the leather until I bled. I deserved it. I deserved worse. The balcony laced with the iron scent of struggle and the chill of captivity. My father wasn’t satisfied with just hurting the girl. Through hoarse, pained breaths, Sarah bound our hands with the straps Max kept in the chest within his bedroom. The leather tightened as the gun cracked against her temple. She’d collapsed. My father hauled her limp body over his shoulder. And then they were gone. Max thrashed against the balcony. His struggles did little to loosen the cuffs securing our hands to the railing. He battered his body until he was black and blue. It didn’t free him. I doubted he cared. He meant to punish himself.

We all did. Reed strained against the railing, as though he could rip the very pillar from the balcony and free himself. “I hurt her.” He repeated it too many times through clenched teeth. Tears wetted his cheeks. He twisted his wrist and swore as his fingers ground against the restraints. His finger cracked with a sharp pop. He didn’t react. “Nick, I tried to be quick. I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He sought comfort. He was my brother, and I should have comforted him. I said nothing. The leather bound my wrists the tightest. The last to hurt her, the last to be bound. My father watched as she twisted the straps and offered me no leniency. No tricks. And yet he still punished her. The minutes passed too quickly. We lost time trapped within the horrors of our cruelty and the skin-slicing bindings that lashed us to the balcony railing. We watched as he held her. Stole her. Carried her away. I didn’t want to imagine what he’d do to her once they were alone. I prayed Sarah wouldn’t regain consciousness until it was done. But life as a Bennett taught me optimism only encouraged the foolish to hope and the lazy to let opportunity pass. This was an opportunity my father would eagerly receive. He’d wait until she woke up. And what we did—what he made us do—would be little more than a prelude to the real horror. The straps bit into my wrist, deeper and deeper with every sickening twist of the flimsy, worthless scrap of material that prevented me from rushing after her. Were the cuffs any different from a gun? The leather bound me in place just like the threat of the bullet. I had a dozen regrets. Suffered a hundred haunting memories. Tasted a thousand unscreamed words. But the eternity of moments frozen in endless pain would

forever destroy me. A bullet would have been nothing compared to this pain. Unless it aimed at her. My life, my fortune, my everything deserved a bloody, bullet-riddled death, but only once Sarah Atwood was safe and comforted, rested and soothed. Healed. If she could ever be healed. Maybe my father had killed me. No hell existed that would torment me more, and no greater devil existed than the man who forced me to prove my love by exploiting her innocence with such terrible violence. Until now, I hadn’t been an evil man. Until now, I hadn’t committed a crime. Until now, I wasn’t a bloodthirsty and unrepentant killer. My father taught me to act like him. Speak like him. Rule like him. And for twentynine years of my life, I mindlessly obeyed. Then I was given Sarah Atwood. I was born not to emulate a tyrant but to end its reign. Rage. A fury as quick as flame and desperate as starvation stole the stillness which composed my thoughts. The fury filled me with a disjointed and eager thirst for pain. My father spent his life grooming me to become him. This would be my first, only, and last refusal. Before the sun rose, I would reject everything my father was, everything he expected I’d become, and everything he had trained me to accept as my responsibility as heir. It took a lifetime to break the bindings which shackled me to the path my father chose for me. It’d take only one vile moment of destruction to end it for good. Max panted, sweated, and swore. “What the fuck do we do?” He slammed his hands against the cement. “Reed, you out?” Reed’s voice hollowed. “Does it fucking look like it?” “You even trying?”

The restraints prevented Reed from lunging and ripping out Max’s throat. “You son of a bitch—” “I was just fucking asking!” “Who the fuck keeps this type of bondage shit in their house?” I wiggled a finger, tucking it into my palm. The leather slipped. “Thought you were interested, little brother? Thought you wanted to learn the rough stuff.” Reed spat on the ground. “You didn’t get enough of that shit tonight? Should we call Dad back? Make me hold her down for you again—” “Jesus Christ, what the hell do you want? Think I knew what he was planning? Think one day I figured I should buy some restraints in case Dad bound us to the balcony after forcing us to rape our fucking sister?” Reed jerked his arms. “Never should have done it.” “You did.” “Fuck you.” Max swore. “Nothing we can do about it now, can we? Jesus, we knew it would end like this. Every goddamned day we held a knife to her throat. Now you’re upset when it slips?” The leather yielded. I tugged against the twisted straps. Blood seeped over my fingers. It only aided my escape. “We hurt her,” Reed said. Max frowned. “At least she’s still alive.” “Yeah, but who knows how badly that will fuck with her.” “She’s still breathing.” “We hurt her.” “Holy Christ, she still has it better than the other Atwoods, doesn’t she?” Max thrashed a final time, popping his shoulder and bracing the wrong leg to force his freedom. “At least she’s alive to try to fight him off.” The guilt added another layer of weight to the bindings. I leaned forward, straining as my wrist ground against the cuffs. My jaw clenched, and, with a scraping of my flesh, the leather released me. I shook off the ache and tended to my other wrist. Reed whooped in excitement.

“I’ve almost got it,” he said. “Get my left hand.” I was free. My mind abandoned all coherent thought, and my every imagined vision tainted with blood and retribution. Rage and insanity and numbing fear nearly cast me from my brothers in desperate chase to find my father before he hurt Sarah or decided she wasn’t worth the risk to the company. But selfish vengeance led only to mistakes. Sarah learned that first-hand. I gritted my teeth and aimed for Reed, ripping through the binding on his bruised and swollen wrists. He bolted from the railing and helped tear the leather from Max. But Max stilled. He stared at me. “We have to tell her.” “Save the confessions.” I pulled the restraint from his hands and pitched it across the balcony. “She needs our help, not our burdens.” “It’ll be your burden too. If you still think you can save her from Dad and get her away from all of this, you’ll have to tell her.” “I won’t.” “How can you say you love her?” I grabbed his shirt, hauling him to his feet only to slam him against the sliding glass door. The pane trembled, and the splintered glass from the bullet cracked behind his back. “Because I love her. I’m sparing her that pain.” “Bullshit. You’re afraid to lose her.” Yes. More than afraid. Terrified. Max baited me with a truth that would destroy Sarah Atwood in complete and total betrayal. “When are you going to tell her that we killed her brothers?” Max growled. My voice hardened. “We?”

“You son of a bitch. You’re just as responsible as me.” “Am I?” Max pushed away. “Dad didn’t tell me what I was doing or whose plane it was. He said it was important to the family, that I was the only one he trusted to do it.” His breathing cracked with what might have been a sob. But Max never allowed anything beyond darkness into his thoughts. “I wanted to prove myself to him. I didn’t question it. I just…did it.” Reed pulled me back, letting Max free. “Sarah can’t know. It’ll kill her. You saw her after his home movies. She loved her brothers. You tell her, and God only knows what she’ll do.” That was easy to imagine. “She’ll destroy the Bennett Corporation.” And me. “That’s if she doesn’t decide to do that after tonight,” Reed said. Max slammed against the door, locked from the inside. He hit the glass with his bare hand, punching where the webbing cracks slipped from the bullet hole. We didn’t have time to waste. My kick aimed for a stretching crack. It shattered the door and scattered the glass. “Let’s hope she survives the night,” Max said. “What’s your plan?” I checked the time on my phone. No calls, no texts, but I hadn’t expected my father to contact me. Not if he had more important things occupying his time. “We’re going after them.” I zipped the leather jacket. “And we bring Sarah back by any means necessary.” Max frowned. “You sure?” “Yes.” “What if it gets bloody?” I didn’t expect the word to ever cross my lips, let alone taste as delicious as the coppery tang. “Good.” Max nodded. He pulled a key from his pocket and led us to his gun cabinet. He handed me a .45 and ammunition. He dropped a second into Reed’s palm. He stilled.

“Will you be able to pull a trigger?” Max stared at us. “Dad left this type of bullshit to me in the past. Doubt either of you ever got your hands dirty.” It was the truth. My father ordered a distinct segregation for his sons, a set role each of us fulfilled. And, like mindless little minions, we eagerly met his every expectation. Not anymore. My father raised Nicholas Bennett as his protégé, a groomed mimicry that served only as an extension of his greed and black ambition. With every swipe of the crop and every rigorous anticipation of behavior and skill, I learned. I was Darius Bennett’s heir, but I wouldn’t become my father. I’d become his complete and total opposition. But my courage built at the expense of the blood, virtue, and pride of an innocent woman. It would be the last time Sarah Atwood saved me from myself. I tucked the gun in my jacket. Reed did the same. Max nodded. My brothers followed as I stormed from the penthouse. “Head to the estate. Split up when we arrive. Don’t hesitate to shoot.” I hated thinking it. “He won’t hesitate to kill you.” Or me. With Sarah under his control, my father didn’t have a need for us. If he raped and impregnated her, his heir would not only assume power over the Bennett Corporation, but he would own rights to Atwood Industries as well. And that lusted power lured my father into a state of obsession so dangerous even if Sarah had revealed her secret—even if she tried to wield her infertility as a way to prevent his violence—he wouldn’t have cared. He’d have taken his chance and tried anyway. Because that’s exactly the chance I took. The outcome I demanded. The greed and hunger in my blood was gifted from his. I understood him too well. Which meant we didn’t have much time. My motorcycle roared with every untested rage burning through me. I didn’t wait for either of my brothers. I jammed the throttle and tore from the parking garage. Reed followed close. Our bikes surged through downtown San Jose toward the Santa Cruz Mountains lurking in the distance. The night cloaked us in speed, chasing the shuddering terror that coiled within my heart. I damned my thoughts to images of pain—the same tortures we inflicted on

a woman I supposedly loved. At least it had been at my hand. The excuse did nothing to sate my demand for blood or the guilty, horrid, hormonal release. I hated myself. I hated what I did. I hated how it felt. I hated how I felt. Sarah had endured the worst, and yet the disgust and shame which assaulted me shadowed my thoughts in grief. I’d never look at myself in the mirror again. Not without knowing what I did. What he made me do to her. How badly I betrayed her. The city lights faded into the early morning curtain of solitude that blanketed the mountains. Dangerous roads during the day were made perilous at night, especially for bikers blinding themselves in evil to prevent the unthinkable from happening once more. Each mile tore at my heart and wore the bike, the throttle nearly ripped from the handlebars in my crushing grip. She’d be okay. Sarah spent every minute of every day fighting every insult against her. She’d be okay. But would I? How much blood would spill to sate my wrath? My soul craved to inflict every pain she felt upon the man who demanded obedience over rationality and submission over humanity. What would I find when I stormed the mansion? Thirty minutes rent through me as though the gun had fired into my skull. We blasted into the estate, but I didn’t have to order them to move. The same animalistic instinct for blood surged through them. I led them in a charge, each of us blasting through a locked entrance to our childhood home and sprinting through the halls, kicking in doors and launching up stairs. Stillness greeted us. I didn’t know if I wished to hear her screams. Silence meant he was either finished or… Or she was dead.

Reed bounded along the foyer. “Not in the basement.” Max shouted from upstairs. “Not in my side or Reed’s.” Reed swore, running to check the study and parlors, shouting as the rooms remained empty and undisturbed. I stalked my wing. My bed hadn’t been touched. That left only one mess of sheets. We met in the hall outside my father’s bedroom, guns drawn. My brothers waited for my nod. The door shattered under my foot. Darkness. Empty. Still. They weren’t there. “Son of a bitch.” Reed leaned down, cradling his head. “Where the fuck did he take her?” My gun hadn’t fired. The relentless agony of unfulfilled revenge rampaged through me as if I had never breathed, as if my heart failed to pump my blood, as if I had kissed Sarah Atwood but was unable to speak the words I longed to say. I’m sorry. I’ll save you. I’ll hide you. I’ll never let him hurt you. The words turned to graveyard dust in my mouth. They wouldn’t be unsaid for long. I’d find a way to make my promises and protect the girl like she deserved to be protected. I just had to think. I had to imagine what a man like my father would do if presented with the opportunity to seize everything he ever wanted by punishing the one he hated most. I didn’t have to guess. My cell vibrated in my pocket, and I knew exactly who it’d be. I ripped it from my

jacket and answered, the sinister rumble thick with enough rage to reveal my intent without a weapon in my hand or the scattered remnants of his door at my feet. “Where is she?” The trembled answer wasn’t a gateway to hell. The whisper echoed only of Heaven and light and invaded paradise. “Nick.” I clutched the phone. “Sarah? Are you okay? Where are you?” “Daddy warns you not to follow.” The edge in her voice wasn’t meant for me, even if my cruelty deserved every last barbed threat within her words. “Or he said he’ll kill me before we have any fun.” Fuck. “Tell me where you are.” “If I do that, he will kill me, and I’ve already had a rough enough night.” “What does he want?” Sarah didn’t answer, and the muffled exchange ended with her sharpened cough. “Daddy says to just be grateful you got to fuck me. He says even if you disgrace the Bennett name, at least the three of you got off one last time.” Another cough. I recognized that sound. The wheeze ached in my own lungs. “Sarah, are you okay?” “No, but it’s asthma. I’ll be fine if I get my inhaler.” She hardened. “You couldn’t afford the liability if I drop dead here, and I doubt Daddy wants to lose me when you might have bred me like a good little whore.” Sarah’s voice shaded with wild, breathless rage, but she was smart enough to drop a hint even coiled in sickening threat. I stared at my brothers. “I’m coming for you.” “Nick, don’t. If you do, you’ll all die. Just stay away.” The sorrow in her words would end me. “He says he has no sons.” The call dropped. My blood laced with a perverted confidence. He had no sons? That wasn’t true.

It wasn’t true at all. If only because I finally saw the truth. I understood, for once in my life, exactly what it meant to be a Bennett. The gun disgusted me. The metal hadn’t fired, and yet it burned my flesh. Since when did I rely on violence to achieve my means? Blood and pain and rape? It was barbarism, not the composed dominance of the world I crushed within my hand and used to further my own ends. And he knew it. All this time, all the lessons, all the moments where I wielded contracts as if wealth were every bullet I needed—he wasn’t training me to be like him. He made me better at being myself. Teaching me to become a proper Bennett. I wasted my life pulling away from his shadow and reinventing myself as a man who didn’t rely on deceit and corruption to manage my empire and grow my power. I was a fool. I wasn’t meant to oppose Darius Bennett. The only way to stop him, the only way to ensure his reign ended and our lives were saved and Sarah’s life was spared was to embrace what had always been, what was always meant to be, and what I had already learned to do. Innocent blood spoiled when used for revenge. And so I wouldn’t be innocent. I wouldn’t struggle against the forces my father created. To save Sarah Atwood, I had to become the leader he wished, even if that meant becoming the man I swore I’d forever reject. “Is he going to hurt her?” Reed asked, the words as dark as the images swirling in my head. “No.” Confidence returned. I understood now. “He wants her heir. The fertility drugs take a few hours to work. He’ll try later, when he thinks he has the best chance.” “What the hell do we do?” “We do what we should have done long ago.” I studied my brothers, no longer

disgusted by my actions but strengthened by the clarity such violence offered. “We rescue her.” “How?” “I know where she is.” Reed frowned. “But she couldn’t tell us.” “She didn’t have to. She said we couldn’t afford the liability if she had an attack where she was.” I handed Max my gun and unzipped the leather jacket, returning to my room to pick a suit before the sun rose and my work day began. “He’s holding her at the Bennett Corporation. That’s the safest place for her and the worst place for me. He knows we won’t start a firefight in our headquarters.” I paused. “Fortunately, I don’t have to.” Max followed closely, holstering his gun to his side. “Why?” “Because I don’t plan on killing our father.” “Why the fuck not?” “Because that’s what he expects. I don’t have to touch him. I’ll ruin him from the inside.” “How?” Max blocked my path. “How the hell do you think you’re going to save your ass and hers?” “If we want to survive, we will submit to Sarah Atwood.” I met my brother’s challenge and promised nothing but victory. “I’m surrendering my control of the Bennett Corporation.”

19

SARAH

arius Bennett would have preferred to chain me to the conference table. He D waited for me to serve him on my knees like a proper whore. It would happen. I knew it. I felt it. My skin bruised and broke at the hands of my step-brothers, but it wouldn’t be enough for him. “Twenty-four to thirty-six hours,” he had whispered, eagerly. He savored the thought of taking, hurting, claiming. “The doctor said that’s when the drug is… most effective.” I hadn’t counted the hours, but when dawn broke, my time slipped away. Darius wouldn’t wait a full day before ruining me. He hid in the Bennett Corporation headquarters like a coward. I’d be safe until the moment he decided running from his son wasn’t as enjoyable as raping his step-daughter. He forced me into an executive chair poised at the carved redwood table. My lungs ached. It was a trap. He lured me into the very core of the Bennett Corporation, where my family had attempted to strike for generations. I had the stake to drive through its heart. But Darius had the needle, gun, and motivation to destroy me. It wasn’t a stalemate. His restraint was a miracle. Darius hadn’t touched me. Hadn’t beaten me. Hadn’t hurt me. Instead, he forced his sons to do it for him. My step-brothers. My friends.

My lovers. The men I trusted, and the ones I left stranded and devastated on the balcony. I survived the ordeal, but I wasn’t sure they did. My step-brothers couldn’t look at me. They didn’t speak. They didn’t even see the piece of sharpened glass I kicked toward Reed’s hand, something they might have used to slice through the bindings Darius forced me to tie. I was the one raped. They were the ones broken. My heart didn’t just shatter—it burned to ash and flaked away. Reed’s whispered apologies. Max’s collapse. And Nicholas? I ached for the words I spoke to him and the bruises he left on my hips. The gold in his eyes faded completely, lost and flared into a hardness I didn’t recognize. A hatred. He embraced violence and breathed only vengeance. He did his part with a ruthlessness I remembered only once before. Darius possessed the same brutality. I refused to let it scare me. Darius might have led me around his office in a leash or simply hauled me over his desk to finish what he started weeks ago. Once it was done, once the tortures were over and the lecherous monsters waited for a Bennett that would never be born, I’d sit at the head of their table, steal their fortunes, and hold the fate of the company in my curling fist. If I so chose, I’d dismantle the entire goddamned empire and let it drown in the poisons it manufactured. No more corporation. No more Bennetts. No more pain. And Darius would be left cowering with nothing as I stole his fortune, sons, and pride with a flick of a pen over the corporate ledger. But, that would also punish Nicholas. His company would be mine. His stock, mine. His empire, mine. He expected me to return it to him, but he never believed it would truly happen. Nicholas Bennett was far wiser than me. He understood the complications from the beginning. It wasn’t hatred or vengeance that would betray him, but business—the

only language the Bennetts spoke and the scripture they worshiped. Nicholas would understand. He had to understand. I couldn’t surrender now, and I couldn’t protect his interests. That trust was the only strength that remained. Darius settled in the chair beside me. With a gentle hand that promised only cruelty, he brushed a lock of hair behind my ear. I hadn’t the time to wash the tears from my face or cleanse the ordeal from my body. He didn’t care. He forced a school-girl pink sundress over my shame, slipped the delicate sandals on my feet, and kissed my forehead in every fatherly manner I came to fear more than the strike of his hand. He wanted me presentable for the meeting. I wondered how long it would take for me to soak the dress in his blood. “Cheer up, my dear.” He patted my hand. “We’ll be done quickly, then we’re off to make a baby.” I thought I’d eventually get used to his intentions. I didn’t. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said. “You don’t have a choice.” “You aren’t pointing a gun at your sons anymore. What makes you think I’ll listen?” It’d have sounded stronger without the gasp, wheeze, and cough imbedded in my words. Darius wasn’t concerned. He spoke as though he judged the courage in my blood. Very little remained. “I never needed to threaten my sons. You’re an Atwood, and the only thing an Atwood lives for is their own selfish interests.” “And revenge.” “Revenge won’t taste as sweet as you, Sarah.” “I’ll take my chances.” “No,” he said. “You won’t have any.”

I shuddered in furious silence as the first of the Bennett Board of Directors entered. Bryant was a sleaze bag and far more dangerous than I originally believed. He shook Darius’s hand and sat opposite me at the table, entirely too interested in the waistline of my dress, as though he expected me to waddle into the room and visibly swell with a child. “Awfully early to celebrate, Darius,” he warned. “Say what you will about the family, but the Atwoods do grow a reliable product.” “Think it’ll stick?” Darius smiled. “I’d bet the company on it.” I said nothing. Though no music, laughter, or scream would have sounded more beautiful than the secret I longed to reveal, my infertility was the only bullet in a gun I forgot to load. I already acted recklessly enough. If I wanted to survive, I had to think like Nicholas. I had to be patient. Practical. I couldn’t let them frighten me. Five investors total joined the table, but the Bennetts had ten on their board. At least, a board in name only, until the amendment passed and my presence would rival the majority Darius commanded. I stayed still, though the asthma clouded my head and closed my throat. I wouldn’t let it beat me. Not now. Not while Darius welcomed his partners to the exhibition of my living hell. I remained silent. They preferred that. Bryant surveyed me, his gaze focused purely on profit. I didn’t dare to guess where the others looked. Every part of me had already been more exposed and hurt than anything I suffered in my nightmares, and it wouldn’t end with a board meeting. I was nothing to them. Not a woman. Hardly an Atwood. They didn’t view me as a rival, only a body to fill and a slave who had yet to perform her only immediate function. Darius didn’t see it, but I felt it. The resentment. The anxiety. Three months into my captivity, and they hadn’t seen their results. Time passed, and every second that left me barren put the pressure on their wallets. They wanted the child as badly as the Bennetts, but the investors didn’t have the patience of even my step-father. The safety of the company outweighed a family’s revenge. Darius meant to breed me for more than the corporation’s benefit—with

my body’s surrender, he’d steal my pride, my potential, and my future. I clenched my teeth. He didn’t realize the danger in his selfishness. His board spent the last years watching as profits trickled and quarterly reports were gamed with layoffs and restructuring, all courtesy of the man they now depended on to secure their ultimate plan. They trusted him to seed me with an heir, and the months lost to nature’s refusal damned their chances. Every business weighted risk against venture. I was, most assuredly, their greatest capital risk. “Were the drugs administered?” Bryant didn’t even wait for the coffee to brew before asking the important questions. “Was she bedded?” “Oh, yes.” Darius took my hand, pressing my fingers to his lips. “I should say so.” I jerked, but he didn’t release my palm. The betraying flush amused the board. Six men circled me, their chuckles exposing the tatters of my decimated pride. “All three of them?” Bryant asked. Darius’s voice slithered over my skin. “Go on, Sarah. Don’t be modest. You have a controlling interest in this company. The least you can do is answer your fellow board members.” He’d regret this. All of this. I braved their stares. “I don’t have a controlling interest. I am the controlling interest. Remember it. One day, I’ll have Darius’s seat, and then I’ll ask each of you how it feels to get fucked.” Again, they laughed, as if they had nothing to fear from my threat or they thought I’d never carry through with it. They made a terrible mistake. I longed for the moment to prove how dangerous it was to cross me. “We’re all friends here, Ms. Atwood.” Peter Hannigan, the man who turned on Nicholas only to leer at the woman he loved, motioned for a time out. “No need for such hostility.” “Yes, Ms. Atwood, you are acting so…hormonal.” Bryant laughed. “You understand your responsibilities now, I take it? Permit an old man’s curiosity and please, relieve the board’s concerns. You were to be fucked by all three of your brothers. Were our orders satisfied?” Peter chuckled. “Hopefully, her brothers were.”

How dare they. How dare they ask such terrible questions. My night shattered into visions of hell—moments of forsaken violence at the hands of men I trusted, friends I loved, and a man I needed. Darius meant to destroy me with their relentless thrusts and murmured apologies and the punishment for our disobedience. I’d struggled to imagine myself anywhere else. I’d fought against my every fear if only to make it easier on them. I didn’t let myself hurt. Before, I had submitted to Nicholas, Max, and Reed because it was something sensual, new, and terribly forbidden. I thought it’d bring no consequence but pleasure. Until now. Until him. Until the board feared for their fortunes. I confronted the vile nature of fearful men, terrified of losing their power and tempted with greed to acquire more. Darius forced an innocent woman to lose her virginity, pride, and all control over her body just to add a few more blood-soaked dollars to a fortune already sickeningly untouchable. I wasn’t answering any of their damn questions. “Why don’t you ask my father?” I spat. “He was there. Holding the gun.” Darius sighed and gave a helpless shrug. “Little girls, what can you do? They never do as they’re told, and, when you get hard on them, they crumple.” The board murmured their agreement. “Too rough?” Bryant asked with dark amusement. Darius shook his head. “She overreacted. Started crying in the middle of it all. Nick had to stick his cock in her mouth to stop her sobbing while Reed did his part.” I launched from the table. Darius trapped me before I could run. He forced me into the chair with a grip that might have wrenched my bones from the socket, but his insult hurt me more. He chided me for the memory and cursed as a wheeze shortened the last easy breath of air I took. I gasped, shallow and worthless. It aggravated him.

He shoved a bottle of water into my hands. “Even now, she’s a little prima donna, refusing to believe her cunt wasn’t made to be bred. I had no idea she’d be this difficult of a whore.” The eldest man, Stanley, frowned. “Regardless of her…efforts, the board has only one concern. Did she or didn’t she conceive?” “Oh, it’s much too early to tell,” Darius said. “Unfortunate.” “That’s the way of nature, Stanley. However, she was aided by the fertility drugs and seeded by three men. She will bear a Bennett.” He smiled “Her body simply does not have a choice.” “No,” Stanley said. “But we do.” Darius silenced. So did my coughing. A surge of hope sliced through the tightening of my chest, a burst of warmth and radiant sanity I hadn’t dared to imagine. They’d let me go. God, they’d let me go! Maybe they understood? Not the cruelty, these men were beyond empathy for others, but they saw the business, the empire, the wealth all crushing within my grip. They’d release me because they knew I’d seize control. They cared only for the money, not the feud. If it no longer benefited them, I’d be released. And, if I could escape from Darius Bennett, I’d be free. Stanley couldn’t intertwine his arthritic fingers, and so he held his palms instead. He leaned over the table, his lips loose and words slurred over saliva. “This plan has always been…distasteful, to say the very least.” Darius brushed a finger over my cheek. “True. But you know my daughter was only taken into my home because of these desperate times. This plan was a circumstance of last resort, created by Mark Atwood’s refusal to leave his empire to Sarah.” “She’s been raped.” Darius grew impatient. He sneered at me.

“I assure you, my sons were kinder than she deserved.” Stanley wasn’t moved. “Darius, you realize the staggering amount of money riding on this one conception is...well, quite frankly, it is a risk I was unable to justify without your assurances.” “I understand.” Darius spoke of me as though I wasn’t sitting beside him. “I had hoped her time spent within my family would be easy. I was lenient. No bindings to the bed or terrible injuries. At least, not yet. But anything can happen. Should the board worry for her behavior, I could break both of her legs and leave her bedridden.” Bryant chuckled. “Or ridden in bed.” I shuddered. I had no reason to doubt Darius. He’d hurt me in every way he possibly could—mentally, physically, emotionally—and then he’d rut whatever remained to ensure I never recovered. Worse, he wouldn’t be the one to issue the pain, not now that his own flesh and blood turned on him. He’d make them do it, and, like the fool I was, I’d sacrifice myself again and again to protect my step-brothers. Stanley grumbled, cursing at Bryant. “The point is, all this funny business is for nothing if the girl doesn’t conceive.” “She will.” “When my daughter married, she tried for three years, not three months.” The board quieted. I didn’t react. “The girl is young, of course,” Stanley said. “And with the fertility treatments and the…amount of intercourse she’s subjected to, I’m sure her chances are substantially improved; however, the time has come to ask…what if it isn’t enough?” Darius’s patience wore thin, his plastic smile an invitation to continue. “What’s your concern, friend?” “I move to end this experiment.” “And do what instead?” Stanley hesitated only to nod in my direction. “We should kill the girl.” My lungs crumbled, and the sudden fear shot pain through my chest as though I breathed pure smoke. Darius gripped my arm and prevented me from fleeing. “She might be pregnant already,” Darius insisted. “It’s too early to make such rash decisions, especially as this particular drug induces ovulation. She should be taken

regularly, beginning today.” “And your sons would do this?” Stanley’s eyebrow rose. “Where is Nicholas?” Darius didn’t blink. “Exhausted from his night, of course. He is not the only Bennett available to take responsibility for this family.” No, he wasn’t. Darius would be more than willing to restrain, hurt, and breed me, especially now. Especially as my step-brothers stormed the estate with guns drawn prepared for murder. Darius had watched, of course, tapped into the estate’s security cameras. He forced me to make the call, to taunt his sons, to speak with the man who broke me well after I surrendered to him. Clyde, the only yet-silent board member, checked the time on his cell phone. “Darius, I’m inclined to agree with Stan. You must admit, controlling Ms. Atwood is not only an exhausting procedure, the legal ramifications of this arrangement are dire. Your sons couldn’t even control her at the charity gala.” “That damned Wescott,” Stanley said. “Who knows what she said to him.” Darius’s attention was a brand of fire and the threat of utter incineration. He steeled his voice, but I recognized the hatred clenched within his fangs. “Well, my dear? Ease our fears. What did you discuss with Mr. Wescott?” I’d regret saying it, but either the asthma or intentions of the board would steal my final breath. I had nothing to fear except Darius Bennett, and even he could hurt me no more than what he forced his sons to do. “We discussed how best to raze the Bennett Corporation headquarters to the ground.” Stanley sighed. “She’s her father. It’s as if he’s been reincarnated.” Darius crushed my hand. Fortunately, my cry silenced within the gasping cough. They didn’t hear my pain. But I heard the crack of bone. “As I said, she is difficult.” Darius rolled my fingers, grinding the knuckles over the fracture that pierced me with tears. “Nothing a good strap and some time at home won’t fix. After all, who hasn’t had to discipline a misbehaving daughter?” Stanley shook his head. “I call for a vote. I’m sorry, Darius, but every moment she’s without child is another moment closer to the release of the trust. She is a liability and threat to this corporation. She must be handled quickly.”

A vote. They would vote on my life. Not just on my treatment or torment or the decisions I wasn’t permitted to make about my body and the men I had no choice to obey. They voted on my life—my last right, stolen by men more concerned with money than the evils they perpetrated. I was glad I couldn’t breathe. Glad my asthma stole my voice and robbed me of any chance I might have used to humiliate myself in running or hiding. I’d look into the eyes of the men who damned me into a world of violence, and they’d stare back as they judged my life as either too important or too worthless to risk impeding their plans. Darius glowered, his voice a rumbling growl. At home, he expressed himself in damning brutality and blood. Here? This was another world, one he chose to hide in to avoid the retribution of the sons he betrayed. And yet, the headquarters wasn’t safe for him either. “You will not kill my daughter,” he said. “Oh, please, Darius.” Stanley groaned. “Do you actually care for the girl or are you simply waiting for your own opportunity to bed the child and create an heir?” “I am protecting my investment.” Darius strengthened his words. “She has the fertility treatments. She’s been fucked and properly seeded, I saw to it. I admit, ridding ourselves of the problem is an easier solution, but I will not allow us to squander this opportunity. The child she bears will be worth billions.” “If she conceives, if she carries to term, if if if,” Stanley warned. Bryant frowned. “What will ease your concerns, Stan? Darius can fuck her here on the table then. Would that convince you she’s been impregnated?” Stanley waved a disgusted hand. “Heavens, no, but the very fact that we are yet discussing her future conception is reason to worry. If she were already with child, we’d be celebrating. She is not, and so we must vote to preserve our hold on this billion dollar investment, our present holdings, not the potential benefit for the future.” Short-sighted bastards. I clutched my broken hand, forcing shallow breaths. Stanley looked over the table.

“All in favor?” He asked. “Aye.” Clyde didn’t look at me. “Aye.” Peter scratched his head. “Seems a little harsh so early, doesn’t it?” “Nothing personal,” Clyde said. “We’re a company specializing in herbicides. Consider this a pruning of a dangerous weed before it spreads into the garden.” Peter frowned. “Sad day when such a fine piece of ass is pruned. Aye.” Darius hadn’t moved. He gazed across the table, awaiting Bryant’s vote. “Christ.” Bryant said. He leaned away, rapping his fingers on the table with a mounting agitation. “I wanted this. Bad. Do you have any idea how much money is at stake? We could have prevented this takeover and gotten more.” Stanley aged as the vote extended, and I couldn’t wait for the puckered asshole to keel over. “Never faulted a man for his ambition.” Stanley pointed at Darius. “But when a man endangers those around him? That’s the problem. Too much money at stake. Generations of investments and the future of this company all rest on Ms. Atwood.” He glanced over me. “It might not matter how many times your boys roll her over. Despite their intentions, she’s just as hostile as ever. She hasn’t been properly subdued.” Darius’s voice lowered. “She will be.” I believed him. Stanley didn’t. “Whether you care for the girl or if you only wish to see her suffer, the problems are the same. I demand to know that my money is secured, and I’m not afraid to find leadership who will ensure my investments are protected.” Bryant rubbed his face. “Christ, you’re right.” “Is that an aye?” He apologized to Darius, not to me. “Yes. Aye.” Darius’s fists curled. I hoped they killed me. I wished the asthma would take me. Either the board would mercifully end this, or Darius would expel every suppressed coil of rage inside of me. He couldn’t target the investors, but he would eagerly

punish me for not conceiving. I never wished I would get pregnant. The fear changed my mind. At least if I were, I’d stay alive long enough to fight Darius. “The ayes have it.” Stanley softened his voice. “Call your boy, Max. We’ve trusted him in these matters before.” No. This wasn’t happening. Not now. Not after everything I had been through. Not after everything I endured. I had been captured and imprisoned, tortured by my attraction with Nicholas and lost in every moment I weakened for him. I survived their love, and I survived their violence, and still, my path led me to the maw of hell. I’d die, wheezing in the middle of the Bennett boardroom, without the breath to beg for my miserable life. Darius’s voice slithered with quiet indignation. He faced his board members, the men he trusted, with a rage I hadn’t expected. “She’s not dying,” he hissed. “Not until she’s been fucked, bred, and births a Bennet. Then, I will do with her as I please. I would remind the gentlemen the name of this corporation. Sarah Atwood belongs to the Bennetts.” “With all due respect, Darius, I’m speaking as a friend and partner.” Stanley nodded his head. “The girl is a liability. One you shouldn’t indulge. Get rid of her.” “No.” “You’re outnumbered on this, by friends you’ve trusted for years. The girl has to die to preserve this company. Don’t be a fool.” Was it better to die at Darius’s hand or be rescued with his mercy? Not that it would save me. He would spare my life only to deliver me to a torture bound under his control. I let hope guide me. I didn’t want to owe my life to Darius, or have to repay him for saving me, but at least I’d be alive. I handled the Bennetts before. I needed only a chance to live for the chance to escape. I never thought I’d depend on Darius Bennett for anything. Now, he’d be my hero. And even his power wasn’t enough to sway men just as treacherous to him as they were to each other. My life rested on the decisions of a Board of Directors eager to

toss their fortunes to whichever bidder promised the most return. They were traitors for the right price, rapists to earn a penny, and murderers to save their investments. My coughing hid the truth, buried the secret beneath layers of wheezes and choking, half-breaths and pathetic whines. I had never been so scared before, but I’d die before I admitted it to any of the monsters so eager to ruin me. “Darius?” Bryant sighed. “What do you say?” He didn’t hesitate. “Nay.” Stanley tapped the table. “You’re alone in this.” Darius didn’t answer. His attention focused on the door, and the thinnest amusement coiled over his lips. “No. I’m not.” His voice edged hard. “Nicholas has yet to vote.” I stared at the doorway in blind panic, utter terror, and such stark, abandoned relief I nearly cried out for Nicholas despite the attention of the board. But Nicholas said nothing, simply adjusting the buttons on his suit and facing the men he considered enemies with a confidence unrivaled by any of their voting, threats, or implications. For a moment, only a flicker of perfected warmth, his gaze studied me. The golden halo of his eyes returned, though the hardened crest of amber was nothing he previously possessed. Had I not known Nicholas Bennett—had I not fallen for my lover, submitted to his hand, and earned his devotion—the authority radiating from his presence would have convinced me this man was every bit the enemy I once believed him to be. He didn’t greet the board. They turned to see him. Like a prince seizing the crown from a wayward king, he chose the empty seat at the opposite end of the table and made it into his throne. The warm mocha of his voice froze with an unspoken threat, as smooth as ice and every bit as dangerous as the thinnest layer over the endless depths of a black and terrible lake. “Sarah Atwood is mine.” He made no apology for his words. He stated the truth. “She belongs to me. Her life, pregnancy, or death is, and always has been, my decision.” Darius stared at Nicholas, his voice mimicking his cool, even tone. “And what have you decided?”

“She stays alive, no matter the consequences.” “Are you prepared for those consequences?” “Are you prepared for the war which will come if she dies?” Darius looked over his partial board, the few men who traded their souls for power, wealth, and more control over an innocent woman than any one man deserved. “Two Bennetts in support. Motion fails.” The board grumbled, but Darius took my broken hand and squeezed, grinding the fractures. My life was spared, but it was anything but safe, not if Darius stole me away only to make my every surviving moment a living hell. His voice lowered to a growl, a prelude to the animalistic and vicious instincts that would mount me before the day had passed. “Meeting adjourned.” My vision darkened with my failing breath, but Nicholas didn’t move as the board shifted. “We have one more matter to discuss.” He adopted a perfect stillness and didn’t ask twice. The board members waited, watching in silent confusion as the son of their leader assumed a control he never before exploited. Nicholas didn’t smile. He didn’t scowl. He pulled a contract from his suit jacket and pressed it on the table before him, pen in hand. “You all know Sarah Atwood stands to inherit a considerable interest within the Bennett Corporation,” he said. The board nodded. Darius squeezed my hand to make me gasp. “What you don’t know is that my brothers and I agreed to sell Sarah Atwood our personal and professional shares of the company to assist in a hostile takeover of this board.” What the hell was he doing? He’d kill us both. “Sell to an Atwood?” Bryant said. “Why, Nicholas? For Christ’s sake, you’re the successor!” “For the same reason the rest of the board sold to Mark Atwood and his sons. This

company doesn’t need an Atwood to destroy it. My father is doing his best to bring it to the ground.” “Enough, son,” Darius said. “Haven’t we aired enough grievances for one day?” “This isn’t a grievance.” Nicholas pushed the contract down the table. “This is an agreement. A solution to the problem. A way to ensure the Josmik Trust never steals what rightfully belongs to the Bennett Empire.” I couldn’t handle a second betrayal. Not in the same day that Nicholas already stole too much of my confidence and strength. He didn’t look at me. Whatever he planned was in motion, and like the last three months of my life, I was helpless to stop it. “This is a contract of sale,” he said. “An agreement between Sarah Atwood and you gentlemen, the loyal members of our illustrious board.” I forced the question through reluctant lips. “What sale?” “Your inherited shares, granted through the award of the Josmik Trust.” “Why would I sell my shares?” Nicholas nodded to each of the men seated around me, the ones all too eager to end my life. “We will secure the amendments to award the trust to you before you turn twentyone. You will then sell your shares to the remaining board members, dividing the stock equally and selling for an exceedingly reasonable price.” Darius studied his son. “And what does she get in return?” “Her life.” I couldn’t breathe. Nicholas was an unbelievably cunning bastard. I expected a rescue, but I imagined what he and my step-brothers attempted during the night, with guns and leather, motorcycles and darkness, stealth and hostility. But Nicholas was a Bennett. A true Bennett. He wouldn’t debase himself with violence. Not when he could destroy his enemies with the power he cultivated from his name. Money stained more than the spread of blood. Darius grinned, reading the contract with a sick pleasure. “Son, you’ve forgotten

one important measure. What do you gain from this?” Nicholas stilled. “Ten minutes with Ms. Atwood. Alone.” “Ten minutes?” Darius laughed. “Nicholas, you are awarding a vast amount of shares to these men, men who support me. If we sign this, you will never hold a majority. You won’t have the power to seize control from me. And you are doing it to earn ten minutes with her?” Oh, no. “Nicholas, don’t,” I whisper. “Please.” He ignored me. Damned me. Lost me. Nicholas offered me a way to survive, but, in doing so, he lost any chance at ever deposing Darius. He left the head on the snake. What good was my life if Darius had the power and means to end it? Or worse. We couldn’t escape him. We couldn’t defy him. Nicholas would never assume control of his inheritance, and he did it to protect me with a momentary freedom. We survived the knife-fight only to stare down the barrel of a gun. “Sign the contracts, gentlemen,” Nicholas said. “Once Ms. Atwood is awarded the trust, she will immediately transfer all rights of her stock to you. The Bennett Corporation will be safe from outside interference, and you will have no reason to interfere in our…” He stared at his father. “Family matters.” The members of the board silenced. They looked to Darius for guidance. And, finally, Nicholas held my gaze. I’d never survive it. He bargained away my life just so my relief and pain and confusion would end in his arms. My heart broke too many ways to fix, and yet, he’d try. He sacrificed everything to mend the shattered pieces. He couldn’t fit them back together as they were, but his love would heal me. Make me stronger. He gave me that chance, even if it existed under the threat of his father. “Sign it,” Darius said. “This is how it should be. What happens to Sarah Atwood stays within the walls of my home.” The pen clicked. Signatures released me from the board’s hold.

Nicholas stood, taking my hand and pulling me from his father. “Now the meeting is adjourned,” he said. “You have your company.” Darius folded his hands. “And she has a ten minute head start.” I couldn’t run. The asthma wouldn’t let me. We wouldn’t even make it out of the building before Darius would chase. Nicholas said nothing. He hauled me from the board room and helped me to the elevator. He didn’t push for the ground floor. Instead, he took us to the roof. I wavered on my feet, but Nicholas knew. He always knew. He pulled the inhaler from his pocket and tucked it in my hand. I ignored it and sunk into his arms, seeking safety in the embrace of a man who, only hours before, trapped me within sorrow. He kissed the tears on my cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry for what happened,” he whispered. His kisses didn’t stop. Comforting, loving, warm. I clutched at him and ached for every crest of guilt that darkened his expression and lashed his confidence. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’ll never ask your forgiveness. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” “I’m okay.” “Did he…?” The cough stole my words, but I shook my head. “No.” Relief, for both of us. The elevator opened, and Nicholas guided me into the hall, pressing a fob against a locked door to let us out into the daylight. A helicopter waited for our departure. A man paced near the door, his dimpled grin a warmth I didn’t deserve. Reed. He pulled me into a hug and squeezed until I wasn’t sure if it was the asthma or his grief that punished me. I searched over his shoulder, recognizing the pilot in the helicopter. Max? Nicholas didn’t let me speak. He held me close, touching my cheek.

“Do you trust me?” He hardened as I hesitated. “Sarah, for once in your damned life, do as I say. Max and Reed are going to take you away from here. They’ll make sure you’re safe. I’ll handle the rest.” “What rest?” I squeezed his arm. “What are you doing?” “Finishing this deal.” “Why?” Nicholas’s grip tightened on me. Reed shouted, and they pitched me behind them. I should have expected him if only because Darius understood his son as well as I did. He knew where Nicholas was, what he planned. “He wants to save your life, my dear.” The monster approached, but only so he could face his son. “He’s going to hide you from me,” Darius said. “He thinks he can save you.” Nicholas didn’t flinch as Darius released the gun from his jacket pocket. The barrel pressed against Nicholas’s forehead. “Don’t make me do this,” Darius said. “This is a messy business, and neither of us are meant for it.” “Then lower the gun.” “Give me the girl.” Nicholas didn’t move. “It won’t happen. You won’t take Sarah. You won’t kill us.” “You’re so sure?” Darius flipped the safety off. “I thought I raised an intelligent son. You’re nothing but a coward. Too weak to protect your family.” “You and I have a mutual interest in Sarah’s survival,” Nicholas said. “But we have more business than the girl. Without Josmik, the directors have no cause to kill her. But the board you created won’t tolerate the leadership of a man who refuses to do as they say. This family faces a greater threat than Sarah Atwood. The dissention on the board will destroy the Bennetts far easier than one little girl.” Darius nodded. “Money corrupts, son.” “You need an ally.” “Do I?” “You give me Sarah Atwood, and I’ll give you my unconditional support. Every vote you require, every decision you make. No matter the conflict with your partners, the vote will always sway in your favor with two Bennetts in agreement.”

Darius lowered the gun. He studied his son. “And the heir?” He asked. Nicholas shook his head. “Forget it.” “You see, son, that’s where you and I are different,” Darius rested a hand on his shoulder. “Investors and board members will always be a thorn in our side. But an Atwood? They are the true enemies. Do what you want with the trusts and the girl and company, Nicholas, but know this…” I shuddered under his attention, pierced by hatred and every reserved aggression he meant for me in an untasted lust. “I don’t care if the company burns to the ground, if the estate is turned to ash, or if each of my sons betrays me and ends up dead on the side of the road.” Darius pointed to the helicopter. “Take her, son. Go on. Hide your little whore.” His words were filth, and he stared at me with dead obsession and violent intent. I stepped backwards, forced into the helicopter by Reed. He followed me inside. Nicholas didn’t move. Didn’t look. Didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Not while he faced the threat of his father and did all he could to free me from my captivity. “I will have Sarah Atwood’s heir,” Darius said. “Not because it benefits the company or the family or protects our interests. I will have it because I want it. I want to destroy her. I want to hurt her. I want to claim every inch of her body and mark her as mine, and son?” He smiled. “When she swells with my child, I want you to remember this moment. Remember how foolish it was that you let her live instead of killing her to spare her the suffering.” Darius pocketed the gun and grinned, bidding his sons a farewell with arms raised in momentary surrender. “And Nicholas? She will suffer and suffer greatly.”

20

NICHOLAS

“Y our office, Mr. Bennett.”

The secretary offered more than just a tour of the corner suite. She leaned against the door, her fingers toying with the lock. “Anything else I can get for you?” I wasn’t interested in blondes. “Yes, call my father and ask him to join me. I’d like to thank him for the office.” Her scowl wasn’t nearly as endearing as the treats she offered. She pouted but heeded orders. My father didn’t knock. He entered unbidden, shaking his head. “Nicholas, I hoped you’d enjoy your new office.” He was not subtle. “And the secretary.” I laughed. “I can find my own women, Dad, thank you.” He smiled. “Serves me right for match-making. Though, forgive your father. You might begin thinking of finding someone.” “Part of the business plan?” I sat at my new desk. “Job. Presidency. Wife?” “Child. What did I tell you were the cornerstones of success? Power and…?” “Family.” My father nodded. “Exactly. You’re a young man, but one day, you will be responsible for this family and company.” “Maybe I should work a full day before I start the search for the future Mrs. Nicholas Bennett?” “It isn’t the wife that’s important,” my father said. “It’s the legacy. This company

is our future. One day, it’ll be your turn to ensure its safety.” He held my gaze, formally welcoming me to the Bennett Corporation with a handshake. “I hope you’ll be as proud of your son as I am of mine.”

I WAS NOT A MAN WHO TOLERATED BEING IGNORED. Not my calls, not my correspondence, and not my invitations to lunch. Roman Wescott tried my patience, and he would lose. I would not allow my company’s decisions and business interests to be controlled by another, especially one outside the family. I worked too hard, sacrificed too much, and spent too many nights alone to allow a stranger to rule over us. I worked only to ensure her safety. And a month was far too long a wait for me to suffer. Max bounced his good leg as we idled outside Wescott’s office. He saw through it all, even my solemn silence. “You sure you want to do this?” He asked. “Yes.” “And you want to do it my way?” “That choice was made for us.” Max didn’t believe me. “You really fucked this up, Nick.” No. I did exactly what I needed to do. I protected Sarah, first and foremost. Whatever else happened was inconsequential. If that meant the board ordered me to do their bidding like a damned whipping boy, then fine. If it meant serving my father and parroting his every word for the past month, all the better. If I was the target of their cruelty, then I was the bastard they’d punish. They wouldn’t target Sarah for Roman Wescott’s refusal to sign the amendment freeing her from the board’s sights. But the board’s patience was limited. And I had no other options but to engage Wescott in a more…unprofessional manner. “This is what we have to do to save her life,” I said.

Max pointed through the windshield, toward Roman Wescott’s office and the last obstacle preventing me from trading Sarah’s trust for her life. “What if he doesn’t sign?” Max said. “He will.” “We could keep moving her.” Max offered solutions I already imagined and rationalized as too dangerous. “Just shift her around until the trust hits on her birthday. That’s only what, seven months? There’s plenty of little cabins in the Poconos where she could hide.” “I’m not taking that chance. I want her free from the board.” “Just because she’s kept alive doesn’t mean she’ll be safe,” he said. “Dad will find her.” Like the thought hadn’t kept me awake for nights on end, imagining what would happen if we slipped, if somehow he discovered where she hid. What little sleep I earned ended in nightmares of her death and the celebration of those in the Bennett Corporation who lived only to watch her die. The days passed. Then weeks. Then the month. Protecting her meant hiding her, even from me. I hadn’t spoken to her since the day I rescued her. My brothers stole her away, exchanged helicopters for planes and planes for cars and crossed the country in record time to deliver her into strict isolation. She was alone. She was scared. But she was alive. And, for the moment, that pleased both my father and me. He made an unfortunate ally, protecting Sarah for his own perverted reasons. However, for the purposes of securing the company, I could think of no better partner, mentor, or veteran in a war against our own board. What should have become my board. I sacrificed my interests to save hers. My life, my future, my empire—gone. Destroyed by an Atwood, just as I knew would eventually happen. And I would have signed my life over again. I’d never regret a moment of her safety. “This is more than earning his signature,” I said. “I need to know why Wescott is denying her.”

Max snorted. “And while you’re asking all these questions, what am I doing?” “What you do best.” “And what’s that?” I didn’t look at him. “Helping the family.” His smile chilled me. “You mean, doing what I’m told?” “Yes.” “And how does bruising my fists help the Bennetts?” Max exhaled. “How does this make what we’ve done any less repulsive? Do you think Sarah will ever forgive you for that night?” “No.” “You think this will make her safer?” “No.” “Then tell me why you’re asking me to crack this asshole’s skull just so you can give Sarah’s inheritance to the board and hand the company right back to that fucking bastard.” Easy. It was the easiest decision I had ever made. “Because it means I’ll see her again.” The last memory I had of Sarah was her clutching at Reed as my father threatened her virtue. I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t tell her how I planned to save her. She peered down at me from the helicopter, hand pressed against the glass, and then escaped from the danger that I forced upon her so many months ago. I had to see her, to know she was okay, to earn her forgiveness. If only to end the nightmares. In my sleep, my love for her twisted into heinous lust, and the things I did and the ways I hurt her satisfied a barbaric and primal part of me. My nightmares made me more like my father than any decision I made for the corporation, sacrifice I chose for the family, or evil I committed to avenge our name over our enemies. I would spend my billions, surrender my company, and abandon my future success for only one minute with the woman I’d betrayed, if only to ensure I hadn’t lost the one chance I had for happiness in this world.

I didn’t wait for Max. I buttoned my suit and entered Wescott’s offices—a series of laboratories the entrepreneur financed with the billions he earned from his own ventures and trusts. A secretary texted on her cell as we approached, greeting us without looking up. I ignored her, and Max unplugged the console phone as she protested our entry into the office looming behind the oaken doors. Roman Wescott laughed from behind his desk, ending his call with a widening smile. “No, no.” He waved to the panicking secretary, eager to help but unable to prevent Max from taking his rightful place at my side. “It’s okay. I’ll see them without an appointment.” “Yes,” I said. “You will.” Wescott nodded as his secretary closed the doors. “I hadn’t expected to meet with you today, but it isn’t like the Bennetts are required to follow social etiquette.” He tested me. It was a mistake. “I was under the impression my emails, calls, and invitations would serve as interest in a meeting.” “I’m a very busy man, Nicholas.” Wescott offered me a seat with an extended hand. It wasn’t a friendly gesture. His voice chilled like broken marble. “I’m sure you understand.” “I assure you, this matter will take very little time to resolve.” Wescott nodded. He offered a drink. We declined. “You want me to sign the Josmik amendment,” he said. “Yes.” “Strange.” Max said nothing. He waited for my order. But something in Wescott’s tone interested me. “Do you have an objection?” I asked. “Allow me to ease your concerns.” “Forgive me, but this amendment is quite bewildering,” he said. “Why would Nicholas Bennett storm my office and demand that I sign the very document that removes his family from power and awards it to an Atwood?” “You took no issue in signing your stock over to the Atwoods. Does it matter what happens with the Bennett Corporation once you’ve taken your investments elsewhere?”

Wescott gestured across his desk. “It’s curious. Two Bennetts in my office, urging me to consider an agreement that will destroy their company. This goes beyond Daddy issues.” “I’m asking you to sign the agreement,” I said. “Simple as that.” “Why?” I wouldn’t explain my actions to anyone but Sarah. “It’s irrelevant.” “But it isn’t. Don’t tell me you’re doing this for the benefit of the Atwood girl.” “My motivations may differ from those of my step-sister.” “Step-sister? I doubt that’s how you think of her.” “We don’t have a lot of time to piss around,” Max said. “Sign the damn agreement so we don’t end our professional relationship on bad terms.” Wescott wasn’t threatened. He knew it would come to this. “Nicholas, a few months ago, you called this office to arrange a meeting. You were adamant about ending the Josmik Trust. You promised a new model for the corporation with innovation and research and development to drive our profits. You almost convinced me to void my portion and remain within the company. I might have believed in you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Was that all a lie?” “The situation changed.” “No. It remained the same. Business as usual for the Bennetts. Cutthroat and ruthless and…” He nodded toward Max. “Violent, when the situation calls for it. I’m not an optimist, Nicholas. The world is full of darkness, and we’re fools if we deny that presence in our souls.” “Hardly relevant.” “Whatever happened between your family and Sarah Atwood only made her stronger. I’m glad for it, if only to have someone willing to end your reign.” He picked up the amendment, signing his name along the line. “I have no issue in awarding the girl what is hers,” he said. “Then why did you wait?” Wescott capped his pen. “She didn’t agree to my terms.” Sarah didn’t mention anything about terms. She told me he refused to sign. “What did you ask of her?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter now. I see that I was right.” He gestured to Max. “Had I not signed, I’m sure Maxwell Bennett would have negotiated in his own ways.” “I live to serve,” Max said. Wescott nodded. “Don’t we all? But this is the root of the problem, Nicholas. I had hopes for you.” “Don’t discount me yet,” I said. He pushed the contract to me. “I never meant to delay her fortune or deny what belongs to her. I didn’t sign this amendment because I knew, eventually, the girl would return the stock to you.” I said nothing though the implication burned. “I hoped someone could lead the Bennett Corporation in the right direction. That was why I sold. I thought you would be different, but you’ve proved my instincts were correct. I’m disappointed.” “Don’t be,” I said. “I won’t explain myself to you, and I’ll choose to forget your insults. You can believe me when I say I’m acting in the best interests of my family. I will do everything in my power to protect the ones I love.” “I don’t doubt that. I only question how you plan to protect them. You have always wanted to control everyone and everything. And when people don’t obey you?” He nodded to Max. “You send in the dogs.” Max lunged, but I stopped him before mistakes were made. “No matter your reasons, no matter your intentions, one thing is perfectly clear to the world.” Wescott leaned close, his voice low. “You would ruin others to protect your own. And that, Nicholas Bennett, is why you are no better a man than your father.”

21

SARAH

M y fingers curled around the barrel of the baseball bat.

The knock rattled the chalet, each strike against the door echoing from the loft to the living room. I regretted the pleasant fire in the hearth. The smoke was probably visible. It didn’t matter how deeply I hid within the wilderness, even a cozy fire was irresponsible. The bat scraped off the floor, but I cringed as the steps creaked under my feet. I learned which stairs squealed during the month I’d spent hiding within the mountain chalet. I planned escape routes, planted weapons, and prepared myself for any and all danger. And I forgot it all in a single moment of panic. Another knock. Each bang slammed my heart into my ribs. Who even knew I was here? I checked the track phone. No messages from my step-brothers. No heads-up about a visit or a warning of danger. I hated how I shuffled toward the door, despised myself for slinking against the wall, and loathed every pathetic breath that puffed, scared and timid and wracked with the threat of my godforsaken asthma. I needed to breathe if I had any hope of defending myself. The forest was supposed to be beyond rural. Nearly empty. Still, I woke from a nightmare in the morning, kicked from the sheets, and collapsed with my inhaler. Something bad was going to happen. But something even worse would punish anyone who dared to attack me.

The bat rose. I pitched the door open. A goldendoodle yelped, burst into the living room, and launched at my chest. We both went down, and Hamlet pinned me against the woven rug. I laughed, hugging the furry monster and scratching behind his ears as he licked, yipped, and tripped over himself to love me harder. The tears blurred my vision. Nicholas. I couldn’t speak. I struggled against Hamlet. Nicholas embraced me before I stood, hauling me from the floor and crushing me against his chest. I worried he’d squeeze until I broke in half, and I cried thinking he wouldn’t hold me tightly enough. His clean, masculine scent enveloped me in the familiar clutch of safety and possession. I dreamt of his eyes—longed for the golden warmth, relentless dedication, and absolute devotion that shattered my defenses and left me so vulnerable for him, to him. His words rushed, resonating with a velvet confidence that trapped me within his control before I could even ask how or why he finally came for me. “I had to see you.” His voice warmed, dripping like melting wax and scorching me with the same heat. “I shouldn’t be here, but I had to see you.” His kiss silenced my questions and stole my protests. I was lost for a month. Alone and desperate, I attacked the shadows and hid from every light. I huddled in the cabin, too anxious to brave the ten mile trip into town for another box of cereal or a gallon of milk. One month of waiting in silence. Of isolation from the world. Of complete and total abandonment. Nicholas meant to protect me. He promised to free me from Darius and hide me until he foolishly gambled with my life, his company, and the stock I didn’t yet possess. He worked to save me from the board’s cruelty. And his father’s violence. A month I huddled alone, waking in fear and living in solitude. And all I wanted was Nicholas.

His kiss revived me, thawing the parts of me lost beneath the layers of fear and aggression. I fell into his strength, tangling my arms over his neck, pulling my body against his. I’d never be close enough, not when the days and the miles had separated us for so long. I savored every brush of his lips and welcomed the greedy, flicking temptation of his tongue against mine. My hands dug into his suit jacket. “Are you okay?” He whispered, threading his fingers through my hair to study my face, my lips, my neck. He didn’t wait for my answer, bending to taste the silken skin of my throat. “Are you safe?” I nodded. I hummed as he suckled against the hollow of my neck. “Were you followed?” “No.” “I missed you.” “I shouldn’t be here.” Nicholas’s voice ground need against restraint, but even a Bennett’s willpower could be tempted. He reached for me, lifting me into his arms. “Why did you come?” “I couldn’t stop myself.” He carried me up the stairs, kicking the door the bedroom open and lying me upon the rumpled sheets. I blushed as pink as the pajamas. Nicholas pushed me onto the pillows before tossing his jacket on the floor. “You left me.” I raised onto my elbows. It only encouraged him. Nicholas pressed against me, pinning me between him and the bed. No better place existed than trapped beneath him, struggling only to shed the layers of frustrating material between our desperate bodies. “You left me here all alone. You didn’t call me.” His kiss silenced my protest. “You didn’t come to see me.” His touch subdued my anger. “You didn’t even say goodbye.” He burned with an apology he’d never give. “I didn’t want anyone finding where we took you. I was obsessed with keeping you safe. I couldn’t let him find you.” He touched my cheek, gentle and cautious, as though I’d shatter from his first

touch. I probably would. I’d crack into a hundred shards from his stare, a thousand fragments under his hands, and disintegrate completely the instant he loved me. The last time Nicholas Bennett dared to brush my skin, I was betrayed, bruised and nearly broken. Not every injury was visible. I survived, but the ache hadn’t. A part of me was stolen and destroyed. The destruction left behind couldn’t be healed alone. Too much time passed without him, too many nights spent reliving a terrible memory. I needed him. All of them. And instead, my step-brothers hid me to prevent it from happening again. To prevent worse. “I wished you would come for me,” I whispered. “I laid in bed and listened, terrified something would happen, that I’d be taken or hurt or killed before I could see you again.” “I don’t want you to be afraid anymore. I’m doing everything to keep you safe. You are my first and only priority.” He exhaled, his breath hot against my neck. “I’ll never forgive myself for what I did. I’d rip out my heart if you asked it.” I kissed him. “Don’t do this to yourself.” “I hurt you.” “Then heal me.” “I don’t trust myself.” That was easy to fix. I pushed upwards, capturing his lips with the promise I meant before the horror and the love I gave after. “I do trust you, Nicholas Bennett. I love you. And I missed you.” He groaned. “Me too. More than you could possibly know.” His fingers gripped the pajama top, and he pulled the little tank over my head, savoring the delicate swell of my curves with a silent appreciation reflected in a telltale smirk. His fingertips brushed pure magic over my flushing skin. His hand searched my body, teasing the tiny bud of my nipple with a gentle amusement. We both stilled as he traced lower, resting over my flat tummy. “Did you…” He didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to think of it—a child conceived in

an act that ugly and cruel. “Did you have your…?” “On schedule, as always.” His expression hardened. “Good.” It was the first time he had reacted positively to the news. He stilled, imagining that day, those events, the pain. I took his hand, kissing those loving fingers that so delighted me with just a touch. It wasn’t just me affected by Darius’s cruelty. We needed this. We needed each other, to prove what had happened hadn’t destroyed us. We’d love each other and banish the memories back into nightmare. I pulled him down, welcoming his kiss with an encouraging murmur. A soft heat chased away any lingering hesitations. Our lips met once more. A promise. A vow. A devotion we hadn’t dared to admit and a love that survived pain and brutality, guns and monsters, greed and vengeance. We won. We were together. I had no idea how long we had, but it didn’t matter. Every second wrapped within his embrace passed in both heartbeat and infinity. His touch was greater than time, more powerful than even the fear of losing what little moments we had. I gasped, pained as his hands dared to leave my body to unbutton his shirt. We kissed in need. We touched in desperation. We savored in pain. We whispered our love in every breath because we feared we’d never have the chance to speak it again. Nicholas’s kisses traced down. He exposed my neck, murmuring as he studied my pale skin. “I’ve become accustomed to you in a collar,” he said. “Regretting my freedom?” His kisses graced where the leather once tightened, his lips pressing hard against the flushed skin that pulsed so quickly under his command. “You tell me, Ms. Atwood. Did I ever need a leash to take you?”

“No. I bound myself to you,” I whispered. “My choice. Maybe my own foolishness.” “You understood where you belonged.” “With you.” Nicholas lowered his head, stealing the chance to slip the raspberry bud peeking from my breast into his mouth. “Always.” “Do you promise?” The roll of his tongue stiffened my every muscle. I arched into his mouth. He suckled, hard, drawing me deeper and savoring my sweetened whimper. “I told you, Sarah. Every night when you returned to my bed and as I took you when the sun rose—you are mine just as I’m yours. I swear to you, nothing will ever keep us apart.” I bit my lip. “Except this.” “Only for now, while I make the plans,” he said. “It won’t always be this way.” “Concessions?” His kiss aimed lower. “One I will reward you for surrendering.” His fingers tickled at the waistband of my pants. I held my breath as Nicholas tugged them over my hips. He gazed at the part of me I fought so hard to forget during the month spent hiding from the world, hiding from the memory. His touch eased the tension tightening my thighs. He gently parted my legs, slipping between the softness with yielding kisses and gentle murmurs. “Don’t fight me, Sarah,” he whispered. “I only want to please you.” My breath caught as the first of his touches simply explored. He teased my presented body, and the rush of desperate slickness surrendered at his touch, his whisper. I gripped the sheets tighter, if only to ease the burst of pressure spiking through my core. It wasn’t dangerous or frightening. Every caress of his lips, every stroke of his tongue rewarded my slit with a delighted shiver of comfort, trust, and the mounting strain that I had suppressed in fear of the haunting memories. The only relief I offered myself came in bursts of frustration, waking between night and dawn, terror and fantasy. But this…his attention. The dipping of his tongue tasted my sweetness. Every flick and tremble belonged to him as he savored me like a rewarded lover. He suckled my

clit, earning a wavering mew. The quick excitement stirred me too fast, too quickly. “Don’t hold back,” Nicholas said. “I plan on giving you everything you deserve, everything you can handle. Then I’ll delight you with everything more.” As long as it was him. As long as Nicholas delivered me there. I could handle anything, give anything, take everything just as long as it was Nicholas who stole me to that edge, teased me with the promise of his love, and then captured me within his arms as the swell stole my breath. I was lost in the aching instinct, trapped within a pleasure so raw and right I’d climb it again and again just to cherish the simple comfort of his possession. I twisted the blankets, calling his name and earning his excitement. His kisses became licks, and his tastes sheer feasts of my body. He tortured me with promise and tore me from the world and my sanity until my strength faded. I whispered his name as a delicate plea for more and a command to spare me the endless ripples of a blissful agony that bent me to his will. “I need you.” As though he couldn’t have read my begging, felt my aching, tasted my desperation. The honesty in my voice weakened as my body shuddered in a fragile crest once more. “Nicholas, please.” “I’ve dreamt of you whispering that to me.” Nicholas lifted himself from the bed, casting away his belt before I tensed in memory. “Every night, Sarah. I’ve wanted nothing more than to prove how much I love you, how sorry I am for…everything.” “Don’t be sorry. Just be here. With me. Inside me.” If I had the ability to rise, I might have pulled him into my embrace, but the dizzying lust swirled my thoughts and surrendered me to his control. He preferred me that way—tamed and waiting. His weight settled over me, protecting me within the straining muscles and practiced strength. I gripped his shoulders and shuddered as the hardness of his chest mimicked what pressed against my core. His lips found mine. I gave him everything with no protest or fear, secrets or shame, pain or tension. I expected to dread the moment I was pinned under him. Instead, his touch warmed as a gift, and my body received his every penance. He slipped within me in a single stroke—and I met the sweet gold of his eyes with every shock, every surprise, and every delight of the first time he had taken me months ago.

The world and its cruelties brought us together. Our love and devotion twisted the ugly into perfection. I filled with him, thoroughly, completely, and with such eagerness I wept at his touch. Our embrace was nothing like how we loved before. Not like when we hid at the estate and he mounted me with feral instinct and quick desperation. This was desire. Pure, uninhibited passion. All pretense stripped as he thrust within me, burying his sins and abandoning our fears. No submission, no ulterior intents, no pain. Just…whole. For the first time, for the first moments ever. We melded together in understanding and peace. His every stroke imbedded within me, proving and pledging and demonstrating his love. I murmured and arched, accepting all he offered with a shuddering bump of my hips. The deeper he plunged, the greater our devotion, the more serene the moment, the harder our crest and more desperate our joining. I cried out for him once, twice, three times, destroying myself with shivers and letting his strength rebuild me and brace me and take me again and again. I lived without his love for a month. I’d have to live without it again. Our movements rolled with a bittersweet sadness—a way to prove our words and offer every promise of love. We dulled the memories and replaced the bleak darkness with a burst light and tempted courage. In such a short time, Nicholas Bennett had become more than my captor or lover. He was my reason to live, my strength in the world, and the greatest challenge I had ever endured. His pleasure was mine, and my delights his victories, and with every shared breath and synced heartbeat, I abandoned my hope for a life beyond the Bennett’s control and instead wished for one where I would never again part from his side. His motions quickened, and the hardness in me grew. I gripped him, urging his movements, begging to grant him the same releases he freed within me. His quickening pace and surging aggression wasn’t meant to frighten me.

I wasn’t taken, but loved. He didn’t dominate me but worshiped everything that I was. Once I had been used. Now, I was adored, warmed, and cherished. Our bodies melded. My heart fluttered. I cried out. Nicholas kissed me as his length sheathed entirely within me, stealing my voice and silencing me with the same boundless passion that filled me with his endless heat, wanting, and grateful release. If my vision was lost within the burst of my delight, my breath forsaken in a quiet gasp, and my heart stilled in the clutching swell of our bodies, I’d have celebrated my last second of completeness that joined us as one. I wept and clutched at Nicholas, holding him tight against me as the stresses of the past month faded. He held me and whispered of his own fears, bracing me against him with a fierce kiss. He parted from me and gathered me close to cradle me to his chest. But the lazy moments spent with his fingers brushing my hair and his kisses upon my temple weren’t meant to last. I knew better than to hope, even if my voice could only whisper the truth. “Why are you really here, Nick?” He exhaled, his touch memorizing the angles on my face, the puffiness of my offered lips. “I saved your life today.” The trust. My heart beat faster. “Roman Wescott signed the amendment?” I paused after he nodded, lowering my head to his chest. “Now what happens?” “The board holds to their end of the bargain. In a few days, the agreement of sale will be prepared, and you sign over the stock from the trust. Then, they won’t have reason to hurt you.” “And you? You lose everything, Nick.” “I still have my original holdings.” His voice hardened. “And my inheritance.” “It’s not enough.” His grip tightened. “It is for now.”

“You can’t overthrow him without a majority.” “And you wouldn’t live without the trade.” “It’s not a good sacrifice.” “I could say the same for some of yours.” Neither of us would win that game. “What about Darius?” I whispered. “Don’t worry about him.” The kiss to my forehead cured the fever but not the infection. It’d be easier for me if I knew where he was, how to avoid him, what I could do to stop him. “How long do you expect me to hide?” Nicholas prepared for the question. He didn’t apologize. “As long as it takes.” “I can’t do this for much longer.” “You have to.” I leaned up, waving over the chalet. Though the little cabin crammed modern luxury in a small space, no amount of Jacuzzi tubs, granite countertops, or vaulted ceilings could compare to home. Wherever that was now. “This isn’t a life,” I said. “I’m not wearing a collar, but this isn’t freedom. I’m more a prisoner here than I ever was at the estate. There I might have been in danger, but at least…I had you.” I shrugged. “I had Reed and Max and…hope.” “Sarah, this is only temporary. I’ll save you from him, but you have to listen to me, you have to do as I say and trust me. Really trust me.” “I do.” “In this?” I no longer had to lie. “Yes.” “Then I’m asking you to stay hidden, just until the trust is dissolved and we’ll only have one man to control.” He shifted, easing from the bed and reaching for his clothes. My stomach pitted. “You’re leaving.” “I have to.”

“Why?” He tugged on his pants, glancing at me with a gaze that might have scolded had he not shared the same heartache. “Anyone might have followed me,” he said. “Anyone might be wondering where I am. It’s selfish of me to even be here.” “They won’t miss you for one night.” “He will.” My heart would crush before I let another tear escape, but the pain stole my remaining courage. I realized he couldn’t stay, but I had no idea my moments with him would end so quickly. “Let’s run together then.” I followed him, slipping into my robe as he shook his head. “Nick, we have the money, the ability. We just leave it behind. Tonight. We can forget everything that ever happened. The kidnappings and the beatings and Darius. We can start new somewhere else and be together.” “And you’d let my father win?” “Nicholas, he’s already won. There is nothing else for him in this world. Let him rot in his wealth, and we’ll start our own lives, far from all this insanity.” “And Max and Reed?” Nicholas asked. I looked away. “Your mother? Your company? You could no sooner walk away from your responsibilities than I can mine.” “So what then? You leave, and I stay in my prison? You surrender my only power over to your father, and then…somehow take over the Bennett Corporation without a majority or any allies on the board?” “And you stay safe.” Nicholas took my chin in his hand. “You listen to me and stay far from trouble. I’ll be back soon with the sales agreements, and then we can decide what to do. But I am not risking your life. You are everything to me, Sarah Atwood. And I would sooner imprison you in this cabin and bind you under lock and key than give him the chance to hurt you.” I believed him. That was the problem. I said nothing as he finished dressing. I followed him downstairs, earning a gentle nuzzle from Hamlet. He basked before the fireplace. “Thank you for bringing my dog.” “Thought you’d be lonely,” He said. “Reed’s gonna miss him, but you need him

more.” My perfect night couldn’t end in such misery. I stepped into his arms and held him tight. “I’ll come for you.” He kissed me, brushing my lips with a promise that did little to ease my fears. “I promise.” He patted Hamlet and wished me a goodnight. The door closed. And my hopes fled with him. I collapsed on the couch and cradled Hamlet. He flopped over me, a fuzzy hug of pure love, but I wished for something more. The pit in my stomach only grew. I woke from a sweaty sleep with a start. Hamlet growled. Hamlet never growled. The knock came quietly, same as before. I pushed the dog from my lap, but eightypounds of stubborn goldendoodle was difficult to shift. I flicked at his nose and frowned. “Ham, it’s Nick. He came back. Get up.” He growled again. What the hell got into him? I retied my robe and thought of a clever I told you so to serve at Nicholas. I knew he’d want to spend the night in my arms. No one would miss him. No one would find me. And at least we’d be happy, if only for one night. I wrapped the blanket over my shoulders and bound to the entry, unlocking the bolt and sweeping the door wide—an invitation inside where it was warm and safe. Hamlet barked. The blanket dropped to the ground. It wasn’t worth screaming. No one would hear. Any breath I wasted would be one less I had to survive. My chest tightened, and my throat closed without a desperate gasp. I stared into the leering, malicious, and lust-shaded eyes of Darius Bennett. Darius stepped inside and shut the door. He switched the lock with a solemn click. His voice struck like a punch to the gut, but he wouldn’t have to strike me.

Not now. Not here. Not when I was so far from anyone who might have saved me. “Hello, my dear.”

22

SARAH - SIX WEEKS LATER

R un.

I groaned. Run. The last thing I wanted was another night searching for a motel that accepted dogs but wouldn’t lace Hamlet with fleas. It took long enough to find this one, but three nights in the same place was too risky. Run. Hamlet whined at me. Somehow, the bowl of kibbles was more appetizing than the burger. I picked at the bun. It tasted way too sweet, but the bread was better than the grey burger, limp and greasy and smelling like… I bolted to the bathroom. Like it wasn’t bad enough trying to escape from Darius Bennett without suffering through an endless flu. I didn’t know what was worse. The running or the exhaustion. The nausea or the headaches. Ugh. I wiped my mouth and grimaced as I stared into the mirror. Enough time had passed that the bruises faded on my cheek, but I still saw them. It was easier to run with the black eye. At least then, the hotel clerks didn’t ask questions when I ordered a room, paid in cash, and demanded absolute privacy. I slipped from the bathroom and tossed Hamlet the rest of the burger. It was too late to eat such horrid food anyway. The clock blinked close to one, but it wasn’t like it mattered. I sure as hell wasn’t going back to sleep just to suffer through another nightmare. Darius attacking me once was enough.

I didn’t need to relive it again and again in my sleep. My cheeks wetted. I scoured my face with my nails. I spared no tears for Darius or his violence, and I tried not to weep for Nicholas. I didn’t have time to pity myself, not if I planned to ensure it never happened again. Darius had laid over me, destroyed my pride, and made the same promises as his son. He swore he’d return. And so I ran. I hadn’t stopped running, or hiding, or protecting myself. Even to tell Nicholas that I had gone. I shuddered. And I would never tell him what happened. My stomach heaved again. I groaned. It lurched every day since the attack. I hoped gaining some control over my life would calm it, that the disgust and shame might have faded. The night with Nicholas ended in horror, and I lost every promise of his love in the vile assault. I wanted to believe Nicholas could keep me safe. I wanted to use his strength to repair what Darius broke within me. But I wasn’t about to depend on another for my safety. Not anymore. Not after… I rushed to the bathroom again. Hamlet whined from the bed before following. At least I had a traveling buddy. My lifelong friend helped to pass the time. He didn’t judge when I sat in a silent, dangerous rage or when I plotted my every revenge against a man I no longer had the courage to face. “Six weeks, Ham.” I patted him and counted the days since I ran away. Had it really been that long? That lonely? I remembered everything in perfect detail from that night. Nicholas’s touch. Darius’s grunts. I hugged Hamlet. “Six miserable weeks…”

The nausea returned. Six. Weeks. Pin-prickles of panic raced heat and chills along the back of my neck, squeezing instantly into an attack that forced me to dive for my inhaler. It was a ridiculous thought, a stress induced fear that I had no time to indulge. I looked at the clock. Anxiety pulled me from the bed. I left Hamlet and worked up the courage to enter the first drugstore I saw. I tossed a twenty at the counter and hurried to the motel, slamming and dead-bolting the door behind me as though it would lock out all the terrible possibilities. The test wasn’t nearly as intimidating the first time I took one, even with my stepfather and his sons all in audience to witness their failure. I tapped my fingers against the counter as the time ticked down. I threw up before I read the results. I already knew what it’d say. I braced against the wall, sliding to the floor. The test exposed my new, terrible, and impossible secret. Pregnant.

CAPITAL RISK (LEGACY BOOK 3)

1

SARAH

I t isn’t his.

It isn’t his. It isn’t his.

The words recoiled in my mind like a gunshot. The truth didn’t break my heart—it ruptured, bled, and ground it to ash. A surge of bile burned my throat. Morning sickness was dreadful, but this time it wasn’t the baby. The lingering shadow of my nightmare leeched the courage from me. I woke in a cold sweat, fearing the pounding of fists knocking at my door. Silence. Only the hum of the broken air-conditioner crackled the stillness. Hamlet wasn’t the best guard dog. He wasn’t a guard anything, but even he might have rolled over if someone had broken into my room. Instead he grumbled, snored, and tucked next to me, claiming most of the bed. At least he could sleep. I slunk from the bed to double-check the deadbolt. The metal knob didn’t reassure me. No lock in the world would protect me from them. From him. And that was why it was time to stop running. The hotel’s humidity suffocated me, but the shower sputtered icy water. I washed quickly, my hand just barely brushing my belly. My tummy was still flat. Unnoticeable. But I knew.

THE WEDDING SUCKED, BUT AT LEAST JOSIAH BROUGHT ME A DRINK WITH MORE RUM THAN COKE. I GULPED it down before Mike took it away. Unfair. He was already trashed. “How long do we have to stay?” I picked at a hunk of sugary cake. A blob of icing smeared over my black dress. I rubbed it off. “I can’t be around these people anymore.” Josiah got Mom’s looks but Dad’s impatience. “Sprout, just smile and eat your cake. All you gotta do is take a couple pictures. We’re the ones dealing with these assholes.” “Oh, I’ll gladly deal with Darius for you.” “Not happening,” Mike said. “I don’t trust that bastard. You stay as far from him as you can. In fact, steer clear of all the Bennetts. They’re bad news.” “Too late.” Josiah stiffened and crossed his arms, more bouncer than brother. “Try not to accuse anyone of murder, Sprout. Not while the minister’s still around.” The golden-eyed intruder nodded to my brothers before offering his hand for a formal handshake. My brothers refused, but one of us needed to be polite. I slipped my palm into his and blamed the rum for the quick flush to my cheeks. If Nicholas Bennett noticed, he said nothing. I liked the melty-smoothness of his voice and decided against throwing my drink in his face. “Ms. Atwood, would you care to dance?” Mom said to be cordial, and Nicholas seemed sincere enough. The radiating heat from his hand cascaded over me in unwelcomed shivers….shivers too good to feel for a Bennett. I nodded. One dance, and then I could pretend I behaved myself at a wedding more enemy infiltration than celebration. Like a proper gentleman, Nicholas led me to the dance floor, but a condescending slur interrupted us with false praise and deceitful compliments. Darius Bennett patted Nicholas’s shoulder. His words slithered over me. “Son, allow me this first dance with our beautiful little Sarah.” I hadn’t answered, and Darius didn’t ask. He seized my hand and forced me onto the dance floor, snaking a cold arm around my waist—nearly too low for anything proper. The music swayed, and he tossed me off the beat. He was lucky I didn’t knee him in the groin. He was more fortunate that Mike restrained Josiah.

Darius chuckled as I stiffly twirled under his hand. His words laced with poison. “My dear, let me be the first to welcome you to our family.”

I SHUT THE WATER OFF. THE TOWEL WAITED FOR ME, FLIPPED OVER THE SHOWER BAR. Just the brush of the cotton against my hands revolted me. It was weird to hate terrycloth towels, but after the attack, even the simplest of memories manifested in strange ways. Darius groping me the day I swam with Reed was another moment when I might have prepared myself for the inevitable. Darius didn’t just steal my dignity. He chipped it away, piece by piece, touch by touch. Be a good girl, my dear… I wouldn’t drop the towel. For two months, I used the hairdryer to dry off instead of touching my own body. Not again. That freak-show ended now. I wrapped myself in the towel, grating it against my flushed skin until the sandpaper fibers streaked my legs blotchy and red. It sickened me, but I’d handle it. This was how I’d heal. Breathless, I pitched the damn towel against the wall. It shouldn’t have felt like a victory, but one fear was conquered. Only a few more to go. For the first time in days, I could meet my gaze in the mirror. And the girl looking back? She’d been screaming at me for weeks to stop running and start fighting. Two weeks ago I took a pregnancy test, and the results terrified me. But the pity and self-loathing ended now. My thoughts crept with disgusted memories and humiliated realizations, but hiding the truth made the pain worse. I wasted too many seconds of my life living in fear of Darius Bennett. In my waking hours and trapped in nightmares, he lurked, pinning me in harsh, unfamiliar helplessness. No more. Shock was a powerful tool, but denial rent through every mental defense. The pained cramping of my stomach heaving in morning sickness forced me to confront the truth. I was pregnant.

I had no idea who the father was. But it wouldn’t make a difference. Darius Bennett took what he wanted, and his family achieved their monstrous ambitions. They stole me. Bred me. Hurt me. He did as he said he would, and now I had nothing more to fear from him. I looked into the eyes of the devil, endured his vile and disgusting lust, and I survived. He should have killed me. Instead, he underestimated me. He’d regret that mistake. First, I’d ruin the Bennett Corporation. Then I’d take his family. And after he was left crawling in the dirt in the remnants of his shattered pride? Only one of us would remain. I had more than enough reason to live. I didn’t plan for it to happen, it shouldn’t have been possible, but I was pregnant, and the child was completely and utterly innocent of all the insanity. No matter the father, I had to protect him. No one else deserved to be corrupted by this feud. But the only way to keep him safe would be to forever deny the Bennett blood in him. My son was an Atwood. Darius would never, ever touch him. And Nicholas? I turned from the mirror. Two months had passed since the night I spent in Nicholas’s arms, and I wished I could forget everything about those stolen moments. What should have been a beautiful, amazing, life-affirming passion was ruined. Stained. Lost in violence. I ran, and I hadn’t contacted him since then. I didn’t know what to say, how to tell him what happened. Maybe Darius already revealed it, using my pain to break his eldest son. Rage was an easy emotion and love far too complicated. It wasn’t the first time I wished for the simplicity of hate—Atwood against Bennett, prisoner against captor, woman against man. Falling in love with Nicholas endangered all of us, especially me. Staying in love with him? That selfish, naïve longing would ultimately threaten my child. And nothing would ever hurt my son. If it was a son.

It had to be a boy, the male heir. I refused to think of any other possibility—not when the consequences and Darius’s retaliation were too horrible to imagine. Which meant it was time for revenge. For days I imagined my bloody retaliations, and the pure fantasy of hate kept me strong. Darius’s punishment wouldn’t be a slit to the throat or a bullet to the brain. That was a death far too easy for a demon like Darius. Too quick. Too impersonal. Hamlet chewed through my second laptop charging cable—a difficult expense when I avoided my credit cards and forms of ID. My battery dipped below forty percent, but I had everything I needed. Toxicology reports. Hazardous material screenings. Chemical compound listings. Material Safety Data Sheets. Environmental checklists. With the click of a mouse, and the cooperation of my attorney with one thinly veiled request, I possessed all the information on the Bennett agrochemical products. I had the formulas, research, and trade secrets Nicholas hadn’t let me read while they held me captive. I had more rights as stockholder than prisoner, and I realized that only hours after the attack. Once I managed to move, before I ran, before he came back, I emailed for the information. But I hadn’t opened the reports yet. The emails sat in my inbox, unopened, for two months. At first, my denial convinced me to run instead of work, to hide from the panic and shame. I hid from everything to protect the fragile part of me flickering with the remnants of my courage. That flicker burned just a bit hotter today. I opened the email and read the message Anthony Delvannis enclosed with the attached reports. Even through email, he was a direct, assertive, protective asshole. Where the hell are you? Call me immediately. Women tended to obey Anthony—and, after my time spent under Max’s hand, I understood it more. Unfortunately, the damn auto-read receipt popped an alert to his office when I opened the email. His response pinged on my screen now that he knew I was at the computer. Sarah, call me. Oh, this wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. Not with my damn attorney, and not with anyone else, including the man who deserved the truth.

I deleted the email and skimmed over a report—the chemical compositions of the Bennett pesticides which earned the family their first billion. Anthony emailed again. Sarah, if you’re reading this, tell me you’re all right. Well, I wasn’t, but I wasn’t explaining why I went missing. The Bennetts probably covered up my disappearance on their own. Asthma. Illness. God only knew what other lies they’d spread from the darkness. I was just lucky neither Nicholas nor Darius had found me yet. Both would rip the sky from the ground and search through every hidden crack in the earth to find me. I continued to parse the attachments, hesitating over the lone financial report tucked within the chemical breakdowns. My father refused to use Bennett chemicals, and our multi-billion dollar farm became the sole challenger to the Bennett Empire. My father took pleasure in watching as the Bennetts squirmed, trying to explain why one of the most powerful agricultural families in the United States rejected the offers from the largest agrochemical business in the world. Now it was my turn to honor my father’s legacy and ruin the Bennett Corporation. But I wouldn’t do it by denying Darius Bennett. Their greatest achievement would be securing a claim over my farms. And I would give it to them if only so I’d suffocate Darius in the very dirt he so longed to possess. The email pinged again. Sarah, it’s about your mother. My stomach heaved. I didn’t have room in my belly for guilt too, not while I carried enough of a secret. I hadn’t seen Mom in months, and my few messages to her were quick and superficial. I had nothing to say that wouldn’t break her. Your husband raped me. The baby I’m carrying might be his. I’m going to murder the only man you’ve ever loved and enjoy every second of it. And that was if she understood what was happening. How much time had passed. If Darius hadn’t hurt her while looking for me. I stuffed a saltine in my mouth and waited for the lurching to stop. It didn’t. I called Anthony anyway. I was a billionaire heiress, and I was making calls on pre-paid phones, hiding in

tiny hotels, and traveling from city to city on what was left of the ten grand I pulled out of my account before bolting. Anthony answered, but his graveled voice wasn’t the mocha smoothness I longed to hear. “Sarah, are you okay.” He didn’t ask it as a question. After months of my complete silence, he was beyond pleasantries. Anthony demanded an answer. He wouldn’t be the only one. “Goddamn it, Sarah. Just say something.” “Hi.” They were the first words I spoke in a week to anyone but Hamlet and the hotel’s clerk. It didn’t sound like me, but, then again, I had lost, found, and destroyed myself so many times in the past weeks that I didn’t know which Sarah Atwood even answered. I wasn’t a timid girl any more. I wasn’t a captive. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to be a victim. “Where are you?” he asked. No place I trusted myself to reveal. “What’s wrong with Mom?” “Sarah—” “I’m fine. What happened to my mother?” He hesitated. Every passing second burned a greater hatred in my chest. The only person I loathed more than Darius was me, especially if he hurt Mom because I ran. “She’s not well,” he said. “Does she realize it?” “No. Not entirely. But he realizes it.” “What’s he doing to her?” Anthony paused. “As far as I can tell, nothing. But he’s whispering in her ear. She’s trying to change her will.” “Of course she is,” I said. “But power of attorney passed to me.” “And Bennett is challenging it.” Goddamn it. Darius struck at me, luring me from my hiding by using Mom. Only he would be monstrous enough to place a sick woman in the middle of our feud. “What the hell does he want? She doesn’t have any control over the farm or corporation.” “You tell me, Sarah. What’s his game?”

“How would I know?” His name choked in my throat. I forced myself to speak it anyway. “I don’t pretend to understand the cesspool that is Darius’s mind.” “Figure it out. He might get the POA if Bethany’s daughter refuses to show at a court date.” “Mom won’t change her will.” “You should make sure of it. Where are you?” It was a mistake to call. “Email me any updates. I’ll stay in touch. I gotta go.” “Christ, Sarah, you are an Atwood! You can’t just disappear like this!” Anthony’s voice seared through the phone. “It was bad enough when you were lost in the Bennett Estate. And don’t tell me you were there to recover from an asthma attack.” He interrupted me with a grunt. “No one’s heard from you in two months. That includes the Bennetts.” “I said I was fine.” Anthony swore. “Don’t feed me that bullshit. You dropped off the grid the instant the Bennett stock passed into your possession. That doesn’t make sense. You are the largest shareholder outside their family. You practically own the company.” And the shares weren’t worth the sorrow. I stayed quiet. “Nicholas Bennett stormed into my office two weeks ago.” My chest instantly tightened. “He demanded information about you. Where you were. The last time we spoke. Where you were staying. He nearly had a coronary when I said I had no goddamned idea where you went.” “Oh.” “I don’t know what he’s planning, but Nicholas will burn your fields to find you, Sarah.” I believed him, but not for the reasons Anthony feared. “I had an agreement with Nicholas, but…the circumstances changed. I’ll deal with him.” “What the hell are you doing, Sarah? Just talk to me. Something is wrong.” “It’s under control.” “You hate Darius Bennett. You’d let your lungs collapse before accepting his help, but you move to his estate because of an asthma attack?” “I said it was fine!”

“Did they hurt you?” Silence. How was I supposed to answer that? Yes. Constantly. Every moment of every day? Every second I spent with Nicholas shredded my soul and blinded me with a deceptive peace. I trapped myself within his control. But did he hurt me? Was that abuse? His devotion wasn’t anything like the sadism that hardened Darius’s heart and other more repulsive parts of him. Nicholas hadn’t hurt me, but, because of him, I now understood pain. I experienced it in more ways than just heartbreak, stolen futures, and submissions forced from an unwilling body. “Sarah.” “I have a plan,” I said. “That wasn’t my question.” “I control enough of the Bennett Corporation to influence Darius. I can either use that power to get more money, or we can end this once and for all.” “End what?” I swallowed. “The feud between our families.” “And how will you do that?” “Tell my acting CEO to get me a quote on how much it would cost to use all Bennett agrochemicals on my fields. Fertilizers, herbicides, pesticides, everything.” “What?” “Have them email the proposal. Absolutely anything the Bennett Corporation provides on an agrochemical level, I want to use on my fields.” “Sarah, this doesn’t make any sense.” “And don’t tell them I requested the information.” Anthony sighed. “What are you doing? This isn’t a peace offering. You’d rather those crops withered and died than ever spray with Bennett products.” “You said it yourself. I’m a shareholder in the Bennett Corporation—so powerful I practically own the company. Shouldn’t I use the products of my investment? What better spokesperson could the Bennetts find?”

“What’s your plan?” “Get me the quote. We’ll move on it once I have the information.” “Your board won’t like this.” “Unlike the Bennetts, my father kept control of his investors. They’ll do as I say, and, if they don’t, they can’t overrule my decision.” I swallowed. “Nor will they want to…once they see what I plan to do.” “You need to talk to me. Really talk to me. You aren’t well, I can hear it. Tell me what happened.” “Nothing,” I said. “I’m doing what I always meant to do.” “What’s that?” “I’m tearing apart the Bennett Empire, beginning with their Board of Directors.” “But—” “And once they’re gone, Darius Bennet will pay for the sins he committed.” “Darius Bennett didn’t kill your father.” “No.” My voice faded. “He’s done worse than that.” “Sarah—” “Get me those quotes. I’ll explain it all later.” Anthony didn’t take the order well, but I hung up and turned off the phone to prevent him from calling again. Instead, I focused on the reports with their unfamiliar chemical compounds and reactions. I took enough chemistry and chemical engineering classes to be dangerous, but I specialized in genetics. I wanted to work in genetics. The Bennett stole that dream. And, as a result, they’d lose everything. A few unsprouted seeds and ruined fields would destroy Darius Bennett’s reputation. One of the reports bore Nicholas’s signature. This would harm him too. But he knew it was a possibility. He knew what would happen when he promised his love, but still tried every night to breed me. He succeeded, and it wasn’t a beautiful creation made by a loving couple. It was a complete disaster with consequences that would endanger us all. It couldn’t be Darius’s baby.

But if it was? I’d hide Darius’s crime. I’d bury the truth. I had no choice. Twenty year old Sarah Atwood, raped and impregnated by her step-father? The baby was the heir to two multi-billion dollar empires. He would be important, influential, and nothing would be denied to him. If the truth were revealed, the entire world would realize what happened. Nicholas would know. The reports blurred, but it wasn’t tears. My breath sharpened, stinging as it caught within my uncooperative lungs. Not again. The clinic said the inhaler was safe for both me and the baby, but I hated taking the puff, especially when it wasn’t allergies or exercise that caused the attack. It was frustration. Anger. The tightness in my chest still felt like Darius’s weight crushing me. Weeks had passed, and that wheezing pain hadn’t healed. And it wouldn’t. Not while I ran. Not while I hid. Not while I cowered and Darius walked free, content with his crime and unaffected by the trauma it caused. It was the second bad attack that week. The breathless cough scared me, but my heaving sickness made it worse. I collapsed on the bathroom floor, gagging and choking and hating everything about my shuddering, silent cry. I threw up. I couldn’t breathe. I choked. My stomach lurched. I gagged and wheezed until my vision darkened and the agonized headache split my skull. Minutes passed as I lay crumpled on the cold, damp floor of an unrated motel. Mold grew in the corners. The radiator smelled of burnt dust. Hamlet whined next to me, thumping a tail against my thigh as he waited for me to peel myself from the tile. Was this how I wanted to be found? Dead from an asthma attack, covered in my own sickness, hiding a pregnancy from the men who might have helped me survive everything? From the one man who deserved to know? The squeezing in my chest faded as I made the decision. I refused to let the fear or the rage or the blistering helplessness control me. The only way I’d ever heal was if Darius Bennett was punished for what he did. The only way I’d survive a pregnancy with severe asthma was if I had help.

I needed my step-brothers. I cleaned myself and crawled to the bed, resting within the stiff sheets and clutching the phone to my breast. I once meant for Darius to endure the same torment he forced on me. Now I just wanted him dead. Cold and buried and gone forever. I dialed Nicholas…but I didn’t press send. I longed to hear his voice. I wanted to slap his face and blame him for everything that happened to me. I planned to bury myself in his embrace. But I knew I had to keep the baby as far from the Bennetts and their evils as possible. My heart didn’t just break—visions of an unrealized future, a lost and perfect love, and the memories of a gentle passion shattered with every beat. If I was to survive, if I meant to protect my child, I had only one option. Rid the world of Darius Bennett and shield my baby from any of his influences. They owed me that much. I cleared the phone and called Reed. He picked up, but I spoke before I heard his voice and lost all composure, all courage. “I need your help.”

2

NICHOLAS

“D id you fucking kill her?”

My father’s office door crashed against the wall. Chunks of wood from the frame shattered, striking the ceiling, the windows. They tumbled still before his desk. I stared the monster in the eye. He didn’t blink. I repeated myself. My words echoed in fierce accusation, layering in the freezing hiss of a desperate man without patience, without hope. Without answers. Without her. “Did you kill her?” My father’s thin lips peeled into a smile. He folded his hands into his lap, just waiting, hesitating as the silence tightened my fists. “Kill who, son?” I wasn’t a man who lost his temper. My father was a man who didn’t deserve the air he breathed. I swore, ripping the laptop and papers from his desk. The computer crashed in a disappointing fizzle, but the roaring blood in my ears promised a greater calamity once his bones cracked and skin ripped. “You seem tense,” my father said. I grunted as I hauled him from his chair. He wasn’t feeble, but he didn’t fight as I slammed him against the window and weighed my failing patience against his uncompromising stare. His head smacked against the glass. It wasn’t enough. Outside, San Jose glimmered in the twilight. The cracking glass would have

shattered the quiet, but I longed for every murderous second of Heaven as his body careened to the pavement below. I gripped his suit. His eyebrow arched. I should have driven his head through the window. But I had to know. For two months, I lived in ignorance, pessimism, and a denied mourning. She vanished, completely. Emails unanswered and phones disconnected. A private investigator revealed nothing. Max warned we’d need to hire a coroner. It was the first time I struck my brother. He lost a tooth. I thought I lost my mind. Either the grief would break me, shadow me in crimson regret and endless solitude, or that failing slice of hope would cut through the insanity. If she were safe, we’d all survive. The only force more powerful than greed was hate. Money didn’t transfer into the afterlife. Hate did. Vengeance did. If he murdered her, I’d follow him to hell and become his own personal devil. “Did you kill Sarah Atwood?” “You think I would kill my own daughter?” “Don’t fuck with me. Is she dead?” My father grinned. “Why do you ask, Nicholas? Has your little sister gone missing?” If he dared to take that perverted tone about Sarah once more, he’d pray to land in a puddle of glass forty stories below. “Answer the question. Did you have her killed?” My father declined to respond. His attention drifted over my shoulder. I dropped him and ducked, avoiding the fist of one of his newly hired bodyguards. He stepped aside as the second guard imbedded his foot in my gut. I swung. My punch caught one in the chin as the other slammed my ear. I fell to my knee, but not before gripping a pair of scissors cast from the desk. I jammed the blade into the thigh of the bastard gripping my neck. The monsters my father hired were as emotionless and cruel as he. If they bled, it was black and putrid. The stain spread over his thigh, but he didn’t swear. His grip tightened, and the other bodyguard struck me in the chest. The air hissed from my

lungs. I didn’t give my father the satisfaction of groaning. Not like I had the air to make the sound anyway. “Don’t bruise his face.” My father readjusted his suit before claiming his seat. “But teach him this lesson.” As with everything my father expected, his guards were ruthless, efficient, and obeyed his every order. A kick to the chest was nothing. The jab to the kidney drove me to my knees. My stomach heaved. I didn’t vomit. Yet.

THE FUNERAL GUESTS LEFT WHEN THE AMBULANCE ARRIVED FOR MY HYSTERICAL STEP-MOTHER. MY FATHER grunted, wiping the blood from his hands with a handkerchief. “Bethany sliced her wrists in the bathtub. I’m going with her to the hospital. You stay at the farm until what whatever remains of those bastards are buried.” As if I had a choice. Two men were dead, lost souls in a feud with no visible end. The least they deserved was an acknowledgement of our guilt. The crowds paid their respects, and the caskets lowered into the farmland, beside the wretched body of their father. A murderer didn’t deserve a grave as beautiful as the landscape surrounding the Atwood farms. The guests tucked away their tissues and paraded to their cars. But she stayed. The beautiful blonde with hair as pale as her corn’s silk and blue eyes faded with tears. She sat in the dirt and wept for her brothers. For her life. For everything that was now hers. Sarah Atwood’s sorrow broke my heart. I wished we weren’t the cause.

A RIB CRACKED. THE SHARP SLICE ECHOED OVER THE ROOM. I GASPED, BUT MY ESCAPING WORDS DIDN’T beg for pity. My father loathed mercy and begging excited him. My brothers and I shared enough scars to understand his sadism. And now so did Sarah. If she were still alive.

I left her at the chalet, but I promised her I’d return. We’d planned to sell her shares of the company, appease the board, and find a way to shield her from my father. But maybe she didn’t believe me? Maybe she ran before the bastard had a chance to locate her. Or maybe she was dead. And then my father would need more than two Russian mutes with bloodied fists to protect him. “Where is she?” I rasped through the pain. “Answer me.” My father nodded. The monster on my right struck where the rib already shattered. “First, you steal my daughter and hide her far from where her daddy can find her.” My father’s voice was far too calm for the filth he spoke. “And now you storm into my office fussing like a toddler. Why? Is it because she’s run from you too? Tell me, Nicholas. What’s happened to this family? To you?” “Nothing you didn’t cause.” “Me?” he actually laughed. “How is this disaster my fault? Be honest, son. You fell in love with your sister. You bargained with everyone’s lives to save hers. You gave her the stock, and you were the one to threaten Roman Wescott into giving you every last share.” He nodded to his guard. I braced for it, but the fist to my gut roiled every pain with my simmering disgust. I grunted and spat. The second guard backhanded me for the insolence of making a mess in my father’s office. That would bruise. He didn’t care. “That little Atwood slut climbed into your bed, gave you a ride, and then ran away with the entirety of the Josmik Trust. Didn’t she tell the love of her life where she went? Are you really surprised?” “Sarah was selling the stock to the board. She didn’t want to keep it.” His eyebrow arched. “She fucked you good, Nicholas. At least you got off while it lasted.” I tasted blood. It wasn’t from the beating. “You killed her. You found her and murdered her.” “Son, I assure you. The last time I saw Sarah Atwood was the last time you did.” He didn’t know about the chalet. He didn’t know I’d confessed my love to her, begged her forgiveness for the horrible pain my brothers and I caused, and ordered

her to stay and wait for my return. My father gestured for his men to strike me again. The punch bent me in two. The hit to my chest popped me upright in the chair. “I should have killed her, but I didn’t think the little whore would ever bolt.” My father sighed, unflinching, as he observed my beating. “To be perfectly honest, my daughter charmed me. I let her off easy, but I’ve always had a soft heart.” My breathing hurt, but I deserved the ragged drag of air through my lungs. Sarah suffered through worse for us—her own broken ribs and injuries, terrors and captivity. Of course she’d leave. Of course she’d run. What promises of mine would ever comfort a woman so mistreated? I never saw her body without bruises. I vowed to keep her safe, but my word hadn’t prevented any injury or sacrifice. And the day I freed her from my possession, the instant the collar unclipped from her neck, the devil rose from hell to recover the innocent soul he nearly lost. What my brothers and I did to her was unforgiveable. And even in the dark and quiet, when I returned to fall back within her, as I offered her my heart with every passionate thrust, she made her choice. Sarah ran to save herself. And she took the only leverage she had to ensure her safety—the very fate of the company she vowed to destroy. My father dismissed the guards he had hired specifically to defend him from our retaliation. Not a day went by that Max and Reed didn’t demand some form of satisfaction. For them, it had been three months since the night he put the gun to her head and forced us to ruin her. They weren’t the same men I remembered. Neither was I. The bodyguards wouldn’t protect my father. The only reason he breathed was because I couldn’t take the chance that he’d found Sarah and imprisoned her without our knowledge. “I asked for one thing, son.” He dabbed his handkerchief over the blood that smudged his desk. “Sarah Atwood’s heir. We were in agreement. You all fucked the girl, and yet here we are. Months later, and our company is still in jeopardy. I’m disappointed with this turn of events.” My grief and misery faded. I believed him. He hadn’t found her. She was safe.

So why did she run from me? “I don’t care if I disappoint you,” I said. “Yes, you do. All of my sons do. It’s the reason Reed has yet to abandon his name, and why Max bloodied his hands so often. Even you, Nicholas. Until that little bitch staked her claim on your cock, you served me with every expectation I had of my heir.” “I don’t serve anyone.” “You made a fine lapdog for Sarah Atwood.” He spat the words. “And a better one for me these past few weeks. No more arguing. No more complications in the board meetings. It’s refreshing. Almost as if you remembered you were my son.” “It’s not for you. I vote with you like we agreed.” “Do you regret this now?” “It kept her safe.” A pause. My father’s lips pressed into another smile I didn’t trust. He leaned forward. “For how much longer, Nicholas? Do you really think you can protect her from the board?” No. She inherited the shares early, but she hadn’t signed the sales agreement to transfer the wealth to the board. Her fate was decided. But if Sarah had attempted to harm the Bennett Corporation, she’d already be dead. Instead, she acted stupidly and recklessly, which meant everything was going according to her plan. “They will kill her,” my father said. “And you and I won’t be able to save her.” The disgust was worse than the blood and sweat beaten from me. “You don’t want to save her. You want to hurt her.” “Sarah Atwood was always meant to be bred. Her own father didn’t label her as an heir, and her brothers named her as there was no one else in their line. Her sole purpose in this world was to carry whatever son you planted in her womb.” He snorted. “But you couldn’t even do that.” And I was grateful. The last punishment Sarah deserved was the dehumanizing realization that we twisted her body with such a repulsive desire. “The idea was mad from the start,” I said. “And now we have more problems than her.” “The board?” His voice lightened. “They have a plan to regain those shares. They’ll

capture her, kill her. She’ll be lucky if she dies before they take a taste of her for their troubles.” My stomach turned. The men on the board, men like Bryant Maddox who’d do just as my father predicted, would make her suffer for their lost investments. My mind raged, blitzing into both pain and ruptured aggression. No one would ever touch her. Not after what my brothers and I did. Sarah endured enough without a man forcing himself upon her. The thought sickened me, but my father watched my every flinch. It wasn’t a weakness to love, but it wasn’t a strength that would protect her from vile intentions. “If Sarah Atwood were killed…” My father seemed pleased by the implication. “The trust would transfer to her mother. As Bethany’s husband, Sarah’s power of attorney would defer to me. So, Nicholas, if you wish to save your little whore, I’d recommend finding her soon.” “And what would you do to her if I did?” “She knows what she must do. First, she sells the shares—that’s non-negotiable. Then she’d have a choice.” “You’ve never given her a choice.” “She can either be bred, or she will be killed.” He rapped his fingers against his desk. “And, son? I think that decision might be harder for her than you believe.” “You will not hurt her.” He held my gaze. “I’ve acquired a taste for her pain. I’m sure I’ll sample it again. Soon.” No more madness. I heard all I needed to hear. I stood, wracked with the ache of my broken ribs and enough internal bruising to piss blood. My father ordered his guards to escort me from the office. “Board meeting tomorrow, Nicholas. Tricky vote. I’ll need your support on those few employee terminations we’ve discussed.” I gritted my teeth. Seven hundred employees weren’t a few. Whatever legacy I’d inherit smoldered in the wreckage of his leadership. I turned to the door, but I didn’t move quickly enough. The pleasure in my father’s voice gurgled like an oozing wound. “I’m sure she’ll return soon, son.” He laughed. “And she’ll have so many stories to tell you.”

My father’s guards forced me into the elevator, but I waited until the doors closed before sinking against the mirrored wall. I attempted to check my ribs in the mirror. Twisting to untuck the dress shirt agonized me. I imagined what I’d see instead. I escaped into the parking garage but waited until I was in the car before dialing Max on the pre-paid phone. He answered after one ring. “What’d you find out?” I hid the pain. “He doesn’t have her.” “You sure?” “I have two broken ribs and instructions on how to vote at the meeting tomorrow. He doesn’t know where she is. Sarah’s still alive. She’s okay.” “Then where the fuck is she?” Max asked. Good question. His voice lowered. “And why the hell is she running from you?” Better question. “Are you ready to move?” I clutched the steering wheel. “Tonight is our best opportunity. Not many people in the office.” Max swore. “I’m ready. Got a problem though.” “I don’t want to hear the word problem.” “Reed hasn’t picked up his packages.” Son of a bitch. I slammed a hand against the console. My ribs immediately punished me. The silenced pistols, unregistered and imported from Max’s contact in Mexico, waited for their first and only use. We left the helicopter on the Bennett Corporation roof, fueled and serviced. I’d pilot. Max would contain the cargo. Once we reached the yacht, Reed and I arranged for a drop in the deep, darker parts of the ocean. Ten million dollars, but they promised discretion. They also wanted it in cash. And if Reed hadn’t secured the duffle bag… “Where the hell is he?” I spat my words. “What’s he doing?” “Hasn’t said. He’s gotta get there in less than an hour. I knew we couldn’t count on him, Nick. He’s still fucked up from raping Sarah.”

“Goddamn it. If he wants to atone for it, this is the only way.” I seized my primary cell phone as it rang. Reed’s name flashed over the display. “Hold on. I found him.” Max swore. I answered the call. “Nick.” Reed spoke slowly, too steady. “Something came up.” “You have a job to do,” I said. “I know.” “Where are you?” “Getting ready to board a plane.” “A plane?” “Listen to me. Something important happened. Get out of San Jose. Meet me at my house.” “Reed—” “I’m not fucking around.” I had two broken ribs and not nearly enough patience for his games. “What about the plan?” “Forget it.” “We won’t get this chance again. Not for a while.” “Call it off. Believe me. We might not get this chance again.” Reed hung up. I swore again before returning to Max. “Reed’s out,” I said. “Should we do it alone?” We couldn’t. I organized it for three men. Each of us had our part. “He said to meet him at his house,” I said. “On the coast?” “Apparently.” “What about Dad?” “He said this was bigger.”

Max hesitated. “What do you think?” No greater injustice existed than my father’s beating heart. I grunted. “Call it off. We’ll have other opportunities.” I stared through a darkened windshield, to the private elevator to the executive floor. “He thinks he’s untouchable.” “He is. You know the risks.” And I was willing to bear them all. The frustration beat at me from the inside, punishing that which already bruised and bled. It had almost been over. And we risked it all to see it done. But I knew what would happen as a result. The investigations. The money. The will. The company. We might have lost everything. I prepared to trade my freedom for hers. If it even mattered. She was an Atwood. She probably found a way to destroy us all in her own twisted revenge. I had trusted her. For the first time in our relationship, I trusted her. And she betrayed me. She kept the shares. She damned me to a board that would kill me for my treachery just as they’d slit her throat. It was becoming too difficult to keep track of the favors and excuses. She owed me an explanation. I owed her a life free from pain and suffering. One of us would break first. “We’ll meet at Reed’s place,” I said. “And he better have a damn good excuse for ruining this.” “Are you sure?” “Killing Dad is the only way I can keep Sarah safe. If that doesn’t prove how much I love her, then nothing will.” “What if she doesn’t want you?” Max asked. “What if after all this bullshit she’d decided to split, save herself, and fuck us all over?” “It won’t happen.” “Why?” The simple truth heated my blood and stilled my heart.

“I will have Sarah Atwood. Not because she belongs to me, but because I cannot exist without her.”

3

SARAH

T

hree knocks rattled the hotel door.

Hamlet growled. He remembered what happened the last time someone came for me. My chest squeezed. Monsters didn’t live in closets. They roamed free in the world, hunting and torturing their victims with gnarled fingers and a sing-song sickness in their voice. But the man knocking wasn’t evil. He was the one Bennett I’d face without shattering under the weight of the truth. It wasn’t Darius’s perverted crimes that frightened me anymore. It was what they’d think of me once I faced the shame. What Nicholas would think. My hand trembled as I checked the peephole. I recognized the sea-green eyes, but I opened the door with the chain, just to ensure he was alone. The baby wasn’t the only consequence of my naivety. Paranoia conquered me. And distrust. Reed waited until the door swung wide. Then I was captured in his embrace. “Hi, Re—” I stuffed my tears into the roiling pit of nausea in my stomach. Reed squeezed me too hard. I dug my fingers into his shoulder and hoped I wouldn’t reveal the pregnancy in a most undignified manner. Reed didn’t smile. He touched my face, kissed my forehead. “Jesus Christ, Sarah, we were worried about you! Where the hell have you been?” He didn’t release me, and I tolerated the touch, if only because the last time he held me was in a brief, horrible goodbye after my step-brothers secured a chartered flight to escape from Darius. Reed gave me five thousand dollars and broke down

because he could do nothing else. Nothing to make up for how they hurt me. But it wasn’t his fault. Not when the gun was pointed at my head, and the bullets etched with their names. I didn’t blame them. It was all Darius. Every time. Every moment. But even Reed’s embrace was too much, too confining. I escaped from his pinning hug. He patted Hamlet behind the ears. “You okay?” Reed brushed my cheek. I flinched, and he immediately apologized. The guilt and shame flushed my cheeks. I dreaded what he’d say next. The pity. The remorse. Instead he smiled, his dimple so teasing and playful. “Enjoying your whirlwind vacation?” I…hadn’t expected that. “Vacation?” He winked. “I figured you’d get tired of us sooner or later.” “Tired of you?” “Nick’s been so worried, holy Christ. You ran with all those shares. Max thought you’d sell and buy a one-way ticket to some tropical island paradise.” Reed grinned. “I told him you’d use it for startup capital to develop some sort of genetically modified monster corn.” My stomach rolled. I pushed further from Reed. “You thought I left with the stock from the Josmik Trust,” I said. “You thought I…” Betrayed them. Oh, God. They didn’t know. Nicholas didn’t know. Darius’s attack wasn’t the only nightmare that haunted me. I dreaded how he’d gloat, what he’d say, how he’d utterly destroy my step-brothers when he revealed just how easily he… They didn’t know their father raped me. My stomach heaved.

“Hold on…” I clapped a hand over my mouth and rushed to the bathroom, slamming the door as I landed on my knees. They didn’t know. The relief expelled every awful memory, the lingering fear, the imaginary hands gripping my hips. Darius didn’t tell them. And neither would I. I had an opportunity to end the reign of a monster. If we killed Darius, they would never know, and I would be safe from harm and humiliation. Reed rapped on the door. “Hey, Typhoid Mary. I’m glad you called, but if you get me sick…” I washed my face. “You won’t catch it.” “Better not.” I edged from the bathroom with a shrug. His eyebrow rose as he cuddled with Hamlet. “You okay?” His smile faded. No. “Yeah.” “You don’t look good.” He gestured around the hotel room. “And you can afford better digs.” Not if I wanted to hide in one of the thousands of indistinguishable hotels where a billionaire would never think to search. “It’s been fine,” I said. Reed didn’t believe me, but he nodded. “I’m glad you’re coming back.” He wouldn’t be, not once he learned the reasons why. He hopped from the bed to take the bag I lifted. The strap caught on the table and jostled the zipper. The rattling bottle bounced against the floor. I dove for it, but Reed seized it first, handing it to me. “Almost dropped your—” The bottle clenched in his hand. He read the label. I froze. Prenatal vitamins. His expression shifted—a momentary confusion that cleared quickly, as if I struck

him against the temple with the bottle. I met his gaze. And pleaded in silence. I wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not aloud. Not to anyone but Hamlet and the compassionate nurse practitioner at the free clinic who offered to help even when I wouldn’t give her my name. I’d carried the secret for two months, and the only man who deserved to hear it was the one I was too terrified to call. I stilled. Reed stared at me, and three, four, five agonizing seconds of silence transformed his confused frown to wide-eyed shock. He offered to run with me once, but I thought I’d control my own fate and end it before anyone got hurt. One fluttering heartbeat changed everything. I took the vitamins from Reed’s hand. He exhaled. His eyebrow twitched, but whatever he prepared to say silenced between clenched teeth. Reed was as good a brother as Josiah or Mike. He nodded and clipped the leash on Hamlet. “Ready to go?” he asked. I would have thanked him, but it wasn’t necessary. He’d do anything for me. Reed shouldered my book bag too. “Does he know I’m coming?” I couldn’t say his name. “I kept it on the DL. I’ll call them from the airport and tell him to meet us at my house.” “And it’s…” I hated the tremble in my voice. “It’ll be safe there?” His expression darkened. Reed clenched his jaw. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” He handed me Hamlet’s leash. “Come on. Tonight was a bad night to be wrangling you.” “Why?” “Just a lot happening. Don’t worry about it. We’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? They had their chance to take care of me. That time had come, gone, and was lost in blood and bruises. Now they had one job. One promise they could finally keep, and then I’d leave forever.

Darius Bennett would die. And my child would be safe.

“YOU SHOULD EAT, MS. ATWOOD.” Nicholas dared to speak to me. He offered a sandwich, a bottle of water, and an apple. It wasn’t a kindness, not when he unlocked my bedroom door from the outside to deliver my first meal within the Bennett Estate. “Go on,” he said. “It isn’t poisoned.” As if that would reassure me, as if the trauma from a kidnapping and imprisonment would be alleviated because Nicholas Bennett offered me a ham sandwich. “If you want your vengeance, you’ll need your strength,” he teased. The plate clattered on the nightstand. “I want a fair fight, Ms. Atwood.” “Nothing’s fair about this.” “No, it’s not.” I didn’t move. Nicholas existed in a perfect, intimidating stillness, but I refused to let it frighten me. “You haven’t won yet,” I said. “You’ve only just started a war. Whatever insanity existed between our fathers is done and buried. You’ve instigated something far worse.” “Ms. Atwood—” “You should consider the consequences of this kidnapping. If you succeed and a child is born?” I whispered the threat. “I will burn this prison to the ground and scorch my enemies into ash before I let you become a father to my son.”

REED CROWDED MY BAGS AND DOG INTO HIS RENTAL CAR. I’D TRAVELED FROM THE POCONOS WEST, running from Pennsylvania to Minnesota. We had to take a private plane to California. I tried not to think of Josiah and Mike. Tried not to remember the footage of their plane crash Darius forced me to watch. It didn’t work. Weepy and sick and exhausted, I collapsed in my seat. Reed said nothing as I darted to the bathroom twice. I curled up beside him and let the hours pass with inoffensive small-talk about Hamlet. I couldn’t ask about Nicholas.

The plane descended into a tiny airport off the California coast. Reed lived West of San Jose, in a little ocean town known for the surfing community. He loaded me into a private car and pointed out his favorite board shop, coffee house, and the road he took to get to the Mavericks, a crazy surfing spot half a mile out into the ocean. Reed rubbed the scar on his cheek. “You think that’s bad, you should see a twenty foot wave crashing over your head.” Yeah, not something I would have done even before I landed in my current condition. “Isn’t it dangerous?” “Sure, but that’s the fun of it. It’s an adrenaline rush. Nothing like it.” “Not my type of adrenaline rush.” “What’s yours?” It used to be nights spent passed between each of my step-brothers. Now it was just nights running in fear. I was tired of that particular rush. Reed turned from the main drag and headed up a secondary road leading away from town to the quiet hills overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful place—peaceful, but exciting. Very Reed. “I’m surprised you left here to live at the estate,” I said. His fingers tightened over the wheel. “Didn’t have a choice. When Dad says come home…” I shivered. “Right.” “Don’t worry. I’ve got security systems and everything working. It’s safer than Max’s penthouse.” Nowhere was safe, but I appreciated his concern. We parked outside a beautiful, modern house, with more windows than walls. Hard angles and a classy, tight design blended it into the hill. The ocean was in clear view from a balcony stretching over the sloping hillside. The house rested in a forest of scrub and dark shadow. I didn’t wait for him. I edged from the car and whistled for Hamlet. Reed followed with my bags. “I won’t lie,” he said “They’re going to be upset.” Not for long. The front door creaked open. Hamlet burst inside as if he had lived there his whole life.

Max paced in the living room. Hamlet, of course, launched at his weak leg. The hulking, beast of a man crashed against the couch with a pained profanity. The fluffy goldendoodle gave him a sloppy lick. Reed dropped my bags in the doorway. He pushed me in front of him. Traitor. “Look who I found,” he said. “Jesus, fuck!” Max swore, rubbing the tension from his face with a thick hand. The muscles over his arm tensed, and the pattern of dark ink stretched tight. “Christ, am I glad to see you, baby.” I didn’t answer. The words refused to whisper. He stood before the window overlooking the moon-kissed ocean, bathed in shadow and wrought with a strength I once thought would protect me from everything. The golden halo of his eyes burned within the dimness of the house, captured in a moment’s rage and relief. The color dazzled, sharpened, and cracked as frustration trapped his expression. The rugged line of his jaw hardened, and the regal angles of his face encased him with a poised grace. But beneath the edge of sophistication, I saw what I’d ignored for so long. The thin curl of his lips. The slope of his nose. The angle of his brow, and the dark strength that held his body in perfect, disciplined ruthlessness. Nicholas Bennett looked so much like his father. And the words he uttered rasped with the same quick demands. “Sarah.” He spoke my name with an unchallenged authority, as though I were just another of his billions of possessions. “Where—” I didn’t let him finish. I broke down and ran to him, beat against his chest. I blamed the hormones. I blamed the pregnancy. I blamed him. For two months I fled from the secrets, the truth, and the pain. In two seconds, I understood everything I needed to do. Everything I had to lose, and what I had to protect.

My heart broke into pieces, a shard of regret for what I’d let happen and a splinter of what might have been. For so long, I’d protected my captor and indulged the insanity. It was for nothing. My love for Nicholas existed in a moment of forsaken freedom. My kiss pardoned his crimes. My touch defended his abuse. And my submission damned us all. I couldn’t imagine a life without Nicholas Bennett, but heartbreak was safer than the death throes of his ruthless family, betrayed and broken. Nicholas held me. I savored his embrace. It’d be the last time I let him so close.

4

SARAH

“Y ou know…” Reed dipped his chopsticks into my container of white rice. I slapped his hand away. “We all had our tonsils out as kids.”

Max chewed his lo mein. “What?” “Just sayin’,” Reed shrugged at me. I smiled, but I was too exhausted to even eat, let alone decipher what the hell he was talking about. “If we’re all trying to make an heir, I mean…he’ll most likely have tonsillitis. And…” He nudged me. “Is asthma genetic?” Probably, but I never had cause to worry about it. Now seemed an equally weird time to consider the possibilities. What I thought would be a night to celebrate my discovered inheritance of the Josmik Trust became the beginning of Nicholas’s rededicated plan to breed me. So far, it had been a very fun plan. Max hadn’t put a shirt on. They weren’t done with me yet. “I don’t think sore throats and inhalers are a major concern right now.” My gaze flicked to Nicholas. He hadn’t spoken since offering me to his brothers. He simply…watched. The whole night. Enthralled. Obsessed. Unbelievably passionate when he seized me from Reed’s arms just to take me once more. His golden eyes captured me, worshiped me, soothed me. For the first time, my heart panged with regret for my infertility. A baby might have inherited his eyes.

I WOULDN’T LET MYSELF CRY. I WOULDN’T REVEAL WHAT HAPPENED. NOT TO THE possessed an ounce of innocence despite their role in my captivity.

MEN WHO STILL

If they knew, I’d lose the calm, rational men who were capable of ending the

nightmare. They’d act in bloody impulse and endanger themselves. Max would consider it his failure to protect me. Reed would forever view me as a victim he didn’t save. And Nicholas? If the baby wasn’t his… No. It had to be Nicholas’s. It wasn’t time for tears. Strength was derived from opportunity. I couldn’t stop Darius when it happened, but we could end it now and save my child from a lifetime of shame. First, I’d protect myself. And after? I pulled from Nicholas’s arms. I’d learn to survive without them. “Sarah.” Nicholas frowned as I stepped away. “What happened? Are you okay?” A tangled chaos of pained words rose from my fluttering chest. Silence comforted me, but it challenged Nicholas—tempted him, angered him, exposed the desperation in his voice only I recognized. “I told you to wait for me.” Those golden eyes weren’t beautiful now. They hardened in frustration. “Why didn’t you wait?” I had begged him to stay. Why hadn’t he stayed? “I didn’t know where you went,” he said. “I thought you were hurt!” I was. Max and Reed shared a wordless glance. I preferred their confusion. It was better than their pity. It was better than the helpless rage I suffered each night when the darkness pinned me against the bed without a chance to scratch or punch. Reed cleared his throat. “Sarah, maybe you should sit down?” No. Sitting would comfort me, and comfort would only encourage me back to Nicholas’s arms. Nicholas’s stare tangled me in secrets, lies, and unspoken heartache. He waited, patiently, as though his presence would crack my silence and force me to speak,

act, and beg. Just like Darius. But I was through submitting to him. To any of them. My chest tightened. Why didn’t he stay with me that night? Nicholas’s voice rumbled in a hard authority. “You left as soon as you inherited the Josmik Trust. I made an agreement with our Board. They let you live if you sold the shares back!” He thought it was a power play. It wasn’t. For those horrible hours just before dawn, I’d have given the Bennetts every last cent I owned. The farm. The ranches. Everything. And, in the most shameful moment of my life, I had offered. Darius declined. But what was done, was done. I wouldn’t ever beg. I’d never let them see me cry. And I would never again surrender to anything Darius or the Board willed. I’d have them suffer instead. “Sarah,” Nicholas said. I flinched as he reached for me. “For Christ’s sake, I had no idea what happened to you.” Because he didn’t stay with me. “You didn’t call. You didn’t answer your emails.” Did he want an apology? “I thought my father had you killed.” It wouldn’t have been that simple. Max exhaled, drawing Nicholas’s attention and breaking the intensity of his demands. “Baby, you feeling all right?” he eyed Nicholas. “You don’t look so good.” The understatement of the night. The tightness in my chest hadn’t alleviated, and Nicholas’s crushing interrogation did nothing to ease my queasy stomach. “Come on.” Reed reached for my hand. I pulled away. “It’s okay. Just sit and rest for a second.” I didn’t need to rest. The words I longed to say choked over the confession I refused

to give. I looked away. Nicholas wasn’t done yet. “Jesus Christ.” Nicholas’s stillness broke with a frustrated grunt and hand through his hair. His voice turned harsh, the crystalline edge of glass ready to shatter and shred. “I had no fucking idea if you were alive or dead, if you planned to sell the stock and destroy the company, if you left me, if you hated me, if something terrible had happened.” I said nothing. “Sarah, I held you in my arms. You said you loved me. I promised I’d be back for you.” And I asked him not to leave. We both made mistakes. Some hurt more than others. “Was it a lie?” he didn’t look away. “Don’t pretend you don’t care about me. Don’t act like that night meant nothing to you. I was there. I took you. I felt every goddamned word you said to me, so don’t stand there in goddamned silence like you don’t fucking care—” “Nick, I’m pregnant.” Chilled, piercing truth layered me in a quick sweat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. My step-brothers were threatened with a gun held against my temple. They were forced to hurt me, to kidnap me, to punish me. They suffered through a childhood of abuses at the hands of a monster who raised them to harbor his same cruelties and aggressions. And yet one word broke them. One word crippled our fragile alliance. One single, life-changing word presented Nicholas with everything he once planned to lie, steal, and destroy to acquire for his own. My life twisted when the test revealed the double lines. I’d have no baby showers and well-wishers, no excited family or darling nurseries. It wasn’t pregnancy. It was war. If I wanted to protect myself, my farm, and my child, the truth would follow Darius to his grave. The rape would be forgotten. I carried Nicholas’s son. And I’d never reveal otherwise. “You’re…” Nicholas stared. Max hadn’t moved. Reed averted his eyes. “You’re pregnant.”

I nodded. His breath shuddered. “That night…when you inherited the shares...” “Yes.” “That was two months ago. You’re…two months pregnant,” he said. I nodded. “But the doctors count it like ten weeks because of my cycle.” Reed counted on his fingers. Max paled. But Nicholas recovered with grace. Then again, he had imagined this moment for so long, months of attempts and plans, fertility drugs and dark hope. Of course he could face it so easily. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. A crack formed in my heart. I felt it, bound it tight, and collected every flaking fragment before I lost what precious devotion it beat for Nicholas. “Why would I?” His mocha voice smoothed, too patronizing for little more than a sticky layer of authority over me. He beckoned me forward. Like he wanted me to fall into his embrace, like he’d make everything all right. I wasn’t that weak. “You’re scared,” he said. “I understand. I just…we didn’t think it was possible.” “Bullshit.” “Sarah—” “You always planned for this to happen. All of you. Every minute of every day, each of you wanted this to happen.” The harshness of my tone shocked everyone. Max folded his arms behind his head, eager to witness how his brother would resolve this. He always treated me like a problem to be handled. Or worse. He used me against Nicholas in a relentless sibling rivalry that sacrificed my body as a battlefield. They thought I never noticed. Reed extended a hand. I’d break it before I let him touch me. “Just stay calm,” Reed said. I was beyond calm. The nausea, exhaustion, and terror spoke for me. Each word sharper, more frustrated than the last.

“You kidnapped me. Fucked me. Held me down and laughed about rutting me until the seed took. You meant for me to get pregnant. And don’t you deny it, Nicholas Bennett. You told me each and every time you fucked me that you intended for it to happen. This—” I gestured to my tummy, flat with the secret it cradled. “—was always what you wanted.” Nicholas nodded. “You understood that. You agreed to it.” “Because it was never supposed to happen!” The words punished me with idiocy. “It was supposed to be impossible. I was infertile!” Max hid a twisted smile. “Apparently not.” No, apparently not. Apparently I was just fertile enough to get impregnated by either the man I loved or his demented father. I’d forever be remembered as a whore for my step-brother or a victim of my step-father, and both options suffocated me in panic and rage. I had an opportunity to end the crisis before it got worse, but I left that information at the clinic. I was an Atwood. For as much as the Bennetts desired their heir, my family line, my blood, was too good for that end. Nicholas silenced his brother with a glance. “You’re upset.” “Upset?” I laughed. “I’m not upset.” My step-brothers disagreed but had the sense to stay silent. I stared at each of them, catching Nicholas’s possessive gaze, Max’s challenging smirk, and Reed’s gentle support. “This was the plan, right? Capture the girl. Imprison her. Rape her if she was unwilling or seduce her so she’d willingly spread her legs.” They called to me. I didn’t let them speak. “Each of you planned to impregnate me and steal my farm and fortune. You’d use the child as leverage to eliminate the threat against the Bennett Corporation.” I lowered my voice. “You all wanted this. You all needed this. You did as Daddy ordered and now…?” I held my arms out. Shrugged. Gritted my teeth. “You bred me like a fucking animal. Congratulations.” Nicholas stepped forward. I batted his arm away, but the motion blurred in the haze of blinded vision. I gasped for a breath that never came and damned the constant threat that bound me in more danger than anything Darius planned.

“Sarah, sit,” he said. “Where’s your inhaler?” “You don’t get it, do you?” “You’re having an asthma attack.” Of course I was. “That thought never crossed your mind, did it?” Reed tossed Nicholas my purse. I refused the inhaler. “You didn’t think about me. Not in any of this.” “I always thought about you,” Nicholas said. “Every second since you came to the estate.” “I don’t believe you.” “Sarah, I’m in love with you.” “If you really loved me,” I spat the word, “you never would have abducted a twenty year old. You wouldn’t have tied me to that bed and stolen my virginity.” He stiffened, but I didn’t stop. I ripped the inhaler from his hand only to wag it in front of his face. “You would have considered how dangerous it was to impregnate a woman with this kind of uncontrolled asthma. You would have thought how terrifying it’d be for me to be taken from my home, my school, my life, and forced into a prison where your father—” The choked cough interrupted me before the memory doused me in weeping fear. I puffed the inhaler. Nicholas stood before me, his eternal, frustrating stillness. I hated it. I envied it. I needed it. I had to escape from it. From him. My words trembled. I met Nicholas’s gaze and adopted his authority as my own. After all, what did I have to fear? Darius took what he wanted. My step-brothers fulfilled their obligation to the family name. I was rutted, seeded, and left to suffer the consequences with my life destroyed and another growing in me. Had they considered the baby beyond what rights it would inherit? Even tiny, hardly a flutter within me, the child was more powerful than any of us— the billions he’d inherit, the names he’d possess. The only thing the Bennetts wanted more than me was their heir.

And while he grew in me, I would own them all. The stock. The child. The future. It was mine. “I didn’t come to tell you about the pregnancy.” I held Nicholas’s stare. “I came because I need your help.” “Sarah—” I didn’t let him speak. “I’m pregnant, but Darius and the Board don’t know. You will ensure it stays that way.” Max was always the observant one. “They’ll notice eventually, don’t you think?” “No.” Reed tried to be reasonable. “You aren’t running again. You’re pregnant, Sarah. You need to be at home. With doctors and rest and good food and—” I finished for him. “And a life free of stress and fear and the constant dread that sometime, somewhere Darius will…” The memory sickened me. “Hurt me.” “He won’t,” Nicholas vowed. The damned fool. It’d be tragic if his father’s touch didn’t linger like grease over my skin. “No, he won’t hurt me or this child,” I said. “Because you won’t let him.” “That is my promise to you.” Broken without even realizing it. “I ran because he would have found me. I’m sick. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept a full night since…” Hell if I knew. Not since before the attack. Not since Nicholas saved me from his father and the board. Not since I stole the trust and tried to protect myself with the money and power Darius coveted. “I need to feel safe.” “You will be safe with me.” Nicholas stepped too close, promised too much. “You and the baby. Sarah, let me help you. Let me take care of you—” “There is nothing you can do while Darius is still alive.” I retreated from his arms. “If you really want to protect me, you will kill him. As soon as possible. Before…” Before he found out about the baby. Before he reveled in the rape. Before he ruined everything like he tried to ruin me. The tears and sickness ripped me apart only to force the raw pieces back together in a broken array, just disjointed enough to render me unrecognizable, pained.

Heartbreak struck me harder than any attack, hurt me more than any assault, and left me mourning a love more wonderful than my lost innocence. “We are going to kill Darius,” I said. “And then I’m leaving you, Nick. It’s over. The captivity. The false promises. I refuse to put myself or my baby in danger.” I expected Nicholas’s challenge, but nothing he did would force me to submit to him. Not ever again. “My son will never know his father is a Bennett.”

5

NICHOLAS

I t worked.

Sarah Atwood was pregnant with my child. We left her alone as she requested. The deck jutted into the darkened woods, muffling the words we hadn’t the courage to speak. Max cracked open a beer and pushed it into my hand. Reed leaned against the balcony rail, his perpetual disappointment memorialized in a frown as we, yet again, mistreated the girl. I hadn’t sipped my beer. I preferred whiskey. We all did. Why hide who we really were? Certainly not now, not when every depraved and monstrous obsession burning in our blood suddenly realized within the tears of the woman we promised to protect. Reed offered her his bed for the night. Sarah took it without protest, shutting the door behind her. Then locking it. Did she honestly believe a wooden door would keep me from her? Did she think she could hide her pregnancy from me and then cast me from her life? She threatened to keep me from my son—a word she spoke with such certainty I didn’t know if it was mother’s intuition or her own fear for a male heir that dared us to think otherwise. I captured her once. I secured a collar around her fragile neck, and I bound her arms above her head while I mounted her morning, afternoon, and night. Sarah Atwood never had the privilege of escaping from me. Not when we first stole her. Not now that she carried my child. Not while I suffered in the twisted, agonizing relief that was finally seeing her,

touching her, hearing her voice. Even if she meant to break my heart. I loved Sarah Atwood. I wanted her more than I ever wanted her heir. And I had one, but not the other. This disaster required something stronger than a drink brewed into brown glass. Then again, we were supposed to smoke imported cigars for this victory. Clink our glasses of vintage brandy and chuckle in satisfaction.

SARAH UPPED THE over the table.

BET BY A THOUSAND DOLLARS.

REED

FOLDED.

MAX

SWORE AND CHUCKED HIS CARDS

I matched her bet and called. “Seriously?” she laughed. “We’re billionaires. This hand getting a little too steep for you, Bennett?” Tough words for a girl who was down to her panties from our first few rounds of the game. Of course, we ganged up on her. In more ways than one. “Thinking of changing the stakes.” She rolled her eyes. “Clothes, money. I’m your prisoner remember? What can I possibly bet?” I grinned. “Something very important.” “Name it.” “Exactly.” Sarah adjusted her arm, trying to hide her breasts while holding her cards. “I don’t understand.” “If you get pregnant this month—” “If.” “Winner gets to name the baby.” “Oh, you’re sick.” She rolled her eyes. “But you’ll never beat my hand.” I held four of a kind, and her eyebrow twitched when she bluffed. I hoped she liked the name Adam.

“SO.” MAX CHUGGED HIS BEER. “WHO WANTS before that idiot ruined the plan?”

TO TELL HER WE WERE ABOUT TO KILL

DAD. YOU

KNOW,

“Hey.” Reed swore. “She called me and asked for help. What the hell was I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off because we were busy?” Max shrugged. “She might have wanted to help.” “No.” Shock and perverse joy bound my words. “I won’t let her be involved in something like this. She’s pregnant. We’re not endangering her or the…my child.” “You did it.” Max toasted me with a sarcastic nod of the beer. “How’s it feel, Daddy?” Like I betrayed an innocent, beautiful woman. Like I fulfilled the promise I made each time I took her to my bed, seized her in my sheets, and violated her while pretending to make love. And yet… I succeeded. I took her. I held her. I bred her. My primal, savage instincts weren’t quelled with a simple rut and the lure of submission. My urges required a visceral proof of her conquering. This was the result I longed for, the product of complete and utter dominance. Sarah was right. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to be this way. I loved her, but Sarah and I never planned for a future together, only for a funeral which had yet to happen. Max read my thoughts, but he didn’t have the common sense to leave it unspoken. “How do we keep this pregnancy from him?” Max asked. “He won’t learn,” I said. “You gonna keep it secret? I don’t know much about pregnant women, but Sarah won’t look like a twig for much longer.” Reed grunted. “This is a nightmare. What the hell are we going to do?” “Nothing to do.” Max shrugged. “Get her some vitamins. Buy a crib. Sarah’s naive, but even she knew this was bound to happen.” “You heard her. We bred her like an animal. She’s carrying a Bennett.” He

slammed his hand against the railing. “She’ll never forgive us.” “She’d never forgive us anyway,” Max said. “Grow up, Reed. She’s never been your friend. She’s an Atwood. We’re Bennetts. Our families have attempted to ruin each other for generations. You really think she was going to hop back in your bed? Dad held a gun to her head while you raped her. No one recovers from that. She’s just waiting for the right moment to take her revenge.” “She’s not like that.” “Then why haven’t you told her I killed her brothers?” he stared at Reed until he broke the gaze. “Yeah. Because you know what she’ll do.” I wasn’t tolerating this discussion with her in the house. If she learned we were the cause of her brothers’ plane crash, she’d hurt herself just for the chance to avenge those she loved. If it didn’t destroy her first. “No one is telling her what happened,” I said. “That secret died with her brothers.” “You don’t think she deserves the truth?” Reed asked. “She’s heard enough truths. We kidnapped a girl, let her suffer, and now I claimed a part of her she never meant to give. We should have taken better care of her. We should have helped her.” Reed wasn’t convinced. “She doesn’t want us anymore.” “She doesn’t have a choice.” Max laughed in genuine amusement, as though he expected this complication. “Sarah wants nothing to do with you, Nick. It doesn’t matter how you held her or how much you loved her, bottom line is she only tolerated that bullshit because she never thought she’d get pregnant. And now you’re the man who did it to her. You’re the man who stole her fortune, her farm, and her freedom. She’s going to hate you.” Like the thought wasn’t hurting every scar I earned for her. “She won’t.” “She’s going to hate all of us.” “She won’t.” “Christ, man!” Max smashed his bottle. The shards showered over the deck. “She’s pregnant! You’ll be goddamned lucky she doesn’t turn a gun on you once Dad is dead.” “She won’t.” “Bullshit. We took her family. We took her freedom. We ruined her.”

“She’s stronger than that.” “Then she’s stronger than me.” Max cut himself on the bottle. He clenched his fist and shoved the sliding glass door open, leaving a streak of blood in his wake. It hadn’t been his first beer. It wouldn’t be his last. Now I had two people to care for and neither wanted my help. Reed called to me before I followed. “Let them be,” he said. “You want to help Max? Give him half of your liver once this is done.” “I’m not after Max.” “She should sleep.” “I have to talk to her.” Reed didn’t look at me. He stared out over the balcony, toward the ocean and waves Dad forbade him from enjoying after he graduated college. “If she wanted to talk, she’d be out here. Sarah’s not shy.” I exhaled. “It’s my baby. I have to…” “You don’t have to do a damned thing.” Reed pitched a pebble into the woods. “It’s already done. Don’t make it worse, or she won’t call us next time.” Call us? She hadn’t called us. She called Reed for help, not me. I’d have hated him for it if I wasn’t so damned grateful he brought her back. Reed surrendered his bed, but Sarah wasn’t sleeping. The light spilled from beneath her door. I rapped against the frame. She didn’t answer. Any other time, in any other circumstance, I’d have entered anyway. The situation changed, but I hadn’t. She was mine. She needed me even if she denied just how much she loved me. I wasn’t letting her escape. I knocked again. Her voice whispered, raw from coughing. “Go away.” I twisted the knob. The lock wasn’t sound. I jiggled, and it popped loose. Sarah expected it. She shakily rose from the floor, leaning against the door to the

bathroom. All manner of nightmarish fears passed through my mind. I rushed forward to help her, but Sarah hurried to her feet before I touched her. “I’m fine,” she said. “Did you fall?” She didn’t look at me. Instead, she tugged the t-shirt lower. The booty shorts spelled Sexy on her behind. She used to wear them just so Max would have somewhere to aim his occasional smack. Now she hid from me. Hid everything. “The floor is cooler than the bed.” She brushed a hand through her sweaty hair but didn’t look at me. “Morning sickness comes at night too…constantly, actually.” I would have apologized. It felt like the time to apologize. But she wouldn’t have accepted it, and it wasn’t right to ask for forgiveness. Not now. “Is there anything I can do?” Sarah curled against the wall, and Hamlet plodded to her side, collapsing with a sigh. His head rested in her lap. At least she hadn’t been alone. “You should go,” she whispered. “I’m fine.” “You don’t look fine.” “It’s just nausea.” Her words hardened. “You knew this was a consequence.” I hadn’t intended to fight, and I wasn’t ready to leave. “Ginger ale?” “Nick, please.” “Saltines.” “No.” “You need to eat.” “I need you to let me rest.” Why hadn’t she looked at me? She avoided my gaze, flinched from my touch, and hardened with the same shell of anger which shielded her when we first kidnapped her. This wasn’t the Sarah Atwood who shared my bed and whispered stories of her childhood, the plans for her company and education, and her every secret fantasy.

She trembled with fatigue and stress. Her fists hid within the ginger curls of Hamlet’s coat. For a woman two months pregnant, she looked tinier than ever. Thin, delicate—a little fairy too tired to fly even when danger crept close. “I’m taking you to a doctor in the morning.” Sarah refused my hand. She groaned as she stood, leaning toward the bathroom. She breathed deeply, coughed, and steadied. “I’m fine.” “Have you seen a doctor?” “Yes.” “Recently?” “Don’t.” Now she did look at me, but her warning glance wouldn’t deter me. “Don’t you dare.” “What?” “I will not have you tell me how to handle this. I was checked out after I took the pregnancy test. They said I’m fine. It’s under control.” “How long ago was that?” “Nick—” “You said it yourself. You’re not feeling well. You’re exhausted. And your asthma is not controlled. You need to get checked over again. We’ll do it tomorrow.” “I don’t need your help.” “Then why did you come back to me?” I edged closer. If she refused my comfort, I wouldn’t offer it, but she’d know how serious I was about it. About her. “You left me. You ran. If you could have handled it yourself, you never would have returned. But here you are, nowhere left to go. So you might as well ask the father for help.” “Yeah, I want your help to kill Darius,” she said. “But the baby and my health are my concerns.” “They’re mine too.” “Not anymore.” “They will always be my concern, Sarah.”

“You don’t have that right. Not now. Not after what’s happened. Everything’s changed.” “Then we’ll change with it.” She turned, sipping from a glass of water on the nightstand. “You don’t understand.” “Then let me.” Silence. A refusal. What went wrong in the two months since I left her bed? Had we hurt her that badly? “You called Reed,” I said. That insult hurt, but it was the only admission of my pain I’d give the woman who caused it. “I did.” “Why not me?” She hesitated a moment too long. “I didn’t know what to do.” “You never needed to run from me. I would have come.” “It’s not that simple.” “It’s exactly that simple. I love you, Sarah. You should never have gone through this alone.” Her eyebrow arched. “I never should have gone through this at all.” I had no counter for our past crimes. “Let me help you.” “There’s nothing you can do now.” “Just give me the chance. Midnight craving food runs. Foot rubs. Doctor’s appointments—” “You don’t get it, do you?” her voice wavered. She couldn’t look at me. “It’s over, Nick. The Bennetts have caused me nothing but pain. You don’t deserve the chance to be a part of my life, and I’ll be damned if you’re part of the baby’s.” The rage flared, quick and hot. “That’s my child too, Sarah.” She said nothing. Maybe I didn’t deserve anything more than her silence, but my child did. “You aren’t leaving me.”

“I won’t let this baby grow up in this madness. He deserves better than what happened to me.” “I agree. That’s why I won’t let anything harm you or him.” “It’s too late for that,” she said. “I’ve already been harmed. Many times. Too many times. You did nothing. You still can’t protect me, not while Darius is alive and looking for me.” “Don’t waste a single thought on him. I’ll take care of it.” “I’ve lost myself in fear of your father for too long,” she whispered. “But not anymore. You and I will end him, and then I’m gone.” “And you plan to…what?” I asked. “Have a baby alone?” “What alone?” she shrugged. “I am Sarah Atwood. I am a goddamned billionaire. I have farms, ranches, land, and control over two companies. My farm is one of the wealthiest top ten private companies in the fucking world.” “So?” She scoffed. “So? My child will have the best of everything. The best home. The best clothing and toys and opportunities. The best education. The best tutors in languages and business and art and any topic he’d ever want to learn. He will want for nothing.” “What about a father?” She didn’t hesitate. “I had a father, and the only thing he did was make me feel unwanted and unappreciated.” “You don’t think I’d be as cruel as Mark Atwood.” “No, you’re a Bennett. You’d be worse.” “You don’t believe that.” “It doesn’t matter. I’ve made my decision.” “And you didn’t consult me.” “You don’t have a say in it, Nicholas.” “I have every right! You are carrying my child!” I didn’t let her move away. The guilt lacerated me with every backwards step she took to flee from me. Her back pressed against the wall, and I’d forever hate myself for pinning her there, my arms on either side of her body. “Do you think I’d let you leave me? Do you think I wouldn’t spend every dollar to

my name, call in every favor my family is owed, and slit any throat to track you to the ends of the earth?” “You sound just like Darius.” The accusation was meant to hurt, and it did. I clenched my teeth. “I was taught family was worth more than any stock, land, or company.” “We aren’t a family.” “We could be. You and me and the baby.” “It will never work.” I leaned down to feel the warmth of her body. God, I missed this woman. “How do you know?” She squirmed against the wall. “Please, let me go.” “No.” “Damn it, Nick. You didn’t kidnap me because you wanted to start a family. You raped me to get an heir to my family’s farm.” “I never raped—” The memory struck both of us. I buried the truth. “I never intended to hurt you. It’s not the same now as when we first took you. We’re meant for each other.” “We’re not.” “We’re both broken. The only time I feel remotely human is when I’m with you. My heart stops when I’m near you, but it’s because of you I even have this empathy. You saved me from becoming a monster like…” I couldn’t say it. Neither could she. I continued, dragging a breath just to smell her sweet scent. “I could spend every day for the rest of my life trying to earn your forgiveness, and you’d have the right to hate me. I only ask that you let me try. Let me be part of this. Let me…” I reached for her, gently brushing the back of my hand along her stomach, pressing just enough to feel her warmth through the shirt. Somewhere, deep inside her, the greatest miracle and the most dangerous complication to our lives snuggled safe and warm. I couldn’t live without her. I wouldn’t live without the child. She let me touch her only because she had no other escape, but I wasn’t losing the chance to feel her once more.

I leaned in. Her breathing hitched. She stilled as I pressed my lips to hers. That was honest. That was genuine. The swelling hardness and her wavering sigh wasn’t a reaction we could deny. Her kiss answered with the same ragged desperation—two months of loss and struggle and exhaustion shattered in the shared heat that drew us together. The nibbled pleasure strengthened me. Her touch, her shiver, every supple quiver of her body belonged to me and me alone. I lost her to fear, but she wouldn’t push from my arms. Not when she promised more in the reluctant brush of her lips than any words she had spoken since she returned to us. I might have pressed hard against her. Held her against the wall and cupped her thighs, her ass, her breasts. In another time, without the hesitance and uncertainty, I wouldn’t have waited. Sarah would’ve landed on the bed, spread beneath me in a murmur of protests and the relentless heat of a vixen waiting to be taken. But my hand rested on the vulnerable, quiet part of her. I wouldn’t jeopardize her or him, not when they were both so fragile. I savored the kiss but pulled away, holding her pale, widened eyed gaze. She hid secrets and fears and pain from me. It tore me apart. “Let me love you,” I whispered. “Let me show you that I can protect you and pleasure you and be a father to my—” The touch was too much. Or maybe it was the promise. Sarah cried out, batting my arms and rushing to the center of the room. Away from the bed. She fought the harsh coughing that stole her breath and shoved me away when I wanted nothing more than to help her. “Don’t. No.” She closed her eyes and murmured the words once more to herself. “I can’t.” “Tell me what you want.” “I want you to go.” “Ask me anything else.” “There is nothing else, Nick. You know what we have to do to free ourselves from this nightmare.” “It’s not a nightmare with you. Not for me.”

“That’s the difference then, isn’t it?” she hadn’t cried yet, but the tears slipped now. “I’m living in the hell you caused. The only thing you can do for me is to help punish the one responsible and then let me go…” Her words broke. “If you cared for me at all, you won’t have me say it again.” “It’s because I care for you so much that I’d make you say it, again and again, every minute of the day, until you realize the mistake you’re making.” “It will only hurt you.” “I’m in love with you, Sarah Atwood. And nothing you say or do will hurt me more than my own guilt. I want you to be mine. I’m asking you to be mine.” “You can’t give me a choice now. Not after everything that’s happened. Not now that you’ve gained everything you and your father wanted from me.” “I have an heir,” I said. “And my name will live on, but Sarah, my life is meaningless without you.” Her words echoed with heartache. “Why do I wish we’d never met?” I encroached again, tipping her chin, taking a kiss salty with tears from lips numb with sorrow. “I wish I hadn’t either,” I said. “If only so I could start again, right here, right now, and love you the way I should have loved you from the beginning.” I released her, giving her the space she needed. She should have been held, warmed, caressed. Instead, she cradled herself. Alone. “I’ll take care of my father. Trust me. You’ll never have to think of him again.” Her hand covered her stomach. “I won’t let you take this revenge from me.” Taking a life while nurturing a life. She thought it was her right. I would never let it happen, never let the blood stain her hands or that final innocence be lost. Once my father was gone, nothing would prevent me from earning her trust, rebuilding our love, and beginning our family. Sarah carried my son. And soon, my father would never again haunt her.

6

NICHOLAS

arah Atwood didn’t just go to war. She scorched the earth, salted the ground, S and stained what remained with blood. Even her most devious plan encompassed solid business sense and a practical eye for details. But she hadn’t the experience to know when to slice the throat instead of gutting her target for pleasure. If I had it my way, she’d never learn. But her revenge was plotted long before she called Reed to bring her home. I hadn’t expected it. I didn’t approve of it. I didn’t have a choice. The Bennett Board of Directors assembled under the pretense of a quarterly fiscal report. They stayed for the beginning of their end. If they suspected anything, they didn’t speak of it. We discussed the upcoming quarter and hid the soured profits within promised terminations and restructuring. As we had done for the past five quarters. The board was beginning to notice. And that made our meetings…complicated. Even more complicated when the woman I loved willingly antagonized the men who needed no reason to end a problem before it cost them more money. Sarah was an expensive mistake. Worse, her absence made a fool of my father. And yet, his temper hadn’t lashed. He never troubled himself with the lost Josmik shares. And Sarah no longer feared his retaliation. Why? The board room silenced as a secretary set up the screen to display Sarah’s fatal mistake.

My father’s attention fixed on me rather than the press release from Atwood Industries. His chosen board members grumbled as this inconvenience interrupted their tee off time. “Nick, can’t you just fill us in?” Peter Hannigan checked his watch. “Christ, we’ll miss lunch.” I said nothing. For the past two months, I endured their every humiliation. They mistreated my name, rank, and power within the company to award pet projects, fully expensed yacht parties, and terminations of employees to ensure a greater profit for the next quarter. Worse, they showed no remorse for how they treated Sarah. They voted on her life as though it were a decision to buy a smaller competitor or break for lunch. It would end soon enough. “What the hell is this, Darius?” Bryant Maddox was a rat-bastard who turned on my father and cast the final vote to murder Sarah. I never met a man more slime than skin and bone, but he’d bleed like any other board member. “I thought we had this problem under control.” My father waited as the secretary closed the door behind her. He didn’t dismiss the two security guards poised in the corner, waiting for another shot at my kidneys. “It’s been brought to my attention that Sarah Atwood has reappeared.” My father met my gaze. He baited me to anger. He didn’t deserve any reaction. Bryant chuckled. “The whore needed another taste, huh, Nick? I thought the last time the Bennetts got their fill she wasn’t very happy.” My father’s lip twitched, a cross between satisfied smile and irritated scowl. “Oh, I can assure you, Sarah Atwood…suffered.” “Good,” Bryant said. “That slut cost us millions of dollars. We need to earn it back.” The Board nodded. Stanley, our oldest member, had a heart weakened with age and blackened with power. His voice cracked, choked on his salivating thoughts of what we’d forced Sarah to do. “Bryant,” he said. “I’m sure she has her reasons for reneging on our arrangement. If she wants to live, she’ll provide the promised shares. A fair trade, I should think.” My father taught us never to retreat from a challenge. We punished the fool who dared to flex instead of bow. It wouldn’t be a fair trade until she bled.

He pressed play on the recording emailed to the executives of both Atwood Industries and the Bennett Corporation. Only I noticed Sarah also uploaded the video to YouTube. She did it without consulting us. Without considering the implications. What might have been a push for power would become her Last Will and Testament. The video began with a bright, smiling, beautiful vision of the woman I loved, grinning at the camera with a feminine grace laced with her family’s thorns. She sat at a desk, palms folded, in a perfectly professional blouse. She had curled her hair, dabbed modest makeup over her cheeks, and disguised the flush of her nausea with raw enthusiasm. She fooled everyone but me. Everyone but my father. “Good morning.” The recorded Sarah spoke delicately, sweetly, and as if the teeth she bared in her smile wouldn’t bite and punish. “I wanted to issue this announcement myself, as head of the Atwood family and company.” The board shifted, eying the screen and wishing they could rip her from the recording just to bind her at the table. “I wish to thank you all for your patience and compassion during these past few months as I’ve recovered from various health issues. I’m pleased to say, thanks to the loving support of my step-family, I am completely rejuvenated. They’ve offered me a new outlook on life, this company, and how best to secure our futures. I am eager to return to work.” I steeled my expression. It wouldn’t save me. Either the board would believe I organized Sarah’s disobedience, or they’d assumed the truth—that I had absolutely no control over the woman who owned a significant portion of the company. Neither scenario endeared me to the board. In fact, it endangered me more than Sarah. I possessed enough of the company to challenge my father, but I was an easier, less volatile target than Sarah. If I died, my shares reverted to him. Sarah spoke to the camera with a smile of genuine confidence. Her speech rolled with ease. She assumed everyone, everywhere listened, as if her words were the most important in the world. It was a trait she inherited from her father. “My first order of business will be a…challenging one.” Sarah breathed deeply, to prove she had no lingering symptoms of the asthma attack we had claimed forced her from her position. “For years, Atwood Industries has strived to maintain a

positive, wholesome, and family-oriented business plan. After the tragedies that stole my father and brothers this past year, I’ve been searching for a reason to end the mourning. I found it, finally, right where it always was. With family.” Goddamn it. I remembered this speech, though it wasn’t first delivered by Sarah Atwood. Months ago, my father spoke of family as we attempted a takeover of Atwood Industries. We offered Sarah far more than the company was worth, and she answered a perceived insult with a clause. Only a male heir could control her company. And so we made it happen. “The Atwoods and Bennetts are united in marriage.” The artificial cheer forced through her words. “It’s time we extend that unity beyond our families and into a mutually beneficial business plan. It’s no secret that I am now a large stockholder in the Bennett Corporation. Like my step-father and step-brothers, I am committed to ensuring continued profits for both our companies.” Bryant snorted. “What the fuck is she doing?” Stanly waved a wrinkled hand. “Hush.” “I am pleased to announce, for the first time since the founding of Atwood Industries, we will be using Bennett agrochemical products in all of our fields and for all of our crops.” My father paused the recording. The board erupted into a rage. “Why would the little whore want our products now?” Bryant swore. “Her family has consistently slandered our company.” “She’s doing it for the money.” Peter Hannigan was the least likely of the board members to be an accessory to murder. He shrugged. “She has her investments in the Bennett Corporation, and she’ll do whatever she can to maximize profits.” “That’s not it,” Bryant said. “The Atwoods valued their feud over money. Mark Atwood spent millions to sabotage us.” “Mark Atwood is dead.” Jacob Fisher heaved his bulk into his seat as he poured another cup of coffee. He added too many sugars for a man already diabetic. “And his troublemaking sons are also dead. This girl has their spirit, but she’s foolish and impulsive. A liability to the Bennett Corporation and Atwood Industries.” “Screw her farm.” Bryant slammed a hand against the table. “Nick, what the hell is your whore doing? Why does she want our products?” My father waited in silence. I offered him nothing. “It’s a sound business decision.”

“Bullshit,” Bryant scoffed. “And it’s a great deal for us.” I measured my voice with talk of profits and fortunes. My father passed a proposal to me, dragging his fingers across the table as though he’d claw through the wood like her flesh. “Atwood Industries owns hundreds of thousands of acres,” I said. “Her proposal names us sole agrochemical supplier for the entirety of her farms—corn, alfalfa, almonds, plus the rest of their cash crops.” I paused, waiting for their full attention. “Tens of millions of dollars every harvest, and an end to the slander. It’d be an entirely new facet to the Bennett/Atwood relationship. We’ll earn more customers and money than if we had simply taken over Atwood Industries.” “You’re not seriously considering this proposal, Nick,” Bryant said. “Atwood Industries has always been the dream customer. We built this company to capitalize on the mega-conglomerate farms, and now we might take on the biggest in the country.” Christ, I hoped Sarah understood how much she risked making this offer. “If you want her to give the accounts to Montgomery Petrochemicals again…” The board grumbled. Now they understood. I continued. “If you want to secure our stocks, forge a profit, and open the company to more customers by virtue of the Atwood name, then you see the opportunity we have here.” Bryant practically snarled. “What’s her real plan?” Jacob chuckled. “She thinks she can buy us off.” “That time is passed.” Stanley coughed, his frail form wavering under the weight of his amusement. “The girl is bargaining her farm for her life. She won’t give up the land or her body, but she’ll insult the memory of her family to save her own hide.” Peter took the proposal from my hand and whistled. “This is…substantial. We can’t afford not to bid on this project.” “No,” Bryant said. “Absolutely not. The little whore is wasting our time. We should have found her the day after she skipped town and ended this. I don’t want her as a customer, I want her dead.” “Easy.” Stanley tisked his tongue and looked to me. “There are those among us who would disagree.” I said nothing. Bryant didn’t meet my gaze.

“Now,” Stanley said. “Let’s consider our options. The girl is frightened. She’s ensuring she’s visible within her company to discourage anyone from taking her life while she is so public. So let’s be reasonable for a moment. Nicholas, does she intend to sell her stock?” No. The lie came easily, for both our sakes. “She’s waiting on the right price and terms.” “There now. She’s negotiating for a better deal. She’s offered us the contract for her farm which will generate millions in new revenue for us, and she wishes to secure her future.” Stanley nodded. “I am willing to look beyond the events of the past. Mistakes were made, and our plans were executed without the…attention to detail they required. We hadn’t planned for certain contingencies.” Contingencies being my love for the woman they intended to exploit, harm, and rape. I stayed silent. His words attempted to cleanse the sin of their planned murder as though they could simply wash their hands of whatever evils they committed. “The only way we protect the Bennett Corporation is if we kill the girl and take the stock,” Bryant said. “We don’t need another customer. We need our liabilities secured. If she dies, the problem resolves itself, right, Darius?” My father said nothing, watching over the table with mild amusement. He stared hard at the image of Sarah paused over the screen. I hated his expression. Lust. Sadism. Cruelty. He hadn’t his chance to attack Sarah, despite his promises of horror and pain and suffering. He’d never have the opportunity. His end was near, and then Sarah would be free of him. Forever. “I’ve spoken my piece before,” my father said. “Sarah Atwood is not to be killed. I’ve grown fond of my daughter, even if she is difficult to break. She lives, and we accept her offer.” “Darius, she owns a significant portion of this company,” Bryant said. “And I wish to see what she would do with it.” He leered at the screen once more. “She’s been missing for two months. That is a long time for a young girl to be alone with her nightmares. Perhaps she’s had a change of heart.” Despite my revulsion, I seldom had cause to vote against my father. In this case, I eagerly sided with him, sparing Sarah’s life yet again.

“You’re making a mistake.” Bryant kicked his chair as he stood. “Your bitch will destroy us.” He merely smiled. “Not if I destroy her first. It’s a family matter, Bryant. I’ll handle my little girl the best way a father can.” The rest of the board seized the opportunity to escape from the talk of murder and money. They planned to reconvene for their weekly golf game that afternoon. I stood once we were alone, save for my father’s bodyguards looming between us. “Where is she, Nicholas?” he asked. “Our little Sarah wouldn’t do this without your help.” He had learned nothing about Sarah Atwood during her captivity beyond what color panties she wore and when her cycle was due. Had he paid the least bit of attention, had he respected the Atwood instead of obsessing over the crest between her legs, he’d know. Sarah was exactly the type to seize her revenge without help. “She’s come back to you then?” he chuckled. “Right when she presents the Bennett Board of Directors with a proposal to make herself richer from the investments she stole. What did she tell you? That she loved you? That she needed you?” I wished she had. “What will you do for her?” he said. “Anything she asks.” “I taught you better than that, son.” “And it’s taken months to unlearn it.” He folded his palms. I recognized his intimidating stillness. I wish I hadn’t inherited it. “I respect you, Nicholas. I always have. You are the best of both me and your mother. I never doubted the man you’d become.” “You gave me no choice. You molded me after yourself.” “No. Not quite. You never accepted everything I taught. Max…” He nodded. “Max might have been worth my time, if he hadn’t ruined that leg.” As if the injury from the crash was his fault. “Max would never have done your bidding. Not like me. I tried for years to impress you.” “Max lived to impress me. Every minute of every day, but I had no use for a crippled son, just as I had no need for an emotionally weak child like Reed. Your mother babied him. I should have put a stop to it, but Helena always insisted Reed was

special.” “Why?” “Because he was the least like me.” My father paused. “Did you know your mother feared you?” He said it to force a reaction from me. He’d get none. “Is that so?” “Max was impressionable and desperate for attention. Reed was too kind-hearted. But you? She recognized that spark in you that I see every day.” He studied me as if acknowledging my maturity for the first time. “You did as I asked, capturing Sarah Atwood. You bedded her despite your reservations. You insisted your brothers seed her as well. But I saw it, son. That lust. The need. The drive to be the man who finally broke her.” “What are you talking about?” “You wanted her child as badly as I did, and you still do. That’s why you stormed my office. That’s why you’ve plotted to kill me.” He grinned. “You realize the only chance you have at finally conquering Sarah Atwood is if I’m dead. You don’t want me to breed her first.” I fought the urge to lunge for his throat, but returning to Sarah bleeding and broken wouldn’t convince her that she was safe by my side. “You are as cruel as I am. Don’t pretend it’s love or compassion that hardens your cock. You’re my son. You inherited my instincts.” His voice grated my conscience, scouring every defense that separated his evils from mine. “I never hurt her.” “Didn’t you? Even when Sarah told you no? Don’t lie, Nicholas. The first time, when you bound her to the bed and stole her virginity, she said no. And despite how she might have wetted for you, the fact remains you couldn’t help yourself. You saw a woman, fertile and helpless, and you drove into her with the same ruthless desire that makes me the monster you say I am.” “You’re disgusting.” “I’m just more honest than you. You rutted that girl. Even if she had fought you through an asthma attack as you suffocated her with a pillow, even if she had clawed so hard against your chest she ripped a nail, even if she offered you everything to her name to let her go, you would have fucked her. Her refusal would have excited you as much as if she willingly spread those pretty pink petals.” “Stop.” “I’m sure she told you that too.” My father rarely smiled with genuine amusement.

My discomfort delighted him, his own private joke. “Nicholas, you and I are men who understand true dominance. That girl might have convinced herself she loved you, but we both know the truth.” “What truth?” “You didn’t give her a choice in any of this. You told her she’d love you. You told her she’d submit to you. You told her you would fuck her and try to breed her and take her even if she didn’t want it. And what was her response?” She ran from me. She escaped when she could and returned only as a last resort. She left because she saw in me the same monster she hated in my father. “Don’t let her go this time, son,” he said. “She needs only another mounting and she’ll crumble for you, permanently. She’s just as fragile now as she was that first day I stripped her and offered her as the ultimate gift to my loyal sons.” “She was no gift.” “Yes, she was. It brings me joy to spoil my children, even my daughter.” He patted my shoulder only to elbow my tender, broken ribs. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.” “I know.” “You don’t, but I’m sure you’ll understand eventually. Tell Sarah that her Daddy misses her.” His threat riddled with insincere warmth. “And I’ll be visiting her again very, very soon.”

7

SARAH

eed tapped a page in the baby book. “Hey, Sarah. Did you know—right now— R your uterus is the size of a grapefruit?” I burst into tears. “Nice job.” Max ate his spaghetti but passed me the box of tissues. I grabbed one, but the last tissue pulled out too. I couldn’t reach it before it floated to the floor. Wasting that tissue was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. The tears kept coming. “Whoa.” Reed stuck a knife in his book to mark his place. “Chapter four warned about the mood swings. Probably should have been in chapter one.” He picked up the tissue and knelt beside my chair. The kitchen table was stocked with every variety of fruit, vegetable, ice cream, and pasta dish, but between the incessant crying and nausea, nothing set right with me except that box of tissues, and now they were gone, and I was pretty sure I went insane sometime in the last week. “Sorry, Sarah.” Reed rubbed my arm. “Your uterus is lovely.” He brushed lower, massaging my elbow before drifting to take my palm. He didn’t reach it. His hand circled my wrist. Then I did remember the worst thing to happen to me. And the disgust and shame disguised itself as morning sickness. I bolted to the bathroom. Max called after me. “There’s another box of tissues under the sink.” Great. Just what I needed.

I made it two months without breaking down. Two months of strength, courage, and the mental fortitude to survive an attack from that monster. And I cried over a box of tissues. Also because I wanted scrambled eggs, but the color, smell, taste, texture, and birthing process of eggs now nauseated me. I wept over the sun rise in the morning, and then again later while thinking about the sunrise that morning. I freaked out when Reed offered me his spot on the couch when all I wanted to do was pout while standing because I couldn’t decide if I had to use the bathroom or if I needed a nap. And at night, I muffled my sobs in the pillow because Nicholas respected my wishes and hadn’t returned to my bedroom since the day I first arrived. That wasn’t hormones. That was legitimate heartbreak. I didn’t want him with me. I couldn’t imagine spending another night without him. It was a mistake to return, but after another asthma attack landed my butt on the couch with my step-brothers hovering with medicines, water, and Lamaze breathing instructions courtesy of Reed’s damn baby book, I made the right decision. For the moment, this was my safest place. I finally had a full-night’s sleep, but, when I woke, I was more alone than when I was running hotel to hotel. It had to be Nicholas’s baby. So why was I fighting him? I didn’t bother returning to the kitchen. Reed built his house with junk food — prepackaged meals and snacks and everything easy to toss into a bag before heading to the beach. None of it looked or smelled good. It was best to avoid food. I snuck back to my room. Why did a baby the size of a walnut make me so damn tired? I hadn’t read beyond my current What To Expect From Week Eleven part of the baby book, but I hoped once the kid started to look more human and less tadpole it’d stop draining my energy. I’d need it. Especially tonight. At least I wasn’t showing, even with my grapefruit uterus. I double-checked the little black cocktail dress to ensure it hid every secret. The baby wasn’t visible, but the rest of Sarah Atwood sure was. I gaped at the mirror as Nicholas knocked against the door frame.

He noticed too. “I need a shawl.” I turned to the side. My chest busted out of the neckline. We were beyond full or perky. “This looks a little vulgar.” “Wow.” Nicholas cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.” I wasn’t prepared for his compliments, and I flinched at his touch. I twisted away before his fingers brushed my arms. The rush of adrenaline only aggravated me. The memories would stop drowning me at some point. Right? It had to end. I’d let myself bawl over a tissue, but I couldn’t reveal what happened. It was done, and I’d deal with it the way we should have months ago. By punishing the one responsible. Nicholas dressed in a designer suit, tailor cut to his frame of muscle, strength, and confidence. He held himself with the utmost poise, smiled with an endless reserve of patience, and behaved as a perfect gentleman despite the parts of me that plumped in a suddenly-sexy dress. He offered me two gifts from his jacket pocket. A small bag of ginger candy for my nausea and a personal pack of tissues. “We’ll leave shortly,” Nicholas said. “But we’re only staying at the art gallery for a few minutes.” I timidly sucked on a candy. Ginger wasn’t my favorite, but it did soothe my roiling stomach. “We have to be there for the unveiling.” I held Nicholas’s gaze. The amber sharpness was the only feature he didn’t inherit from Darius. “The artist was best friends with Josiah and Mike. They commissioned the painting right before the accident. I never imagined Atlas would finish it, not after…” “I understand.” Of course he did, and that made it worse. I couldn’t think of my brothers without imagining the terrible video footage Darius forced me to watch. I’d rather a hundred nights of what he did over witnessing another second of their deaths. I hid in a shawl as best I could. It didn’t work. Reed hooted the instant I rounded the corner. I squirmed under the attention, but pretended he flattered me. Neither Reed nor Max wore jackets, but they rocked the slacks and vests, clinging perfectly to Max’s bulging muscles and Reed’s leaner build. We burst back into the public eye in style, which is what I wanted. A unified front. We took a private plane to Cherrywood Valley, and a limo delivered us past the

acres of my cornfields. My step-brothers offered as many tissues as I needed, but I would never weep over my farm, not when it was still undeniably in my possession. The limo pulled to the curb outside the retro-styled, remodeled factory-turned-art gallery. The artist in question, the famed Atlas Chase, preferred his art displayed in a…more rustic neighborhood. I doubted the warehouse workers or the bikers in the nefarious bar, Pixie, cared for his modern art. But Atlas never feared the darker parts of society. He once told me if it could be painted, it had value. Even a shadow, a splash of blood, a bruise… A grave had the most value of all. He had designed Josiah and Mike’s headstones. Nicholas offered his hand to emerge from the limo, but I couldn’t. I needed a moment. A second. A minute. It was the first time I’d appear in public since the attack, and if the simmering agoraphobia wasn’t bad enough, now my thoughts rolled with memories of my brothers. They gave me all the time I needed.

“—JOSIAH AND MIKE TELL ME TO WATCH IN CASE DAD COMES HOME. AND I’M FOUR, I HAVE NO IDEA what they’re doing in his liquor cabinet.” I abandoned my dinner to tell the story. My step-brothers continued to eat. “They grab his Macallan bottle and poured it into a half empty two-liter of Dr. Pepper.” “Classy,” Reed said. “I know, right? But then they start fighting, and they didn’t watch me. I liked soda, but Mom never let me have any. Said it’d rot my brain.” The irony was not lost on me. “I start chugging this bottle not realizing what’s in it. Mike catches me, but it’s too late. I am now a drunk, four-year old asthmatic, wobbling around the house just before my family hosted Senator Ruby for dinner.” I hummed. “Don’t remember much else, but it was the only time I’ve been drunk. Dad was m-a-d.” Dad was always mad, but the memory warmed me. I pushed the mashed potatoes around my plate and admitted what wasn’t really a secret. “I miss my brothers.” Nicholas nodded. Max left the table without a word. “You guys never got into trouble like that?” I asked. Reed exhaled. “We had that dangerous streak beaten out of us. We wouldn’t have gotten a little sister drunk.” He elbowed me. “Apparently, we fuck our sisters

instead.” “Fantastic.”

AN AGGRAVATED SHOUT INSULTED THE BENNETTS. I groaned as the dark-haired troublemaker in black wagged a finger at the limo. Atlas wasn’t as large as Max, but he was more agile than Reed, and his confidence erupted from raw talent instead of Nicholas’s accumulated power. Every part of him appeared chiseled under the most talented artist’s hand—which was probably his. He was as handsome now as I remembered him when I was little. “Oh, no.” Atlas spoke through a grin, but his words might have crumbled the gallery into dust. “Private party, gentlemen. You aren’t invited here.” Nicholas offered to shake his hand. Atlas slapped it away. “I don’t want any Bennett slime dripping over my art.” Max snorted. “Out of our fucking way, Picasso.” “Not a chance. You aren’t welcome here.” Oh, Christ. Another Atwood/Bennett turf war in the middle of the street. Not the best publicity as more limos pulled along the curb. I slipped from the backseat before I could untangle my shawl, but I prevented Max from planting his good leg and earning a misdemeanor. “Atlas, they’re with me.” He didn’t recognize me at first, at least, not surrounded by Bennetts. His jaw dropped. “Sprout?” Max swore as Atlas swung me in his arms for a hug—exactly the type he used to give me when I was still pint-sized and begging to watch movies with my older brothers and their friends. Hell, Atlas was like a third big brother. Even called me by my nickname, despite the frown tugging on Nicholas’s lips. “I didn’t think you’d come,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t RSVP. I’ve been traveling a bit.” “You are always welcome, Sarah.” Atlas eyed my entourage. “What’s with your… friends?” “Long story. But it’s okay.” He wrapped an arm over my shoulders, guiding me away from my step-brothers

and into the gallery. “I have your brothers’ painting.” I didn’t know what to say. “Good. They’d be happy.” The silence dropped between us like it had at their funerals, when it hurt too much to even breathe. He held me close. “Not the same without them.” I nodded, refusing to cry. Atlas offered me a tour through his sleek exhibit. He utilized every quirky space within the factory. Abstract paintings hung on the stairs, leading to a loft above and the open floor below. The murals featured spotlights which lit and shadowed the canvas with as much care as Atlas took to splash the paint. This I expected. What surprised me was the string quartet, led by a blonde violinist rocking a modernized, dub-step rendition of Bach. Waiters in tails serving hors d’oeuvres passed between formally dressed socialites. Atlas offered me a glass of champagne, and I wasn’t sure how to refuse without questions. “You hate all this fancy, pretentious stuff,” I whispered. “Said us elites never understood your work.” “I do hate it.” He winked and gestured over his posh guests. “But you all love me.” He frowned as a woman in a headset waved to him. He downed the champagne. “Looks like I have a sale. Go see the painting, Sprout. I have it in the far corner.” A crease formed in his forehead. He looked away. “Didn’t want everyone gawking at it.” He offered only a half-hearted nod to my step-brothers. The gallery applauded as he crossed the floor to greet an older man enamored by a soft painting of a nude woman tangled in flowing silk. “He’s…friendly,” Reed said. I pretended to be interested in my champagne. “He’s loyal to my family. He was best friends with my brothers, and he understood exactly how much trouble Darius caused the farm.” “He has a particular style.” Nicholas admired a painted image of a naked woman captured and struggling within bands of light. “It’s a theme, apparently.” Max pointed to his favorite—a darker canvas featuring a woman completely restrained in ropes. “I like it.” I was certain all of my step-brothers enjoyed these particular desires. I flushed.

“Just his style. Everything is sensual with Atlas.” I bit my lip, glancing over the gallery. “I used to have such a crush on him when I was younger.” Reed rolled his eyes. “So that’s why we’re here. Better learn how to sketch, Nick.” I said nothing, avoiding the conversation to search for the commissioned painting. It wasn’t hard to find. In a room filled with carnal poses and vibrant, passionate murals, the lone landscape reserved a place of honor. “That’s your farm,” Reed said. I stared at the brushes of green, strokes of gold, and bursting reds. The corn, the barn, and house. It was all there, in picture perfect quality. Despite the hundreds of thousands of acres spread over California and the cattle ranches in Nevada, that farmhouse, that little section of soil, crop, and sky was everything my brothers and I believed our family was. It wasn’t about the money or the governmental lobbyists or the charity events. It was about the land. The painting showed a simplicity that no longer existed. My family was destroyed. My future threatened. My innocence stolen. It wasn’t an end, just another challenge. My family didn’t thrive because it was easy. My ancestors tilled every acre by hand, harvested crops in hail storms, and drew strength from the sun-parched, drought-stricken dirt. Every hardship was an opportunity to survive. My life was suddenly one hell of an opportunity. Max’s graveled question wasn’t meant as a warning, but my body laced with a chilled sickness. “What the hell is he doing here?” I didn’t look. After that night, I now felt when the monster entered a room—as though the lights dipped, the temperature plummeted, and every sound, every movement focused the attention on me. I imagined everyone knew. That they could see me, through me, imagine me without the dress and picture me bruised, bloodied, and covered in a man’s sweat. A part of me begged to run. I denied it. No more cowering. No more hiding. No more clinging to the shadows and praying

he wasn’t stalking me in the darkness. “We’re leaving,” Nicholas said. “We’ll find another exit.” No, we weren’t. Not until I faced him. I expected tooth and claw, horn and hoof, but his true evil was veiled in secrecy. The greying, older man cloaked himself in a raw dignity earned at the expense of those he humiliated. He wasn’t ugly—not physically, but it was only because I saw so much of his sons in his features. Reed’s nose. Max’s shoulders. Nick’s…everything. The strong angles and hard jawline that drew me to Nicholas mirrored in the mask of humanity his father wore. Both men were dangerous. Only one vowed to hurt me. And he did. But it was over. I’d make sure it never happened again. Darius Bennett raped me. He left me bruised, terrified, and sick with dread. The baby I carried might have belonged to him. But now? He could do nothing else to me. I hit rock bottom, and landed on my feet, prepared to fight, kick, and claw my way out of this shame. Darius thought he won. The bastard didn’t realize the strength he gave me. I was beyond their evil now. I endured it. Every beat of my heart, every shed tear, every last scar I bore would forever damn him in his own arrogance. I carried a Bennett heir. If he harmed me, he’d only hurt his own blood and ruin the Bennett legacy. I was no longer the Sarah Atwood fretting over coursework and mourning her lost family. I wasn’t the captured girl denying her pleasure. I wasn’t the lost victim huddled in dingy hotels while hiding the truth about the life inside me. The terror, pain, and suffering hadn’t destroyed me. Darius Bennett could do nothing to me that I hadn’t already survived. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. But he would forever fear me. I clutched the untasted champagne flute with fingers clenched white. My voice lowered, strengthened with a newfound confidence. “Let’s go greet Daddy.” I stormed the gallery with my step-brothers rushing to my side. Darius saw me before I reached him, those loathsome brown eyes meeting mine with utter

vindication. He was more intimidating within arm’s reach, but I dared him to force me to my knees in the middle of the crowded gallery. He didn’t touch me. But he looked. His stare drank over my body, like he savored a rich wine. I waited for him to spit it out, used and wasted, like every other tasting he had of me. He didn’t. He enjoyed me. His prickling attention lingered over my plumped chest. “Sarah, my dear.” His voice sliced me, flaying my skin like the belt he used to subdue me. “What in the world happened to you? I’ve been worried sick.” “I’ve been traveling,” I said. Nicholas edged me into the safety of my stepbrothers’ reach. “What are you doing here?” “You don’t call, you don’t write...” He tore his gaze from my chest. “Your mother was so concerned that poor Atlas Chase would have no Atwoods to collect his painting. She sent me. I’m glad I came for you.” He nodded to Nicholas. “I suppose I should thank you for returning your sister home?” “I returned on my own,” I said. “Did you?” His words thickened over his fat tongue. “What a brave little whore.” Max attempted to pull me away. Reed stepped between us. Nicholas and I stood still. And I waited as the nausea swelled. He wouldn’t tell them what he had done. Not here. Not now. Darius meant to keep the assault secret until it benefited him, just as I’d keep my silence to protect the men it’d drive to madness. “I’ve missed you, Sarah,” he said. “It was not my intent for my only daughter to run away from her family.” “I never doubted any of your intentions.” “Then you should know how much I regret letting you slip from my grasp.” His lips twisted into a smile. “I should have broken your legs when I had the chance.” He tried. It took weeks for the bruises to fade. “We’re leaving.” Nicholas’s warning would chill my champagne. “This is over.” I refused to let another Bennett seize my hand and force me after them, even Nicholas. “We have a few matters to discuss.”

Darius agreed. “Let’s go home then. We’ll have a nice conversation before your punishment.” “I am not selling my shares of the Bennett Corporation.” Max and Reed swore. Nicholas didn’t react. “If you refuse to sell, I can no longer protect you,” Darius said. “You never protected me.” “I left you alive, didn’t I?” “Hardly.” “A testament to my restraint.” “You have none.” “Why would I use brute force with you, my dear?” His voice hardened. So did other parts of him. “A pillow does quite nicely.” Too much. I trembled. My step-brothers frowned, but they didn’t know the pleasure Darius took siphoning my breath and suffocating me within the same sheets where Nicholas and I tangled in beautiful passion. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. Not within a roomful of strangers, not in front of my step-brothers. “I will retain my control of the Bennett Corporation,” I said. “Though my schedule is quite inflexible. I won’t return to the headquarters and will instead require a web connection during all board meetings. My votes will cast via the internet or by Nicholas’s proxy.” “Why, of course. Anything to make you more comfortable.” I didn’t blink. “And I will expect your resignation as CEO before the end of autumn.” My step-brothers tensed. I wasn’t done. “It’s over, Darius.” I held his gaze. Every second lost in the stare of his decaybrown eyes rotted me from the inside out. “You forced me into this war, and now I’m ending it.” He sipped his drink. “How so?” “I plan to destroy the things you value most. Your family. Your power. Your company.” “Ambitious.”

I gestured to my step-brothers. “I’ve taken your sons. I’ve inherited a stake in your company. I will seize complete control of the corporation before claiming every corner of the Bennett Empire for my own.” I lowered my voice, smiling so the suits and gowns mingling between paintings wouldn’t decipher my threat. “And after? You will have nothing to protect you from me.” Darius arched an eyebrow to Nicholas. “She’s feisty tonight.” I owned it. “I’m far more challenging when you don’t have me bound and gagged.” “Pity we have no gag tonight.” “You never will again.” Darius stilled, his leer chasing the shivers along my spine. My stomach twisted, but I didn’t dare let the sickness take me. Not now. I needed this moment. This closure. This pride. And Darius existed only to crush it. “My little Sarah. You seem so different from the last time I saw you. No tears. No screaming.” I stiffened. Nicholas didn’t react. “Now here you are, poised and graceful. You’ve really changed during your travels.” Darius words slithered over me. “Something gave you this confidence to confront me, to punish me for all those terrible things I did. It does make a father proud to see his daughter with such spirit. Such glow. So full of…life.” Nicholas took my hand. I swallowed the bile. “Celebrate your momentary freedom. I won’t tolerate this insult in public, but I assure you…” His words penetrated and pained. “I will reclaim what is mine.” He reached for me but took only the champagne from my grasp. “So good to see you again, my dear.” I trembled. “The pleasure was entirely yours.” “It always is.” He brushed past us. I couldn’t wait. I refused their guiding hands and escaped from the gallery to dart into a supply closet and let the sickness pass, undignified, in a janitorial sink. It wasn’t possible. It shouldn’t have been possible. No one could tell. Not yet.

I heaved into the darkness. Nicholas rubbed my back as Reed and Max covered the entrance, ensuring no wayward guest crossed my moment of weakness. I recovered, but the dread coiled in my emptied stomach. Darius knew.

8

SARAH

y morning M possible.

sickness sucked more at night. I wasn’t sure how that was

I flopped into my third bed of the week, too exhausted to even wrap the blankets over me. That was fine. Less to untangle when I inevitably got sick. It was like the baby tried to escape from my mouth. That was a more horrifying proposition than what would happen in seven months. In six and a half months. When we wouldn’t be able to run anymore. My family hadn’t visited our summer home in Santa Barbara since before Dad’s chemo. I hardly recognized the beach house—though it wasn’t like we spent much time here. Dad forced Mike and Josiah to work even on vacation, and Mom had an irrational fear of jellyfish, rip tides, and whales. When I was little, most of the vacations ended early from arguments, harvest crises, and sunburn. But I’d missed the beautiful house. What was intended to be a multi-million dollar home-away-from-home stood empty and hollow without Dad’s tirades from the kitchen or Mike and Josiah testing their boogie boards on the staircase. It was hardly a home without a family. Nicholas knocked at my door. I claimed my childhood room with the pink walls, a queen bed, and a bay window—Hamlet’s preferred seat. Nicholas didn’t question the posters or books on the shelves. I rose before he poked through the antique dollhouse in the corner. “Max will stay with you tonight.” Nicholas buttoned his suit jacket. “Reed will be back in the morning. I’ll fly in from San Jose tomorrow afternoon once I meet with a prospective client.” He tried to reassure me, as if I’d be worried without him close.

And I was. But every night I pushed him from my bedroom as my world tore apart. I couldn’t let him stay. I’d only fall back into his embrace. Surrendering to that desire would end in our disaster. I loved Nicholas Bennett with every shudder of my breaking heart, even if it was his cruelty, greed, and ambition which first trapped me within his captivity. I had bound myself to a monster and imagined I was safe. I trusted the demon while praying for salvation. I was a fool. Nicholas delivered on his promised evil, and yet his hand guided me into a perfect submission that soothed my fears and crumbled the defenses that shielded me from his control. I loved him, and, because of my own weakness, I made him the most dangerous man to my unborn child. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” he said. “Because you think I need protection, or because you think I’ll run?” Nicholas wasn’t insulted. “Because you need me. Because our baby needs me.” “Please don’t talk like that.” “Sarah, nothing in this world will stop me from loving you. And there isn’t a damn thing you can do to keep me from my son.” “Nick—” “The pregnancy changes nothing.” “It changes everything.” “Only if you let it.” I squared my shoulders, though my full height was nothing compared to Nicholas’s strength, his poise, the solid force of his authority. “Don’t pretend to understand how I feel.” “Then tell me how you feel. Talk to me, Sarah.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “That’s not true.” “For us, it has to be.” I stared into his eyes. “I’m pregnant. I’m six months from

losing everything my family ever built. My future is ruined because Darius Bennett lusted for more wealth.” “You think I would take your farm from you?” he asked. “Sarah, you still hold the entirety of the Josmik Trust. You have more influence over my company than I hold over your fields.” I closed my eyes. “I won’t have this same fight with you.” “Then stop fighting and start trusting me. For once. This will be over soon, and then you and me…” He touched my cheek. “You, and me, and our son can start our family, and I can give you every comfort and security you deserve. Sarah, I’d give my life to keep you two safe.” I pressed my finger against his lips, marveling in the warmth and memory of how they once memorized every inch of my body. Now they murmured dangerous possibilities. “Please don’t say that,” I whispered. “It might come true.” “I have too much to live for. So many depending on me.” His hand slipped low, touching my tummy. Nicholas and I once swore to reveal all our secrets. No more hiding contracts or assumed infertilities, vengeful boards or family tragedies. We promised, we vowed it to each other, and our fragile bond frayed as every lie was revealed. It wasn’t secrets separating us now. It was that truth I couldn’t give, and the honesty that bore only pain. What would happen if the baby was a product of hatred and violence? If it wasn’t Nicholas’s son? If it wasn’t a male heir? “Get some rest.” Nicholas reluctantly pulled away. “I’ll return as soon as I can.” He closed the door behind him, and I collapsed on the bed. My hand trembled, but I lifted my shirt, only above my navel, only high enough to reveal little more than a puffy flatness. Still secret. I rested my hand over the warmth. I wished it hadn’t been the first time I was brave enough to touch. I curled into bed, napping even though the sun had barely set. I woke halfway between a wave of nausea and an intense craving for something salty. Gross.

I rested, head in my hands as the sweat poured off of me. Equally gross. He knocked on my door. I wasn’t in any condition for visitors. Max entered anyway. His silhouette filled the entire doorway, but his size and strength reassured me. Despite the tattoos, penchant for using belts in unconventional applications, and adopting a sullen silence since I revealed the pregnancy, Max was my perfect teddy bear. A very large, very temperamental teddy bear that happened to spank instead of cuddle. “Hey, baby,” he said. “Can I come in?” I flipped on the bedside lamp. “Since when do you ask permission from me?” “Times change.” “Yeah. There’s a Bennett in one of my childhood bedrooms.” “Soon to be one more.” Apparently. I cradled a pillow from the stash on my bed. Pink pastel and shaped like a sand-dollar, the pillows were early 90s hideous, but Mom ordered them for every room. “Mike and Josiah hated these pillows.” I picked at a loose string. “But they were great for pillow fights. Josiah and I would gang up on Mike.” “Cute.” I squeezed it tight. “It’s weird here without them.” Max’s words edged hard and impatient. “Look, I’m just checking to see if you need anything.” “I’m fine.” “Okay.” A pause. I arched an eyebrow. “So…goodnight?” He turned, but his hand gripped the door frame. Too hard. “If I were Reed, what would you need?” he asked. The question came too quickly. “What?” “If I were Reed, and I asked if you wanted anything, what would you need?”

“From Reed?” “Yeah.” “Why?” “Answer the fucking question.” I flinched. He apologized, but he didn’t mean it. “If you were Reed…” I didn’t see a point in lying. “I’d ask you for a foot rub and we’d watch something stupid on Netflix until I fell asleep.” Max said nothing. It couldn’t have offended him. I shrugged. “But he’s whipped. You’re not.” I smirked. “You’re not into that.” He ignored the implication. “What if I were Nick? What could I do for you then?” That was an easier question, but it hurt to answer. “Nothing.” “You sure about that?” I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of Max’s head games. “It’s complicated.” “How complicated can it be? You’re having his kid. That’s as simple as it gets.” My mood swung every which way, and this time it skipped the tears and burst into anger. “You think it’s that simple? You aren’t the one carrying the baby. You aren’t the one getting sick ten times a day. You aren’t the one who’ll have to explain to her Board of Directors why she’s carrying the child of her family’s greatest enemy.” “And you’re making it worse by refusing help and doing it all on your own.” I refused to look at him. “We’re done talking about this. I’ve suffered through enough doctors and exams and morning sickness today. I can’t deal with anything else.” “You better start dealing.” The rage prickled. I blinked angry tears. “And how would you deal with this?” “Easier than you. I would have known from the beginning this was going to happen.” “Oh, screw you, Max. You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” “You don’t deny a Bennett,” he said.

“Get out.” Max wasn’t even apologetic. “You never considered it was a possibility.” “Because it wasn’t supposed to happen.” “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with Nick either. Surprise.” Why was he being such an ass? “And instead of ruining just my life, we’ve ruined two.” “Lot more than that, baby.” My fingernails dug into the pillow. “Good. Then you understand why I’m doing this. I have to think about what’s best for my son.” “Your son.” He emphasized the word. “We hope.” We all needed to hope that the baby was a boy. I refused to answer Max otherwise. “Did antagonizing my dad at the art show fit into your plan for what’s best for the baby?” “I had to confront him.” “And now we’ve spent a week running your ass all over Central California to stay out of his sight.” “I’m not afraid of him.” “Yes, you are. But you think you can hide from him if he’s six feet under.” “Don’t tell me the thought doesn’t excite you.” “Sure, it does.” Max crossed his arms. “But I was the one he beat on for twentyseven years. I’m the one he abandoned when I started to limp. I’m the one who deals in blood to prove I’m still a Bennett. So yeah, the thought excites me. But, baby, revenge doesn’t look good on you. Leave it to the ones who are already damned.” “I didn’t start this war, but I’ll end it,” I said. “And if that means murdering a man who has no right to exist outside of hell, then I’ll do it for myself and for my child.” His child. Nicholas’s child. It had to be. They’d have to believe it was. Max stepped inside the room. I tucked the pillow closer to me, but he didn’t speak. His hand brushed aside my hair, and I swore he saw where the deepest bruise had lingered on my cheek. “What happened to you, Sarah?”

I said nothing. “For two months, you ran from us. No calls. No emails. No nothing.” “Contrary to what the Bennetts believe, I’m no prisoner. I can do as I please.” “No, you can’t, but it’s cute when you get defiant.” “You guys don’t control me.” “Now we do. More than ever. And we don’t even need a leash to do it.” Max grinned. “You should have kept running, baby. Run and never looked back. But you didn’t. Why? The kid?” “I couldn’t run forever while pregnant.” “You shouldn’t have run at all.” Max leaned close. “Nick came to visit you. You and him had some magical sex and made a little miracle baby…and then you ran.” I swallowed. “Yes.” “Why?” “Don’t you insult me for panicking. I found out I was pregnant, Max.” “You knew that instant?” His words were heavy, like he jammed the pillow over my face himself. “As soon as Nick rolled off of you?” I said nothing. Max expected it. His voice lowered. “The only difference between a secret and a lie is the work you put into keeping it.” “And you would know?” I whispered. “Far better than you, sweetheart.” “That’s comforting.” Max laughed. “I’ve never been the one to comfort you. I’m not the one you love, and I’m not the fucking puppy dog wagging his tail and chasing after you.” “Then what are you?” “Not someone you should ever trust.” “I don’t want to play games, Max. Just say what you want to say and let me sleep.” He frowned. “You’re pregnant. Finding that shit out should have pissed you off. Shocked you. But it shouldn’t scare the fuck out of you.” “I’m not scared.” “No. You’re devastated.”

“Max—” “You ran the instant Nick left, and it was only once you split that you realized he knocked you up. So what happened, Sarah? Did you try to escape from us? Did you really think you could hide from the Bennetts and we wouldn’t capture you? Find you?” he snorted. “Hurt you?” I had enough. “You have no idea how much I’ve been hurt, Max Bennett.” “Then explain this shit to me, Sarah, because none of it makes sense.” “Get the hell out of my room.” “You gonna make me?” I moved faster than Max anticipated. The smack centered hard on his cheek. “Haven’t you done enough? Your family bred me. What else do you want? Blood? Pain?” “Forgiveness.” Max gripped my hand and pushed me down on the bed. For a moment, I feared he’d follow. The cold terror leeched through me. Even his familiar weight would tangle me in darkness. But he didn’t. Only his voice hardened, a shield from the mournful shadow in his words. “But you’re never gonna forgive us, are you, baby? You’re already looking for vengeance. You’re beyond mercy, aren’t you?” “How can you ask me that? If you knew what happened—” “A lot of bad shit happens to good people, Sarah, and the Bennetts cause it all. How much blood will make it right?” “I’m pregnant, Max.” “Yeah,” he said. “So fucking think about what’s best for that baby, growing up in the middle of a goddamned war he wasn’t supposed to cause. Think about what you really want. You aren’t a murderer. You’re stronger than that.” I met his gaze. “No. I’m not. I won’t stop until Darius is punished for ruining my life, my family, my…everything. And don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t do everything in my power to get justice.” “And once he’s dead?” Max leaned in. “Who else are you going to punish?” Myself. “Anyone who dares to endanger my family.”

Max grunted. “Christ, you are an Atwood.” “And you’re a Bennett.” “And this is one weak-fucking truce.” The door slammed behind him. What was his fucking problem? The blankets twisted under my feet. I kicked them away. I often felt used after my time with Max, but the words he said and the regretted hate in his voice were new. Guilt blended with a new wave of weeping, but I’d be damned if either Max Bennett or my raging hormones forced me from the bed. Our conversation was over. I didn’t care if I got another apology, if I slapped him again, or if I finally figured out why he sounded so goddamned lost every time he talked to me. Like he already mourned for me. I wrapped the blanket over me just as a sizzling pop echoed through the beach house. The air conditioning squealed, and the grind of electronics abruptly silenced. I hadn’t felt an earthquake. Why else would the electricity go out? The silence didn’t settle. It crashed. And I knew. I burst from my room for Max—fight forgotten, ready to run. “Sarah!” Max shouted from the living room. I called back, but the splintering crash of glass muffled my cry. Hamlet yipped and ran with me to the kitchen. I forced my dog beneath the open island. He whined, but I covered him as a second torrent of shattering glass rained over the house. The crunch of wood slammed the front door against the wall. The security system stayed silent. No explosive barrage of sirens and flashes that always tripped up Josiah when he snuck out at night. Whoever broke into the house studied how to disconnect the system. Max’s profanity roared. In the darkness, a shadow launched over the sofa and crashed into the coffee table, wrecking it into pieces. The man grunted, and the sickening crunch of fist against shattering jaw echoed through the room. I screamed as an unfamiliar snarl bit through the night. Hamlet surged forward, knocking the second shadow to the ground. The man he attacked howled in pain.

“Sarah, run!” Max’s order gurgled over bloodied words. I crawled from behind the counter. My chest tightened. I ignored it. Hamlet attacked again, lunging for the man holding Max. My step-brother’s choked grunt and pounded struggles snapped over the living room. He told me to run. But they’d kill him. My fingers curled over the stool before I realized how stupid it was for me to try to fight. I rushed forward, crashing the chair over the head of one of the intruders. He groaned and collapsed. The flash lit the living room. The gunshot came immediately after. I didn’t even scream. The shot fired so close to me the heat practically seared through my shirt. It was too near to my tummy, and I realized what I almost lost. Hamlet bolted, unharmed but terrified by the sound. He wasn’t the only one. A second shot fired, but this one aimed for the intruder. He crumpled to the floor. Dead. I threw up. Max shouted. “Sarah, get the fuck out of here!” Max killed a man. A man who hunted me. This wasn’t happening. I tripped backwards, kicking the fallen man as I blindly sprinted away from the guns, the blood, the body. I rushed into the night and kicked a path through the sand. The roaring surf muffled any other sounds from inside the beach house. Then I found the second body. Our security guard—garroted and left to rot in the sand by the water. Oh God. Everything had changed. What had once been a feud between families now extended beyond our own walls.

He wouldn’t stop this time. Not until he waded in blood to finally capture me. I turned from the body, repulsed and enraged, but I couldn’t get help easily. My family built the house a half mile from anyone—far enough to ensure our privacy and mimic the rural openness of the farm, far away from the crowded beaches. I left my phone charging by the bed. I needed to find another way to call for help. For Nicholas. The police. Like I should have done months ago if I hadn’t been so terrified of ruining the Atwood pride. If I hadn’t feared what Nicholas would do or think after he learned the truth. I turned, rushing back to the road. I never made it. The hands clutched me from behind. So familiar. Too familiar. I kicked. It did nothing. The cold barrel of a gun jammed against my side. The cloth dosed in chemicals covered my mouth and nose. “Time to come home, my dear.”

9

NICHOLAS

S arah didn’t answer her cell phone. I tried Max. Same issue.

Neither were classified as morning people. On previous calls, I had been threatened with grievous bodily harm and implements shoved in places best suited for men of other tastes. Max wasn’t pleasant when he woke either. It meant nothing that I’d be ignored by them at five in the morning. Or six. But by seven, I worried. I left both voice mails and text messages, and I called Reed and ordered him to return to the Atwood’s ten thousand square foot “beach house.” It was easy to forget how tremendously wealthy Sarah’s family was, and how much money, land, and investments one woman now owned. My father never forgot, and his obsession became mine. She should have answered her phone. I wasn’t waiting to find out why she was ignoring me this time. My real reason for leaving her was done. The arrangements for my father’s murder rescheduled once more. It’d cost twenty million this time. Non-refundable. He didn’t like that we’d called off the last attempt so suddenly. He said it made him nervous. I didn’t care, so long as it didn’t make him sloppy. But it took time. Another month, another drop, another series of gut-checking complications. Then she’d be safe, and I could let her rest without calling her cell-phone every hour to check on her. If she’d answer.

I didn’t trust it. I tried to reschedule the meeting, but my client asked to meet for breakfast instead. I waited for a chartered plane as my father currently flew in our private jet through Oregon. I had an hour to spare. My partner on this particular meeting wasn’t pleased by the change of plans. Bryant Maddox uttered a few choice words as he berated me for my irresponsibility, but he met me within his chosen café a half hour prior to the meeting. He ordered the server to take us to the table he selected—a secluded location outside on the terrace, completely inappropriate for a business discussion. I permitted it only as I intended the meeting to be brief. Bryant questioned my decision. “What’s wrong, Nicholas?” His hands trembled as he poured sugar after sugar into his coffee. “You’d never compromise a deal this way. Bennett rule, right? No business in the mornings?” “Times change.” “And you expect the board to tolerate changes in your father’s business plan?” I frowned. “Garalt Farms is my prospective client, not my father’s.” “Recommended by Sarah Atwood, is that right?” “Yes.” “How kind of the little whore to offer us an exciting new customer base.” Bryant slurped his coffee. “At least the bitch is good for something.” I once respected Bryant—not only as my father’s confidante, but also because he understood the business and strived for our level of perfection. Now, I saw the coward instead of the man. He was a sniveling, greedy, brutal bastard who took pleasure in the suffering of others. He delighted in my father’s evil as he was too weak to be his own sadist. Bryant deserved worse than a morning coffee in a French café outside a busy intersection in San Jose. An eye-for-an-eye wasn’t enough for the monsters my father fostered within our company, and entirely too kind for the horrors they inflicted on Sarah. And he’d be fortunate if I were the one to exact our revenge. I hardly recognized the hatred burning in Sarah. The board would flake to ash after she scorched through the Bennett Empire to protect her child. Our child. My son. Bryant checked his watch and swore. “First you jeopardize a multi-million dollar

deal by altering the appointment time, and now they’re late. This is unacceptable, Nicholas.” “Don’t question me.” “You realize the dire circumstances facing our company?” “My company.” “That little bitch holds more stock than I do.” “And?” Bryant’s eyes narrowed like an irritating weasel, and his voice edged with the animal’s squeal. He checked his watch once more, and his fingers rubbed hard against the linked metal tabletop. A thick gold ring clattered with his motions, tapping a nervous rhythm. “If you don’t see the danger in an Atwood controlling the company, I won’t pity you when the whore bleeds you dry.” “If Sarah Atwood is so powerful, perhaps you should beg her forgiveness instead of insulting her.” “I wouldn’t beg an Atwood for anything. By the time this is done, she’ll beg us for mercy.” “Continue to threaten her, and you won’t live beyond this breakfast.” He snorted, his eyes hardening. “You aren’t so noble, Nicholas. You might not beat her, but you won’t let the bitch destroy what’s rightfully yours.” He checked the watch for a third time, stiffening as he pushed his coffee to the side. “I have a call to make.” He could make a dozen calls so long as it removed his presence from my table before his infection poisoned the deal with my potential clients. I read my phone. No messages. No calls. Where the hell was Sarah? And why did Bryant trip away from the table in blind haste? My gut sunk. Something was wrong. My phone rang. Reed. I answered, but he was already screaming. “—On my bike! Fucker followed me to the office—” I didn’t have time to decipher his profanity. The blitzing rumble of motorcycles splintered the peace of the morning. Six bikes thundered through rush hour traffic, splitting lanes and careening over the sidewalk.

They aimed for me. I kicked the nearest table and dove behind it as the quiet morning bled into sudden war. Gunfire roared over the street, tearing every umbrella and fancy table-scape into a ragged, decimated scene of destruction. I covered my head from a shower of broken glass spilling into the intersection. Women screamed. Men shouted. Somewhere, a baby cried. And the little one’s terrified shriek tore through my mind. It might have been my child terrified and endangered. Fear turned to nausea and then blinding anger. I stood once the gunfire stopped and the rumble of bikes peeled away from the intersection, scattering as a siren blared in the distance. I knew what insignia they wore on their jackets before I checked. Temple MC. Son of a bitch. Enough history existed between the Bennetts and that degenerate organization. My grandfather’s few favors and my father’s tolerance of their criminal and despicable behavior hadn’t endangered us before. Hell, the president was Reed’s godfather. This favor cost my father more than money. He’d lose his soul in attempting to murder his eldest child. And Reed. Wherever Reed was, his call had disconnected. Dread churned in my gut. I hadn’t heard from Max. Where was Sarah? I sprinted from the café, but Bryant wasn’t in the huddled mass of people shrieking inside. I rushed to the street and hauled my driver out of the car, stealing the keys and ordering him to escape the scene before the police started asking for witnesses. I wasn’t involving the authorities in this. Too much time already wasted, and I’d spill far too much blood to tolerate investigations and procedure. I jammed the accelerator and tore through the streets, escaping the crowded intersection before the first responders closed the fastest route to the Bennett Headquarters. I wouldn’t find my father there, but I prayed I’d find my brother alive. The ten minute drive took only four as I shot through red lights and nearly

sideswiped a car failing to parallel park. The headquarters housed the offices for our charity foundation on the third floor. I ignored the chronically slow elevators and slammed through the stairwell, rushing the steps two at a time and knocking a path through employees who hadn’t the courage to complain. Reed’s office was locked. I sprinted at it full-speed, shouldering the door with the force of my weight and crashing it open. A man cloaked in black and hiding in a ski mask wrapped a length of rope around Reed’s neck and squeezed. His face turned purple and a blood vessel popped in his left eye. My brother fell to his knees. I leapt at his attacker, my fists connecting with his face and crushing the fragile bones that made him recognizable as a human. Punch after punch until the bastard fell. I kicked. Pounded. Brutalized. My fists dripped with blood, mine and his, my knuckles cut against the few teeth that remained in his broken jaw. My father hired men to kill us. This man would have murdered my little brother. Who knew what had happened to Max. And Sarah? My father would never kill Sarah. Not yet. Not while her womb was still of use to him. He’d hurt her. He’d make her suffer. And if Sarah didn’t tell him about the baby, his sadistic revenge would kill my unborn child. I roared, destroying the limp and broken man beneath my bruised fists. I punched as the regions I hit softened into crimson putty. The pulp of his skin slid from my hands. I didn’t stop. Not until Reed shouted. Not until the terror in his voice called to me. “He’s dead, Nick! Fuck, stop! He’s dead!”

I panted, sweated, and shook with chills. The beaten mass beneath me hadn’t moved or fought. I don’t remember if he ever had, or if my first crunch against his temple killed him. I didn’t recognize my voice. “He has Sarah.” Reed’s hand curled over my shoulder, pulling me beyond the spread of blood. “Then we gotta go get him,” Reed said. “Going wild won’t save her.” No. It wouldn’t. I had never lost control before. Never abandoned myself in feral, unbridled rage that demanded such base and horrific punishments. I’d never killed a man before. I’d stared at the body upon the ground. I had kidnapped. Raped. Corrupted. Never murder. This wouldn’t be my last. My father was a fiend, but even he hired others or sent Max. He never murdered. “Don’t tell her I did this.” My voice dropped. “Don’t ever tell her.” “Yeah.” Reed swallowed. “Believe me, I’m not telling anyone about this. Who the fuck is he?” “A gift from Dad.” I had nothing to wash the blood from my hands. Reed straightened, rubbing the raw flesh on his neck. “He targeted me as well. Had Temple MC do a drive-by.” “Temple?” Reed’s expression flashed with a new pain. “Toviel Aren is my godfather. He’s not doing hits for Dad.” “He is now, or Temple’s elected a new president.” “Fuck.” “Lock the office. I’ll hire someone to take care of this later. We have to find Sarah.” “Where’s Max?” The thought pierced me like I had been shot and only now suffered from the bullet burrowing through my chest. Reed swore. “Does Dad know she’s pregnant?”

I stood, not waiting for Reed to follow. Blood dried on my hands, my suit. “It doesn’t matter.” I wouldn’t cleanse the filth from my palms until another’s blood stained them. “I’ll kill him before he hurts Sarah or my son.”

10

SARAH

I woke only to return to nightmare.

I rested upon Darius Bennett’s bed.

I wouldn’t endure his sin twice. I tensed to fight. Darius watched as I slid against the mattress, edging into the pillows. I blinked through the haze and swallowed against the parched chemical dryness in my throat. I feared I’d vomit, but I refused my body that relief. That weakness would remain hidden. The darkness crept within the room, soundless and invasive. It’d swallow these crimes and trap me between memory and reality once more. His eyes pinned me. I imagined them a dark and dank pit that stole my virtue, innocence, and dignity. And once more I’d climb from that hole. When would it become a grave? Darius claimed the wingback before the fireplace. He sat as if it were a throne, surveying the kingdom of hell resting between sheets that would be torn and tangled, bloodied and dampened with his sweat and my tears. I wouldn’t let him do it again. He promised to hurt me. He had. He lusted for my pride. He took it. He desired my heir. He made it. And I denied it. I hated myself for even considering it. But I no longer remembered my passionate, loving, unifying embrace with Nicholas. That night crippled me with darkness, the utter helplessness when all

control, power, and dignity were stripped from me in the pounded pleasure of a man who lusted for my cries. I wanted the baby to belong to Nicholas. But I feared Darius’s determination. I’d be damned if either Bennett caused my son harm. I fed off the surge of adrenaline, of my fierce devotion to the idea of the child. I once warned Nicholas how dangerous I’d become if they succeeded. And now they’d see it. True wrath. Absolute rage. Righteous bloodshed. A mother protecting her child. A woman defending her honor. A soul seeking revenge. Darius expected me to cower. I expected him to bleed. “Remove your clothes, my dear.” “No.” He tolerated my resistance. I anticipated his lust. “I wasn’t asking.” “And I’m telling you no.” “It isn’t wise to disobey your father,” he warned. “And it’s equally dangerous to touch me.” “Then run, little one. Run and cry for help. It won’t take me long to find you again, and you’ll regret every second of your disobedience.” That I believed. Darius sat entirely too still, as stone-faced and imposing as Nicholas. His suit jacket removed, but he hadn’t unbuttoned his cuffs. Not yet. Not while he crossed his legs and talked to me about his desires. But his palms folded. An impatient gesture, but hardly the crack against the cheek I’d earned before. He’d punish me emotionally, cripple me mentally, or abuse me in sick and perverted ways. I once thought him insane. That was wrong. Darius Bennett controlled his every action. What he did to me, he planned. Rigorously. Deliberately. Almost…religiously. Now I understood him, but realizing his thoughts, urges, and animalistic

perversions disgusted me more than his hands over my bare flesh. “What do you want?” I dug my fingers into the comforter. Dark sheets. Just like Nicholas. Not like Nicholas. “I thought it would be obvious?” “You’re not raping me again.” “I had hoped it would be more pleasant this time.” “You’re a monster.” “The tired insults wear on me. I won’t ask you again.” “You won’t rape me.” “Clothes off, Sarah.” “No.” What should have screamed, proud and vindicated, sneered through a longfestering anger. I faced a demon without a cross, and I had no more prayers to save me from the evil that already invaded my core. The devil desired a second indulgence. If he hurt me, hit me, raped me, I didn’t know what would happen. I endured it before, but I wasn’t as weak then. Not as tired, not as…fragile. I didn’t fear for me, and that made it worse. I had to protect the baby. “You try my patience,” Darius said. “Get used to it.” “You’ve always been a trial of my tolerance. I don’t allow my children to misbehave.” “I’m not your child.” “Regardless of what you believe, of what Nicholas has told you, I’ve laid more a claim to you than any of my sons. You belong to me now, Sarah. I will not be spoken to with such disrespect.” “Fuck. You.” The words twitched his eyebrow as though I were the first to dare insult his pride with such vulgarity. He stood to unbutton his cuffs. It didn’t worry me as much as the belt he unraveled from his trousers. He hadn’t

swung the leather, only looped it within his hands. “Stand up,” he ordered. “And you were so eager to hold me down before.” “Don’t test me, my dear.” “If you think I would willingly surrender to you—” “I do think it.” He moved quickly, gripping my arm and lurching me to my feet. The sudden rise nauseated me. He’d deserve it if I threw up on him. But it’d only get me hit. The belt tightened in his grip. It didn’t strike. “Remove your clothing.” He didn’t hit me. He didn’t hurt me. He threatened me, but after months of his abuses, words weren’t as frightening as his punishments. My pulse quickened. I was right. He suspected the pregnancy. Somehow, someway, he read it in my escape, saw it in my behavior at the art gallery. But he hadn’t said it, and I hadn’t admitted it. He had no proof, only a hunch that stilled his hand when it would have otherwise struck. Darius Bennett could do nothing to me but force me to admit I carried a child. He wouldn’t earn that victory. If I had it my way, Darius would go to his grave with the mystery burning his soul, and the truth would die with him. I’d forever swear the child belonged to Nicholas—even if I lied to myself until the day I died. I had nothing to use as a weapon in his bedroom, but I remembered the nooks and crannies of the estate. Knives in the kitchen, hunting guns in the basement game room. First I’d find a weapon…and then? I had just witnessed the murders of two men. The blood of two human beings had been spilled at my feet. Murder disgusted me—especially as my life wavered so often on a hitched breath and the mercy of modern medicine. Dad was a horrid man, but he taught me to defend the name I bore. My honor.

My family. I would kill Darius Bennett, without hesitation this time. Without remorse. The belt rose. I met his gaze. “Go on. Hit me.” He didn’t, but he reached for me, twisting me against his body. The belt rose high into the air. He aimed for my stomach. We both tensed. “Daddy’s waiting, Sarah.” For me to strip or confess? One was easier than the other, but not by much. I didn’t want to cower from the belt, but my hands accidentally covered my belly. His eyebrow arched. It was too much of a tell. Now I had no choice. Nicholas taught me the value of a concession to an enemy. I curled my fingers in my shirt. Better to delay him than tempt him to strike. The shirt landed on the bed. My sports bra hardly contained my swelling chest. Goosebumps prickled my skin. “And the pants,” he said. They were only pajamas. I wore nothing underneath. I hesitated. “Come now, Sarah. There’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” It was true, and it only made me hate him more. He had seen and touched and tasted me. What difference did it make now? I kicked the pants away and stared him in the eye. “Don’t be difficult,” he said. “The brassiere as well.” The elastic dug into my skin, too small for how my body changed after twelve weeks of pregnancy. My tummy looked no different—still naturally thin, especially as my meals had yet to stay down. But my chest? My breasts were bigger. I pulled the bra off. Though my slit was bared for his inspection once more, my breasts were the part of me I wanted to hide.

I saw the differences, small as they were. The size. The shape. Even how my once pink nipples began to darken, richer and a bit swollen. He last saw them in the dark, grabbed them not to feel but to hurt and reposition me. In the mirror, my body changed. But before Darius? I was just as tiny, frail, and completely immovable as ever. I hoped he didn’t notice the changes. The belt lowered. He relaxed—too distracted by the sight of his naked stepdaughter to realize he shifted close to the bedside lamp. One smash against his head wouldn’t bring the monster down, but it’d give me time to run, hide, find a weapon. End it. And if I did it naked, so be it. It was better than any of the sundresses Darius laid out for me to wear. “Now what?” I asked. “Are you going to rape me again? Hurt me some more? Humiliate me?” “I do prefer it when you beg.” “Never again.” “A hard promise to keep.” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps it isn’t necessary to degrade ourselves this time.” “Like it was necessary the first time?” “Of course it was. Nicholas thought to hide my daughter from me. You thought you’d escape with all our stock, our future, and our empire in your hands.” “You hurt me, and I still have all those things,” I said. “I bet that eats you up inside. I bet you can’t sleep at night knowing the damage I might cause to the Bennett Corporation and name.” “I sleep quite well,” Darius leaned too close. “Your warmth satisfied me in many ways, my dear. That memory is a particular favorite.” “You’re sick.” “And you’re the perfect little whore, aren’t you?” I edged away, as if to squirm and not reach for the lamp. “I told you I would return for you.” His words menaced, luring me into a time I battled to forget. “You promised you’d be a good girl and wait for me.” I would have promised him anything to get free, to push his weight off of me.

“You should have killed me,” I said. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.” “You’ll regret it.” “Doubtful. In fact, I am eager to try once more. I’ve thought of nothing but our time together since you dared to leave me.” He nuzzled my cheek. “I feared I hurt you, my dear.” “You did.” His sneer ached deep inside me. “Then you’ve learned not to struggle.” “You won’t touch me.” Darius unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll do far more than touch.” I believed him. My heart thudded too hard against my ribs, and the fear bound me in the thick slowness of a nightmare, wading through the possibilities and terror, endless pain and forsaken happiness. I couldn’t let him hurt the baby. I had to tell him. Even if he reveled in the victory of his abuses, what was one moment of humiliation now to spare me the horror of his touch once more? But what would he do once he learned I was pregnant? What would he do to his sons? The men he hired to ransack my beach house aimed for Max. They tried to kill him. The truth terrified me. Darius no longer cared about his own children. Not if he believed he had a new son, a more important son. A child that would inherit everything. The security systems blared. Darius swore, distracted. He looked to the bedroom door. It was my only chance. I seized the antique lamp and cracked him over the head, shattering the glass fragments. Darius roared as a gush of blood spurted from his brow. It didn’t thrill me. The surge of adrenaline and nausea poisoned me. I ran—naked and terrified—sprinting from the demon’s lair and through the halls of the familiar prison. Nicholas shouted from the entry. Reed echoed. I didn’t hear Max. Oh God. What’d happened to Max?

My steps thudded against the hall, but their voices abruptly silenced. I wound the corner at the top of the grand staircase. Darius’s two bodyguards aimed their guns at Nicholas and Reed. And my step-brothers steadied their own weapons. “Sarah!” Nicholas didn’t take his eyes from the oversized brute pointing the barrel at his forehead. “Get out of here.” The instant I rushed down the stairs was the moment I watched men I loved die. I stilled, covering myself from the leers of the two guards. Darius seized me, ripping my hair and jerking my arm behind my back. He pushed me forward as if he’d march me down the stairs. No. Worse. He teetered me over the top step, shaking my hair until I twisted, off-balance. He’d push me. He’d kill me. “Sons,” Darius called. “Guns down, boys. No weapons in the house.” Nicholas didn’t obey the order. “Let her go.” “Are you certain?” “You won’t kill her.” “Probably not.” Darius proudly displayed my nudity to my step-brothers and the two guards he kept in his employ. “But maybe I’m not trying to kill her.” He wouldn’t. He bluffed. His words twisted, and he nodded to the guards. “Shoot them.” “No!” I fought against his hold. He jerked my body over the stairs. I shrieked, but his whisper violated my ear. He teased the words with a victorious smile. “I have no need for those sons now, do I?” “Don’t you dare.” “What have you been hiding, my dear?” His voice lowered for only me to hear. “Tell me why you ran away. Why you’ve decided to face me now. Tell me what’s happened to you.”

“Go to hell.” “Only once I’m certain that my name, my legacy, will live on in this world. Come now, Sarah. What secret are you keeping from your father?” “You are going to die for this, I swear to God—” He shook me, nearly losing his hold. “Don’t lie to me. I watched my wife swell with three sons and suffer through two miscarriages. Don’t insult me! Tell me what I want to know or—” “You’ll kill me? Try it! Do it, Darius! Kill me if you’re so sure!” Nicholas shouted for me. We both ignored it. Darius’s grip squeezed too painful. Blood dripped from his brow, splattering the stone and slickening my toes’ hold over the top step. His hands trembled, and his words edged with a venomous spite I heard only once before. When he nearly took my life. When he punished me with his body and returned for gluttonous seconds only moments after he had first pushed away. My aching cough and breathless pleas annoyed him, but he refused my inhaler. He shoved a pillow over my face to take his pleasure in peace. I willed myself to die then. It’d be the last time I’d ever have such a thought. He kicked my leg, and I lost my footing, saved from the crashing fall by the piercing hold on my hair and his bone-breaking grip over my wrist. Nicholas and Reed shouted. He’d do it. He’d kill me. He’d kick me down the stairs to watch as I bled at the bottom to prove what he already knew. Then he’d kill Nicholas and Reed. I wasn’t lucky enough to earn a bullet. “Stop!” I screamed. “You can’t hurt me!” The sudden silence shamed me more than the first time Darius ever stripped me of my pride and presented me, bare and shaven, to my step-brothers. Darius hummed. “And why can’t I hurt you, my dear?”

My chest seized in panic. I fought through the pain, the ache, the desperation of my own crippling weakness to keep the secret. “Because I’m pregnant.” “Louder.” He shook me over the stairs. “So they can hear you.” I swallowed bile. “I’m pregnant.” The most horrifying sound in the world was the cackle of Darius Bennett’s victorious laughter. He pulled me from the edge of the stairs. I pressed against his chest. He held me too tight, too close. “Oh, my dear sweet child. You didn’t even tell the father.” I tensed. “Nicholas knows.” Darius tisked his tongue. “So many secrets and lies, Sarah.” “Let me go.” My words humiliated me. “Hurt me and you lose everything. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to the Bennett heir.” I expected him to release me, but the genuine excitement, the celebratory amusement in his voice sickened me more. Darius’s exuberance corrupted what should have been a beautiful event—in any other world, with any other name, in any other family. I was infertile. A child should have been a miracle, a welcomed addition to a sweet family once I was older, out of college, found the right man. Fell in love with someone who hadn’t kidnapped me and stolen my virginity as I lay helpless, bound to a bed and ready for my breeding. “You’ve done very well, Sarah,” Darius said. “You did as you were told, what your body was made to do. I couldn’t be more proud of you.” “I will kill you for this.” “Misbehave, and I’ll order them to shoot Nicholas.” “He’s your son.” He whispered his threat, low so only I heard. The words screamed within my mind. “I’ll have another very soon.” I’d be sick. It wasn’t his. “Let me go.” I strengthened my voice with a false confidence. “You can’t kill them.

You won’t do anything to endanger this pregnancy. And if you don’t let me walk out the door right now, who knows what this stress will do to my son.” “Bennetts are hardy boys.” “And your wife miscarried twice.” “Can’t have that now, can we?” Darius chuckled. He gestured to his guards as he stepped from me, placing a hand over the wound on his brow. “She’ll dress and return home—wherever this little vagabond has decided to nest. Sven, take their guns. You’ll drive her. I don’t trust my sons. They might defy the wishes of their father.” I pushed from him, but his eyes lingered upon my body, more exposed and vulnerable than ever. I fought the instinct to hide from him. He liked that. “You did well, my dear. You waited for someone to do it right.” I’d repeat the words until the world finally stole my last breath. “It isn’t yours.” “Deny it if you wish.” The cut on his face bled harder, faster. He couldn’t open his eye. I only wished I sliced deeper. “You know the truth.” “It isn’t yours.” “And he is only yours as long as he’s curled safe within your womb.” His voice snapped, another layer of chains and shackles collaring me to the Bennett Estate. “That child is a Bennett. I told you once, Sarah. You would remain with us until you were bred and bore us a son. In six months, you’ll be lucky you don’t bleed out after I slice the child from your gut.” “You will never touch my son.” I didn’t flinch from his sneer. “Your time is running out, Darius. I have the child. I have the company.” The threat tasted of blood and pain. I loved it. “You will have nothing when I am done with you,” I promised. “Not even your life.”

11

NICHOLAS

T

here was a time I’d never tolerate the weight of a gun in my palm.

Now I regretted not firing. I watched as my father escorted Sarah into the car. One bullet might have ended the horror. And one harsh strike to her stomach would have ruined me. My father’s guard delivered her to the agreed location—the parking garage beneath the Bennett Corporation. Reed swore the entire drive, twisting in impatient agony as the bodyguard drove professionally, cautiously. I ran a red-light to follow close. Had Sarah not been pregnant, he would have killed her. The exchange was quick. We pulled into the garage, and Sarah burst from the passenger seat. She didn’t run. She waited until the driver peeled away before quickening her steps. I expected her to fall into my arms. Cuddle against my chest. Or maybe that’s what I needed. Sarah pushed Reed and I aside and vomited behind our car—a sickness she refused to expose before my father or his guards. She gasped from her knees. “Max? Where’s—” “We found him,” Reed said. “He’s on his way.” “I thought he—” She was sick again, but she didn’t let us comfort her. “I thought he was dead. They shot at us.” Reed sighed. “Don’t worry about Max. He can take care of himself.” “Nick, you’re covered in blood.” I said nothing. How could I explain murdering a man with my bare hands, not just

to my own sanity, but to the sweet, innocent woman carrying my child? But maybe she wasn’t so innocent now. A new hardness edged her voice, her actions. At first, I thought it was courage. I was wrong. It was hatred. The same fury that strengthened me to pummel a man to death. My father—my family—corrupted Sarah. She was poisoned with rage. And it was my fault. For the shame she suffered and the minutes she spent naked before my father. God only knew what he did to her. But he wouldn’t have touched her. Not if he suspected she were pregnant. Not even he was that cruel. Or was he? The thought tore through my mind. She faced a monster with false bravery to shield her from his gaze, his touch, his perversions. But she hadn’t cowered or cried. I hardly recognized the little fairy I once trapped in collars and ropes. She no longer fluttered in a timid fear of my father. I reached for her. Sarah pulled away. Why? What had changed? “Sarah,” I whispered. “Did he…?” “I want to go home.” I recognized her tone. Home. The only request she uttered that scared me more than when she told me no. Home to her was no place I belonged. It existed beyond me, and nothing I ever did or said convinced her that I’d provide a warm, safe home. Yet. I’d give her that safety. I’d earn her trust. I’d kill for her. But blood ruined my suit, stained my skin. It didn’t invigorate me. Didn’t leave me craving more. I took a life, but the only ones that mattered—Sarah and my baby—

waited before me, cold and trembling. Suffering. “We’ll go to my penthouse,” I said. “I want her under my roof.” Sarah was quiet. Reed helped her into my car. She shied away before his hands lingered too long. My gut twisted, but comfort had to wait. First I needed to ensure her safety. Nothing about my newly purchased penthouse fit Sarah Atwood. Or me. For too long I lived at the Bennett Estate, and it scarred me more than the visible childhood injuries inflicted by my father. I left, but I had nothing of my own. I didn’t recognize Nicholas Bennett outside of the cold stone and shadows. Not like Sarah. She knew exactly who she was. She stood, unbroken, and faced every horror with roots she dug deep into the ground, stretching from the farm to the estate. I couldn’t rival her tenacity. Not with my arrogance mistaken for pride. God, I envied her. She hesitated in the unfamiliar setting of my penthouse. Reed leaned against the wall, gently touching the torn skin around his neck. Neither spoke on the ride, too proud to ask for my help. “Your place is a little…” Sarah studied the open floor plan of untouched furniture and unconnected electronics. The lamp closest to the leather L-shaped sofa wasn’t plugged in, and the recliner was still covered in plastic from its delivery. “Sparse.” “I haven’t had time to settle in.” I locked the door. “I was too busy searching for you.” It wasn’t meant to hurt her. I wouldn’t regret saying it. Not when it was the truth. A first aid kit waited under the sink. I brewed tea for Sarah and prepared alcohol swabs and dressings for my brother. He’d never tolerate them. Reed nearly scratched out the stitches earned from our father’s blade, but I wasn’t letting his neck get infected so soon after I saved it. Both of them were asleep before I returned. Sarah curled into a small knot on the sofa. I laid a blanket over her, but she didn’t notice, too exhausted to care that I was there. Or maybe because she knew that I watched over her. I failed her, but even when the trust wavered, she still looked for me, felt me, wanted me close. So why did she push me away? I nudged Reed. He groaned, but my patience wore thin. He cleaned up in the nearest

powder room, flinching as the sea-green of his left eye clouded with the burst blood vessel. “I’m gonna scare people like this.” He rinsed his neck. “It’ll heal.” “Thanks for the...rescue.” I nodded. He washed the cloth under the faucet, but left the water on to muffle the conversation. “We gotta check on Sarah.” She needed a moment of peace first. “She was naked,” Reed said. My jaw tensed. It was the only way my father had to shame her. Reed shuddered. “Nick, something’s wrong. She won’t say it. But something happened.” “Reed—” “I can’t.” He pitched the bandages in the sink. “He’s trying to kill us. He kidnapped her. Now he knows about the baby.” “Calm down.” “Calm down?” Reed swore. The powder room echoed the profanity. “You beat a man to death with your bare hands. You had a gun pointed at your face. And now Sarah is fucked up.” “Don’t say it.” “She is! Whether you want to admit it or not. Dad did something to her.” “He wouldn’t endanger the child.” “Fuck, who know how long it took Sarah to tell him she was pregnant. Look how long it took for her to tell us!” “Reed, getting upset won’t solve anything.” “Then I don’t know what else to do because she won’t let us help!” My phone buzzed. Max called from outside the building. I pointed to Reed. “Watch over her. But stay calm, for her. That’s what she needs now.” “And then what?”

My stomach twisted. “She’ll tell us what she’s been hiding.” Reed swore. He leaned over the sink, but he pushed away to hover over Sarah as she slept. I met Max downstairs, but I hadn’t expected a bounding Hamlet. Then again, the dog was the only one of us who could make her smile. Max looked like he had been through hell, but that only meant the men he faced fared worse. “What happened?” I didn’t speak until the elevator doors shut. I pointed to the security cameras wrapped within the gold and red décor of the cabin. “Do we still have visitors?” Max nursed a black eye, fat lip, and a limp that pained me. He complained about none of it. “I’ll head back tomorrow,” he said. “Make the beds. Give the furniture a good dusting. Leave it in the condition the Atwoods wanted.” “Good.” “You?” “Watch the news tonight?” Max smirked. “Damn biker wars. Streets aren’t safe anymore. Reed?” “The same.” “He wanted us gone.” “Yeah.” The doors opened. Max didn’t let me out. “And Sarah?” he asked. “What happened to her?” “We’ll find out.” “Are you sure you want to hear it?” “It’s not about me now, Max,” I said. “It’s about her.” My brother didn’t answer. I locked the door behind him. For as much as I wanted an armed guard, deadbolts, and every manner of security system, my father would try nothing else tonight. Sarah was safe as long as she was pregnant. She’d be safer once I had him killed. It was only a matter of time.

She stirred as we entered, twisting the blanket in her hand. “Hamlet!” The goldendoodle bolted, launching over my brand new leather furniture in a flurry of yipping and excitement. He curled next to her, licking her face and settling his head in her lap. He rested over the softness of her stomach. He knew. Hamlet protected her better than any of us. “Are you okay?” she asked Max. “What happened?” “Don’t worry about me. Heard you had a rough night.” She shrugged, stroking Hamlet’s ginger curls. She studied everything in the penthouse, but not me. I recognized her hesitance. My house was designed differently than Max’s, but the features remained the same. Balcony. Back bedrooms. Open kitchen. Bar in the corner. The best that money could buy varied the architecture, but not enough to banish the memories of another pain, another attack. I had to know. “Sarah, did he hurt you?” I asked. She petted Hamlet. “No.” “Is the baby okay?” The thought stilled her hand. “Everything’s fine. I’m an Atwood. We’re resilient.” Reed and Max sat across from her. She pretended not to shy from their attention, but I saw. “Did he…” I didn’t want to say the words. “Did he touch you?” Her silence struck us like bullets aimed for our temples. “You’re all bleeding,” she finally said. “Nick, you’re covered in someone else’s blood. Reed, you look like death. And Max…I watched you kill a man. I nearly lost all three of you tonight. Would anybody be okay now?” Reed shrugged. “We’re fine.” “No. You’re not. None of us are. Why did Darius try to kill you guys?” I exhaled. “He must have known you were pregnant.” “Of course he knew I was pregnant. He figured that out at the art show.” She held her head in her hands. “And now he’ll kill you all because he got his heir. He doesn’t need his sons anymore.” Reed and Max shifted. It was no secret that my father would have murdered them had I not forced them to take their turns with Sarah. They were disposable to him.

Max, the cripple. Reed, too gentle for a Bennett. But I was the eldest. I was the heir. The Bennetts didn’t skip generations. Father to son. Always. He had no cause to kill me unless he truly believed I’d let Sarah raise the baby as an Atwood and deny his true blood. I’d be a better father than mine was, but I wasn’t a strong enough man to let her go. “We can’t do this anymore,” Sarah said. “This is why I have to leave. He knows about the baby, and he’ll murder you all because you defied him. I won’t let my son live a life of fear.” Her voice softened. “And I won’t let Darius hurt any of you because of me.” I frowned. “We can protect ourselves. Don’t worry about us.” “I always worry about you!” The admission frustrated her, and she bit a profanity. “He threatened me tonight. He’ll do whatever it takes to steal this baby, even if that means killing his own children to secure his new heir.” “He’s not taking my son,” I said. “It’s not going to happen.” “He’s already planning it.” “And we’re planning for the end as well.” “He’s going to kill you. I can’t…I won’t survive that. I’ve endured so much, Nicholas Bennett, but I can’t handle the thought—” “I won’t die. Not if I have you and the baby to live for. I don’t care how many guards I have to hire or where I’ll need to hide you, but you will be safe, and we’ll be together. We’ll be happy, Sarah. I promise you.” Tears rolled over her cheeks. “You don’t understand. There’s never going to be a happily ever after. Not for us.” “We love each other. We have a chance to put everything behind us and start completely new. You and me and—” “Don’t say it!” Sarah stood, pitching the blanket away. “Don’t say it, Nick!” “Say what?” My jaw clenched. Too hard. It ached in the quick rise of my temper. “Why are you denying me what’s mine? You have a right to hate me, but do not take my son from me.” “Stop.” “You can be frightened. You can be angry. You can blame my family for all this madness. But I know you love me. Why are you pushing me away?” “Don’t you dare insinuate I owe you or your family anything—not after what you put me through. This baby is innocent, like I was before you took everything from

me. Don’t tell me you have a right. This baby deserves better than the right to be a Bennett. He won’t be. I won’t let it happen.” “Why?” I stood in her path, but she wouldn’t escape. She had nowhere to go. Again, I trapped her within the confines of my territory, my house, my life. She wasn’t leaving this time. I forced her to look at me. She twisted, but she was no match for my strength. Reed protested, and Max dared to touch my shoulder. I’d break his arm before he pulled me from her. Not when I was so close. Not when she finally looked at me—tears in her eyes. “Let me love you, Sarah. Forgive me. Fight me. Do whatever you need to do, but don’t leave me. Not when I can promise you a family.” “I can’t.” “Don’t take my child—” “Goddamn it, Nick! I don’t know if it’s your baby!” Silence. She stepped away, covering her mouth with trembling hands. She hadn’t meant to say it. A chill prickled my skin. Her voice cracked in agony. And then I knew. God, I knew. Why she ran. Why she pulled away. Why she fought so hard to isolate herself. Why she wanted to be free of us. I knew. She kept the secret not to protect herself, but to shield me from the truth. “He followed you, Nick.” Her words were living nightmare. “He followed you that night.” The world fell away and my soul with it. It was battered and destroyed before, but what remained shredded against the realization of what I caused.

I left her. I led him to her. And I wasn’t there to stop it. “I begged you to stay,” she whispered. “I thought it was you at the door. I thought you came back for me.” And I thought I left her in safety. She stared at me. I knew what she would say. “Darius raped me.” I didn’t flinch. Reed groaned, sinking into the couch, head in his hands. He repeated only a single, heartbreaking word. “No, no, no.” His breath raged with a sob. “No, no, no.” Max stormed away before shouting. The crash that followed was only the first of many. The powder room mirror shattered. His fist through the glass. I didn’t let myself break. Sarah needed my strength. I stayed still, motionless, a pillar of stability though my heart had long since ceased beating. I stood through sheer force of will with an unresponsive body. She cried, but her words never stopped. “He said he’d come back for me. So I ran. I just ran. I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t think. And then I realized I was…I got…” She shook her head. “He has to die, Nick. Before anything else happens. Before he hurts me, kills you, or takes…” She hadn’t cradled her stomach before. Not in front of me, and not just because she was still flat with the secret she carried. She held herself—the baby. My baby. Too long she hid in her secret, protecting me from what happened. I didn’t deserve that compassion. And she never, ever should’ve suffered in such a way. It ended now. She would never fear him again. I cradled her in my arms, letting her rest against the sofa and pulling her into my lap where I could hold her, touch her, kiss her. Where I whispered my love to her. She let me, but I didn’t know how long it’d last. Just having her close eased the

horror. I would never burden her with my pain. I’d hide the black sludge of despair that clawed through my chest and tightened against my heart, my lungs, my life. I gave it one moment, a dark second of helplessness, before banishing it. If she was strong enough to survive, to face my father, to plot her revenge, then I would be too. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.” I kissed her forehead, speaking with a renewed strength of hope and promise. “Don’t ever apologize for what happened.” My words stilled her trembling. “Don’t ever apologize. There’s only one thing to discuss, Sarah. And it’s important.” She nodded, letting me brush the tears from her face. “What is it?” I kissed her, letting a soft smile chase away her sorrow. “We need to think of a name for our baby.”

12

SARAH

abotaging the Bennett Corporation’s Board of Directors began too close at S home. First, I had to endanger my own company. Shelling out millions to Darius Bennett was an exercise in humility and patience for me and my board. Generations of hate once prevented my family from thinking beyond the petty rivalry. One night changed that. Now I understood how to get my revenge and ruin the Bennett Empire. If it cost me a couple million dollars, so be it. The Atwood board and the presidents of my divisions weren’t happy, and I switched off the web chat with a fake smile and promises to visit the farms within the month. I had to do the tours soon. I didn’t have much time before I started to show. When that happened, the questions would begin. It had to be in motion before the baby revealed himself. Just the whisper of Bennett would complicate everything. Especially since the baby belonged to my step-brother. It had to be Nicholas’s child. He knocked on his own bedroom door. The room was mine, unconditionally. He hadn’t pressured to join me at night, but his sheets smelled of him. Masculine and sharp. The fireplace in the corner housed a beautiful sitting area for my computer and workspace. A good place for a bassinet, he had said. “How’d it go?” Nicholas asked.

“The board doesn’t understand why I ordered the change to Bennett products.” “And you didn’t explain.” I fiddled with the modem beside my laptop. When I got nauseous, I pretended to have connectivity issues and unplugged the router. It worked twice. “I can’t afford to explain. I need my fields treated and growing before we make the next move.” “It’s dangerous.” I shrugged. “What isn’t dangerous anymore?” Nicholas didn’t like the thought. He changed the subject. He did that a lot lately. “Let me get you something to eat,” he said. I scrunched my nose. “Reed’s been leaving me salads, slushies, cookies, fruit. Nothing’s staying down.” And Food was the only connection I had to Reed now. Both he and Max quieted after I revealed the truth. Only Nicholas looked me in the eyes. Held me. Promised me the world. It wasn’t enough, and he knew it. But it didn’t stop him from trying. “Trust me, Sarah. You’ll like this.” Doubtful, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Anything was better than devouring only saltines and the occasional slice of an apple or can of sauerkraut—which would have been weird had I not snacked on it before I was pregnant. Nicholas guided me to the dining room. God, this man. He decorated the table with roses and candlelight. Crystal serving glasses set around china dinnerware, complete with hand-folded napkins—an approximation of some sort of swan. He offered me a glass of cold milk. Milk was still touch-andgo, but he insisted. I waited as he lifted a silver carafe. “How long was I in that meeting?” I peeked into the bowl. “No way.” “I have on good authority one of your favorites is homemade cream of mushroom soup with wild rice,” he said. “Think you’re up to trying it?” My mouth watered just looking at the creamy soup, and in a good way this time. He guided me to my seat and ladled a small bite into the bowl. He waited, eagerly, as I

sampled it. The soup tasted of home, comfort, and everything warm from my memory. “How?” I asked. “I have my sources.” “Nick.” His smile brightened the room more than the candles. I wished I saw more of it. “I called your mom. Got the recipe.” “She remembered?” “You tell me.” I swallowed another spoonful. My stomach eased immediately, and, for the first time in days, I kept something down. “It’s perfect,” I said. “I thought it would be.” “You did all this for me?” Nicholas sipped a glass of white wine. “I only made you dinner, Sarah. I should have known what your favorite meal was. I should have dined with you in candlelight and music—” He pulled his phone from his pocket. Hidden speakers in the room murmured a quiet jazz. “I should have done so much more for you. It starts now.” “What does?” “Everything. Us. You. Me.” “Nick—” “I want you here, with me,” he said. “Forever.” So did I, but the need, the wanting was too dangerous. I hadn’t decided where to go or what to do. I thought the decision would be easier without the truth binding me in secret. It did the opposite. Nicholas insisted the baby was his. And now I recognized the proud, determined gaze as he offered me all of himself—his imperfections, failures, and the vow of devotion that came from loving Nicholas Bennett. “Adam,” he said.

It didn’t feel right. I shook my head. “I’ll know it when I hear it.” “Then let me suggest some. Jonathon?” But what if it wasn’t a boy? What if the little one were a Juliet or a Piper? Would we talk about those? Or would we keep living in a quiet dread? My intuition said boy, I felt like it was a boy, but I wasn’t ready to face any other possibility. “Giving him a name is important.” I lowered the spoon. “We have time.” And so much could go wrong. “It’ll be sooner than you think,” he said. “We’re not harvesting yet.” I took another bite of the soup. “Then again, I can’t imagine this yield.” He smirked. “Bumper crop this year.” I giggled. “Yeah well, Bumper’s got some time left before he pops out.” “Bumper Bennett.” “Oh, great. He’ll inherit two billion dollar companies just to sell used cars for a living.” I hadn’t laughed in a long time. I also hadn’t finished a full meal. I helped myself to seconds and pushed the bowl away with a victorious grin. “You did well, Nicholas Bennett.” “I promised I’d take care of you.” I believed him. That’s why it was so hard. I carried my bowl to the kitchen, but Nicholas didn’t let me straighten up. He pulled me to the living room, offering me the couch, a fuzzy blanket, and the remote. “You should rest,” he said. “You look pale.” Did I? Then there was a merciful God because what I was feeling wasn’t tired or sick. Not at all. A full belly and a clear conscience chased away the dark thoughts, the fear, and the uncertainty. But the hormones fueled something much more dangerous than weepy tears and fatigue. It had been far too long since I last touched Nicholas, and even longer since I let myself think of our last night together. The few kisses he offered, I denied in selfpreservation.

But I had confronted Darius. I’d revealed the secret. I’d confided in my step-brothers about the baby. And yet, that hesitance remained. I hid my weaknesses, but I hadn’t let Nicholas touch me. I flinched away from Reed. I even shielded my tummy when Max raised his arms in a stretch. Surviving Darius’s hatred meant nothing if I still cowered from the men who promised only safety. If I still denied my feelings for Nicholas. The only sane and rational solution was to cut the Bennetts from my life and protect my child. But he also needed a father. I deserved to end Darius’s hold over me. I wanted to be loved again. Worshiped. Adored. Pleasured. Safe. And Nicholas tempted me with such beautiful promises. The curtains were open, revealing the sparkling city, a sunset, and the Santa Cruz mountains shadowed in the distance. I’d never get used to lights and traffic, or a sky without stars and a view without the green sprawl of growing corn. I missed the farm, but the longing to return dulled within Nicholas’s presence. Once I left, I’d endure a different type of homesickness. I didn’t know when it happened, but Nicholas became my home. He caught me looking at him, admiring how his dress shirt and dark trousers melded to his body. Whatever he did the night I was kidnapped, whatever he and Reed survived, washed away like the blood that stained his skin. “Why are you doing all this?” I asked. “The penthouse. The dinner. You hired a guard to protect me, but you still keep Reed and Max here. What do you want?” “You.” He said it so easily, unapologetically. I ached for just an ounce of his confidence. “You don’t understand how hard it is for me,” I said. Nicholas knelt before me, close enough to touch. He respected the few inches of

space separating our bodies. I still felt him, his heat. It warmed me, softening my guarded confusion and loneliness. “I want to understand,” he said. “I know I can’t, but I’ll try, Sarah.” I hadn’t whispered the thoughts I tucked deep down, secret and dark. It left me too vulnerable, especially to the man who forced that vulnerability on me. But I couldn’t hide from my own insecurities. I guarded myself so strictly I no longer understood what was right or wrong, strength or weakness. And maybe there wasn’t a clear definition. Maybe it didn’t matter. Or maybe revealing everything to Nicholas would bind me to his power and trap me in the mire of my desperate feelings for him. “I’m not broken,” I whispered. “No one can break you. I learned that long ago.” “But I still feel fractured,” I said. “You can’t see it, but it’s there. Thousands and thousands of little cracks straining to stay together in one piece. If I let go, I’ll crumble. And I can’t be put back together how I was.” I brushed my stomach. “Especially since there are more pieces now.” Nicholas leaned close, the gold in his eyes fierce and honest. “You could fall and rebuild yourself an infinite amount of times, and each new you would be stronger than the last.” “No. Every fall changes me. And as much as I’ve tried to recover from…the attack, there’s still a part of me that isn’t right. A part of me he controls.” “The baby isn’t his.” “It isn’t the baby, it’s me.” I took a breath. “I faced him. I told you the truth. But I still don’t understand myself or what I want.” “What do you want?” “Control over my own body. What I feel. Who I trust.” He nodded. “You can trust me.” “We’ve never trusted each other. Not when there was a collar around my neck and not now that…” “What’s left to hide?” Nicholas looked away, revealing more of himself than I thought he’d give. “When I first met you, when I stole you, I thought I’d have it all. I thought it was owed to me, that you were something I could take and possess.” It wasn’t possession if I gave it willingly. I said nothing, letting him speak. “I knew my father was evil, but I believed I’d take the same path and somehow

become a better man. You saved me from myself. You became something so irreplaceable that I wake at night in awe of just having you near again.” He hesitated, as though he’d reach for me. I hated that I pulled away. “You amaze me. I never knew a person could be so resilient.” “I shouldn’t have to be resilient.” “But you are.” “Nick, it took days after the attack before I looked myself in the mirror. Three weeks before I let something other than scalding water in the shower touch me. Six weeks before I even realized I was pregnant. And then it took another two before I faced you.” “That doesn’t make you weak. You can’t expect to heal from that so quickly.” “I have to,” I said. “I don’t have a choice. Not with Darius, not with the companies, not with Bumper. I need that confidence.” “You have it.” “I don’t.” I flushed. “I don’t trust what I feel.” “What do you feel?” I whispered it. “Desire.” It was the wrong emotion to admit to a Bennett, but Nicholas understood that forbidden, oppressive feeling more than any. “That’s natural, Sarah.” “Is it? Even after the things you’ve done to me. What happened with Darius?” My mouth dried. “I feel something for the first time since he hurt me, but it only reminds me how little control I’ve always had over my own body. You made every decision for me. You took me. You gave me to Max and Reed. And then Darius…had what he wanted.” Nicholas had no counter. I didn’t expect one. “Every moment I spent in your arms was wonderful.” I met his gaze. “But I can’t be taken anymore. I need to take that control back. I need to make the choice to be with you.” “It’s yours.” “No, it’s not. Not yet.” And it wasn’t. I wanted him too much for all the wrong reasons. His touch. His comfort. We had been so complete, and now, it wasn’t me fracturing. It was us. Flaking and disintegrating within the truth and fear of how deeply I loved him.

“Tell me what I can do,” he said. “Let me help.” “You can’t help, Nick. I panic if you even touch me.” The thought struck me. I hadn’t touched him yet, but I knew what would happen when I fell in his arms. Nicholas Bennett would either catch me or toss me into the dark chasm I only just escaped. I clawed my way to freedom once. I didn’t want to do it again. But the only way to recover, to let myself heal was to take that leap and hope I caught myself before I tumbled down, down, down into the hell below. It only took a small movement. Something simple. Something safe. I whispered. “I should touch you.” “What?” “Just to prove to myself it isn’t something to fear. Just one touch.” Nicholas held my gaze. “Just one touch?” I seized a breath. Then another. And I reached for him. He mimicked my motion. Our fingers brushed, palm-to-palm. My hand didn’t fit in his, and the strength from his rough size should have intimidated me. It didn’t. The surge of warmth wasn’t just a touch, it was a connection. The same that had always existed, crushed and lost, still beating an endless pulse of promise between us. The relief burst with my shuddered breath. I touched him. Such an easy motion, but it was my choice, my decision to let him that close. I pressed my hand against his and didn’t brace for a fight or struggle. I prepared to be overwhelmed by his passion, tossed onto the bed with desires I hardly understood. But he let me feel us together. A promise kept. “Just a touch.” His words soothed, melting wax that warmed but didn’t burn. So much more. The gold in his eyes stilled me. The familiarity of Darius’s features slowly faded, revealing a man hardened by grief and strengthened by the same touch, the same words, the same feelings that protected me from the memory. My confidence surged, and I wove my fingers between his. He moved only when I

moved, acted only when I initiated. My breathing shuddered. Nicholas’s touch usually stirred me too quickly, too fiercely. I couldn’t understand why I so easily surrendered to a man I should have hated and fought with my remaining strength. But Nicholas gave me strength. He warmed, soothed, and protected, even when he couldn’t save me from all danger. I survived for him. I touched him. He touched me. Our heartbeats pulsed in time, and the heat wrapped me in a layer of comfort that flared more than the feelings I denied. I came alive. The twisting in my core was no longer a confused and dreadful reaction. I let myself desire. And I wanted more. “Just a touch,” I said. Nicholas nodded. “Whatever you need, Sarah.” “It’s just a touch.” “It doesn’t have to be.” “For now it does. I can’t separate what I want from what’s right.” I somehow leaned too close, twisting my other hand with his. I braved twice the heat, twice the brush of our skin. “I can’t protect myself if I’m not whole.” “Tell me where the pieces are, and I’ll fit them together.” The pieces scattered, but I could collect them all if I regained my confidence. Explored the part of me enthralled by such a simple touch. It empowered me to set my own limits. And Nicholas was willing to let me guide myself through my own recovery. I couldn’t surrender again to my obsession with him, but I needed one more step. “Just a kiss.” I hardly recognized the word. “A kiss.” I swallowed. I squeezed his hands to hide my trembling. “Just one kiss.” I meant it to prove my strength, that I would not fear the overwhelming presence of a man who took and gave, forced and loved.

Nicholas set his jaw. “One kiss.” I seized and breath as my eyes fluttered closed. I brushed my lips against his, quickly. Only a brief bump. I shouldn’t have feared it. The familiarity, the loving nibble, the comfort enthralled me. My delight teased in a freed shudder. His lips guided, but he demanded nothing. The thrill of his gentleness summoned a quiet mew from me. If he heard it, he didn’t respond, but his hands inadvertently tightened their hold. It didn’t scare me. I wanted more. More kisses, more touches. I parted my lips and let the one kiss draw me deeper, savoring the relief. I shivered until I trembled so deep my hands shook, captured within Nicholas’s palms. I pulled a hand free only to brush my fingers against his cheek. Just one touch. Then another. The line of his jaw tensed under my fingertips—smooth and perfect. I traced his cheek, the angle of his chin. Nicholas’s stillness aided my bravery. He might have been carved from marble or cast from steel, but he wasn’t hardened. Just solid and unyielding. I wished to mimic that confidence. I melded into his kiss, panting as our lips parted for air. I sunk deeper against him. He didn’t question or protest but offered me exactly what I needed. Nicholas didn’t thaw the parts of me I shielded from the world—he shattered everything I hid and denied. Just one touch. Just one kiss. I meant it, even as a sudden flush spread over me. For months I lived in a cold shell, denying my femininity, hiding the life inside me. Now? Kissing wasn’t enough. It had to be. How could I fight my own desire? My pulse pounded hard in my ears, and I groaned against his lips. “One hug,” I whispered. “A little closer?” Nicholas nodded, unmoving, still kneeling before me. “One hug.”

I shifted from the couch, twisting my fingers within his. My body vibrated near him, pulsing with a raw energy. He let me pull myself into him. Our chests met, our bodies pushed together, and I rested my head against the solid strength of his shoulder. His arms captured me. Comforted. His sharp scent pulled me from my nightmares and guided me into the gentle fantasy of skin against skin, warmth feeding warmth, and the fullness of what had once been perfection. It was still perfection. The twisting need ached within me. I swallowed, parting my lips before returning to his. My words wavered. “Same kiss.” “As many as you need,” he promised. All of them? More of them? Just us, in honest imperfection. Confidence and passion blended into a dizzying haze. I craved more. The Bennetts warred to steal my body, but the true battle waged within my own heart and mind. I had to stop, but my core warmed with the first flicker of passion I felt since the choice had been taken from me. Stopping now would hurt more than what I endured that night. “Nick…” I whispered, brushing my lips against his. I welcomed the softness of his tongue against mine. “I need more.” “Anything.” His words deepened, silken, layered with heat. “Anything you ask, Sarah.” “I need…” “Anything.” “Pleasure.” It wasn’t a question or a demand. “Just one moment of pleasure.” “More than one.” It would only take one to renew me. I pressed my trembling body against his strength, his muscles, his presence. How could I feel whole if I didn’t experience that one fundamental gift that passed man

to woman, lover to lover? I pulled away, taking the chance, giving what I chose to give. I lifted my shirt, casting it away. Nicholas didn’t move. His eyes feasted on my softening body, lingering over the fullness of my chest and the yet imperceptible swell from our Bumper. “Just one look?” His smile warmed everywhere his hands had yet to touch. “Just one.” My whisper wound us in secret. My fingers shook as I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a perfect man, healthy and strong and bursting with the masculine energy I once loved. Dreaded. Needed. The definition of his pecs thrilled me. So did the shadowed ripple of his abs and the hollow V stretching beneath the waistband of his pants. Nicholas was the most amazing man I had ever seen. And he had been mine. Was mine. Could still be mine. I stood, looping my fingers in the soft skirt. It didn’t take courage to shed the last bit of protection from my body, only acceptance of what I felt for him. The bra tumbled next. I knew he’d recognize the changes in my body. The softness. The heaviness of my breasts.. I warmed without his touch. I laid his palm over my breast. His fingers caressed the silky skin. I gasped. “Too much?” he lifted his palm. “Sensitive.” I shuddered as his rough fingertips brushed my nipple. “Very sensitive.” “Good?” I hadn’t touched myself for so long, hadn’t let myself feel much beyond the towel after a shower or a tangle of sheets at my feet. I liked it. I’d missed it. I arched into his hand. Nicholas needed no further instruction. My tiny purr silenced as I pulled him into the kiss. His touch massaged a sudden ache, and he teased a sensitivity heightened within the past weeks. I murmured against his lips, and his fingers claimed my hardened nipple. He pinched. My mind exploded in sensation and need. All I had to do was ask and he’d give. All I had to do was whisper stop, and, he’d stop. No questions. No hesitations. He’d release me. And I trusted him to honor that.

But I didn’t want him to stop. I pushed my neck to his mouth. The warmth of his breath cascaded in tingling excitement over my body. The sensation coursed through my blood, heating everything in its path. It centered low. In the one place I hadn’t acknowledged in weeks. Now I couldn’t help but tremble with every pulse, every clench. The slickness. His soft kisses traced over my neck, my shoulder, and slowed at the curve of my breast. He waited for permission. I folded my fingers within his and guided myself into pleasure. His lips sealed over my nipple. An instant excitement buzzed my skin. I gripped his hand as each draw of his tongue against the tender bud sizzled through me. He moved slowly, his fingertips hovering under the new swell of my breast. I guided him, letting him cup the exciting fullness that, so far, had been the only perk of my condition. That changed now. He rolled his tongue over my nipple, and the slow, teasing draw of his suckling drew a murmured groan from me. Each leisurely nip tightened my core and delighted me in lick and bite. The changes to my body frightened me, but they excited Nicholas. He teased the plumpness of my chest with trailed promises along my skin. I shivered, letting him kiss, letting myself enjoy what he did. His lips tightened over the bud, tugging it to watch as I squirmed away from the overwhelming sensation. “How’s that?” he whispered, switching to lap at my other breast. “Not enough.” “What can I do?” I knew exactly what he could do—stretch the moment of pleasure into minutes, into hours, time that belonged only to us. My voice weakened, but only because my own desire softened me beyond comprehension. “Just one taste.” The gold in his eyes flashed. The temptation stirred him more than I anticipated. But it didn’t deter me. Just the opposite. I trembled as my core clenched hard in sudden wanting. Nicholas felt the same. A hardness bulged against his pants. An invitation. “I won’t lie.” Nicholas hadn’t moved. “I want you, Sarah. I want to show you how

much I’d cherish you. Love you. Protect you.” “Just one taste.” “For as long as you wish.” Even infinite pleasure wouldn’t ease the ache in me. What I wanted wasn’t his strong touch or skillful tease. I wanted him. All of Nicholas Bennett. And I could have it so easily if I just asked. He waited as I tucked my fingers in my panties. I was so used to him stripping me, him overwhelming me, him taking me. I never understood how much of a thrill it gave him to watch as my body was revealed. Goosebumps raced over my curves. The cool air teased my hardened nipples, swollen from his suckling. The panties slipped over my hips, dragged across the paleness of my legs, and kicked off at my toes. Completely naked. Completely exposed. Completely vulnerable and endangered and at his will. And yet, he looked upon me like I was a goddess, a vision of perfection, of everything pure I once was. That I still was. “Absolutely beautiful,” he whispered. “Christ, Sarah, I missed you so much.” I didn’t answer or I would have screamed the truth. I missed him too. I missed his touch, his lips, his body, the feel of him within me as I clung to a man stronger and fiercer than any other. It was wrong of me to encourage it. I teased us both with the possibilities of us and a life and a baby, but tonight wasn’t about a lost future. It was about me. Fixing what was shattered. I rested against the couch, taking the initiative and guiding Nicholas over me. “Just one taste,” I said. “Just one, so I remember how it feels.” Nicholas leaned down to kiss me, beginning low at my toes and drawing a ticklish line up the goose bumped skin twitching under his touch.

“One taste,” he promised. “And you’ll never forget again.” This was a step beyond where I thought I’d go, but it was exactly the one I needed most. Every touch, every kiss layered me in a shuddered pain that only Nicholas could ease. I came alive under his stare, and the sheer adrenaline of presenting myself was exhilarating and freeing. But it wasn’t surrender. So many times in so many ways, my body was given to Nicholas and taken as he wished. This was different. Not submission, but trust. His lips caressed my legs, up, up, up, until I spread for him and presented the part of me craving his attention. Nicholas leaned, kissing my thighs, my mound, and then… He kissed just below my navel. Over the baby. His baby. It had to be his baby. I trembled as I took his hand, resting his palm over the softness. He cupped me, so gently and loving, as though the rub of his hands would somehow break me. It didn’t. It wouldn’t. His delicate kisses lowered until the warmth of his breath along my slickening folds teased me. I arched. His tongue flicked against the swollen nub, and like an electric shock, I flinched against the powerful sensation. My body propelled forward, pressing harder against his mouth, sealing his lips over the part of me that I had forsaken. I didn’t know how sensitive it was. How it pulsed with heat and slickness. I shuddered, too overwhelmed to even whisper my astonishment. Pleasure. Desire. Passion. I had forgotten them all, but Nicholas guided me through every shuddering wave. He showed me how the twist of his tongue, the press of his lips, and the flicking quickness of his attention could reignite the passion inside me.

My fingers curled into the couch. I squeezed the leather as words faded into quick gasps. My head dropped. My hips bucked. And everything was perfect as I pressed into the heat of Nicholas’s offered mouth. The taste became a feast, and the feast an absolutely perfect exploration of me. I wetted. I tensed. I clenched. I gasped breath after breath of cleansing heat. Sweat flushed my skin and prickled my sensitive body. The weight of his hand against my tummy rocked me, and the hot, flattened lick of his tongue vowed so much more. I hadn’t felt like this since the last time I tangled in his arms. Our bodies had melded and our defenses dropped. Everything we ever wanted existed only within each other. We were together. We made more than love. My hand fell to my belly, holding his palm over me. It had to be his baby. I meant for one touch. One kiss. One crest of pleasure. One night of memories to replace the nightmares. But I’d never have just one moment with Nicholas Bennett. If I let him, he’d offer me every moment, a life full of comfort, pleasures, and trust. And I was so close to accepting it. The crash of delight stunned me. I cried out his name between incomprehensible feelings and gratitude. My love for him captured with a gasp. A crushing wave silenced my thoughts and replaced them with the fuzzy, heavy agony of my body twisting itself in lust. But even as the weight of passion rendered me weak and useless against his lapping tongue, I needed more. Not a touch or a taste. But all of him. My words trembled the ache inside me, empty and wanting. He shuddered with me. Tension flexed his muscles. He might have taken me. Pinned me down. Ruined the trust as he gave into instinct. But Nicholas was stronger than that. He told me he admired me, but I was lost without him. He wasn’t the man who imprisoned me. He was my greatest challenge. I opposed him. I conquered him. I surrendered to him. I was meant for him. And that’s why I couldn’t stop. We had to feel each other again. “Just one night.” The words poured from me. I reached for him. “Just for tonight.” “Sarah—”

I endured my blinding shudders and pulled him close, meeting his kiss with a furious intensity. I wanted him. Us. That closeness and intimacy, the understanding and the pleasure, the union and the invasion all blended into that moment of connection. I eased him to the couch. He stretched his arms over the back of the sofa. Passive. Waiting. This was my night to take the control I needed, explore the desire between us, and banish the last shadows clutching my heart. I pulled the zipper on his trousers. His cock pulsed within my hand. Thick. Hard. Amazingly warm to the touch. I gripped him, and his ragged breath proved how much he needed to be touched as well. Just like me. I didn’t let his intensity frighten me. A man as strong and powerful as Nicholas Bennett allowed me to touch, savor, and explore. He controlled his urges and respected my boundaries and fears. It was so easy to fall in love with this man. So easy to have my heart broken again and again. So easy to let him fix me. So hard to let him go. I settled over his lap. He didn’t touch me, and I was grateful. His hardness strained in my hand, and a single pump of my fist drew a groan from his self-imposed silence. “Just one night,” I whispered. “I’d prevent the sun from rising to stay with you.” And he could. Nicholas Bennett stretched a moment into eternity, a forever that comforted me in pleasure and need. The heat of his cock pulsed against my soft petals. I allowed myself one hesitant breath. I sunk upon him, gasping as the thickness pushed through me. Our bodies met, completely, bounded together in slick heat and tight possession. Full, but not invaded.

Claimed, but not lost. Taken in shared passion. I gripped his shoulders. My shivers ground my hips harder against his. Deeper and harder, hotter and wetter. Everything within me twisted and exploded. The thrust stole my breath and captured me in a web of pleasure so silken, so inescapable, I thought of nothing but striking down again and again to fulfill that desire with pure intensity. This was all the comfort I needed. I caressed his chest. I welcomed the warmth of his lips against my breasts as I cradled him to me. His thickness pulsed in me, aching with the same broken tenderness that drove me down upon him. Just to feel him. “Sarah—” Nicholas’s mocha voice rumbled against my skin like another touch. “You have no idea how much I love you.” Yes, I did. Every inch of him inside me made a promise of love and futures we hadn’t dreamed might be ours. I leaned against him to tease my chest against his, to press my tummy against hard abs. The pleasure dizzied me. The possibility that someday, when the danger faded, a place saved for us and the baby. Drunk on hope and enthralled by him, a heat built inside me once more. Pure fantasy or a dream come true? Again and again, we moved together. I drove myself upon him, groaning with excitement as his cock hardened within me, twitching with thick muscle. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to do anything but sink against Nicholas and be filled. “Nick—” My fingers dug into his shoulders. His voice strained. He clenched his jaw as I impaled myself with his offered pleasure. “I gotta—” “Just hold me.” And he did. He wrapped his thick arms around me, pulled me to his chest, and kissed me. A feverish, uncompromising instinct seized me, and I bound harder onto his cock to earn the grunted gratitude. His grip tightened. So did mine. I moaned for him to share the peak with me. In me. “Nick, come with me,” I whispered. “Please.”

I gave him the permission though I never meant to withhold his pleasure. He did that for me, only me. To prove that his touch, his kiss, his body was meant to help me heal. I arched, crying out as I took him as deeply as I could. And the jetted heat felt so familiar and yet so new. No longer did he try to take me or claim me. What we had, what we created, was so much more than the moments we spent stealing pleasure to conquer the other. We loved each other. We ached for each other. And the pleasure rewarded our survival. Nicholas led me from the dark and returned me to a place of safety and warmth.

“DO YOU KNOW WHEN I FIRST FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU?” Nicholas snuck behind me on the balcony. “When?” I whispered. He cradled me. He leaned, pinning me against the stone railing. I welcomed his arms, even if they weighed as heavily as the collar at my neck. “Our parents’ wedding.” “You’re such a liar.” “And again when you rejected the offer to sell your company.” “Right.” “And each and every day since then.” “I don’t believe you.” “You should.” His words caressed me, capturing me in promise and captivity. “Every day I find a new reason to love you, Sarah Atwood.” The injection site from the fertility drug ached. “Every day you give me reason to hate you.” Nicholas held me tighter. “Do you hate me now?” I wished I hesitated. Wished I had any other answer. Wished us away from the estate, to a place where we could be free and happy and safe. “I love you more than ever.”

I RESTED, PANTING, NUZZLING AGAINST HIM IN BREATHLESS AMAZEMENT. HIS HANDS CARESSED ME, rubbing my goose bumps and creating more. His touch grazed my tummy. I held him there, imbedded within me, sharing a moment of hope. I knew the little life in me belonged to us. I closed my eyes. “Just for tonight.” “Tonight.” His voice deepened. “Tomorrow. The next day.” “Just…tonight.” I could think of nothing beyond a heartbeat yet. “Just now, and we can lose ourselves.” “I’m not lost, Sarah. Not with you.” And neither was I. But I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t risk it. “Just for tonight.” I pressed my lips against his before I whispered any confessions that would tangle us deeper together. But the words felt wrong. The implication terrible and aching. I didn’t want tonight. I wanted it to be us. Just for…forever.

13

SARAH

N othing good came from calls before sunrise.

My phone buzzed against the nightstand, but I tangled within Nicholas’s arms. The sheets caught my legs. I rolled with a groan. Naked. Of course I was naked. Naked, sticky, and completely and thoroughly humming with a newfound strength. Rejuvenated. Loved. Confused. One touch was impossible with Nicholas. One night a dangerous proposition. If I wasn’t careful, it’d become all mornings with him. And maybe that’s what I wanted. What I needed. For both of us. All three of us. Bumper didn’t make mornings fun, but the call made me equally queasy. I bumbled for the phone. Hamlet rolled back over. Nick kissed my shoulder. I wasn’t ready to confront him yet. I answered, but Mom rambled before I greeted her. “—I can’t tell, this bottle is empty—” “Mom?” “If your father were here, this never would have happened.” It was too early to talk about Dad. Did she have any clue what time it was? Did I? I squinted at the windows, but Nicholas slept with blackout curtains in the peaceful dark.

He’d like sleeping on the farm. Not the thought to have. Not now. Not yet. Not ever. The bedside clock read 5:30 AM. I had no idea when we finally fell asleep. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Her voice shrilled in confusion. “I just can’t see what I took.” “Took where?” “These pills shouldn’t need to be refilled yet.” My stomach flipped. I clutched the phone. “What pills?” “I must have taken too many.” And my stomach flopped. I slid from the bed and searched for anything to cover me. Of course my clothes from last night weren’t in the bedroom. How did we even get into the bedroom? “Mom, which medication did you take?” I asked. “Was it for blood pressure?” “I don’t think so…” “The anxiety meds?” “No, of course not.” Her tone shifted, sharpened. “I’m not an idiot, Sarah.” “Do you need to go to the hospital?” Nicholas slipped from the bed and pulled on a pair of slacks. I rummaged through my bag to find a dress and forced it over my head. It caught over my breasts. And then again on my waist. Uh-oh. I smoothed it as I raced to find a scrunchie. “Mom, are you okay?” “I can’t remember when I took these pills.” That was the most terrifying and frustrating answer she might have given, and it killed me that I didn’t know either. I didn’t just hide from the Bennetts for two months. I avoided my own mother, calling her from pre-paid cellphones to say I loved her. She didn’t realize I was gone. She hardly remembered I hadn’t lived at the farm for the past seven months. I couldn’t risk it. I had to check on her. I rushed to the bathroom to brush my hair

and teeth. “Mom, I’m in San Jose. I’m hours from Cherrywood Valley. Do you need to call an ambulance?” “What for?” I dropped the brush and groaned. “Because you took the pills.” “What pills?” “Mom.” “Sarah Meredith Atwood, I don’t know who raised you to take that tone with your mother, but it certainly wasn’t me.” I lowered the phone for a cleansing breath. She sounded downright mean. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Mom wasn’t sick before Dad died. At least, not that I noticed. She suffered through his chemo with the rest of us, but his death hit her hard. And then, once Josiah and Mike died, she became a completely different person. I hired chefs to cook, a maid to clean. She fired them all. I was the only one she let care for her, the only one to stop the bleeding when she tried to hurt herself. Except for Darius. “Call the doctor and go lay down,” I said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?” “Fine, fine.” She’d forget the instant she hung up. I called our physician for her, redialing twice before she picked up in a groggy haze. I explained the situation, and the doctor promised she’d be there within the hour. Sooner than me. I bound my hair into a pony tail and turned to Nicholas. He deserved an explanation. A moment of gratitude. A declaration of my love. Anything to explain how much the previous night meant to me, and how difficult it was to even consider what I was supposed to do now. “There’s a plane waiting at the airport.” He skipped the complicated talk and offered me comfort instead. “We can be on the ground in Cherrywood Valley in an hour and a half.” “We?” “You aren’t going alone.” “I’ll take my guard,” I said. Robert, the beefy guy with a personality as scarred as the injuries he earned from a

tour in Afghanistan, seemed solid enough to deal with my dementia-aggravated mother. “You don’t have to come.” “Yes, I do.” Fine. I didn’t have time to argue. Bumper wasn’t the only thing unsettling me this morning. I slipped on a pair of shoes and burst from the bedroom. Reed groggily rose from the sofa, tossing his blanket to the floor—over the pile of our clothes, wrinkled and discarded. “Hey.” His wink was thoroughly inappropriate, and, at any other time, I might have giggled. “What have you two been doing?” “Nothing.” I answered too quickly. “I gotta go home. My mom might be in trouble.” Nicholas buttoned his suit jacket. “We’ll be back. Find Max. Tell him to keep his head down.” Reed wandered into the kitchen, bare-chested and in no hurry to dress. He rubbed his neck. The wounds darkening his skin hadn’t yet healed. His eye looked scary red from the blown blood vessel. I hated this. Darius knew I was pregnant. He couldn’t touch me. But my stepbrothers? He’d kill his own flesh and blood if it meant he’d have a chance to take me and the baby. “Stay safe?” I hoped to sound more certain. Reed grinned. “For you? Anything.” My bodyguard met me at the airport, herding us into a chartered jet. I tried calling Mom before we took off, but she didn’t answer. Last time she lost her phone, we found it in the bathroom cabinet. I hoped that was all that happened. I sighed, head in my hands. “Sarah.” Nicholas called to me. The cushy seats of the plane were separated by a decent amount of space. Dad never let the family buy a private plane. Mike and Josiah learned why the hard way. I let my hand dangle over the armrest. His fingers brushed mine. “She’s okay.” “I just didn’t think I’d be taking care of both Mom and Bumper.” “You won’t do it alone.” “Not now, Nick.”

“You will never do it alone.” Even if Nicholas wasn’t talking about him, even if he meant I could hire maids and nannies, private chefs and home care nurses, I wasn’t ready to think about Bumper in our life. Not until I was assured we’d be safe. Not until Darius was gone. How much longer could I wait for that day? The plane landed after an hour, and a limo waited for us off the tarmac. Anything was better than making a three hour drive, but my fingers beat a quick and unsteady rhythm against the seat belt as we rode. I didn’t wait for the driver to park once we reached the farm. I launched from the back, earning both Nicholas’s and Robert’s shout as they hurried to follow. The front door was unlocked. I hoped that meant the doctor was already inside. “Mom?” I shouted. “Mom, where are you?” The Atwood farm was nothing like the Bennett Estate. Decently sized, but not the sprawling gluttony of money, stone, and power. I checked Mom’s bedroom first, but her bed was empty, perfectly made, even down to the cozy pillows stashed at the headboard. But the boxes were new. A half dozen boxes stacked against the wall. Her dresser and wall were cleared of our pictures, and her closet was emptied of clothing and hangers. I spun, calling her name. “Mom!” The kitchen light glowed fuzzy and warm. I crashed down the stairs and turned the corner. “Sarah, what in the world are you doing?” Mom frowned, lowering a pot of coffee. I stilled as she patted Darius’s arm. “You scared us half to death.” Us. She hadn’t said us on the phone. She hadn’t said Darius was there, sitting with her, sharing breakfast like he was a normal husband and not the antichrist himself. Like he hadn’t kidnapped, beaten, and raped her only daughter. At least I took pride in the new stitches on his brow. Nicholas passed to my side after dismissing Robert. He edged me behind his arm. I didn’t retreat.

I only wondered what Nicholas would do, face-to-face with the monster, now that he knew. Darius’s smile widened with welcomed perversion. He didn’t bother acknowledging his son. His eyes never left my body. “What are you doing here?” My voice rasped with breathless panic and threat. “Good morning, my dear.” “What are you doing here!” “I’m enjoying a morning cup of coffee with my wife, of course.” “Get out.” Mom sighed. “Sarah, behave yourself. You’re making a scene in front of your brother. Hello, Nick. How did the soup recipe turn out?” I didn’t let him answer. “Mom, you don’t understand.” “Sarah, you’re being rude.” “Let her be. Our Sarah is a bit emotional now.” Darius’s voice blackened, coarse and raw with a dark intent. “Isn’t that right, Nicholas?” I held my aching breath, but Nicholas didn’t react. “Mom, are you okay?” I asked. “I’d be a lot better if all these people weren’t coming and going at all hours of the morning. Honestly, Sprout. Where is your head? You’ve tracked mud all through the house. Take those shoes off.” She was fine. Not sick. Not panicking. Not fluttering with too many medications. What the hell happened? “Mom, you called me two hours ago.” “I did?” “You said you took too much of your medication.” “When?” Darius curled his arm around her wait. “Darling, I think you’ve forgotten. Just a bit ago, when you woke up, you called Sprout. Before we opened the new prescriptions from the doctor.” Mom laughed. “Oh, right, right. Gosh, I am not human before I have my coffee. Oh,

well. Sprout, Nick. Join us for breakfast then. I have a quiche baking in the oven.” The only thing that turned my stomach more than sharing a meal with Darius was the thought of gooey, parsley stuffed baked eggs. I ignore Darius’s stare. “You said you took too many of your pills. Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m a grown woman, Sprout. I think I can manage my own medications.” That sharp tone again. I hardly recognized it. Darius drew her hand to his lips, gently kissing her fingers. She seemed to calm down. I’d murder him. Cold-blooded. Raging. Uncompromising murder. “Your mother was a little confused.” His voice stalked me, slithering like a snake through the grass and enjoying every brazen moment of his hunt. “But Bethany, some of your medications are quite potent, and you know how easy it is to accidentally take one too many. Clumsy, really.” He paused. “Fortunately, I was here to protect you.” It wasn’t fortune. It was threat. He couldn’t touch me, but he could target those closest to me. My mother. Nicholas. Reed and Max. He would murder his children and harm his own wife if it meant securing the future he desired. A future with my son. I’d never let it happen. Darius Bennett was little more than a bad nightmare, a fleeting memory in a life scored with darkness, shadow, and pain. I survived before, and now it was far easier to withstand his evil. Especially as the safety of those I loved depended on me to stay strong. “There are boxes in your room,” I said. “Why?” Darius answered for her, as though my mother had no voice, as though he had the right to speak in her stead. “Great news, actually. I asked, and your mother finally accepted.” “Accepted…what.” Mom squeezed Darius’s hand, like they shared a sweet secret. “This house is so lonely, Sprout, with you and…” Her voice broke. “And the boys gone. I decided it was time to leave this darkness behind and start a new phase of my life.” I edged closer to Nicholas. “What phase?”

“I’m moving to the Bennett Estate with Darius.” Oh, no. Darius nodded. “I too am realizing how lonely a house can be without one’s children to fill it…at least, for the moment.” Now I would be sick. I shook my head. “You can’t leave the farm,” I said. “Sprout, there’s nothing here for me.” Mom curled her hand around her coffee mug. Darius dared to wrap his arm over her shoulders, pressed his gnarled fingers into her skin. “I can’t come into the kitchen every morning, look outside, and see…” Their graves. But that was why someone had to be here. For Josiah and Mike. Because the farm needed an Atwood, and not just the eternal vigil of Dad’s headstone watching over the land he worked, tended, and bled for. My vision of Dad had been shattered in the past few months, but now I understood him more than ever. The Atwood name required hard work and sacrifice to protect the land. My family, its legacy, was fragile and defenseless on its own. Kindness and understanding and compassion didn’t protect one’s interests. It took hatred. Violence. Vengeance. A daughter’s touch, even if Dad never trusted me with such responsibility. “You can’t leave,” I said. “And you’re not moving to the Bennett Estate.” “Your mother made her choice,” Darius said. My chest heaved with a lost breath. “You don’t speak for her. You made the choice for her.” His eyes darkened, thick with treachery and lacking the basic human qualities that separated man from mud. “It seems I must do that often with Atwood women.” Nicholas still said nothing, brushing his hand against mine when I stepped forward to face the monster. “She isn’t going,” I said. Mom sighed. “Sarah, I respect the sentimentality, but really. You haven’t been home for so long. You wouldn’t understand. I want to be with my husband, to enjoy

the time I have left.” Limited time if she dared to trust a man like Darius Bennett. “Please, Mom. I’m asking you to reconsider.” “There’s no discussion. I won’t be lonely anymore, and I won’t leave Darius all alone in his big, drafty house.” He smiled as if he could comprehend the gentleness behind the emotion. “It isn’t drafty, love.” “Too big. Ostentatious.” “I’ve always wanted the best for my family.” He nodded Nicholas. “For all of my sons.” Sick, depraved bastard. My breathing ached, and every exhale stuck in my throat. Not what I needed. Not a weakness I should have ever shown Darius. “Sarah, my dear. You really should sit.” I hated that tone. The false sincerity. The sing-song pretention of a demon pretending to be a father. I bit back the profanity. Darius aimed for the kill. “Someone in your condition shouldn’t be rushing around all hours of the morning.” Son. Of. A. Bitch. “What condition?” Mom worried too easily. “Sarah, is it your asthma again?” “Yes,” I answered before Darius could. “But I’m fine.” “Now, now.” His voice cracked like the snap of a belt over broken skin. “Sarah, this is your mother. She’ll understand.” Mom was agitated her mug. I rushed same fierce gaze I stashed under my course.

again. She stood, burning her hands as the coffee spilled over to offer her a towel. Her eyes dulled, but she stared with that remembered as a child, when she found the hidden midterm I bed revealing the accidental D in my eighth grade Algebra II

“Sarah,” she warned. “I have endured you stomping through this house, snapping at me and dishonoring my husband, your step-father. I will not tolerate you keeping secrets from me about your health. I am your mother. At least permit me the common courtesy to not speak in riddles while you stand around my kitchen

table without even offering to get your brother any coffee to drink.” She exhaled. “Honestly. You have the mannerisms of your father sometimes. It’s like I’m looking at Mark.” “Mom, it’s fine.” “Don’t you it’s fine me, young lady. You think you know what’s best for me, but until you have a child of your own burst in and out of your life whenever she damn well pleases, you don’t get to decide what is best for me.” “I was worried.” “You don’t have to worry about me,” Mom said. “I have Darius now.” Just the thought curdled my stomach. “You don’t understand.” “He’s your father.” “He’s not.” Darius shrugged. “Our relationship is hard to classify, Bethany. Sarah acts defiant, but, I assure you, when we’re alone, she’s much warmer. We’ve spent some very special moments together.” Sick bastard. I wavered. I needed to sit. I wanted to run. I longed for the chance to cause Darius even a moment of the misery he inflicted on me. “A relief,” Mom said. “She’s been acting so strange lately. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” Darius folded his hands. “Sarah, perhaps it is best that you tell your mother.” “Tell me, what? For pity’s sake, Darius. Is everyone keeping secrets?” Why was he doing this? Just to watch me squirm? To destroy me? To destroy her? I swallowed. Mom gave me her most expectant look, one that even Josiah and Mike couldn’t fight. He planned this. The bastard knew I’d rush home. He meant to trap me once more in my own humiliation as I revealed the pregnancy to Mom. I considered refusing him, but my dress already felt snug. I could hide it for another month, maybe two, but she’d find out soon enough. And then she’d suffer the consequences the same as me, the same for the farm, the company.

Our future and livelihood. But she was my mother. And the father of my baby might have been her devoted husband. Darius’s expression hadn’t wavered, the twisted empathy of a man who faked every human emotion to benefit himself and his cruelty. I wouldn’t let him gain any sick enjoyment from my hesitance. He expected me to live in shame of the child, of the rape. The baby wasn’t his. And the rape was in the past. And I would never, ever let my child believe he was unwanted—not when I knew exactly how devastating that felt. “Mom…” I wished my voice were stronger. “I have something to tell you.” She waited. Her eyebrow perked—sass incarnate. So that’s where I got it. “I’m not sure you’re going to like it.” “Out with it, Sprout. I haven’t got all day.” The words tumbled from my lips. “I’m pregnant.” Darius’s victorious grin sickened me. I stepped closer to Nicholas, but I didn’t accept any of his offered strength. I survived the conception. What pain could the announcement bring? More than I expected. Mom’s expression twisted. Her frown etched deep into her face, darkening her new wrinkles and highlighting the grey that streaked her curls. She sunk into her chair, hands trembling. “You’re pregnant?” “Yes.” I steeled myself for her reaction. It wasn’t enough. “You little whore.” The disapproval rocked us all. Darius coughed. I fell backwards, colliding with an equally shocked Nicholas.

“Mom, no…” “Little whore.” Darius cleared his throat before leaning close. “Bethany, no. This is a good thing. Our Sarah is starting a family of her own. We should be celebrating.” I didn’t recognize the frustration in her eyes, the harsh catch in her voice. Oh God, I couldn’t handle disappointing her, even when it wasn’t my fault. “Sarah, how could you be so careless? I raised you better than this.” Careless? She wasn’t the only one who’d assume it was carelessness. Not that I was kidnapped and imprisoned, abused and raped. Not that my step-father forced himself upon me, or that the man I loved, my own step-brother had… It wasn’t carelessness. My chest ached, blending sorrow and panic and stinging rage into a breathless gasp. The world would never know that darkness. “And the father?” Mom asked. “Where is he? I don’t see him standing here, holding your hand, admitting what he did to you.” Nicholas was holding me. Darius stroked her fingers. “This isn’t about the father,” I said. “It’s still early, Mom. I haven’t revealed it yet.” “Oh, Sarah.” She shook her head. “There is so much to consider. Have you spoken with our attorney?” I hedged that concern. “We don’t need to tell Anthony yet.” “Of course we do. This company will turn on its head.” She covered her cheeks. “Oh, Lord. This will cause such strife. We hadn’t prepared for this at all, Sprout.” “I know.” Darius leaned close. “Now, Bethany. Surely Atwood Industries assumed this day would come. They’ve been waiting for a male heir to take the company ever since Josiah and Mike passed.” “We never planned for it. Why would we?” Mom sighed. I tried to stop her, but the

secret slipped before I could interrupt. “Sarah is supposed to be infertile.” Goddamn it. Darius’s jaw tensed so hard it popped. Had we been alone, had he still trapped me within the confines of the Bennett Estate, nothing—not even the possibility of his child—would have protected me from a vicious strike. If he hadn’t killed me for deceiving him. Nicholas nodded to his father. “Infertile….” Darius murmured. “How fortuitous then.” Mom snorted, but the edge weeded from of her voice. “I suppose so. Oh, Sarah. You never did like to take the easy path, did you? Well…” She smiled, weak, but it was there. “A baby is a miracle, especially when we never expected to be blessed. And we are certainly in a position to accommodate a little one, despite the scandal.” She sighed. “You’ll have to join at the estate then. We’ll shield you from a bit of the talk. Besides, Darius raised his own children there before, I’m sure he would love to have a baby around again.” I didn’t trust the darkness in his words. “Of course, darling. I’ve been planning on it.” Too much. It was too much. I swallowed. “I have to get going,” I said. “I just…wanted to check in on you, Mom.” “You aren’t staying?” So I could stare into the eyes of a man who would eagerly slice the child from my stomach once he was strong enough to live on his own? A man who threatened my mother’s life with dangerous medications? A man who’d murder all three of his sons because they defied his insanity? No. I wasn’t staying. And neither was she. I would kill Darius before he dared to harm those I loved, and the only reason I didn’t dive for a knife was to spare my fragile mother the horror of witnessing yet another husband’s death. “I’ll call you,” I said. “Check in and make sure you’re okay.”

“I’ll be fine. I have Darius to look after me.” She gave the devil the keys to the church and waded in the ashes he cast on the altar. I backed from the kitchen, but Darius scooted out of his chair. “I’ll walk them out.” Mom sighed. “You’re such a sweetheart, Darius. Truly.” Nicholas edged between us, but I didn’t let Darius get close. My vision blurred with rage as I slammed through the front door. I lifted a rock from the rose planter, but it was my own bodyguard who prevented me from slamming it across Darius’s temple. Nicholas seized me, securing me with an arm around my waist. “You are a monster.” I twisted against his hold. “What are you going to do? Kill my mother? Murder your own wife?” “Nicholas, please.” Darius buttoned his suit jacket. “Control the girl. I won’t have her endangering my unborn son.” Goddamn him! I struggled, but Nicholas’s grip was as strong as his own iron will. He faced his father with absolute silence. I hardly recognized his stoic, intimidating challenge. “It’s not your son,” I said. “You have no right to be here, no right to control my mother.” Darius gazed over my cornfields, stared at my barn and my machinery tending to the crops in the fields. “Soon enough, this farm will belong to the Bennetts, as it should have months ago.” “Never.” “I don’t mind it, actually.” He took a deep breath. “The estate is rather isolated, but this…this is a different type of peace. A shame it breeds such insolence in the children who play in its dirt. My son will need to grow and learn discipline in the estate, but I think I’ll retire here.” “You will never take my child.” “I’ll clear some of the…debris from the fields though.” Darius met my gaze. “Too many Atwoods poisoning the grounds. Once your father and what remains of his bastard sons are disposed of properly, this land will be suitable for the Bennetts.” It was too much. Too cruel and too deliberate to watch me burst with the indignity and agony of my family’s deaths. I twisted, pushing against Nicholas. Darius hadn’t broken me before.

He wouldn’t now. “I think I’ll keep you here too, my dear,” he said. “If you agree to behave. You’ve done so well now, accepting my seed and swelling with my child. I might let you live. You can stay locked in a room here on your land. And we’ll see if that infertility was a one-time blessing. Why stop at one son when I can replace the lot of them?” His words weren’t meant for me. He stared at his son, his eldest, his heir. He waited for the moment that Nicholas would finally break and challenge him. Nicholas said nothing, only simmered in the ravenous, feral silence of animal facing a threat. “You can have her for now, Nicholas,” Darius said. “Take her. Care for her. Fuck her. Do whatever you wish. But understand. The estate, the companies, the fortunes are mine. I will not mourn those who defy me. Not if I have a new son to inherit both the Bennett and Atwood names.” “This child is not yours.” Nicholas spoke with confidence, certainty. “Nicholas, you had months to breed the girl, and nothing came from it. You’ve studied probability and statistics.” Darius leaned closer, his words meant to draw me back into the nightmare he created. “You realize she was still slick with your seed when I took her? But that doesn’t matter. I enjoyed her more times than you did that night.” I would be sick, but Nicholas didn’t degrade himself in anger or react to Darius’s attempted humiliation. “I plan to kill you,” Nicholas said. “Prepare for it.” His words were not threat or promise, but the still coldness of near-premonition. More frightening than any strike from Darius’s hand or the moments of despair under his control was the sound of Nicholas Bennett’s honest and promised vengeance, as though the graves were already dug and the crimes purged from our memories. Darius’s cruelty cast us into shadow, but Nicholas now existed in the merciless efficiency of a wronged man protecting the ones he loved. Not for his own satisfaction. Not to appease his sadism. But because blood answered in blood. And we would make the final slice. He led me to the limo, kissed my hand, and shielded me—shielded us—from his father.

I had no doubt Nicholas would make good on his threat. I only prayed we didn’t have to wait.

14

NICHOLAS

T

he gun rested in my suit jacket, but my father yet lived.

I didn’t regret my decision, and I hadn’t looked in the mirror as the limo pulled from the farm. The time would come for revenge. The money had already exchanged and my brothers prepared for the plan. In a few weeks, it would no longer matter. Still, I coiled in rage. My father attempted to harass me. He wanted to exert what little control he held over me and my brothers by manipulating the woman we strived to protect. He claimed the child was his. Harming Sarah was crime enough. Taking my son? He would die for even considering it. He would die for the pain he inflicted, the nightmares he caused, and the life he attempted to ruin. The brutal, disgusting words he spoke of Sarah would be his last opportunity to insult her. A Bennett’s greatest suffering was not the final beat of a heart, but the world forgetting his name. My father would not be remembered. The tyranny he cast over my family would end, and Sarah and my son would share a life with me free of that pain. If she would have me. Sarah curled in her seat, staring out the window as the plane ascended and stole her from the comforts of her family, her home, her land. I permitted her silence. The few words we whispered during the night revealed far more than any momentary confession or pressured conversation would offer. She knew I wanted her. That I loved her. That I loved the baby. And she did too. Her hand curled over her tummy as she rested.

“How’s Bumper?” The nickname grew on me. She smirked. Sprout and her Bumper Crop. Entirely too cute for a Bennett boy, especially as it took years before I accepted the shortening of my name to Nick. But our family traditions and conventions could change. They would change. “He’s okay,” she said. I didn’t want okay. I wanted great, fantastic, healthy. Once we rid the world of my father, Sarah would only need to worry about the sheer amount of toys, clothing, and baby equipment I planned to buy for our child. She’d only have to consider loving me once more. Accepting my offer of family. Staying with me. Always. The plane landed, and Sarah fell asleep in the limo on the way home. She wasn’t comfortable, but the confrontation overwhelmed her. I expected it. I feared it. My father’s insults were meant for me. He cared little about Sarah’s reaction, only that she continued to carry the child he considered more asset than family. But she bore his words with equal indignation and endured his torment with Atwood impetuousness, not Bennett patience. She needed no other reason to act out in violence. She simply waited for the opportunity. And we’d all suffer as a result. We returned to my penthouse. My brothers greeted Sarah the only way they knew. Reed offered her a bottle of water. Max, a seat and blanket. Neither could speak to her about the horrors she faced at my father’s hand. Still, they tried to help. I appreciated it. “What happened?” Reed asked. “Everything okay?” “Mom’s fine.” Sarah’s words tightened in frustration. “I need to rest. I have a headache.” I waited until the door to the bedroom closed before casting off my jacket and stealing the whiskey from Max’s hands. Noon was too early for either of us to drink. At least I had stopped at some point during the night. Hungover, sober, or drunk, Max’s eyes remained bloodshot. I could only imagine the condition of his liver. “What the fuck happened?” Max grunted. “Bethany wasn’t alone.”

“Dad?” Reed guessed. “Waiting for us,” I said. “Bethany’s memory is ruined, and the dementia is getting worse. He threatened her with her medications.” “Why?” I gritted my teeth. “Because he expected Sarah to rush to her mother without me.” Max crossed his arms. “And then?” “He’s convinced the child is his.” I took a seat. Reed perched on the side of the sofa, but Max preferred to pace. “He’s planning to take Sarah and steal the baby.” “And if he succeeds?” It would never happen. “Either he’ll kill Sarah…or he’ll keep her to make another child.” “Fuck me,” Reed whispered. “Does Sarah know?” “He made his intentions clear.” “What do we do?” Max answered for me. “Just what we’re doing. Stick to the plan. We kill the son of a bitch.” “No.” I lowered my voice. “I kill him.” Reed frowned. “Like it fucking matters who points the gun.” “It does to me.” “We all want a shot at him—” I didn’t need to interrupt him. My gaze silenced Reed. “I will do it.” Max understood, which meant he would forever challenge my decisions. He glanced over his shoulder, ensuring the door shut tightly behind Sarah. “No, you mean she won’t do it.” I nodded. “You aren’t even going to tell her what you’re planning?” “No.” Reed waved his hands, grabbing another baby book from the stack he kept on the coffee table. “That’s it. I’m out. Unless you want her aiming for us too, you better let Sarah

Atwood in on this plan.” “If I can spare her the trauma, I will.” “It’s not about trauma,” Max said. “You want the kill shot because Dad hurt her. Fuck, I want to do it too.” “It’s not about the rape.” The word soured on my tongue. I resolved never to say it again. Max never knew when to drop a subject. “Then what is it? Sarah’s been through enough trauma. This shit would be fucking therapeutic for her.” “Sarah is pregnant, and not by choice. She’s scared, she’s exhausted, and the asthma and stress will only make her weaker.” I pointed to Reed’s books. “What do those chapters say about a healthy pregnancy? I guarantee there’s no talk about assaults, beatings, and corporate takeovers between the benefits of cloth or disposable diapers.” “And you don’t think she’d take pleasure in murdering that asshole?” Max voiced the obvious. “She’s a goddamned Atwood. They’re raised from birth to want to draw our blood.” “Exactly,” I said. “She sacrificed her body when she believed we killed her father. She expected to be hurt and beaten and humiliated, and she accepted it for the chance to avenge her family. And now? The real crime has been done to her. She’s the one who was hurt.” Reed rubbed the rawness around his neck. “So…what? Sarah’s always been a little…intense.” “It’s not intensity,” I said. “It’s obsession.” “You would know best.” I stiffened. “Yes. And that’s exactly why I’m doing this. Why it has to be me. Why we need to do this on our own. I understand her, more than she realizes. I don’t want her to suffer as a result of taking a human life.” Max grunted. “He’s hardly human.” “I won’t let her regret in ten, twenty, thirty years the revenge she wants now.” “She deserves that revenge.” “And she’ll have it, even if it comes from my hand.” “Nick, you can’t decide that for her.” Max’s jaw tightened. “You’re killing a man. It’s done. It’s happening. But don’t take that choice from her.” “I’m protecting her.”

“You’re robbing her of the chance to end things on her terms. You’d steal the only choice she has in her life right now. You’d be no better than Dad.” Reed exhaled. I didn’t dignify it with a reaction. “He harmed her. I am stopping her from harming herself.” “You’re fucking delusional,” Max laughed. “And the lives you took? The crimes our father asked you to commit? Hasn’t your perspective recently shifted?” “Don’t fucking change the subject.” “What about her brothers?” I hated speaking of it when she rested in the other room. “How do you feel now that you’ve met and loved Sarah Atwood?” “I didn’t know it was Michael and Josiah in that fucking plane.” “No, but you did what he asked of you, realizing it would hurt another person. Now we face the consequences of that decision.” “Fuck you, Nick.” Max hissed the words. “You have no idea what that shit has put me through.” “And that’s why I would spare Sarah. We don’t know what will come of it in the future.” The drink talked for him. “How goddamned magnanimous of you.” Reed cleared his throat. “Just drop it, Max.” Max refused. “How fucking lucky that you’re there to spare the woman you love. That you’ve taken this fucking curse upon yourself. That you’ve never had to get your goddamned hands bloody when it mattered!” Reed lowered his voice. “He’s trying to protect her.” “That doesn’t give him the right to make me the villain.” Max pointed at me. He chose a dignified finger. “You never had to decide between right or wrong, Nick. You never made the choice between spilling blood or never coming home again.” “I own my regretted decisions.” It insulted Max. “You think I liked doing Dad’s dirty work? I did those things—I murdered that poor girl’s family—because I thought it would endear me to that fucking monster. You’re right. I feel like shit. But you’re the one who gets to kill him. You’re the one who saves the girl and starts a family. Me?” he sneered. “I get to live day after fucking day, knowing Sarah would forever hate me if she knew what I did. That she’d toss my carcass in the same shallow grave where Dad would

rot for eternity.” They were my fears too. I nodded. “She won’t ever know,” I said. “This is the last we speak of it.” “Until the next time you drag me through the fucking mud.” Max rubbed his face. It did little to sober him. “Don’t pretend you’re innocent. I proved my worth to the family, same as you. Only now, you know what it feels like to be me.” “And what’s that?” Max pointed to the scars on Reed’s cheek and the wounds over his neck. “Completely and utterly disposable. Dad’s not gonna stop if he wants Sarah’s heir. He’ll kill us and take her for himself.” “He won’t touch her again.” “You better fucking hope.” Max sunk into the sofa. “Because he thinks he’s won. He thinks it’s his son.” Reed shrugged, flipping through the baby book. “If it’s a boy.” The words stilled my heart. “It is.” Reed’s grin turned cold. “Don’t tell me you’re that goddamned arrogant, Nick.” “Arrogant about what.” “That the baby is a boy.” Son of a bitch. I intended to end the conversation, but Reed spoke anyway. “Every time Sarah says he or son, it’s more a prayer than a certainty,” he said. “Only you and Dad are convinced she’s having a boy.” His eyes had hardened over the months, seeing far more than I gave him credit for observing. “And we better hope to Christ it is. Dad’s a bastard, and he’d rape her again without question, but he doesn’t have the patience for another pregnancy. If your baby is a girl…” His fingers crinkled the cover of the book. “They’re both in danger.” Silence. Not that I hadn’t considered it, but the thought terrified me. My son or my daughter, it didn’t matter. I didn’t want an heir. I wanted a family. I wanted her, happy and smiling and proud to carry my child. I’d save her from further bloodshed just for a chance at that perfect-ever-after. I paused, pulling my phone and calling for her guard to meet us downstairs. Max

frowned as I gave him the instructions. “Robert hasn’t been guarding her,” I said. “He’s following her.” Reed tensed, but Max expected it. “Dad’s probably paying for him to stay close,” I said. “Find out how much he spent.” Max nodded. “And then?” “If you want to earn Sarah’s forgiveness?” I said. “Keep her safe. Nothing will endanger her or the baby. I’ll check on her first, and then I’ll follow.” “What? You want to warm up with her bodyguard? Get a practice kill?” I didn’t need the practice anymore. The war had already begun.

15

SARAH

he toxicity website highlighted it’s warnings in bold, blocky letters. Pesticide T poisoning was a cruel and harsh way to die. Headaches and cramps, nausea and shortness of breath. It read like an acute form of morning sickness coupled with the ugly weaknesses caused from my asthma. How fitting, punishing a man who had inflicted me with the same symptoms, the same pain, the same humiliations? I’d make Darius Bennett suffer, and the idea thrilled a dark part of me. Like an illness strengthening in each passing hour, the desire to hurt, to cause him pain, burrowed from the hidden fantasies. First it was simply a secret in the night. Now it burst into my waking thoughts. Visions of revenge suffocated my mind—crippling every desire, every honest joy, every moment of rest. Never before had I dreamt of harming another person. But he caused the vile thoughts. He forced me to demand blood for blood and pain for pain. And so I would deliver it. Darius threatened my mother and nearly overdosed her on the medications that kept her senses dulled and judgement clouded. He ordered his men to shoot Max, strangle Reed, and gun Nicholas down in the street like an animal. He raped me and promised either more torment or a violent death. He meant to take my child. Every minute he lived trapped me in a new agony. It ended now. And the irony of it—of using the Bennett Corporation’s own products to erode him from the inside out—delighted me. My father, a man just as cruel and barbaric as Darius, would have been proud. The

first and only time he’d be honored by the daughter who sacrificed so much to avenge his name, safeguard his legacy, and protect our futures. He didn’t deserve my efforts. But I needed that peace. I needed something to dull the racing, jarring, enraged thoughts that stole every moment of rest from my exhausted and weakened body. I planned to murder a man. And no matter how many times I thought of him as a demon, a monster, an animal, I still imagined the blood on my hands. And it sickened me. And it excited me. And it would ruin me. It would finally free me from the Bennett nightmare. If I only could gather the courage to do it. If the implication didn’t lace me with shivers, smother me with panic, and coat me in the same filthy grime that created Darius Bennett. My father once said if revenge were easy, peace wouldn’t be so hard. I closed the website—the same specs I requested for the Bennett chemicals I used to treat my farm. The words faded, but it felt like the entire world saw through the innocence I once had. Like they knew the choice I’d made. I ran a bath and, for the first time in three months, actually enjoyed the bathroom without needing to cuddle on the tile with my sickness. The last days of my first trimester forged a truce between me and Bumper. I snacked on carrots and the occasional plate of mushroom lasagna, and he let me be. A bath usually calmed me, and Nicholas’s penthouse offered the sleekest, most modern bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub, warmed floors, and selected aroma therapy candles. Dark granite and harsh angles wasn’t my preferred style, but it fit Nicholas. Would it fit me? After Darius was gone, after the baby came, after we controlled the Bennett Corporation and my farm, would I eventually think of the penthouse as a…home? The night with Nicholas did more than grant me confidence. It made me hope. I wanted him. I loved him. I needed him. But could I risk the danger? I doubted I’d survive the heartache of leaving him.

The bath did nothing to soothe me, and thoughts of Nicholas only flushed me warmer than the water. That heat didn’t pass, even as I brushed the towel over my body. I glanced to the mirror. The towel dropped. I didn’t recognize the reflection. “That’s new.” I swallowed. My hand traced the barest swell of my belly. “Uh-oh.” I was used to the darkening of my nipples, the tenderness in my breasts, even the mood swings and fatigue. But…this was different. Real. I dressed quickly, tossing on a strappy shirt with a pair of thin shorts and snuck from the bathroom. My step-brothers crowded the penthouse. Five thousand square feet, and they all descended on the living room—Reed with the pregnancy books by the window, Max rummaging through the refrigerator, and Nicholas working remotely on a desk in the corner. I hesitated, earning their attention all at once. My cheeks burned. Nicholas closed the laptop. “Everything okay?” “Yes.” I bit my lip. “Kinda.” Reed tossed the book aside. He pointed to his abs, tight against his shirt. “More nausea? Round ligament pain? It’s common. Are you hurting?” “What? No.” Max pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and slammed it on the counter. “Drink it.” “I’m not thirsty.” “Sick?” Reed asked. “Tired? Are you feeling any tenderness?” “Reed, I’m fine.” That drew Nicholas’s attention. “What is it?” It was embarrassing. It was natural. It was everything that would continue to happen to me for the next six months. Why was it so hard to admit? “Bumper gave me a…bump.”

They didn’t get it. All three lurched to their feet, each scattering in three different directions to gather my things. Reed seized my purse. Max my shoes. They thought I had to go to the hospital. Only Nicholas waited for the explanation. The confession. “I’m showing.” Reed and Max stilled. I squirmed as their collective gazes centered low on my belly, like they expected it to suddenly balloon up. I lifted my shirt. They didn’t react until I turned to the side. Their heads angled. Reed snorted. “That’s it?” he laughed. “Christ, I look like that after I eat a pizza.” I bit my lip as Nicholas approached. He made no such joke, didn’t shake his head like Max. His eyes narrowed in concentration, brightened with excitement, and studied the tiniest swelling with rapt attention. I stilled as his hand brushed my exposed skin. His palm covered the bump and hid the secret once more for us and us alone. “Beautiful,” he whispered. And he meant it. The raw amazement in his words banished my embarrassment. It fueled me with the same heated intensity that simmered the caramel smoothness of his voice. One word and he’d burn me. One promise and he’d trap me. One command and he’d seal me forever within the warmth of his palm. I swallowed, cascading from anxious to shamed to empowered in a single graze of his fingers. It didn’t take much for my heart to flutter and core to clench, but Nicholas’s touch tickled from the barest, faintest of promises. Suddenly, my thoughts twisted into something dark and utterly sensual. I hadn’t spoken of our night together. Neither had he—either out of respect for my decision or because he recognized the truth. I loved him more than I hated Darius Bennett. And that made the decision to leave impossible and the choice to stay so very complicated. I shifted from his hand, shuddering as the electric heat sizzled from his fingertips through my core. He released me. My body hadn’t realized. Dozens of shivers raced over my skin, and the flush returned to my cheeks, more prominent than before. I tugged my shirt, but the brush of the material over my sensitive breasts and tightening nipples only made the heat worse.

I knew better than to go without a bra now. My insides twisted. I knew exactly what I was thinking, and I didn’t trust it. With my confidence restored, and the fear soothed under Nicholas’s careful, deliberate touch, I was almost healed. Nothing prevented me from feeling all the perfect shudders and warmths of my body, or enjoying the tingles and slick wantings. I woke every night in his bed, surrounded by his scent, tucked within his silken sheets, but I hadn’t the courage to surrender to any desire. And not just for Nicholas. I swallowed. It did nothing. The goosebumps prickled under the attention of my step-brothers. I wished it hadn’t felt so good. I retreated, earning a knowing stare from those golden eyes. I could hide nothing from him, but I’d sure as hell try. I edged to the sofa and sat, sighing once I was free of their gazes. Reed immediately plopped down next to me. “Can I touch Bumper?” His grin popped with just one dimple, playful and excited. “I’m curious.” “Thought it was less impressive than your bloated pizza belly.” “I’ll order some right now. We’ll see who gets bigger.” “If you can promise to be the same size as me six months from now, we might have a deal.” “That’s a lot of pizza.” “It’s a lot of baby.” “Well, Bumper should know Uncle Reed will do anything for the little guy. And if that means gorging on pizza, I’ll make the sacrifice.” My heart fluttered. Uncle Reed. It was too sweet. But I hadn’t allowed myself to think of such things. Uncles and swelling bellies made it feel too real. Except it was. And it was getting harder to hide. Reed waited for permission. What could it hurt? I lifted my shirt and tried to position myself to enhance what little bump there was. Reed’s hand covered me, far gentler than Nicholas, almost as if the multitude of baby books he had read neglected to mention that I wouldn’t fall apart from a touch. I hadn’t before, and I wouldn’t now.

Especially as Reed’s proud grin matched the warmth of his hands. A good warmth. Just as protective, just as loving as Nicholas’s touch. Just as consuming. “Neat.” His fingers pressed against me. I hid the shiver and ignored the quickening flutter in my chest. “Max, wanna feel?” “Pass.” Max looked away. “Not so good with delicate things.” “You can’t feel anything,” I said. “It’s just…pudgy.” “It’s beautiful.” Nicholas hovered close. “Definitely,” Reed said. He pulled his hand away as he said it, clearing his throat. “You know. If you’re into that sort of thing.” “It’ll get bigger,” I warned. Nicholas answered without hesitation. “And you’ll be beautiful then too.” “Good.” I swallowed. “Glad you’ve considered the consequences of all this.” “Every day.” His voice soothed me. I rested against the couch, drawing my legs up. The cool leather eased some of the ache. Not all of it. Not nearly enough. Both Reed and Nicholas touched me, and the memory of their previous embraces tingled through me. Heat pulsed between my legs. Insistent. Demanding. Utterly inappropriate. I gnawed on my lip. “You okay?” Reed asked. “You’re a little flushed.” Nothing got past him. “Fine.” “You sure? Need anything?” He edged closer, and the sea-salt tease of his scent mingled with the memory of Nicholas’s sharpness. Nicholas watched me, the tug of a smile pulling on his lips. He knew. “I’m fine.” “You can tell me. Whatever you want. Ice cream, weird cravings, whatever.” “Reed, it’s not…” I twisted in the sofa. “I’m not hungry.” “Tired?” Now I was. “No.”

“Then what—” Max snorted. “Christ, you’re the one reading all the damn baby books. She’s second trimester. Sarah’s fucking horny.” And the embarrassments never ended. I ground my jaw. “Thanks, Max.” “Happy to help, baby.” Yeah, only one thing would help, and I wasn’t sure they were ready for that conversation. But it had to be done. It should have already been done. Darius wasn’t the only man who left me with tarnished, terrible memories. My last intimate moments with both Reed and Max were ruined by the barrel of a gun slammed against my head. I sacrificed my body to the brutal demands of their father. I tried to forgive their body’s natural instincts. It took the violence of another to forget the horrors caused by the men I loved. So much had changed since then. Since we left the estate. Since we bound together to fight and run and forged an alliance against Darius. I had confronted my demons and banished my nightmares with Nicholas. Didn’t Max and Reed deserve the same closure? We all needed whatever comfort, whatever forgiveness, we could offer each other. Because who knew when it would be our last chance. “Oh.” Reed glanced at Nicholas. “Uh. We can…leave, if you two need to—” Now I did flush. “Look, I’m okay. It’s just hormones.” It was more than that. So much more. Confusion and doubt, conflicted loyalty and anxiety. I planned to kill a man who might have swelled me with his child. I left my mother in the cruel embrace of a monster who would sooner murder her if it meant crippling me for his taking. I loved the man who endangered me the most. And I missed the gentle and ravenous touches of his brothers, even when they originally intended to capture, degrade, and humiliate me. Neither Max nor Reed ever really hurt me, not when it wasn’t Darius’s bidding. They loved me like a friend, like a sister, like a lover. It wasn’t a conventional relationship, but it had meant so much to me. It kept me alive.

“This is such a mess,” I whispered. “I don’t even know what I want anymore.” Nicholas settled beside me on the couch, taking my hand. I let him, but Reed hadn’t moved. I seized a breath. Now or never. I took his hand too. “Whatever you want, it’s yours,” Nicholas said. “You tell us what you need to be happy, and we’ll make it happen.” Reed nodded. “No questions asked.” It was that simple. And it was that complicated. “Is it strange that I want things back the way they were?” I asked. “Not…before my father died. Not before you guys kidnapped me. But before…” I stopped. I had no idea if they’d understand. No idea if I was mourning a darkness that confused me or trading genuine friendship for captivity. But I took a chance in loving them. I searched their gazes. “Even with all those terrible, awful things that happened, and all the bullshit Darius put me through, I got through it because I had you guys.” Max approached, but he didn’t sit. “It wasn’t us, baby. We caused that shit. We didn’t help; we fucked you up more.” “You might have hurt me, but you didn’t. Not like I knew you could.” “But we did hurt you.” Reed swallowed. I hated the hollow regret in his voice. “And we never apologized for it.” “It’s a bad dream now. It doesn’t scare me. I just wish…” Hormones again—tears and heat. I wished I could make up my mind. Nicholas brushed my hair behind my ear. His touch stirred more than confusion. “I wish we could be close again,” I said. Reed winked. “You were close with Nick.” Yes, but I still hadn’t figured out what it meant—not to me, not to him, not to Bumper. We cleansed a terrible memory, but, beyond that? I was as desperate to be free of the Bennetts as I was to love each one of them again —Nicholas as my equal, Reed as a brother and friend, Max as a loyal protector. “It’s just comfort I miss,” I said. “The intimacy. That’s all.”

Nicholas’s voice layered me in his consuming, perfect confidence. “I wouldn’t deny you that comfort, Sarah. Not after what we’ve been through.” Reed nervously chuckled. “Uh, she’s pregnant.” Nicholas nodded. “With your kid.” He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “We’re not…really of use anymore.” Max grunted. “Besides fucking with her head.” Reed shrugged. “I fucked other places.” “I’m serious,” Max said. “Baby, I’ve done enough damage to you. If you need to get off, take Nick. He deserves you. Not me. Not after the shit I put you through.” “You don’t believe that,” I said. “I do.” “Max, what happened was…I let you guys take me like that. We had to do it, or Darius would have murdered us all.” “Doesn’t fucking matter.” “It does to me.” My throat tightened. I didn’t want my inhaler, I just wanted him to look me in the eyes, something he hadn’t done since that awful night in his penthouse when my freedom lasted only a few precious minutes before a new captivity began. Darius destroyed more than my confidence, my life. He took my step-brothers. It was worth bloodshed to right that wrong. “I don’t blame you, Max,” I said “I forgive you.” “Don’t.” “You can’t stop me from forgiving you.” He scowled. “I won’t believe it.” “Then I’ll say it again and again, all day, every day, until you get sick of hearing it.” “Do you want me to fucking leave?” That was the last thing I wanted. “Just stay. Here. With me, with us.” “I’m not going to hurt you anymore, baby.”

“If you leave, you’ll hurt me more than ever.” “What the hell do you want from me?” Max held his arms out. “Want me to get the belt? Want me to beat you again? Fuck you like a goddamned animal?” My hand crossed over my belly. “Not particularly.” “That’s all I’m good for.” “Not true.” Why were we fighting about this? “We can comfort each other.” “I don’t deserve to be comforted.” “I do!” Nicholas’s hand brushed mine, but Reed hadn’t moved. My chest tightened. We wouldn’t survive this if we weren’t together, unified, healed. My step-brothers suffered from guilt, an ugliness that stole their smiles and bound them in despair. I knew what it felt to lose myself in that darkness. I didn’t wish it upon anyone, least of all the men who tried so hard to save me. Their intimacy had once offered me strength. I could do the same. Mend their wounds and offer them forgiveness and bind us together, again. For me. For the baby. For each other. It just took a little confidence. “Do you know what I want?” I whispered. “I want to feel you guys again. Not in pain or fear. I miss the pleasure and the closeness. I miss being with you.” “You want us to fuck you?” Max made it sound coarse and raw. I shook my head. “I want us to be together. I want to be safe and sexy and protected again.” Reed froze. Max didn’t believe me. Nicholas kissed my hand. Didn’t they feel the same way? Hadn’t they missed the simple pleasure of just enjoying each other? We had nothing else in this world except for each other, and the best way to prove our affection was in the sensual and wicked moments we shared. I wouldn’t let what happened ruin our bond. Not when it meant so much to all of us. They just needed the same confidence I had to rebuild. I stood, facing my step-brothers. My fingers curled in the hem of my shirt. I pulled it over my head, tossing the material away. They each exhaled a sharp, excited breath as I gripped the waist band of my shorts. They eased down next, revealing me, tiny, pink and brazen.

They gazed at my body, searching my softened curves and offered secret. Months ago, my nudity would have terrified me. Now? These men never leered, never gloated, never meant to hurt. Every touch delivered with Nicholas’s loving confidence, Reed’s gentleness, and Max’s dominating intensity. I missed it. And I knew they missed me. “Fuck, Sarah,” Reed sighed. “Goddamn, you look more beautiful than ever.” I heard it from Nicholas, whispered again and again in the darkness as we pressed together, moved together, loved each other. It sounded just as good from Reed. Max’s unsubtle adjustment of his jeans revealed he felt the same. Nicholas took my hand, curling his fingers within mine. My quickening pulse blended with the calm, confident beat of his heart. His one touch would forever tease into an uncountable number of embraces, but each time he held me in his arms was as thrilling as the first, as passionate as the last, and as promising as every whispered vow he ever offered. I meant to slide in his lap. He had other ideas. He guided me against the couch, my body resting over his legs, head against his chest. I stretched over the sofa, toward Reed. And his dimple turned mischievous. Reed grinned, but he still didn’t reach for me. Not until I nodded, not until my trembling breath offered him every permission. Nicholas and Reed were so very different, and I loved it. Reed’s touch didn’t mirror Nicholas’s soft pressure. Nicholas so often savored and delighted, but Reed explored and played. His hands brushed over my curves, my waist, the softness of my thighs. I gave a tiny sigh as the warmth of Reed’s fingers dazzled my already flushed skin. Nicholas eagerly tasted my pleasure, leaning to steal a kiss. Reed’s lips drifted their own path over my body. I arched for him, murmuring against Nicholas. My nipples tightened, still so newly puffy, under Reed’s hand. “Good?” he asked. Oh god, yes. His fingers rolled over my breasts, and I eagerly panted for more. Reed’s eyebrows arched, playful and devious. “I gotta try this.” Christ, he was a like kid in a candy store, eager and excited and wiggling with a brazen arousal. I gasped as his mouth sealed a perfect fit around one of the darkened little tips. He

suckled, hard, and the sensations blinded me in sharp, overwhelming bursts. Every lick drove a sizzle of excitement into my core. I tensed, falling into Nicholas’s grasp as his brother’s lapping, pulsing tongue teased me until I groaned. Nicholas nuzzled at my neck until I twisted and offered him a chance to kiss and nip at the heated bit of my flesh just above my shoulder blade. Too much. Never enough. Within seconds I felt as though I were devoured, as though we had never parted from each other. My slit slickened, practically shuddering with the need I had denied for so long. Reed sensed it. He pulled from my nipple with a garish pop, chuckling as I mewed against the chilly air swirling around the bud. He even blew on it, just to watch as it tightened and trembled for the return of his mouth. I never should have taught him what I liked. But it had its perks. Nicholas whispered warm and gentle words as he adjusted my hips. His brother’s attention drifted lower. Reed’s lips pressed below my breasts, over my navel, and, in a soft peck, over the little bump. I bit my lip. Nicholas’s teeth pressed hard against my neck. His hand slid over my curves until it captured where his brother had kissed. He was never jealous, never once faulted me for taking my pleasure with his brothers. He never punished them for taking me. But when it came to Bumper? I welcomed Nicholas’s heated palm, the rough rub of his fingers, the pride of his touch against the tiny bump. It was primitive. It was dominating. It was a consequence of our lovemaking that never should have happened. Except I loved that little bump as much as I loved Nicholas, both for reasons I could never understand and for the most obvious explanation. We belonged together. We needed each other. But I also needed Reed and Max and every promise they’d offer to help us survive. Reed kissed a gentle path over my heated slit. He grinned, savoring just the sight of my puffiness and desperate heat. His hesitance with each passing second tortured me like an eternity. I whined, twisting my hips. His breath tormented the petals already too warm, too waiting, too wanting.

Reed poised to sink upon me, but his fingers tightened over my legs. “This okay?” he didn’t ask me. Nicholas released my tender neck, nipped between his teeth. “Ask her.” Reed winked at me. “Please,” I said. “Don’t tease me now.” He laughed, “But that’s no fun.” “We have plenty of fun.” “Not nearly enough.” Reed grunted as he dove between my legs. My thighs parted, and I gave my silky softness to him. And he took it. I gasped in gratitude. Nicholas threaded his fingers through my hair, whispering sensual words, encouraging me to arch higher, spread my legs wider, and enjoy everything Reed offered me. And he offered me everything. Reed understood pleasure. He devoted himself to it. His domination was the opposite of the restraints and chains Max preferred. While his brothers captured their pray, tangled them a thick web of possession and strength, Reed let my own desire trap me under his will. I twisted and begged for him to do all the terrible things his brothers promised under threat. In some ways, Reed was the most dangerous Bennett of all. I savored every lick and suckle, every press of his thick tongue against the swollen bud, every delicious and rolling shiver that flicked from his attention against the most sensitive, hottest part of me. The hormones and desperation, fear and relief, delights and shames blended away into the single tremor of absolute pleasure. I missed this. I wanted this. I needed this. Even if it was nothing I ever should have wanted, nothing that anyone, any woman, any person should have ever enjoyed. I loved each of my step-brothers in my own way, and nothing could break those bonds. Not now. Reed’s tongue dashed over my slit, rolling and rubbing and deliberately seeking

every pleased mew I uttered. Nicholas held me, touched me, kissed me. But I was still missing one. Max watched us, the dark intensity of his stare more intimidating when cast from the corner of the room. He meant for the alcohol in his hand to shield him from whatever he felt from our movements. But nothing numbed a person more than isolation and separation. And nothing healed more than a touch. “Max.” My voice hitched as Reed’s tongue slipped within me. “Please.” Max shook his head. “Just enjoy yourself, baby.” “I’ll enjoy it more with you.” I didn’t remember becoming so greedy, but two step-brothers weren’t enough. Reed groaned against my folds, and the hum buried inside me. I curled my fingers against Nicholas’s grasp, bending to capture his lips and take a deep, passionate kiss. The pressure built. I shuddered in their arms as everything pulsed hard, fast, and undeniable. “Gonna come?” Reed parted from me to lick his finger. He grinned as he captured my clit once more and pressed against my entrance. He pushed his finger inside, groaning just as I did. “Let’s see it, Sarah. I gotta see it.” I arched, accepting as much of him as he could give. A finger wasn’t enough, not when I knew they could give something better. I clenched over him, riding the shivers cast from the nibbled intensity of his lips against my bud. Nicholas’s tongue tickled over mine, capturing my cries. He greedily hoarded them for his own. It was overwhelming. I grasped at Nicholas, moaned for Reed, and desperately wished for Max’s touch. Reed pumped his finger inside me, no longer faint or teasing. Again and again, his tongue swirled over me, and with each swipe of his expert and devoted lick, I crashed high, bursting with need and dizzying myself with every swept crest. The orgasm rippled through me in a quiet plea. Nicholas took my hand, Reed the other. I squeezed as my breath lost in amazement. The shock of energy consumed me in a raw, honest burst of pleasure. I wept in a final shudder. Reed grinned, licking his lips with exaggerated excitement. “Moved to tears? New record.” Damn hormones. My voice was weak, trembling like my legs and arms and every bit

of me twisted in oblivion. “Who’s keeping score?” “I am.” “Of course you are.” I swallowed, glancing at Max, still sullen, ignoring the drink in his hand and the bulge in his jeans. I called for him again. He shook his head. Why? His refusal hurt more than anything he did to me in the past, any beat of the belt or crash of his hand or his forced weight crushing me in muffled fear. It wasn’t his fault for what happened that night. It wasn’t his fault for the attack at our beach house or that I had been taken again. Why did he act as though he were the cause of my every sorrow? “Max…” I whispered again. His voice hardened, rusted with an inflicted loneliness. “No, baby.” I ached. How could I have such beautiful, perfect pleasure from Reed and Nicholas and still ache for another’s touch? I groaned, accepting another of Nicholas’s kisses as I threaded my fingers through Reed’s hair. I thanked both of them with breathless murmurs. Reed panted as he stared at me, at my body, at my wetness. His muscles tensed and flexed, and the hardness testing his jeans seemed painful. I looked to Nicholas, shivering under the eager gold of his hunted gaze. Everything had changed. Our roles, our needs. I was no longer offered to his brothers to be bred and dominated. Now, it was my choice, our will to let the pleasure guide our desires. I wanted comfort. Normalcy. That healing moment. And I’d earn it for all of us. I shifted from Nicholas’s lap to tug Reed’s shirt from the lean, strapping muscles of his chest. His build wasn’t as dramatic as Max’s or defined as Nicholas’s, but the swimmer’s strength rippled beneath his skin. He promised the same protection, the same power. Just as much fun. “Sarah, I don’t fucking deserve this.” Reed whispered as I climbed to him, unbuttoning his pants and releasing his demanding thickness from his jeans.

“Seriously. I can’t…” “It’s okay.” I lingered close, kissing his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. “I want this.” “I hurt you before.” No more than anyone else had, and nothing I hadn’t survived, forgiven, and needed to forget. My breath caught as the sea-green of his eyes cracked to jade. He tensed before me, racked with guilt and suffering from the same suffocating confusion and darkness that had trapped me for so many months. I found my peace, explored my needs under Nicholas’s hand, and took back that part of me offended, violated, and stolen. Reed hadn’t found that peace. Neither had Max. The thought of my step-brothers enduring that agony destroyed me, especially when I could help. I pumped Reed’s cock in my hand, pressing my forehead against his as he sucked in a harsh breath and exhaled a profanity. “Sarah…” “I want this,” I whispered. “Do you?” Reed gritted his teeth. He looked beyond me. “Nick?” Again, Nicholas offered the smallest of smiles. “Ask her.” “Fuck yes, Sarah.” He moved, but I placed my hands on his shoulders, aching for the same relief but still crippled with insecurity. I pushed him back against the sofa. He understood. They all understood. I was either lucky or transparent, and I didn’t mind in the least. Every fear tumbled from me when my clothes came off and our bodies pressed close. Nicholas’s gentle hand brushed my hair from my shoulder. I arched. Reed cupped my breast. Two men touching me, soothing me, wanting me. It was more than I could handle. My wetness teased us, and I edged over Reed’s lap. He never rushed me. He caressed my curves and whispered soft words of encouragement peppered with coarse expletives as I settled over him. I held my breath and pushed myself down over his thick, pulsing length.

If Nicholas completed me, Reed treated me to every fun and flirty and desperate shade of desire. I filled with him, curled my hands over his shoulders, and slid against his shaft with a murmur of utter relief. “Goddamn.” Reed’s head fell back. “You have no idea…” I did. I knew. That moment of freedom. When the burdens fell away and all that remained was forgiveness and pleasure and the delight of knowing another offered that peace. I crashed against him, willing his hardness to stretch me, letting his touch tease me. I shared his smile, his groans, the fullness that warmed through me with such dire intensity every little movement carried me higher, slickened me more, tickled me with goose bumps. My words begged for him, for all of them. I twisted and reached for Nicholas. He met my cry with a kiss, a touch to my hips, and helpful push harder against his brother’s pulsing thickness. I groaned again. “Max?” Max paced now, edging from my sight, but not escaping. He watched, eagerly. His profanity rasped harsh, the edge of desperation in his voice. But he didn’t come to me. He didn’t touch. He didn’t ask for any of the same pleasure I vowed to give each of them. He blamed himself for everything. How was I supposed to help him? “More…” I whispered to any of them, all of them. “Please.” “Fuck, if I knew she’d be like this…” Reed groaned as I tightened, clenched, and shattered upon him, crashing to his chest and nearly weeping with ravished joy. “We should have knocked her up long ago. Fuck. She won’t stop coming.” Only a problem if I stopped breathing through the pleasure. My mouth dried, and I bit against Reed’s shoulder as his thickness pumped through my core and delivered more shivers. “I tried to do it before,” Nicholas teased. “She was too stubborn.” “We’ll just keep her this way.” Reed seized my nipple. He murmured with his mouth full. “She’s insatiable.” My words gasped incoherently as I bounced against him again, grinding hard against Reed’s hips to tease the little slick nub that needed as much attention as my core. Nicholas leaned close, watching as my skin flushed and body rocked with shivers. His fingers traced over my shoulders, my neck, down my spine.

He pressed against my lower back, and I eagerly fell upon Reed, wrapping my arms over his shoulders and burrowing my face in his chest. Just more places to kiss, to muffle my groans. But Nicholas’s hand didn’t slow. He cupped the curve of my ass, traced a teasing line, and then dipped. He brushed a sensitive, vulnerable, unexplored part of me. And I nearly leapt off of Reed. “Shh.” Nicholas’s mocha comfort thickened over me, easing the tensed muscles reacting purely from memory. “I’d never hurt you.” He wouldn’t, but I remembered what happened so long ago, another cruelty of Darius that meant to steal something that wasn’t his. To hurt me in ways no one deserved to be hurt. To claim a simple dignity. I hadn’t let them near since the day Nicholas rescued me from his father’s office. I gripped Reed. His hands brushed my cheek, offering a gentle reassurance. I bit my lip. Just another hurdle to cross, wound to heal, and confidence to gain. Except it wasn’t a place we had ever explored. Taking me there wouldn’t have bred me. Nicholas’s gentle fingers rubbed a soft circle, shuddering every intake of air from me. I hadn’t felt anything quite that sensitive. Reed grinned, nuzzling my cheek and encouraging my movements. I bounced slower, letting Nicholas’s touch press harder. “Weird…” I whispered. “It’s very, very weird.” Nicholas shushed me again. “Good weird?” “No idea.” Reed laughed. I gripped his shoulders, watching as Max disappeared from the living room. He returned after only a moment. I didn’t see what he handed his brother, but I didn’t let him get away, not when he finally crossed close enough for me to touch. I took his hand, flinching as Nicholas teased me with a very cold, very slick gel. Max retreated. I met his gaze. “Baby,” he whispered. “You don’t want me now.” “I do.”

“I can’t risk hurting you anymore. Not now. Not with…” He watched my expression with a hungry, dark lust. Nicholas’s fingertip gently massaged a part of me I knew Max wanted more than anything. “I don’t trust my instincts, Sarah. And you’re… you’re pregnant, and I’m…” I gripped his hand, cooing as Reed pressed his hips up and Nicholas’s finger dipped inside a place I hadn’t thought would be touched ever. Max watched my reaction with a clenched jaw and tightening grip. I gasped. Nicholas edged close, pressing his body closer to mine as he teased me with an invasion that felt completely and utterly different. I rolled with shivers, head to toes and back again, but the sensation, the stuffed fullness tricked me into a solid stillness. I couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. Yet, even as I endured something so raw and intrusive, I shifted my hips back and drew Reed and Nicholas deeper. And it was deliciously good. I groaned without realizing how my voice trembled. All three of my step-brothers chuckled masculine, excited growls. “How’s that, baby?” Max whispered. “Looks fucking good.” “Different. Very different.” “Like it?” Why lie? “Maybe?” Nicholas nibbled my ear, encouraging me to rock against both Reed’s cock and his finger. The shivers came again. The moan centered deep in my chest. “Hard…to think.” I swallowed. The heat pitted in me, faster and more uncontrolled. “I’m gonna…” And they had me again. The pleasure sliced through me. Clenching Nicholas’s finger and Reed’s cock drew me higher, and my words fizzled into a gasp of excitement as everything weird and wonderful and thick and strange blended into a delight I hadn’t felt before. One man fucked me. One man touched me. And one man whispered sensual compliment after compliment. Nothing could be better than that. But the Bennetts loved to prove me wrong. Nicholas shifted as I crashed against Reed. I recaptured my breath, but Reed grinned, Max hummed, and Nicholas removed his shirt. Fingers tightened over my

hips, and the cool touch of more fun gel soothed the aching, clenching part of me. First he teased. And now Nicholas sought to claim me fully. I tensed as Nicholas rose behind me. I prepared for him to lift me from his brother and seize me for himself. That wasn’t the plan. “Hold tight to Reed,” Nicholas whispered. “And relax.” As if my insides weren’t already simmering with heat as I rode Reed beyond my pleasure. A thread of dominance shadowed Nicholas’s words. His command bit with gentle attention. I did as I was told, loving how Reed’s cock thickened inside me. Nicholas planned for far more. His cock warmed, desperate and hard. He pressed against the vulnerable, secret button. I shifted. Reed didn’t let me off his lap. They both wanted their turn. At the same time. My eyes widened. “You can’t be serious…” I silenced as Nicholas pushed against my bud. “Whoa. Wait. We’ve never done that before…” Max’s smile was cold. “Never had a reason.” Reed wrapped his arms over me. “It’ll feel good.” Sure. Right. Why was I believing three men who had never let anything touch them there? I gripped Reed, but I tensed too much for Nicholas to move. Max leaned over the couch, taking my cheek in his hand. It wasn’t a soothing gesture, his never were, but it distracted me. He pushed his thumb in my mouth. “Suck,” he ordered. I did, one long draw, just to watch as his jaw tightened. Nicholas pressed hard, and I murmured over Max’s thumb. Oh God, they’d split me in two. And I’d love it.

My mind instantly and completely blanked to everything but the overwhelmingly intense sensation of stretching and surrendering and welcoming something entirely too big, too fierce, too everything into a part of me that hadn’t ever accommodated anything so powerful. Tight. Full. Aching. He didn’t push in all the way, and God, it didn’t matter. I had all I could take, all I could ever need. I collapsed against Reed as two men claimed me. As their cocks buried inside of me. I melted. Fell limp. Rode a blizzard of chills that shocked me into a cascade of warming shivers and a torrent of blistering heat. I tensed and liquefied, hurt and ached with pleasure, and thought of everything and nothing. The only thing that mattered was to be connected with these men, to feel how deep and intimate and passionate they could be. Reed stayed still as Nicholas took control of both of us, edging deeper into the vulnerable part of me and somehow moving me against Reed. His slowest, most deliberate of pushes immediately found a rhythm with his brother. Nicholas surged an inch forward, Reed edged just an inch out, and I lost myself in the wicked, spinning, and extreme delight of it all. I sucked hard against Max’s thumb, the only thing preventing me from moaning in constant struggle. He knew that wasn’t what I needed. I looked at him, begged with parted lips and a single nip against his thumb. I had Nicholas and Reed. But Max refused the pleasure, refused the closeness, refused me. We had to begin again, to fix what was broken, so that we could move beyond the darkness. “M—Max…” I couldn’t speak as I thickened with raw energy. “Let me…” Help him. Heal him. Whatever he wanted, whatever would finally ease his guilty conscience and forgive himself for what he had done. It was only a nightmare now, the force of his body only one in a series of horrors I forgot. I wouldn’t let that separate us or challenge our bond ever again. “Fuck.” He pulled away. “Baby, I can’t make you do this.” “Want to.”

“You’re better than me. I won’t drag you down. I won’t have you hate me.” “Never.” “Always.” My groan enticed him. Max’s strength existed in his muscles, not his will. I reached for him, bringing him near. He climbed the couch and let me lean, careful to not disturb the pulsing, trading, delicious pumping of Nicholas and Reed within my clenching body. His cock unleashed from his pants. Max hadn’t permitted me to pleasure him before, not when cocks and seed meant we could only explore each other in one way. God, if I had only known. If we had known. A man in my core, a man tucked deep in a secret and sensitive part of me, and one tasted upon my lips? I was filled and stretched, used and worshiped, cherished and adored. And I had them all. Together. Within me and around me and dedicated to me. Sealed inside me in a way I had never imagined but would forever need to happen again and again. I took Max as deeply in my mouth as I could. I did the same for Reed and Nicholas, desperate for the few gentle strokes to yield into a squealed moment of sharp sensation. It dueled between pleasure and pain, excitement and complete sensory overload. My body and mind couldn’t keep up, and I eventually fell into a lust-warmed limpness, balanced against Reed, offering myself to Nicholas, welcoming Max’s thrusts into my mouth. His salty excitement teased my tongue, and I shivered as each alternating stroke thickened them with shared desire. The tension coiling in me stilled my movements, stole my breath, and shocked me with its power. I sucked hard against Max if only to prevent myself from crying out for all them, any of them, more and less and everything confusing that I suddenly desired more than anything. Nicholas’s weight pushed me against Reed, and their hands, their legs, their cocks tangled me within their need and my own inhibitions. Everything stripped. Everything warmed. The thin, tiny bit of me that separated them left me so full, so

unbelievably stuffed with their hardness. Their furiously contained desire growled in profanities and promises. I drove my own body back to accept more of them. The heat overwhelmed me. I arched as Nicholas wrapped an arm over me, his hand tucking low. He held my little bump. And I was lost. My tightness crippled both of them, and Reed shouted first, jamming his hips upwards as the heat splashed inside me. I welcomed it as my body ground against the shared bliss. Nicholas didn’t last either. He kissed my shoulder, held my tummy, and pushed deeper than he had before. I couldn’t groan, not with Max’s pulsing, jetting cock erupting within my mouth. I swallowed, eagerly, savoring his salty seed as wave after wave of heat crashed inside all of me. Max pulled away, leaving a mess upon my lips I eagerly licked up. Reed swore, again and again. Nicholas merely held me. And I shuddered in absolute stillness as my body accepted everything from these men. I flew, I crashed, I shuddered, I cried, and each of them comforted me, loved me, relieved me with soft touches and perfect encouragement. Again and again I twisted, and they eased everything that overwhelmed me with absolute devotion. Nicholas pulled me away, cradling me in his arms, resting me on my side, kissing my flushed cheeks and parted lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you.” His hand hadn’t left my tummy. I covered his fingers with mine. “I know.” “Never hesitate to ask for us. All of us. Any of us.” I nodded, amazed and breathless. It wasn’t a normal relationship. It wasn’t good or safe or conventional. But I needed them. All of them. Together with me. If only so we could prepare for what happened next, if only so we could enjoy each other for a single moment in time. Because I feared what would happen in the coming days. And I was right to fear.

16

SARAH

M y dress didn’t fit. Wouldn’t even zip.

The front pudged with a tiny, revealing bump. Either tiny, sickly Sarah Atwood was finally putting on weight, or the gossip would scandalize me before I made it through the first of many conversations and cordial encounters with business associates and my family’s enemies. I couldn’t let that attention fall to me. Not when this Bennett Foundation fundraiser would be Darius’s last. I folded the pretty gold dress and tucked it back into the garment bag. I donned a black, less form-fitting cocktail dress to a pre-dinner celebration. The social implications of wearing black to an afternoon affair might have been disastrous to the old Atwoods. My family kept a strict social schedule and etiquette. It was my role to prattle in delicate conversations with Dad’s investors, board members, and the lobbyists he courted. If he were alive, he’d be outraged. Still, I rather have worn a black dress than revealed to the world that Mark Atwood’s twenty year old daughter was unwed and pregnant.

“MAY I CONFESS SOMETHING TO YOU?” NICHOLAS ASKED. HE STARED ONLY AT THE MIRROR TO MAKE THE final adjustments to his tie. I shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere.” “I…hate these formal events.” I wasn’t expecting that. “Really?” “Always did. My mother was the social butterfly. Reed has her charm. Max drinks through it.”

“But you?” I yawned, settling into the pillows on the bed. “I much rather stay here with you.” “Undoubtedly.” Nicholas stared at me from the mirror. “I play the part I was raised to portray. I’m Nicholas Bennett, the man my father trusts, the president the board depends on to manage the company. Tonight, I’m the confident business partner meeting with potential clients.” I hesitated, asking for my own benefit. “So who is the real Nicholas Bennett?” “Do you know?” “I’d like to find out.” Nicholas approached only to adjust the cuffs binding me to the bed, tight enough to prevent me from escaping the estate as the Bennetts attended their function for the night. “Be careful what you wish for, Ms. Atwood.”

EVERYTHING HAD TO GO RIGHT TONIGHT. Everything. Reed organized beautiful events for his foundation, mostly to entertain the deep pockets of the donors he courted. He chose a conservatory for this event, and it felt natural for me to walk amongst the budded flowers trapped within artificial gardens. Nicholas and Max escorted me as far as the first glassed atrium housing the string quartets and bustling servers. Champagne and hors d'oeuvres passed between bubbling fountains and beautiful sculptures. We waited to make our entrance. Exotic tropical flowers shielded us in a curtain of meticulously trimmed vines. The black dress might have concealed me in sophistication at any other event. Here, amid the crimsons and golds, fierce violets and crushed blues of every manner of flower, I wasn’t hiding. Soon enough, I’d have no reason to hide. “We don’t need to go inside.” Nicholas adjusted his suit. The sharp, charcoal grey faded within the flowers, but the amber of his eyes blossomed in brightness. “I won’t have you face him again.” Darius Bennett didn’t scare me.

In fact, he was the reason I attended the party. I emptied the Atwood purse for the privilege of attending his family’s social event. It was worth it though, the charity meant well, aiding less fortunate families struggling with their children’s medical bills. The greatest irony of becoming the largest contributor to their charity was that it was my father’s fault the foundation even existed. Without his evils, Helena Bennett would still be alive, and her boys, Max and Reed, would never have endured such terrible injuries from the horrific car crash. One crime led to another. One death became many more. But the war was ending. Tonight. And I’d do it myself, without the help of my step-brothers. This night was for me. For Bumper. For a life beyond Bennett control. “Are you feeling well?” Nicholas asked. “I’m fine.” I lied, hopefully my last one. “I can handle Darius and the board. Besides, there’s Atwood investors here as well.” By intent. I invited them to event, to broach a peace between my farm and our newest vendor. “Is now the time to be flexing your muscles?” Max asked. I smoothed my dress. “I should be making public appearances while I still can.” “You won’t need to hide, Sarah,” Nicholas said. “We have nothing to fear.” “The fate of your family’s company doesn’t rest in my uterus.” “Yes, it does.” “It isn’t the same, and you know it.” We smiled and greeted a passing judge and his wife. A server carried caviar. My stomach turned, but I suddenly craved salt, oranges, and a nap. The sooner this was done the better. “Everything is going to be okay.” I held their gazes. “I promise.” Max frowned. “You don’t need to reassure us, baby.” “Yes, I do.” Max usually only wore dress shirts and vests. Now, he donned a jacket. I knew why. My bodyguard was abruptly fired with no explanation from Nicholas. Max was my

security for the night. His weapon rested in his jacket. The thought sickened me. This was exactly why it had to be tonight. I wouldn’t tolerate the weapons, the dread. For too long I’d waited, helplessly fearing the day Darius would act on his threats against my step-brothers, Mom, and me. One night, and then we’d find peace. “I’d like to talk to Reed,” I said. “Before we make our rounds.” Nicholas didn’t like the idea. I pretended to study the beautiful displays of flowers and statues instead of him. I didn’t trust myself to adopt a stoicism that wasn’t my own. I imitated him and shielded my step-brothers from my intentions. That didn’t mean Nicholas wouldn’t see through my plan. That he wouldn’t ruin everything in a chivalric excuse to protect me. This revenge was mine to take. “We’ll find Reed,” Nicholas said. “Are you sure you’re okay?” No. “Of course.” “Need anything?” “You don’t have an orange, do you?” “What?” “Just a weird craving. Don’t worry about it.” He extended his arm. Business partnerships and marriage united us, but we hid our true relationship from the world. In any other circumstance, it was proper for a gentleman to escort a lady. I took his elbow to ease the flustered, raging beat of my heart. Would anyone know the truth? Would they see how I looked at him, how I held myself near him? Could they see Bumper? I was terrified. I smiled anyway. Reed broke from a cluster of attractive blondes. Their assets would tempt some of Southern California’s society, but they weren’t good enough for Reed Bennett. He excused himself, and they giggled, perky and giddy, as he walked away. “Thanks for the rescue,” he said. “You looked cozy,” I teased. “Aw, Sarah. You know you’re my one and only mistake.”

“How sweet.” Reed nodded to Nicholas. “Dad’s here. Pulled up in a limo. Brought Bryant Maddox and Peter Hannigan with him.” Max grunted. “Then we won’t be here for long.” “We won’t have to be.” Now or never. I held Reed’s gaze, subtly nodding away from the party. “Reed, my attorney is coming.” Nicholas hid his scowl. “Delvannis is here?” “Anthony is here. I invited him. Since he’s been involved with the new contracts, I thought it’d be proper to have him speak with the board in person. I really need to introduce Reed as the host as well.” Reed groaned. “I’m not a fan of attorneys.” “Especially Anthony Delvannis,” Nicholas said. “You can’t be annoyed by every man who isn’t afraid of your family,” I said. “It’s a very short list.” “Well, I’m not going to scandalize the Atwoods by having my attorney crash the party. Reed should receive him.” “Do I have to?” he asked. “Behave yourself.” I pulled him away. “Let’s go. In and out.” “Yes, ma’am.” We crossed the atrium, exchanging brief pleasantries with some of the more distinguished guests. A friend of the family intercepted me between planters of weird flowers and weirder blossoms. The pollen scratched my nose. I cleared my throat. It tightened anyway. Allergies. Of course. More complications. A polite smile excused us. I dug my fingers into Reed’s arm. He flinched. “Jesus, Sarah. Are you okay?” “Can you see Bumper?” My hand flitted over the dress. “It’s not obvious, is it?” “Only when you stand like that. Relax.” I’d never relax. Not now. Not until I knew it was safe. But the closer that moment came, the more my insides turned to ice and then shattered through everything soft and tender. The hatred coiled inside me. I hoped

Bumper was too little to feel any consequence. I tugged Reed down an isolated hallway, away from the crowds, the eyes, the ears. The witnesses. He knew immediately what I wanted. He suffered through my plans before. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Reed pointed at me. “What the hell are you doing, Sarah?” “I have a plan.” “I hate your plans.” “I need your help.” “I hate when I have to help.” He tried to escape back to the party. I blocked his path. “Why isn’t Nick helping?” I answered honestly. “Because he’d try to stop me.” “And I won’t?” “You won’t want to.” “I doubt that,” Reed said. “You have five seconds to come clean. This is my party, Sarah. My work. A charity. Don involve it in this.” “This will be the only time I’m close enough to Darius.” “No.” “I have a plan.” “No, you have a disaster. You’re upset. I can tell. You’re scared, but believe me, Sarah. Nick’s got this plan, we have contacts, and it’ll be done right and professionally and without any fallout implicating us. And it’ll be soon. I promise. We’ll do this, and then you’ll be safe.” “You can’t guarantee that.” “Yes, we can,” Reed said. “Trust Nick. He has this under control.” “So do I.” I pulled the glass tube from my purse. “Simple. Quick. Easy.” Reed didn’t want to see it. He forced past me only to swear and turn. “What the fuck is that?” I bit my lip. “You might not want to know.” “Just tell me.”

I wished I wasn’t as proud. That Dad wouldn’t have delighted in the dark irony. “It’s a concentrated organophosphate.”

sample

of

a

Bennett

Corporation

pesticide.

An

Reed sucked in a breath. “And I can’t tell you to pour that on one of your fields instead?” “No.” “What do you think you’re going to do?” “Toast to the future successes between the Bennetts and Atwoods.” I planned to poison Darius with the very same chemicals that built his fortune. Poetic. Sick. Reed rubbed the scar on his cheek. “What happens if he drinks it?” “It’ll mimic the effects of a heart attack.” “My father doesn’t have a heart, let alone a bad one.” I agreed. “He’s sixty years old. He works long hours in a stressful industry. No one will question it.” “Nick will.” I swallowed. “And he’ll be glad it’s done.” “Sarah, I can’t let you do this.” I expected that, but it wouldn’t stop me. We were so close. One little sip, and we’d be free. “Reed, if you knew what he did to me…what I went through…you’d already be pouring the champagne.” Reed took my hand. His voice edged with a serious, dire tone I hardly recognized. “Not a fucking second goes by that I don’t think about what happened to you. We all do. I can’t sleep at night. Max can’t even talk to you. And Nick?” He stopped. My heart shuddered. “What about Nick?” “He’s spending millions to save you. He’s planned so much and done some really shady shit, and it’s only going to get worse. He will burn the world to root out Dad, and I doubt murder will ever satisfy him.”

“Then it’s good I’m doing this.” “Blood won’t sate blood,” he warned. “I’ve seen it. For years, Sarah. My family pitted against yours. My mother was murdered seventeen years ago, and you are just now answering for her death.” “It ends with Darius.” “Not for you.” He glanced down. I didn’t touch my stomach though I longed to protect the little bump with a cross of my hand. “The baby isn’t his,” I said. “Does it matter? There’s still a baby. There’s still a child who is going to ask how and why and when he came into the world.” “None of us have a choice in that.” “Well, we have a choice in what we tell him about his conception,” Reed said. “Sarah, if you kill my father, you’ll feel safe. But will you feel better? Will you feel whole? Healed?” “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way again.” “Then let us help you.” He cupped my cheek. “Nick, Max, and I will handle it. You focus on doing whatever the hell you need to help you heal. One night with us isn’t going to change anything. Hell, every night with us wouldn’t help.” He bumped his forehead against mine. “Though I’d be willing to try.” I wished it were that easy. I swallowed. “I have to do this myself. This isn’t about healing or the baby. It’s strictly revenge. There is no justice for what Darius did, only vengeance. I won’t let Nick take this from me. Once Darius is gone, I can begin to recover, but it has to start with me.” Reed rubbed his eyes. He looked away, casting a glance over the party I inadvertently ruined and the decisions I forced him to make for me, again and again. The seconds stretched into a minute of desperate silence. He finally exhaled. “What do you need me to do?” “Let me get to the champagne.” “Not going to happen. Uncork that thing. Come with me.” I seized a shaky breath, stalking after Reed. He turned to me, speaking low and quick. “Can you do this fast?”

“Yes.” He flagged a nearby server and ordered with a forced smile. “Open a new bottle of champagne and fill glasses. In the back, I’ve reserved a bottle of Glenfiddich whiskey. Pour an ounce of that on the rocks.” The server darted into the staging area. The prickle of fear encased me in goose bumps. I actually wished for the nausea just to purge some of the wickedness from me. “You sure about this?” Reed asked. I nodded. “That makes one of us.” The server returned, and Reed took the whiskey, offering me the water. He guided us to approach the cluster of Bennett Board members laughing near a display of multicolored orchids and a mosaic of delicate pebbles arranged into a mural. He held out the drink, I poured the vial as he walked. And that was it. My heart thudded as though I sipped from the pesticide-infused poison myself. Reed nodded to the approaching trouble. “Careful.” He said nothing else as Nicholas joined my side. Max hovered behind. I didn’t trust his stare. “You haven’t found Anthony Delvannis yet,” Nicholas said. He handed me a small glass. Orange juice. “Nope.” I sipped the drink. It eased the craving. “Couldn’t find him.” “He’s talking to my father.” Son of a bitch. For an attorney, Anthony Delvannis consistently overstepped his bounds, broke his own rules, and demanded a respect from his clients that rivaled on obscene. He twisted confidence into arrogance. He was attractive, but it made him domineering. Intelligent, though he wavered between conceited and cunning. And rich—a man of means who earned whatever he desired. Most often, that was a negotiated contract or judgement in his client’s favor. Other times, it was a beautiful woman who succumbed to his every delight.

But I didn’t indulge in idle gossip. Especially when I’d become the center of it soon enough. I approached the group—Bennetts and board members, Atwood friends, powerful investors. I marched before the wolves and dared the pack to attack. I longed for it. Anything would be better than the relentless dread pulsing through my body. “Anthony, so great to see you!” I greeted my attorney with all the grace, class, and delicate acknowledgement I learned from the summers I spent split between science camps and finishing schools. A tight cluster of men, each more powerful than the last, circled Darius Bennett. But they made space for me. Darius received me with an eager glance over my dress. He searched for any telltale evidence of his crimes and felt no remorse for reducing me to my most basic parts. Once he looked upon me with lust. Now? With his rutting sated, I wasn’t even good enough to fuck. I existed merely to propagate the Bennett line. He never respected me. Never feared me. Never thought I’d dare to anything to challenge him. My only regret was that he wouldn’t live to see how I tore down his precious empire, brick by brick. “My dear.” His words layered with false sincerity, like silk stitched with fiberglass. “I hadn’t expected the privilege of your presence today.” “Surprise.” Anthony nodded at me. “Sarah, good to see you.” He didn’t add the word finally, but I knew it was there, hidden. Anthony dressed in a fine suit, but I never believed the pretention. His dark hair was long, pulled into a sleek ponytail. A little dangerous, a lot of trouble. He might have been handsome if he weren’t constantly criticizing my every decision. “Sarah Atwood, I hadn’t expected to see you at a Bennett function.” Bryant Maddox toasted me, but his eyes fixed on Nicholas. I debated not answering. Bryant attended Darius like the sycophantic waste of skin. He’d voted to breed me and kill me, and he had yet to answer for his crimes. He leered, but in hatred, not perverted excitement. He didn’t know about the baby. That was good. None of the Bennett board knew. The secret existed within our

twisted family. Darius meant to use the truth against me, like it forged some sick bond between us. It’d be over soon. I greeted them with charm, bright and wholesome, just as Mom taught would best benefit Dad during his meetings and functions. I played the part of the hostess well, but I adopted my role as head of the Atwood family with greater enthusiasm. “I knew this was the perfect opportunity to bring everyone together.” I said. A light waltz strummed from the nearby quartet. I preferred drums of war, but I wasn’t picky about my music. “This might be a first, Atwoods and Bennetts, all working toward a common goal.” I raised my glass and greeted the Atwood board members who hesitantly joined our conversation. I hadn’t met with them personally for so long, but a pretty smile and pat to their arm forgave most indiscretions. Sam, Paul, and Devon were family friends and longtime investors, but Dad was careful to ensure they represented less than a quarter of our financial interests. Meeting with them was polite, but not required. “I think we have much to discuss,” I said. Nicholas and Max edged close, taking the offered champagne from the passing server. Reed presented Darius with the tumbler of whiskey though no words passed between the father and son. Any of his sons. Darius no longer thought of them as family. He looked to me to fill that void. And I watched only the glass in his hand for the moment that our ties would be severed. Bryant sneered, unsuccessfully hiding his disgust. “Ms. Atwood, we should really discuss things in the proper setting. A board room, perhaps. It’s been so long since you last visited the Bennett Headquarters.” My skin prickled. Bastard. “Oh, you know how the days slip away. Owning one company, managing another. It’s all quite time consuming. My father taught me to prioritize certain aspects of the business. I’m still learning which are most important.” “Some would say Mark Atwood prioritized the wrong things,” Bryant said. “The wrong people maybe?” They wouldn’t rattle me with talk of my father’s arrogance, or how he left his company to his sons. Those wounds scarred over long ago. “Perhaps. My father had plans for me beyond the farm. But I know exactly where I belong in Atwood Industries now. I can blend what my father wished for me with

what he designed for our farm.” Bryant raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” Not yet. But soon. “Just a few projects. Something near and dear to my heart.” I touched Nicholas’s elbow. Beneath the suit, his every muscle tensed. “My step-brother has even offered his support. We have such great plans for both companies.” Darius hadn’t sipped from his whiskey yet. “Sounds promising,” Anthony said. He didn’t believe me. “Unlikely, but promising.” The tumbler dripped condensation over Darius’s hands. His gnarled fingers clenched the glass. His grip was strong enough to break it. Strong enough to choke off the airflow to a delicate neck. “These kids have it easy.” Devon, Dad’s longtime golfing partner laughed. “Back in our day it was ruthless. Times change. Profits change.” I nodded, but I stared only at the whiskey. I waited for him to take the sip. Just one taste. And then it’d be done. And I could breathe. And we’d be safe. Just a drink. Take a sip. “I do love hearing of joint Bennett/Atwood projects,” Darius grinned. “Far easier to produce than I thought they’d be.” I didn’t let Nicholas answer. I held Darius’s foul gaze and accepted the chills that ached every invisible bruise he left. “And more lucrative than my family ever dreamed,” I said. Drink it. “For years, this endless battle between the companies has caused so many problems. It’s only hurt us.” Darius agreed. “Some more than others.”

“Bent, but not broken, I assure you.” Anthony adjusted his suit but remained silent. I recognized his acquiescence—a surrender that I would not have earned had Atwood Industries not paid him generously for his services. In no uncertain terms, Anthony hated my plan to crush the Bennett Empire. Not because it wouldn’t work. But because he thought it was exactly the path Dad would have chosen. “I’m sure Sarah will lead us to success,” Anthony said. “She’s always been the most resourceful Atwood.” I took it as a compliment. So did Devon. “It takes time to mend these fences,” Devon said. “Fortunately for the Bennetts, they can buy a lot of timber and nails with the couple million dollars from the new agrochemical deal.” Nicholas sipped his champagne. “More than a couple million.” I forced a laugh. “Don’t remind me, Nick. Or my accountants.” My board chuckled. Darius hadn’t moved. Neither had the drink in his hand. Drink it. My stomach flipped. Bumper preferred the most inopportune moments to wake up. I ignored the nausea. “I am very excited about this new partnership,” I said. “Especially after sitting with the Bennett Board of Directors. They are so loyal to the Bennett name.” “To a fault.” Nicholas’s voice edged with warning. “Nonsense,” I said. “They are bound to success. It’s a dedication that would frighten some. That drive creates many opportunities.” The ice clinked in Darius’s glass. “And my daughter now understands the Bennetts seize every available opportunity.” I flushed under the stares of those listening. “And when it’s not available?” “Then we make our own opportunities.” I shuddered. “Such a pity that ambition was so often at odds with my family.” “No, my dear, we weren’t at odds,” he said. “You were never a challenge.” “And there’s not one now.” I lied to them all. “Only partnerships.”

Darius chuckled. “This new generation is certainly more agreeable than the old.” “Only because we know what we want.” “And what’s that?” I answered with every honesty. “Family and power. Same as the Bennetts.” My board members nodded. Anthony raised his champagne and an eyebrow. “I’ll drink to that.” So would Darius. My mouth dried, but I didn’t let my hand tremble. Nicholas squeezed my elbow, as though he read through my cracking, flaking façade. “To the beginning of a new partnership,” I said. Darius grinned. “A new union between families.” The toast clinked. I drew my trembling glass to my lips, staring as the liquid swirled in Darius’s glass. One drink. The others sipped. Darius’s arm moved slowly, draggingly. Up. Up. Up. To his lips. On his lips. The glass cracked under my grip. Just drink it. My orange juice would choke me. I’d drown, bloat, suffer through the tiniest of sips in a closing throat with my aching chest. So close to being free. So close to protecting Bumper. So close to ending it. Drink it, you son of a bitch. Darius opened his gullet and guzzled a swig of the alcohol. A large, gluttonous gulp that splashed down his throat. I hoped it burned. Just a prelude to the flames that would conquer him so soon.

He pulled the tumbler from his lips, staring at the drink. Then his eyes beaded and narrowed and focused on me. If he had a weapon, he would have fired it. If he had a belt, he would have beaten me. If we were alone, he would have done far, far worse. But he had nothing. He could only count the slipping grains of sand through the cracked hourglass of his life. His glass raised again, smiling over the circle of allies and enemies. “Another toast.” His words threaded with vile intent. “One of congratulations and well-wishes for my darling daughter, Sarah.” Nicholas gripped my arm. The bastard twisted a knife without pulling it from the sheath. He called for another round of champagne with false excitement. The others raised their glasses once more. “Here’s to a life of joy and good health.” Anthony, Bryant, and my board waited in polite confusion. Darius smiled at me. Only me. “My dear, I can’t wait to meet my grandson.”

17

NICHOLAS

M y father revealed the pregnancy. I should have known.

I should have expected it. Just as I should have realized nothing Sarah Atwood did was premeditated beyond a moment of pure, emotional rage. Reckless, foolish, dangerous girl. What had she done? “Grandson?” Anthony Delvannis looked upon my family with contempt on our best days. My father presented the attorney with everything he needed to piece the crime together, take Sarah from me, and destroy us. “Sarah? Are you…?” She hadn’t sipped her juice. The glass cracked in her hand, and a single bead of blood trickled over her thumb. She stared at my father as if she couldn’t believe he’d use the child against her. She was smarter than that. And she was fortunate he labeled the baby as his grandson. “I…” A paleness drained the color from her cheeks. “I had meant to keep that particular announcement private.” “Forgive my excitement.” My father spoke to the crowd of stunned board members and associates. “I haven’t been this pleased since my sons were born.” Bryant laughed, a perverted glee. He gulped his champagne and ordered more. “Ms. Atwood, you’re pregnant!” It wasn’t a question. He declared war. “How… when did this all happen?” Max tensed, but Bryant was my responsibility. His fate sealed when he assisted

with my attempted murder. But I couldn’t answer for Sarah. We hadn’t discussed what problems the revelation would cause or how we would present it to the world. The child was mine. Sarah was mine. But everything about an Atwood heir and a Bennett son was difficult enough without the additional complication of our family ties. We were step-siblings, and the scandal would shame Sarah. Just as it’d shame Bumper. Sarah refused to surrender to my father, but nothing good came when she dug in her heels. “I am expecting,” she said, channeling elegance and a fierce pride. “And I’m as excited as my step-father.” The Atwood board members stared in horror as the woman who assumed ownership of the company now lost everything to an unborn child. A child that would own them all. And it was mine. A Bennett. A life that would ruin others, depose empires, and steal fortunes. Once, I wanted that power. Now? I just wanted a healthy child, Sarah to be safe and loved, and our enemies dead, buried, and unable to harm the life we created. “Sarah.” Anthony’s expression twisted. He reached for her, not caring as she hesitantly protested. “Come with me. Excuse us.” She untangled her hand from Anthony’s only to take his arm instead. I followed, though Anthony turned after half a dozen steps. He sneered. “Don’t even try it, Bennett.” Sarah forced a plastic smile as he guided her through the crowds. “Anthony, really. You’re going to make a scene.” “I prefer it that way.” Max and Reed excused themselves from the spreading gossip that hushed the entirety of the conservatory. Reed had invited every important family from the

West Coast to attend. Sarah would be humiliated. Or enraged. I followed them through an access hallway. Anthony lunged for my throat. He dared to lay a hand on me. Two, actually. His fists curled within my suit, and he jammed me against the wall. Sarah groaned. We stood eye-to-eye, neither blinking. I wasn’t threatened by him, even if he thought himself powerful. His family was moneyed, but he was nothing compared to the Bennett wealth. I didn’t care for his attitude or the rumors of his particular lifestyle, no matter how much they currently mirrored my own tastes. No one touched me. And no one would chastise Sarah Atwood and drag her through a party like an errant child. She deserved more respect than any of us had ever given her. “Release me,” I said. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Sarah hissed. “Anthony, let him go.” “What did you do to her?” “I’d advise you to listen to the lady,” I said. Anthony scowled. His grip tightened. I didn’t trust the blind hatred seething from this man. He understood his strength, knew exactly the pain his hands could cause. That made his restraint all the more dangerous. “Sarah, did he hurt you?” he asked. “You don’t understand.” Sarah tried to edge close. “Let him go.” “Did. He. Hurt. You.” She tugged on his arm. “No, he didn’t. Anthony, please.” Her breathing rasped, and it ached in my chest. I kept her inhaler in my pocket. She needed it. She needed me. And if her attorney didn’t remove his hands by her next wheeze, I wouldn’t be responsible for my behavior. “Who is the father?” Sarah protested. Anthony demanded it again. I loathed the question. She never

should have had to hesitate, to blink in memory, to fear such things. “I am,” I said. “Oh, wrong answer.” Anthony slammed me against the wall. My patience wore thin, kept in check only as a favor to the woman begging for a moment of sanity. “I knew something was wrong. I just never thought you bastards would be sick enough to do this to an innocent girl.” Sarah’s voice turned sharp. “Anthony, for Christ’s sake. Let him go. It’s not what you think!” “It’s exactly what I think. I’m getting you out of here.” “I love him!” His grip loosened. I shouldn’t have taken such pride in her words. Especially when I had done so little to earn such a priceless and beautiful gift. Anthony didn’t look at her. “You’re in love with a Bennett?” “It’s a long story, Anthony. Not here. Please.” “We have the time.” I met his gaze. “You should respect the lady’s wishes.” “You’re one to talk.” He meant to start a war in the middle of a maintenance hallway while my family’s charity fundraiser hummed with excitement over the newfound scandal. Fortunately, I didn’t need to raise a hand. My reinforcements were eager to help. Max took a less subtle approach, gripping Anthony’s shoulder and spinning him from me. Anthony prepared for the strike. Reed jumped between them. “Hey, there.” He shook Anthony’s hand. “Reed Bennett. Heard a lot about you. Figured we should at least meet before my brothers kick your ass.” “Stop…it…” Sarah leaned against the wall, her words gasped. She searched through her purse but dropped the bag in her haste. I offered her the inhaler. She gratefully accepted it. I hated how she refused to puff with us watching. “All...of you…” Anthony retreated only a step, a cautious positioning that separated Sarah from me. Like he believed he could keep my brothers and me from her side if she called for us. “You aren’t in love with this man,” Anthony said. “He and his father would do anything to take your company. How can you trust him?”

His glare was meant to shame me, but only Sarah had that power. “He’s not like his father.” “Yes, he is.” “Darius Bennett is evil, Nicholas is not.” I wasn’t so sure. Anthony grunted. “You’re pregnant with his child. And I’d bet my last dollar it’s by intent. Darius Bennett has everything he’s ever wanted now.” “No. He doesn’t.” The shade in her voice prickled the hair on my neck. “He’s not a problem anymore. I made sure of it.” Not the relief I expected. Or the trembling. Her hold weakened on the wall. It wasn’t the asthma that crippled her. “What did you do, Sarah?” The warning crashes of my heart revealed everything I dreaded. “Sarah. Tell me you didn’t do something foolish.” “It’s done,” she said. “What’s done?” She closed her eyes. “He is.” “Oh, shit.” Max slammed a hand against the wall. She flinched. “Baby, don’t tell me you’re that fucking stupid.” No. She wasn’t stupid. She was frightened. She was reckless. She was an Atwood. Sarah not only leapt before looking, she kept running once she hit the ground—no matter the danger. She flushed. “It’s better if you guys don’t know.” Damn it. I turned. Reed avoided my gaze. Of course she told Reed. Who else would be foolish enough to help her do something so idiotic? I preferred when my brother let himself get shackled to a bed. At least there he did less damage. “What did she do?” I struggled to keep my voice even and not ragged with profanity. I stared at my brother. “Tell me.” Reed held his hands up in surrender and pointed at her. Traitor. He was more

brother to her than he was to me. “I had to, Nick,” Sarah said. “This was our best chance.” “Sarah, what the hell happened?” Anthony asked. “I poisoned Darius’s drink with Bennett Corporation pesticide.” I wondered if an aneurism would feel better than a bullet to the brain. If I was lucky, they’d strike at the same time. Max swore. Reed stayed silent. And Anthony shared my panic. “Are you out of your mind?” he snapped. “Christ, I’m not a defense attorney. What the hell were you thinking?” “Believe me when I say things have happened that I can’t share, that I never want to speak of again,” she whispered. “And believe me when I say this will right those wrongs.” A chill crept into my words. “No, it won’t.” She hadn’t asked me. Hadn’t confided in me. Hadn’t fucking trusted me enough to tell me her plan. She knew I would have stopped her. I would have drunk the poison myself it meant sparing her from the complications of this insanity. “Sarah, you have no idea what you’ve done,” I said. “He’ll be dead by morning.” “And so will you! He won’t die without a fight—” “It’s done. He won’t have a chance to retaliate. He knew it. That’s why he told everyone in there about the baby. That was the only way he could hurt me.” She covered her stomach as she spoke. “He’s gone. It’s over.” It wasn’t. Not even close. Goddamn it. I had two weeks until we moved on our own assassination. Two weeks, and Sarah would have been freed and my father dead and buried with no complications, no investigations. This ruined everything. It only endangered her. “If his death is suspicious, his will stipulates an autopsy is required,” I said.

“They’ll find the chemicals in his system, and the police will trace it to you.” I pointed at Max. “Find Dad. Get him to the estate and do whatever the hell you can to purge the pesticides.” Reed swore. “Why? You want to save him?” “I’m not going to jail for this.” “You won’t,” Sarah said. “They won’t find out.” “What if they do?” I pulled her close. “Sarah, I’m not losing you. Not now. If he dies and the police come after someone, I have to tell them it was me.” She trembled hard enough to shake. I wrapped her in my arms, but my embrace would do nothing if my father died and we were found. Or worse—if he lived and wanted revenge. “I know you want this done, but you can’t do it alone,” I said. “You have enough to worry about with the baby. Just trust in me.” “I can’t wait anymore.” “You have to,” I whispered. “Sarah, if you do it this way, he’ll be gone, but we’ll be separated. That’s not how I plan for this to end. It will be me and you and Bumper, and I swear to God, nothing is going to come between us.” I kissed her forehead, but her trembling didn’t slow. It wasn’t fear, but a simmering anger. A slow burn of hatred and disgust and helplessness trapped her in a destructive nightmare. It’d claim us all if she couldn’t control it. I felt it happen before. I experienced it myself. The Bennetts and Atwoods fostered a cycle of revenge that would forever damn us if someone didn’t stop it. If someone didn’t end the heartache. Committing murder wouldn’t heal her, but providing a safe life, warm home, and comfort for our baby would. A lifetime without retaliation or bloodshed. I had to make her understand she needed more than vengeance. She wouldn’t be whole until she found that reason to live. Just as I had when I found her. “What will stop that poison?” I asked. She shook her head. “Sarah, please tell me. We will end it, but when it’s safe. When I can protect you

and the baby and get the justice you deserve.” Her murmur heaved with a sob. “Activated charcoal.” I pointed to Max. “Find Dad and shove the damn rocks down his throat. Do whatever it takes.” “What the hell do I say to him?” Max asked. “Tell him it isn’t time for him to die yet.” Max resisted, but he knew better than to let a pregnant woman rot in jail for her revenge. He rushed to grab our father before Sarah’s poison ended him. Reed said nothing, hands on his head. Anthony hadn’t moved. He stared at Sarah as though he didn’t recognize her. Neither did I. For as much as I longed to escape the reign of my father, Sarah struggled just the same. Mark Atwood haunted her in everything she did, thought, and decided. One vile possession after another—either mine, my father’s, or Mark’s. I had to free her before that hatred stole the woman I loved. Before she truly believed only blood would protect her. “Sarah, we have to make our move now,” I said. “First, we’ll take the board. Can you do that?” She nodded. “Are we ready for it?” But we didn’t have a choice. This was the beginning of her war. This was how I either won Sarah for my own or lost her entirely. I wasn’t prepared for the takeover, but she was. She had always been. Since the day we stole her, since the day we damned ourselves in greed and sin, this was how it was meant to end. The only way to defeat my father was to first destroy the empire he created. And I let Sarah Atwood topple the first stone.

18

SARAH

I imagined revenge as bloody, satisfying, and necessary.

I never thought I’d be terrified to seize it. Empty when I took it. Utterly cold when it was delivered. When Dad spoke of revenge and restoring our pride, he made it seem as though bloodshed and humiliation eased every pain. But that wasn’t meant to satisfy a grudge at all. I stared at the door to the Bennett Corporation board room, resting a hand over my tummy’s swell—more noticeable in the two weeks since Darius survived my attempt to kill him. This revenge wasn’t to protect my honor. It was to prevent further suffering. And if it didn’t work? If everything I sacrificed, everything I voluntarily shamed, everything I spent was ruined? Then the only way to protect myself and Bumper would be through blood. And most of it would be ours. Especially since Nicholas revealed his plan to kill Darius was lost, too dangerous to pursue after the poisoning. Darius now expected it. His will was updated and more security added to a private detail. Too much attention focused on him now to attempt a murder. Our plan shifted to the board instead. I took a preliminary puff of my inhaler to prevent the anxious tingling in my chest from developing into the consuming tightness. The Bennett Board of Directors expected weakness. They thrived on it, delighted in exploiting it. Sixteen weeks of pregnancy rendered me weak in their eyes. They didn’t know the strength Bumper gave me. Even I hardly understood it.

Nicholas, Max, and Reed waited for my signal. Now or never. I nodded. The doors opened. And I prepared for a war. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” I surveyed the greying men, leering at me from the circular table. I claimed my seat. My step-brothers hovered behind me. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” Confidence. Charisma. Charm. I had none of it. That didn’t stop me from presenting my best smile. I worked through the nausea and faced the men who once vowed to kill me to prevent my inheritance of the Josmik Trust. They failed. They should have killed me then. Nothing would save them now. But the prickling thorns of fear imbedded within me. My stomach clenched. He was here. I hadn’t expected Darius Bennett to crawl from his bed and limp his way into the board room. Then again, I hadn’t anticipated he’d survive the poisoning. I meticulously plotted the dosage and contents, measured and re-measured the materials. The charcoal worked, but it must have been a miserable night for him. It’d take something blacker than poison to kill the monster. His blood thickened with hate and his heart pumped pure pestilence. It wasn’t a miracle he lived. It was sin. He sneered in ragged silence—forsaking any insincere greeting to watch as I squirmed or fought his advances. That pretense was over. Ruined. Burned away in the acid I used to scald his rancid organs. “My dear.” His voice rasped, cracked from the poison. “Be a good girl and make this quick. You should be resting, growing my son.” Bryant Maddox didn’t react to the confession though the other board members. Stanley, the eldest, had once presumed my captivity to be tasteless. He felt the same for my rape. But these men had so long cornered themselves within Darius’s depravity that rape no longer shocked them. But a pregnancy tempted their greed.

“This meeting will be quick,” I said. “And after today, I don’t plan to see any of you ever again.” Bryant snorted, all formality and patience stripped from his voice. “The little bitch is finally selling her stock?” “Easy,” Max warned. “Let’s keep it professional.” Nicholas said nothing, though Reed had stepped forward, so close to me his arm brushed mine. It reassured me, but I hardly needed his support. Not when I knew I had the men beaten with a simple purchase order and invoice. “The little whore stole our stock,” Bryant said. “I ought to string her up and beat the money out of her.” “You won’t touch me,” I said. “None of you will.” “I don’t care about the bastard in your gut.” Bryant’s face flushed red, enraged. “One good punch to the stomach—” The Bennetts surged forward. Including Darius. I raised a hand. “You won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt my child. You will sit there and listen to my proposition because, quite frankly, Mr. Maddox, you have no other choice.” “I could bleed you out right here.” Max smirked. “Try. See how far it gets you.” “Don’t tell me you answer to your whore now too, Max?” Bryant sneered. “Never did have a backbone of your own. You lose that in the car crash too?” I heard enough of Max’s reputation to realize when a dead man walked in his presence. Nicholas steadied his brother, preventing him from beginning my takeover with a splash of blood heralding a massacre. We didn’t need to tip-toe through that minefield. Not yet. Not if everyone behaved. And that included Darius Bennett, snaking a smile as he witnessed the first of his sons crack. “Shall we call the meeting to order?” I asked. Five of Darius’s most loyal puppets met my gaze with the same cold, dire warning

which prickled my insides. Stanley, the eldest, coughed a hacking, phlegm-crusted gasp into his handkerchief. Peter Hannigan edged as far from the table as his morals permitted, still tarnished from his betrayal of Nicholas and sullied by his vote to end my life. Clyde and Jacob remained silent, waiting for the nod of their master before they spoke. Neither Darius nor Bryant interrupted. The floor was mine. Darius gestured with an ungracious hand. “What is it you want?” “Complete control of the Bennett Corporation.” His laugh was cold. “We’ve traveled this same tired road before, child. You do not have the shares to assume control. You failed in your attempt for a controlling interest, and now you are merely an inconvenience.” His lips twisted into a sneer. “More importantly, an incubator.” I ignored the insult as it wasn’t offensive. I kept my child safe, and he kept me protected as well. Despite what Darius Bennett planned by breeding me, his arrogance failed him. I was pregnant, but the unborn Bennett was more dangerous to them than me. “Months ago, I met you all in this very room. I had been kidnapped from the arms of the man I love. I was beaten and violated by my own step-father.” I paused, searching the expressions of the heartless men before me. “You did nothing to aid me. Nothing to prevent my suffering. And nothing to free me from a nightmare you are responsible for creating.” “Do you plan on shaming us?” Bryant asked. “Believe me, Ms. Atwood, we already regret our decision to spare your life.” “I’m willing to pardon those past insults.” “You’re an Atwood. You pardon nothing. Your family exists merely to torment those they feel have slighted them.” “It’s true,” I said. “I should have you all bound and beaten, raped and murdered, just as you voted for me.” I paused, the revealing catch in my breathing only noticeable by Nicholas. He didn’t reach for me, but he shifted, a movement breaking his methodical stillness to remind me that he supported this. That he believed in this. Then again, he had no other option. If I failed, he’d lose everything too. The inheritance. The company. His life. I swallowed the bitter fear. “I will offer you gentleman a choice. Take it and survive. Challenge it and…” I glanced at Max. “Well…we’re not willing to negotiate.”

Bryant shrugged. “There is nothing you can do to us. What is it you want?” “You all will sell your shares of the Bennett Corporation to Nicholas, Max, and Reed.” Darius answered for the board. “No.” “This is my first and only offer.” He grinned. “It’s refused.” “You haven’t heard my conditions.” “Nothing you say will convince me to resign from my post and award my traitorous, ungrateful sons with the empire I built.” His very presence fouled the conversation. I swore I felt his breath on my neck once more. “They receive my shares only when I die, and you were too weak to finish it.” Not weak. Just confused. I forgot my reasons for vengeance, how I planned to ruin Darius Bennett and inflict the most suffering. I took his family first, and now with Darius alone and abandoned, I aimed my next slice. That sword would puncture through the heart of his empire. “Almost two months ago, I emailed my attorney, directing Atwood Industries to create a partnership with the Bennett Corporation. We joined in a comprehensive contract. Our company would become the sole provider for every agrochemical product servicing my fields. You accepted this bid. And, by now, every single field, every crop, every trembling leaf I own has been exposed to your chemicals.” The board cast uncertain glances to Darius, but he could no longer help them. They were already ruined. “We joined with great publicity,” I said. “I released a press packet, and my announcement video reached other farms, clients, every vendor associated with our companies.” I arched an eyebrow. “After all, this was a monumental partnership. The world watched as my farm stuffed millions into your pockets, and so many new customers joined with me because of the weight the Atwood name carries in the agricultural industry. I lead by example.” Silence. I grinned. “So, imagine what would happen if I have one bad harvest.” Their rapt attention was better than any spray of blood or cry of pain. The board stared, tensed and horrified.

Helpless. I continued, pretending the thoughts hadn’t already crossed my mind. Weren’t already in play. “Imagine how tragic it would be if a mistake were made, or if a defective product treated my fields?” I let the question linger. “An entire harvest could be lost. The soil contaminated. My crops ruined.” The words terrified me, even in a hypothetical context, but I was prepared to see it become a reality. If it destroyed me, I would force the Bennett Corporation through the same hellfire. “I would lose millions of dollars. Billions in potential sales and future revenue. One bad mixture. One misplaced chemical from your own workers—who we contracted specifically to handle the treatment of my farms—would be…horrible for us all.” I hesitated. “Though I’d imagine it’d be more devastating to the reputation of the Bennett Corporation.” “And how would something like that happen?” Bryant gritted his teeth. “We could deny it. Accuse you of tampering with the product. Corporate sabotage.” “Me?” I widened my eyes. “The innocent Sarah Atwood? Lost and desperate to maintain a family farm that she was never intended to run?” “Everyone would see through it,” he warned. “No. Not when I’m just trying to do what’s best for my family—both the Atwoods and Bennetts. Oh, and of course…” I rubbed my tummy. “My little baby. I wouldn’t know the first thing about corporate sabotage. My father taught me nothing about business. I was always supposed to be…what was it?” I tilted my head. “An incubator?” Bryant silenced. They all did. I liked the board better when they choked on their own fear. “This is my offer. Resign, sell your stocks to my step-brothers, make a profit. Do this, and we won’t need to consider how one little whisper about the quality of your product would impact your bottom line.” I paused. “So many of my associates’ farms are eager to view my new yields.” I waited. The board stilled, considering an offer that was more knife to the throat than business proposition. Darius spoke first, amused. “My dear, you don’t have the power to destroy this company. Especially with only a few gossiped, unsubstantiated rumors. You’ll lose everything in the libel suit.”

Nicholas’s confident caramel hum purged his father’s amusement. “Not necessarily. Atwood farms represent a new path for the Bennett Corporation. You remember that Ms. Atwood specializes in developing genetically modified crops. Some of her discoveries worked with the natural herbicide and pesticide traits present in certain plant genomes.” Nicholas placed a hand on my shoulder. The heat surged through me. “In fact.” He didn’t break his father’s stare. “You were very eager to purchase her research. You saw the potential long before any other, including Mark Atwood.” I nodded. “I own the patents for certain genes, modifications to the plant genomes which, with additional research and trials, will allow us to grow crops capable of surviving and thriving without chemical treatment. I can create new seeds, drought-resistant plants, natural pest-resistant crops.” And now they saw the power I wielded. I grinned. “My work eliminates the need for all those nasty, toxic chemicals which can so easily render us…ill.” Darius didn’t react, but the pallor cast over his cheeks hinted at the poison which still ravaged his system. “I foresee two scenarios,” I said. “If you refuse my offer, I will ensure the complete and total destruction of my entire fall harvest. Not a single root will be viable once I’m finished, and I would swear to the world your product’s chemical reactions diseased my fields.” I paused only to prepare myself for that horrible possibility. “Should this happen, in my sorrow and desperation, I’ll have only one choice to protect my family and farm from future harm—the creation of a new company, specializing in genetically modified, herbicide, pesticide, and fertilizer free crops. And believe me, presented with the choice? Why would anyone risk their farms, their health, or the health of their baby if there were an alternative to those chemicals?” Stanley sighed, planting a wrinkled hand against the table. “I’ve heard enough. What do you want from us, Ms. Atwood?” “Resign, take your payouts, and leave this room wealthier than you entered. Do this, and my research will remain within the Bennett Corporation, financed through their R&D division. All future profits, discoveries, and patents will be secured by the company that would lose the most if it were developed beyond its walls.” I shrugged. “Or you can stay, and I’ll burn the company to the ground and let you sift through the ashes for your pride.” Darius questioned me. “My dear, you wouldn’t dare jeopardize your family’s precious farm. This is your livelihood, your father and brothers’ legacy. You won’t

bargain with it.” Yes, I would. In a heartbeat. No—in the wub-bub flutter of Bumper’s heartbeat. “She’s insane,” Bryant said. “It’s as if Mark Atwood sits before us. She’s fucking dangerous. We should have put her down when we had the chance.” Stanley silenced him with a wave of his claw. “Ms. Atwood, surely you realize what you propose is illegal, unethical, and immoral.” “All is fair in vengeance,” I said. “Be grateful I’m offering you the chance to live.” Peter Hannigan grunted. “We can’t let this child best us. I have a lot of money invested in this company. I’ll be damned if I see a Bennett bend to the will of an Atwood.” “You’re mistaken,” I said. “I’m not doing this for the Atwoods. I’m doing this for a Bennett. For this baby. You wanted my farm. You wanted an alliance between Atwood and Bennett.” I extended my arms, gesturing to my silent but stalwart step-brothers. “Reap what you sow, gentlemen. I am eager to begin this new partnership.” Stanley shook his head. “Ruthless child.” “You created me.” “I much preferred the gentle Sarah Atwood,” he murmured. “At least then you were a creature to be pitied. Your father would be proud of the monster you’ve become.” “It’s an honor to bear that insult.” “It shouldn’t be, Ms. Atwood. It shouldn’t be.” But it was. Their surrender crashed in waves, first in frustrated frowns, then anger, and finally a haphazard acquiescence threatened within insult. Stanley was the first to bow his head and agree. Clyde, Jacob, and Peter followed immediately. Only Darius and Bryant scowled with defiance. I loved it. Their helplessness. The rage. The bitter defeat crumbled everything they built at their feet. It was my chance to steal what they’d created and offer it to the ones who deserved it.

Nicholas. Max. Reed. Me. The baby. Darius stood. My step-brothers tensed, circling me, as though he would dare to harm me now. Not while I carried the child. Not when he willed it to be his. His voice razed with sharpness, the edge of blades that had yet to puncture my skin. “I am convinced, my dear,” he said. “You can have the company if you wish. I resign. I have no need for it.” “You don’t frighten me.” “Yes, I do.” His smile would rend steel. “Because you know the truth. You are nothing, Sarah. You tried to kill me and failed. You may have an empire, but, without my sons, you’d still be naked and chained to a bed, snapping like a twig over my knee.” “I haven’t broken yet, Darius.” “Yes, you have. Without that bastard in your belly, you are worthless to us. To everyone. Your father knew it. Your brothers knew it. Only your womb has worth, and now that it is seeded and swelled, you’ve fulfilled your only purpose in life.” I pretended the thought didn’t horrify me. It wasn’t true. Just another manipulation. Just another lie. Darius threatened me without violence, without fear. He used the truth to bind me. “Take the company and your brothers,” he said. “But realize this. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you rub your belly and think of names and booties and cute little songs to sing, you are pregnant. You were bred because I willed it. You carry a child because I forced it inside of you. Celebrate your victory today. But ultimately? I’ve ruined you, my dear.” The chills burst over my body. Nothing eased those shivers cast by the frighteningly sane way he spoke of his crimes—those he already committed and the horrors he yet planned. “I’ve won, Sarah.”

My breath choked in rage and fear. Darius’s stare pinned to the table, raw and exposed once more. “You have until the day I rip my son from your body. Through him, I will own every part of you, every acre of tilled land, every crop your family ever planted, and every cent they ever earned.” He paused. “And you will have only a bloody, violent death without your little Bumper.” “Get the hell out of my boardroom,” I whispered. Darius’s lecherous grin chilled me to the core, shattering my victory with a new fear. “Keep my son warm. I’ll be back for him soon.”

19

NICHOLAS

I t was a beautiful day for bloodshed.

The sun warned the vibrant greens of the golf course, and a cool salt-licked breeze tickled over the players. Perfect weather for a round on the back nine though I enjoyed neither murder nor golf. But, in my chosen profession, my inherited status as future CEO of the Bennett Corporation, sometimes sacrifices were made and Thursday afternoons reserved for both a nine iron a new round of negotiations. Fortunately, this meeting would be quick, arranged with the one Bennett Board member who did not agree with my company’s restructuring. It was my responsibility to change the hearts and minds of the one who resisted the inevitable. Oddly enough, it was not my father who chose to be difficult. Bryant Maddox was a miserable son of a bitch who suffered from greed and inflicted that particular corruption upon others. The difference between men who had everything and those who scavenged on our scraps were not the zeros in the bank accounts but visions for the future. I would make a future with Sarah Atwood and our child. Our family names and fortunes would provide all the safety and comfort the ones I loved deserved. But men like Bryant believed they could antagonize and harm to achieve their ends. And, in some ways, they were successful, especially when they targeted those weaker than Sarah. Bryant hadn’t realized her resilience. He didn’t anticipate retaliation for his crimes. My brothers and I were more than eager to deliver it. Max, Reed, and I joined Bryant midway through his game, parking the golf cart on the more isolated of scenic holes. This particular beauty overlooked the beachfront. Cliff-face, really. A lovely location overlooking a rough surf and dangerously jagged rocks.

Bryant swore as we approached. He tossed his club to the ground. “Aw, Christ.” His eyes narrowed. “Come to intimidate me?” Intimidate? No. I adjusted my suit coat. Despite Reed’s polo or Max’s t-shirt, even a day on the course required a professional demeanor. This wasn’t a cordial visit. This was the darker side of business. The few moments in my career which would require a more delicate, less public touch to address certain sensitive matters. And Sarah was my most sensitive of matters. “Great day for golf.” Max pulled a driver from the bag although we spoke on the green. Bryant noticed, but he chose not to correct my brother on his game. “Thinking of joining you.” “I’m not interested.” Bryant pointed his putter at me. “I’m not interested in anything you say or in any games you’re playing.” “Aw come on,” Reed grinned. “Foursomes are a lot of fun.” Bryant aged since our last board meeting—the grey in his hair more noticeable, the lines creasing his face deeper, more severe. The resignation of his fellow board members weighed heavily on him. If I hadn’t known, I would have assumed Sarah slipped a little pesticide into his drink as well. Stress wasn’t kind to a man like Bryant Maddox, one who never endured strife or complications, intimidation or confrontation. Until now. “You haven’t returned my calls,” I said. “This might have been resolved over the phone. Instead, you’ve delayed it for three weeks.” “I’m not selling you my shares, Nicky.” “You will.” “I don’t know what you or that whore is planning, but I’d advise you take your brothers, turn around, and leave. Check to make sure the little slut is still knocked up. God forbid something happens to that bastard kid and she gets her neck broken.” “See, Nick?” Max huffed. “This is why I never dealt with the business side of the corporation. I can’t handle people being so fucking ignorant.” His club swung, clipping Bryant behind the knees. He crumbled with a cry, but Max ignored the profanity. I did not. I rather enjoyed his pain. Reed slammed his club between Bryant’s shoulder blades to ensure he stayed facedown.

“I agree,” Reed said. “We can negotiate. We can compromise. It’s all useless, especially when assholes like this would rather pitch insults than think about what’s best for the company.” “Sarah Atwood is not what’s best for the Bennett Corporation.” Bryant’s words mumbled into the grass. “She’s only alive because she’s knocked up with a kid worth billions.” “Careful, Bryant,” I said. “I came to reasonably discuss matters, and twice now you’ve insulted the mother of my child.” “Bullshit, Nick. That’s not your kid and you fucking know it.” Max offered. I nodded. His driver wacked Bryant’s back, aiming for his kidney. His pained scream ended in a sharp wheeze. “The child is mine.” I let my voice edge with a growl. “And anyone who says otherwise will wish they hadn’t indulged in such dark rumors.” “Your father raped and impregnated that girl. If you want to raise your fucking half-brother like a pathetic cuckold—” Reed’s club slipped, aimed for the opposite kidney. Bryant’s sickening words silenced. I’d do worse. Much worse. I pulled my own club, testing the weight against an imaginary distance somewhere beyond the green and the cracking of Bryant’s skull. It felt good. I tossed my jacket into the cart. No sense wasting a shot. I didn’t believe in mulligans, not when a gentleman, a businessman, and a Bennett accepted their failures and rebuilt their successes without excuses or blame. “I was never fond of this sport.” I fit a glove onto my hand. “My father insisted we all learn how to play. We were given private instruction and encouraged to join teams in our secondary school and universities.” “Lot of good it did,” Reed said. “All I learned was how to shank a ball hard to the left.” Max snorted. “I learned it was a bitch of a sport for those with bad ankles, knees, hips…everything.” “And I learned it was the best location for business to be discussed in a reasonable, friendly atmosphere.” I dropped the ball an inch from Bryant’s nose. “I always had a great drive.”

Bryant’s once enraged grumble shifted to a timid whimper. He struggled to rise. Reed pushed his club once more into his back, rendering him still. “Now this course, I’ve never played,” I said. “Haven’t had time, what with trying to ensure Sarah Atwood carries my—what was it? Half-brother?—to term. But I’m sure I can master this particular course just as easily as the others.” I didn’t aim for the green or the hole. I readied for a shot overlooking the beautiful cliff drop to the ocean below. “These courses have a few more hazards than sand pits and the occasional pond,” I said. “Notice how the wind swirls here? That must be a hundred foot drop to the ocean over there.” Max shook his head. “Hundred and fifty at least.” “And the waters around here are straight-up turbulent,” Reed hummed. “Those waves break too fast. Can’t swim. Can’t surf. Really a wasted bit of coastline.” “This location is made more difficult because the only thing preventing a bad shot from edging over the cliff…?” I stilled as I aimed for the drive. “A little wooden fence, rotted from the salt spray.” Bryant’s pathetic murmurs rose into a frantic cry as I shifted my weight into the stance and swung the club across my hips, crushing the ball and whiffing the air only a few centimeters from his nose. The ball sailed out over the cliff and disappeared into the mists over the water. “Nice one,” Reed said. Max drew Bryant to his knees. Tears wet his cheeks, but the slobbering mess of a man before me would never earn my pity. If he reserved none for Sarah why would I afford him the privilege of my mercy? “Bryant, I really have no time for this game,” I said. “We came to discuss the Bennett Corporation. You understand the importance of my promotion. I require a complete change of ownership to alter the current course of my company. I am, once more, asking you to consider your resignation and the sale of your shares.” “And if I say no?” “I’ll think you’ll find that assisting my father’s attempt to murder me damns you enough.” “I didn’t—” “You were there during the gunfire. You chose the location, the table, the time. But this isn’t about an insult to me. This is my attempt to take control of what’s rightfully mine. I am offering you a chance to sell now. Will you accept?”

“You aren’t your father.” Bryant’s eyes widened. “You won’t hurt me.” “That is why I offered the sale and not a bullet.” He eyed the clubs in our hands and swore. “What the hell do you want? I’ll do whatever you like.” It was the smartest thing I ever remembered the man saying. I retrieved the contract of sale from my pocket, simple and direct and pre-filled with Bryant’s specific information and holdings. “A signature, please.” “Fine. Fine!” He waved for the contract and pen. “You win. Take the goddamned company. Just fucking let me go.” I passed him the papers. He initialed where I indicated and passed the contract back to me. His profanity was unnecessary. “Congratulations, Nick. You and the Atwood whore own the company. I did what you wanted. Now let me go. Give me this second chance, and I won’t come near you or the girl.” Or the child. I didn’t damn my soul in doing this. I sacrificed for my baby. I folded the contract and handed the paperwork to Reed. “Thank you, Bryant, for your lifelong support of my company and our business. Your dedication to the Bennett Corporation is both admirable and frightening.” I took a deep breath. “But I’ve learned something from this experience. A second chance is only another opportunity to repeat the same mistakes and cause the same pain. No one deserves second chances, least of all me.” “Nick, what the hell are you doing?” Bryant twisted as my brothers drew him to his feet. “You got what you wanted. You have the company. You have the girl. You even made the fucking heir. What else do you want?” “This isn’t for me.” My grip tightened over the club. “What happens now will be for her, to prove the second chance she gave me wasn’t in vain.” “You won’t kill me for an Atwood! Nick, Nicholas.” Bryant struggled as my brothers led him to the edge of the cliff. “Stop this. You wanted the company on your terms. You got it. You aren’t cruel like this.” His blubbering turned hysterical. “Nick, you aren’t a man like your father.” “Yes, I am.” Admitting it was another opportunity to save myself. “But I’ll make this sacrifice to appear to be a better man…at least in her eyes.”

20

SARAH

M y signature blotted across the page.

With a single swipe of the pen, the Bennett Corporation now owned every patent, every note, every bit of research I ever conducted on my genetically modified crops. Dad would have been inconsolably enraged. But even at his worst, he wasn’t like Darius Bennett. He never raised a hand to me. Nicholas, Max, and Reed bore the scars of their father, some more apparent than others. In that regard, I was the lucky one.

I TRACED THE THIN, WHITE MARK OVER NICHOLAS’S BICEP. I DIDN’T REALIZE HE WAS AWAKE. HE SHIFTED only to gather me to his chest, hold me close, and distract me from the injuries that dotted his skin. “If this happens…” He whispered more to himself than to me. “If you get pregnant —” “I won’t.” “If it happens, and you have my son…” Not an heir. Not a child. His son. His voice caressed me in protective secret. “I won’t treat him how my father treated me. I promise you. I would be kind.” “Would you love him?” He held me tighter. “With every beat of my heart.”

GREATER MISTAKES THAN MINE HAD BEEN MADE BEFORE. At least, I thought so.

But this wouldn’t be a mistake. I felt it. I knew it. The new Bennett Corporation wasn’t the same evil empire that challenged my father and ruined lives. Nicholas assumed control, as he had been bred to do, as he was raised to do. And Darius’s resignation was coming at the end of the month. For the moment, for the peaceful days that lured us into a strange and foreign equilibrium between anxiety and relief, everything threatened to turn out…okay. That was more unsettling than any kidnapping, any captivity, any abuse. I emerged from Nicholas’s office. Hamlet loyally followed at my side, eager to take his place of choice back in my lap, his head propped on the more prominent bulge in my belly. Not quite big, but I couldn’t hide anymore. So I no longer hid him. The dress was designed specifically maternity, made to highlight my natural femininity or something. I picked it because it was a pretty lilac polka dot that worked well with black leggings and a pair of cute boots. It was time to play the part. The well-wishing, gossip, and social storm of my pregnancy spread through every contact, customer, and vendor servicing Atwood Industries. Darius’s revelation caused problems. My reluctance to reveal the father caused more. Social scandal meant more to me when Dad was alive—when everything I did and said was intended to honor the family and heighten my brothers’ statuses. But I didn’t have Josiah and Mike to worry about anymore. I had me. Mom. Bumper. And I was doing a damn fine job leading my family and company. “Now that’s just a sexy little dress.” Reed dropped the video game controller. He called me over with a curled finger. “Goddamn, Sarah. How are you feeling?” His new code word for if I needed any hormones soothed in a wide ride on the couch. I flicked his forehead. “Doctor’s appointment in a bit. I should behave.” “What, not like you’re gonna get more knocked up.” He glanced over my shoulder at Max. “That can’t happen, right?” Not like Max would answer. He hardly looked at me, never touched me, refused to speak to me beyond the simplest of questions or comments. Whatever guilt poisoned him pitted him in a darkness I could no longer reach. He stayed to protect me, to manage the bodyguards and security we organized, but he wasn’t my Max anymore. And I had no idea what I did to lose him.

Or how to get him back. “She’s at maximum capacity,” he said. Reed’s devilish grin lured the dimple from our secrets. “Not yet. Want to get adventurous again, Sarah?” “I feel like I have too many Bennetts in me already.” “You can fit a couple more.” “You’re wicked.” His eyes, bright green and full of mischief, lingered over the neck line of my dress and fell to the swell of the baby. “And you’re so fucking tempting.” I glanced to Max for his declarations. He stared at his phone and entertained only his drink. Quiet. Sullen. As always. I pretended it didn’t hurt. Nicholas returned as promised, insisting I wait so he could join me at the doctor’s appointment. His gaze brightened over me. I earned his smile. It was a rare sight made more common in the past few weeks. “You look…” I shrugged. “Pregnant?” “Lovely.” He motioned to the door. “I apologize for running late. The transition is more difficult than we anticipated.” I handed him my contract, though I didn’t release the papers from my grip, even as he met my gaze. “Anthony looked over the agreement for my research. Everything is set. I’ve signed.” Reed whistled. “Momentous fucking occasion. Who would have thought we’d have an Atwood research division in the company?” “Not my father,” I said. Nicholas agreed. “Or mine.” “This is the right call,” I said. “Atwood Industries doesn’t have the resources or

manpower to begin a research and development division. You’re actually helping me.” “We’re helping each other,” he said. “President Atwood.” Oh, that was a thrill. Especially as we had a new plan. Once Bumper was born, I’d take the remainder of my classes and earn my degree, all the while overseeing my labs in a directional capacity. Then, once I secured my doctorate, I’d lead the brilliant minds overseeing my research. Dream come true. I released the contract, and Nicholas tucked it into his jacket pocket. One discussion down. I broached the next subject carefully. “I received an email today,” I said. “They found Bryant Maddox’s body.” I anticipated my step-brothers’ reaction, though only Reed flinched when I mentioned his name. Max’s expression remained as dark as ever. Nicholas arched an eyebrow. “I heard the same news.” “He was pretty battered and bruised from the rocks under the cliff. They said he jumped and ruled his death a suicide.” “He was a troubled man.” “Don’t do that.” My voice lowered. “Don’t pretend, Nicholas Bennett. What really happened?” “Apparently, Bryant wished to end his life.” “I’m not stupid, Nick. How much did it cost you to keep this quiet?” “Bryant made a few reprehensible, unredeemable decisions, and now he’s gone. I don’t want you to concern yourself with it.” “I deserve to know the truth.” My gaze passed from Nicholas to Reed to Max. “From all of you. Haven’t we kept enough secrets from each other? It always ends with one of us hurt. Usually me.” I shrugged. “Sometimes Reed.” “I promised you I’d do everything in my power to keep you safe.” Nicholas approached only to kiss my forehead. “I’m doing that, Sarah.” I didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to think it, but his name was bitter on my tongue. “And what about Darius? When will we be safe from him?” “Soon.”

I shook my head. “That’s not good enough.” “We can’t act on it and the company too. You wanted it this way. You wanted his family—and you got me. You wanted his empire—now you own it with me. Take your victories when they come, Sarah. Believe me. They are very few and far between in this world—” It was a thud. Not a flutter. Not a little tickle. A freaking thud. I gasped, my hands covering my belly. Nicholas paled, reaching for me. Max knocked his chair over. Reed leapt over the couch to my side. “What’s wrong?” Nicholas squeezed my arm. “Sarah, what’s wrong—” “Bumper…” “Are you okay? Does something hurt? Here, sit—” I grabbed Nicholas’s hand, pushing his palm against my tummy. “No,” I whispered. “Bumper’s…bumping.” The books said it would feel like a poke, but it wasn’t. More like a popped bubble and then a swift twump. I lost my breath in a teary gasp. “He’s kicking?” Nicholas said. “He’s kicking.” Reed lunged at us, and I guided his hand to the little bumps. I waved Max over as well. “Max, come touch this.” I wiped the tears from my cheek, blaming the hormones for the quick burst of overwhelmed joy and tender embarrassment. “It’s fucking weird.” Max tensed, crossing his arms. “It’s fine.” “Max.” “Sarah, really.” I might have thought he wasn’t attracted to me while pregnant, but I’d seen his glances, sensed his heat. Max avoided me for too many reasons, and it ached to not know why. He watched my lip tremble as I called for him, sighed, and shifted closer. He offered his hand, and I placed it over my tummy. Bumper stopped. Max shrugged.

“I don’t feel it.” “I think that’s all he did,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll do it again, just wait…” Max pulled away. He skulked to the bar to pour yet another drink. “We’ll bring him a picture of the sonogram.” Nicholas squeezed my hand. “Excited about the appointment?” I was more than excited. I was thrilled. Nicholas and I had never been…happy. The thought rocked me. We were in love. We survived so much horror. We had the company. Each other. But we never had the chance to exist beyond all the insanity. Bumper kicked again. I rubbed the swelling and fought the weepy tears. The good tears. “Let’s go see our son.” Reed wished us luck, but I’d need more than that. I hated doctors and hospitals, though my pulmonologist never made me strip when he chastised me for my chronically disappointing lungs. Not so for the OBGYN. Everything about the office intimidated me, from the backless gowns that either revealed too much of my bump or all of my butt to the weird metal instruments I didn’t want anywhere near me. Nicholas promised ice cream when we were done. I wanted a cheese steak sub instead. Except without the steak. I scooted onto the exam table. Nicholas squeezed my hand as the doctor jokingly referred to him as Daddy. “All right, Ms. Atwood.” Doctor Liam squirted a bit of jelly over my tummy. “Your weight looks okay. The bloodwork is normal. How’s the asthma?” “Fine,” I said. She knew better and asked Nicholas. “How’s the asthma?” I answered for him. “I use the inhaler maybe once a week.” “Twice,” Nicholas said. “Twice this week.” Doctor Liam nodded. “Well, as you progress, you might find the shortness of breath worsening. I want you to schedule a follow-up with your pulmonologist after this appointment. Tell Doctor Miller it’s important.” “I’ll make sure he sees her,” Nicholas said. “Immediately.”

And he would. Nicholas had already summoned him on a house call to the penthouse after I had a particularly bad night of coughing. Doctor Miller wasn’t thrilled by the interruption to his schedule, but the invoice was more than satisfactory to earn his personal cell-phone number. The gel spread over my belly, and Doctor Liam pulled the ultrasound machine close. She grinned. “Okay, let’s see the little guy.” Nicholas took my hand. I swallowed the excitement, holding my breath as the screen blinked and then he was there. In all his fuzzy glory. The black and white contrast of a little head, wiggling toes, and a whole lot of bumping as Doctor Liam harassed him with the wand to make him move. “Okay…” She took a few pictures and nodded. “The baby is growing very nicely. Getting plenty of oxygen, even if Momma isn’t.” Hilarious. I politely smiled. “And everything is looking just perfect. Here’s Baby’s head, and down here is Baby’s little arm. Let’s see if we can turn a little—” The wand poked again. I bit my lip. Nicholas stared, transfixed at the screen. He pointed. “And there?” Doctor Liam nodded. “Toes. Baby’s a little curled up, but that should let us see everything very clearly.” I did see everything. A beautiful, perfect little Bumper, snug and cozy in the safest place for him. “Aha!” She took another picture. “Congratulations, you two. She is a perfectly healthy baby.” My heart stilled, and my intake of air crashed against a rapidly closing airway. I sat up, staring at the screen. “What did you say?” I didn’t want her to repeat it. I couldn’t handle if she said it. Nicholas gripped my fingers until they threatened to break. I didn’t care. I gripped him just as hard. “I said you two will be the proud parents of a healthy baby girl.”

A girl. Now my throat did close, but I’d never reach my inhaler. A girl. Oh, no. Not this. Anything but… “Are you sure?” Nicholas’s voice snapped, hard. “Absolutely sure that the baby is… a girl?” Doctor Liam pointed to the screen. “Right there. I’m sorry, you indicated you wanted to know the gender when we made the appointment…” No. I didn’t want to know the gender. I only wanted to know one gender. A boy. A male heir. The only reason Darius Bennett had ever forced his sons to kidnap me, imprison me, and rape me. He wanted a male child, the rightful heir to my father’s ridiculous will that stated I was not worthy enough to tend to my family’s empire, to hold the power of the company, to act in any aspect. My father trusted an unborn child more than his own daughter. And Darius seized that opportunity to force that child within me. A girl. Bumper was a girl. The thought crippled me. I wheezed, and Nicholas hurried to offer me the inhaler. I puffed, but it didn’t help. This wasn’t asthma. This was fear. Choking, gasping, terrible fear that sliced through me and threatened the wiggling little bundle of innocence who didn’t belong in a world of terror and misfortune. Doctor Liam cleared her throat. “Ms. Atwood, Mr. Bennett, I understand some parents hope for one gender over the other, however; you’ll find that whether your baby is a boy or girl, they’re still your child.” She didn’t understand, and her words only caused more pain. I didn’t know if Bumper was our child, and the only thought more horrifying than the baby being female was if she were Darius’s daughter.

I hadn’t dared to consider it. In my own foolishness I revealed the pregnancy and played my hand, challenged Darius and moved on the Bennett Corporation. I never considered that at the end of nine months, it’d fall apart. He’d hurt the baby. Worse. He’d kill the baby. Nicholas’s eyes hardened. His jaw clenched, but the mellow smoothness of his voice hadn’t changed, hadn’t revealed the danger. “Doctor Liam,” he said. “I will give you one hundred thousand dollars if you alter the sonogram.” I blinked. So did my doctor. “Excuse me?” she whispered. “One hundred thousand dollars if you misread the sonogram and declare the child to be male.” “I…can’t…” “I will write you a check immediately. To either you or your practice. Consider it a donation for the care you’ve provided Ms. Atwood.” “You want me to lie about the sex of the baby?” “Yes.” “Why?” I shook my head, my words lost in a tight wheeze. “Because we have no choice.” “I don’t understand.” Nicholas leaned forward. “You don’t need to understand. Change the result of the sonogram.” “I can’t,” she said. “Anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of human anatomy will recognize that this…” She circled Bumper’s little bottom. “Is female.” “Then find another sonogram and label it as Ms. Atwood’s results.” “I—” I held her gaze, unable to hide the fear prickling the tears in my eyes. “Please.” “One hundred thousand,” Nicholas said. “You know our families. The money is

good, and it’s yours for this favor.” Doctor Liam hesitated, her eyes fluttered closed. “If this ever gets out—” “It won’t,” he said. “Please. Find us a replacement picture and the money is yours.” “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” She rose to her feet. The screen flicked off, and Bumper disappeared. “This is…insanity. I’ll be back. Don’t…go anywhere.” The door shut behind her, and my tears rattled me from head to toe. Nicholas leaned over me, kissing my forehead, gripping my hand. “Darius can’t know,” I said. “The baby will be born in four months. We can’t wait any longer, Nick. He’ll kill her. He’ll kill me.” “Not going to happen.” Nicholas caressed my cheek. “Nothing has changed. We can hide Bumper’s gender until she’s born, and he’ll never find out. Nothing has changed.” He kissed me. The golden halo in his eyes returned, strengthened with a sudden, fierce pride. “We’re having a little girl.” His smile seared through the fear. A little girl. I sucked in a breath. Then another. We had a healthy baby. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter anymore. She was healthy. She was perfect. She was mine. And nothing was going to harm her. “Your father should be terrified,” I whispered. Nicholas frowned. “Why?” “Because if one Atwood woman nearly killed him?” My voice steeled with a newfound confidence. “Imagine the destruction caused by two Atwood women.”

21

SARAH

T

he champagne popped. Reed chugged the bottle. I stared at my ginger ale.

“This isn’t fair.” I pouted, burying my feet in the warm sand. “I turn twenty-one, and you guys get to drink.” The noisemaker buzzed from Reed’s mouth. I batted it away. “Just be glad you survived.” Max showed no interest in the cake, but a pretty silver package wrapped for me with his name on the tag. “Didn’t think you’d last this long, baby.” The waves rolled in close. I kicked at Reed’s surfboard. “I’m tougher than I look.” “So is Abigail,” Nicholas said. Reed and I voted with four thumbs down. “Claire?” I shook my head. He poured another drink and opened the second baby name book with a sigh. “Madison?” “Bumper,” I said. It was so much easier and safer. I didn’t want to risk anything on our little vacation far from the truth and secrets and danger. “For now.” Nicholas brushed my hand, his kiss soft and warm and promising to make my birthday night just as fun as the afternoon. “What would make this day perfect? Name it. It’s yours.” That was easy and impossible. I met his lips with a gentle nibble. “I don’t want this day to end. I wish I could stay here forever.” If only because I dreaded what would happen when we returned home.

“I HAVE ANOTHER SURPRISE FOR YOU,” NICHOLAS SAID. “I THINK YOU’LL LIKE IT.”

The limo pulled from the airport and returned us to San Jose. I feared we’d regret it. “What kind of surprise?” I asked. “You’ll see. I want to show you before the party.” I checked my phone. Only two hours before Nicholas’s induction as the new CEO of the Bennett Corporation. The party forced us back to reality, swept away from my birthday adventure on the beach to assume our rightful responsibilities—the ones we fought to earn, and the ones we now dreaded possessing. “Do we have time?” “It won’t take long.” He squeezed my hand. “I can’t wait to show you.” I doubted he’d show me anything that would ease the prickling, suffocating, consuming instinct to run once more. I’d never look back. An altered sonogram would only fool Darius until my daughter was born. Then it wouldn’t end until one of us was dead. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. I made my plan. Plane tickets and duplicates, hotel reservations and rented properties, false trails and security details. It could all come together in less than an afternoon. If I needed it. If I had no other choice. If the risks in staying outnumbered the reasons to remain. And they did. But I hadn’t gone. And I knew why. I wanted Nicholas to come with me—with us. The surprise waited for me at Nicholas’s penthouse. He guided me through the hall. “Close your eyes.” Nicholas had often issued such orders, but this time it wasn’t accompanied with a collar and blindfold. He opened a door and crossed his arm over my waist. I rested against his chest as he whispered to me. “This is for Bumper.” His hand rubbed my tummy. “I didn’t want to wait.” I peeked open my eyes. Oh, this man.

The nursery was styled like a farm. A mural of painted blue skies overlooked fields ripe for a harvest. Little barns and animals printed on the walls—horses and cows and the sheep Dad never actually bought but threatened to ranch in Montana. The white and wicker furniture looked exactly like the ones from the pictures of our farm when my great-grandparents first settled the land. He decorated with a rocking chair and crib, changing table and shutters over the windows. The mobile was made from little barnyard animal figurines. “I hired Atlas to do the work.” “Nick, this is…” My words broke. Run. Stay. Hide. Fight. My options became more limited the longer I waited and the bigger I grew. This was just the sort of perfection that would blind me to the true danger. “I know you’re scared,” he said. “Even if you won’t admit it. But I want you here, with me.” “You can’t promise me we’ll be safe.” “I can. I will.” He kissed my temple. “Sarah, I’m a man who has always received everything I’ve ever wanted the instant I demanded it. You are the one exception to my rule. I can’t buy you. I can’t own you. I have nothing to offer you except my heart, and even if you refuse it, you are the reason it beats.” “Nick…” “I want you and the baby. You are my world. You are my family. A real family.” He gave me a devilish smile, pulling a package from the top shelf of the dresser. I tugged the ribbon and opened the box, grinning at the tiny pink onesie. “I couldn’t help myself.” Excitement warmed his voice. “After decorating with all the farm themes, I needed a little something else in here.” “Daddy’s Princess?” I wrinkled my nose. “You’re going to spoil her before she’s born.” “Absolutely.” I covered the box before the pink seeped out and every secret spread. Nicholas took my hand.

“Tonight, I want to celebrate. We have the companies. We have Bumper.” His smile was so rare, so perfect it almost startled me. “Let’s celebrate tonight. You know how much I love you.” “It’s not about how much you love me,” I whispered. “It’s about how much he hates me and my family.” His fingers brushed my belly. “It’s one family now, Sarah. And nothing he does will change that.” “Everything can change it.” “Only if we let him.” Nicholas kissed me once more. “I dare him to try in what little time he has remaining.” The trace of his lips on mine warmed with every whispered promise and murmured devotion. He meant to leave for the party. I pulled him into our bedroom instead. Nicholas grinned. We embraced in a fierce and passionate kiss, every quick nibble answered in the same fervor, the same intensity, the same realized desires. So much for his celebration. My dress slipped from my shoulders. Nicholas’s gentle mouth caressed my skin, dragging from my puffy lips to the pulsing heat in the hollow of my neck. He kissed where the material fell away over my flushed breasts. My body was changed now. Noticeably. I was soft curves and delicate swells. My breasts plumped, full and beautiful. Nicholas hummed, taking a nipple into his mouth. The warmth swirled around me, entirely too sensitive for little more than his tender attention. He lowered me to the bed, but for the first time, hesitated before lying over me. He kissed my visible tummy. “I have to be more careful now,” he said. Bumper kicked at the sound of his voice. “We’re tougher than we look.” “I’m not taking any chances.” His fingers hooked within my panties. “Not when there’s so many other ways to enjoy you.” The silky tease of my panties slipped over my hips. His hand never left my tummy. It hardly ever did. I knew he was tempted by the thought of getting me pregnant, but I feared once it happened, Nicholas would realize how truly barbaric such a practice had been. Or that his excitement would pass and I’d be taken and ruined all from the same moment. Not so.

Not ever. Not with the nursery and the gifts, the kisses and the touches, the honesty in his voice when he declared his love. How gently he whispered to the baby when he thought I’d fallen asleep. I believed him when he vowed a life of family, trust, and warmth. But it was so hard to give him that part of me. Loving him, trusting him was a strange form of surrender that wasn’t found in bindings or chains or whips. Trust was completely consensual, independent of him and what he could offer and what he had done. It came from me. I had to trust myself first. He touched me, and I softened. He kissed me, and I groaned. He delighted me with the slip of his tongue, and I was lost. I loved Nicholas Bennett—I loved him more than the Atwood land, more than the legacy left by my father and brothers, more than the money and the fame of our families. And not because I’d sacrifice everything that was me to be with him, but because he’d do the same. Because it didn’t matter if we were Atwood or Bennett. We were together. All of us. The heat of his tongue swept through me, building deeper, hotter. I drew him to my lips as my body shuddered. One flick of his tongue wasn’t enough. His clothes slipped away. As I softened, every bit of him hardened, including the part meant most for me. His muscles, his abs, his voice, everything tensed with raw confidence and a quick possession. The swelling of my body was made by him, but the masculine victory was tempered by how he looked at me in such awe and adoration. “Promise you’ll stay with me, Sarah.” I’d promise him anything while my pulse raced and my core demanded more of his touch. And I’d probably keep those promises too. Despite the warnings and the fears and the darkness, I’d stay with him until the end. However quickly it would come. He lay beside me, his hand over my tummy. His cock sunk into me. I closed my eyes, and the thickness only tightened the need inside me. For once, his breathing shuddered more than mine. I loved hearing his quiet grunt, the not-so-hidden profanities that destroyed the composure of a man as powerful as Nicholas Bennett when he thrust within the woman he loved.

He was as gentle as he could be, but his touch was never rough, only demanding. The simple, desperate movement that offered so much but took even more. I mewed, matching his intensity, resting against the heat of his chest. His hands caressed every part of me, tickling over my breasts, my tummy, and finally in the crest he claimed. I flinched as he rubbed my swollen clit. The sensation overwhelmed me into shocked shivers of pleasure. Neither of us would last, but we weren’t savoring. I needed that burst, the quick blending of passion. A promise of everything warm and wild. He pinched my clit as I tensed, clenching against his thickness. The first jet of his heat within me caused my own peak, and I clutched his arms, the bed, my own body. We shuddered together in a shared, perfect pleasure. A perfect trust. And I knew what it meant. Trust was my most reckless sacrifice of all, and letting him love me the most dangerous promise I’d ever make. My heart was his to cherish or shatter. It wasn’t a weakness to love, but it took so much strength to survive. We rested, panting, loving. For the first time, I let myself imagine that this would be our reality. Our few delicate moments could stretch beyond stolen hours or days and last for a lifetime. Nicholas sighed, pulling from me despite my soft protest. “We’re supposed to be at my party,” he said. “You’re just lucky I didn’t name myself CEO of the Bennett Corporation.” “Exceedingly fortunate.” We dressed quickly. No powder or makeup hid the flush over my cheeks. We arrived only an hour late, well within the earned grace period of a Bennett. The Atwoods were usually given two hours until high society questioned us, but who was counting the seconds? The Bennett Corporation spared no expense when celebrating the most monumental change in the company’s history. A completely altered board and new CEO meant one of the fanciest and most exclusive country clubs opened its doors for a night of dining, dancing, and reckless drinking. A full-scale orchestra blared classical music, and every important person with a well-known family on the West Coast joined in the cacophony of money, power,

and celebrity. Reed greeted us with a broad smile and edged us from the well-wishers for a moment of privacy. “And just where have you two been?” Nicholas accepted a drink and toasted his brother. “I showed Sarah Bumper’s nursery.” “I hope I get the encore tour.” I blushed, wishing I had something stronger than ginger ale to endure the hungry stares of my two step-brothers. Someone was missing. I searched through the tuxedos and evening gowns. “Where’s Max?” I asked. Reed shrugged, attempting to look carefree. He failed. “Haven’t seen him. He’s probably coming later.” Or not at all. Reed didn’t need to make excuses for his brother. We parted as Senator Mackin arrived to shake Nicholas’s hand. The greying, walking/talking suit beamed an elect-me personality. He wagged a finger. “Ms. Sarah Atwood. I remember you from when you were just a little tyke.” “Most people do, sir,” I said. “Certainly not little now.” I glanced down. I wasn’t that big, and Bumper would probably be petite. The dress did accentuate the bump. I thought I looked rather cute. “I should congratulate you, Ms. Atwood,” he said. Nicholas held my hand. “Thank you, Senator.” What the hell was he doing? The realization took a moment to brighten the senator’s face, but the shock remained. At first, I prepared for the scandal, the dreaded word step-brother. Instead, he laughed. “An Atwood and Bennett baby?” he hooted. “Jeez Lousie, that’s gonna be the most powerful kid in California. Boy or girl?” “Boy.” We both answered quickly, reflexively. “Well, congratulations! I feel like I ought to start my campaigning now. In thirty years that little boy is going to own us all.”

He shook Nicholas’s hand again before parting to chase either a waitress or the drinks she carried. I tugged Nicholas to my side before he dared to slink away. “So…” I perked an eyebrow. “We’re just…telling people then?” “Why not?” he said. “Sarah, I love you. And I love Bumper. And the truth will come out soon enough. Why not celebrate it?” “Celebrate it?” “We’re here, aren’t we?” he shrugged. “Surrounded by everyone powerful and influential. It’s a perfect opportunity to reveal it.” I meant to frown, but the tingle of excitement buzzed through me. He was right, but Nicholas didn’t see the true opportunity. We were here, celebrating his ascension to the top of the Bennett Corporation, succeeding his father and seizing his empire. Nicholas had the power, the company, the heir. And I had him. It was the perfect opportunity to announce our blessing and twist a knife that already dug into Darius’s heart. Now, the bastard had no family. No company. Absolutely no meaning left in his life. Everything Darius once prized in the world was lost to me. Even his heir held my hand as he made his rounds to visits friends and business associates. “Ms. Atwood!” A balding man, flushed by too many drinks, shook my hand and grinned at Nicholas. “Paul Baxtor. Vice-President of Research and Development at the Bennett Corporation.” He exhaled, smiling wider as he looked me over. “I read through your work, Ms. Atwood. You are…absolutely brilliant!” He knew how to flatter me. “Thank you.” “I am so grateful for the opportunity to work with you. We will make history, you and me. With your intelligence and understanding of these genomes, the world is going to change.” The damn hormones. Nicholas thanked him for me as I choked on my own pride. I fanned my face to suppress the weepy tears. “Let’s get you something to eat,” he said. “Hear that?” My sniffle became a giggle. “Change the world. Me. All this time you Bennetts were trying to make an heir when you could have had me instead.” “Hindsight is 20/20.” I shook my head as a passing server offered a variety of shellfishes and seafoods. Not good for me at the moment, not a particular favorite otherwise. I aimed for a

cracker with cheese though I really wanted a snow cone. I managed to find crushed ice at the bar and some soda just as the crowd cried for a speech. Nicholas was a lot of things—handsome, confident, devoted. He was also a Bennett. His arrogance masqueraded as charm, but the world hadn’t offered him everything he dreamed. Instead, he took it. Seized it on the back of a motorcycle, seduced it from an enemy, and stole it from a father who no longer deserved the respect of his son. It wasn’t a speech. It was his coronation. He rose to the band’s stage and accepted the microphone from the conductor. The lights focused over him, and every eligible and not so eligible woman in the room sighed. The shadows captured his chiseled chin and jaw line, and the tuxedo tailored the strength of his shoulders and chest. If pride were truly sin, then every moment with Nicholas had bathed me in hellfire. “I want to thank you all for attending.” His voice needed no microphone. The party would’ve stopped breathing if it meant capturing his every word. “This is a monumental day for the Bennett Corporation, but this will be only one of many. I foresee success, prosperity, and many more celebratory moments in our future.” The audience applauded. I recognized a lot of people—some friends of my family and others people of wealth and fortune that had pledged their loyalty to Darius Bennett. Dad would never have tolerated a moment like this. And he would have disowned me long before Bumper was ever a concern. “These next few months will come with many challenges and changes,” Nicholas said. “But I’m pleased to begin this new path. This company has always been forged on a legacy of family and pride. Lessons passed father to son. I am fortunate to take this opportunity and expand that vision. For the first time, the Bennett Corporation will be overseen by the entire family.” Nicholas made the decision himself, one of his first, one he had planned for so long. “I am dividing my portion of this company equally between my brothers and me, as it should have been done long ago.” Reed hooted from the crowd. “That means the next round is on me!” Nicholas didn’t yet regret that decision though the few chuckles and demands for the highest caliber whiskey rumbled through the people. I searched, but Max didn’t hide in the shadows. He wasn’t here. I hated that it no longer surprised me.

“It isn’t just the leadership of the Bennett Corporation that’s changing,” Nicholas said. “It is our future. Sarah Atwood is the fourth member of our Board of Directors, a name which—just a year ago would have crumbled the very foundation of the Bennett Headquarters to the ground…brick by brick, if memory serves.” He was right. And if he wasn’t careful, I’d still do it. His words drew the attention to me, and by extension, sparked a fury of whispers primarily concerned with my visible little Bumper. His gaze fell on me too. Oh, Christ. He was serious about revealing it. “Sarah Atwood is not simply a member of this board. I am in love with her.” The hormones didn’t like this. I flushed as genuine surprise raged through the audience. The astute ones in attendance quickly did the math on my condition. “Sarah’s position on our board isn’t the first blending of Bennett and Atwood,” he said. “And I am beyond proud and excited to announce the pending arrival of the next generation of our families in just four months.” Dad would be rolling in his grave. Probably Mike and Josiah too. Nicholas’s call for a toast silenced most of the gossip, but I was the one who needed the drink the most. Reed edged his way to my side. He faked a pout. “All that, and me and Max don’t even get a credit in this union?” “Be glad it’s Nicholas announcing it and not your father.” The toast passed with clinked glasses and general merriment, but Nicholas replaced the microphone. I caught his glance as Max stormed through the crowd. Max took my arm. Squeezed too hard. His eyes were rimmed red, and his hands shook. Either his patience or his liver would give out first, but the Bennetts refused to talk about it, even when Max crashed a formal party in jeans. “Come on, baby,” he said. “We’re getting you out of here.” He looked ragged, but his voice was cold and sober. A genuine applause rose from the crowd. And I knew why we had to leave. I shook Max away and refused to run. I expected it. Why hadn’t they?

As if he planned the very moment to coincide with his son’s speech, Darius Bennett sauntered into Nicholas’s celebratory party with a grand, serpentine smile, shaking hands with friends and greeting those who hadn’t been told of his sins, lies, and perversions. The Bennett Board of Directors, with the exception of Bryant Maddox, resigned with full honors and every respect. That included Darius, even if his sudden departure perplexed all who knew him. I anticipated a fight, bloody and brutal and rife with more abuses than I endured before. But Darius chose another path. It wasn’t peace, it wasn’t retreat. Now was the fruition of whatever deviancy he planned. And the room cheered for him. Shook his hand. Spoke compliments and wished him well on his upcoming retirement. They praised a hero. I didn’t cower in the shadow of my rapist. And neither did my step-brothers. “Darius!” One of the Bennett division presidents called to him, breaking through a conversation to pat his shoulder. “Didn’t figure on you joining us! Thought you’d be pleasure cruising somewhere in the Bahamas by now.” “Please, Kevin. I’m retired…not dead.” And I regretted that every minute of the day. Darius drew to his full height, an inch shorter than Nicholas. Reed and Max pulled me closer, but I didn’t need their help. I straightened if only to ensure Darius saw the visible bump and realized he could do nothing to me. A shielding as strong as Kelvar protected me, offered by the most innocent and vulnerable. He salivated pure venom. Had anyone seen, if anyone had ever thought to listen for my silent screams, they never would have let my step-father look upon me with such pleasure. “I wouldn’t miss this event for the world,” Darius said. “Such a lovely party, such a happy occasion. And just look at my beautiful daughter.” He drew closer, waiting for his sons to intervene and cause a scene. They didn’t, and I stilled as he laid a hand over my belly and squeezed. “Hello, my dear. You’re looking absolutely radiant.” I’d be sick. Vile, crawling shivers pierced my spine.

His touch was an infection, a sickness of hatred and vile intentions. He meant to watch me squirm, to claim that part of me which wasn’t his, had never been his, and would never, ever belong to him. I swallowed the bile and accepted the brush of his lips against my cheek in greeting. As long as it wasn’t his sickening, fat tongue in my ear again, I’d endure it. Nicholas forced himself between us, crushing his father’s hand in a stiff grip. “Glad you made it,” Nicholas said. “You should be here to share in this momentous event.” “I wouldn’t have missed it, son. Especially the announcement about the newest addition to our family.” “Sarah and I are very excited.” “As am I. Proud as can be.” The words coiled over my throat. “If only her family were here as well. I’m sure Mark would be thrilled about our little Bennett. And Josiah and Michael…” He didn’t deserve to speak their names, not after the hell he put me through in watching their fatal crash over and over. “Such a shame their lives ended before they became uncles...isn’t that right, Max?” Max? I glanced at my step-brother, but he didn’t answer. Nicholas pulled Darius from the gathered audience. His voice lowered, a lethal growl. “What do you want?” “A moment with my daughter.” “No.” “Then we can speak here.” His gaze fixated on my belly. “Though I doubt this is a conversation which should pass beyond family.” His tone was the striking of a match in room filled with explosives. I didn’t trust it. I was certain he aimed a gun, but I didn’t know which of my step-brothers would suffer the bullet. It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. I nodded to Nicholas. Five minutes in the shadow of the demon was five minutes I’d forever lose to nightmare and shame. I’d ensure it was the last time I spoke with him. That anyone spoke with him. Nicholas led us to an unoccupied storage room, a small area muffled from the party by the humming of the florescent lights. The door closed behind us, and my stepbrothers stood between me and the monster who had yet to make his move. “A stirring speech, Nicholas,” Darius said. “Though you really must annunciate

more. Do this family some justice and use a bit of bravado.” “What do you want?” Nicholas asked. “Am I not permitted to attend my own son’s celebration? You’ve done it, Nicholas. Secured the Bennett Corporation for yourself. Bloodied your fists and earned your keep.” He snorted. “I should think I’m entitled to a bit of caviar for giving you this opportunity.” “You’ve given me nothing.” “I gave you a name. A purpose. A legacy.” Darius tilted his head. “And you ruined it. You’ve tarnished our family with this union. The girl is your whore, not someone deserving of quarter of the company. And still you parade her around, free, as if the child is yours.” “It is.” “And I’ll permit you to take credit for the heir, if only because the world would not understand my coupling with Sarah.” “Coupling?” I refused to avert my gaze. “You raped me.” “Many times, my dear. Many times.” “And yet, here I stand. I’ve taken your family. I’ve stolen your company.” I raised my chin. “Hard to be ashamed of a little coupling when I’ve conquered the only things that ever gave you pride.” “When the bastard is born, I will be bursting with pride.” “It isn’t your child.” “Call it father’s intuition,” he sighed. “Call it probability. Why lie? Why stand there and blush and giggle and whisper all those sweet nothings into Nicholas’s ear when you know the truth? They had three months to take you, rape you, force a child into that womb.” He extended his arms. “Tell them how long it took me to mount you, how long it took me to create our child—” Nicholas rushed forward, striking his father and slamming him into the wall. His voice grated with rage. “She isn’t yours!” My hand reflexively twisted over my belly. Oh no. “Sarah isn’t yours,” Nicholas grunted. His forearm pressed into Darius’s neck. “The baby is my son.”

No. His reaction was too violent, too visceral, too quick. Darius’s eyebrow perked just as Nicholas corrected himself. Darius glanced to me, as though looking upon my body would reveal everything we hid about Bumper. My heart thudded, wracking against lungs that threatened to collapse in a breathless scream. “Leave,” Nicholas rasped. “While I still give you the chance.” “I never thought I’d see the day when my son defended an Atwood.” “I said leave.” “After all these years, after all these tragedies.” Nicholas tensed. He looked to Reed and Max. “Take Sarah home.” “The blood has always been bad between our families, particularly since her father attempted to murder you and your brothers. A shame he succeeded in only killing your mother.” Reed took my arm. Darius called to me. “All this ugliness worked out for the best, don’t you think, Sarah? Now you have a new lover and a little bundle of joy on the way. How fortunate your father succumbed to cancer so we could steal you.” “Fuck you,” I whispered. Reed ushered me to the door. Darius’s voice rose, calling to me, taunting me. “If we knew you’d be so amenable to this arrangement, we wouldn’t have waited to murder your brothers.” The room spun. Murder. A sickness churned in my belly, frozen by the chill piercing my spine. I turned, slowly, every movement an ache against the crushing agony of that memory, that horrible vision of flames and metal and my brothers’ last moments. “What did you say?” I whispered. Reed tugged on my hand. “Sarah, let’s go.” “What did you say about my brothers?” Darius’s grin spread with vile delight. “Josiah and Michael would have been great leaders for Atwood Industries. They certainly would never have sold a multi-billion dollar research idea to us, and their children would have kept the company

protected within the Atwood line. Not like you, my dear.” “Tell me about my brothers!” “What did you think happened, Sarah? They impeded our takeover.” “You’re lying.” “Pilot error. Mechanical error. It’s fortunate the investigators couldn’t scrape up what bits remained of your brothers to identify the true cause of their deaths. Hard to have a homicide investigation if there’s nothing left but ash.” “You’re fucking lying!” “If it’s any consolation, it was much quicker and far less harrowing than putting a bullet in their brains. Your mother wouldn’t have survived her sons’ murders. A one-in-a-million tragedy was cruel, but less damaging to her fragile health.” My chest ached in a pained gasp. I’d never take a full breath again. “It isn’t true,” I whispered. “Max can tell you exactly how he did it,” Darius said. He nodded. “Go on, son. Tell your little sister how proud I was of you…that crash was one of the few times you didn’t disappoint me.” I’d scream if I didn’t fear the sickness rising. Max didn’t meet my eye. It couldn’t have been true. It wasn’t. I looked to Reed. He no longer reached for my hand. No. Not now. Not after everything. Not this. “Nick?” I begged him. “Nick, please. Tell me he’s lying.” His silence was a knife to the heart. I should have known. I should have protected myself. I should have run when I had the chance. The Bennetts lived only to cause me suffering and betrayal. And now they had everything. My child. My family’s empire. My research.

My pride. My heart. I had nothing left for them to destroy.

22

SARAH

T

hey knew.

The whole time. Since my brothers’ deaths. Since they first captured me. Hurt me. Bred me. Darius. Reed. Nicholas. They knew. Max murdered my brothers, and they never told me. Because they knew what I would do. The limo delivered me to the penthouse, but I only made it as far as the farmthemed nursery. My purse dropped as my lungs tightened, the sickness rose, and everything hurt. Too much. My inhaler eased some of the pressure, but this wasn’t a pain caused from troublesome lungs or shock. This was misery. Darius forced me to endure Josiah and Mike’s deaths, binding me to a chair and replaying the video and cockpit recordings of their screams over and over until my mind shattered. I tried to kill him, but the slice was too far from his heart. I might have ended it then. I might have stopped the lies. Saved my body. Prevented the rape. But nothing I did would have saved my brothers. Not from the plans Dad had for them and not from the Bennetts. Darius plotted their deaths from the instant Dad announced his cancer. Their fate sealed when they formed the Josmik Trust.

And then I let my brothers’ murderers kidnap me. Take me. Befriend me. Love me. Nicholas promised we’d be a family. Reed cherished me like his own sister. And Max? Fury stole my thoughts. I clutched the little bump as I sat, rocking as if to the cradle the life that was yet to be born. No one was left to cradle me. The sharpness scared me more than anything, and I could no longer tell what was me, what was Bumper, and what was the sorrow. It wasn’t worth the risk to run. I didn’t want to threaten what was already in such danger. I waited, tears on my cheeks, as the minutes passed. I didn’t know what else to do, how else to make the pain stop. My voice wavered as I sang a little song to the baby. It didn’t seem to help. I repeated the second verse of the gentle nursery rhyme my mom used to sing to me when I was young. The door opened. I expected Nicholas. Max loomed instead. Everything about him turned dark and rough. He stood as an unrecognizable blur of my own tears and his forlorn grief. He waited before me, but I didn’t stop my song, not even to curse him, to scream for him to leave me alone. My voice weakened over the melody as I forgot the words and repeated lines I already sang. Twice I hummed, looping over the song. My hands cradled my tummy. “What are you doing?” Max asked. The first real words he spoke to me, and he barked them. As though Max had no idea how to hold a real conversation. How to be a gentle man. How to treat the one he hurt the most. Just like he had warned so many times in the past. Max refused to look at me. I didn’t dishonor my brothers by averting my gaze, no

matter how much I needed a moment away from the darkness. I hated to answer him. I hated more the rage swelling in me. It wasn’t good for me or Bumper. “Bumper usually bumps more than this,” I said. “Stress is bad for the baby, and...she hasn’t kicked for a long time. Singing is supposed to be soothing since she can hear my voice.” “Did you call Nick?” As if he deserved to be with me. I had no one else to call. No one else who would understand why I crumbled in such grief. “He’s coming with the doctor. He was stuck in traffic.” “Okay.” I said nothing, resuming the song, murmuring over the words I forgot and replacing them with silly rhymes and promises of love and warmth and everything I had lost since the nightmare began. Since I met the Bennetts. Since I lost my family. Since…ever. Max swore. He wove his hand through his hair, but without making a fist and slamming someone’s skull, he had no idea how to react to those who needed a kind word. Violence was a natural to Max as cruelty to Darius and mourning to me. I said nothing. Only sang. Just waited for that little kick that would tell me everything would be okay. “Sarah…” Max dropped to his knees. His eyes dulled, dark and expressionless. I didn’t recognize him anymore. I didn’t want to. “I didn’t know it was their plane.” I shook my head and sang. Hearing excuses would only hurt us more. Nothing he said would bring back Josiah or Mike, and that made him worthless to me. “My father said he had a job for me. I didn’t ask. I never asked. I just did it.” His breathing labored. “Do you understand why?” I sang louder. I’d never understand anything about the Bennetts. I wouldn’t want to try anymore. “I wanted my Dad’s respect, and I never got it. It didn’t matter that he was a monster. Or that he asked me to hurt people who opposed him. He was my father.

That meant something to me. I wanted to make him proud, and he never gave me that chance. You know how that feels.” It wasn’t the same as me and Dad. Max couldn’t equate it. Not when Dad shoved me away from the company and hid my asthma, and Darius Bennett forced his crippled middle son to hurt and murder. “Sarah, I had no fucking idea that was your brothers’ plane.” “And yet you still did it?” Max looked away. Question answered. “You’re a monster.” I whispered before singing once more. “I didn’t…fuck, Sarah. I couldn’t tell you. Not after I saw how much you endured to protect your father’s name. I was scared of how you’d react.” Foolishly. Recklessly. I misdirected my anger then. I sacrificed my life, my body, for a father who never cared for me, never trusted me. But Josiah and Mike did trust me. And they knew what was likely to happen to them. That’s why I was named in their trust. They picked me to inherit the Bennett shares if they died. And what did I do with that gift? I betrayed my own family. I caused more destruction to our name than if Darius had taken a match to our cornfields. I gave them everything. I gave them Bumper. I just needed her to kick. Just one little bump in exchange for another silly verse of the song, and my heart would stop breaking. “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” Max whispered. “I regret every fucking pain I’ve caused you. The beatings. The rape. The grief. I knew the instant I met you the mistake I made. I fucking begged Nicholas to never tell you the truth. But we couldn’t hide it. And now everything is so…” He reached for me. His hand trembled over the baby. He hadn’t voluntarily touched me for months. Tears streamed over his cheeks, silent and wet. His hand stretched over the entirety of my tummy, and the tattoos on his forearms flexed and tightened as he broke down, hiding his eyes and letting the sobs wrack his shoulders. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I sang because I didn’t know what else to do. My own tears brushed my cheeks. Was this how it would always be? Would this blistering agony always punish us? I loved these men, and I hated these men, and yet I froze as I watched a man as strong, as intimidating as Max weep over the bump of an unborn child. I envied my baby’s innocence, and I’d do anything to keep her that way. Safe and untouched by this heartache. I had the money, the power, and the name to give this child anything she could ever dream. But I couldn’t give her family. Not if there was none to give. My song faded as my tears choked over the melody, and we hurt together in grieving silence. I just needed a kick. Why wouldn’t she kick? Max curled onto the sofa. He didn’t ask, only moved, settling his head in my lap. And as much as I longed to push him away, to hit him, to scream at him, his deep baritone picked up the same nursery rhyme I could no longer remember. Max sang to the baby. And his heartfelt, perfect melody strengthened with every passing moment. I wept, holding him close to my tummy. His words warmed over my skin, and I let my fingers dance through his hair, over his shoulders, closer to me than he’d been in weeks. Too little, too late. He came to apologize when he should have said goodbye. His song filled the nursery. I never knew he sang so well. I doubted he did either. Every note, every soulful beat emerged from a dark, lost place within him. I longed to search more of that hidden secret. It might have explained more, might have protected us from the lies and pain, might have promised redemption in a man I once trusted and understood. He sang so beautifully, so perfectly. The thud kicked right near Max’s hand. The kick shocked us both. More tears. Relief.

Max sang and sang until his words hollowed into nonsense. Only a few minutes passed, but the hum, the deepness of his melody, delighted Bumper. She kicked and wiggled, fluttered and squirmed, and bumped. “Sarah.” Max’s song ended in a pained and ragged gasp. “Sarah, I gotta know.” What was there to tell? To say? I refused. “Sarah, please. Tell me you understand.” Who could understand this? Who could endure this much misery and sorrow and even think to look in the eyes of the man who caused it all? “Tell me you hear me. That you know I’m sorry.” I heard him. It didn’t make a difference. It couldn’t. Max clenched his jaw, his eyes shut. “Tell me you’ll forgive me.” “No.” He shuddered. “Tell me there’s a chance.” Bumper kicked again. I rubbed over where she rested, where I needed her to stay safe and protected. There was no protection in this world. No safety. No justice. No kindness or mercy or warmth. Everything good existed only to be taken and destroyed by those we loved most. “Max, how could I ever forgive you for this?” The front door slammed. Nicholas called for me. Max rose, wiping only some of his tears with his hand. Nicholas and Reed burst within the room. But there was nothing to say. Max didn’t look at his brothers. He didn’t apologize anymore. There was no reason to try. The door closed behind him. I never wanted to see him again. I had no idea what I would do to him if he ever returned. Reed retreated, patting Nicholas’s shoulder. I didn’t want to speak to either of them, but I knew what was coming.

The same thing that always came after disaster. The promises. The vows. Nicholas didn’t look away from me. He never would. “I was going to propose to you tonight.” Nicholas’s words spoke a mournful finality. As if the dream was lost. “I had a wedding planned. Something spontaneous and beautiful. I wanted Bumper to have a family from the instant she was born.” “She would have had a family.” “I can’t begin to explain, and I can’t rationalize what my father did to your brothers.” “I wasn’t talking about Josiah and Mike.” Nicholas paused. I met his gaze. The gold dimmed, dull, almost extinguished into murky brown. “Had they not died, none of this would have happened. I’d be safe, on the farm, in college. Still hating you. But I wouldn’t have her.” I didn’t know if that was better or worse, but the sheer terror of those minutes without her reassuring bump were crippling. I’d have nightmares of that dread again, more nightmares of losing her than I ever had of Darius and his attack. “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.”

23

MAX

“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.”

24

SARAH

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. Darius built a nursery. I saw a prison. And it relieved me that Bumper would never rest within any crib in Darius Bennett’s possession. “You disappointed me, my dear. I told you I expected a son.” “I live to disappoint you.” “Not for much longer.” I held his gaze. “And if the baby is yours? You’d kill her before she’s even born?” “Why should I tolerate inferior blood blending with the Bennett line? I should earn something in my sacrifice.” “Your sacrifice?” “The only reason I let an Atwood within my home, at my table, in my bed was to breed her like a common bitch.” Darius exhaled. “And even that was too complicated for you.”

He was on me before I reacted. His hand tightened over my throat, and he slammed me against the wall. “You failed me, child.” His growl sliced through me. “For the last time. No more second chances. No more begging. No more alliances with my sons. It’s just you and me, Sarah Atwood, and you will answer for your every failure.” The leash choked the air from me. He hauled me from the nursery like an errant dog through the halls, deliberately watching me twist and gasp to match his awkward gait. The collar dug into my neck. The humiliation would be over soon enough. The elevator was too easy a trip for me. Darius forced us through the narrow stairwell to the estate’s roof—half designer garden, half-helipad. The helicopter waited, and Max handed his father a set of ear-muffs for the ride. He didn’t afford me the same courtesy. “I’ve decided to take you home, my dear. Back to the farm, back to Daddy and the ashes of your brothers. Consider it my last kindness.” His sneer would forever etch into my memory, worse than any touch of his lips or fingers. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll even kill you before I stuff you in their graves.” My words didn’t waver. I lifted my chin, a hope for the final blow. “I hate you.” Darius sneer, his arm raised to strike. The slap never landed. The crack of Darius’s skull shattered the night with a sickening crunch. His eyes met mine in a moment of utter confusion, pain, and dismay. The leash released from his hand just as his worthless body crumbled at my feet. Soundless. Harmless. And still I lurched away. Still I let even the spreading shadow of an unconscious man force me to hide my body, my face, my fear. I told myself I would never again fear Darius Bennett. Standing over his vulnerable body made me more terrified than ever. One last thing to do. One last crime to commit. One last injustice to be sated. The lights flipped on, flooding the helipad with artificial brightness. Nicholas

stepped forward, the butt of his gun stained with his father’s blood. He touched my cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked. The tears came now, weepy only from the surge of adrenaline that threatened to topple me. “Why did you wait so long?” I pushed him away. “I thought you’d get him in the house.” “We didn’t have a clear shot.” “I used my safe word.” Nicholas nodded. “And I was there, like I said I would be.” God, this was a horrible plan. And, of course, it had been my idea.

“DARIUS THINKS HE’S BROKEN ME,” I SAID. My step-brothers did too. They sat in silence within the penthouse. Reed sullen. Nicholas still. And Max, half-drunk with bruises and the fat lip it took for his brothers to drag him back to me. “He expects that I’ll kill Max.” I didn’t look at him. Speaking his name was difficult enough. “That I want him to answer for my brothers. But this isn’t about an eyefor-an-eye anymore. This is about chopping the head off the snake. Now’s our chance.” Nicholas agreed. “Max, you have an opportunity to get close to Dad. If you go to him—” Max sneered. “He’ll kill me.” “Not if you offer him what he wants.” “And what’s that?” I spoke for him. For them. For Bumper. For the only way we’d ever secure our future. “He wants me.”

REED

BURST FROM THE SHADOWS, TUCKING A GUN INTO THE WAISTBAND OF HIS JEANS BEFORE

approaching. He didn’t smile, but the burden eased from his shoulders. He bent down to grab his unconscious father. Max hopped from the helicopter to help. Together they stuffed Darius into the cabin and slammed the doors. Just as I planned. Just as we wanted. But I didn’t feel any better. The fear didn’t fade. The pain. The grief. It was all still there, tucked in deep and pounding at my heart. “He hurt you.” Nicholas touched the bruise on my cheek. I held his hand. “Wasn’t him.” Max didn’t apologize. “She’ll heal.” I was tired of healing. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. Reed brushed beside me, offering me the gun. I took it. Just the feel of the metal left me sick and trembling. Nicholas’s voice hollowed. “I won’t take this from you. If you want, Max will lead you somewhere…quiet. You can pull the trigger yourself.” The thought excited and sickened me. “How many bullets in this gun?” Max tightened his jaw. “Enough to take out me and Dad, if that’s what you’re asking.” It was. I swallowed. Eight months of torment and rage, captivity and pain. How many more of my brothers needed to die before this feud ended? Before our revenge was sated? Dad would’ve demanded it. Forced it. My brothers died because of Max Bennett. But killing Max wouldn’t bring Josiah and Mike back. Killing him wouldn’t give my baby the uncle she needed. And killing Darius? I trembled, rocked with guilt and rage and the hopeless fear that we’d forever torture ourselves, trapped in a mire of regret and remorse and revenge. It would never end, not until the last drop of Bennett and Atwood blood stained the earth. I lowered the gun.

“You do it. I don’t want to know. Do it and we’ll never speak of him again.” Max nodded. “Baby—” I turned without listening for any words he might have said or apologies he might have given or insults he might have thrown. Peace only meant blood wouldn’t spill. It dictated nothing about forgiveness. Nicholas and Reed followed as the helicopter’s lights seared the rooftop. Max slipped in the cockpit as the monster roared to life. I didn’t bother watching. I saw everything I needed to see. Darius lay across the floor of the helicopter. Not dead, yet. Max would finish that and ensure his body was never recovered. Then Max promised after it was done, he would never come near me again. I hadn’t asked him for that concession. I wept in exhaustion by the time I reached the stairs, but the tears only aided my escape. I burst from the front doors as the tremors and aches, wheezing and coughs, grief and despair rolled through me. Nicholas held me, but I wasn’t prepared for his touch. For his closeness. To even think it had worked. A hasty plan, drawn in the night. Without subtlety, without remorse. One chance to end it all, and we were free. Was that it? Was this freedom? It hurt more than ever, especially knowing Max risked his life to approach Darius, to set the plan in motion, to betray his father from inside the estate. This plan was nothing but danger, but Max didn’t hesitate. He agreed to help. No questions asked. He only wanted another chance to ask for my forgiveness. And I didn’t give it to him. I couldn’t. Dad wouldn’t have wanted it. Mike and Josiah wouldn’t have understood it. The weight of my name suffocated me under the burden of our revenge. Max wouldn’t die, but they’d expect me to forget that he lived. And I couldn’t. Reed helped me into the car. Bumper bumped as Nicholas quietly gave instruction to his brother. She was too used to her father and uncles’ voices. Loved the sound. She wouldn’t remember them once she was born. Once it was over.

Once I was gone. If I could leave. It was too much to think of now, not while my hands shook and the chills overwhelmed me in shock. The car pulled from the estate and passed through the redwood forest, clutching at the shadows in spindly branches. I let my eyes drift to the mirror. One last look at the source of my nightmare, and then it’d be over. The orange fireball filled the sky, spreading over the top of the mansion in ghastly flames. The harrowing soundwave of the crash followed. “Nick!” I gripped his arm. “Oh, God, the helicopter!” The car squealed to the stop as Nicholas jammed the brake and spun us one hundred and eighty degrees to face the Bennett Estate once more. Flames leapt into the sky, and a quick spray of metal debris rained against the front yard. The helicopter crashed in a dire ball of flames. The Bennett Estate was burning.

25

SARAH

T

he flames lashed the estate.

Thick, enraged towers of crackling orange and violent gold rippled over the roof of the mansion, blazing waves of fire into the sky. Nothing remained of the helicopter. Chunks of charred metal littered the front lawn. Nicholas parked, but he pointed at me. “Stay in the car.” I rarely listened to him before. I wouldn’t start now. But it was a mistake. The acrid smoke soiled the air. I tasted the grimy, oil-soaked particles in my throat. My chest ached without the bitter thickness. I coughed and ignored it. “Fuck!” Reed stared at the roof. “Jesus…did he…is Max—” Nicholas shouted. “Sarah, stay here! Reed, let’s go.” “Max is a better pilot than that,” Reed said. “He wouldn’t crash…no one could survive that.” Fire tinted the world a terrible orange—charred and ashen and cratered with pitted rage. No. It wasn’t about survival. It wasn’t about death. The flames didn’t carry Darius Bennett home. They heralded his return. “He’s alive.” My words blazed with despair and finality. “He survived.” Nicholas pushed Reed, shaking him from the trance that trapped him within the

flaring orange. “You go look for Max.” Reed didn’t answer. He bolted into the house, sprinting to the stairs to reach his brother. I knew what he would find, and it wouldn’t be Max. Only evil. Only a monster strengthened by the hell he wrought on earth. Nicholas pinned my arms at my side. “Sarah, stay here—” “He’s alive.” I shared Nicholas’s gaze, fierce and gold, fueled by the same flames that roared from above. “I can feel it. Darius is alive.” “He’s not—” “I was wrong to let him go. I thought it would end without me. I was wrong.” “Sarah, you aren’t making sense.” “He killed my brothers.” I broke down and screamed the word. “Josiah and Mike and Max! He killed my brothers! And now he’s waiting for me.” “Sarah, no.” “I thought we could escape it, but I was wrong. This feud consumes us. Every minute of every day. People get hurt. People die. It ends now. Like it should have ended before.” “What end, Sarah?” Nicholas grabbed my hand. “There is no end to this. There’s only more blood and murder and nightmare.” “That’s all there’s ever been!” I didn’t let him hold me. Didn’t let him stop me. “There has to be something else in this life!” “There is! There’s us!” He followed, shouting, forcing me to listen to words I couldn’t handle and a truth I refused to accept. “Stay here. Wait for me.” “He’s not yours to kill.” “He’s isn’t anyone’s to kill! He’s only a monster to those who let him control them. His death won’t bring your brothers back. It won’t save Max.” His voice cracked over the name, jarred and broken. “He has a power over you because you let him possess it.” Then why shouldn’t I be the one to end it? His power, the fear, the rage. The feud between our families. It answered in vengeance and revenge and blood. I had no other way to accept what had happened. I couldn’t grieve and mourn and

hate if I didn’t kill Darius myself. Because otherwise, the forgiveness and pain and healing had to come from me. And no matter how much I survived, no matter how many times I faced the devil and scarred from his touch and stood up after I had been tossed to the ground, I wasn’t strong enough to accept what happened. The Bennetts stole my family. They humiliated me, hurt me, raped me. They forced me to betray my name. I loved them. I hated them. And the obsession consumed me just as the fires chewed through the barren estate filled with vile truths and bloody memories. I needed Darius’s death because I had nothing else. The flames leapt through the rooms and halls, feasting on the wooden frames, warped and rotted beneath the pristine stones. The fire spread too quickly. Rolling, thick smoke poured from the floors above. The electricity popped, plunging the estate into unnatural blackness. I rushed for the stairs. Damned my lungs. My coughing. The aching agony. Reed’s gun trembled in my hands, loaded with a terrible purpose. Nicholas followed me through the estate, his hands wrapping over me as I faltered, tripping over the darkness and sinking to my knees in a blinding cough. The hacking wheeze dizzied my vision and wracked me in a quick pain. I didn’t stop. Nicholas called for me, and the desperation in his voice turned to a shout. I knew where to find Darius. And he waited for me. I burst through the parlor, a smoking room, where the Bennetts had first captured me and forced me to present myself, my body, my very pride. The room was dark, haloed by the only contained fire in the estate, tucked within the mammoth stone hearth. Darius limped, bloody and bruised and weakened. He hobbled, almost broken, covered in burns. He survived the crash by a curse of pure hate and sin.

He turned from the mantle, rearranging the delicate garland that had reserved a hallowed place for a silver framed picture I thought he displayed only to insult me. His wedding picture with Mom. The frame clutched in his swollen, gnarled hand, and the image of their first kiss as husband and wife defiled everything good and holy that existed in marriage. Why had he come to save it? In a burning mansion of extravagance and fortune, Darius saved a silver framed photograph. A memory. A memento of an Atwood. The gun rose. Trembled in my hand. Smoke coiled within the estate, blackening the grand hall and threatening to descend from the upper levels. What was I doing here? Endangering myself? Endangering Bumper. I chased a specter of blood. I hunted for vengeance. I channeled my father. This wasn’t the end I wanted. “This isn’t about the feud anymore,” I said. “It’s not about Atwood and Bennett. It’s not about right or wrong. It’s not avenging an evil or forgiving your sins.” I pointed the gun at him. “This is about me.” “Then perhaps your aim is off, my dear.” It wasn’t. I tightened my finger over the trigger. “This obsession is all that’s mine. It’s my true inheritance. I’ve done nothing in this world except serve my family’s pride. But there is none. Not for the Atwoods. Not for the Bennetts. I’ve honored bloodshed and misery and hatred. I’ve sacrificed everything for this pain.” Darius hadn’t moved, couldn’t move with the injuries that should have claimed his life with his son’s. The slimy graze of his words coiled over my arms, my neck. “Then end it, Sarah.” “There is no end. There will never be an end. My brothers are dead. Your son is dead.” “There is no rationalizing vengeance, Sarah,” Darius said. “It simply is. It’s owed. It’s redemption of one’s failures and a responsibility to family—the most important element in this godforsaken world.”

“I won’t serve the burdens of those dead and buried anymore.” I swore. “I spent my life living in my father’s shadow, answering for his crimes and damning myself to his sins. Everything I did, everything I ever was, became an extension of this violent feud. My father didn’t give me a purpose in this world. Only a task. I had to make a male heir in case the worst happened and there were no more real Atwoods to protect our name.” “And you couldn’t even do that right,” Darius hissed. Nicholas answered for me. “The child is no mistake.” “The child is worthless.” “She’s better than all of us,” Nicholas said. “Safe from this madness. She’s innocent.” Darius scowled. “No one is innocent in this world.” “Then I’ll change the world or protect her from it.” The gun trembled my hand, despite how tightly I clenched against the grip. “She’ll never know this rage, this obsession, this false pride and demand for blood. No one deserves a life created just to end another.” A heavy, spine-tingling groan of wood against stone roared through the estate. From above, a dangerous shatter and thudding heralded a collapse. The ceiling rattled, dislodging chunks of plaster. Thick smoke rolled the stairs behind us. Was Reed trapped upstairs? The flames in the fireplace burst quick, pulsing and hot. The threatening flicker of orange pierced the darkness of the hall with a ghastly glow. We had little time. And the gun had yet to be fired. Was this what I wanted? I choked over the grimy air, clutching my belly as Bumper quieted and ceased kicking in my stress and fatigue. I carried a child. I held a gun. My prison burned to the ground around me. And my vengeance threatened to consume us all. The man I loved shielded me from falling debris, and the man I hated baited me with a sick grin and eager posture. Max was dead. Reed was missing. The child cradled too still within me. Tears rolled over my cheek. “I won’t fear you anymore,” I said. “I won’t fear this. I won’t bear the guilt of

loving a Bennett. In my life I’ve mourned the wrong people and suffered because of the hatred of others.” I exhaled, coughing, aching, trapped. “I won’t hate anymore.” “You can’t help but hate,” Darius whispered. “It’s in your blood, just as it’s in mine. You will never be free, my dear. Kill me. I’ll live on. Every time you hold the child. When she cries in the night. When she nurses at your breast. Every sacrifice you make to care for her innocence, you’ll remember how I won. You carry a Bennett, Sarah. And every second she spends within your womb will eat you alive.” The gun fired, but I didn’t aim for his blackened heart or the perverted, twisted mind that existed only to plot my inevitable torture. I aimed for his right leg. His hip. And he fell in the crippled agony Max endured every day of his life. “You can’t threaten me with a daughter I love.” I watched as Darius limped and swore, bleeding his way into the leather wingback before the fireplace. His body cast in shadow, writhed in the growing flames bursting from the hearth. “I won’t let you hurt me anymore. I won’t let your name, your life, become my obsession.” Darius pulled the weapon he concealed from his pocket. Nicholas moved, but I didn’t flinch. “I bear enough of your scars,” I whispered. “I won’t let your blood stain me too.” Darius didn’t aim for us. He looked through me, his stare forever searing a darkening, terrible place within my mind, my memory, my heart. “You will never be free of this.” His every word fell upon us as a curse. “You wanted to start your new family?” The gun pointed. Fired. Shattered through the study’s window. A burst of cold air flooded the room, howling as it coiled within the heat of the flames. The rushing oxygen punched over us. The fire from the hall trapped us within the parlor as it twisted, danced, and exploded. Nicholas shouted, shielding me from the burst of heat, smoke, and ravenous inferno. Darius’s laugh rattled within the fire, calling him home.

“Then, my dear, we will die as a family.”

26

NICHOLAS

W e weren’t dying here.

Sarah fell to her knees. The fires and smoke poisoned the estate with ash, grit, and the charring memories of my home. Except it was never a home. Never a place of comfort or love, warmth or acceptance. I remembered nothing but pain within the smoldering halls. Places where I had been lashed and the secret corners were we hid until Mom took us by the hand and led us to him. The monster, sadist, and brutal tyrant filled the estate with a presence more frightening, more terrible than any flames or churning smoke. I’d have taken the burns and blisters over his expectations. The fire surged through the bottom level of the mansion. I hauled Sarah to her feet. She wavered. I plucked her from the ground and tucked her into my arms instead. She might have protested, might have fought, but the wracking coughs and tears choked her beyond anything safe for her or our child. My father didn’t move. His leg bled, spreading a puddle of crimson against his trousers, the chair, the floor. He made no attempt to flee. His wedding picture rested in his lap. No more expectations. No more threats. He waited for the fires. And only his clutching, veined hand gripping the chair revealed the consuming agony that seared through his body. I prayed nothing would remain once the fire purged through his carcass. Sarah struggled against my hold—either to turn and ensure the fires feasted on his

corpse or because she’d discovered what I feared. We were trapped. The estate erupted into searing flames. Paint melted on the walls. The crystal chandeliers whistled as they fell, crashing against the stone floors in an explosion of glass and gold. A vortex of heat and violence whipped through the upper floors. Sarah clutched at me as a plank from the ceiling fell. I spun with her, dodging the cracking, failing ceiling as it all came undone. As everything ruined in flame and death. And she couldn’t scream. Couldn’t even cough. I burst through the hall, but thick smoke concealed the passage through the rear of the estate. The smoke blinded me, and the heat prickled my skin. Sarah pointed, her motions stealing what precious breath she managed within the crumbling inferno. The path behind us blocked with a wave of fire. It wasn’t ending like this. I lowered her to the floor and wrapped her tightly in my jacket, covering her soft skin. She gagged and sputtered, but I didn’t let her protest. I gathered her in my arms, rushed to the flames, and jumped through, bounding to the front door. The heat seared through my shirt, and a lick of flame singed the sleeve. A biting pain surged over my leg. I shouldered the door and sprinted outside, lowering Sarah to the grass as my own lungs seared. She beat at my arms. Hot embers burned, nearly engulfing my shirt. I forced the inhaler into her hands. “Reed—” She panted in a choked rasp. “Stay here!” I yelled. “Listen to me this time. Don’t fucking move. I’ll find him.” Her hand cradled her belly. I gently rubbed the little swell, still too little and new. Bumper didn’t kick. The thought shattered my courage. I relied on pure adrenaline to move. “This doesn’t end with us separated, Sarah. I love you.” The asthma took her words. She touched me instead, brushing a hand over my cheek. Her hand was burned. A fierce red streak over her fingers. I’d never forgive myself. I’d never forgive him.

I took my jacket and burst inside the estate, the material wrapped over my head as I pushed through the flames once more. Heading upstairs bordered on suicide, but I couldn’t leave my youngest brother to die. Not when Max was already dead. The thought slayed me—a chill in the suffocating heat. I crawled the stairs, slinking low to the stone and breathing shallow gasps of the charring wood, grit, and dust. We presented the estate as pristine at all times, in all ways. Never a speck of dirt. No children’s toys beyond our bedrooms, no rough-housing on the furniture, no running to scuff the floors. The estate was kept immaculate. And now, the filth rotting it from the inside was exposed to the world. The Bennett Estate harbored a vile core, a crumbling, blackened heart that feasted on the misery and pain of others. Greed was praised as ambition, and success disguised through sadism. The tenants of family and power corrupted our dignity into the pretense of honor. I had none. But I’d regain it. Find it. Keep it. Teach my daughter the true meaning of honesty, integrity, and family. The north wing of the house had yet to be consumed, but the smoke smeared everything in foul, polluted grime. I choked as I ran, blinking through stinging, watery eyes. “Reed!” Nothing. He wouldn’t hear me. The walls groaned and shuddered, popping with boiling heat and creaking through an old foundation. Even the stone heated to the touch. I couldn’t save this estate. I sprinted through the hall, aiming for a far staircase leading up and up, further into the swirling, frenzied mass of fire. Everything crumbled and stained, peeled and crushed. It was supposed to be mine. It was meant to be mine. The estate and wealth, the prestige and pride. I was Nicholas Bennett, and this was intended to be my legacy and my empire. It

blackened to ash and collapsed upon the weight of the ideal and the dishonesty of the dream. Corruption fanned the flames. But my future? It was safe. My life, my future, my everything was spared from the fires. Sarah and the baby waited outside. They were the only riches, the only empire, the only future I needed. I kicked the door to the roof. The air wept with toxic moisture, thick and heavy with the consuming stench of fuel. Reed retreated from the wreckage, crashing over charred metal. He screamed, begging for our brother to answer. Max didn’t respond. He wouldn’t. My stomach heaved. I ran for my brother, pulling Reed from the unrecognizable carnage. He fought me, punching, kicking, flailing from my grasp to rush at the fires again. His hands burned on smoldering metal. He swore through the pain, tossing flaming debris aside. The roof cracked, a warning fate delivered only because the devil had swept back to hell. “Reed, we have to go!” He swiped at me, like losing one brother would justify attacking his remaining family. “Reed!” “Max!” His voice grated, raw and muffled with agony. “Max!” “Come on!” I pulled his arms, hauling him away. Reed fought me, refusing to leave the wreckage, screaming for a man who no longer existed. “Reed! The roof is going to collapse!” “Max!” Inconsolable. Desperate. I forced him to run, tripping his legs backwards, denying him the chance to throw his life away too. “For Christ’s sake!” I shouted. “We have to get out of here. Sarah’s in trouble!”

Reed shuddered. Her name ran through us both, a fire catching and igniting our own fierce possessiveness. We rushed to the stairs, tumbling over them two at a time, crashing against the walls only to push off and sprint through halls that never heard pounded footsteps or shouting. But they heard pain. Too much pain. And now the estate screamed too. Fallen debris and crashed chunks of the ceiling blocked the grand staircase. The side stairs coiled with smoke too thick to see, to breathe. Reed grabbed my arm and forced me down the south wing, his hall. He kicked open the door to his room, pitched off his jacket and rushed to the balcony. I hardly recognized him, dusted with soot, burned with fire, beaten by his own mourning. He stepped onto the edge of the balcony and looked down. “Feeling lucky?” Not particularly, not as our childhood home and prison collapsed around us. I searched beneath us. The pool waited below. Two stories below. “Always wanted to try this,” Reed said. “Dad forbade it.” “Dad’s dead.” Now he smiled. And leapt. Christ. He didn’t give me warning. The splash crashed over the entirety of the pool. I waited for my idiot brother to either surface or bleed out. He kicked off the side and shouted. “Water’s fine!” Fuck, he’d lost his goddamned mind. I ripped the jacket off and poised over the edge. The balcony didn’t extend over the pool. I didn’t have a choice. I pushed from the railing and dove, smacking the water at full force, crushed by the impact. My vision flared white.

Burned and drowned. Two deaths escaped. I kicked from the bottom and burst through the surface. Reed grabbed my arm and hauled me onto the concrete. The salt-water seared my eyes, my lungs, the wounds. “Sarah.” I grunted, pushing myself up. We raced to the front of the house, but Sarah wasn’t where I left her. Of course. I shouted, and she answered, weakly, hiding behind the car. One hand wrapped over her belly, the other on the inhaler. I wasn’t taking chances. She needed to go to a hospital. “Max?” she wept, knowing the answer. “Where’s Max?” I shook my head. Reed dove to her side, his own tears mixing with hers. She crumpled. “But I didn’t…I hadn’t forgiven him…I didn’t say—” I enveloped her in a hug. She sobbed against my shoulders, beating at me, weakening with each blow. “It’s okay,” I whispered. I kissed her, again and again, rocking her in my arms. “It’s done. It’s over. You’re safe.” Safe. The orange flicker of fire destroyed and betrayed, weakened and collapsed. Just as Sarah promised, the very foundation of the Bennett Empire began to fall. And I would help it. I’d break every stone, burn every wall, and crush every last memory. Then I would restore our family in the image of what was most important. Safety, trust, love. Sarah and I would build it together. Brick by brick.

27

REED

I really shouldn’t have been here, but someone had to come. Not sure why Y eah, I volunteered. We didn’t even mark the grave. What was there to say? You’re gone. The dirt was still fresh and smelled odd. But then again, all I smelled was soot and ash and dirt. And now salt. That was a relief. The beach wasn’t the beach without the ocean spray. I hadn’t been to the shore in so long. I wasn’t permitted to loiter at the ocean. Names to uphold and parties to plan. Now I had a chance to go. And I always did want to leave it all behind. Drop the name and expectations and get the hell out of that insanity before I earned yet another injury. I knew I was cute, but I was running out of canvas to keep clear of the scars. So I thought about going until I realized I didn’t have anything to run from now. I sat beside the grave, but he wasn’t in there. They couldn’t find…most of him. That type of fire was too difficult to escape. I wasn’t sure he even tried. You’re gone. My cell rang. I didn’t want to answer it so close to the grave. I walked away and resolved never to look back. Sarah’s number blinked across the display. “Hey,” I said. “What’d the doctor say?” “Everything’s looking good.” “And Bumper?”

“Kicking my lungs.” “Well, they don’t work anyway.” “No, but they’re generally nice to not have bruised.” She hesitated, confirming what we figured. “The doctor warned I might have to go on bedrest in another few weeks because of the asthma.” I groaned. “That’s not the good kind of bedrest. You’re not allowed to do anything fun then.” “Certainly not your idea of fun.” “That’s every man’s idea of fun.” The wind whipped against the phone. I inhaled, but whatever charred the estate also settled in my veins, my skin, my hair. Two weeks had passed, and I still found smudges of ash over my house. It’d be spooky if I hadn’t already lived through my worst fears. “Where are you?” Sarah asked. Yeah, right. She wouldn’t understand, and I didn’t want her to worry about that night. Too many things went wrong. Actually, not a whole hell of a lot went right over the past year. I was changing that. Better late than never. “I’m outside,” I said. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I’d never lie to her. “You?” “Home.” Her voice warmed. “Well, at Nick’s. Are you coming over?” I cleared my throat. “Actually. I…uh, I have a date.” Shock. The baby would probably crash out of her right then. “You have a date?” “Yeah.” “With a girl?” If she didn’t know my preferences by now, I couldn’t help her. “Yeah.” “Is she…” Sarah laughed. “Is she normal?” Were any of us? “She’s just someone I know. Thought maybe it’d be good to get out. Head to the ocean. Surf.” “Sure. Yeah. That’s…” Sarah smiled, and I could hear it over the phone. She was doing that more lately. I liked it. “That’s really good. I’m so glad you can finally…”

And now the weeping. So much for the smile, but she blamed the pregnancy. It wasn’t. She felt the same thing I did. Relief. “I’ll stop by tomorrow,” I promised. “I want all the details.” Yeah, she was getting them whether she wanted them or not. For the past year my only relationship consisted of trying to fuck and breed my step-sister. How the hell was I supposed to be normal now? Most girls wanted flowers and roses. Sarah just wanted to stop bruising and get mounted by me and my brother at the same time. No matter how much money I had in my pocket that shit wasn’t the eccentric life of a billionaire. It was pure fucking crazy. And who the hell knew how much damage it did to any of us. Sarah bounced back, if only because she was more spring that human, forced to the ground to pop up again. And Nick? Christ. What the hell did he care? He got everything. Company. Woman. Baby. Future. I couldn’t even think about Max. Which left me and my baggage, each piece categorized with a neat little tag. Father issues, Guilt, Grief, Oddly specific sexual fetishes that weren’t resolved or explored. Yeah, we were in good shape. But at least I finally had the chance to try. I wanted out, and this was it. My own life, my own future, my own everything. God help the girl who got saddled with me. But that’s what the dimple was for. So far, it got me into enough trouble. Maybe it was time it got me out of some. Or maybe it was time I found someone to share the trouble with me.

EPILOGUE

Sarah

GIVING BIRTH WAS THE MOST HARROWING, SWEATY, UTTERLY DISTURBING EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFE. Then the nurse passed the squirmy bundle of pink to me. And then I figured it hadn’t been so bad. Nicholas didn’t last. I never saw him cry before, but he nuzzled against me, breath just as labored as mine. They probably should have given him the oxygen. I didn’t need it. I hadn’t breathed since Bumper looked up at me. “Oh, she’s the most beautiful baby girl,” the nurse said. “She looks just like Daddy. Look at those big, golden eyes.” I clutched her, but I was lost. Overwhelmed. Nicholas held us, both of us. Me and his daughter. And we both wept in joy.

THE PARTY WAS SCHEDULED FOR TOMORROW. AFTER FINALS. BECAUSE, FOR SOME REASON, I THOUGHT IT’D be fun to chase the baby, take an eight AM final, graduate, and then have a giant formal party to celebrate my degree. But if anyone could handle it, it was me. Still, my books were piled on the patio table, cast out around me. I stared at the

results of my titration lab. They were the right figures, of course, but smudged with smashed bananas. I’d pass it off as me initialing the work and hopefully my professor—a woman with a young child herself—wouldn’t take too many points off my current A. It really wouldn’t matter. I still had Atwood Industries to run and the future GMO division of the Bennett Corporation to oversee, but I wanted this degree. Not because it was what my family planned for me, and not because I had to finish anything I started, but because it was for me. It was mine. And I wasn’t letting anything keep me from what was mine anymore. So I pushed the sippy-cup toward the high-chair and let the chubby little hand squeeze my fingers as I studied. “Hannah,” I smiled at the squealing toddler. “Can you say titration?” “Ie-ie-ah-banana.” Nicholas snorted over his laptop. “Sounds like she’s going into business with me.” “Yeah, right. That was an –ethyl group. She’s talking compounds and esters.” The sippy-cup smashed to the table. Nicholas scooped it up before it spilled over my books. “Thank you, Daddy.” I murmured. “Did you graduate yet?” I bit my pencil. “Not yet. Give me twenty-four hours.” “You sure you can’t take off early?” I didn’t trust the devious glow in his golden eyes—warm and promising and absolutely not the distraction I needed while studying for my last test ever. At least, until I went for my doctorate. “The plane’s ready,” he teased. “Beautiful spot on the beach. Just you, me, Bumper.” “You know we can’t go until after tomorrow. Hard to host a graduation party if I’m not here.” “Hard to have a honeymoon if you don’t want to go.” “Oh, I want to go.” “Do you?”

“Depends,” I smirked. “What are you planning?” “You’ll see.” Nicholas curled a finger. I leaned in close, stealing a heated, perfect kiss. Hannah squealed in shrill delight. I knew that excited sound. I murmured against his lips. “Uncle Reed’s here.” I pulled from Nicholas. Reluctantly. “Honeymoon can wait.” Reed jogged onto the patio, making a beeline for the baby. Hannah loved the game, and she raised her arms for a hug. Spoiled little thing. All she ever got were hugs. And trust funds. Mostly hugs. “You really shouldn’t cage her like this.” Reed slathered her with kisses. “It’s a high-chair.” I laughed. “This little girl wants to run.” “Run and jump and fall off all the steps and rush into the corn…” And they were down, rolling in the grass. Reed tossed Hannah into the air, way too high. Yeah, we weren’t studying now. “Place looks good.” Reed mimicked Bumper, squealing just as shrill as she expressed her profound enjoyment at rough-housing with her uncle. “Almost done?” Nicholas glanced over our new home. “It is.” It wasn’t the garish Bennett Estate, nor was it the gaudy farmhouse turned mansion. But it was ours. A blended, perfect union of both rural cornfields and hectic business. Nicholas surrendered and agreed to raise Hannah on the farm. It wasn’t much of a fight. He didn’t care where we were or where we lived. So long as we were together. A family. And we were. For the most part. As much as the old wounds healed. Reed stood, gathering my baby-turned-toddler-before-I-was-ready into his arms. He passed her to me. His voice lowered. “Are you expecting anyone else?” I turned.

The dark figure limping his way to the patio hesitated. The party planners and decorators buzzed in his path, and he wasn’t completely stable on the prosthetic leg yet. He clutched an oversized teddy bear dressed in overalls with a little straw hat. Just like one he gave me once, but this present wasn’t for me. My heart stilled. I held Hannah close. Nicholas stood. “Max?” Max didn’t look at me, but he approached his brothers after a long moment. He appeared…so different. Pale, but still a mountain of muscle and ink and frightening intensity. “Holy shit, dude,” Reed said. “What are you doing here?” My words shuddered, lost in a pain I hadn’t felt for a year and a half. “I invited him.” I stared at my step-brother. “I didn’t think you’d come.” Max lowered his gaze. “I thought it was time.” Silence. We stared at each other. Reunited after what felt like a lifetime of pain, recovery, joy. Reed slapped a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. “I still haven’t seen that new game room.” Nicholas’s gaze stayed on me and the baby. “Sarah?” “It’s okay.” Nicholas and Reed granted us privacy. I snuggled Hannah close. Max still hadn’t met my gaze. He hadn’t expected to talk to me alone. He hadn’t talked to me at all. And that hurt more than anything. “A year and half, Max,” I whispered. “You didn’t call. You didn’t try to see us. You didn’t even text.” “Yeah.” That was it? That was all he would say? Hannah squirmed, but I adjusted her against my hip. “You didn’t come to see your niece when she was born.”

That was the greatest insult, but I wasn’t done listing the wounds he caused me. “You didn’t come to the wedding. You didn’t come to the house. You didn’t even try.” “I tried.” “You did a horrible job.” “I didn’t think you wanted me here, baby.” He rubbed his face. “Not after what I did.” So much had happened since then. So many questions and problems and pain, and so many good things. The baby. The marriage. It was so easy to love when we had no secrets, no hidden motives. “You haven’t forgiven me yet,” he said. I stared at the cornfields, the back field where my entire family buried. Josiah and Mike. Dad. Mom, who’d held on long enough to meet her granddaughter. I’d needed everyone in my family to rebuild my life after it crashed down. That included Max. And he had refused to come. “It’s hard to forgive you if you aren’t here to forgive, Max.” He tensed, meeting my eyes. “We’re a family now,” I said. “We’re all we have. Nicholas and me and…” I shrugged with Bumper. “And Reed. We’re supposed to be a family. I wanted that more than anything. And you weren’t there.” “You wanted me here?” Not at first. It took time. But it wouldn’t have taken nearly as much if we had been together. “I thought you were dead,” I said. “We all did. And then you call a week later only to disappear again. Max, I didn’t want you here, but I needed you. I still do.” He didn’t believe me. He didn’t want to believe me. He surveyed the farm, pretending to care an ounce about the corn and dirt. He turned. His attention rested on the baby. “That her?” he asked. “No, I stable a whole herd of kids now.” “You know what I mean.”

I edged her close to Max. Now she decided to play it coy and hid her face in my shoulder. “What’s her name?” “Hannah Rain Atwood-Bennett.” I kissed her cheek to earn her giggle. “Still call her Bumper though. It grew on us.” His words lowered. “She looks like Nick.” “She should.” “Is…is she…” “His? Yes.” “Are…are you sure?” I hated speaking of it. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Nicholas and I loved Hannah unconditionally. “I’m a geneticist. She’s Nick’s.” A man as big as Max would fall the hardest if he let it happen. He didn’t though. He composed himself with a breath and nodded. “Good,” he said. “That’s…the way it should be.” Yes. It was. “Do you want to hold her?” “I don’t think so.” “Max.” I shifted her. Hannah hid her face, but she smiled, baiting him to reach for her. “I have no idea how to hold a baby.” “It’s easy.” I passed her into his arms. Max’s muscles swallowed her, cradling her within ink and strength. Hannah looked at Max with a goofy grin and babbled. He instantly fell in love. “What’d she say?” His words wavered. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t breathed. “Hi, Hamlet, banana, and tor-tor. We think that’s her word for tractor. She’s giving you a tour of the farm.” “She’s amazing.” “She is.” I brushed her chubby little arm. “She could use another uncle.” “Not me.”

“Yes you. Max, this family isn’t a normal family. But we’ve been through too much together to separate. We can’t heal on our own. It isn’t fair to punish ourselves for what happened in the past. It’s not fair to Hannah.” He hadn’t stopped staring at her. I didn’t blame him. Most times I couldn’t help but watch her too. And I caught Nick studying the baby monitor at night if only because I told him she had to learn to sleep in the crib, not cradled against his chest. “I graduate college tomorrow,” I said. “The new Bennett seed division is finally doing research. My farm is thriving. Nick posted record profits. Hannah started talking. Reed’s got this new girlfriend and—honest to God—it’s one crazy story about where he got her. Max, you have to be here for some of this. Promise me this isn’t another goodbye.” “That’s up to you, baby.” I herded him to the table. He walked better now, without the bad leg. I doubted he wanted to talk about the amputation. He hadn’t even told Nicholas it was done until he was healed and in the prosthetic. “We do have to talk,” I said. He clenched his jaw, bracing for a war I wasn’t planning to reignite. “You have a year and a half of photo albums to get through,” I said. “You missed everything. I have thousands of pictures of Hannah you have to see.” “I’m holding her. I see her.” “Thousands, Max. She was a flower girl in the wedding. It was adorable. You have to see it.” “Whatever you want.” I touched his cheek, bending down to kiss his forehead. “I just want her to know she has a family. That’s she’s safe and loved and wanted.” I wanted the same for him. “Then I’ll look at as many pictures as you want.” “I’m glad you’re back.” He held Hannah closer. “Yeah. Me too.”

THE PARTY LASTED TOO LONG, AND HANNAH DECIDED TO ROCK OUT LONGER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I cradled her to sleep, warm and fed and peaceful. She crashed without a peep, and I

backed out of a nursery blended with so much pink and farm and princess decorations the kid would grow up adjusting a tiara with a pitchfork. Nicholas waited for me in our bedroom, capturing me in a kiss worth waking up in the middle of the night to receive. “Bumper sleeping?” he asked. “Like a baby.” “How convenient.” I grinned at him, shivering in all the right ways as his hand brushed against my cheek. “She’s beautiful.” “Just like her mother.” “And perfect.” “Now you’re fishing for compliments.” I raised my eyebrows. Nicholas smirked. “Perfect like her mother.” “Thank you.” He led me to the bed, teasing another kiss from my lips. “No, thank you.” “For what?” “Everything?” His caramel voice threaded over me. “Or do you need specifics?” I shook my head. No one needed specifics anymore. That part of our lives, the memories and hate and nightmares, those were over. I leaned in close. “You saved me, Sarah,” he said. “From myself. From a future that would have damned me to the same darkness as…” “Nick, I wouldn’t change what happened. It gave me you and Bumper. Anything else was just paying our dues until we reached right now.” “And what’s now?” “Everyday, for the rest of our lives.” Nicholas’s smile turned devilish. I braced for it, but the masculine possession wasn’t something I ever wanted to lose. He cupped my cheek. I melted into his grasp. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted,” he said. “Every power I thought I deserved, and everything a family is supposed to be…”

His voice trailed off. I shrugged. “Is there a but in that statement?” He pulled me close, tasting my lip, my chin, my neck. I rolled with a heated shiver, a prelude to our promised honeymoon. “But, Ms. Atwood…Mrs. Bennett—” I knew what he was after, and the tease would conquer me again and again. “Don’t you dare, Nicholas Bennett.” I flushed with a terrible excitement as he pushed me on the bed, his kisses tracing a path over my heating skin. Nicholas growled, a hungry, perfect baritone that promised every love, every desire, every pleasure he had yet to give me. “I’m still owed a male heir.”

THE END

OTHER NOVELS BY LANA

Loved Takeover? Also love dark and dangerous biker romances? Check out the Anathema MC Series! Warlord Exiled Knight Three powerful men, scarred by war and desperate to save their women Three strong women, sacrificing everything to protect the men they love. One war no one can afford to lose. The complete trilogy is available now!

SNEAK PEEK - WHILE THEY WATCH! A LANA GRAYSON/SOSIE FROST NOVEL!

If you’re looking for another super hot read, I have a treat for you! Coming this spring…

WHILE THEY WATCH AN EROTIC ROMANCE

BY: LANA GRAYSON AND SOSIE FROST

I’ve been working with my best friend, Sosie Frost, on a deliciously new BDSM novel! Sosie is a master of romantic comedy, and I thought I’d bring her to the wild side with a blending of funny and sexy romance.

While They Watch is a spicy hot novel that focuses on one of the sexiest of fetishes…Exhibitionism. Fortunately, the BDSM Club Duchess specifically caters to this particular desire. And Anthony Delvannis—a dark, brooding, powerful attorney—just found his perfect submissive. …Only she doesn’t know it yet.

We’ve included a sneak peek of While They Watch! Check out the first chapter, and, if you’re interested, sign up here to be emailed when our novel comes out!

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1

WHILE THEY WATCH - SNEAK PEEK

C hapter One “YOU DON’T BELONG HERE.” His voice cut against the thrumming cello of the jazz quartet. The warning pulled me from the music and pinned me to my seat. What might have been an unwelcomed distraction instead syncopated my heart into a spikey, unsteady rhythm. The stranger spoke with a resonating authority and, for whatever reason, he focused on me. I had finally worked up enough courage to order a drink, but his warning rekindled my panic. Fleeing the club was a good option. Grabbing my ID for the third time to prove my age to the security obsessed bartender was the rational thing to do. Instead, my gaze darted to the white LED decorated stairs leading to the guarded door of the infamous second floor. A threaded curtain separated the VIPs from the general public. I didn’t belong in a lot of places. Duchess, an exclusive fetish night-club, lingered at the top of the list, followed closely by places like Aleppo and my mother’s house in Columbus. My peachtini was too light on the -tini to consider the happenings on that second floor. Even the curtain’s material looked too ritzy for my wallet. I was as out of place in Duchess as I was in Pottery Barn. The stranger claimed the stool to my left. His shoulder grazed against mine, and I reached for my drink, teeth clamping down on the straw before I said something idiotic. Belong there? Of course I didn’t belong there. And the one who did was forty-five-freaking-minutes late. No calls. No texts. Leave it to Suzi to trap me in the one bar that served leather conditioner alongside thirty dollar mixed drinks. His long legs stretched out under the bar—black shoes, black slacks tailor fitted to his build. He was much taller than me, but that was no surprise. I got carded at the door, and I expected a “you must be this tall to enter” speech from the bouncer.

Though, in a place like Duchess, it’d be a “this tall to ride” warning. And that did it. I blushed at the precise instant my eyes drifted over the crest of his legs. He noticed. Figured. The last thing I wanted was to look like some crazy crotch-wench in this kind of club. His shirt was a much safer place for my gaze, except the crimson material stretched neatly over a chest harder than the rock sitting in my stomach. I thought the guys in these places were supposed to be decrepit. An early retiree in the midst of his mid-life crisis brandishing a clearance-rack leash from PetSmart. My sources were dead wrong. “Having fun?” He said. My heel slipped off the stool. I caught myself before my chin collided with the bar. He steadied me, grasping my elbow within his large hand. He expected an answer. And a voice like that—a melody more appealing than anything the jazz ensemble played—deserved an answer. He hadn’t released my arm, but I wasn’t going anywhere. My bones melted and puddled on the imported floor tile the instant he spoke. Unfortunately, my throat closed over a chunk of sticky peach lodged somewhere between my tongue and the last shred of my dignity. A sexy half-cough, half chortle might have sounded great, but I decided silence was the best recourse for the only girl in a cotton sundress in the ocean of second-skin leather skirts. A demure nod. A quick clearing of my throat. A guzzle of the peach-tini. And there was the -tini. Great. “Are you meeting someone?” He asked. And now he laughed at me. A dozen responses flitted though my mind. The first was an honest no shit, and the second a recurring—I really need my arm back. I raised my eyes to his. He was older than I thought. Maybe early to mid-thirties, but no gray touched his dark hair. He wore it long, almost chin length, pulled back into a half pony-tail framing his stubble-dusted jaw into strong edges. His complexion was darker, and his nose a sculpted angle. Mediterranean? I always wanted to take a trip to Europe. And there was my instant-vacation, leaning towards me, without even a cursory glance from the TSA. He released my arm with a light brush over my skin. A million goose bumps followed. My glass tinked back onto the bar. I swallowed any frilly vibrato in my voice. His eyes fixed over me. Wasn’t it rude to stare? Wasn’t it equally rude to linger in silence like a tongue-twisted invalid who enjoyed the umbrella in her drink more than the liquor?

“This isn’t your normal night out.” “No,” I said. His lips mocked me with a dire smile. “No, you don’t belong here. No, you aren’t meeting anyone. Or no, this isn’t your normal night out?” “Yes.” Oh, Christ. I sipped the last few golden drops of my drink while hiding my flushing cheeks. Might as well trip out of the bar and let my skirt fly over my head. If I found some spinach to stuff between my front teeth my every nightmare would play out in the middle of a fetish bar. And yet, my mysterious stranger smiled. Just a hint, but infinitely more controlled than my humble freak out. Better to have him think I was playing coy than deliver the actual truth. I had no idea how to talk to a man like this. We—well, wherever Suzi and Leah happened to be—planned to come to Duchess for a laugh. He was here legitimately. He belonged here. And he was talking to me. Leaning over with biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt and shoulders that formed a barrier between me and the safety of the exit. The bartender set a drink before him. A gin and tonic. He hadn’t ordered it and he still got the drink a hell of a lot quicker than I was given mine. “What’s your name?” His dark eyes blended with the effortless baritone of his voice. We planned to be Polly, Dolly, and Molly, but I suffered enough. “Morgan.” “Good evening, Morgan.” His eyes dipped over me again. I straightened my shoulders, but I remained a speck of blonde on the bar next to him. He didn’t say anything else. His evening washed over me. I had nothing in my arsenal as smooth. Not even a did you know that’s not really a trumpet in the band? It’s a cornet, and I think it sounds snazzy. As if on cue, the sadistic quartet switched to a different song. Something tragically mellow that fostered the silence. I remembered this being easier back when I was still enrolled in college. I couldn’t sit at the bar without some fraternity pledge offering to buy me Natty Lights on his parent’s semester allowance. But my stranger was no overeager kid looking for an easy score. He toyed with me—waiting for me to either run away or drown in my drink. Two could play that game. “So.” I leaned back to get a better look at my companion. He welcomed the intrusion, meeting my stare with a raised chin. Proud and vain. He could be trouble.

“Come here often, stranger?” He chuckled. The pressure in my chest eased. I tugged the edges of my dress down, closer to my knee. He studied the movement, and my fingers dug into the material. I didn’t want him thinking I meant for the hem to creep up. Or that I panicked if I revealed a little skin. Or that I did or didn’t want him looking at my skin. I sighed as he spoke. “My name’s Anthony.” “Evening, Anthony.” He cracked and smirked. Maybe I was better at the game than I thought. My cell chirped. I checked the text and groaned. Suzi was my own personal town-crier, but she only ever gave bad news. Sorry hon. Crisis at work, and Leah’s baby has a fever. Another time? Another time. This was our other time, making up for two almost-nights out. Suzi’s office did more work after 5:00 than seemed legal, and Leah’s baby was a crawling petri-dish. My mother’s voice echoed in my head. Do something with your life. Go back to school. Meet a man. I let the text go unanswered. Where had the degree and wedding band landed my friends? Suzi worked every night till seven and still needed a roommate to cover the rent, and Leah’s baby had colic, croup, and teething issues. She hadn’t slept a full night in a year and fought with her husband every second she was awake. No thanks. Anthony waited while I twirled the straw in my empty glass into a crumpled mess. “Would you like another?” he asked. I looked up. The bartender awaited my order. I shook my head and jiggled the phone. “No thanks. Something came up.” The bartender nodded. Anthony motioned, and, before I could argue, he paid my tab. “Let me guess,” he said. “Friends chickened out?” I set the phone back on the bar. Traitorous thing. “I knew they weren’t going to make it,” I said. “But you came anyway.”

My shrug was half-hearted. “This beats half-priced soggy wings at our usual hangout.” “No wings here.” “Nothing’s half-priced either.” Another smile. His lips curled over a flash of white teeth. The pale light of the bar shadowed his strong nose and hardened jaw. But his eyes layered in darkness, like a splash of ink across a canvas. For a second, I was glad my friends flaked out on me. They had responsibilities and family. I had a ridiculously attractive guy offering to buy me a drink. Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad. Then again... My eyes followed the stairs to the secret second floor. The bar was normal enough. Expensive drinks and jazz music. A pair of gothic couples giggled in the corner and a few women danced in slinky dresses and avoided the men trying too hard to buy them a drink. I spotted the occasional collar around a neck, but so far the club looked as PG as anything near the college campuses. Except Anthony. His body cornered me without even trying. I crossed my legs and hoped the straightened posture would give me more confidence. It didn’t. I probably looked smaller than ever. Examined. Pinned like a gimpy butterfly in some biology project making frantic small-talk about the differences between cool and smooth jazz. And yet, I wasn’t threatened. I had no doubt I could get up and walk away without a word and he’d let me go. I wondered what I could say to keep him. “If you want,” Anthony’s voice rumbled in a whisper. “I’ll call the valet for your car.” I offered him a shy shrug. “Maybe I’ll stay a bit longer.” This time, his iPhone beeped. He glanced at the screen and set the phone on the bar. His fingers rapped a slow rhythm next to it, separate from the music. Like he didn’t hear the song, or deliberately ignored the tempo. His expression shifted, the playful twitch on his lips exchanged for a practiced stoicism. “That’s not a good idea.” The goose bumps retreated, my bones remolded, and my smirk vanished. I couldn’t manage a snarl, but my eyebrow rose as aggressively as I could without seeming rude. “Excuse me?” Anthony sipped his gin and tonic. He might as well have thrown it on me. He

morphed from sexy stranger to distant authority figure in a split second. Sized me up and decided I wasn’t worth his effort before he even answered the text. “Morgan.” The gin clinked down. I stiffened. “You don’t belong here.” I crossed my arms. “I was carded at the door.” “You’re a young, attractive, blonde. And you’re alone.” The word hung in the air. “Do you know what happens here?” Anthony studied the man in full leather lurking in the corner, biding his time with a scowl. His gaze swept to a second man a few seats away. I couldn’t see his hands, but, judging by his movements, I decided I didn’t want to see what they were doing. “You should call it a night,” he said. I ignored the staring creepers and frowned. “So what are you? A bouncer?” “I work closely with the owner.” He tapped his cellphone. As if on cue, another message appeared. “We know the type of people who shouldn’t be here. We don’t need an incident.” “You don’t think I can handle it?” “No.” “You’ve known me for ten minutes. What makes you think I’m not into this stuff?” The question didn’t need to be answered, but Anthony’s stare was a harsh chastisement, as if I should be ashamed that I defended myself. “The women who belong here know better than to argue with me.” He stood. I stayed glued to my seat. The bartender instantly appeared and Anthony directed him to call for the valet. “Have a good night, Morgan.” He left without another word. I didn’t cover my flushed cheeks. They warmed on their own, a result of the either utter mortification, indignant rage, or a bloodboiling, belly twisting curiosity. My hands trembled. Being rejected was one thing, but Anthony’s appraisal was worse than anything my ex ever said. Hell, at least Ryan gave me the you’re a nice girl, but we just aren’t clicking speech. But who was he to tell me where I did and didn’t belong? He didn’t know anything about me besides how alone I looked waiting for my friends who prioritized real life over a night out. The women here knew better than to argue with him. What did that even mean? What happened if they did argue with him?

The possibilities wrapped me in an endless shiver that hit every delicate area from my head to my toes. With my legs crossed, a delicious pressure pulsed between my thighs. Somehow my decency eroded away in a single night. The sexy romance books were mainstream enough now—I knew exactly what Anthony was and the game he played. He was a walking, talking, tab-paying muscled specimen of testosterone, authority, and kink. Since my previous sex life consisted of a movie at the cheap theater, a grope in the car, and unremarkable sex in a dorm room while Ryan’s roommate was at the library, Anthony was probably right. I didn’t belong here. The sketchy guy in the corner of the club wandered my way. He fiddled with the pair of handcuffs clipped to his belt. I decided to wait for my car outside. A chirp from the bar stopped me. Anthony’s forgotten phone buzzed. An incoming text from someone named Simone. Done yet? Simone. That sounded like a woman who could call him away. Someone who probably gave him the same shivers that slammed me. But the message didn’t make sense. He didn’t like women arguing with him. The social ramifications of such a demand would send every sociology major I knew through the roof. But, if it were true, why would he let a woman text him in such a demanding manner? I eyed the stairs. It was a brand new iPhone, and it didn’t feel right letting it get lost or stolen. Besides, I wasn’t above playing Good Samaritan to prove that some random stranger couldn’t measure my entire personality from a single drink at the bar. I made it within arm’s length of the stairs before the bouncer blocked the path. He wore a sharp, expensive suit and stood tall—not nearly as big as Anthony, but intimidating enough with a bald head and goatee. An earpiece tucked within his ear. Tight security for a single staircase. My insides shriveled under his stare. “Going somewhere, miss?” Now or never. I sucked in a breath and showed him the phone. “Anthony left this.” The bouncer looked me over. I hoped there weren’t a whole sea of Anthony’s floating around upstairs. I didn’t think to look through the phone to figure out his last name. Ignoring his advice was risky enough, but I wasn’t about to violate his privacy. This was a stupid idea. I offered the phone to the bouncer, but he moved aside. “Go on up,” he said.

Well hell. I didn’t expect it to work. The stairs rose steep, and the glistening LEDs silhouetted me as I went up, shining like built-in sign proclaiming my perversion. I gripped the railing and took each step like it would collapse under me. The glance over the bar proved my fear wasn’t paranoia. Every eye was on me. Great. My heels were unsteady enough. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than falling on my face in front of all those people. I never used to mind crowds, but, lately, I liked to hide out in my apartment with my sweats and Netflix. I hoped no one recognized me. My newest life goal—not to draw any unnecessary attention to myself. I shifted the curtain aside. An empty hallway separated the noise of the bar from the happenings upstairs. I smoothed my dress and attempted to push my shoulders back, but my imagination weighted the air and pushed the narrow hall against me. Fancy oil paintings hung on the walls. Most of the artwork were nudes, of course. I wondered who commissioned the work. Google Image Searches got pretty raunchy, but these paintings depicted either some seriously complicated Twister games or sexual positions beyond anything Ryan and I ever attempted. I had taken six steps and I already regretted my decision. The hall ended with a dark, ornate door. I considered knocking, except this place probably had an entirely different definition for solicitation. I also considered turning around and high-tailing it back to safety. I clutched at the phone. It was a club, not a prison. What was the worst that could happen? A lot of things, but I wasn’t about to imagine it. The VIPs lounge seemed to be an entirely different club, not cheap and trendy like the LED lit bar downstairs. Leather furniture and a grand fireplace organized part of the room into a comfortable sitting area. The cherry wood bar and walls framed an elegant, old-school smoking room. Classy, masculine, and far more yacht club than I expected. Still most yacht clubs didn’t employ a topless bartender. Two women in lace bodysuits lounged across the lap of rather rotund man on the couch. In the corner, a masked man stood shackled, his ankle chained to a convenient hook in the wall. He stayed still, completely naked, and apparently excited about his predicament. A party raged beyond a second hallway, pressing further into the weirdness than I intended to wander. I edged forward until a harsh crack echoed over the floor—the sound of leather connecting with flesh. A woman screamed. The party applauded. And I thought ordering a peachtini made my Friday night wild. Duchess gave Stanley Kubrick and Tom Cruise a run for their money.

The bartender’s cocked an eyebrow at my presence, as if she weren’t the one serving drinks in a corset that didn’t conceal her breasts. Leaving the phone with her was the second best idea I had—getting the hell out of the freak show ranked first. His voice caught me before I took a single step. “You don’t follow orders.” My breath escaped with an oof, as if someone wrung out my lungs like a wet dishcloth. Anthony’s gaze burned directly through me, an insulted look of immediate disapproval. I accidentally backed away, realizing all too late he pinned me against the wall with only a few words. I wore heels, but they did nothing. Anthony’s shadow cast over me, his body obscuring my view of the club. Not only was he tall, every inch of him sculpted with muscle. The kind of strength bred from a deliberate attempt to intimidate. He didn’t need it. He possessed just as much strength in his stare, in the roughness of his voice, and in the ripples of displeasure. I majorly fucked up. He crossed his arms. His biceps tightened, even under the suit. And then the inappropriate images flitted into my mind. Those powerful arms pressed against either side of me. His body trapping me between his solid chest and the wall. It was a good thought—a stirring, heavy thought—but one I didn’t need to have in a modern-day sex dungeon, no matter how many fish tanks or leather couches were stacked in the hall. It was also a thought I didn’t need to have about a man who had no problem chastising a perfect stranger. His presence would have subdued the hard-ass police officer who nailed me for going 38 in a 35 last winter outside of campus. And his voice. Just the threat I imagined behind those words drove a whimper to my lips. The wall offered me no protection. Anthony stepped closer. Within arm’s reach. Another cry echoed from the party. More applause. He ignored it. I prayed I wasn’t next. “Well, well, well, who is your friend?” The feminine voice snaked behind Anthony. For a second, I breathed easy, grateful for the reprieve. Then she emerged. Tucked her arm around his. Offered me the same stern glance. Christ, she was as beautiful as him. She rocked skin-tight black pants and a crimson corset—an ensemble matching Anthony’s chosen colors. But she didn’t look like the other women wandering around the floor. Her four inch stilettos were more presentation than practicality, and she must have sewed her pants over her hips. The corset framed her perfectly flat stomach and barely contained her chest. Not a single lock of auburn hair dared to slip out of her meticulously tended French braid. Though she coiled over

Anthony, pouting trouble-maker red lips, there was no way in hell anyone was leading her around on a leash. Anthony’s eyes darkened. “This is Morgan.” “What a pleasure, Morgan.” The woman purred over my name. She studied me as remorselessly as Anthony. Licked her bottom lip. Damn my curiosity. “Welcome to Duchess,” she said. “I’m Simone Lesley. This is my club.” Simone. Of course. She was everything I imagined in a fetish club owner, and she fit perfectly against Anthony. I swallowed as best I could, but a response wasn’t coming. I was a violinist, not a singer. I had nothing in my vocal range that could match the sultry whisper of her voice. I held out the phone and prayed I wouldn’t spontaneously combust under the combined burden of their attention. “You left this downstairs,” I murmured. He didn’t hear me. I might as well have mewed like a kitten and started to cry. My cheeks burned, and Simone lowered her head onto his shoulder. “Look, Anthony. She returned your phone.” Simone tapped her heel against the wooden floors. I got the point. She’d squish me in a heartbeat. “How sweet.” He made me hold out the phone for longer than was necessary. It felt like a test. No, a judgment. He wanted to see if I would crack under the pressure. Another slap echoed off the wall, and a girl moaned for mercy. The crowd murmured their appreciation. Yes. Yes, I would crack. The phone trembled. Anthony exhaled, but the aggravation in his expression melted. He took the phone from my hand, his fingers dragging on my palm as pulled away. “You didn’t need to bring this up to me.” Despite my best intentions, and everything I was taught about holding a proper conversation, I had to look away. “I didn’t want it to get lost.” Simone wiggled against him. “She’s so thoughtful, Anthony.” “Apparently.” “And brave. Coming up here all alone.” Simone’s words sounded too sweet. She charmed and insulted in the same breath. Better than the alternative. She owned

Duchess, and I had a feeling more than a few people were thrown out for crashing the upstairs party. Maybe she’d just let me leave. Was it a crime to trespass up here? I couldn’t imagine the news headline: College Dropout Jailed Overnight in Sex Club Scandal. Then the quote from my mother, “I don’t know where we went wrong, but I blame her father for encouraging her to go into the arts.” “Okay.” I had nothing to do with my hands and nowhere safe to look. “I wanted to make sure you got your phone.” “Leaving so soon?” Simone grinned. What did she want from me? I braved a glance at her, but that was a mistake. More people probably got in trouble for looking at her than sneaking in the club. Anthony was a safer target. But his expression raged even darker. Far more dangerous. My stomach peeled out and fled back downstairs. “Let me thank you properly for returning my phone,” Anthony said. I hesitated. A dozen scenarios played through my mind, and not one of them was suitable outside the crazy ass club. “A reward?” Simone’s blood-red fingernails traced over Anthony’s shoulder. “I hoped her good deed wouldn’t go unpunished.” And the panic was back. I stepped backwards, colliding again with the wall. They probably heard the thunk. I had enough evaluation for one day. I didn’t know if it their beauty, strength, or the atmosphere in the club, but I feared they could see right through my clothes. Everything in me fluttered. I didn’t like it. But I wasn’t sure I disliked the attention. “Let me take you out for coffee,” Anthony said. Coffee? I looked around the room. The lingerie clad women plunked off the couch and settled between the man’s legs. The masked man groaned and rattled the chain on his ankle. How could he talk about a coffee date when a women in the next room was getting the hell beat out of her—and somehow loving it—while everyone else watched like it was country club bridge night? “Oh, go on,” Simone said. “He doesn’t bite on the first date.” That was a step too far for Anthony. The disapproving glance aimed for me ricocheted to her. Simone went silent. That was interesting. “Coffee?” I asked. “Where?”

Where? That was the question I picked? Not what the hell is this place or are you going to beat that woman next or are you and Simone some sort of weird fetish couple dream team? “There’s a cafe not far from here.” Anthony didn’t miss a beat as the screams from the mystery woman sang in pleasure. “On the corner of Fifth. Do you know it?” I sighed. Yeah, I knew it. I almost worked there. I managed to get a job at the one on Eleventh instead, six blocks closer to my apartment. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be there at seven.” He was firm, but it wasn’t a question. It also wasn’t a demand. I bit my lip and offered him a nervous smile. Simone’s hand tickled along his bicep. A pang of jealousy ripped through me. “Okay,” I said. I didn’t confirm his invitation, but it was a sufficiently diplomatic response. They said nothing else, and I had the distinct impression the conversation was over. Dismissed then ignored. Not exactly polite, but, then again, society checked its morals with its coat when it entered a place like this. I hurried back to the safety of the bar below, avoiding the curious gazes of those who watched me descend the stairs. What the hell had I just agreed to? And why couldn’t I wait to see Anthony again?

CAN’T WAIT TO READ WHILE THEY WATCH?

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INTRODUCTION

hank you guys for reading Takeover! And I hope you are all looking forward to T While They Watch!

NOW, IF YOU HAVEN’T READ ANYTHING FROM SOSIE FROST YET…WELL, I WON’T SAY YOU’RE MISSING OUT. I’ll say there is a wonderful world ahead of you. Sosie writes some of the funniest, sexiest, and most outrageous romances out there.

BUT THE ONE YOU’RE ABOUT TO READ?

OH, THIS IS SOMETHING SPECIAL.

SOMETHING A LITTLE DARKER. A LITTLE MORE SENSUAL.

SOMETHING THAT MIGHT SCARE A FEW READERS.

BUT YOU’RE BRAVE AREN’T YOU?

SWEETEST SIN IS BOOK ABOUT TEMPTATION IN THE PUREST AND MOST DANGEROUS FORM. A choir girl. And all the complication that comes from their forbidden love.

PRIEST.

GO AHEAD. GIVE IT A READ. I PROMISE…IF YOU LIKE TABOO, YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE FATHER RAPHAEL…

A

Sweetest Sin Copyright © 2016 by Sosie Frost All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work. Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations http://mayhemcovercreations.com/

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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ALSO BY SOSIE FROST

Bad Boy’s Series Bad Boy’s Baby Bad Boy’s Revenge Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid

Touchdowns and Tiaras Beauty And The Blitz Once Upon A Touchdown Happily Ever All-Star

Standalone Romances Sweetest Sin - A Forbidden Priest Romance Hard - A Step-Brother Romance

To L.G. This one should be your favorite…

NOTE TO THE READER

I am so happy to offer Sweetest Sin in this bundle! I absolutely love Lana Grayson, and seeing my book mixed up with those sexy Bennett brothers? It’s a dream come true! But, before we begin… This novel may offend some readers. It might also entice you… Sweetest Sin is a taboo and forbidden romance between a pious priest and an innocent choir girl. However, this book is about love, passion, temptation, and acceptance. It is sexy. It is darker than most of my other books. And it is, without a doubt, my favorite book that I have written. It might seem a little too wild for you, but I promise… You will love this book. Give it a chance. This is the taboo book you’ve always dreamed about…

1

HONOR

“F

orgive me, Father…we can’t do this anymore.”

The silence that followed bound me to my forbidden confession. Was speaking it aloud a sin? Was it any worse than letting the desire poison my body and my mind? I whispered the damning truth in the sanctity of the confessional, but I wasn’t sure I deserved absolution. My fantasies of this man burned me in hellfire. Every minute I stole with him tore me further from grace. What I was doing here? And how could I admit these sins? When I was younger, I hated confession and the tiny wooden room where we revealed the worst parts of us. Now that I was older, I feared it. The sweet cedar and sandalwood incense teased within the confessional. It smelled of him, and it dizzied me with indecision. And shame. I should have confessed for buying the sandalwood-scented candle too. I lit it at night, once. Not for prayer or meditation, but because the secret flame perfumed my room. Like it was him. Like he was there. But those thoughts were dangerous, and I’d snuffed out the flame before the scent twisted from sweet, honeyed sandalwood into sulfur and brimstone. I’d reveal that transgression. I had no choice. If the Lord acted in mysterious ways, the devil wouldn’t miss a chance to make an example out of a sinner. But I wasn’t a martyr. I wasn’t even a good Catholic.

I was lost, and I knew why. Him. “Father Rafe, I…” I regretted using his nickname. It didn’t matter if I was more comfortable speaking it. I’d already corrupted the confession. Why desecrate it further with such informality? Especially since my secret would crack the very foundation of St. Cecilia’s church. I desired a priest, a holy man of God. And I knew what type of woman that made me. I started again, and the words tumbled from my lips. Quickly. As if I raced the apocalyptic crash of horses’ hooves to cleanse my soul before it was too late. “Father Raphael, we have to stop this.” “You wish to stop your confession?” His voice had the power to roll through the church’s nave—a rumbling command that ruled with authority over the congregation. Tonight, he whispered in the darkest shadows of the quietest sanctuary so only I could hear. His words smothered me like thick honey, just as sweet or inescapable as he desired. I shivered at the sound of his voice. Did he know? Could he tell? Father Raphael was a man as patient as he was wicked—or maybe he was that good, and I was the one tormented? He wielded silence as a weapon and baited me with the warmth of his words. I never should have recognized the heat which shadowed his whispered questions. “What must we stop, Honor?” “Everything.” “You’ve done nothing wrong.” I didn’t believe that, but was I supposed to correct a priest? “What we’ve done isn’t…right.” “There is no sin in a friendship with a priest.” “Is it a friendship?” “I hope it is. Do you regret this past month within our parish?” Yes?

No. It was hard enough uprooting my life and transferring colleges. I left most of my credits behind to return home and help Mom, but things were so different now. Even the church, the one constant force from my childhood, had changed. St. Cecilia’s was served by a new priest, Father Raphael St. Lucian, and he was nothing like the old, grey, half-deaf Father Falconi who had tended our flock for the past thirty years. It was once so easy to take comfort in the warmth of the church. Now, it was far easier to find that comfort with Father Raphael. I started again, trying to justify the unforgivable to myself. “Father, I respect the Catholic faith.” This amused him. “As do I.” “I follow the tenants.” “And I live my life by them.” “Then you understand why this has to stop, Father.” Father Raphael remained silent, unmoving. Almost otherworldly. He was a confident man, without flinching or awkwardness. It was like he mimicked the statues of the saints crafted in solid marble throughout the parish grounds. He didn’t fidget or duck his head unless it was a bow before the crucifix or altar. And he never averted his gaze from anyone. Even through the screen, I shuddered under the weight of his stare. Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I read too much into the conversations we had and the times me met within a quiet, empty church. But could I risk my soul? “I should go,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to say.” “Prayer is from the heart, Honor.” “Not this prayer. I’ve already taken too much of your time—” “You will stay, and I will hear your confession. Time with you is not wasted.” The screen separated us, and it should have been a relief. But I could still imagine him perfectly…because he was perfect. Hardened and soft, handsome and fierce, dark and light. His silhouette shifted in the shadow cast by the confessional. I had no right to remember the dark, charcoal sincerity of his eyes, the crest of his forehead with eyebrows that were almost black, matching the slick darkness of his hair. Even in

the dim light, I recognized the sharp definition of his nose, royal in stature like the strength of his jaw. He’d only just turned thirty, but his confidence and poise made him seem far older. Wiser. Was he a priest or a warrior? “Honor.” Father Raphael called for me. Did he intend to draw my attention, or had I imagined how he smiled over the word, as if he took pleasure in whispering my name? “We’ve talked many times this past month.” “Yes.” “About many things.” Everything and nothing. “Yes, Father.” “Do you regret our conversations?” I stiffened. “They weren’t just conversations.” “What were they?” “They were…” Just like this. Veiled words, unspoken desires, and every dangerous and wicked thought cloaked in small talk. We exchanged pleasantries while holding our breath. We spoke of the church and trembled in quiet, unrealized longing for a brush of our fingers or moment alone, beyond the congregation. “They were deceitful,” I said. He never spoke a forceful word. Never needed to exert that power over another soul, not when his gentleness captured them instead. “I have never deceived you,” he said. I believed it as much as I feared it. “Honesty in words is different from honesty in action.” “You may be the only one in my flock who listens to my homily.” His amusement hummed in a quiet chuckle. “And here I thought I wrote that lesson for myself.” “I learned from it.” “Obviously. You are here.” “Yes.” “Guilt does not tarnish a soul as pure as yours, Honor.” “Are you sure?”

He paused, posing the question like a game, a tease. “Why did you come here tonight?” I stared at my hands, folded in unsaid prayer. “Because I wanted to do the right thing and confess.” “And what are you confessing?” I didn’t know yet. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to admit it. What if someone heard our whispering? But the church had emptied hours ago. I’d waited until night fell, when the sun went down and the shadows cloaked the nave… Except for the corner confessional where Father Raphael and I battled a different darkness. If he fought anything at all. Maybe it was just me. And that was more of a reason to run. “What is it you fear, Honor?” he asked. I felt him move, almost as though he had pressed through the walls and towered over me, scented with sandalwood and tense with the same uncertainty and heat. “Is it cliché to say I fear for my mortal soul?” “It’s not cliché, but it is foolish.” “Foolish?” “We are all sinners. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we convince ourselves that we must commit acts that go against our faith. And sometimes, after we’ve lost ourselves, we fear what we’ve done, what we want, is unforgivable.” His voice lowered. “If you truly wish to be healed, you can’t simply confess what you’ve done.” “What do I do?” “You must question what first led you into that darkness. What reason you had for wanting to sin. For some, it is depression. Others, rage. And some fear. What has driven you into sin?” “That’s what frightens me, Father. Answering that would risk my soul.” “Do you think I would threaten something so precious? Something so innocent?” His words graced me like the soft brush of his fingers, a touch I wished and feared

to experience. “I would never endanger a soul this beautiful.” My heart beat, too quick and fierce for anything deserving in the quiet sanctuary of the church. “You shouldn’t say such things, Father.” “Why?” “It’s not…” “You are beautiful, Honor.” My fingers trembled, lithe and dark, contrasting the pale gold of the crucifix on my rosaries. I tucked my hands under my legs. It didn’t stop the rest of me from shaking. “Do you believe me?” he asked. I wanted to. “Aren’t we all beautiful in the eyes of the Lord?” “And yet before me sits an angel, humble in her perfection.” “And I thought the serpent had the slick tongue.” “I have greater uses for mine than mere lies.” Was he talking about the church? Celebrating Mass and preaching or…did he tease with something more? Something sinful and delightful that lingered in my mind as an untasted, unachievable promise? “This is what I mean, Father. Is it wrong…the way we speak and the things we say?” “The compliments we give?” Father Raphael drew the question with a soft rumble in his voice. “Do you trust yourself?” “Me?” “Do you trust your thoughts, your feelings, your faith?” “No.” “How can you be so sure?” “Because I’ve already failed my soul’s first challenge.” “A challenge?” His words shifted, curious. “What sort of challenge?” “Does it matter? We face so many every day.” “What made this one different?”

I swallowed. “It was the first one I’ve lost.” “Are you certain you’ve lost?” “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” My hair fell over my face, ebony waves that should have been pinned and proper for church. Instead I let them cascade, wild and free. I thought I could hide in them. It only revealed more of me. “Father, we’re too close.” “Close to what?” He was a priest, but he wasn’t naïve. Couldn’t be, not when the only thing he denied himself was so often the primary focus of the church’s teachings. Did he want me to say it? Was that the game? Did he wait for me to admit just how depraved and terrible and amazing the fantasies had become? Every squirming second in the confessional only made me realize how sinful my thoughts were. How dangerous. And he knew it too. It was part of the control he had over me. Why should he admit these sins if he could tease me, leave me shamed and aching for an embrace that never happened, words we hadn’t whispered, and a release that… Well, that release had come. At least he had only been in my mind and not in my bed then. I bit my lip. The sharp sting didn’t punish me. Just the opposite. “Father, we’ve spent time together this month, and I appreciate the guidance and comfort you have given, but it has to end.” “Why?” “Because it no longer feels innocent.” This intrigued him. I imagined his gaze upon me, scorching through the tiny screen separating him from my innermost thoughts, fears. Desires. Now or never. “When you speak with me…” I said. “It’s like there’s more to your words.” “Do you believe I’ve misled you?” “No. I think you say exactly what you mean. What you want.”

“Which is?” “Something neither of us can have.” Father Raphael breathed deep, solemn. “You speak of sins we’ve never committed.” “Yes,” I said. “Words we’ve never spoken.” “Yes.” “And a touch I’ve never offered.” “Yes.” He smiled. “So what exactly is it you have imagined. What are you feeling?” “Why would you make me say it?” “Why would you confess here, with me, if you did not wish for me to hear it?” What did he want from me? I’d come to accept responsibility for the thoughts and feelings that threatened my soul. Now? I’d never forgive myself for getting tangled deeper in his web. But, even as I squirmed, even as the truth tightened around me…I savored the sound of his voice. Father Raphael awaited my answer. I had none. “Honor, you came here tonight because you wanted to speak with me about these feelings. You sensed the danger, and yet you came to me. Was it for protection? Absolution?” He exhaled, his voice lowering, quiet and dark, only for me. “I know that’s not true. Be honest with yourself. Be honest with me. Tell me how this makes you feel.” “How what makes me feel?” “Confessing these dark and terrible sins to me.” I shuddered so hard everything inside of me clenched, tight and waiting. “I don’t understand—” “How brave of you to sit in my confessional, trapped in this little cage while you reveal these sins that have bound you in desire for…how long has it been, my angel? Days? Weeks? Since the first time you met me?” I had wanted him from that very first instant when we were introduced. I stayed silent.

“I remember when I first saw you,” he said. “So do I…” I swallowed. “You were giving Mass.” “You were one of the few who listened.” And look at the trouble it caused. “I was taught to respect my priest.” “And yet you do not believe me when I say how beautiful you are. How special.” “No, Father. It’s the opposite. I do believe you. Every word.” “And that is a problem?” “Maybe.” I edged closer to the screen. “The first time we met…what did you see in me?” His words edged, hard and forced. “In you, I saw my damnation. It flashed like a prophesy in my mind…before it turned to fantasy.” A shiver claimed me, but I didn’t fear it. It delighted me with a tickled warning. Don’t let this happen. “I should have imagined you with a halo, draped in golden light,” he said. “That’s what you’d prefer to hear. But I’ll always be honest with you…especially about this.” The tension would tear me apart. I knew it. I had felt it. This wasn’t playful flirting. This was something far more dangerous. My whisper was too loud for the silence of the church. “Father, we can’t speak like this anymore. We can’t meet anymore. No matter how innocent we once thought it was…now we know the truth.” “Which is?” “I’ve wanted to be alone with you, too many times for all the wrong reasons.” “You have not sinned.” “I will not give it a chance.” He sighed, speaking softly with his infinite patience. “Tell me why you are really here, Honor. What sins have you committed?” I bowed my head. The confessional was too small, too claustrophobic, too near him. I edged to the screen, not knowing if I sought forgiveness or the chance to feel his heat, hear his breath…to imagine his touch. Just a graze of his fingers.

A slide of his hand. The gentle brush of his lips against mine. My mouth dried, but I feared the soothing flick of my tongue over my lips. “You are a priest, and it’s wrong to expose you to these feelings. You could lose the church. Your vocation.” “My angel, those are not your sins. They are mine.” “They’re shared.” “It is not a transgression if we speak after Mass, or if you help me carry supplies for the youth group, or if we stay late to clean the nave. These are not sins—unless you have succumbed in another way…” I swallowed. I had surrendered to something worse. Something damning. Something amazing. “Bless me, Father. I have sinned.” The confessional creaked. His voice warmed and chilled, lashed and comforted. He understood, and yet he demanded more from me. I closed my eyes. “My thoughts and actions have not been…” “Pure?” No one’s thoughts could remain pure around Father Raphael. He was a man who’d convert an unbeliever with the confidence of his smile. The sincerity of his words could bless even the most pious. He feared nothing and no one, and even his confidence was shadowed in humility. He was good. He was holy. He was completely forbidden to me. Why did I want him so badly? “I’ve had impure thoughts.” I stared at the floor, the scuffed wood from too many formal shoes bowing before the window. I hadn’t knelt. I didn’t trust myself to fall to my knees before a man like him. “And…sating those thoughts hasn’t eased the desires.” “Sating?” His words echoed in a hidden smile. “How have you attempted to sate these thoughts?” He could imagine it.

And, at the time, I hoped he had. Last night was the worst of my sins. My needs had become the most insistent. My hands had slipped within my panties before I cast them away. Every silken motion ripped through me. I had never been touched by a man, and I tried to deny my own immorality, but nothing eased that haunting, demanding, desire. I’d thought of him. I’d imagined him. I’d wished I had stayed in the church a little longer, talked a little softer, stayed by his side just for a moment longer. And it had been wrong. “I prayed last night, Father. Alone and in my bed. The only name on my lips was yours.” The silence crackled, a tumult of quiet and judgment. I counted the seconds, my breaths, the soul-destroying memories of the pleasure I gave myself in dark shame. Father Raphael breathed deep, a ragged and masculine breath that might have rattled the sanctuary’s stained glass windows if it hadn’t vibrated through me first. “Do you understand temptation, Honor?” he asked. Now I did. More than most people. He continued, his voice low. “It is a powerful force—more powerful than greed, envy, hatred.” “And I failed, Father.” “No, this is my failure. I haven’t prepared you. I am your priest. I am the man who should protect you from this lust.” The word tumbled, shattered, and crashed within the small confines of the confessional. Lust. That’s what it was. Dark and terrible, forceful and wild. We lusted, and I feared our only escape was surrender to that conquering force. Arms entwined. Legs spread. I imagined myself naked, exposed, and waiting with stolen words and false modesty as Father Raphael protected me from the sins of lust.

It hurt. Sin hurt. And that made sense, but I never knew it’d be a physical pain. It was real. Clenching. It twisted deep in my core, pulsing in a quiet rage that tore through me in a quick sweat and parted lips. Everything tingled and warmed, including my chest and the tightening buds hidden beneath my prim and proper blouse. I wore the only shirt I owned that was able to be ripped open. I wished I hadn’t thought of it while dressing this morning. I wished it was simply the only blouse I had which matched my black skirt. But I’d planned it, down to the exact detail. This skirt was the easiest to accidentally slip up my leg where it would reveal too much. What was wrong with me? I shouldn’t have imagined him tickling my thighs, kissing my skin, or savoring the heat pounding the secret I hid with crossed legs. The thoughts overwhelmed me. I sighed, trembling and hot. This was all wrong. No matter how many times I practiced the confession in my mind, nothing compared to sitting so close to him, separated by only a thin cherry wood wall and a mesh screen sculpted with tiny Celtic crosses. He was there. I could feel him. I could sense him. And I wished we had touched. The shame overwhelmed me, but I wasn’t a woman who hid from rightful punishment. I accepted my responsibilities and actions. Still, no penance could be worse than speaking this confession. “Father, I can’t let this happen again. I can’t go to bed tonight and think of…” “Of what, Honor?” “Of you.” “Do you assume I have not thought of you?” “Father, stop.” “You think I have not suffered the same desires? Wanted the same darkness? Craved just a moment of indulgence—” “We can’t speak like this.” “Honor, it is temptation, nothing more.” “And I have failed to fight it,” I said. “Then I will guide you. I will help you.” My heart beat too fast. I couldn’t hear anything over the rumbling authority in his.

His words burned through me. He’d guide me. He’d help me. But I couldn’t trust myself to let such a man cleanse me of my sins. Even if he admitted to the same feelings. The same thoughts. Father Raphael shared my secret. He’d said he imagined me in the dark of night, when prayers faded and holy thoughts were overwhelmed by solitude’s fantasies. What had he done when the need overwhelmed him? Had he fought it? Or did he share the same weakness as me? What would he look like trapped in the throes of his own temptations? I shifted against the bench. The skirt inched higher against my hips. The air conditioners breeze whipped through the confessional, so cool and surprising against my bare legs I hadn’t realized how desperately my body had betrayed me. The sin slickened me. It heated and throbbed and craved inside me, eager to fill an emptiness I never knew existed before I met Father Raphael. I felt his touch without his fingers, tasted his lips without his kiss. I had to leave. It wasn’t a confession if the penitent panted, wetted, and wanted the very sins she admitted. My body trembled. Too tensed. Too desperate. I’d have committed every sin in the world to distract myself from the ache within me. And I’d have committed just one to ease that desire. Did he know? Could he tell? Why did I torture myself with thoughts of him? As if he sensed my distress, he whispered with a calming command. “Absolve yourself, my angel.” I trembled. “How?” “What will ease that temptation? What would give you clarity of thought, heart, and spirit?” At least we were finally honest now. “Nothing, Father.” “There is something.” His words growled, ragged. “This is my sin. I have forced this temptation upon you. Relieve yourself, and then we’ll banish this desire.”

“There’s only one way to do that, Father.” His breath raced, a rasp that belonged to a man on the edge, straddling a line of good, evil, and sheer indifference to anything beyond the agony of our flesh. “Do as you did last night, my angel. Pray, and whisper my name.” “But—” “I want you to indulge this temptation. Then I will teach you how to confront this, how to defeat it.” “Father…” “Now, Honor.” As if I could resist his demands. As if I wanted to resist. I didn’t renounce my faith, and I couldn’t destroy my soul, but every moment I denied that most inescapable fault of my wicked flesh, I ached in absolute agony. He ordered it from me. He listened. He watched. He waited. And I surrendered to sin. I needed nothing more than the circle of my fingers over the soft cotton of my panties. His soft, hushed breathing fueled me. I brushed hard against myself, pinching my eyes shut so I could hide from the confessional, the Bible, the bench where I should have knelt before my priest and begged for forgiveness. Instead of begging for him. I didn’t say the words, the prayer never touched my lips, but I thought it. I wanted it. Every flick and circle and strike of that sensitive, overwhelmed secret cradled me in a pleasure and fear and a hope that once I had succumbed, I could be free of this. I could have my deliverance. Forgiveness. Pleasure. Passion. Desire. I didn’t mean to whimper, but Father Raphael soothed my quiet mew with a soft and comforting hush—so confident and commanding I would have silenced forever if it meant earning another moment of pleasure within his shadow. My body tensed without the shackles of morality. I surrendered to his scent of sandalwood, the quiet authority in his voice, and his perfectly still, vigilant

silhouette watching as I bucked against my fingers. I wasn’t practiced at this, but my hips arched and instinct overwhelmed me. A shudder struck me. Then another. The heat crippled my body, and I held my breath as everything silenced in my own moment of weakness. “Now, my angel.” I came. Panting. Silent. Shaking. What had I done? I shifted, the heat coursing through me in a release of all tension and pain. Except one. Shame. Father Raphael spoke with a grave authority. “Honor, I will forgive this moment, but you must—” “No.” I couldn’t stand. My legs trembled, weak and wobbly. I crashed against the confessional door. The door slammed against the wooden frame, and the echo clattered through the empty sanctuary. I burst into the pews, my sweat turning to chills. What precious relief I stole was now bathed in dread. He followed. I knew he would. I felt him approach. “Honor.” Father Raphael called to me, strict and severe. I wasn’t prepared to face him. I stared away, down, at anything but the black cassock that draped his form. He stood in that perfect, holy darkness, unbroken in black robes save for the hint of white at his collar. I didn’t dare look at his face, share his stare, or stay within his presence. “Honor, you will be absolved,” he said. “It is my decision, my choice to forgive you for the sins I have caused.” “You don’t understand.” I backed away from him, still clenched, still aching from a relief I could no longer give myself. Not when it wanted more.

Not when my body craved him. “My angel, I will lead you from this temptation.” “You can’t.” Father Raphael stepped too close. I pushed from him, stepping away, blinking tears and hating the truth of why I came here tonight. It wasn’t to absolve myself. Just the opposite. “Father, I didn’t confess because I had impure thoughts…” I whispered. “I confessed because I liked them. Because I want to have them. Because I want you in those fantasies.” “Honor—” “Forgive me, Father.” I didn’t let him reach for me. I ran from the church. His imagined shadow followed me home and lingered in my thoughts, my heart. And in my bed.

2

RAPHAEL

o temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man - 1 Corinthians N 10:13. I breathed the passage, lived the scripture, and revered it as truth. Those words were the only reason I hadn’t succumbed to temptation long ago, to forces less dangerous and more unworthy than Honor Thomas. I hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. My cold shower did little to alleviate the strain which shook my body and nearly destroyed my vows. I closed my eyes. I still saw her, heard her, felt her. Honor’s beauty was not simply found in the sable richness of her skin, though I imagined she was as lovely as Solomon’s dark Shulamite woman. My angel was worthy of song and praise, poem and touch, from the ebony twist of her curls to the feminine tease of her hips. Her silken skin hid within modest skirts and blouses, and the innocence of her eyes widened the almond roundness into the playful glimmer of something more…something virginal. And so very dangerous. I’d left the confessional after she ran from the church, but I’d stayed all night in the sanctuary to pray. It hadn’t helped. I ached to hear the twisted and forbidden words which reluctantly tumbled from her lips…lips which deserved the grace of a kiss, not the foul venom of sin. I’d prayed for her. I’d prayed for me. And now I prayed for the strength to stand without…revealing how dramatically her confession still stirred me. All animals suffered from temptation. Restraint was the only trait which separated a man from beast when words whispered soft, breaths panted, and a body’s heat threatened to burn the confessional in a sinner’s desire.

But I was neither man nor beast. I was a priest. And I’d nearly destroyed myself. I’d failed Honor. The devil sent an angel to tempt me. I didn’t fear it. I’d overcome those weaknesses so I could protect her, prove she could resist the darkness, the confusion… I’d ensure she was strong enough to resist me. The day passed in a blur of prayer, frustrations, and headaches. I finally slipped from the church in the late afternoon, and I came to the one man who might have helped. But he needed no more burdens. I twisted my rosaries, but I stumbled over the Hail Mary. I never could concentrate in the hospital. Nurses hurried through the halls, pushing carts and checking on patients. It wasn’t a place of rest, and the industrial lighting and disinfectant in the air set me on edge. When I was ordained five years ago, I looked upon hospitals as a place of great hope. The sick were healed, the doctors’ earned the Lord’s grace, and lives were saved. I didn’t believe that anymore. Then again, I didn’t wait within the hospital wing. They had moved Bishop Benjamin Polito to the hospice. That was a different place entirely—a purgatory of morphine and muted televisions, weeping families, and exhausted men, women, and children waiting for the end. Here, the sick didn’t fear the priest roaming the halls. They eagerly awaited him. They were ready to go. “Father Rafe?” Anne worked most afternoons. She wasn’t Catholic, but she respected me and the man she looked after during his final days. Her smile was kind, and her voice bubbly, even to those who hadn’t had a reason to hope for a long time. Benjamin liked her as his nurse. So did I. “He’s awake now.” She gestured for me to follow, though I knew the way. I appreciated her support. Most days, her job wasn’t simply to comfort the patients. She helped those who walked a half-step behind her, hesitating to enter the rooms. “There’s been no change in his condition, but…” I knew what to expect. “Thank you, Anne.” “Just call if he needs anything.” She left me. I waited at the door.

It was supposed to be easier than this—confronting those who were soon to die. I taught and believed that this life became the next, and paradise awaited those with a clean soul. And yet I hesitated outside his room, preparing myself for what I would find. That was twice I had faltered—first with the innocent angel who had needed me, and now for the old friend who laughed at me from his bed. “Rafe, get in here…did you bring that case again?” Bishop Benjamin Polito was once a man of life, vitality, and one pepperoni pizza too many. He’d always joked that it would be heart disease that finally got him. The pancreatic cancer surprised most of the diocese. It surprised me. Benjamin waved an unfamiliar, skinny arm towards the empty chair at his bedside. The IV clanked against the bed’s rails, and he muttered under his breath. His laugh rasped into a cough, and he tugged the saline drip. “Had to make sure it was just the IV…” He winked. “I got tubes coming out of places that’d make Mother Mary blush, if you catch my drift.” Everyone…everywhere…understood Benjamin. I sat at his side. “Father, are you feeling…” “One, don’t call me Father unless you mean it. We don’t need any formality here, Rafe. Second…you know the answer to that question.” “Are you in pain?” “Not at the moment…though a rough tug on that other wire might finally get me walking again.” The chemo had taken his hair, but it hadn’t claimed his smile. He batted at me, too tired to reach my arm. “Oh, laugh once in a while, Rafe. It won’t kill you. Now cancer…that’ll do it.” A laugh felt like sacrilege given the events of last night and how miserable it was to watch my mentor waste away in a hospice bed. But a priest wasn’t selfish. Benjamin had taught me that. The collar bound the man inside, and the priest offered himself to the world, his parish, and those he meant to serve. I stood and unbuckled the case. “You’re anointing me again?” Benjamin coughed. “Yes.” “There comes a point in a man’s life when he is ready to pass, Rafe.” “I’m doing what I can.”

“If you had it your way, you’d grease me up and slip me through the bars of the Pearly Gates.” Benjamin grinned. “Got news for you, son. I’m gonna be dead soon. I don’t mind waiting for my invitation on the inside.” The vials and books clanked in the case. While away from their desk, most men carried their laptop and files from work. I did too, but I also secured holy water and oils, wine and wafers with Velcro to the interior of my briefcase. Mobile Mass, the parish called it. Efficiency in times of need. “Don’t you do it.” Benjamin pointed at me. “Put the stole down.” I held the silk vestment with a frown. “You don’t want to be blessed?” “Not for the third time since I came to the hospice.” “It’s a comfort.” “For whom?” He let the question hang and then offered a wave. “All right, all right. Come on then. Let’s do it.” I’d faked a smile, and he indulged the blessing. It was the only kindness we could offer each other now, no matter how ineffective it felt. I bowed at his bedside, beginning the prayers. Benjamin crossed himself with me, murmuring the words. “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit…” Benjamin knew the process, but he listened intently, smiling as I spoke. Proud. My chest tightened. He was always so proud of everything I’d done, and I hoped he realized it was all because of him. Though the words of the Anointing asked for the Lord to save the sick one’s soul, it was Benjamin who had saved mine. I sprinkled holy water and bowed my head. “Do you have anything you wish to confess?” “Not since the last time you asked me,” Ben said. “Not much cause to sin now. It’s not even good entertainment.” I knew he took the sacrament seriously—when I was a teenager, he had forced me to scrub the steps outside the church with a toothbrush for a similarly flippant answer. He appreciated and welcomed the anointing, but he tried so hard to keep my spirits up. I wished that one day, I’d be as great a man as he was. It’d never happen, but I could wish. We prayed, and I anointed him with the oil. Even that extra prayer taxed him. He

took communion though his hand trembled to cross himself. The nurses waited as long as they could before they interrupted to place the oxygen at his nose. Death was ugly and terrible, but my friend, mentor, brother, father met it with every grace a man of God could hope to achieve. “Thank you,” he said. The nurses left us again, and he patted my hand. “Rafe, why are you here at my bedside? You have better, more important work at the parish. I know for a fact you owe a day at the diocese’s office too.” “Part of my duties are to attend the sick. I’m attending.” “You are not. You’re looking for guidance.” “Aren’t we all?” “Depends if you’re receptive to the words of a dying man.” “I’ve always listened to you, Fath—Ben.” He laughed. Not the scratchy, joyful laugh I remembered, but one only a man facing his mortality could gloat over his closest friend and surrogate son. “Hardly. You know we have different paths to righteousness. Yours is…” Ben shook his head. “A self-inflicted difficulty.” “Not to me,” I said, sinking into the chair after I replaced my oils and stole in the case. “Especially to you. You make it so hard on yourself, and you’ve made it harder every day of your life. Save some room on the cross, Rafe. He died to make this easier for you.” “You sure you’re getting enough pain-killers?” I asked. “You sure you don’t want to anoint me again?” He snickered. “Tell me, son. What is it you wish to confess?” I didn’t react. “Who says I’m here to confess?” “Right. I’ve only been a priest for fifty years. What do I know?” I didn’t answer. Benjamin learned his patience during his years at the parish, and most of it was my fault. His temper had cooled as he endured my foolishness, stubbornness, and reckless interpretation of right, wrong, good, evil, and the failures of man. I was not one who willingly sinned, nor was I a man who harbored it. I strived to confront that darkness and expose it in every aspect of my soul, no matter the earthly consequences. But now?

I never hid from temptation. I’d always sought it out. Studied it. Learned from it. The only way I could face the light of Heaven was to burn myself on the flames of Hell. I never met a temptation I couldn’t defy. Until last night. Until her. Until her admission, her whispered confession, and the moment of stolen peace, earned from her trembling fingers. I had instructed her to sin. I should have confessed then. Benjamin was the only priest who wouldn’t have immediately condemned me to Hell for destroying the precious bond between Confessor and Priest. But to reveal that wicked misdeed, I’d have to share everything else. How it felt when she spoke my name. How my heart raced, blood boiled, and cock hardened with her every baited whisper. That was my sin, and it was also my delight. The secret wickedness was meant only for me, and that soft, forsaken mew she whimpered within the confessional would forever belong to my soul. And it was my fault. If I wanted to save Honor, I had to first master the desires which burned through me. Unfortunately, I had no earthly or heavenly idea how to protect myself from such terrible beauty. “Father…” This sort of talk necessitated formality, titles, and respect. “You’ve had a long life in the clergy.” “Yes.” “How did you learn to deny temptations?” Benjamin took a deep breath. “Is such a thing possible?” I was beginning to think no. “It must be.” “Each man is different, Rafe.” “I know. I thought I understood what made me unique—my personal strengths and weaknesses.” “Which are?”

“Faith.” He smiled. “Faith is both your strength and weakness?” “My faith in the Lord is my greatest strength…but I have no faith in man.” “Or yourself?” “I am a man.” “Yes,” Benjamin said. “You are a very young, very passionate man. This life was never going to be easy for someone like you.” “But it is my life.” “Yes.” “Every day, men and woman are faced with temptations. They fear those uncertainties as much as they want their desires. It is that fear which traps them in sin.” Benjamin sighed. “Are you so different?” Yes. “I see no reason to fear what tempts us.” “Why?” “Because I would rather face it. Seize it, understand it. Then I would destroy it.” He silenced, leaning against the pillow in a quiet prayer. Benjamin eventually looked to me, his eyes hazy with drugs and face jaundiced by the illness raging through his body. “Do not put your Lord God to the test…” He groaned. “That’s in Deuteronomy. You don’t even have to read far into the book to find that command.” “I’m not challenging God. I’m challenging myself.” “Why?” “So I can fight the temptations that endanger the virtue of those around me.” “Virtue?” Benjamin tried to sit up. He didn’t make it, and his grimace of pain rolled through me. “Be careful, Rafe. You are a strong, fierce man, but temptation exists for a reason—to take advantage of those who would fall to their pride.” “I am not proud of this.” My voice steadied. “Pride means I’d underestimate the danger. I do not. But the only way I will overcome this is if I face it. Challenge it.” “This is a risky game.” “It’s the only game that matters.”

And I meant it. Nothing meant more to me than my faith or my soul…except the sanctity of others. While other priests would run to avoid that confrontation, I met it head on. And so would she. “I will only say this once…” Benjamin leaned close, taking my hand. “I understand you, Raphael. I have, ever since you were the lost little boy that came looking to join my flock. You are a devoted priest, and every man finds the Lord in his own way. But…” His voice dropped. “You are young. You are attractive. You are a man who would draw attention, even if you were not wearing a cassock.” “I understand that, Father.” “You don’t. I know you are a faithful man. But the diocese?” He frowned. “You wanted a home, and so I spoke with the bishop and made it happen. Three years is a long time in a single parish, especially for a man…like you.” “I know, Father.” “When I am gone, you will be moved. Frequently. To avoid any…” “Scandal?” “Sacrilege.” Right. Like what occurred last night. Like the thoughts and desires and need that still surged through my body and blood. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe a change in diocese would shield Honor from my intentions, my presence. Or maybe she was sent to me because I was the only one who could save her? Maybe we’d save each other. “Don’t worry about me,” I said. “You’ve taught me well.” “You still have many lessons to learn. Unfortunately, they’ll be the toughest you’ll face. Please…don’t do this alone. I know you, and I know how you sink into your head. If you find yourself struggling—” “I won’t falter.” “If you do…don’t internalize. Pray, seek guidance, and don’t be afraid to retreat. Life is not all action, and sometimes having faith means accepting what you can’t fight. During those times, let the Lord lead those battles for you.” Benjamin swallowed, his voice fading. “Where you lead, others will follow. The righteous choose their friends carefully, but the way of the wicked leads them astray.” I didn’t need proverbs thrown at me. I’d spent the night reading anything that

might have given me wisdom. When that hadn’t worked, I’d prayed in silence. When that made it worse, I depended on a cold shower to rid myself of Honor’s candied apple scent and mewed groan, captured by her bitten lip. If I were a weaker man, I’d have tasted that lip. Bitten it myself. Caused that tiny gasp that cried for me as she slid her fingertips over that sacred secret. I faked another smile for my friend. “Thank you, Father. You’ve…relieved me.” “No, I haven’t.” He waved a hand. “Go, you have an evening mass. You know I hate when you’re late to your own celebrations.” “I’ve been on time to all three this week.” “I’ll nominate you for Pope.” He coughed. “Go. I’ll be here when you come back.” He always said that, but I had no idea how much longer it’d be true. I squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” I said. “Stay out of trouble.” “Always.” Never. Becoming a priest was never meant to be an easy path. We abandoned most earthly concerns to serve all of humanity, and the cost was too high to fail. But I was close to failure now. That meant I had to work harder, not just to protect myself, but to shield Honor from any further evil that would target a girl too innocent to realize when the world conspired beyond her control. She was young—only a senior in college. And her family had endured enough tragedy without me inflicting any spiritual scars. I drove back to the church, heart pounding as I thought of her. I wished the elevated pulse was my only concern. I had no idea how to soothe my uncomfortable, persistent erection. The only logical and sinful way to relieve the strain was forbidden to me. I wasn’t celebrating Mass distracted. I slipped into the back of church and splashed cold water on my face. It was the best I could do in the church bathroom. But it worked well enough, especially as I only had ten minutes to prepare for the one evening Mass we held each a week.

Usually Mass comforted me, put me at peace. It didn’t matter if I celebrated it with the full congregation on Sunday, the fifteen or so people who attended during the evening’s mass, or the few lonely times when it was just me and the Lord. Tonight, I didn’t enjoy the Mass. I felt it. I believed in it. I concentrated on the words, read out the prayers, and delivered my homily as a dire warning. The most important prayer and speech I’d ever given, and the congregation wasn’t in attendance to hear it. But I could. And I’d learn from every word of it. “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man - 1 Corinthians 10:13,” I recited to the church, the altar, the world, myself. And to the woman hidden in the back of the sanctuary. She waited. Watched. Honor threaded her rosary through her fingers as she stared at me, too torn to step foot within the sanctuary to take the gift of the Host that I offered to all penitent souls. I caught her gaze. We both stilled, silent. And she turned, leaving the church. Honor ran before the Mass had concluded and I could follow and find her, bless her as I blessed the others. She left before she accepted forgiveness for the mistake last night. I wouldn’t allow that. Not when she’d returned to me and sought that promised absolution. It was mine to give, and she would receive it. Honor Thomas was my greatest temptation, but I was her darkest sin. Together we would heal. Or together we would be damned.

3

HONOR

H ow many chocolate chip cookies did it take to redeem a sinner’s soul?

Probably more than the two dozen I baked for the weekly women’s group meeting. Good thing I also brought a carafe of coffee. But was it really penance if I made the cookies and coffee because I knew the women’s group had a loose definition of medium roast and dessert? I had only attended one meeting so far, but once was enough to know I should serve my community with a plate of freshly baked guilt. I probably couldn’t bribe my Lord and savior with any form of chocolatey cookie— even if they were made from scratch. I didn’t even use the egg beaters. I did everything by hand, and I doubted it made the least bit of difference to my soul. But at least I felt somewhat prepared to face St. Cecilia’s parish if I came bearing treats. Besides, it gave me something to hold so the women didn’t see me shake. My hands hadn’t stopped trembling since I pulled into the church’s lot. Every hallowed step echoed in the stone halls and chiseled that fracturing courage in my soul. I was scared, and that wasn’t what the church taught. I shouldn’t have been nervous in the hall, shouldn’t have twisted when I cast a side-long look at the confessional. And yesterday I shouldn’t have run from the evening Mass. Mass was supposed to be a gift to the faithful, a way to commune and meditate on matters beyond ourselves. I’d even corrupted that. I’d attended to try and understand why I acted the way I did in the confessional, but Father Raphael’s sermon, his prayers, his soothing baritone had stirred too many feelings in me. The feelings weren’t holy. They weren’t pure. Those shivers delighted me and nearly made me squirm in the back pew. When I closed my eyes in prayer, I imagined him there, with me, beside me. Over me.

Even now, I fantasized about it. I took a breath. It didn’t soothe me nearly as much as that last touch, that secret sin within the shadows of the confessional. In that moment, everything had calmed, quieted, and blessed me in a simple peace. If only I could feel that way again. Was wanting that peace a sin? Was anything I wanted not a sin? Even self-doubt and insecurity was dangerous. I was supposed to be filled with grace. Instead I had cookies and coffee. And waiting outside the women’s meeting did nothing when my mother was already inside. Laughing. Grinning. Preaching the good news of her sobriety to anyone who would listen…and those who hadn’t asked to hear. “There she is!” Mom grinned and patted the wooden folding chair at her side. “Honor, baby, I saved you a seat.” The vivacious and grinning woman was thirty pounds heavier, ten decibels louder, and three hundred and ninety days soberer than the mom I remembered just a few years ago. Her skin had cleared, though the dark was still a bit splotchy over her arms and legs. She chose vibrant outfits to cover up instead. Her hair grew back, styled with more enthusiasm than gel. She wore bright red lipstick—so she could smile and our Lord could see it all the way from Heaven, she said. The chairs on either side of her remained unclaimed. It didn’t surprise me. The dozen or so other women clustered tightly on the opposite end of the circle, politely nodding as Mom enthralled them with a story from rehab. The radio played a quiet song, and Mom yelled over it, waving with an animated gesture to ninety-year-old Mrs. Ruthie. “There she is.” Mom pointed at me. Ruthie grunted. “Eh?” “There! That’s Honor. That’s my baby.” She frowned and shouted louder, her voice echoing through the small room. “My daughter! All grown up.” If Ruthie could see past her cataracts, she was certainly blinded by the brim of her burgundy hat—complete with a lace nest and beads. She nodded just the same. “Lovely girl.” Ruthie said. “Just lovely.” Mom patted her hand over her heart. “She looks just like her father, God rest his soul.”

That comment gained the attention of the women in the circle. I should have remembered most of them, though my family had stopped attending most of the public events when I hit high school, when Mom’s addiction got worse. They appraised me, murmuring about my curly hair or the polite shade of my lipstick. At least I wore the professional, responsible, knee-length skirt, though it meant nothing. I could just as easily pull up the pleads and shed whatever virtue I had left. They murmured something about my father. I knew I looked like him. So did Mom. She mentioned it every day, every time she looked at me. She saw Dad in the mocha shade of my skin, the dramatic arch of my eyebrows, and our shared, silly smile. I was better than a picture to her, she said, but I doubted she really remembered Dad towards the end. Most of that time was still a blacked out blur to her. Another life. She didn’t even remember the day Dad died. I did. Mom gave me a kiss on the cheek. I shrugged her away as I nearly tipped the cookies and coffee. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Just dropping this off.” “You brought cookies!” Susan, one of the youth group troop moms clapped her hands. “Your mom was right. What a blessing you are, coming home and helping her and us like this!” Now I wished I had baked a cake. I offered her a cookie and passed the tray around as she murmured her praise. The leader of the woman’s group, Judy Galbraith, scrunched her nose and gave me a sheperding smile. She loved cookies almost as much as she enjoyed moderating the parish’s drama, and, as head of four separate organizations, she earned plenty of both. “Oh, what a sweetheart.” Judy seemed relieved to have another Thomas to address. “Look at you. Getting involved in your community. Just like your…mother.” I recognized the tone. I would have thought a redeemed member of the parish would be welcomed home. Mom wanted so much to join the groups and sing the praises and help the community that she sometimes forgot just why she’d left in the first place. St. Cecilia’s didn’t. The collective memory was a little too long. They all meant to do the right thing, but their philosophies sometimes did more harm than good. To them, some people belonged in the community. Others were remembered as lying in the gutter when the parish offered a blanket and a few dollars. Mom insisted on giving back, and the women had no idea how to accept her

gratitude. I set the cookies and coffee on the table, and two women stole me away. I recognized their giggles. One perk of returning home after attending a college across the country was the high-school reunion with old friends. Of course, the two giggling women who welcomed me home weren’t the… established members of the church. Last I saw them, they owned the cool kids’ section of the choir. Alyssa and Samantha had stayed in the area after high school, attending the local Catholic college in the city. Neither had changed. Alyssa dyed her hair a brighter shade of blonde, and Samantha still didn’t fasten the top two buttons on her blouse. But it was nice to have friends my age in the church. My generation rarely stayed in the congregation once they were able to order a drink at the bar. “We really ought to start making the coffee Irish around here.” Alyssa dumped four sugars into her cup. “Even Jesus brought wine wherever he went.” Samantha giggled. “Could you imagine these old bitties drinking on a weeknight— or at all?” I said nothing. It was still too easy to remember Mom drinking at all hours of the day. I glanced at her, hooting at her own joke with Judy and Susan. The program’s chip, the year-long declaration of sobriety, hung around her neck. “You don’t often come to these meetings, Honor,” Alyssa said. “Don’t tell me you’re bored now that you’re home.” “I wish,” I said. “This summer is killing me. I don’t have time to be bored. I’m taking three classes to make up for the credits that didn’t transfer, and I need to do a ton of community service. Plus I’m trying to get a couple extra hours of work in each week. But you know how it is.” They didn’t. Both Alyssa and Samantha were endowed with more than what they stuffed into their size-too-small blouses. Their trust funds grew by the hour. I nibbled on a cookie. “Besides, Mom wanted me to come. She said it’d be…fun.” That wasn’t quite it. Mom asked for me to join her so that we might experience life together. It was part of her programs and therapies, and it was a good way to get to know my new, sober mother. I thought it’d be easier when we were in a group. Less pressure that way. Fewer questions. Not as many awkward silences. I didn’t trust my friends’ eager giggles and glances to the door. “So…why are you guys helping the woman’s group? I thought you hated most of these church functions?”

“Oh…” Samantha bit her lip and gave Alyssa a side-long glance. “We have our reasons.” “Solemn reasons,” Alyssa agreed. Samantha sighed. “And brooding.” “Very brooding. And so worth the hour or two a week.” “Three if you count Mass.” “Six or more if we do the festival.” I counted with them but had no idea what they meant. “Well, that’s a lot of church activities…” Alyssa twisted her finger in a lock of spiraling blonde hair. “Oh, come on. Like you don’t know.” I shrugged. “Daddy El?” How long had I fallen from grace? Was I missing another new phrase? It was hard enough remembering And with your spirit, but as far as I knew, the Vatican hadn’t changed anything else. All the lessons taught by the church were set in stone—or papyrus—centuries ago. “Daddy El?” I asked. Samantha rolled her eyes. “Daddy El? Father Raphael? Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed him.” Oh. I shuddered, wishing my heart would beat steadily instead of flaring to life in a dramatic rush every time his name was mentioned. “I don’t know…” I said. Alyssa’s smile was wicked and completely unapologetic. “Oh, Daddy El. He brings out the Mary Magdalene in me. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked.” “I don’t…we can’t think about him like that.” “Why not? He’s absolutely divine,” she teased. “Those dark eyes? His voice. God. I could listen to him preach for hours.” Samantha gave a wiggle. “He’s the best thing that’s happened to Mass since Vatican II.” They laughed. I forced a smile, but I didn’t dare indulge in speaking of him that

way, thinking of his eyes, his commanding voice that had demanded my confession and so much more. It wasn’t harmless fun. I feared my desires had become a dark obsession. I couldn’t stop thinking of Father Raphael, and he wasn’t just a danger to my fleeting attention span. Surrendering to any indecent, wicked, or alluring thoughts of him would only unravel me more. I was better than this. Stronger. I vowed to fight that attraction. So why did my skin pickle as they giggled over his name? I silently chastised them, but the true shame centered solely within me. “Yesterday?” Samantha lowered her voice, hiding her lips behind her coffee cup. “He played basketball in the courtyard with the youth group.” “In the cassock?” Alyssa’s eyes widened. “And sunglasses,” Samantha said. “Oh, that man. Nothing is as sexy as the cassock, but under those robes? He’s totally ripped. Who’d have thought a priest would put so much effort into his appearance.” Samantha winked. “Our body is a temple.” “I’d worship his all night.” “What a waste.” I bit through the cookie so hard I was lucky I didn’t shatter a tooth. Father Raphael’s cassock symbolized something impenetrable and mysterious and intimidating. It hid what was once the man and presented only the priest. And they were right. It was unbelievably sexy. I shrugged. “It’s certainly…formal.” “He says he likes it that way,” Alyssa whispered. “He’s strict about almost everything, including his presentation.” “Wonder if he’s strict in other places besides the church?” Samantha asked. “I bet he has other uses for that cincture around his waist.” Thoughts blinded me. Desperate, unholy images of silks and bindings, bodies and heat. “We really shouldn’t…” I didn’t even want to speak it aloud. “He’s a priest.” Alyssa laughed. “So what? Priests are like the Queen’s guards in England. They’re

not allowed to react. You can do anything you wanted to Daddy El, and he couldn’t flirt back.” “I don’t think that’s true—” “You know what she needs?” Samantha winked. “Honor should spend more time at St. Cecilia’s.” Oh, I knew what they wanted. I wagged a finger. “I already said I couldn’t.” “Come on. The choir was so much more fun in high school. Now everyone’s moved on and gone to college. It’s not the same.” Alyssa pouted. “And you used to love to sing. It’s perfect. You moved home just in time to form our trio.” Samantha didn’t let me protest. “It’s settled. You’re in. Auditions are later this week for the competitive group. You have to do that too. During the summer festival, we’re holding a Battle of the Choirs. We thought it was kinda lame at first, but Daddy El is excited about it. He wanted to start a new tradition, and he’s already talked to a bunch of other parishes to participate.” Alyssa bit her lip. “It’s a chance to make him proud. He can show us off to the other churches.” Yes, exactly what Jesus would do. “I don’t know. My college’s choir wasn’t really formal, and I think the director was just fulfilling some sort of court mandated—” “The choir?” Mom spoke loud enough to ensure all the women heard her. “Oh, my baby has the sweetest voice. Absolutely heavenly. Go on, honey. Join the choir. You loved it when you were little.” True, but I had also loved the opportunity to leave the house when I was young. The women took their seats as Judy cleared her throat with the expectation of quiet. Mom missed the hint. She pulled me into the seat next to her and took my hand, squeezing it with a smile so wide and proud. “Your voice is such a blessing. You need to praise Him with it.” “I haven’t sung in a long time, Mom,” I said. “I know. Not since his funeral.” I flinched. Mom had a tendency to over-share, especially since the program encouraged her to expose, reveal, and accept all that had happened prior to her recovery. She gripped my hand. The wedding ring pressed into my knuckle. It wasn’t hers. She’d sold her jewelry to buy the pills she used to make it through his funeral. Now she wore Dad’s ring, fitted to her finger by wrapping string around the base. The twine was dirty and tattered, but Dad’s ring shined bright and gold. I’d kept it

hidden in my room until Mom was sober enough to realize that it was the last treasure of his we had and couldn’t be pawned. “My little Honor couldn’t finish the song during his service.” She explained the situation to the group, though no one had asked about anything so personal. So painful. “But I know her daddy would have been pleased to hear her sing.” I doubted she remembered the day. Other people must have told her what happened when I ran from the dais mid-song. Father Falconi tended to me then— cold, informal, and offering platitudes that didn’t ease the pain of watching strangers take my father’s casket away because Mom’s addiction had alienated most of our friends and family. At least Dad had us at the gravesite, even if I couldn’t finish the hymn. “Join the choir. It’d be good for you.” Mom stroked a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s a fresh, new start for both of us here, back home where we belong.” “Right,” I whispered. I gracefully ducked away as Judy cleared her throat. Again. Alyssa and Samantha took the seats next to me. The older women frowned as they crossed their legs at the knees and adjusted their skirts so just enough of their thighs showed. “Well, it is nice to see a new face in our little group.” Judy tilted her head, though the motion was lost amid the waves of her scarlet hair. “Honor, welcome back to the St. Cecilia’s Women’s Group. Second week in a row.” Mom beamed, wrapping me in a hug. “She is thrilled to be a permanent member.” I nodded, accepting the well-wishing from the others in the group, from the elderly to the newly married and freshly pregnant. They thanked me for the cookies— chocolate chip and shame did pair well together. “I do apologize,” Judy said. “We didn’t get to talk to you last time, what with that crisis with the pierogi freezer. We’ll take the opportunity to get to know you now, Honor Thomas.” I didn’t speak. His voice struck through the meeting room, a low hum of absolute confidence, authority, and warmth. I stiffened, drawing my gaze to the priest poised in the doorway. “That’s a wonderful idea.” Father Raphael’s presence filled the room. The women greeted him with beaming smiles. “I know Honor is a woman of many virtues. She should share them with our parish.” Did he do it to be cruel?

To watch me stiffen, shudder, and silence before him? Father Raphael didn’t need the white collar or black cassock. When he spoke, he earned respect. When he listened, he honored those speaking. And when his dark eyes narrowed upon me and the curl of his lips pressed into a secret smile, he controlled me in a way I should have feared. Why was it so exciting? And why couldn’t I catch my breath? I didn’t look away from him, trapped in the intensity of his gaze—so unrelenting it’d have seemed inappropriate if it weren’t a holy man studying my every quiver. “There’s not much to talk about.” “That’s not true.” Mom was the first to rescue me, except she popped me in the spotlight instead of allowing me a graceful escape. “Honor is an absolute dream. She’s a stellar student. Always helps her community. She’s studying to be a social worker, so she can start and manage her own charity one day. I know she’ll bring pride and faith to this parish.” “Thanks…Mom.” I gritted my teeth. “That’s good.” She wasn’t done yet. “When I needed help, Honor came to my aid.” “That’s sweet.” I squeezed her hand. “But really, we don’t have to talk about it—” “I lost myself in a world of drugs and alcohol for sixteen years.” Mom spoke even as the women stared with wide eyes. “Sin and vice stole me. I bankrupted my family. I ruined my marriage. And I nearly lost my baby girl twice.” I tried to stop her. “You never lost me.” “No, literally.” She met the stunned gazes of the women’s group head-on. “My addictions were so bad, CPS nearly took my baby.” This was a new—and horrifying—revelation. “What?” “You were too young to remember, but you’re old enough now to hear the truth.” Obviously not! Oh, God. Mom didn’t do benders anymore unless it was spouting family problems that should have stayed within our home. It didn’t matter to her. Through a courtordered sobriety class—and a renewed faith—she came to terms with her problems…and she ensured everyone else understood them too. Alyssa and Samantha covered their mouths, and the older women shifted

uncomfortably in their seats. To them, Mom was a Pablo Escabar in a world of Betty Crocker, and nothing I could do would save her reputation. My stomach twisted. “But this girl is worth fighting for,” Mom continued. “She will be an asset to this church. Father Rafe, you’ll see. She’s a damn fine Catholic.” She flinched. “Darn. Forgive me.” Father Raphael’s smile eased the tension in the room. “Then she is welcomed to my flock.” Humiliation and shivers didn’t blend well. I scrunched in my seat as Alyssa and Samantha slowly uncrossed and re-crossed their legs, knowing full-well just what they exposed as they did it. Father Raphael didn’t look. He only watched me. “Well…” Judy stared at her clipboard and awkwardly massaged her temple. “I honestly have no idea where we were in the agenda…so…we’ll get right to the announcements before we do a little bible study.” And I had forgotten my Bible at home. Granted, I had the app on my phone, but the last thing I wanted was for Father Raphael to think even less of me. Then again, his opinion couldn’t possibly get any worse. It must have been why his gaze sliced through me, trying to discover every secret and sin that tempted us. I licked my lip. Why was I breathing so hard? Why did I like how intently he stared at me? “Our St. Cecilia Festival needs more volunteers…” Judy wagged a sign-up sheet. “We’re looking for organizers, decorators, people to work the concession stand, someone to help organize the vendors…” Judy waited. The room was silent. His voice lowered. “Come on, ladies. Don’t make me beg.” Alyssa and Samantha shared a glance before both of their arms shot into the air. Judy grimaced. “Yes…I’ll mark your names down, girls.” She tapped her pen in an impatient, staccato rhythm before I finally glanced up. “Honor?” “The festival?” I hesitated. If I volunteered, it meant working with Father Raphael. Together. Through the summer. Potentially alone. I swallowed. “I don’t know if I’ll have the time.” “Nonsense!” Mom laughed. “You’ll have plenty of time.”

I gritted my teeth. This was not the place to discuss my plans for the summer, but I turned to Mom, speaking low. “Mom, I have to find another summer job...” Or else we weren’t going to eat. “Oh, you’ll have time. You need these extracurriculars.” Mom waved to Judy. “Put her name down.” “We should talk about this at home.” “It’ll build your resume. You want to do social work in the diocese after you graduate?” She pointed to Father Raphael with a wink. “He’s your man. Work the festival, and I bet he’ll give you a good recommendation after you finish this last semester.” I doubted that. Father Raphael folded his hands in his lap. I wished I hadn’t stared at where they dropped. “I’ll make it fun, Honor. Promise.” I didn’t trust what I thought was fun with him. Stolen conversations. Nighttime confessions. Dark and twisted and wonderful fantasies. Alyssa answered for me. “She’ll do it. She’ll be there anyway. She’s singing in the choir with us, Father. We convinced her to try out for the Battle of the Choirs group.” Father Raphael’s smile turned victorious. “Wonderful. I’m so glad you’re that… persuasive.” This was a bad idea, made worse by the shiver of excitement that threaded through my mind. The wicked seed sprouted from a forlorn hope that maybe, somehow, I’d find a way to speak with him again. I could be near him once more, and I’d indulge that craving to be close with him. I stayed silent as the other announcements were read, and Father Raphael offered an opening prayer and blessing. My fingers quivered as I crossed myself, but nothing eased me. Especially the bible verse chosen for our meeting. Father Raphael read it, commanding and warm. His attention focused on me, not even reading from his Bible. I wished I hadn’t ached for the attention. “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,” he said. “Romans 3:23. This is true of every man, every woman…every priest.” I held my breath, though the room quieted, ready for Father Raphael to lead the

study. Mom stood instead. “Mm, mm. This is too true.” She wagged a soulful finger. “Now I know a lot about sinning…probably more than most of you here.” This was the first time Mom probably overestimated her past, especially in comparison to the sins I had just committed. I tugged on her sleeve, but she shrugged me away. Judy folded her hands and forced a shrug. “How…illuminating.” “I’ve done too many bad things to too many good people,” Mom said. “The drugs and the drinking…you don’t know sin until your husband wakes you up, half-naked at a truck-stop after you took the car with an expired license to get cigarettes.” This wasn’t happening. I faked a chuckle and called to her. “Mom, we should keep reading the verse—” “When my little girl was fifteen? Her grandma sent her a cross, little thing with a real diamond in the middle.” Mom gazed down at me. I didn’t have time to prepare for this truth bomb. “I’m sorry, baby. I pawned it and bought a bottle of Oxy instead.” My heart sunk. I remembered that moment. It wasn’t just any cross. It was the necklace Granddad bought to propose to Grandma. She was crushed when I said I’d never received it. That was the day an eighty-year-old woman cried in her granddaughter’s arms. And now was when I realized it wasn’t for the lost necklace. She had cried over her lost daughter. If only she lived a while longer. Now Mom was sober, healthy, and reliving her past with shattered pride and humility. Except I wasn’t ready to share in that moment. My stomach turned, and the memory shattered too much inside me. The group looked to Father Raphael to steal back the spotlight. Judy hummed. “Right. Sins like…those. They’re all forgiven, right, Father?” I couldn’t handle their stares or Mom’s pinching grip on my hand. I stood, murmuring enough to convince people I needed to use the restroom. Father Raphael watched me go, his voice low and graveled with sincerity. “Yes. All is forgiven.”

4

RAPHAEL

M y angel believed she’d fallen from grace.

But I knew she had been sent to grant that grace to me. It was my place to attend the bible study, guiding the women of my parish as they debated and researched their role in the church and community. Usually, I served them well. Tonight, my thoughts drifted. Dark. Dangerous. Sinful. Honor looked beautiful. I no longer focused on the Bible in my hand. The conversation discussed one of the most important quotes and aspects of our faith, but I didn’t hear it. I stared at Honor’s empty seat and counted the seconds, breaths, aching pulses of my heart until she returned. The confessional still haunted her, just as it moved me. I’d never purge the thoughts from my mind, but I longed for the torment of her soft whimper. I knew it was wrong to indulge in a moment of that agonizing perfection, but I still took satisfaction from knowing the truth. She’d orgasmed at my command. I read the quote again, memorized it, recited it to myself in English and Latin. For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. Some sinned willingly. Others reluctantly. And some fell because they had no defense against the darkness poised to steal their soul in the easiest, most sensual deceit. My lust wasn’t about pleasure. I was tempted to wield power.

I wanted to control her. The minutes passed, and I drove my nails into the Bible’s leather cover like it was tender flesh. My impatience scarred the book. It had been a gift from Benjamin, and I should have read the words until the urge to see her passed. I failed once more. “I think you have this well in hand.” I stood and glanced over the group. “Excuse me for a few minutes. Keep the discussion going. I’ll be back to talk about what you think.” The two trouble-makers, Alyssa and Samantha, crossed and re-crossed their legs. They offered me a glimpse of what was unshielded beneath. Lust was a powerful tormentor…but these corruptible women did not interest me. So why did Honor pain me with such desires? It was simple. She lived a life of virtue, honesty, and integrity. It made her sin all the more meaningful. Irresistible. I should have returned to my office. Or I should have left the church for the rectory and prayed. But the heart wanted what the heart wanted. If only I listened to it and not what lechery hardened between my legs. Honor hid within the adoration chapel—a quiet room of medication and prayer separate from the nave. The lights were dimmed so she might have lit a prayer candle if she wished. Instead, she let the glow of her cell phone illuminate the room. She wasn’t crying, but I didn’t need tears to recognize when someone was lost. Vulnerable. My greatest temptation wasn’t a woman whispering my name as she sated her desires. I resisted then, but I couldn’t resist what called to me now. A beautiful woman who needed my help. She suffered alone, frightened and confused. And somehow she made me more aware of the man beneath the collar than any challenge yet to my ordination. I should have left her—recommended another priest to guide her through these feelings. But those emotions and desires, wantings and memories were mine and mine alone. It wasn’t temptation to desire her. It was an obsession that would bind her to me— physically, emotionally…spiritually.

And no matter what I did, what comfort I gave, or how honestly I denied my own attraction, I lost a piece of my soul when I surrendered to her in that mutual destruction. I hesitated in the entry and bowed to the monstrance, the displayed body of Christ nestled within a golden vessel. The communion wafer, consecrated, tucked safely within the glass for the pious to view and adore. Please forgive this weakness. “Honor.” She stood, her hands tangling in her skirt, checking to ensure it was proper and modest. If only she realized how the motion drew more attention to the heavenly softness of her dark curves. “Father Rafe…Raphael.” Any name or title rolled from her lips as sweet as sugar. “You left the meeting,” I said. “Yeah. I needed…to think.” “Can I help?” “You?” She shook her head. Dancing curls cascaded over her face. She tucked them behind her ear. “No, Father. I doubt you can help.” “May I try?” Honor crossed her arms as if it would hide her. “No. I shouldn’t speak with you.” “Why?” “Because, right now? What I need most is for you to be just a priest again.” The implication stung. I gritted my teeth. “I am a priest, Honor.” She shifted. Awkward. Frightened? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate…” She shook her head. “After what happened between us, I’m not sure what to think.” “It was just a mistake.” “I don’t believe that. Mistakes are accidental. This was…” She quieted and clutched her phone. I practically felt her prayer. She must have begged for a text or call to buzz the iPhone so she’d have an excuse to run.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said. “I can’t be with you, Father. We can’t pretend this is innocent now.” And I doubted it’d ever be innocent again. But Honor needed me. No one in my congregation deserved to be without hope. I folded my hands, catching the beads of my rosaries between my fingers. “Do you know…I’ve been with this parish for three years?” She wasn’t ready for this impromptu lesson. I’d deliver it anyway. “During my time here, I’ve organized new groups. I’ve led prayers. I’ve helped with the charities.” I gestured to the hall, back to the women’s group. “For three years, I’ve tried to lead this congregation and introduce to them a sense of community and selflessness and faith.” “So I’ve heard.” She must have recognized the fatigue in my voice. Not surrender, but certainly not optimism. I sighed. “Do you know what I learned, after all those hours and plans and dreams for this parish?” Honor shrugged. “That…you could lead a horse to holy water, but…” “Exactly.” I smiled. “I wanted this congregation to examine themselves—to find reason in their faith as well as their failings. Even the women’s group has spent weeks reading and debating and researching every unique way they can serve the church. Leadership, the ideals of femininity, rectifying church misogyny, motherhood, healing, teaching, education, charity…” “It’s noble,” she said. “Maybe. For three years, I believed I was a positive influence on this church.” “You don’t think you’re doing a good job?” Not anymore. “I failed. Momentarily, I assure you. I don’t tolerate failure in myself.” “But you haven’t failed, Father.” “Of course I have. I’ve preached values and I’ve warned of vices, but I learned something in these past few days.” I held her gaze. “I haven’t instilled a sense of humility in my flock.” “I know what you’re trying to do,” she warned. “Please. Don’t try to comfort me.” “No one is alone in this world, my angel.” “Father—”

“No one is without sin, just as no one is unforgiveable. You do not suffer from temptations now, but an excess of pride. Everyone sins, and I won’t allow any of my flock to doubt themselves or their worth. No matter the cause.” Even if it was my own doing. I gestured to the pew. Honor hesitantly sat, her fingers tapping the wooden bench. Even in uncertainty, this woman embodied innocence, elegance, and gentleness. She swept her hair from her face, and a slight, grateful smile graced her lips. It was enough to damn me. I wanted this woman. To touch. To protect. To possess. The cassock covered most of me, but I wasn’t comfortable standing before this angelic woman with her almond eyes and honey-sweet lips. She’d ruin me. At least if my heart stopped, if it finally ceased its rapid punishment against my chest, my final moments would be blessed by her beauty. “May I sit?” I asked. Neither of us knew which answer was right. Refusing would admit prior guilt. Accepting would welcome new. She nodded. I sat, placing an imaginary Bible length between us. Her hands pressed against the wooden bench. Flat. Still trembling. Little novice. When confronted with sin, it was best to wield a weapon. I carried rosaries. If only I might have felt her warm hand instead of the cold beads. “Do you really want to listen?” she asked. “Do you really want to know what made me leave the meeting?” “More than anything.” She hesitated until the sigh wove over her. “Then you have to know. First and foremost, my mother isn’t a bad person.” She spoke it like a confession. No—she whispered as if she didn’t believe it herself. She looked away. It might’ve made it easier to minister to her then, but it didn’t ease my breathing…or my conscience. She smelled of candied apples, and her teeth nibbled on a plumb bottom lip. I

wondered if she ached for the sting of a bite or the soft caress of a kiss. I forced myself to speak. “I understand.” “Even when she was sick—” Her gaze slipped to mine for the briefest of moments. “That’s what my Dad called it, when she wasn’t sober. Sick.” “It’s true.” “The pain killers and the alcohol made her a bad person.” She frowned. “No. It made her a reckless person.” “Addiction is a serious illness…” I edged closer, shielding her from grief and yet savoring her warmth, her scent, her beauty. “Addiction affects more people than the one suffering from it.” Didn’t I know it? Couldn’t I feel it? Every second I strained at her side. I prayed in silence and sang with the melody of her voice. My gaze should have remained on the monstrance, the foundation of our church. Instead I imagined the softness of her legs, her arms, that hand so near to mine. Addiction. Temptation. Sin. It was real. And my desire trapped Honor in the middle of my battles. Man against faith. Reason against passion. Need against vows. “My mom’s been sober for a year now.” Honor opened more and more. “And I hate to say it, but it’s…strange. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t popping pills or drinking. My mother is gone. Now she’s this…entirely different person. Someone new.” “It’s a good thing,” I said. “I know. She’s trying so hard to stay on the right path.” “And you are good to help her.” She leaned against the pew, her hands slipping, inching towards mine. “I’m not that good. I don’t know how to help her. I left my college and lost my credits, but we don’t have the money for a full-time tuition. I’ll be a part-time student for my senior year while I find a better paying side job because…well, Mom can’t really start a career. She…doesn’t have the right set of skills or references.” She meant no one would hire a woman with such a tragic, complicated history. “The church is helping her.” Honor didn’t want to hear it. “No. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure we don’t

need the charity. I don’t mind working extra jobs.” “Honor, the programs exist to help women in her position.” “I know. We won’t need them.” I frowned. “But you’re studying to do social work. You, above all, should understand how much these programs could help.” “I do, Father. Believe me. But we won’t accept it.” “Why?” “I can take care of my mother. The charities should save their resources for others.” It wasn’t a completely honest answer, but I didn’t press any further. She shifted. Her fingers accidentally grazed mine. She stilled. So did I. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she whispered. “You’re home. You’re helping your mother. You’re serving your community.” “Father—” “You are doing what’s right. Honor thy mother—it’s so important you were named for it.” “It’s hard to honor someone who hadn’t honored themselves for sixteen years.” Her voice dropped, and my heart stilled with it. She edged closer. This wasn’t a moment of truth, but a feat of strength. Was it wrong to take her hand? To hold it? To feel her warmth surge through me? Honor needed that comfort. In any other case, with any other person, I’d have given all of me to ease the burdens of their heart. It made no difference if she was a stranger or… If she were my angel. I took her hand, and the mistake burned through me. Her breathing shuddered, but she said nothing. That made it worse. My blood boiled, raged, and plummeted from my head and into the wickedness below. I truly was a monster. Her lips trembled, parted. The timid pink of her tongue gently licked her bottom lip —not in crass seduction, but in soft nervousness.

The things I would have done to that lip, her tongue, the fears and burdens she hid. Honor deserved nothing but pleasured bliss and quivering breath. I wasn’t the man to give it, but if I wasn’t careful, I’d be the one who took it. Honor squeezed my fingers, staring at our entwined hands. Light against dark. Right against wrong. Man and woman. Priest and flock. Honor’s eyes fluttered shut, and I was helpless to resist the only urge I trusted. I had to touch the silken skin of her cheek. But I couldn’t do it. Instead, I palmed the back of her hand. Her own fingers caressed her cheek, and I pressed through her, envious of her touch. Her hand acted as a barrier, but I could feel her trembling. Sense her warmth. I stared at her lips. This was not a terrible and vile seduction. Not all of it. Soft words. Confessed feelings. It jeopardized my collar, my vows, my everything, but she opened to me, and I understood her. Honor met my gaze. She whispered her fears, worries, burdens to me. Should I have felt so proud? So fortunate? “My Dad loved my mother,” she said. “He took care of her every day while she was sick, even when she was at her worst.” “Did you love him?” “Yes. Very much. He’s gone now…” She leaned into our hands. “But you already know that, don’t you? You’re the priest of this parish. I’m sure you know a lot about everyone.” It was true. “I wait for them to tell me before I ask questions.” “Well…” Honor sighed. “I can tell you this…my dad never got to see my mom sober. He died before this change happened. That doesn’t seem fair.” “I understand.” “I don’t think you can.” Her eyes closed as the heat from our hands caressed us both. “What about you, Father? Where’s your family?” I dropped my hand.

My stomach twisted, and I banished the thoughts, the desires. And damned the disgusting hardness that threatened to tent the black robes I wore. I would not surrender to my primal needs. I was stronger than that. I prayed I was stronger than I thought I was. “My family is…around.” I shifted, placing two imaginary bibles between us. It shamed her. That was not my intention. Honor smirked, forcing a joke. “You’ve seen my family. What’s yours like? Wanna trade?” “You don’t want to trade with me.” Her smile faded, and I owed her more than that, especially as she finally opened up to me. But my story was practiced, almost wooden. I doubted she could hear it. Only a man who devoted his life to listening for the unspoken might have heard the resentment. “I’m the youngest of eight.” “Whoa.” I shrugged. “Roman Catholic.” “Right. Wow.” “My brothers and sisters are much older than me—by at least six years. I don’t really see them often. They live everywhere across the country. Two in New York, one here in Pittsburgh, one stationed in Germany, one in Dallas, one in San Jose, and one…well, he hasn’t corresponded with us for a while. Last I heard he was in jail.” “I’m sorry.” Honor shrugged. “Did any of them go into the clergy?” If only. It might have helped. “No. I’m the only one with a calling.” “What about your parents?” “My mother is…still shocked I became a priest.” “And your father?” “He’s not devout.” “No?”

“He has no fear of Hell.” I thought I hid the dark spite in my words, but Honor flinched nevertheless. Since when was I such a terrible priest? An angel like her had nothing to fear. Except me, apparently. The silence ached through me. I hated this. “I don’t often talk about myself,” I said. “Maybe you should.” She leaned against the pew. Her arms crossed again, but not to hide. She turned…almost playful. “It might alleviate some of your mystery.” “I’m no mystery, Honor.” “Are you so sure?” “I am a priest. That is who I am.” “Why?” “Why what?” She didn’t look away. “Why are you a priest?” “I ask myself that question every day.” She didn’t understand. I arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be a good priest if I didn’t meditate, pray, and reconfirm my faith every day.” “Have you ever…” “Regretted it?” I answered for her. No need for hesitations, not when I knew why she asked. “No.” “Not even once, not even for a moment?” Was it another temptation? Or was it honesty? In her, I was served a vision of sensuality and wicked ambitions. I’d overcome those desires in the past. What made her so different? I’d never regretted becoming a priest. The clergy, my vocation, my faith was the barrier I had and the only protection I possessed that granted me the strength to overcome my own monstrous self. But footsteps echoed from the hall—high heels clacking along the linoleum. I stood, heart racing. I jerked away from the pew in a sudden movement.

There was my regret. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. When I’d stepped into the adoration chapel, I feared we’d repeat the same sins. But that was the wrong fear. I should have worried for my own guilt. We flinched away and tensed—as if whoever walked the halls might have peeked inside and witnessed our sins. Honor leapt up, stubbing her toe on the pew. A small penance to pay for the guilt which raced in my heart. Except I hadn’t surrendered to any desire. I didn’t touch her, hadn’t indulged in what wasn’t mine. My vow remained unbroken, and Honor’s lips untasted. We had done nothing wrong. But for how long? The footsteps hurried across the hall and into the sanctuary. The wooden door banged closed. Honor spoke first. She clutched her phone and braced as if to run. “I have to go.” “Honor.” “No,” she said. “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Please. Can we just forget what happened that night?” How could a simple comfort become such a dangerous lie? “No.” I hated to hurt her. “We need to remember what happened.” She lowered her eyes. “So it doesn’t happen again?” Yes. And no. That memory was a moment of joy and sin, utter infatuation and great weakness. “We need to confront this. Hiding from that night will damn us. It’d be too easy for that desire to take hold in our minds. We can’t let it steal our thoughts, invade our dreams…fuel our fantasies.” Honor bit her lip. “I’m trying not to think like that, Father.” “As am I.” “Is it working?” No. “You did not take the Eucharist during the evening Mass.” She shook her head. “It didn’t feel right.” “It would have been.” “How can you forgive this?”

“Why would you punish yourself? Everyone…everyone has desire, Honor.” “It was more than desire.” “Lust then. Attraction. That…” The hardness returned, persistent and demanding and almost painful in its beauty. “Need.” Her body trembled with mine. One touch, and I’d be scarred with sin. One precious moment, and I’d rend through her soul. One forbidden night…and we’d be lost in each other, damned for eternity but blessed for this lifetime. “How are we supposed to protect ourselves, Father?” Honor’s voice haunted like a hymn and scourged like a flogger. “I have to go. That’s the only way.” “No.” “No?” Selfish, terrible desire. It addled my brain, blurred my thoughts, and hardened every irresponsible part of me. “I want you to stay,” I said. “I want you to become more involved with the church.” “How could that possibly help?” “How could it hurt?” I gestured to the chapel. “This should be the place where we come to seek strength and comfort.” “And what if we destroy it?” I wouldn’t let her speak of her soul in such a way. It pained me, just as it hurt her. “I spoke with my mentor today…Bishop Polito.” I didn’t say where I visited him or why I had gone. “He warned me not to get trapped within my own thoughts. We can’t internalize our problems. We must find a way to redeem ourselves. We are alone in our sins, and that is why we’re suffering. To end it, we must stay together. You will become more involved in the church.” “It’s a bad idea, Father. I won’t be forgiven because I’ll sing in the choir or help in the festival.” “Absolution is mine to give. This is a chance to heal your spirit. You can give of yourself to understand what has happened.” She shook her head. “And what about us?” “We fight how we feel. We forgive our transgressions. And if we are tempted…”

“When we are tempted, Father,” she said. “It is not a matter of if. It’s when…how. I can’t trust myself around you.” Trust. A strange word. I trusted nothing of temptation. Not what darkened my mind, beat my heart, or hardened the part of me pressing against the trousers under my robe. I tried to hide everything that stained my soul, but my thoughts still shattered with wicked images and fantasies. But if I wanted to help Honor, I’d have to trust that I was strong enough to resist. Because I could only protect her if she stayed close. If she wasn’t lost already. If I wasn’t lost already. “Better is open rebuke than hidden love, Proverbs 27:5,” I said. “We’ll hold ourselves accountable. Protect each other.” “Is it possible?” Honor lowered her voice. She approached me, her hesitating steps a challenge to my restraint. “I want to be holy, Father. And pure. And blessed…” Her hips swayed. Her blouse was buttoned high, but the strain of the white material caressed the swell of her chest. She breathed sweet questions of innocence and lust between parted lips. My angel offered her salvation, damnation, and body for me. And tasting even a moment of that surrender would have destroyed my own honor. Dreadful, beautiful fantasy. And she knew it. Honor lowered her gaze. “I didn’t think it was possible, Father. What we feel is too dangerous. We can’t control it.” A quiet rage blossomed within me. I could control myself. I was strong enough, fierce enough, devout enough to quell whatever mortal, human, flawed urges tried to possess me. Nothing would ever challenge me that I hadn’t already faced. Nothing.

I seized Honor, pulling her into my arms. She gasped, though the words silenced as my hand tangled in her hair. I held her tight as I pinned her to my body. Our hips met, and her chest pressed into mine, the swell of her breasts heaving, caught between surrender and protest. I hardened—fiercely and violently. She felt it. Her eyes widened, but I didn’t let her speak. Didn’t let her move. And if I hadn’t lost my soul before, this was the moment when it should have been wrenched from me. But I was strong enough to resist. Though I desired her kiss, I leaned only close enough to let the barest hint of my lips graze against hers. If I had been a lesser man, I might have seized her, torn through her clothes, and moved upon her then and there on the floor. No, against the wall. Or in my office. Or on the altar—the sanctified, honored, perfect location to strip her bare, reveal her to my sins, and take that sacrifice for myself. My lips moved, softly, only a feather’s width from hers. “You will stay.” The command resonated as hard as the sin between my legs. “You will join the choir. You will sing. You will volunteer for the festival. You will join the activities and groups of this parish. Every day I will find you here. Every day you will pray that this is as close as we ever come.” Her eyes fluttered closed. Her pulse beat, rapid, a vibration of glory within her chest. My growl might have startled her. I didn’t care. “I will control us. Do you understand, my angel?” Honor couldn’t speak, but her lips parted. She wanted the kiss. So did I. I released her to unstable legs and hearts. “Do you understand?” I asked again. “Yes, Father.” “Go back to the meeting.” She nodded, stumbling to the door. She turned, swallowing, defiant if only to prove

she could demonstrate the same strength I wielded. Blessed little angel. She’d need it. “And what will you do, Father?” “What I have done for the last five years of my life…” I met her gaze, lost within the mysteries in her stare. “I will be a good priest.” Honor nodded, slipping from the hall to return to the meeting. I listened until I could no longer hear the echo of her steps. She left me, but I was not free. I collapsed before the monstrance, the sanctified golden box that held the Host. I prayed harder than I’d prayed in years. “Heaven help me…” I clenched my rosaries. “I fear I’m turning to sin.”

5

HONOR

W hat was I thinking joining the choir?

I plunked down in the vestibule, not ready to head into the sanctuary. The organ tuned from inside, but no one was ready for the auditions yet. I wondered if he was in the church. Then I hated myself for such a thought. The choir girl and the priest? It was a bad joke waiting to happen. Toss in a bar and the Pope’s hat, and we were as cliché as we were damned. I’d dreamt of him. Again. It was the third night this week, and the images only became more powerful, more…explicit. As if my body hadn’t tested me enough, now my mind captured me too. And I liked the fantasies it created. What was wrong with me? My heart strained and beat and panicked, as if trapped within his arms once more. He had hardened that night in the adoration chapel. It throbbed through the cassock, through the pants beneath. I’d never met a man so full of contradiction. Here was a virile, passionate, sensual man, rippled with muscle and straining with desire…but instead of sinful delights, he chose the collar. The blindingly white and pure beacon represented a man of morals, faith, and celibacy. Both sides of him were masculine, so very strong and powerful. Just my luck, the clerical clothing only accentuated every strength carried in his broad shoulders, thick arms, and tight chest. If the world had been made for a man like Raphael, maybe Eve wouldn’t have wandered alone through the garden… Or maybe he would have become her original sin?

I arrived fifteen minutes early for the auditions—thanks in part to still planning my day via bus schedules. I often forgot I had Mom’s car. At least one good thing came from her suspended license—it was easier to get from classes to work and then to the church. I dropped the bag carrying my books for my summer classes. The math, English, and polysci credit were cheaper during the summer. It was worth the drive to take them at the satellite campus instead of at the college this fall. Not that it mattered. I hoarded all the credits and community service hours I could keep from the transfer, but I was short the classes I needed to graduate on schedule. Going part-time meant it’d take longer than a year to finish my degree, even with the summer’s extra courses. Figured. The incompletes I earned after Dad’s funeral sophomore year still haunted me. Along with every other aspect of that day. I opened my laptop. Carefully. It was old, still clunking along from freshman year. I didn’t trust the fuzzy rattle coming from the fans. I’d need a new one, but I had no idea where to spare the money for a replacement. Mom was a month behind on the rent, two on the water bill, and still owed fines from the accident. This was why I came home. To help. But had no idea it had gotten this bad for her. Then again, once I was accepted to college, I ran. I’d rarely visited, even for holidays. And after Dad had died, I never thought I’d come home again. I rooted through my second bag—a change of clothes, bottle of water, and my packed lunch. My stomach rumbled, but I regretted packing an apple to eat. Of all the stupid fruit to bring into the church. I grabbed the pack of crackers instead and nibbled through to get to the peanut butter. The vestibule doors opened, and Alyssa and Samantha strolled inside, arm in arm. They greeted me with wide smiles. That meant trouble. “This is so great,” Alyssa said. Today, her hair bound high in a ponytail, so perky she should have sat on top of a cheerleading pyramid. “It’s like the whole gang is back together.” Samantha twirled in a skirt that might’ve doubled for a priest’s stole. “I knew we’d have some fun this summer. It’s been hell getting through Saint Francis’s programs. Can you believe a college has a dress code?” I started to see the appeal. I offered them a cracker, and Alyssa took it with a wicked arch of her eyebrow.

“Is Daddy El here yet?” My mouth dried, and the cracker turned to ash. I grabbed my water bottle and chugged. Even that tasted of sulfur. “Don’t know,” I said. “He probably won’t be here. The Choir is Deacon Smith’s project.” Alyssa shook her head. “But the festival and the Battle of the Choirs was all Daddy El’s idea. He bet the other parishes in the area a fully painted rec room to the winner. This just got serious.” I smirked. “I thought gambling was a sin.” “That man is sin.” Samantha fanned her face. “I hope I get stage fright just so I can imagine him in his underwear.” And that was the image that I couldn’t get out of my head. What was more dangerous—imagining Father Raphael naked…or picturing him in the cassock? Flesh was one perilous temptation, but I never imagined I’d fall for the robes? They were strict, commanding, and possessing every righteous power afforded to him by his Holy Orders. Both thoughts made me tremble from the inside out. At least my song’s vibrato would sound authentic. As if he could tell when my thoughts drifted from the pious to the wicked, the solid, solemn click of his shoes against the stone echoed through the hall. Alyssa and Samantha silently squealed. The crackers crumbled in my hand. Father Raphael checked his text messages and tucked an iPhone into his cassock. He greeted us with a smile that seemed so genuine, so wholesome, it was as if I’d imagined the desires that stoked between us. “Good afternoon, ladies.” His gaze lingered politely as Alyssa and Samantha twisted under the briefest of his stares. He reserved the worst and best for me. I sat, paralyzed, meeting his dark eyes with darker intentions. Thank God for the white-collar that separated us from complete and utter devastation. “You can go in,” he said. “Deacon Smith is on his way.” Alyssa bit her lip. “But Father…aren’t you coming?” Oh Christ, save us. I hid my face in my hands. “I’ll be in shortly.” His words rumbled, heavy but innocent. “Tell him not to start

without me.” Father Raphael continued down the hall to his office. My breath returned only once his footsteps faded. Samantha giggled. “One day, he’s going to flirt back.” Alyssa snorted. “I doubt it. Denying us is his game. A man like that isn’t naïve. He’s in complete control.” Control. Right. Father Raphael had yet to succumb to any of the desires that had so humiliated me. Was he leading me from temptation? Or did he drag me down the dangerous path? This was a slippery slope made slicker by his touch, words, stare. The vestibule doors clattered open, and Deacon Smith shuffled inside, immediately dropping his papers and music. He was a blessed teapot of a man—short, stout, and constantly steaming about one thing or another. Today it was the lack parking spaces. He groaned as he averted his eyes from Alyssa and Samantha’s bare legs. Three people followed him, and a car peeled up to the curb outside, tossing out a couple high school boys who might have worked as the bass voices we needed. “Inside, inside.” Deacon Smith didn’t look at my friends. “We’ll start auditions in five minutes.” Alyssa and Samantha cackled as he hurried to the organ. “If nothing else, we can stroke him out,” Alyssa giggled. Samantha gestured for us to follow with a curled finger. “We’ll make sure he wants to stroke something.” The doors closed. Wow. I tried to avoid Hell, and they preferred to toss everyone into the fire. I gathered my things and hauled the bags over my shoulders. The weight lifted immediately. I swallowed as Father Raphael took my book bag and laptop from me. He opened the door to the sanctuary. “After you,” he said.

Enough was enough. I couldn’t live in fear of this man’s smile forever. I met his gaze and thanked him, trying to forget how warm his words were when whispered so near my lips. If the memory still twisted in him, Father Raphael revealed nothing. I forced myself to look at the confessional. That momentary weakness had come and gone. Even if I still remembered how it felt, even if I dreamt of him at night, I took control. I hadn’t touched myself and sinned since that last time. That made the restless nights uncomfortable. The unbearable pressure deep in my core hadn’t forgiven me, but at least He could. I picked a pew in the middle of the church, but Father Raphael sat at my side. Shoot. I should’ve taken a better seat. Something up front where everyone could see us instead of five rows back. Or maybe that would have looked just as suspicious, like they thought we were hiding something. Were we hiding anything? Could they tell? Did it matter? Everyone was already seated. Alyssa and Samantha pouted from the front row. I had Father Raphael to myself now. Deacon Smith muttered to himself and tripped on his way to the organ. Mrs. Britters, the ninety-year-old organist, readied to play whatever he placed before her. He spread his papers out and approached the pews with a hand to his forehead. “I’ve been a deacon here for twenty years,” he said. “And, in my life, I’ve wanted two things. Firstly, to keep my hair.” He tugged on the few strands that remained. “Obviously, this hasn’t happened. However, I’ve dreamed of St. Cecilia’s choir becoming…professional. That means no chewing gum. No requests for Freebird or Like A Prayer. No singing from the hymnals upside down—Aiden, yes, I’m talking about you. I want to create something…beautiful.” Deacon Smith just needed a sweater wrapped around his neck and a director’s chair, and we’d be one set list away from a production of Godspell. He tapped his clipboard. “We have twenty people auditioning today for a nine-person choir. Before anyone

gets too excited, please make sure you can commit to more practices—we’ll need an hour or so later on the nights after regular choir rehearsals.” That just meant my summer was now completely booked with church events—just as Father Raphael wanted. At least it would look nice on a resume for a full-time job. Of course, I wouldn’t have a degree, but maybe I’d get lucky. Deacon Smith already looked stressed as Alyssa and Samantha synchronized the crossing of their legs. He cleared his throat. “You’ll each get to sing one song, and I’ll post the results tonight on St. Cecilia’s Facebook group. If this goes well, we might be able to do a couple competitions or shows and turn this group into something great. So we’ll hear…” He crossed himself, looking at Alyssa and Samantha. “How…it sounds.” “It should be fun.” Father Raphael called out. The twenty people auditioning all turned to listen to their priest. I shifted lower in my seat. Did that make me seem guilty? Father Raphael welcomed their attention. “I have a couple priest friends who formed choirs from their youth groups and congregations.” He shrugged. “They’ve won trips to Disney. I figured, why not try that here?” “How…” Alyssa hummed. “Secular.” Deacon Smith cleared his throat. “Okay. Line up. Who’s first?” A few hands rose, but not mine. I breathed deep. A mistake. Why did Father Raphael smell so…divine? Sandalwood and incense and something else. Cedar? A woody, tangible scent that watered my mouth and would linger in my dreams that night. His voice didn’t help, a quiet admittance only for me to hear. “Are you nervous?” “Yes.” “About the audition?” Sure. That was easier to admit. “I haven’t soloed in a long time.” “I have faith in you.” “Do you?” I didn’t know whether to stare ahead at the linen-draped altar or cast a glance to the black robes at my side. “Of course I do. I have the most faith in you, Honor.” “How?”

His smile was unexpected but not unwelcomed. “I’d lose faith in myself before you.” That was what we both feared. The organ strummed Ava Maria. A loud and sharp middle aged woman took to the stairs, an octave too high and a beat too late. I thumbed through my duffel bag and pulled out five different songs I’d previously memorized during choir in high school and college. He glanced at the music, made a face, and tossed out Wither Thou Goest. “Narrowing it down?” I asked. “Trying to help,” he said. “You haven’t heard me sing before.” “Honor, every word from your lips is a song to me.” I warmed head to toe, but I refused to let his words distract me. I spent too many minutes, hours, days, and now weeks in adoration of him instead of the church. I breathed deeply, ignored his scent, and pretended he was any other man, any other friend, anyone but him. “Which song is your favorite?” I asked. “Dream On by Aerosmith.” I nearly laughed. “I don’t think that will work today.” “I’ve always liked Pie Jesu, despite the circumstances in which it’s sung.” “Me too.” Father Raphael paused as the singer missed a note. I knew he looked at me, but I stared only at the music, wondering how badly I must have been trembling to blur the notes on the page. “You don’t want to talk with me, do you?” he asked. That depended. Would it appear too suspicious if we spoke this much? Or would it look worse if we weren’t talking? Did I trust myself enough to have an innocent conversation with him without dreaming of what hardened under his cassock? I politely clapped as the woman auditioning finished her song. Deacon Smith called for the next audition. The organ once again strummed Ava Maria, and he shrugged. One of the high school tenors sang. The music filled the sanctuary, and I felt safer speaking.

“Do you know that you have a reputation here, Father?” I lowered my voice. “You’re known as Daddy El.” He smirked. “I know.” I figured as much. “Does it bother you?” “I consider it another challenge to my collar. Believe me, Honor. Your friends are not the first to show some leg in exchange for a little indulgence.” “Really?” “Of course. And I’ve resisted each one.” His jaw tensed, a solid and forceful strike of strength across his stoic face. “Except for you.” “I haven’t asked for any indulgences.” “Which makes you all the more dangerous.” The tenor finished his song. The next singer also began Ava Maria. Deacon Smith groaned, his head in his hands. “Guys, we have more hymns! The church has been around for two thousand years. Please tell me someone knows another song.” No one moved. Deacon Smith almost tore the rest of his hair out. “Honor!” He pleaded for me. “Do you have a piece to sing that isn’t Ava Maria?” The others scrambled over the pews to grab hymnals. I took a sheet of music from my duffle bag. “Yeah, I have one,” I said, smiling as Father Raphael wished me good luck. My leg brushed his as I edged from the pew. His fingertips grazed just behind my knee. The warmth cascaded into my core. Quick. Fierce. I nearly weakened then, my legs wobbling as though they wished to fall to my knees before this man. But Alyssa and Samantha’s cheers freed me from the chains binding my thoughts. I forced away dark images of writhing bodies and twisting sheets, but I couldn’t fight them for long. I don’t know why I did it. I handed the music to the organist, and I took to the dais as dread and warmth dueled in my chest. The first notes of Pie Jesu filled the sanctuary. I chose the song because of him. It was a foolish, indulgent idea, but nothing sounded more beautiful than the first

note I sang. It rang through the nave, striking so softly, deftly, and beautifully against the stained glass and carved stone that I almost didn’t recognize my voice. The notes stunned everyone. Except Father Raphael. I should’ve looked away. I should’ve focused somewhere beyond him, away from his sanctifying and desecrating gaze. I couldn’t. And in my weakness, the hymn turned from solemn prayer into something dark and seductive, just for him. The song blended the beautiful with the corrupted, and my sultry notes struck with a pure vibrancy. The scriptures spoke of singing in ecstasy—but this rapture contained nothing holy. Father Raphael watched me. Every note, every sound, every breath carried for him. His jaw tightened. I hit a perfectly balanced note, so high and lovely it even gave me goose bumps. But his hands turned to fists. He leaned forward against the pew before him. I recognized that licentious look—that hunger. It was the same severe devotion to his vows he uttered when he’d captured me in his arms, when he’d adored me more than the Lord. He had pinned me then. Held me tight and forced me to obey his commands. This time, it was my turn. I sang, and he was struck as my prisoner. I became a siren, a sinner. My voice warmed, twisted, and seduced within a hidden harmony only he could hear. It was wrong. Everything I did was wrong. But he stared at me, bestowing an attention upon me that felt more like a gift than a curse. He didn’t leer at me as other men did, attempting to imagine what hid beneath my clothes. He searched for my soul, for my innocence. And it trapped us on the precipice of dangerous and illicit pleasures. I should have stopped the song. Every note forged an intimacy which was forbidden to us. I sang the words and imagined his lips upon mine, correcting my Latin in gentle tease. I breathed between the notes and sighed as every exhale might be twisted into a sigh and groan. Even the shivers on my skin crashed with the melody and teased as if they had been caused by his touch.

Could the choir tell? Was it obvious? My song was not a hymn of praise. I seduced a priest and tested his resistance to me. Every chord ached deeper inside of me. I wetted under his attention. Whatever dark and secret desires knotted within me were released in song. When the music silenced and the choir applauded in amazement, I realized how foolish I’d been. Father Raphael rose from the pews in silence. He left the sanctuary, his steps cracking against the stone and slamming my heart into my ribs. The doors closed behind him. I stepped from the dais and accepted my compliments from the others. What was I to do? The next person was called to sing. I walked to my seat, but I didn’t sit. I slipped from the sanctuary unnoticed, following in his footsteps to the adoration chapel. He waited for me, silent and dark with a consecrated authority. I stepped inside. The door closed behind me. It was the first time the doors to the chapel had ever been locked. And I had no idea what awaited me now that we were alone.

6

RAPHAEL

A hymn of seduction. A song of a siren.

A cry for my help. …Or a plea for my sin. If I hadn’t known Honor came to me as an angel, I’d have feared the deception of the devil. Beauty was so often ruined with immorality, lusts of the flesh instead of praise for their blessing. Honor enthralled me. Her presence wove through my mind and tangled in my soul. I’d prayed with the rosaries during her song and beseeched any power—Mother Mary, Christ, my lost self—anyone who might have protected me from the thoughts temptation bred in my soul. It hadn’t healed me of this obsession. I trapped her in my church to feed the darkness within me. I no longer recognized myself or my urges, and I had no choice but to fight them. If we didn’t, if I surrendered to my instincts and sacrificed her beauty for my own selfish desires… I wouldn’t be a priest. I’d be a demon. A monster. And I wasn’t losing my soul, no matter what glorious satisfaction I might have seized. The chapel darkened, unused for the moment. The red candle in the sanctuary lamp remained unlit. No spirit of Christ to protect us. Honor slipped away, twisting as she refused to turn her back to me. My angel

retreated, each step as deliberate and inviting as a curling finger beckoning me closer. I twisted my fingers in the rosaries. Hail Mary, full of grace… Her lips parted, but she hadn’t spoken, not until she struck the altar. It had to be the altar. Why shouldn’t I adore her as I adored all else, set upon an altar as a sacrifice for everything that was me, my life, my vision… The Lord is with thee… “Forgive me, Father,” Honor gasped. Beautiful music, a soft song of penance. “The song was a mistake.” I didn’t recognize the edge in my voice. I closed the distance between us in long strides, but even an arm’s length was too far for my aching body and too near for my fracturing soul. “Did you sing it for me?” Her nod was timid. “You said it was your favorite.” “It is.” “I should have just sung Ava Maria.” Honor ran a hand through her hair. The soft ebony curls tickled through her dark fingers like the holiest of waters. “I’m sorry, Father Rafe. I shouldn’t have…” “I know why you did it.” It was the same reason I locked the door to the chapel. The key rested in my pocket. “It’s why we’re here. To answer for this sin.” “Answer for it?” Honor met my gaze. “Or cause it?” Blessed art thou among women… I crossed myself. The truth haunted me, torn from my own confessions with a dire warning. “You are my greatest challenge…” I motioned for her silence with a finger pressed to my lips. “But that does not make you wicked. It means you are a woman— beautiful and vibrant, honest and kind. Every inch of you begs for sin because it is sanctified by the light.” I might’ve touched her then—run a hand along her high, proud cheekbones or delighted myself with a brush of her lips against my thumb.

But I resisted. And I passed that first test. “If I had not taken a vow…promised myself to a higher calling…” My words breathed in a heated sigh. “I’d cast myself upon my knees before you, Honor. I’d worship you as the angel of seduction that you are.” Honor closed her eyes, but her voice didn’t waver. “I should go.” “You must finish your confession first.” “I…can’t.” Another step closer. “Why? Afraid of what happened last time?” We both shivered. I imagined her quiet touches again, the only image I couldn’t purge from my mind, my dreams, my torment. Blessed is the fruit of thy womb… Her whisper thrilled me in dark delight. “That’s exactly the reason I should go. These things we’re saying, the desires we have…” They were ours and ours alone. “Do you fear it?” I asked. “Yes.” She edged past me, aiming for the exit, another easy way to avoid this confrontation. She was stronger than this. I’d prove it. I reached the door before her, pushing a hand against it. Honor didn’t look at me. Her fingers trembled on the handle. I leaned close. This woman was so tiny, so delicate and fragile, and yet… So powerful. A woman this lovely and holy would always attract darkness. “Would you rather live in guilt, harbor this pain, and suffer in secret?” I whispered. Honor didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I know how badly I want you.” Jesus.

I shamed myself by blocking her path. She stepped away from the door as my cassock created a wall of solid black, preventing her escape. “It’s not a weakness to admit it,” she said. I agreed. One fewer lesson to teach her. Honor confronted me with the wrong type of confidence. “I don’t trust how I feel. I don’t understand it, and so I will remove the temptation before…anything happens.” “Has that worked before?” I circled her. “Denying me? Ignoring me? Shielding yourself from me?” She bit her lip. I stared at the softness, so plump and full, a soft brown that highlighted the gentle femininity of her body. We stood close enough to touch, but still I resisted. I breathed deeply instead. Sweet apples. Candied apples. How could she possess such a dangerous scent? No incense would ever smell as sweet. Would she taste just as decadent? “What thoughts have you had, my angel? Confess them to me.” Honor sighed. “Horrible, beautiful thoughts.” “Of what?” Her voice trembled, and I felt the divine warning in every syllable. “You.” “Tell me.” “Father, I can’t speak of such things inside a church.” Holy Mary, mother of God… “Confess to me.” “Why?” Honor looked away. “Why confess when I will just think the same thoughts, again and again? I’ve confessed once, and it hasn’t helped.” I shouldn’t have hardened. Another reprimand, another penance. “Have you transgressed again?” The fantasy teased me. “No, Father. I didn’t do…that.”

A relief…and another challenge. Despite that wicked and unsavory sin, I was yet a man. And a man was vain and simple, requiring the compliment of lust to appease his pride. “Has the thought tempted you?” I lowered my voice. “Have you wished to touch yourself?” “Yes.” “Tell me.” She hesitated, too afraid to reveal the truth to the man and priest suffering from her shared desire. And I answered for her. “You ache at all hours…” I spoke from experience. “You’re hot, always. Desperate. Thinking only carnal and terrible thoughts.” “Yes.” “And who is with you in these thoughts?” “You are, Father Raphael.” Pray for us sinners… “You want to feel my touch. Hear my words.” Honor groaned. “This is wrong.” “It is, because you realize how badly you wish to experience it. Can you imagine me? My lips on yours…my hands free to caress your body—celebrating you, sanctifying you, perfect and soft.” “Why are you saying such things?” “You don’t suffer alone.” I twisted the rosary in my hand, pinching hard until I was certain the beads imbedded into my skin. “You are my prayer now, Honor. Every joyous and solemn word I speak is a shade of your name.” She sucked in a breath. “We’re speaking in sins.” “No. I’m being honest. It is a part of humanity—these desires are what make me a man.” “But you have to be a priest.” “And so…” I gestured to the space between us. “I have not indulged.” Even when it might’ve been easy.

Even when I might’ve taken her, thrown her onto my desk, the floor, against a wall. My worst demonic urges imagined her lying flat, naked, waiting on the altar with her legs spread, breasts heaving. Slick and sacrilegious. Begging in blasphemy. If I was to sin, I’d lose myself entirely. And if I was to remain holy? It would be in praise of my vows, my faith, and my honor. Now and at the hour of our death… “We have a choice.” I declared it, loud, as if in Mass. This would be my most important homily. “We can surrender to this desire. I’ll take your virginity, and my vow of celibacy will belong to you. We will succumb, and this sin will be claimed.” Honor shook her head. “Absolutely not.” “Then we must do what people have done for ages.” “Suppress it.” “No…fight it.” Honor crossed her arms. Didn’t she realize it offered more of her curves for my inspection? No. She didn’t. And that made me all the more wicked. Eve…playing with the forbidden fruit without realizing the damning consequences. “I have fought it,” she said. “But you are the one who keeps me close, Father. You wanted me here, in the choir, in the groups.” “Yes, because I can protect you.” Amen. “How?” I extended my hands. “Temptation is inescapable, but surrendering is a choice. We fear what we don’t know, the forces we don’t understand. If we wish to fight this, we must take the opportunity to understand what burns in us. If we discover why we would sin together, then we’ll have the power to deny it in our most basic instincts.” “Deny it?” She repeated. “Do you think it’s that easy?”

“No. No test of faith is ever easy.” Honor frowned. “I didn’t think we were supposed to test our faith?” “Our faith is constantly tested. We must challenge our humanity. Deny the animalistic needs, terrible desires, and wicked perversions that would tarnish our soul.” I spoke harshly. Too aggressively. Honor stiffened, and her beautiful expression twisted into confusion. “Father Rafe, you speak as if all sex is…evil.” She wouldn’t know. I didn’t expect someone of her innocence to understand. “Yes, Honor. Every touch.” “But—” Her words turned from hushed heat to quiet pity. I clenched my jaw as she looked upon me, too gentle to realize the truth. “That’s not what I imagined sex would be.” “How would you imagine us then?” I asked. “Answer honestly.” “Well, this…” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “This would be…dangerous. Wrong. Tempting and forbidden. Exciting, though I know we’d suffer for it.” “Then you understand.” “No, I don’t.” She frowned. “Sex between lovers, between a man and a woman, married and connected? That would be something…beautiful and holy.” Poor angel. Innocent angel. “Sex is a declaration of power over another person.” An old darkness clouded my mind. I refused to let it take hold. I lost too many years to that evil. “The strong enforce their will upon a weaker body.” “But—” “It is raw, primal, animalistic. An invasion of body and soul.” Honor frowned. “Some would call that the ultimate trust, Father.” “And I see it for the truth—a moment when you are lost, without escape. You would be taken and made for a man’s desires.” She shook her head. “Or you are made beautiful, safe, and lost only within tender affection and loving promise.” “You’re naïve.”

“And you’re…in such despair.” I wouldn’t allow her to pity me. “I recognize my desires because they are shared by all men. I have no faith in us.” Honor glanced to the locked door. “Do you have faith in yourself?” I tapped my collar. “Yes, though I struggle, as all men do. But I can control myself. I vowed to temper those thoughts, those desires, those sins.” I held her stare. “And you will resist as well.” “How? Do you want us to…deliberately tempt ourselves?” “Yes.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind,” I quoted. “And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.” “Shouldn’t we leave this to Him then?” she asked. “We will not be rid of this lust until we understand it. We can hide from it. We can ignore it. But we will always be a slave to it unless we conquer it ourselves.” Her lips parted as though she would argue. As though she feared she would fail. “I want to explore our temptations,” I said. “Bend our bodies to our spiritual limit and prove we are unbreakable in our vows. We will test ourselves so that we can be prepared to deny our weaknesses.” Honor spoke softly. “And if we can’t do this, Father? If we surrender to it?” “We won’t.” “But if we do?” “There is no if. We cannot fail.” “Then why risk it?” I wouldn’t have her lose faith so quickly. I seized her in my arms, just as I did before, just as closely and fiercely. Only this time…I kissed the words from her. And in that moment, she became mine. Her lips parted, and a breathy sigh awakened the sinner within me. Her body

pressed against mine, so soft and beautiful, graceful and holy that the erection pressing through my trousers desecrated her with dark urges. I wanted this woman. In my arms. In my bed. Forever murmuring a soft prayer and offering forgiveness in a kiss to my aching lips. Every nibble of her flesh tasted of candied apples and victory. Would she taste as delicious pressed within my sheets? Would every inch of her skin shiver in goose bumps as it had now? Her lips parted more, granting me that singular joy of flicking a curious tongue against hers. She groaned, and the quiet, throaty murmur echoed in the adoration chapel. The praises I would sing to this woman from now on… I imagined how the rest of her would feel, explored with my kiss, my lips, my tongue. Her silken skin would heat like fire. Her graceful neck would pulse where I pressed my mouth. I’d bite the hollow of her throat, and I’d earn another breathy cry. Her breasts would heave in gasping, wanting waves. I imagined cupping her, offering a sable brown nipple to my lips. If only… I’d worship this woman. Ease my kiss lower and lower until I explored the soft path to the waiting crest between her legs, the Heaven which begged for its own adoration. A kiss. A lick. A sin turned to beauty. Her fingers tangled in my cassock, and the rosary beads cut into my skin. My soul screamed. I managed only a bitter and resigned grunt. I pushed her away before my thoughts burrowed within a slickness that taunted my dreams. She panted, torn from my body, shocked and confused. My heart cracked, but it continued to beat. The guilt of the kiss faded, cast away as I recognized the strength simmering between our bodies. I stood tall. Honor adjusted her blouse. Her lips were swollen and puffy from my ravaging…and yet she met my gaze with every determination I expected. My angel.

She would best this temptation with me. Or I would break us both in licentious arrogance. “I stopped myself this time,” I said. “Are you strong enough to deny yourself?” Honor didn’t smile. Her eyes widened with a naïve ignorance I envied. “Yes,” she said. “Are you sure?” “As you said, Father…” She seized a breath to end her shuddered gasps. “The consequences are too damning to fail. I can resist you, and I will deny myself.” I took her hand. Her pulse raced, but she accepted this challenge with grace. “My perfect angel…” I touched her face, stroked her cheek, tangled my fingers in her hair. Then I pulled away, just to prove that I could. She licked her lips, and I kissed her again, gently and softly. Her tongue met mine. She mewed, but she broke the kiss. Pride would be her undoing. If it hadn’t already conquered me. “We have work to do,” I whispered. “I will teach you to resist this temptation, to defy sin, and to shield your faith from the most dangerous threat to your innocence.” “The devil?” “Me.” I shook my head, memorizing the crook of her nose, the dramatic arch of her brows, the almond curve of her eyes. This woman would be the death of me. And I prayed I’d wake in Heaven.

7

HONOR

T

he lights were out when I got home after the choir audition.

After the kiss. It wasn’t late—St. Cecilia’s didn’t exactly have a thriving night life…despite what thoughts lingered in my mind of Father Raphael and his private sermon. After I returned to the nave and earned my spot into the special choir, I schemed with Alyssa and Samantha about a three-piece harmony. Once it got late, I’d grabbed my bags and computers and headed home. Not in any particular hurry. It didn’t feel like home anymore…because it wasn’t. We lost the house after Dad died, despite his life insurance policy covering the remainder of the mortgage. Mom had used the money for other expenses. It was the polite way to phrase our misfortune to the few family members and friends Mom hadn’t driven away. Her new apartment was small, and my bedroom a corner of the living room. Mom had offered me her room when I moved back, but it was just as tiny and leaked around the window. Even closed, the room had a bad draft. Mom didn’t care—said it helped the hot flashes. So many things in my life changing, and all of them at once, she had joked. She forgot to lock the door. The neighborhood couldn’t even be trusted to have a communal mailbox without extra locks. I’d have to remind her to be careful. I edged inside and forced the door closed behind me, lifting the handle so it wouldn’t grind against the peeling linoleum. The lock clicked. Home. The thought still soured in my stomach. At least the extra choir practices meant

another excuse to get out of the apartment. I hated myself for thinking it, but I hated even more the uncomfortable, greasy, weird feeling I got being at home. Like I didn’t belong here. No. Like she didn’t belong here. Mom’s shoes cluttered the entry—two pairs, weather-worn and fading. I kicked them into the coat closet. The busted hangers had dropped the winter coats onto the floor. She’d left them there. I shook them out. A single white pill tumbled from the pocket. It crashed against the rug as soundlessly as thunder. I sucked in a breath, checking the other pockets. Nothing in them but lint and crumpled receipts. The pill was a loner, one lost from over a year ago. I hated to even touch the foul thing. If she knew she had an Oxy left… I glanced over the apartment, dark and cluttered. Newspapers wadded near the door—she said she’d take them to recycling later. I made a note to toss them out with the garbage that night. The pots from last night piled in the sink—she wanted to let them soak a little longer. I’d start on them before they smelled. The bills piled up on the table. She put them off. I hated them the most, so I usually did that first. But the electric company was closed, and the landlord didn’t like calls after hours. I spent my afternoon and evening at the church and didn’t have time to sort through the finances. Not that I could focus on anything important now. I drowned in my own thoughts. No. In my own slickness. And how horrible and sinful and delightful and amazing had that discovery been? My body betrayed my soul, my lips their own cautious whispers, and my heart the only defense it had against an untouchable, unobtainable man. Yet I had the power —no, the control—to pull away from his arms. I had ended the kiss, returned to the sanctuary, and looked upon the altar and the cross and the sanctity of the church without guilt for the first time in a month. I could do this.

I could fight the temptation. At least…in the church. At home, in the dark, those feelings returned. I warmed in the right and wrong places. I forced a breath and focused on cleaning the entry and living room so I could get to my bed. I had homework to do. Plus, I’d promised I’d update the food pantry inventory spreadsheet. Theirs was made in Microsoft Word and with the aid of an adding machine, and I was pretty sure my head almost exploded when I tried to work it. I really needed to sleep. When was I going to fit it in? Between my two summer courses, the choir practices, volunteering for the festival, and working at the food pantry I had no idea where I’d squeeze in more hours for the things we desperately needed. Like sleep. And working part-time. Or full-time, like we needed. I wasn’t ready to give up on earning my degree before finding a job, especially since I knew how difficult it’d be to find any good paying work in my field. Unless…I had to shift my career goals. I’d taken business classes at school. Despite growing up in the church and wanting to help others through charity and social work…those jobs didn’t pay the bills. The overdue bills. And the debts. Dad’s lingering funeral costs. College. I bagged the trash in the living room and groaned as the garbage overflowed. How did Mom ever manage this on her own? The answer was obvious—she didn’t. Not when she was still high and drinking or after the year she spent sobering up. No one had said it, no one had even thought it, but I knew how it would look if I admitted to only moving home once Mom got clean and times were easier. But it was Dad who said to leave. He told me to focus on my education, my career, my life. So I didn’t end up like her. The woman sharing my home wasn’t the Mom I remembered. She wasn’t the woman who raised me. She was better now. Human again, instead of the raging animal sneaking drinks and stealing pain medications. And yet…I still panicked. I still checked. I still waited for the day she’d make a

mistake and reveal that the past year of sobriety was a lie. I was tired of sneaking into her bedroom and peeling the bottle from her hands, just so I could check to see if it was a beer or… A bottle of water. Good. Why was it I could kiss a priest and yet feel more guilt for doubting my mother’s sobriety? I cleared her nightstand of the extra bottles and magazines. Mom didn’t wake up, snoring in a twin bed. It wasn’t ours. She and Dad had shared a hand-crafted bed. I never asked where it ended up, lost and ruined. It’d meant the world to him, that bed. He was an honest, generous, loving Catholic man who lived for his family and showed that love through his trade—carpentry. He’d made most of our furniture by hand. And it was all gone now. Nothing but memories remained. I finished straightening the apartment. It could wait for a deep clean after Mass on Sunday. A thrill tickled through me, something entirely inappropriate for the thought of returning to the church. I took a cool shower, changed, and snuggled into my mattress in the corner. My phone buzzed as I rolled onto my side. I shouldn’t have looked. I didn’t have the contact in my phone, but my secret messenger wasn’t so mysterious. Sleep well, my angel. As if I could sleep now. The heat burst within me once more. I swallowed, but my tummy twisted in such a good way. Who would Jesus text? I gripped my phone and typed back, loving the delicious thrill. Are you allowed to text me? He replied immediately. Who would stop me?

This man? This priest? No one. How’d you get my number? His message beeped. The phone tree. Betrayed by the women’s club and its eternal preparedness. I took a breath, wishing my body would stop shivering in exquisite goose bumps. I typed a cautious message. I was just going to bed… I counted the seconds for his reply. What a coincidence. I’m already in bed. It’s early, isn’t it? I’m up at 5 every morning. I giggled. Good thing you don’t wake anyone with the alarm. I also don’t need to worry about doing my morning prayers naked. Oh, that wasn’t fair. Those terrible, wonderful images swarmed my mind. Father Raphael—bowed in prayer, concentrating, regal. Those hardened muscles straining as he prayed on his knees. I didn’t let myself imagine anything else. The distance granted by phone made me bolder. I bit my lip. Lead me not into temptation, Father. I wouldn’t dream of it, my angel. Then why did you text? A delay. I knew you’d be getting ready for bed. I knew his game. It might have offended me if it wasn’t so prudent. Is this a hand-check, Father Rafe? Would you prefer to bind your wrists before bed to ensure your purity? Nothing pure came from those thoughts, though plenty of people came from having them. I dropped the phone on my belly as I exorcised that riveting imagery from my mind. It didn’t work. And the phone buzzed too low. The sensation bolted between my legs. I

whimpered. Father Raphael knew exactly what he was doing. Be strong, my angel. I will see you Saturday for the festival preparations. Saturday? It felt like a lifetime. But better a wait for two days than an eternity in Hell. I wasn’t ready to flirt. I had never learned how or bothered to tease, but this conversation made me smile, filled me with wicked joy. I wished for him to feel the same ache that would make my night unbearable. I sent the text with trembling fingers. Don’t miss me too much. He replied with scripture. Matthew 26:41. I had to look it up, scrolling through my phone with a bitten lip. Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I tossed the phone down, but I’d never sleep. I feared the dreams I’d have of Father Raphael. At least I’d enjoy confessing them.

8

RAPHAEL

B enjamin didn’t have the strength to sit for his anointing.

The nurses called it a bad day. They were being polite. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t shaved, and he lost weight since I last saw him. In becoming a priest, we didn’t just take a vow of celibacy. We sacrificed the opportunity to begin a family. While we gained the love of a community and inspiration from the church, when it came time to pass—we’d have no wife at our side, no children, no grandchildren. Yes, there was a Godliness in suffering, but this man had served his Lord. He lived his life for the church and even took in a runaway teenage boy who needed a home. And he gave me more than a home. He gave me the priesthood. He rescued me. And I would not have him die, bedridden and useless, sucking on oxygen alone— even if he had the comfort of Christ. The Lord loved him, but so did I. I wasn’t ready to let him go. “This festival…” Benjamin waved a hand over the papers I’d spread across his bed. “What are you doing with this monstrosity, Rafe?” God only knew. I didn’t have an answer. I rubbed my forehead, narrowly missing my eye with the pen. That might have woken me up. I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept well the past few days. Or at all. Men were instructed to face their fears. But facing temptation? That took courage, strength, and mental fortitude. On

Saturday, I’d worked hand-in-hand with Honor, breathing her scent and brushing her fingers, all while the women’s group, youth group, and church volunteers helped to prepare for the festival. Then Mass. As if I weren’t already thankful for my Holy Orders, the prayers and ritual distracted me from Honor’s singing. Beautiful words. A blessed voice rising over the choir. The hymns and chants blended the celebration into something secret for me. I’d fallen into fitful sleep thinking of her. Dreaming of her. And I woke as every man woke, eager for a warm body at my side. Cold showers did little once the body broke after exhaustion. I’d allowed myself three strokes of my hardness in the shower this morning, then I denied the pleasure. That left me frustrated. Impatient. At least Honor felt the same. Her texts this morning teased me, blaming me for her equally disturbed night’s sleep. I liked that I lingered in her fantasies, but playful texts were nothing compared to the pleasure of meeting her in the church. There, she so often turned shy. There, her thoughts truly twisted. Dangerous games…but our kiss had returned her confidence. She’d taken the Host during Mass. Her sweet mouth had parted, and she offered that pink tongue for me to place the body of the Lord. What blasphemy to envy Christ. Benjamin coughed. The fluid built in his lungs, and he hacked hard. I flinched as if he read my mind. The papers nearly scattered. I gathered them before they fell. “This is the deacon’s work, Rafe. And the volunteers.” Benjamin didn’t wave a finger, but I accepted the chastisement. “Why are you working on this? You’re too busy with other responsibilities. How many homilies do you have to write?” Too many. “I only had a baptism today. Light schedule.” “You’ve always turned to projects to stay busy, when you should turn to the Lord instead.” “I’m not—” “What are you sorting through now?” He’d never believe it. “Festival politics. We doubled our festival size from last year. Now we have craft

and food booths, community businesses, and other vendors setting up, including two ladies selling cosmetics. One of the cosmetics vendors applied for their spot when we first posted sign-ups. We gave it to her. Then…another vendor applied, but the cosmetic company only allows one booth of their products per event.” Benjamin flicked his IV. “Can we speed this cancer up?” I smirked. “Well, Judy knew the second vendor from previous festivals. I guess there was some sort of drama—” “—Imagine that—” “The spot went to the vendor who signed up late. Now it’s causing an issue, and I’m —” “They needed a priest to mediate?” “You’d be surprised how…combative they’ve become.” “Rafe, you aren’t really—” “It’s my parish, Father. I’m putting out fires.” “You have greater responsibilities.” “I know.” “They’re more important than the festival—which your volunteers can handle.” Benjamin shifted. “And your duties are more important than visiting a dying man.” “Don’t use that word.” “Have some humility, Rafe. We prefer to leave this body and be at home with the Lord. I’m ready, my boy. What did I teach you?” I knew the scripture, but I delayed speaking it. “A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth.” “I’ve shown you all I can. The Lord will show you the rest.” Benjamin rested his eyes. “Unless…you have reason to come here, something more pressing than comforting a man preparing to leave this earth?” “No, Father.” “You have no reason, or you are unwilling to speak it?” I was unwilling to confess it. If I had anything to confess. In my heart, I did what was right, what I had to do to face my sins. Good men prayed, others distracted themselves in repetitive prayer, and some lost courage and fled. If I was to be tempted, I would be tempted and face it as a man, a

vessel of the Lord, and a warrior. But my desires damned me. I knew I would kiss her again. We wanted to taste each other once more. But in recognizing it, confessing it to myself, gave me more power over the wicked thoughts. I’d confess if I lost control. Until then, my sins were my own, and my triumphs belonged to Honor. “I’m fine, Father,” I said. “Just worried about you.” “Don’t be.” He pointed to the papers. “Pack this up, hand it to whoever is organizing your festival, and spend an hour in prayer—deep prayer, Rafe. No phones, no interruptions, no mourning. Clear your mind and heart, and you’ll feel rejuvenated.” A man could hope. Or pray. I gathered my things, squeezing his hand before I left. I’d see him again before it was time…but the opportunities were dwindling. It wouldn’t be long. And thoughts like that forced me into prayer. I could face temptation. I could confront my sins. I could kiss the most beautiful angel God had created. But I couldn’t combat death. Nor should I have wanted to, not when I believed his soul would never eternally die. Benjamin would simply leave me behind. Alone. But his presence would remain within me—in his teachings, his lessons, in how he’d shown me to conduct myself, in the way he’d help me to celebrate the Mass. I hadn’t needed him to guide me in years, but it wasn’t the future that concerned me. It was the past. The wounds he guarded. The life I used to have. The pain I traded for salvation. I returned to the church in the mid-afternoon, just in time for an emergency adultery confession which necessitated a hastily scheduled wedding. The secretary scheduled the appropriate counseling for the soon-to-be married couple and parents, and I surveyed the diocese paperwork and readings in my email.

Benjamin asked me to pray for an hour. I wished I could. Even during my visit with him, I had resolved four crises, answered a dozen emails, and sent a flurry of texts. I knew it was foolish to try and pray during my busiest time of the day. I managed five minutes before the lock-in at St. Cecilia’s middle school had to be rescheduled and my phone rang with another festival emergency. I didn’t have time for lunch, let alone an opportunity to pray. Or sin. At least, not until later. The women’s club scheduled the festival meeting for five o’clock. Honor arrived at four-thirty. My angel sent from Heaven to trap me within a private Hell of pleasure and penance. She knocked softly at the door to my office. I called her inside, and the thick wooden doors closed behind her. The click of the latch echoed in our silence. We were alone. What a wicked thrill. Honor had gained confidence after our kiss, after spending time with me during the last festival meeting. She knew it was possible to acknowledge our desire but deny our needs, except Honor still approached me with caution. She’d trust herself in time. I sat behind my desk, the L-shaped, cherry wood monstrosity. It was clean and orderly, almost sparse. I took care to stay organized, another aspect of pure discipline that took as much mindful care as my physical weaknesses. I didn’t stand to greet her. Like any wild creature, I let her come to me. Bookshelves spanned the room. Honor studied the hardbound texts with a curious gaze. “These aren’t all Bibles,” she said. “No.” “And they aren’t all religious?” “No.” Her elegant fingers tickled the spine of a few—Shakespeare, Bronte, Joyce, Austen, Dickens, Twain…Rowling. “Would you like to borrow one?” I asked. “Idle hands and minds...”

She smiled, those perfectly full lips twisting as she shook her head. “Maybe if I had the time. I have enough coursework to read. Plus, I downloaded a ton of books to my Kindle before it broke. I still need to get a new one...” Her smile faded. “Well, I’ll get it when we have the money.” I recognized her tone—a shred of optimism that stretched too thin over the bitter realism she tried to hide. I knew enough about her family, more than I felt was right to know given the circumstances and her secrecy on the matter. My heart ached for her. And yet…a deeper, more possessive and dangerous feeling welled in me. Protectiveness. I wanted to return her happiness. I’d shelter her so she wouldn’t need to hide that pain and the problems that forced her to take on multiple jobs after transferring colleges. I wondered if she realized her mother’s name was listed on a variety of our charity programs. But what could I do? Honor had refused help before, and her pride was as great a sin as lust. I should’ve asked to help as many times as I could until she accepted it. With any other parishioner, any other time, I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. With her? She’d hit rock bottom before she accepted my offered hand. I pulled three menus from my drawer and tossed them over my desk. “Pizza, Chinese, or burgers tonight?” I tipped the scales in favor of the pizza, pushing it towards the end of the desk with an arched eyebrow. “My treat for the volunteers tonight.” “Pizza.” She took the bait and sat. “And you’re kind to do this.” “I’m taking care of my flock. If they happen to be sated with pepperoni, all the better.” She smirked, though her attention still fell beyond me, the menu, the books. She studied the office and distracted herself with the strap of her purse. Her foot nervously kicked the leg of the chair. Unacceptable. I hated that she was uncomfortable. “Honor…” Her named tasted sweet. “Look at me.” “Father, we should get to the meeting—” “Look at me.” Her thick, dark lashes fluttered, and her hazelnut eyes met my gaze so fiercely, so

intently, I couldn’t contain the heat within me. I wasn’t prepared for her beauty, and sin immediately hardened me. I chastised myself. Benjamin was right. I should have prayed. For control. For stability. For my cock to stop throbbing so near this beautiful, amazing woman. And yet, she suffered too. She licked her quivering lip. Did she mean to speak…or to bait me into another kiss? Could I be so bold when my body was already wracked with its own perverse shudders? It was a test. One of many to come. And, for the first time, I feared what might happen if I were to fail. “Are you afraid, my angel?” I lowered my voice. It had the desired effect, trapping her in devout attention to my words, my mood, my will. “No, Father. I’m just nervous.” “Why?” “You have a very…overwhelming presence.” She meant intimidating. That hardened me more, shattering my control and straining my cock within the confines of my clothing. My saving grace was a fashion style encouraged from the Vatican. I should never have doubted the wisdom of two thousand years of celibate men wearing cassocks. “Do you have something you wish to confess?” I teased. Honor bit her lip, but her coy smile remained. She shook her head only once, a proud movement. “No, Father Rafe. Nothing to confess.” Really? I wasn’t so convinced. “Nothing?” I asked. “Not a touch?” “No, Father.” My perfect angel, doing as I commanded, doing as our faiths required. And yet...sin worked in more devious ways, and temptation lingered even when the body obeyed. I held her gaze, stilling her breath and earning a secret shudder. “Have you indulged in impure thoughts?”

“Father—” “Answer me, Honor.” She twisted in her seat. Not uncomfortable, but desperate. She arched to wiggle a greater pressure against the sacred secret I imagined in my darkest, most perverse of sins. “Yes, Father.” Her whispered words pulsed in my cock. “I’ve had impure thoughts.” “How many?” “Does it matter?” “Contrition requires specificity, so that a priest may better grant you the forgiveness for your transgressions.” “Okay…once.” That wasn’t true. I arched an eyebrow. “Just once, my angel?” Her eyes drifted lower, staring at the snow-pure white of my collar. “Just once, Father. Because every thought of you I have is impure—from the first time I met you until this very moment, I’ve suffered through a continuous desire. One thought, one fantasy after another. I sleep, and I dream of you. I wake, and I think of you.” I swallowed, my mouth dry. Was it possible to envy my angel for her sins? I no longer had impure thoughts. The images of my lust didn’t take a recognizable form. They centered inside me, manifesting as the surge of blood from my veins to my cock, as the involuntary clenching that twitched my shaft. Instinct overruled sanity. I wrapped my rosaries tight in my palm and squeezed. It didn’t quell the desire to rut. To thrust. To overpower. Heaven help me. “Tell me,” I ordered. Honor watched with wide eyes as I stood. She clutched the chair, panting a quiet breath. Embarrassed? She would be, revealing those naughty thoughts about a man who could not lust. “Father, I thought priests didn’t need specifics.” But where was the torment in that? “Tell me, Honor. Unburden your soul. What sin

do you fantasize about the most?” I stalked to her chair, circling behind her so she could not see me unless she turned. I doubted she would be brave enough to face me as she described in detail what dark secrets tangled her mind. “I can’t speak them out loud,” she said. “Afraid it might come true?” I drifted close. “I know it won’t.” “Then speak these evils so we can cast them from our minds. Confront this temptation, Honor. Tell me what it is you dream about, and we will fight it together.” Or lose ourselves trying. She trembled as I helped her from the chair. I stood her before my desk, facing the crucifix hanging on my wall. She stared ahead. My gaze never left her. I prayed, but I glorified her—the bobbing curls of her hair, the elegant slope of her shoulders, the perfect curve of her hips. Every inch of her was worth worshipping. She licked her lips. The pink of her tongue stirred me. I had tasted it. Teased it. What I wouldn’t have given to feel that tongue upon my body… “Father…” She nearly turned away before confessing to her sins and delights. Unacceptable. I gripped her hips and held her in place. We both stiffened as I threaded an arm over her midsection. She went still. This woman was burning alive. She fit within perfectly against my body. My hips pressed against her lovely curves. I could no longer hide my shameful erection, but the hardness shocked her, stole her voice and her strength. Her legs wobbled, and I captured her before she collapsed into me. Honor permitted my lecherous touch as I kept her standing. I pressed my hand against her thigh, amazed by the stretch of the denim over her perfect legs. I palmed the jeans, wishing I could feel her soft skin. Her head fell back against my shoulder. Was this the path to Heaven or my first descent into hell?

I’d never touched anyone like this before—her body so tightly pressed against mine, the beautiful swell of her thighs tucked against my swelling cock. Honor moved only to wiggle against me. Shameful, blessed shimmies. “Father…” She kept her eyes forward, upon the crucifix. My sorrowful, lusting angel. “This. This is what I’ve thought about.” “An embrace?” “No. No, it’s more than that.” She mewed, a pitiful and aching sound begging for a release. I had no idea if she longed to be free of my hands or released from the peaking desperation of her body. “I imagined this, Father. But without clothes. You behind me. Over me. Touching me.” My body racked with pain as I strained to imagine that wondrous moment too. She bent, back arched, the curve of her hips inviting me to lose myself within the beautiful folds of her virgin slit. I stepped us forward, pressing against her back to lower her onto my desk. Her breathing stopped. So did mine. This was more beautiful, more powerful, more precious than anything I’d imagined before. She waited, timidly, her legs pressed together but her body presented to me. This was why they called it mounting—that animalistic declaration when a man overwhelmed with lust gorged himself on the surrender of another person. I leaned over her, grateful for the barrier of her jeans and my robes. She groaned, eyes closed, lip bitten as I trailed my hands over her arms. Her hips accidentally— or purposefully—bumped as I covered her hands with mine. Her palms flattened against the desk. She arched for me. I kicked her feet to spread her legs. And she became…vulnerable. Waiting. Wanting. Irresistible. Dangerous. The destruction of my faith. “Did you imagine this, my angel?” I breathed over her ear. “This moment?” “Yes, Father.”

“And what was it we did?” “Everything, Father.” “Tell me.” “I imagined…I wanted…you to take me.” My innocent Honor, willing to bend over, to be straddled, to be overpowered by her priest… …And yet she couldn’t speak that profane word. I wouldn’t say it either. That foul, raw expression had no place in my dignity…and it was far too tempting to indulge in it. Giving it life meant giving it cause to corrupt me. More than I had already been corrupted. “Was it like this, Honor? With me behind you?” “Yes. And other ways. Beneath you. Me over you.” “These are the wicked thoughts you’ve suffered for over a month?” “Forgive me, Father.” The shiver built from the base of my spine. The tremble when she called my name, the reverence in her voice. I wanted to hear it. I wanted her cry it aloud. To call my holy title as I rammed within her, giving life and meaning to her sinful precognition. I arched, pressing against her. She groaned. Music. A choir of angels. My fingers tightened over her hips. She breathed, sighed, wiggled. Forward. To get away. Her breathless words shadowed with indecision. “Father, we should stop.” Stop. The desire burned in me. I could stop. I could also enjoy the soft swell of her flesh pressing into the hard demands of mine. “I can’t…” Honor clenched her eyes shut. “This feels too good.” My little angel, overwhelmed and undone by a simple press of my hips. If only she might have felt more. A touch. A lick.

The true taking of her willing body. I moved again. The tightness of my robe and pants aided the strain against my wretched flesh. I could give myself pleasure with a simple movement. The natural position of her body offered a channel for me to rut. How much greater would it feel without her jeans… My fingers groped over her hips, searching for the waistband, the button, the zipper containing those beautiful curves. “Father Raphael.” Honor gripped my hand. She squeezed, protecting the button. Protecting us both. I sucked in a ravenous breath and hauled myself from her. She immediately turned, her hands covering her face. What had happened? We sweated, panted, ached as though we’d rolled on the floor for hours. Too close. Much too close. “Father…” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, I…” I held up a hand, surprised that the rosaries were still clenched between my fingers. “I know my limitations now.” “Good?” She cleared her throat. “So do I. You are my limitation.” “It’ll become easier.” She eased away from my desk. “And if it doesn’t?” “You’ll have to trust me.” Because I no longer trusted myself. Honor pressed a hand to her cheek. She appeared panicked. Desperate. Poor thing. “We passed the test.” I faked a smile. “Go now. Set up for the meeting. I’ll…step out. Pick up the pizzas.” “And I’ll…” She laughed, a surrender in itself. “Splash water on my face.” She deserved only the holiest of waters. Consecrated and cool.

She retreated from the room, her hands raised. “And I promise to behave.” It did nothing for my cock, but it gave me confidence. “So do I.” The door closed behind her, and I fell into my chair, uncomfortable and pained. My body betrayed had me. This was a punishment from God—a warning that I had gone too far. Nothing would ease that ache, especially as I had a full night of meetings and groups to attend. Thank Christ for busy schedules. I doubted it would help. I prayed—Latin, the entire Rosary. Twenty full minutes of intense, soul-wracking prayer. And my erection hadn’t diminished. My penance would be this discomfort. My ache, my shame. At least it was a just punishment.

9

HONOR

I added more hours to my rotation at the food pantry.

It wasn’t a magnanimous donation of my time. Guilt motivated me to work, and I had to do something to save my thoughts and my soul. Not like my antics with Father Raphael would help me. I’d been bent over a desk by a priest. We fought the temptation and won, but it hadn’t shielded me from a wicked curiosity. The sneaking, unrelenting What ifs plagued me. What if he had unbuttoned my jeans? What if we had touched? What if we surrendered, just for the briefest, most amazing, most fulfilling of moments? And I knew the answer to that. I felt the hellfire a little closely. So I added another shift to the food pantry, and I volunteered to help make the flyers for the festival. It was the least I could do, especially as every time I tried to pray—even my rosaries—I thought only of Father Raphael. The pantry received a large, monthly delivery from the diocese’s county collection program. The rest of the goods—cereals, canned products, and household supplies —were donated from the parish and from collections. Most of the boxes had yet to be unloaded. I looked forward to doing the inventory, stocking the shelves, and filling out the spreadsheets. It was all good busy work that prevented my mind from wandering. Especially since I wielded an X-acto knife to open the delivered boxes. The last thing I needed was to get distracted with the blade and come out of my shift looking like I endured the Stigmata.

The older ladies who ran the pantry weren’t the kind of Catholics who liked that joke. I was willing to bet Father Raphael would laugh though. And he had a wonderful laugh. The shift passed quickly. It took an hour before the little bell rang in the reception area. Judy manned the sign-in sheet out front, but she called for me to join her, a slight catch in her voice. “Honor!” She peeked into the shelves. “Your…mother is here.” What in the world? I dropped the box and snuck to the front, my heart stopping as Mom picked up the sign in form and jotted down her name in huge, bold script. She grinned and waved her hands to gather me in a hug. “There’s my busy little bee! I feel like I never get to see my baby anymore.” It might have been deliberate. The more hours I had with the church and classes, the less time I had to spend in the apartment. I greeted her with a forced smile. “Mom, what are you doing here?” “What’s it look like?” I prayed she meant she was volunteering. “Um, you’re…” “Shopping, silly!” Judy grabbed her cell. She twisted a finger through her devil-red hair, just waiting for the gossip to spread through her rumor-mill phone tree. I took the clipboard from Mom and smiled politely to Judy. “I need a couple minutes. Can you cover me?” Judy hummed. “Absolutely, sweetheart.” The door jingled as I led Mom outside. I made a mental note to rip the metal bell off the frame the instant I returned. “Mom, what are you doing?” I kept my voice low. “We don’t need food from the pantry.” “The house is empty, Honor.” She sighed. “I’m not used to having two mouths to feed.” I silently calculated the amount in my bank account, subtracted gas and my cell phone bill, and hated the number that returned. But I’d make it work. If I lived on Ramen last semester, I could certainly make a better meal with a real kitchen instead of an illegal hotplate.

“I’ll go shopping after this shift, okay?” I said. “I’ll bring us home dinner too.” “Don’t be silly. That’s why the pantry is here. The women at the church told me to come by, and here I am.” “You have to be pre-qualified.” “And we are. Times are tough, but you knew that.” “No,” I said. “I’m working. I can afford groceries. This food is for—” “Those who need it.” “And that’s not us. It’s young families. Women who left abusive husbands. The elderly who had nothing for retirement. Disabled veterans. But I can make ends meet, Mom.” “And you are, baby.” Mom brushed my cheek. “But you’re working so hard. You’ve taken on so many responsibilities in the church. If I had half the ambition that you did…a lot of things would be different now. No drugs. No booze. No jail. But this is the reality. Your father is gone, God be with him, and we fell on harder times.” I wouldn’t let the bitterness eat through me. “You’re not taking food from the pantry.” “We’re not. You mean, we’re not taking food, right?” It wasn’t often Mom’s newfound optimism faded, and a harder edge shadowed her voice. But the program and steps made it clear that she was to accept herself and others and be grateful for life. No resentment, no anger, no sorrow anymore—not when she was alive and free from the addictions. “I know this is hard,” Mom said. “Your father worked long hours to avoid charity —” “Dad put in fifty or sixty hours a week until…” “Until he died.” No. Until she had needed his help. Until he had to reduce his hours and sacrifice his ability to support the family to enable Mom as she drank herself almost to death. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Mom’s lips pressed thin, and she folded her hands. “Honor…I lost the appeal for the SNAP program because of the drug conviction.” I wish she’d kept her voice down. I smiled politely at Mr. and Mrs. Popp as they headed into the pantry. The entire congregation would spread this gossip by the end of the day.

“We’ve survived without it before,” I said. “I can pay for groceries.” “For now…” Mom took my hand. “Honor, baby, I didn’t want to burden you with all this. It’s just been so nice having you home again. I missed you growing up, even though you were right there the whole time. Now I hoped we could reconnect and… really become a family again.” A family without Dad. “But there’s a problem,” Mom said. “The diocese was kind enough to give me a little money every month for rent. However, it was only temporary. It runs out next month.” My stomach curdled, and any hope I had of staying even a part-time student vanished. We needed more money? I’d have to cut back on the volunteering. Get a full-time job. I had no idea if I could find anything good without a degree. “We might be able to renew the program,” she said. “But we need a letter on our behalf.” “A letter?” I liked that spark of hope. “From who? The charity’s manager?” “No, from someone in the church.” She gave me a sheepish glance. “Father Raphael would be perfect. And you seem to have a good rapport with him. If you could convince him to write a letter to the diocese—” “You want me to ask Father Rafe for charity?” “I want you to ask him for help.” I could reveal my innermost fantasies to him. Kiss him. Arch as his aggressive and gentle and fierce and confident hands gripped my hips. But this? Asking anyone for help was mortifying, let alone wishing for a favor from the man who explored such terrible and wonderful feelings with me. I’d been humiliated by my desires, but still had my pride. I’d survived childhood and adolescence without charity. Except now? I didn’t have enough money or any contacts or any leads for work that could help me support her. But if taking food from the pantry seemed wrong, living in the women’s shelter wouldn’t feel right either.

I nodded. “I’ll go shopping after my shift…and then I’ll talk with Father Rafe.” “You’re a good girl, Honor. A good woman.” Mom hugged me. “But you listen here. Don’t you spend all your energy on me. I ask for help when I need it, and I acknowledge that my life is my responsibility now. Your money and time is still your own.” She pulled away to study my face. “But you always did love family.” I loved Dad. Did that count? God, what was wrong with me? I said goodbye and headed inside only after I was certain Mom left. Judy waited with a box. “No food tonight?” She practically salivated, like she couldn’t wait to tell the rest of the church of our misfortune. “Honor, you can’t go hungry.” “We won’t.” I took the box from her and returned it to the shelves. “Cross our name off the list.” She didn’t take the hint. “The other women and I are concerned.” “Concerned?” “If your mother is…relapsing.” “She’s not.” “But in case she is—” “She’s clean!” I didn’t mean to shout it, but the word spat out with more venom than if I proclaimed another addiction. “She’s been sober for a year. Whatever happened in the past is over.” “But—” “Yes, she was an addict. Yes, she went to jail. Now she’s out, and she wants to be a part of the community. Is that a problem?” Judy offered me that sappy head-tilt, like everyone did when they thought I was acting like a child. Naïve. But I was never innocent to Mom’s problems. “We just want to be certain we can trust her during our functions.” Judy folded her hands. “What with the old issues and the money problems, and she signed up to help in the concession stand—” The thought horrified me. “Do you think she’s going to steal from the concession stand?”

“No, of course not—” “I told you she’s better. She’s worked hard. She’s a new person. She’s not the woman she was for the past sixteen years.” I gritted my teeth. “St. Cecilia’s isn’t very forgiving, is it?” “Honor—” “I have to go take care of some things for my mother.” I swung my purse and laptop bag over my shoulder. “Cover my shift.” Judy paled. “Honestly, Honor, I didn’t mean anything by it—” “Like hell.” I slammed the door behind me and made it to the car before the anger prickled tears in my eyes. That frustration wasn’t directed at Judy or Mom. At least, not the new Mom. I shouldn’t have needed to defend her. Mom was clean. New. Forgiven. She started fresh—alone, without Dad to help. Wasn’t that enough for them? Wasn’t it admirable that she tried to fit together the pieces of her shattered life? No one liked her past, not the church, not me, but that was the darkness we weren’t supposed to forget. Those ragged, empty years had to stay there. We had to talk about them. Acknowledge them. Accept them as something that happened. But I wasn’t a fool. Accepting that terrible past was about as easy as confessing sins. It gave me an idea. I checked the time. Father Raphael held Reconciliations on Wednesdays, and I could make it to the church before his hours were done. Maybe it’d be easier that way. I arrived at St. Cecilia’s with ten minutes to spare. No one waited in the sanctuary, and the confessional door was propped open, waiting for a penitent soul. I prayed before I went inside, knowing full well what happened the last time I entered. I willingly trapped myself in the memory. This favor pained me, and I hoped having a solid wall and screen between us would…help? Make it easier? Give us distance?

I sunk onto the kneeler. The door closed, and I blinked in the darkness. Father Raphael shifted, and the light cast by his phone abruptly darkened. “Go ahead, my child,” he murmured. “I’m listening.” How could a man be this intimidating and yet so comforting? I nearly forgot to speak. His voice embraced me just as dangerously as his arms. “Bless me, Father…” I crossed myself and sighed. “I…need a favor.” “Honor?” “Hi.” “Hi.” His words warmed, like he was smiling. I loved that I made him smile. “Do you have a minute?” I asked. “There’s no one else here.” His amusement grew. “Is that so?” I groaned. What was it about this box that made all my words twist? I hadn’t meant to flirt. I didn’t think I’d tempted him. Or had I? “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean it that way.” I sighed, lowering my head. “It’s just been…a humbling day.” “Problems at the food pantry?” “How’d you know?” He shifted, and I imagined he pocketed his phone. “I got a couple texts from Judy.” “Great.” “Tell me what’s wrong.” The authority in his voice amplified within the confessional. He had such a power, not just over me, but over the entire congregation. Good power, but a control nevertheless. His ability to grant absolution through the Lord was awe-inspiring, but even that blessing gutted me. His whisper stole my breath, and his words warmed me. Absolution seemed as unlikely as being able to support my family. “I um…have to talk to you,” I said. “Would you prefer to speak in my office?” Yeah, right. The office was just as dangerous as the confessional. I didn’t trust my

strength, discipline, or patience now. I needed comfort, and I’d take the wrong kind from him. “This is easier, actually,” I said. “Are you confessing, my angel?” “Maybe? No.” I shivered over the nickname. “Do you remember that day in the adoration chapel? When I asked for you to be a priest for a few minutes?” “Yes.” “Could I have that Father Raphael back?” He hesitated. His words might have edged hard, but he had infinite patience for me. Wasn’t sure I deserved it. “Honor, you never lost him.” “Are you sure?” “I’m a priest, first and foremost. I live for this community. If you need me, I’ll be here. Always. I promise.” I believed him, and that’s what made this so much harder. “I need a favor from you. As a priest.” “Anything.” “The Second Chances charity is organized by the diocese. Mom had been a part of it. They helped her with her rent.” I lowered my gaze. “Our rent.” “I know.” “It’s only a yearlong program, and Mom’s reached the end. She needs to reapply for the help.” I spoke quickly, almost jumbling the words. “I can put off my classes for a while and get a full-time job somewhere, but I don’t think we’ll have enough money to find a new apartment before…” “How can I help? Ask anything of me, Honor.” “That’s the thing. I know what I have to ask of you…but I hate to do it.” “You need a letter of recommendation.” He answered for me. “Something from me which will recommend your mother to the program.” “Yes.” His voice hadn’t changed, still echoed in confidence and power. “Of course, I’ll write it.”

It should have relieved me. It didn’t. I hesitated for too long. “Honor?” “I’m not sure I want you to write it.” Father Raphael hummed. “Do you have another place to live?” “No.” “Do you have family to stay with?” “No.” “Then tell me why you won’t accept this help.” I stiffened. It was easier to get mad at him than myself. “You know, you tend to order people around a lot. Especially in here.” “It’s a necessity when they’re being stubborn.” “I’m not stubborn.” “Foolish then.” “Father—” “This is a good program. Even if you’re too proud to take the help, your mother deserves it.” “It’s not pride.” I averted my eyes from the screen and traced the intricate wooden carvings in the confessional. He didn’t make this easy. His voice so often enraptured me, but his silence could punish. “I know we need the help,” I said. “But there are others out there who need it more —people I see every day in the food pantry or volunteering with the church or wherever I’m called to help.” “You don’t believe you’re worthy of help?” I didn’t answer, and in my hesitation, he realized the truth I tried so hard to hide. “You don’t think your mother is worthy.” I closed my eyes. It might have been easy then, just to whisper it, to tell him. Forgive me, Father, I’d deny my mother the help she needs.

But I didn’t confess it. I threaded my fingers into a fist. “Why did you return home, Honor?” he asked. “To help Mom.” “Why, my angel? It’s not enough to reflect on our actions—be it our sins or our virtues. You must examine why you’ve done the things you’ve done.” I wish I knew the answer. Was it guilt? Pity? Or was it just so no one else was forced to deal with her problems? I didn’t like the question, and I hated more my answers. “What do you want to know? Why did I wait until after she was clean before coming home…or why did I abandon her after Dad died?” “Who said you abandoned her?” How did his voice stay so kind? “I did.” “Do you believe that?” This was getting too heavy. I think I accidentally lied to him. I asked for a priest, and I got one. Now I wished for my flirty, sexy, dangerous Daddy El…not the man who knew exactly what to say to cut through me. “I bet other people believe I abandoned her,” I said. “I asked about you.” “It’s hard to abandon someone you never had.” “What makes you say that?” He wouldn’t understand. “The woman here today is not my mother. The woman drunk in the middle of the afternoon or passed out in the tub, burning a hole in the shower curtain with her cigarette, that’s the mother I knew. I won’t say she raised me because she couldn’t. But she was there. She’s the one I remember.” “That wasn’t your fault, Honor. Those were her addictions.” “But I knew those addictions. The woman here, now, is a stranger to me. Someone I’m supposed to love and trust.” “And you don’t?” “I do…but I’m waiting for my heart to break.”

“You don’t think she’ll stay sober.” “I don’t have much faith in her.” “I understand.” I closed my eyes. “Is it a sin, Father?” “To feel hurt? Betrayed? Absolutely not.” “But…what about honoring thy mother and everything?” “The only sin here is that you would lie to yourself and her about your feelings.” He lowered his voice. His words were meant to guide me. They only coiled me tighter. “Have you forgiven her?” “Forgiven her?” “For her past?” I leaned back on my knees. “Like it’s that easy.” “Some would say it is.” They would be wrong. “Do you know how my dad died?” I asked. I knew he did. As the parish priest, he would have known the history of the area. But he respected me too much to say it, even in a confessional where only God could hear. “Tell me,” he said. “He was killed in a drunk driving accident.” I swallowed bile, the remnants of bitter mourning. “At least, that’s what we tell people. It’s true, but it’s a lie by omission. It’s misleading. It sounds like another car was at fault, that it was an accident.” I couldn’t look at the screen. “There was only one car that day.” Father Raphael spoke when I could no longer. “Your mother was the driver.” I remembered the day, but I could only imagine the accident. I had to read the police reports to get the details. The first responders couldn’t understand why it happened—how people could be so reckless. I did. It wasn’t recklessness. It was foolish, undying, enabling love that killed him. “Mom wanted to drive, but she hadn’t told Dad about the pills she popped before

she got into the car. Probably didn’t tell him about the drinks either. But she liked to drive, and Dad always wanted her to feel…” I shrugged. “Special? Normal? Like she didn’t need the alcohol and pills. He treated it like she lacked confidence, not like an addiction. And that killed him. He wanted her to feel in control, like she didn’t need the crutch. He always helped her, but in the wrong way.” “What happened?” The obvious. “She lost control of the car, and he lost his life.” “Where were you?” “College. I got the call during a lecture, but I usually ignored her when she tried to get ahold of me.” I explained before he wondered how a daughter could be so heartless. “The last time I had talked to her was when I sent her a thousand dollars of my own money to help with the bills. Dad never saw the check, and Mom had nearly killed herself on the drugs she bought.” “I’m sorry.” “He was the one who told me to focus on school, not to look back. So…I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not if I wanted a life free of that misery.” I still didn’t know if it was the right choice or not, but as hard as it was to watch Mom destroy herself, I couldn’t stand how Dad enabled every bad decision she made. He loved her, and he was just as responsible for the damage it caused. “She kept calling me that day,” I said. “So many times I actually turned my phone off. I didn’t know what happened until hours later when a family friend texted me.” He was dead in an instant. No time for goodbyes. No plane tickets to rush home for a final moment with him. He died, and our lives changed completely. “Mom was charged with vehicular manslaughter, but we had a judge who wanted to get her help, not lock her up. She spent six months in jail, and then she was released into rehab programs to get sober. She’s a year clean now.” “Are you proud of her for that?” he asked. “It’s hard to be proud after what happened,” I said. “I’m glad she recovered. I’m relieved.” “Can you forgive her for those sixteen years of addictions?” I hedged, trying to keep my voice light. “Do I have to?” He chuckled. “It’s the foundation of our faith, my angel. Guilt, shame, rage,

disappointment…they’re all burdens, to us and the ones we love. Your mother has changed. Repented for that time. You can shed those burdens too.” “Forgive and forget?” “Is it so impossible?” Yes. No. I made it that way. “I can’t forget these last years, Father,” I said. “No matter how hard I want to, no matter how useless it is to obsess over it.” “Useless?” “Yes. That woman—the addict and thief and sick, selfish liar—is gone. I can’t forgive her. That person no longer exists.” “Honor—” “I can’t be mad at her now. She’s changed. Dredging it up won’t fix my childhood, and it won’t ease that pain. She hardly even remembers that part of her life, not when the drugs and blackouts stole entire years from her. Why would I make her relive those nightmares? She shouldn’t have to answer for a repented past because I’m struggling to accept how things turned out.” “Do you resent your mother?” The question came quick. Hard. Without mercy. And I had no idea how to respond. “I shouldn’t,” I whispered. “Do you?” “It doesn’t matter now.” “It does, or you wouldn’t have needed to sit in a confessional, in the dark and privacy, to ask me for a favor I would willingly give your family.” “You’ll write the recommendation?” “Of course.” That was all I needed to hear. “Thank you, Father.” I crossed myself though I had neither confessed nor earned any blessings. Father

Raphael wasn’t pleased. His voice hardened. “Sit, Honor.” “I have to go.” “We’re not done.” Yes, we were. “I can’t be here anymore.” “Why?” Now the tears did come. For him, but not for her. “Because every time I’m near you, Father, I reveal more and more of my soul.” “As you should, my angel.” “It’s dangerous.” “Why?” “Because you’re a good priest…and you’re a good man.” I leaned against the confessional door, my words a whisper in the silence of the sanctuary. “And that makes you more dangerous than any temptation.”

10

RAPHAEL

T

he women of the parish didn’t understand my vow of celibacy.

Of course they liked it—something about a strong man resisting his weaker urges gave them confidence. They could trust me. Tell me their secrets. Ask for my advice in their marriages. Reveal their affairs. And I was immune to their common and vulgar sins. We all suffered from lust, and not nearly enough of my flock prided themselves in virtue. I did. I had. And the righteous power my faith and commitment afforded me was a protection against those base instincts. Or, at least, protection against the one threat to my vow. Honor. So far, I had defeated my temptations. I’d overcome my depravities with fasting, prayer, and enough cold showers to dramatically lower the electricity bill for the rectory. But sleepless nights were a small price to pay for conquering sin. If I could only teach Honor the same restraint—the same denial of that sensual and devious desire—I’d protect her virtue as well. Mondays were my days off, though I often kept busy with volunteer work, meetings, and the occasional emergency, spiritual or otherwise. Idle hands and minds were too often lost in the past, and I refused to sully my present and future with the sins of my childhood. Or the nightmares bred from it. So I exercised, prayed, showered, and visited Benjamin. He slept as I watched

mindless TV at his bedside. The nurses said he had been sleeping more. I prepared myself for what that meant, but it hadn’t helped. My mind darkened, and I returned home only because, aside from Sundays during Mass, Monday evenings usually brightened my spirits. Men lived for two things. Sex and food. I could indulge in one of those pleasures. Mondays were casserole day. The women’s group often prepared meals for me for the week. I owed a debt of gratitude to anyone in the congregation who brought me lasagna, a pot of chicken soup, or spaghetti. My responsibilities didn’t leave me a lot of time to cook. Even if it had, it wasn’t like I’d stayed at home long enough to learn family recipes from my mother. Most of the women visited around dinner time, competing with the others to bake the freshest bread, create the most elaborate casserole, or share the most secret of recipes. I didn’t mind having my meals organized for the week. Especially since the women’s group volunteered their newest baker to bring me dessert. Honor had promised me something…sweet. She arrived late. Ten o’clock. She rapped a soft beat against my back door. The rectory was nothing more than a two-bedroom house on the property next to the church, but Honor treated it as though it were the gateway to hell. Or Heaven? Did she still fear she’d lose that grace…or had she already mourned its destruction? She wore a light dress, something casual and pink, perfect for the close summer weather that layered the parish in a constant, simmering heat. She clutched a cake carrier in her hands, brandishing it before her as if the plastic case would protect her against that threatening sweetness. “Evening, Father Rafe,” she whispered. “Honor.” She squirmed under my quiet stare. Why did I like that so much? “I brought you something.” She licked her lip. Unintentionally? “Dessert. The women’s group said you had a sweet tooth.” “Guilty as charged.” For this sin and many others. “Do you want to come in?” “I don’t know if that’s…” She arched an eyebrow. It only widened her dark eyes, lost in naïve innocence. She stared at the buttons of my cassock. I hadn’t loosened

the collar. It made the invitation safer. “Is it appropriate?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” “Because…I’m…” “A woman?” “Yes.” “Or because you’re my angel?” She nervously sighed. “That’s probably it.” I wished I hadn’t smiled. My voice slithered and coiled. Was I no better than a serpent? I should have wound myself within a fruit tree instead of guiding Honor into my home. “Do you not trust me?” I asked. Her heels clicked against the wooden floors of the kitchen. She stepped inside, spun, and cornered herself against the counter and cabinets. “I trust you, Father.” “Do you trust yourself?” Another glance over my silent home. Empty. Isolated. No one would see what happened tonight, no one to judge the words we’d speak, the glances we’d share, or the sins we might commit. “I baked you a cake,” she said. “I thought about an apple pie, but…you know the connotation.” “What connotation?” At least she recognized when I teased her now, but she wasn’t brave enough to chastise me yet. Maybe not ever. “You know? Apples? Tree of knowledge?” She set the cake on the counter. “If I brought you something with apples, somehow we’d defy God, get evicted from our homes, have to toil the earth, realize we were naked…” Her eyes pinched closed. She nearly crossed herself. “I mean…I think that was part of the story.” “It was,” I said. “Adam and Eve ate from the tree and recognized their nudity.” “See. Cake was a better idea. We don’t need any more of that temptation.” On the contrary. Honor wiggled, nervous and uncertain. If any innocent person needed to confront her fears, it was my angel, trapped within mortal sins and her own dark thoughts.

I would lead her to that temptation. Teeter her over the brink. Then I’d bring her back. I’d save her. My pride should have shamed me, should have sent me to prayer to beg forgiveness for my own arrogance. Instead, I pulled a bottle of red wine from the refrigerator. Honor shook her head. “I really should be going, Father.” “One glass of wine. While we share the cake?” She twisted a finger in her hair, the curls bouncing over her shoulders and against the swell of her chest. Her breathing quickened. I longed to hear even a single gasp. “Are you testing me, Father Rafe?” “Testing you in what way?” “Any way. Every way. The more time I spend with you, the more often I think your lessons are meant to weaken me.” “Just the opposite. I intend to strengthen you. Teach you the humility of virtue.” “It does feel humbling.” “Why?” She accepted a glass of wine, but she didn’t sip. I swirled mine, preferring this brand of dry red to the sweet variety used in Mass. Honor stared at the liquid, crimson and lovely, a perfect complement to the darkness of her skin. “You already sent the letter of recommendation for my mother, didn’t you?” “Of course. We’ll have a response from the diocese next week.” “Thank you.” She breathed easier, a cleansing sigh. “It’s a relief.” I sipped my wine. “What was the hardest part of coming to me? Admitting you needed the help…or speaking with me?” “Are you asking because I ran out of the confessional?” She’d done it twice now, but that wasn’t the reason. “No. I’m asking because you wanted to speak with me inside the confessional.” She shrugged. “Lately…our conversations have been a little intense.” “And?” “I wanted to keep everything separate, so it doesn’t interfere with…your role.” I frowned. “I told you. I am and always will be a priest. This is my job and my

calling.” She finally sipped her wine, gazing at me with narrowed eyes. Skeptical. She probably had a right to be. “Do you think you’re protecting me?” she asked. I didn’t hesitate. “I’m saving you—just as you’re saving me.” “From what? Each other?” “From what challenges our faith. How did you feel when you kissed me, and we pulled away? Or when we embraced, but didn’t sin? We defied our desires, and it gave us the confidence to keep fighting.” She frowned. “Is it confidence or pride?” “Can’t we have both?” “Not if it leads to another sin. Some sort of arrogance that we’re beating a force we don’t understand.” “Understand us,” I said. “We’re strong enough to defeat what would destroy us.” Honor took a small swallow of her wine. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away. “You know I bake when I’m guilty?” “Prayer is more effective.” “Not as cathartic.” I tugged the rosaries from my pocket, winding them in my fingers. “Perhaps I should teach you how to pray as well.” “Or maybe I can teach you my grandmother’s best recipes. Cookies. Cakes. Pies. I can do them all.” Honor tapped the cake carrier with a finger. “I used to spend a lot of time with her when I was younger. When Mom was…sick, before I could watch myself. I won’t make a cake from a box because of her.” “You made this from scratch?” “Only way I know how.” She lowered the wine glass. “I think I wanted to impress you with it.” “Why?” Her smile slipped. “I don’t know. I’m living on the edge of sin and absolution, and I’m not sure where I want to fall.” “In absolution, my angel.”

“Maybe. But this dark part of me is beating the batter and icing the cake and thinking…” Her voice lowered. “Maybe when he eats this…he’ll remember me.” Sweet sacrilege. Beautiful blasphemy. I edged close, setting my wine next to hers. She stiffened as my hands fell to her waist. The delightful heat sliced through me, but, this time, I didn’t touch her for the sheer heretical thrill of it. She gasped as I lifted her, setting her on top of my counter. I didn’t ask permission. I didn’t stop. Honor tensed as I slipped between her legs. Her shuddered whisper tore through my body, my own private spiritual conversion. “Father…” Her hands tucked in her dress, ensuring I didn’t receive even a peek of the delights I could only imagine. “What are you doing?” “Having a slice of cake.” “Like this?” Her lip trembled, begging for more than a hushed murmur. “So close?” My voice laced with something darker than the chocolate icing. “Do you trust me?” “Of course, Father.” “Then this shouldn’t be a challenge to you.” I reached over her head, drawing near to her, so near. Her breath tickled my cheek, and every pounding beat of my heart pushed my wretched blood lower. It hardened that part of me my faith struggled to tame. I set the plate on the counter and pulled the knife from the drawer. Honor watched as I sliced it with a single, penetrating thrust. The icing slickened the knife, and it slid inside like silk. I lifted the moist slice, and it slapped onto the plate. Dark, dark chocolate. The sugar dizzied us both, but I smelled only her, that candied apple halo. “What are you thinking?” I pushed it towards her. “Terrible things,” she said. “Impure thoughts?” “The only kind I have anymore.” “Let them in.” Her eyes widened. “But…”

“Think about what you want. What thought punishes you the most? Which one aches inside you? I want you to focus on it. Hold it in your mind. Together, we’ll master it.” She looked away. “I want a lot of things, Father.” “Tell me.” “Well…the cake is probably the most innocent.” I hoped she would say that. “Then you will have cake.” I reached for a fork, but my hand stilled. Why only test the weak? Why not ensure I was still strong enough to guide the angel who needed my help? I broke a piece of the cake from the thick slice. It fit within my fingers with a blasphemous familiarity. The motion was reflexive. I fought to deny the instinct to bless the dessert. After all, if it were made at her hand, it was already consecrated. I held the cake before her. Her lips already parted for more than a quiet breath. Honor was a good Catholic girl, devout and practiced. She needed no instruction. I offered her the bite, and her mouth opened just wide enough to set the piece upon the pink tease of her tongue. She bowed her head and took the offering from my hand. Our own communion. The cake dissolved without a single bite, just as she had been taught. Her throaty whisper groaned as rich as the chocolate. “Amen.” I prayed this wouldn’t send us to hell. Once wasn’t enough. She licked her lip, catching any crumbs which might have slipped from my fingers. Her eyes rose, the almond surprise waiting for my next offering. I wanted this woman too much. I wanted to praise, protect, and save her from herself… Only so I could desecrate her with my own desires. My cock hardened, vulgar and unwelcomed. It flexed against the pants beneath my cassock. Usually, I’d relax in sweats at home. Tonight, knowing she would be here, I wore the robes as my shield and armor.

It did nothing to alleviate the strain. That addictive, sinful need. I offered her a second bite of the cake. Messier than the last. She captured a stray crumb with a flick of her tongue. She giggled. Such a freeing, dangerous little tease. I longed to hear more than her giggle. The third chunk of the cake was bigger, slathered with a thick glob of icing. It layered my fingers, and Honor opened for the bite. I held it away from her mouth. “What type of cake is this?” I asked. Honor squirmed, her fingers tangled in a dress that covered too much and too little of her curves. She swallowed, timidly, before meeting my gaze. “Chocolate.” That wasn’t the full answer. I arched an eyebrow. She twisted. “I realized after I made it that it’s actually…devil’s food.” Of course it was. Nothing this sweet could exist without sin. Just as my angel waited, breath held, little tempting tongue swiping over her full lips, a darkness teased us both. A shadow. A pulse. This was dangerous. And yet I lowered the cake to her lips. I watched, enraptured, as she hummed a pleased sigh and allowed me to feed her the delicious bite of Heaven that’d send us both to hell. The icing coated my fingers. Honor stared at me. She took the bite greedily, then her lips gently closed over my fingers. The soft brush of her tongue licked the icing from me. Her mouth was warm, silken, and utterly forbidden. I shuddered, imagining more than just my fingers between her lips. The velvet fullness enveloped me. She sucked to my first knuckle, completely devoted to her task. She offered me the briefest thrill, the darkest passion, and the most sensual experience of my life. Her tongue stroked my skin as though she worshiped every inch of me. This was sin. This was beautiful. This was agony. I pulled away, my body wracked in disappointed pain. Honor swallowed the cake, and the smallest bit of icing dabbed her lip. I stopped her before she licked it.

My turn to taste. I leaned close and flicked my tongue against her lip. The sweetness of the chocolate had nothing on the delicious pleasure of her kiss. Chocolate depravity. I forced her thighs apart so I could slip closer against her. I drew her nearer to my body, and her chest pressed against me. With a heavenly murmur, Honor welcomed me within her mouth as our tongues swirled in sweet discovery. Her dress slipped up, settling above her knee. My hands trembled, so near her smooth heated skin. She wanted my touch, and her whimper cascaded shivers through me. The sensation tightened at the base of my spine before aching in the places I long banished as sin. My cock throbbed. Strained against the pants. The wine rested near us. I broke the kiss with Honor to hold the wineglass—my chalice—before her. The symbolism was not lost on my angel. I tipped the wine as the glass touched her lips. She stared at me as she took the smallest sip. Her quiet, timid, reverent swallow stirred something almost sinister in me. I tipped the glass again, accidentally spilling the wine. She gasped, but I was there, leaning in to capture the precious droplets in a kiss. The dry punch of the wine blended the dark sweetness of the cake with her natural, addictive flavor. The contrast enthralled me. Honor trembled, her hands at her sides, eyes lowering as though she feared how high her dress had crept upon the perfect swell of her thighs. My cassock did not belong so near the softness of a virgin’s flesh—of any flesh. I was fit, muscular, and she was forced to spread her legs wide to allow me this close. I drifted near her sacred, special place. The holy of holies. The sin of all sins. “What else tempts you, my angel?” My voice turned to gravel, a raw and rumbled prayer for her honesty. “I want to know what desires control you.” She pressed against me. I feared I’d be scalded in the heat trapped between us. “Everything tempts me, Father. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t think. Every day I lose myself in thoughts of you.”

If only my lust was sated with words of her desire. “Have you fought these thoughts?” “Yes.” Her voice hardened, as though she’d prove her faith to me then and there. But my angel was a more delicate and complex creature than that. “But it hurts. I live in constant agony. I wake in the middle of the night and I’m so…” She licked her lips. “Maybe I should bind my hands when I sleep.” The thought hardened me more. I leaned close, my forehead on hers. We breathed each other, and my silent prayers tasted of her, chocolate, and rich wine. “Do not fear your desire,” I whispered. “I can’t let myself indulge it. I can’t go over that edge.” “Do you fear losing yourself to lust?” “Don’t you?” Every minute of every day. The difference was, I knew my limitations. I understood my temptations. Honor did not. And it was my responsibility, my only purpose in this life, to give her that confidence. “Let me prove how strong you are.” My fingers might have trembled had they not grasped her knee with such demand. “I know you have the strength to resist.” I teased her leg, and the velvet darkness of her skin forever shrouded my mind in sin. Her breathing caught as the tips of my fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress. The material bunched up, up, up, exposing the most intimate and hidden and beautiful of her secrets. She breathed too fast, too hard. Her body stiffened as the pink hint of her panties was exposed to me. The crest of her legs—the perfect sin—the hallowed hollow of her virtue. Hidden from view with a pair of thin, cotton panties. “Father…” Honor warned me. “Sex is about power.” This lesson was the most important. “Power over ourselves… and power over each other.” Honor sighed as I brushed higher on her thigh. I held my breath as I gently stroked

the softness hidden from my sight by those sinfully pink panties. And here I thought red was the color of debauchery. Honor arched as my finger pressed over her core. She gasped. I hated that I was forced to choose between studying her parted lips or the crest of her legs where all my immoral decisions hid. “Look at how easily your body responds, Honor. You quiver. You flinch. You groan.” I had no doubt of my control over her, but I feared her dominion over me. She mewed as my fingers stroked a natural and raw heat. It beckoned me close, demanded I submit to my urges, to her lovely and delicate release. And I might have. The challenge was real. Hard. Painful. And that was why I chose to fight it. “Lust binds your soul,” I whispered, my finger moving in a constant and steady pace. I imagined what wetted beneath, dampening her panties. “If you surrender, you’ll lose yourself. Is a momentary pleasure worth the destruction of your virtue? Would you willingly submit to this primal violation?” Honor shook her head. “You’re wrong, Father. Sex isn’t that…destructive.” “No?” I stroked harder, faster, capturing the little nub that swelled as I teased her. Honor bit her lip, and I longed to cause that sharp sting myself. “Sex is an animalistic intrusion,” I said. “It’s power and strength exerted upon another. Even now, simply touching you, I control you. I’m stronger than you, bigger than you, more powerful than you. I can manipulate you with a single flick of my finger.” Her body bucked. She swallowed a whimper. “Fight me,” I urged her. “Don’t lose yourself.” Her hips wiggled. She pinched her eyes closed, gritting her teeth. I didn’t slow my motions. I tortured her in delight with the steady pulse of a man dominating a woman’s most vulnerable secret. Honor edged away. I didn’t let her escape. I leaned over her, whispering as her body trembled for me. “Why does this desire exist if it’s not meant to dominate? You are nothing but prey to me, Honor. This is primitive. Sadistic.”

And still it pleasured her. Too much. Honor grasped my hand, struggling for relief. She sweated, twisting from the unrelenting pressure on her core. One flick, one little movement, and I’d possess her forever. “Fight your desire,” I whispered. “Fight me. Deny yourself that release, my angel. You have nothing to fear from the lust you can control.” I wasn’t cruel. I tormented her for only five more seconds. She tensed, and her teeth clenched against a whispered breath. Her agonized beauty pleased me, even more as she tried so desperately to fight. I memorized how she looked, how she strained. Her head fell back. “Father…” I pulled away before it was too late. Honor nearly fell from the counter. She grasped the cabinets to steady herself as she sweated, groaned, and attempted to hide her panties from me. “Good.” I praised her, brushing my fingers along her cheek. “Drink your wine. Relax.” Honor refused. She stared at me, defiant. “You think this is all a game of power and submission,” she said. “It’s not. My body will respond to that sort of…touching, whether it is at your hand or if someone wants to prove their love to me.” “You’re naïve.” “So are you, Father.” She shuddered again. “I don’t think anyone could resist those feelings. It’s not submission, it’s…biology.” “But you did resist. You were strong.” I let my voice soften with praise. “You have the power to control this desire, Honor. To refuse that animalistic sin.” She shuddered, and I longed to capture each trembling breath in a kiss. “It’s hard. It…hurts.” “You’re strong, my angel. And it’s time to prove it.” Honor knew what I wanted, but she shook her head. “It’s dangerous, Father.” “Only if you can’t deny it.” “Is that a challenge?” “Do you think you’d fail?”

The words stirred her more than my touch. My little angel…a born competitor. She gathered the hem of her dress, bunching it in her fingers. Just like my cassock, her dress had shielded her, protected her in modest virtue. And so we removed it. Nothing would separate her from her own resolve, her own strength. The dress fell to the floor, and she hid her body with a cautious hand. No bra. Only panties. And they were lost too, pulled away and down, rolled over the goose bumped crest of her thighs. I hadn’t seen a naked woman before, not in the flesh. She was more beautiful than I imagined. Curves of darkness. Swells of femininity. Honor covered her body with graceful arms, but her breathing shuttered, jiggling the perfect surge of her breasts. A dark nipple, pebble hard and temptingly hidden, practically glistened. What a rich, chocolate tease. “Can you resist, Father?” she whispered. “I have no choice.” Honor breathed deeply as she moved her arm. She revealed herself to me. Every secret, every fold, every deliciously sinful and heavenly beautiful innocence that the Lord had created. I studied her, from her quivering lips, the graceful slope of her shoulders, the taut and aching tightness of her nipples… The slim waistline and perfect navel… The flare of her hips. And her spread thighs, legs on either side of me, exposing the beautiful, slickened, dark petals that called to me for another touch, a taste, a moment of unrepentant sin. But this wasn’t my challenge. This was the beginning of her newfound strength. “You are stronger than your lust,” I said. Honor nodded, her words soft. “I know, Father.” “My brave angel.”

I touched her then, my flesh against hers. She slickened for me, so wet and hot. I feared I’d be lost within that very same temptation which weakened her body for the mounting it craved. She trembled for me. I stared into her eyes while my fingers teased and prodded within the molten velvet of that forbidden pleasure. Her jaw immediately tightened, and her breath held. Every strike of my fingers, every little tease of my hand cupped those perfect folds and drove her higher, harder, weaker against my touch. I’d never felt such…softness. I stroked her petals, delighting in how silken her body melted. Even this inexperienced virgin, betrayed by her need and the lusts of the man controlling her, instinctively wetted for sin. Every curve of her flesh and sensual swelling of her slit directed my fingers low, to the slickness of her entrance. Where we’d lose both our souls in a moment of rutted perfection. “Father…it’s hard to…” Honor could no longer speak. Her delight hurt me as well. My cock throbbed, hardened within the beautiful vulgarity of her exposed body. Her stomach tensed, undulating with every flinch of her suffering body. She fought the pleasure. Her body ached, arched, wetted. Offered for me. She almost faltered. Her breath caught, and my fingers pinched the nub which controlled her every gasp. Her eyes closed, and she sweated. Twisted. Begged. “Oh, God…” Her soft cry pleaded such a beautiful song. “Need to stop…” Higher, higher. More and more. Such glorious resistance deserved praise. And such beautiful agony deserved the destruction of both our souls. I pulled from her slit as her voice trembled too much. She cried out as my hand left that sanctifying heat. I panted my own breath, filled with the warmth, the slickness, and the delicious scent of her. My thoughts turned to sin—darkness, sweetness, and wine. Honor struggled to

hide herself again, but I had yet to memorize every forbidden curve of her body. “You’re cruel,” she whispered. “And you’re stronger than you believed.” The cake waited for us. I picked another piece within my fingers, pinched tight, just as if I offered her the Host. She accidentally shivered, a shock of pleasure that stole her breath. The cake crumbled and fell upon own chocolate skin. It beckoned me. Perverse. Lovely. I lowered to her chest, devouring the cake. “This is my body…” I whispered to her. She murmured the words. “Given for you.” A dark, devious sin twisted in our hearts. I reached for the goblet of wine. She waited, believing I’d offer it to her. I didn’t. I dripped the chilled wine over her heated body. Honor moaned. She arched into the coolness of the wine, and it trailed over her beautiful curves. This was the blood I drank. I loomed over her, using my tongue to lap the dry wine from her delicious skin. The wine trickled faster than I could drink. I chased, lower and lower, until it consecrated the perfect petals between her legs. The shadow of temptation riled me. It pumped my cock and strained my body in sweated resistance against everything my collar represented. I tipped the glass. The splash of wine centered over her perfect slit, exposed and wanting for more than the brush of my fingers against that virtuous, damning core. I closed my mouth over the drips of wine, catching each beaded chill as they rolled over the plumpness of her swollen petals. And her sweetness beguiled and enchanted every twist of my heart and throb of my cock. Honor’s moan turned to song.

My lips were once cast in prayer. Now they formed sacred words eager to draw her uttered gasp of glory. My tongue was once used to spread the divine mysteries. Now it explored the depths of hers. My words were once meant to preach. In my silence, I offered the blessing of her pleasure to us both. “Father, please…” Honor couldn’t breathe. Her body wracked with a pained shudder that threatened our very faith. “This is too much.” I feasted upon her, savoring the slickness as I lured more pleasure and pain from her. I shared her anguish. This suffering must have been holy. The denial of our body, our needs, our desires tortured our instincts. I ached for mercy. I throbbed in my own masochistic delight. My worthless body demanded that I toss her upon the very ground we walked. If I let it control me, I’d have rutted through that innocence for my own perverted satisfaction. I’d have taken her as an animal. Rolled and sweated and coated her in wicked seed. Ruined her. Damned her. Joined her. I suckled upon that nub of power. She liked that. Or maybe she didn’t. Her hips arched in pleasure and bucked in panic. She tightened and begged against my mouth. Pity I buried my tongue within her, or I might have eased her with a gentle word. “Father Rafe.” Honor’s fingers tangled in my hair. I no longer knew if she pulled me away or pushed me into her secret beauty. “I’m too close…” The power surged through me. I wanted to destroy her, and she’d have begged me to do it. And that was the reason I pulled away. Despite my own groan, despite losing myself within her sweetness and tasting upon the most blessed and perfect pleasure, I retreated. Defeated my temptation. Overcame my desire. And the pride surged through me as my own release.

But Honor tumbled to the floor. Quivering. Weeping. She gripped the hem of my cassock and shuddered. “Please. Please. Please.” Her words rasped into broken begging. “Father…I can’t… it’s too much. Please.” “My angel—” “Just once.” Her voice hardened. “If you don’t, I will.” Three times I had denied her. Was I cruel enough for a fourth? Why did the sight of a naked woman, stricken with lust, so please me? It was as if I knew she would fail this test. Somehow, in my own wicked sin, I’d planned to wrench this submission from her. And that was my sin. Not lust. Not adultery. I hardened because she submitted to me. I made her submit to me. I drove her into sin, and I used her weakness to strengthen my own resolve. It wasn’t fair to leave the poor creature in pain. I pulled her to her feet, pinned between the counter and my body. Her nudity pressed against the black robes, the eternal and ever vigilant armor I wore to protect me from moments like these, temptations like her. She cried in relief as my fingers snaked back to her slit. I touched her again. Her wetness guided me, and I used a single finger to tease before finally sinking into her heated core. Honor immediately clenched around me. Nothing prepared me for that singular bliss. Her tightness yielded to my finger and brought such pleasure from her breathless form. She arched into me, crying out as my thumb struck her swollen, desperate nub. There was a temptation, the way it so secretly and lovingly tucked within her folds. It was a lure, a bait. My lips had captured it, and she rewarded me with a sweet cream. If only I had tasted more—where my finger now buried. If only I might have come with her. “Once, Honor,” I ordered. “Just once. And then you will repent for it.” Honor came in sobbing relief. She gripped my body, my cassock, anything and everything which grounded her to earth and not the heavens above or the hells below.

Her core clenched my finger, pulsing with sensual, painful contractions of her body as the sin imprisoned her within desire. Or maybe it wasn’t sin. Honor surrendered to something beautiful. The gratitude she uttered, her shudders, and the sobbing pleasure didn’t create anything dark and unholy. She came, and the curves of her skin bathed in a rich heat. Her silken delight pulsed and wetted as a halo of comfort cradled her. Beautiful. Was that how it would feel? Heaven on earth? A quiet peace between two people? Or was it a dark shame of submission, aggression, and conquering? I didn’t trust her to stand on her own. I set her upon the counter once more, covering her shivering body with the dress I so carelessly tossed away. She swallowed, her eyes glassy and relaxed. “Forgive me, Father.” She tugged the hem low. “I…” “This is why you were sent to me.” I didn’t let her speak, wouldn’t let her feel ashamed of that most wondrous and amazing moment that transformed her before me. “I am meant to care for you, Honor. I will teach you to control this desire…and you will help to defeat mine.” “How?” I had no idea. I could think no farther, no deeper, than my own lust. My cock strained, envious of my hand for bringing her to that angelic peak. “We pray,” I whispered. “So that we go no further than this.” “And if we can’t resist?” “Then I will resist for us, my angel.” Because I could. Because I had no choice. Because our souls depended on me. And that responsibility, that pride, hardened me as much as my name whispered upon her lips.

11

HONOR

T

he confessional was both a loathsome and amazing place.

Most people misunderstood its purpose—here was where we confessed our sins to a priest, a man afforded the same blessings as Christ offered his disciples. With his help and guidance, we were forgiven and our souls cleansed. But I still never liked it. Not when I was a child confessing to simple annoyances, and not when I became a woman and first admitted my desires for an untouchable man. What should have been a cherished moment of spirituality was tarnished with the mortal complication of shame. But I understood why Father Raphael wanted to meet in the safety of the confessional. It was a good place to talk. Private. Father Raphael had extended the reconciliation hours, but no one came to take advantage of the sacrament. I waited in the vestibule until I was certain we’d be alone. This was not a conversation others needed to hear. I nudged the sanctuary door closed as I passed. It clattered shut; the hinges squealing as the lumbering door groaned against the frame. He waited for me inside the booth. I crossed myself by habit and sat on the bench instead of the kneeler. Father Raphael waited, silent and overwhelming, as always. His stillness waged war with my thoughts, and the quiet muffled my voice. I shivered, a good and wicked shiver, as if his touch still lingered on my body. I’d missed his kiss. “Hi.” I greeted him in a whisper, licking my lips though my mouth had gone dry. I breathed deep just to tease myself with his scent. “I got your message.”

“Honor.” His voice retained a seriousness. No smiles from my priest today. “I’m glad you came.” So was I, but I doubted he meant it in the vulgar way my mind corrupted his words. I tucked my hand in my lap. “I’m not sure what to say to you,” I said. “I didn’t know what to do with myself today.” “Why?” “After what happened last night…” I cleared my throat. “We needed to talk.” “I agree.” “Don’t get me wrong. Last night was something amazing.” I loathed the word, but why lie after committing other sins? “I got home, and I hadn’t slept that well in months.” “Honor.” I figured he’d be stern with me, but I knew what I had done and how terrible it was. I bowed my head. “I’ll guard myself better next time, Father.” “Of course you will.” His words brimmed with praise, and I let them hum over me, delighting me in the electric tickles of his warmth. “I’ll hear your confession now.” The warmth dissipated, and a cold shock nearly snapped my spine. “What?” Father Raphael didn’t apologize. “Your confession, Honor. Let me hear it, we’ll pray, and then we’ll begin again.” “Are you…? Oh my God. You’re serious.” “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Like that was the problem now. “You want me to confess?” “Sit, Honor,” he ordered. I ignored it. “This was my fault. I led you into that sin, and I encouraged the lust that controlled you. Once you confess, you’ll be forgiven, and we’ll work harder next time. I will protect you.” Shame was a gut-punch, but this knocked me out. Nothing was more dehumanizing than apologizing for my desire. Except him assuming I needed some sort of guardian. “Do you really think you have to protect me?” “Yes.”

“You think I can’t resist temptation on my own?” He was silent. I gritted my teeth. “Father, what happened last night was not a failure of my faith or spirit. It was a natural reaction of my body. I couldn’t have stopped it.” “You asked for it, Honor.” I heard the curled edge of his words, whispered in a proud smirk. “And you gave in. You didn’t stop. You helped me.” “I am not your enemy.” “I never said you were.” “Why are you upset? I’m here to help you.” Then why did he sound so… Smug. “Why do you want me to confess? Do you want to hear me beg for forgiveness like I begged to—” I couldn’t say the word. Father Raphael sighed. “Consider this your…second original sin. I will cleanse it, and you’ll learn from me how to combat these urges.” “Because you fought them last night.” “Yes.” “And that wasn’t your kiss last night?” I hissed the words. “That wasn’t you handfeeding me cake? Tasting me. Pleasuring me?” “It was, yet I resisted the urge to take you.” “You were ready too, Father. Ready and panting and just as desperate as me.” “But I didn’t lose control.” Again, that tone. A sanctimonious arrogance shadowed his words in a false halo of purity. I knew what this was now. Why he invited me to the confessional. Why he twisted my words and prided himself when I failed to combat my desires. “You think you’re stronger than me,” I said. “You think you’re better at this—like either of us have any idea what we’re doing together.” “Honor—”

I heard the amusement that time. Father Raphael took pleasure in his game. And it ended now. I slid from the bench and burst from the confessional, but I didn’t leave the church. I aimed for the compartment where he waited for me. I yanked the door open. “Strictly speaking…” Father Raphael gestured to his side of the confessional. “You aren’t supposed to be in here.” “Then I’ll have to confess for that too, won’t I?” The door slammed behind me, and I stared at this man in the dark and quiet. He placed his Bible on the bench beside him. His eyes flashed, and his brow furrowed. Stubble darkened his chin, the strength of his jaw. Why was a man this handsome a priest? And why did a priest control so much of my desire? Why wasn’t he as desperate and destroyed as me? “Say it,” I said. “Tell me you think you’re better than me.” “I never said that.” “Then what is it you believe?” He shrugged, but even the lift of his shoulders accompanied some twisted delight. “We’re playing a dangerous game,” he said. “I thought it was a test of our faith.” “It is. The greatest test.” I frowned. “And I failed?” “Isn’t that why you confessed your feelings and desires here only a few weeks ago?” My neck prickled, the hair raising in impatient fury. “Don’t pretend you weren’t suffering too.” “I’m in control of my desires, Honor.” “It’s easy when you aren’t being challenged.” He smiled, and the flick of his lips both tormented and teased me. “My angel, you were naked, quivering, and begging for me last night. We embraced in the privacy of my home, where I might have taken you, ruined you, and sated myself. I am a priest, but I’m also a man. Believe me. That was my greatest challenge.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His words were calm and infuriating. “It’s okay to feel confused, Honor.” “Don’t you dare patronize me.” I should have left then. Should have wadded up what was left of my pride and stormed out until my wounds healed and I learned from my horrible mistakes. Instead, like a fool, I faced the man who caused every shiver, every weakness, every doubt in my soul. “If the roles had been reversed, Father, do you think you’d have resisted me?” I asked. “If I fell to my knees here, right now, and pleasured you the way you pleasured me—hands and mouth, lips and tongue—can you honestly say you wouldn’t have committed same sins as I did?” His expression shifted, and the sculpted angles of his face were lost to the shadow of the confessional. He stiffened, in more ways than one. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “You’ve proved your point.” “But I haven’t. You won’t understand until you realize how impossible it is to resist someone who wants to give you pleasure. You did this to me last night, and you deserve to see how it feels when someone chastises you for it.” “Now you want…retribution?” He laughed. “Revenge?” I didn’t know what possessed me. I dropped to my knees right there in the confessional. My breath hitched as I struck the wood, but his wide eyes encouraged me. “You wanted to prove we could resist temptation,” I said. “I want to prove neither of us have any control over it.” His voice lowered. “And how will you prove this?” “The same way you did it to me.” He watched with amusement as I cursed the insane amount of buttons securing his cassock, but he chuckled and helped to move aside the bulky robe. I stared at the pants beneath. Of course he’d shield himself in another layer of material. I had no idea what I was doing, and the few instincts I possessed were the ones which had so humiliated me last night. I’d practically begged for a man who took more joy in the desperation he caused than the pleasure he offered. Sadist. Villain.

Beautiful, forbidden man. I knew how a man would like to be pleased. It didn’t take experience, only dedication. Attention. Adoration. I reached for his trousers, unfastening the button and drawing the zipper down. We tensed, amazed by how close I knelt to that dark and powerful part of him. I met his gaze. Unafraid. I wasn’t confessing until he sinned as well. I wouldn’t beg for absolution until he realized whatever control he possessed was no more powerful, no more righteous than mine. And yet, I wasn’t prepared for him. I pulled his hardness from his pants and nearly crossed myself. God, be merciful to me, a sinner… I couldn’t grip the entire width of his shaft. A timid tug on his flesh didn’t measure him in estimated inches but stunned amazement. I blamed my virginity for not knowing, not realizing, how impressive he could be. This wasn’t his manhood. This was a cock. Thick and rigid and pulsing in my hand with a rugged heat which might have scorched my skin. For so long, I thought the collar around his neck made his decisions and guided his life. Had I realized the collar was simply a way to bind the animalistic aspect of him, I might’ve respected the cassock more. “Oh, God, Father. Why did you join the clergy?” Father Raphael shuddered. His words were dark. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse.” “No…” My mouth watered. “It’s beautiful.” I squeezed it, watching as this powerful, intimidating man flexed his hips. The motion drove the shaft deeper into my hand. “You’ve made your point, Honor,” he warned. “I haven’t.” Was it pride or selfishness speaking now? “Not until you feel the same desperation I suffered yesterday.”

“Every day I experience that ache, my angel.” “And what if I relieved it for you, like you did for me?” “I won’t allow it.” “Why?” His cock hardened. The head, thick and pulsing, begged for the same attention he’d offered me. “I’m protecting myself. My vows. My calling. My morals.” Father Raphael met my gaze. “Take your pick of all or any.” “Don’t you think I suffered the same conflicts yesterday?” I asked. “I know you did.” “Then what’s the difference between us?” He leaned back, watching as my fingers timidly squeezed over his flesh. “I can stop myself,” he said. “Are you so sure?” He waved a hand, so subtle and quick had I not been staring at this amazingly frustrating man, I’d have missed his permission. His challenge. He’d regret that arrogance. I licked my lips before bringing him to my mouth. We both tensed, but a surge of desire stole my words and thoughts. I captured him between my lips and welcomed his hot, pulsing head upon my tongue. How could something so hard, so rigid, so intimidating, have such velvet skin? Father Raphael closed his eyes. His head struck the confessional wall. His body trembled. He clutched his bible. The clatter of rosaries captured between the bench and his fingers. And I drew him into my mouth, deeper and deeper, swallowing as much of his length as I could take while still delivering him the pleasure he deserved. This was a sin—though technically everything outside of marriage and without the express desire for procreation was a sin. Still, this felt worse. Bad.

I teased a priest. I pleasured a priest. I took him in my mouth and flicked my tongue over his thick, hardening shaft. This was wrong. So why didn’t I stop? I hummed in pleasure as he caressed my cheek, his rosaries clenched in his fingers. He tasted of salt, smelled of delicious incense, and grunted the harsh breath of a pleased man. I sucked and swallowed, pulled him from my mouth to kiss the tip and lash my tongue over the thick vein which pulsed so desperately for me. Every movement, every motion, every leisurely lick twisted his hand in my hair. He wanted me. He loved this. And I savored the salty rush of his desire. A little dollop of his excitement escaped as a prelude to his greatest sin. His lips moved in a quiet prayer. Latin. He had to pray in Latin to protect himself from the pleasure I created. I’d never felt so confident. So powerful. So amazed that I could create this type of sensation in another person— The door to the sanctuary crashed open, and the frantic click of heels rushed to the confessional. Oh God. Someone was here. I lurched back. Father Raphael adjusted the screen, nearly slamming it closed as the woman collapsed into the bench on the other side of the thin wall. Her purse clattered to the ground, and she ended her phone conversation with a hushed promise to return the call. I pulled away from Father Raphael, but he captured my hair in his fist. He pinned me against his body, head down in his lap and still. His rosaries tangled in my hair, but I didn’t move, didn’t speak. Could she hear me? Did she know I was there? Could she see how thick, hard, and vulgar Father Raphael’s cock glistened? He exposed himself, but the sight was obscured by the screen and the darkness of the church. At least, I prayed it was.

“I’m not too late, am I, Father?” The woman asked. I bit my lip. Judy? Why did it have to be Judy? “Perhaps for tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Would you rather come back tomorrow, when it isn’t so late?” “It’s only a small, teeny weeny sin. Five minutes, Father?” He clutched my hair tighter. I leaned close to his cock, staring in wonder as his body had yet to soften. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll never refuse any who wish to confess to me.” He meant it for me, still demanding my repentance. He was one to talk, especially as his hardness twitched so near my lips. “Bless me, Father, it’s been a week since my last confession, and since then I have just been an absolute witch to my husband.” Among others. I hated myself for the thought. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be pleasuring him. I wasn’t supposed to be hearing this. I held my breath, praying that my pounding heart wouldn’t tear itself apart as Judy began her confession. I clenched my eyes shut, but I still only saw his thick cock in my mind. Hard and waiting. Eager for the return of my lips. No wonder I had responded in such a way last night. My body had slickened so shamefully I didn’t understand what such wetness could be for. Now I understood. It’d be impossible to take a man as large as him into me if I weren’t so prepared. And I wanted to feel him. So terribly. Horribly. Achingly. I wanted all of him in me. Over me. Around me. I couldn’t imagine how full I’d feel, especially when I’d come from a single finger thrust within me. My knees had weakened, my body fell limp, and my very soul burst and shredded against the pleasure of that sin. And now, to see what I had missed?

What I would miss? How could I lament a sin I’d never commit? Judy whispered her confession, and Father Raphael’s hand gripped me. I held my breath, eyes wide as he pulled me closer to him. Back to my knees. Rising up? He pushed me into his lap. My lips touched his cock once more. This wasn’t happening. I couldn’t pleasure him in the confessional. Not with someone so close. Not when we might have been discovered. Ruined. The panic chilled me, but even those goose bumps became a torment. My stomach twisted. Was I terrified or excited? I moved without any rational understanding. I took his cock in my mouth once more, knowing every flick of my tongue, kiss of my lips, and leisurely bob of my head drew him closer to that peak sin. We’d never escape this darkness. And yet it wetted me. It destroyed my conscience. This was sin. All morals, all humanity faded from me, leaving only an insatiable and unrelenting desire to taste his ultimate pleasure. Judy spoke in a rush, listing sins and accepting prayers so quickly she hardly needed to end her phone call. Father Raphael prayed over her, ordering a few Hail Marys and a conversation with her husband to examine the cause of her argument. Judy thanked him and was on her phone before she left the confessional. I stilled, listening for the doors to slam shut once more. I left his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the head. He twitched, hard and furious. His rosaries pressed against me. I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe. He rasped his words as he seized my hair. “Heaven forgive me.” I gasped as his hips flexed. He thrust upwards, filling my mouth with his ravenous flesh. He pleasured himself—quickly, remorselessly, using my mouth to deliver him faster to that forbidden peak... I welcomed him and gasped in quiet and overwhelmed awe as a man this strong and

fierce could control my body with my own pleasure and my surrender to his will. He tensed. His cock pulsed. Once. Twice. Three fierce strokes within my mouth, upon my lips. I readied for his release. But he pulled away with a fierce groan. I tumbled to the floor of the confessional, waiting at his feet for the moment he’d reward us both with the casting of his seed. It didn’t happen. Father Raphael gritted his jaw, poised on the threat of oblivion. He didn’t touch his flesh. Didn’t stroke. Didn’t tug. He did nothing but let the agony strike him in villainous shudders. He denied himself. He cast himself to the edge of amazement, oblivion, and damnation…and he retreated. His breathing edged hard, gasped breaths that might have forged profanities in any other man. He prayed Latin words I didn’t understand. After a long minute, he finally took his cock in his hand. I longed for him to stroke it. Instead, he forced it in his pants and covered himself with the cassock once more. I hadn’t moved. He sat above me, staring at me in that intense, unflinching righteousness that had shamed me once before. Now he shamed me again. “Why didn’t you…” I whispered. “Why wouldn’t you take that gift?” “Faith is my gift, and I’d sacrifice anything for it,” he said. “I told you I’d defeat this sin, Honor. And I have.” His victory didn’t please him. His voice edged too harsh. Angry. Frustrated. Proud. “I can defeat our temptations,” he said. I hated the implication. “And I can’t?” “No.” It was the first time I felt truly filthy, and it wasn’t a pleasant or wicked feeling.

That tarnished, sullied, darkness allowed him to pity me. And I had been pitied enough in my lifetime. And shamed. And lost. I didn’t need it from him—even if he was right. “Come here, my angel.” “Don’t call me that.” I rose to my feet, shaking and disgusted. “You don’t think of me as an angel.” “Of course I do.” “How can you?” I swallowed my pride. “You look at me and see a sinner. Someone who needs help. Someone you think is weak because I couldn’t deny my own body. You aren’t helping me, Father. You’re using me.” “I’m not—” “You’re using me to prove you wield power over yourself.” His voice lowered. “I’m trying to help, Honor.” “You aren’t helping anyone but yourself.” I stared into his eyes, searching for anything beneath the cold and calculating pride that manifested in his soul. And I found something worse. Something that frightened me more. Pain. “What happened to you, Father?” I asked. “What made you this man? Why do you have to prove your willpower to yourself? Why do you think lust is a weapon? What happened that made you think sex was some sort of power over another person?” “You really want to know?” “I think I deserve an answer.” Father Raphael couldn’t stand in the confessional. The walls were too small, and his body too fierce. “The world is a dark place, full of demons and evil. It feasts on those innocent to it.” He stared at me, and I froze as his voice gave life to sheer hatred. “I want to protect you from a world of sin that would destroy your innocence.” “You don’t want to protect me.”

“No?” “You’re protecting yourself.” His grin was cold. “Come to the rectory tonight. Midnight. I’ll give you the answers you want.” No. I wasn’t falling victim to his arrogance again. Once was enough. “Fine, I’ll be there. But I’m not looking for forgiveness.” “What do you want?” “I want to end this.”

12

RAPHAEL

M idnight.

Some believed it to be an unholy hour. I thought the opposite. I used the stillness of the night to pray. The Liturgy of the Hours took dedication, practice, and time. The quiet in the dead of night, when all others slept through their sins and salvation, was my time to find peace. But I had none tonight. Honor arrived precisely at midnight. And I knew I’d lost her. My angel. Not fallen, but hurt. Enraged and insulted. Shamed because she was so very innocent to the world and its evils. I welcomed her inside. Honor was content to scowl from the front step. The only sin worse than what occurred in the confessional was if anyone saw a woman waiting on my porch at midnight. “Come in,” I said. “Please.” She didn’t move. Her arms tightly crossed, protecting her core. I wasn’t sure what she wished to hide from me, but I had seen it all. I’d memorized it all. Her body. Her curves. The erotic softness of her skin. Nothing—not prayer, not willpower, not even confession—would ever have me forget such a gift. Her lips strained, a frown stretching the usual plumpness. She looked away with swollen eyes. She had been crying. Because of me. I’d caused this poor, beautiful creature such misery. As if I didn’t hate myself already.

I hated to order her, but she’d always obeyed before. “Honor, please. If someone sees…” “Right.” She swallowed and stepped within my home. “Couldn’t have that. What a sin.” I didn’t recognize the pain in her voice. It would haunt me until the end of my days. I closed the door, but she moved no farther than the entry. The least I could do was offer her a seat in the living room. A cup of coffee or cool drink. Wasn’t that what men did for women? Or was I lost in a world of blessings and prayers? I usually offered comfort for sins they had committed, not the pains I’d inflicted. Honor wouldn’t have accepted my help. I doubted she wanted my apologies either. My greatest mistake wasn’t the touch we shared or the pleasure I gave. It was underestimating a strong woman. “Do you want to sit?” I asked. “No.” “Can I get you anything—” “No, Father.” She stared at my cassock. It wasn’t necessary to wear it in my home, but I worried I wouldn’t act responsibly without the collar. Especially after today. Especially after the delight of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, and the enthusiasm she used to serve me in such a humbling and sinful manner. Honor cast her pony tail over her shoulder. The thick curls of her hair fell behind her back. It exposed her face, her neck, the delicate curve of her ears with the tiny gold studs that glistened in the light. I wished she hadn’t frowned. “I’m a good person, Father,” she said. “I try to be kind, even when others don’t deserve it.” It shamed me to think that she questioned her virtues. “I know.” “And I’m honest. Obviously. Or I never would’ve made the mistake of confessing to you.” “It wasn’t a mistake, Honor.” She didn’t believe me. “Yes, it was. I knew exactly what I was doing…what I hoped

would happen by telling you those secrets.” “And what was that?” “This.” She extended her arms. “In some twisted part of my mind, I thought it’d get me here. With you. Talking to you. Touching you. Experiencing what we did.” She didn’t say if it was a pleasure or a sin. Did she even know? Did I? “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said. “Never. I’ve followed the commandments. I’ve respected people in and out of the church. I’ve never deliberately sinned.” “I know.” “So what is it then? Is it bad luck or a challenge to my soul? Am I encouraging this lust? Or are you doing it to me?” The harsh edge in her voice returned. I didn’t like it, not only because she doubted me as a priest… But because she blamed me as a man. One who would never harm her. One barely containing himself through prayer, the rosaries twisted in his hand. I’d never lacked willpower. I’d never surrendered to desires—no matter how dark, seductive, or necessary. Until her. And I could ask her the same questions. Did she bait me? What did she challenge in me? How much longer could I hide my demons? I was already ruined by the nightmares of my past, but I could still save her. “We are both sinners,” I said. “It’s natural. It’s human.” She didn’t believe me. “Is it? You seem to have control over your sins.” “Why do you question my faith?” “Because it isn’t faith that guides you, Father Rafe,” she said. “It’s pride.” The allegation stung. I gritted my teeth. “Pride is a sin.” “So is most of what we do together.” Honor turned away from me, pacing in the small room. I memorized each of her steps. She wasn’t supposed to be in my home, and yet now I could imagine her

within my living room, my kitchen. If only I could picture her in my bedroom. “I trusted you, Father,” Honor said. “I knew it was wrong for us to meet so often. I shouldn’t have gotten so close.” “I meant to help you. I wanted you to control your desires.” “My feelings aren’t something that can be controlled, no matter how strong you think you are because you denied yourself today.” She breathed deep. “This has to end now. I’m done. I won’t let it happen again.” She lashed me with truth, and the pain burrowed too deep, too fierce. I shook my head. “I don’t want to lose you,” I said. “What we feel is not weakness. Having you here gives me strength. It reaffirms my faith.” “And it hurts me.” “I never meant to cause you pain.” “Then you are naïve,” she said. “How can you not see it?” “See what?” “You!” Her voice rose. “You’re this powerful and amazing man, and you call me angel. You tell me I’m beautiful. That is worse than any physical tease, Father.” “You deserve the compliments.” “It doesn’t work like that. When you speak to me…” Her words broke. “You know nothing can come from the words we say or the things we do. It’s like you want me to destroy myself.” “Never.” She pointed to the kitchen in a mix of anger, confusion, and pain. “And then…you give me such pleasure. I’ve never felt that way before. It was beautiful and amazing, and now it’s ugly. Sullied and dark.” She sighed. “I’m afraid to look in the mirror. I don’t know if I’ll see a confident, sensual woman…or some sort of demoness, tempting a man of God.” “No.” My voice hardened. “No. You are pure and innocent. I wanted to protect that.” “By making me feel horrible?” “By making you feel cherished. Strengthened. I would never willingly lead you astray.”

“Surprise.” “Honor, I consider myself a patient man,” I said. “I struggle to maintain that integrity. It’s a virtue that I prize.” “One of your many.” Her bitterness hurt us both. I exhaled, soothing the rising hackles that might have roused me to anger. But I wouldn’t have directed that rage at my angel. It focused on myself. Because she was absolutely right. “You came to me in a moment of confusion,” I said. “You confessed those feelings, those urges. I did what I thought was right.” “I don’t know if you’re lying or delusional.” Neither, but I was angry now. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Maybe you wanted to help me. Maybe you wanted to guide me away from damnation.” She hesitated, her voice aching in betrayal. “Or maybe you thought it was a good opportunity to test your faith.” “You think I’d willingly lead you into sin?” “I think you’d lord your power over me. You already believe you’re stronger than me. You think you can confront sin and head-on, like it’s a battle to win or a war to wage.” “It is.” “It’s not! Run from temptations that capture young people. Timothy, 2:22.” I’d never fought another person with the scripture before, and I wasn’t starting now. I stayed silent. Honor’s eyes widened. Weeping in anger and pain. Not sorrow. Not yet. “You said it yourself.” She held her arms open. “We are human. We sin. We fail. We have to ask forgiveness for the urges that command us. But you? You treat it like it’s a decision. Like it’s something willingly entered into and willingly fought. It’s not, Father. And I see through you now.” My voice lowered. “See through what?” “You’re in pain.” I turned away, clenching my jaw. The urge to lose my temper was beaten out of me at a young age, but some instincts were hard to abandon. Even the comforts of prayer and a life far from the abuse wouldn’t soothe what rage created in me.

Honor suffered from her own confusion. Her own pain. It wasn’t anything like my pain. It wasn’t anything I’d ever admit again. “Am I right, Father?” Honor took no pleasure in her verbal castrations. And I gave her no indication of whether she was right, wrong, or completely inappropriate. It didn’t matter. Her voice trembled without my reaction. I marveled in my silence, almost amused as she berated me, herself, any sins of mine she thought caused her own disillusionment. This was why I wanted to protect her. To spare her from these thoughts—such worry and needless posturing. Honor quieted, but she still held my gaze. Brave little angel. “You’re hurting, Father. And you’re taking it out on me. You blame lust and sex for it, but that isn’t the full truth.” “And what would you know of the truth?” “Sex is power.” She shrugged. “Of course it is. I’ve realized that since the moment I confessed my desires to you. Sex is power…and you’re the one commanding it.” “Excuse me?” “You love that this lust is cast between us. You get to be the hero. You’re the godly one, the virtuous one. The only holy warrior who can reject the lust of man and the sins of another.” “Easy, Honor.” “I’m just the Eve to your Adam. The faith you’d have me reaffirm is the same damn story told thousands of times. Except in this retelling, you’d have me eat from the tree so you can refuse it. So you redeem yourself of whatever it was in your past that hurt you. And the only way to do that is by making me falter.” “I’ve never said that.” “You’ve thought it.” I clenched a fist. My fingers trembled, but this wasn’t my fight. It was Honor’s battle. She was the one who needed to speak, to be heard, to be respected in her fears. I prayed for patience.

And I was ignored. Nothing shielded me from my angel. Not the way her eyebrow arched as she spoke my name. Not how her body trembled, ached, and nearly crumbled as she revealed more of her soul to me now than she had ever shown in confession. Except last night when her body, mind, and soul surrendered to me. I had worshiped her in that moment. Prized her. Owned her pleasure like it had always belonged to me and my sins. “You’ve used me since the day we met,” she whispered. “You tricked me into thinking we could control ourselves and this passion. The only reason you’re encouraging this ridiculous test of faith is so that I fail.” Nonsense. “Why would I want you to fail?” “So you could be the one to save me.” “Save you?” Now my voice did harden. I shed the patience and the kindness, the self-imposed softness and any bindings of my own invention which contained my rage. “My soul is just as endangered as yours.” “And here I thought you’d learned how to combat your sins.” There it was. The truth was as ugly as I feared it’d be. “Are you upset because I didn’t let you bring me to orgasm?” I laughed. “Is it your pride that’s hurt? Examine your own sins, Honor. You came upon my hands, and it was beautiful and natural and the greatest sin I ever tasted. I offered you a chance to confess it, and you refused.” Her voice trembled. “You made me come.” “And I will forgive it.” “Of course you will. Because that’s who you are. What you do. You are the savior of my wretched soul, aren’t you, Father?” My breathing quickened. I abandoned prayer and counted to ten. “Don’t insult me,” I warned. “You have no idea the torment I’m enduring.” “Yeah, I’ve heard of that torment.” She tapped her chin. “The guys on campus call it blue-balls. I can see how it might be uncomfortable, unlike the pit of Hell calling me home.” My words tasted of poison and ash. “You want to talk about Hell? What we did in the confessional was worse than a sin, Honor. That vow between priest and penitent was broken. If anyone finds out what we did, I will be excommunicated.” Just the word might have torn curtains and cracked the foundation of my soul.

Honor quieted. So did I. “I violated more than just my job tonight,” I said. “I defiled a connection between a soul and God. And do you know why?” She shook her head. The truth stunned me, and I had no one I trusted who would understand, who would forgive me of this, my darkest confession. “I would risk my faith, my vocation, my very soul because I can’t spend ten minutes apart from you.” My words resonated. Honor looked away. Unacceptable. I forced the command into my voice, bidding her to meet my gaze. “I wasn’t strong enough to push you away,” I said. “I couldn’t remove my cock from your lips for five minutes to hear a sinner’s confession. I was too obsessed with my own suffocating evils.” I stepped closer to her. She retreated, but her back struck the wall. She couldn’t escape. “You gave me such pleasure,” I whispered. “Such unholy pleasure. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I’d have sinned with you, Honor. I’d have allowed you to take me in your sweet mouth, between those perfect lips…” I reached for her. She stilled under my touch, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. I stroked her cheek, and my thumb pressed over her mouth. She kissed me. Heaven help me. “I wanted it, Honor. I wanted to come in your mouth, over your tongue. I longed to watch you swallow my sin. But I didn’t. I fought it. And I nearly lost.” I silently groaned. “I knew what would happen if we were discovered.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe you, Father. You liked the danger.” “No.” “I know the games you play.” “What we do, say, and feel is more dangerous than any game, Honor.” She twisted against the wall, determined to be free of me, to confess whatever fears and rage she suffered. I didn’t let her go. My hands slammed on either side of her, trapping her in my arms.

My little angel stilled, unable to fight me. Where could she run that I wouldn’t chase? Where could I hide that she wouldn’t burn my soul? “You love that you didn’t come, Father,” she whispered. “Don’t pretend it’s a struggle for you. Your celibacy isn’t a virtue. It’s the source of your pride.” “You’re wrong.” “You’re proud of resisting, just as you’re proud of how I lust for you. You love that I come to you for help because you’re proud that you have all the answers. You use your faith to dominate me, Father.” “That’s not true.” “Every time you promise to save me, it’s self-righteous foreplay. You want to own me and my pleasure. You made me orgasm so I’d ruin myself—not for you, but because of you.” My heart raged, and I’d have ripped it from my chest if it might have silenced her. “I want nothing more than to protect you.” “No,” she whispered. “You don’t protect me. You seduce me. Shame me. Then redeem me.” “Why would I do that?” “Because you get off on this, Father.” Her words tore at my very soul. “You love the control you have over me.” I grabbed her, ripping a hand through her hair just so she’d gasp, so those plump lips would part and I could kiss her without a barrier between my fierceness and her tongue. I didn’t pray as my hands tore through her clothes. I didn’t seek my rosaries as I ripped her shirt from her body. I didn’t beg forgiveness as my fingers wrenched the button from her jeans. I growled, staring at her. She stood half-nude and breathless from my kiss, the assault against her body, her heart, and her innocence. My hands curled around her, forcing her soft curves close to me. It wasn’t enough. I picked her up, trapping her in my arms. Honor called my name. I silenced her with a kiss before hauling her through the house, beyond the safety of the living room, the memories of the kitchen, and into the darkness of my bedroom.

I threw her on the bed. My hands began with the top button of my cassock, freeing the collar. No hesitation. No remorse. No forgiveness for this sin. I dropped the collar upon the ground as my voice lowered in dark, sinful warning. “You’re wrong, my angel. With you? I have no control.”

13

HONOR

W as he a different man without the collar?

No.

Father Raphael wasn’t just the cassock and the collar, the Mass and the confessionals. He was a righteous man. A messenger of God. The most dangerous threat to both our souls. And I fell upon his bed, half-naked, trapped between right and wrong, obedience and disgrace, sin and salvation. Our kiss tormented me with hellfire. The separation of our bodies froze me. Father Raphael twisted the buttons of his cassock, every movement blessed with a ritualistic passion, a slowness that trapped me within his gaze. He stared at me, and his fierce eyes darkened with lust. The buttons unfastened under his fingers. Ten, eleven, twelve… I knew his robes had thirty-three, one for each year of our Lord’s life. A black t-shirt hugged his muscles beneath. My mouth dried. I should have stopped him. I should have spoken, screamed, done anything to break the silent spell which captured our souls and tangled us in a bed of sin. The robe fell from his broad shoulders. He kicked it across the room. His fingers tangled in the hem of the t-shirt. It stretched as it tugged over his head. The Bible said we were created in God’s image. He proved it.

Thick muscles rolled over his body, strengthened through hard work and toil. His abs flexed, a deliberate and impressive pack of strength that intimidated and protected. His trim waist angled into the black trousers, and the thick V of definition aimed lower. It captured my attention, forced me to look and wonder and lust for what hid in his pants. I remembered what lurked in that secret. The thickness had swelled and pulsed, agonized by a self-imposed abstinence. It pervaded my thoughts with everything impure, unjust, and treacherous. I drew my gaze to his. It was wrong to worship anyone, anything, any ideal that wasn’t our Lord. But this man deserved to be an idol. He was a graven image of sexuality, power, and complete and total dominance. He was no David…he was pure Goliath. Strength. Stamina. Fearlessness. He had a tattoo—a decorative cross. It spanned his right pec, over his heart. Latin inscribed on the inside. I recognized the words. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti… Father Raphael watched as I shuddered in seduction upon his bed. His blankets and pillows smelled of cedar, sandalwood, and him. He once preached that Mass was intended to be a full-bodied experience, complete with all senses. We were to breathe the incense, witness the awe of the church, hear the words of the priest, taste the body and blood, feel the holy spirit. And I did. Father Raphael’s scent filled me. His words enthralled me. His body delighted me. I longed to taste him once more. The tease of his lips numbed my body to everything but heat, desire, and a fading shade of doubt which disappeared with his collar. “The serpent deceived Eve by his cunning…” He warned with scripture. “Your mind is led astray.” “Are we deceived?” I didn’t recognize the verse. “Have I misled you, Father?” “Take off your clothes.” I did as I was ordered. My bra had already fallen. I unhooked it, casting it away. I drew onto my knees. Facing him. Wanting him. My breasts bared for his pleasure, and the goose bumps chasing his stare centered on my nipples. They hardened and budded.

My panties were next. I trembled as I hooked my fingers in the soft material. My breath lost in a whimper, but he brushed my hair behind my back, offering more of my darkened skin for his inspection. His worship. His lips met mine, and I sunk into his kiss. He pulled away before I could offer more, before I could take my fill and give a timid flick of my tongue. His hand wove over my curves, tickling my heated flesh. He tangled in my panties, tugging them down, down, down. He tugged the silk from my body. “Truly, I say to you, tonight…” He whispered. “You shall be with me in paradise.” Father Raphael moved over me, capturing a kiss, a breath, a whimper of overwhelmed hesitance. His strength rose over me, but I stilled beneath his hardened form, watching as a man of God and muscle commanded his body and mine. His lips tickled, breathing prayers. My heart raced. Could he feel it? Did he realize what his kiss tortured from me? What his hands trapped within his grasp? I arched as his mouth searched lower, kissing my neck, my collarbone, lower and lower. The heat of his lips burned over my breast. I held my breath. Was it temptation to let myself inhale and savor his scent? Was it worse to arch my breasts to his mouth? How bad of a sin would it be to ask to feel his tongue curl over my nipple? I didn’t have to ask. He fed his own temptations, his own demons which heated him from the inside and drove him to seek satisfaction from my body. I welcomed him between my legs, groaning as the rough material of his slacks rubbed against a slickness far too hot and desperate for anything but the invasion of his soul. He cupped my breast, striking upon my nipple with a nip of his teeth, grunt of his pleasure, and seal of his lips. With a free hand he aimed for his pants, drawing the zipper low. I wiggled. His tongue lashed over me, darts of pink cast against a rich darkness. Every moment of illicit attention sparked a deep pleasure. The sensations tormented me. My soul bundled and knotted, desperately throbbing in my core and crazed for a freeing release. I groaned, arching, pressing my body to his. Father Raphael understood. He soothed me with a caress of my cheek. His dark eyes narrowed, studying my reaction, my need.

His command teased and enthralled me. “You will wait,” he said. “You will resist.” “No…” My head fell as his lips trailed lower once more. “What else must I prove to you?” “We will reach paradise together, my angel.” I stiffened, but he pushed my thighs apart. I was exposed to him. Again. Completely. Shamelessly, though my shame was self-evident in the slickness of my slit. The cool air brushed that sinful part of me. His eyebrow arched. Had he not expected to find me wet and wanting more of his attention, his words, his touch? His control. “This is our sin.” He breathed over me, a homily of truth and devious arousal. “This temptation, this moment, you were right. I dominated you with faith when I should have worshiped you in sin. You are my lost, beautiful angel…and I will guide you to Heaven.” He spoke such sensual blasphemy. His head lowered, pushing my thighs further apart. When his words silenced, his true prayer began. He adored me, tasting me, offering his tongue to my petals as though I were the holy Host and he would have me melt with consecrated heat. The shudders began at my toes, rippling through me as every lashed strike of his tongue blessed my folds. His mouth danced upon my slit, teasing the velvet and flicking across my swollen nub. I jerked against the pleasure, realizing only what he did as I counted every whip against my sensitive secret. I arched. Twenty swipes of his tongue, across the softness of my petals. I groaned. Twenty-five deliberate and devout kisses upon my tightening core. I sweated. Thirty agonizing suckles of my clit as he threaded me and used me and watched me thrash against his gifted pleasure. I knew what he did. What he counted. Why he told me to wait. I nearly wept, struggling against the pleasure as my muscles cramped and fingers twisted in the softness of his sheets. He stopped at thirty-nine licks, a blasphemous and utterly sacrilegious number

which wracked me in a forbidden ecstasy. I edged too hard against the precipice of that peak, and he pulled away, tormenting me with the wickedness of his feast. “Father…” My words, my body, my soul ached. “Please. Release me or let me go. I can’t do this anymore.” “I won’t lose you, my angel. I can’t.” He removed his trousers. His cock wrenched from the material, finally free to harden to its full glory. It throbbed, as intimidating as the rasping prayer he delivered over my quivering body. “I will bind us together,” he whispered. “Trap us in depravity. But I’ll deliver you from this torment. I’ll take these sins as my own to shield you from everything but this forbidden pleasure.” He spoke so solemnly. His words trapped me upon his bed, torn between my own reason and pleasure. My core ached. I needed him. More than salvation. More than absolution. Father Raphael fisted his cock, pumping it in a deliberate and stoic movement. The thick shaft was too large to hide within his hand, and every motion left inches exposed. Could I do this? A woman was meant to take a man. Eve was created to submit to Adam, and we knew what happened as a result. How could I trust in God to protect me from this pleasure when it was darkness which controlled our lust? Sin fed our arousal, and yet I offered my silken slickness to his hardening cock? Father Raphael gripped my hips with a deliberation that belonged in prayer. Every touch sanctified me. His stare, his whispered devotions, forged something holy inside me. He didn’t lean over me. He readied himself on his knees. Another prayer. Another sacrilege. He guided my hips to him, and he lowered his cock to my quivering slit. Every nerve in my body shocked me to my core. My blood pumped hard. My vision haloed. And the softness of his skin blended with the fierceness of his hardened length. I was to be made his. And I arched to feel that damning, beautiful connection.

His every breath rattled the strength of his body. A raw heat entwined his movements. He tensed. I stared as the muscles of his arms, his chest popped and rippled. This was a man who denied his instincts. Abandoned his urges. Deprived himself of the pleasures of the flesh to achieve a different type of salvation. It pained him, just as it ached in me. He fought his desires to take me, to rut me, to destroy me in pleasure and lose himself within my heat. No longer. I closed my eyes. The submission came easily. My fingers entwined with his. The rosaries clenched tightly in his fist as he trembled on the brink of immorality. I knew how to soothe him. I tucked my hand within his and tangled the beads over our fingers. Our touch was as sweet as the apple’s crisp bite. It was all he needed. He prayed—Latin, a beautiful verse begging forgiveness—and pushed within me. We lost Heaven in that first union of our bodies. We found paradise in the first breath we took as one. I expected pain. So did he. He thrust completely, tearing through what might have resisted our desire. The fullness stole my breath, and I whimpered a shocked gasp, more overwhelmed than frightened. He leaned over me and stroked my cheek. So sweetly. So gently. So reverently. I gasped over him, squeezing his hand and shuddering as the thickness, the overwhelming presence of him, fractured my faith and rebuilt it in his name. “My angel…” His words warmed me. A comfort. As beautiful and confident as any he delivered in prayer before our altar. “This is no temptation.” No. This was something beautiful. Something shared. A devotion of flesh. A gift of a sanctified moment when the world stopped, the fears faded, and the only evils we committed were lost in the regret of not offering

our bodies before this moment. His movements began slow. Deliberately. Every withdrawal tested our faith. His size challenged us to stop, to turn away, to return to a world of fear and uncertainty. But his thrusts connected us once more. Together. Cast from Eden to explore the world’s pleasure. The rosaries bit our hands, but I clenched his tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as a bursting, crushing curtain of pleasure threatened to overwhelm me in that sinful darkness. His voice whispered within me, around me, through me. “No, angel. Not yet.” Pleasure turned to pain. Relief to frustration. I twisted, but the length of his cock invaded me, punctured me, pinned me to him and this moment and this sin. I couldn’t escape. How was I supposed to fight the most natural submission in the world while his body covered mine, rose over mine, buried within mine? “Please…” I licked my lips. It teased him, and he seized my kiss to silence me. “Father…” His hips pushed onto mine, sheathing himself completely to hear my squeal. “You will wait.” “How?” I didn’t understand much about my body, my desire, the building tangle of confusion and pleasure that heated my blood. “Can’t…you’re so…” Big. Powerful. Everywhere. Omniscient in this pleasure. My world faded into him in that moment. His scent. His hands. The crash of his breath and the crush of his weight. His thickness invaded and pressed and forced through my core, dragging every blitzing spark of excitement through me. I clutched at his hands. His movements shattered my mind, forcing me into the bed, against the sheets, under his strength. He was right. Sex was power. Sex was invasion. It was desire and surrender and giving of myself for another. But it tore through both of us. His eyes widened, staring at me. He studied my face

and kissed the desperation from my lips. He trembled as I did. Strained as I did. Begged of me the same mercy I asked of him and crashed in breathless amazements as our bodies slammed together. Harder. Faster. I arched to take more of his impossible length. My body struggled to fit him, too tight to afford him much movement but delighting him with every clenched strain. I squeezed the rosaries. Then I did as he commanded. I let him overwhelm me as the force of his cock rent through my innocence. I belonged to him. Since the moment I first met him, I knew I’d give myself to him. I’d longed to lay beneath him as he thrust within me, through me, with me. This was as inevitable as sin and as inescapable as judgment. My groans became whimpered pleas. He gripped me tighter as his thrusts beat against me in a new and furious force. “Father…please…” I whispered to him, his straining body and angled jaw. His expression turned pained. Utterly animalistic. “Father, may I come?” He thickened then. I hadn’t meant to tease him. I asked because I didn’t know. Was this still a test? A way to prove our faith wasn’t lost? “No, my angel,” he grunted. “Be strong. I want to feel you for a moment longer.” His movements quickened. I angled my hips, offering him a deeper, more torturous bliss from my weakening body. It exhausted me. It delighted me. I lost myself in the prayer for his permission as every filling moment conquered me for him. His cock thickened. I needed it. My heat raged, and every thrust into my core wetted me, slickened me, prepared me for his release. “Father, please.” “Do I say. Exactly as I say.” I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. I think I did. His motions blinded me in sin and repentant pleasure. He gasped in a shuddered whisper. His chest strained, damned with sweat and heat. He prayed, words I couldn’t understand and a struggle I understood too well. His eyes flashed, maddened with lust. He rutted through me. Completely. Father Raphael stared at me, tensing and crashing and praying and gasping. We came undone, and his words whispered as blessings.

“Come, my angel.” I cried out as he slammed within me once more. The heat jetted from him. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe more. I clenched upon him, called his name. And I was lost into the paradise he promised. Beautiful, sullen sacrilege. Perfect, miserable desecration. Unending, conquering pleasure. No wonder it had been forbidden. I tasted of this fruit and sacrificed my own body, my desires and thoughts, beliefs and needs, sins and virtues. It fell away in an instant, forsaken for that pin-prick of a moment in all of eternity where my soul belonged to him. And I loved it. I ached for it. I crashed again and again in consuming lust, until my body ached, my soul cried, and I couldn’t breathe with the strength of him inside me. We fell to the bed. Panting. He pulled from me, but a part of him stayed, a tremendous heat and delirious remembrance which coated me in seed. I struggled to breathe, fought the tears, and surrendered to the crippling aftershocks of a body desecrated and blessed, lost to darkness and reawakened in the wonder of warmth. He rested beside me as the world returned. Dim. Dark. Lost from the eternity that Heaven promised to us. Was it a sin to admit that I was happy? I would not have returned to that innocence. Not if it took me from him. Not even if it cleansed my soul and protected me from the sins to come. And there would be many.

14

RAPHAEL

T

he silence stirred through me.

I expected hellfire. A rain of sulfur. A burning bush or a slithering serpent. Instead, I covered our nudity as the scripture said, and I waited in the darkness for morning. Honor napped, but her sleep was not deep or peaceful. I watched her, amazed and enlightened, terrified and lost. Such a beautiful girl. Woman. She offered me a wondrous gift, but I was not worthy of that virtue. Not worthy of her. Of my name. My collar. My thoughts. My prayers. Or that sensual and gifted celebration of our bodies and desire. Our union was something moving and unexplainable. As precious to me as my calling to serve the Lord, and as genuine as all of my vows. How was it possible? I took her, but she wasn’t in pain. I hadn’t frightened her. Honor didn’t look upon me with any disgust. I thought sex bruised and hurt. Left one sick and damned. This was not what I remembered. It was nothing that I had ever experienced. “You look so sad.” Honor’s voice lifted my spirits, like church bells and song. She whispered to me as if she, too, feared the feminine sound in my home. “Did I do something…wrong?” “No, my angel.” I sat on the edge of the bed. My feet struck the floor, and I pulled the sheet over my waist to cover my nudity. It did little to hide me. The lovely sable brown of her skin

contrasted with the ivory of my sheets, I hardened again. One sin wasn’t enough. Once would never be enough. And that thought frightened me more than the realization of my broken celibacy, my lost soul, or how I threatened her with Hell. “Did I hurt you?” I asked. The words tumbled from my lips. I feared the worst, knowing how delicate she was as a virgin. Knowing how it had been done to me. “No, Father.” She sat up and the sheet wrapped over her navel. Her hair cast loose, and she let it cover her chest. Just as the children’s Bibles drew Eve before she obscured her beauty with a fig leaf. I didn’t believe her. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you?” Her words emboldened. “No. Just the opposite.” I should have wept in relief. Instead, I gritted my teeth. I’d given her pleasure, and she gave her heat, her tightness, her need. She’d surrendered to me. Christ, I was not worthy. Honor slipped from the bed. She took her bra and panties from the floor and gathered them to her body. I said nothing as she retraced her steps to the living room to find the rest of her clothes. The light from the powder room flipped on, and I listened for the door to shut behind her before I moved. My body ached. My brain cried for sleep. Hormones. The only blessing for a man once the sin was done, the seed was planted, and the bodies desecrated in lust. But I hadn’t desecrated her. Had I? I’d prayed too much, too hard, too deeply to have let sin with me. I swore to carry her burdens, and yet I knew the instant I rose, the moment I donned that cassock once more…it’d have been for nothing. I dressed in the pants and t-shirt. My hand stilled over my collar, wrinkled and buried under clothes on the floor. I kissed it. Honor was dressed when I returned to her. We stood in silence, and I lamented that I was not some other man. One that might have held her, kissed her, whispered poetry that declared her the most beautiful woman in the world. Instead, I didn’t know what to say. God had given me many words to share, but the

devil stole them all in a moment of weakness. Honor’s voice was too loud, even in a whisper. We both flinched. “I didn’t park out front,” she said. “My car is in the church’s lot.” “I should walk with you. It’s late and dark.” “No, Father. I need…to be alone.” She held her hand out, preventing my approach. “And so do you.” I didn’t wish her goodnight. I couldn’t. No night could be better or worse than ours. She bowed her head and rushed from my home, quietly. Like a little church mouse fearing she’d be discovered. But no one would see her. No one but me. …No one but God. I watched her go, and another sliver of my soul shattered at my feet. I should have made her stay. I should have welcomed her into my arms, into my bed. I never should have touched her. The night came and went, and morning drew too near. Sunday morning. I had sinned before Mass. Somehow it made my wonderful, amazing, mind-altering experience seem even more…wrong. Or did it? I waited for a sign that I was damned. A smiting. A strike against me. Tears. Anything that might have moved me. I showered and shaved, but I felt nothing beyond the tranquility of my body. Calmed. Protected. But if God wouldn’t punish me, I’d do it myself. I walked to the church to prepare for Mass, twisting the rosary beads in my fingers without murmuring a single word or prayer. Normally, I’d bless them before celebrating Mass. Not today. The beads had grazed her skin, were held in her hand. Nothing holier existed than her touch, and I cherished the rosaries even as they burned through my conscience. My head and heart weren’t connected. I tripped on the loose stair in the rear of St. Cecilia’s—the one I’d always managed to skip in the past. My toe ached, and I limped the halls in silence as the church came alive for worship.

The sacristy buzzed with activity. My altar servers and deacons dressed and joked. Some gulped coffee to stem hangovers. Others struggled to find a working lighter for the candles waiting in the sanctuary. They greeted me with smiles. They had no idea of the sins I’d committed, and they never would. They needed me —to lead, to guide, to serve the congregation in the joy of Mass. I couldn’t let them see how I had weakened. My faith fed theirs. If I faltered… It wouldn’t happen. I turned to dress, but my shaking hands knocked every vestment off the hangers. They crumpled on the bottom of the cupboard. Deacon Smith groaned. “I just organized that, Father.” He waved a hand. “I pity what your mother went through on laundry day.” “She had her hands full.” The joke appeased them, but it hurt me. I refused to let myself think of my home, my parents—that nightmare—while in the safety of the church. I suffered enough this morning. I helped Deacon Smith hang the vestments, but my mind blanked. Which one was I supposed to wear today? I stared at the cabinet, at the red, white, and pink robes. I fought to remember. Green. Today was green. On the liturgical calendar, these days, when not celebrating any feast or moment in particular, were called Ordinary. But this day was anything but ordinary. I dressed, and my heart pounded in my chest. The rapturous beating buzzed my ears with the rush of blood. I couldn’t hear my deacons, the organ’s music, or the conversation of the parishioners as they filled into the sanctuary for Mass. I couldn’t let myself get distracted. Mass was a time of celebration—a few minutes of praise, glory, and gratitude for the Lord and his blessings upon the church. And yet I could think only of myself—on my own selfish desires and mounting sins. I deserved to burn myself on the charcoal we used to light the incense. Rookie mistake. I tossed the charcoal into the censer and gave it a quick swing. Too much. Puffs of sandalwood escaped in a thick cloud. Deacon Smith and my altar servers coughed. The smoke detector gave a warning chirp. Not what we needed.

Deacon Smith leapt onto a stacked pile of chairs and climbed to the smoke detector, silencing it with a thud of his fist before the incense forced an evacuation. “Easy, Father Rafe.” He laughed and removed the battery. I helped him down from the chair. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.” “I’m fine.” I handed the censer to the attendant who promptly adjusted the cage. “I didn’t sleep very well.” “Happens to us all.” Not like this. Not before Mass. Not when the souls of my entire congregation depended on me to bless them, honor them, and deliver them to salvation. As if I deserved that right. A priest was no different from a lay person—I was in mortal sin, and I was to confess what had happened and beg for my forgiveness. Fortunately, the sins marred only my soul. The communion I’d offer to the parish was still valid, even when administered by a sinner’s hand. Even if I had no right to take the communion. And I had no idea how to hide that. Deacon Smith offered me a bottle of water. I chugged without tasting it. “I can assist you today, Father,” he said. “The choir can sing without my direction. Usually. Most of the times. Somewhat. I don’t think they’ll sing Lady Gaga without me to direct them…” The choir. Honor. Was she here? My thoughts corrupted images of my sweet, smiling Honor into the memories of her naked, writhing, and impaled upon my cock. “Go to the choir,” I said. I gestured to the others. “I have my altar servers to help.” And I’d be fine…provided I remembered my words. The Missal would be before me, the words and actions and ritual instructions were always upon the altar so we did not commit a mistake. But my head clouded as the incense fogged my thoughts. What was once muscle memory and rote memorization faded in the uncertainty of my sin.

I’d never faced a sin I couldn’t conquer. And I never fought so hard only to lose. I suffered in my humiliating, humbling defeat. Honor was right. I had prided myself on my ability to overcome temptation and sin. My caution became arrogance, and my arrogance my undoing. I ruined myself. I broke my vows. I damned her. And still I waited for the moment when the heralds would call and the angels would descend and that fiery sword of justice would strike through my blackened heart. It didn’t come. And the congregation awaited me to lead them in a celebration of the Lord. I marched the processional to the altar. Nearly two hundred good, honest souls in attendance looked to me to guide them during this celebration. And all I heard was her singing. Heaven. She sang in beautiful, pure harmony with the rest of the Choir. Her voice burst over the sanctuary, bright and solemn and angelic. It haunted me. The incense swung from my hand. Once. Twice. Had I swung the third time before the candles? I couldn’t remember now. The servers said nothing, and I moved to the altar. I bowed and rested for a moment, clearing my mind. It didn’t work. My concentration was broken. I listened for her voice above all others. She wasn’t just a distraction. I never knew an angel could damn someone so completely. At least I had a chance to cleanse my soul. The Penitential Act was written and spoken to beseech the Lord for forgiveness, for an honest confession of sins and guilt. My voice led the congregation, strengthening as I spoke the prayer. The words had never meant so much to me. “…I have greatly sinned in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do…” My gaze fell over the church—the bored parishioners in the pews, the children and adults on their phones, and the handful who listened.

She was there. Honor clutched her hymnal in the center of the choir. She dressed in concert black, covered and pure once more. She, too, spoke the words of the prayer with meaning. I clutched my trembling fingers into a fist, each repeated word a strike over my heart. “…Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault…” And I meant it. Everything that happened between us was my fault. Would it change anything? I felt no relief. No hope. I was once a perfect, penitent servant for Christ. Now, my blood stirred and thoughts darkened. Had she but whispered, I’d have given my soul to become a servant for her. The readings echoed over the church, and I sat at the side of the dais. My gaze fell only to the sacred altar, the looming crucifix, my own folded hands. The choir stood behind me, and I flinched as Honor sang once more, a beautiful solemn psalm between readings. I thought I was strong enough to save us both. What if I was just weak enough to destroy her? I stood once more, prepared to deliver the homily for the week. At least it amused me. The parable of the lost sheep. How apt. One truly repentant soul could make Heaven rejoice over the prayers of ninety-nine righteous souls who didn’t need to repent. If I wasn’t a devout man, I might have overlooked the sign. But I knew what I had to do. Protect Honor at all costs, through all transgressions. And hopefully save myself. The Mass was slower than usual, my motions tripped by trembling fingers or words. A dyslexia of the soul. I consecrated the bread and wine and deliberately focused on my actions, but my mind was blessed by images of her. On her back. Sharing in a passion so honest and genuine and pure I couldn’t banish the beauty of it as I could cast away the nightmare of sin. Lead us not into temptation… The Lord’s Prayer meant so much in that moment, and yet, the sound muffled against my ears and heart. Had the congregation noticed?

Every sound dragged from my lips. I worried it called the wrong attention to me. That the congregation didn’t see my collar or my robes or the chalice I lifted in praise. I feared they saw me. The sinner I was. The villain I’d became. The lost child who had sought comfort and family within the church when his own blood wanted only to destroy his innocence. I broke the bread and spoke the words, but my hands trembled. The priest was always honored with the first gift of the Host. I cracked a small corner of the wafer, dusting my fingers over the chalice to ensure no crumbs spilled. I couldn’t take it. I wasn’t cleansed. I hadn’t confessed. To celebrate communion would only cause further sins. I clenched my jaw and broke it again. Smaller. The congregation didn’t notice. Maybe they wouldn’t see my shame. I mimed the motion, pretending to take the Host upon my tongue. I drew the chalice to my lips but refused to taste the wine. Did anyone notice? I glanced over the pews. None whispered. No one thought any differently of the motions, my prayers, my guilt. Hardly anyone paid attention. Only one person saw what I had done. Honor looked away the instant our eyes met. My heart had opened for her. Now it shattered. If she asked, I’d have forgiven her. The question remained. Could I forgive myself? That answer wrenched from the depths of my crumbling soul. No. Mass ended in praise and song, announcements and a few pleas for more volunteers for the Summer Festival. Deacon Smith praised the current volunteers. Apparently they had signed more vendors and brought more food, games, and activities into the parish. They thanked Honor Thomas especially for her tireless work, and then the faithful filed out. One ceremony done. One more to go, the Mass at noon. Larger than the early

morning one. How was I to get through another ceremony? I had an hour to prepare, and I stripped of the alb and chasuble to collapse at my desk. My rosaries hadn’t offered me comfort last night. They weighed heavier in my hand now. The knock was soft, too light and patient for Deacon Smith. I looked up as the door opened. I’d expected her. Honor dressed in black for the choir, a simple and modest skirt and long-sleeved shirt that hid everything I had cherished last night. Her hair was loose. For some priests, in some Masses, we asked woman to wear a scarf over their hair. Not in my church. Honor’s ebony curls bounced, soft and perfect over her delicate form. She looked no less holy, no less innocent than she had while resting in my bed. She didn’t let me speak. She came forward, holding her fist out to me. Her fingers unclenched. The communion wafer waited in her palm. “I’m sorry, Father Rafe,” she whispered. “I couldn’t. Deacon Smith handed them to the entire choir, and I would have made a scene if I refused. I didn’t know what to do.” My voice rasped, hoarse, a harsh and graveled sound. The same tone I took with her in bed. The grunted and masculine dominion over her. “You aren’t supposed to take that,” I said. “I know.” I had options. Return it to the tabernacle. Use it in the next service. The body of the Lord wasn’t something that could or should be smooshed within the penitent hand. But I knew what I was to do. I took her palm, pulling it close. Her heat stirred me once more, and I caressed her fingers in mine. I murmured the blessing and took the wafer in my mouth, allowing it to dissolve upon my tongue as I was permitted to do. A crumb remained on her hand. I drew her fingers to my mouth and kissed her skin. She trembled. “Honor—”

My angel ripped her hand from mine and bolted from my office. I hated to swear, hated the vulgar words and profane meanings, and yet nothing expressed my frustration more. I bit my tongue and clutched my rosaries before my temper overwhelmed me. No. Not temper. Guilt. Hell wasn’t a place or an idea. It was guilt. The realization of my sins and of the sins I’d committed against those innocent to my desires. And yet, even as I stood, even as I dressed for the second Mass and prepared myself to lead yet another ceremony, my mind raced with the guilty thoughts. Not for what I had done. Not for the vows I broke. Not for the woman I lost. But because no matter what prayers I whispered or confessions I gave, I’d never forget last night. She was a sin I would never regret.

15

HONOR

“I

really hope Jesus is tone-deaf.”

Alyssa declared it after a particularly poor rendition of the Alleluia. Deacon Smith shushed her. Samantha giggled. “Was that blasphemous?” God only knew. Everything was a sin—or at least, it looked that way to a sinner. “Look, guys.” Deacon Smith sighed. “We have three weeks until the festival. Can we please pick a song so that we can practice said song so we aren’t humiliated at our own Battle of the Choirs? You know. The one we organized?” Alyssa sighed. “I vote Ava Maria.” Deacon Smith would pop a vein. “Everyone will sing Ava Maria! We need something stellar. Something that will really show up those other choirs.” Samantha giggled. “Amen.” I couldn’t fault Deacon Smith. We rehearsed a dozen different songs, but nothing felt right. And our latest piece was scrapped after we encountered a bit of… competition. “This is getting real,” I said. “The other churches we invited? They’re taking it a little too seriously.” I crinkled the paper in my hand. “The Lutheran Church down the road just stapled their set-list to our doors.” Most of the choir groaned and laughed. Samantha tilted her head. “I don’t get it?” Deacon Smith smacked the piano and ordered us to open our hymnals again. “We just need more practice. I’m thinking of scheduling another night.” The choir grumbled. I opened my phone’s calendar. Every day had an event or a

crisis or a class or a job of some sort. Women’s group. Choir practice. Festival organization. Food Pantry. Classes. Part-time hours I’d begged to work at the library for extra money. Mass. Four days had passed since my night with Father Rafe and the Mass that followed. I tried not to think of the passionate moments I’d spent in his arms, but my memories burned for him. I closed my eyes and saw his body. I knelt in prayer and remembered his touch. I sang, and I felt the press of his lips against mine. Lust had blinded me to everything but him, and longed for more. He had filled me so impossibly, so perfect that without him I suffered in a terrible loneliness. No penance was this cruel. Deacon Smith clapped his hands, and everyone stood. Uh-oh. Had he been talking? Yes. I stood in my place and tried to peek into the hymnals of those near me. No dice. I’d have to guess. “Let’s try again.” Deacon Smith counted off the song. He gestured for us to hold the first note before moving to the next chord of the song. I sang a perfect C. Everyone else started on an A#. And that sounded unholy. “Whoa.” Deacon Smith blinked. “Honor, what song are you singing?” “I…” My mind blanked. “Amazing Grace?” “Yeah…” Alyssa snorted. “We’re on Mary The Dawn. What’s gotten into you?” Good question. The choir groaned. After I sang another three ear-piercing mistakes, the cellphones whipped out and everyone whined for a break. Deacon Smith finally relented, giving us fifteen to banished whatever it was that keyed us so out of tune. It was me. Alyssa and Samantha collapsed in the pews, but they waved me over with a smirk. “Part of me almost wants to do badly at the festival,” Alyssa said. “Just so I could repent with Daddy El in private.” Samantha shook her head. “Not me. Daddy El’s been a bit too grumpy lately. I’d

rather be the one who makes him smile again. I hate to disappoint him.” I did too. And I feared I had in the best possible way. “Why are you so quiet?” Alyssa offered me a licorice whip from her bag of snacks. I took it, but I forgot to take a bite. “You’ve been weird all night.” “I’m fine,” I said. “Just running myself ragged.” “No wonder. You’re acting like a little Mary. Save some good works for the rest of us.” No faith or works would save me now. “Just trying to stay busy.” Samantha dug through the snacks until she found the Skittles. “Even God rested on the seventh day.” But I hated to think what would happen if I finally rested, let my guard down, realized the truth of what I’d done. “Hey…” Samantha tossed a Skittle at me. It thunked off my forehead. “Everything okay?” I frowned and bent to pick up the candy before Father Raphael had a fit that we were eating in the sanctuary. “I’m fine.” My friends shared a worrisome glance. Alyssa leaned close, her voice low. “Is this about your Mom?” I stiffened. Samantha touched my arm. What was going on? “What about my mom?” I asked. “You know…” Alyssa shrugged. I didn’t. “In the bathroom?” she asked. “After the women’s group meeting?” I slowly shook my head. Samantha smacked Alyssa’s arm, and they both silenced. No, no, no. They weren’t keeping this from me. My chest tightened, but I didn’t let it show. “What happened?” I asked. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was nothing.” Alyssa faked touching-up her perfect ponytail. Samantha downed a fistful of Skittles to avoid talking. “Yeah. It was probably just

an aspirin.” Now I did panic. My jaw tensed so much it popped, and I clutched the pew with trembling fingers. “What are you talking about?” Samantha twisted her fingers in her skirt—too inappropriate for the church and entirely too short for anything that would tempt Father Raphael. “Okay. Some of the women said they saw your mom take a pill in the bathroom after the women’s meeting.” Oh God. She rambled a little too fast. “But they didn’t know what it was. And your mom scooted out of there pretty quick once the others came in.” My stomach pitted. “Have they…told anyone?” Alyssa looked sheepish. “It’s nothing. Things have been pretty boring around here, and you know how these old ladies get. It was just gossip.” Gossip that would turn us homeless. The help we received from the charities were only offered to those who were clean. Recovering. If Mom had started using again… But she wasn’t. I’d have known. I’d have seen it. Heard it in the slur of her speech. She still felt like the clean and sober stranger in our home, not the lazy and disjointed mother I remembered. I hoped. I hadn’t been paying that close of attention. And I had been busy, running back and forth between classes and meetings and work and volunteering. I was hardly at home, even though I’d specifically returned to help her. And I hadn’t. I’d been home for two months, and I hadn’t done a blessed thing for her besides cleaning the apartment, organizing the bills, and begging favors from others so I wouldn’t have to help her myself. I clutched my phone and stood. “I…I’ll be back.” “Wait,” Alyssa said. “I’m sorry. Really. It was probably nothing.” Or it might have been something.

I escaped the sanctuary, and my heels clipped against the stone. I didn’t escape through the front of the church. I darted out the side entrance, into the back of St. Cecilia’s second lot. The corner property was large enough for picnics and events— or for an entire festival that was coming too fast. I followed the path to the shrine surrounded by meticulously trimmed roses blossoming around a bench. The Mary garden was a small section of earth tended for the Holy Mother, where the remnants of the communion wine was often poured after Mass. I plunked onto the bench, breathing in the cool night air. His footsteps carried behind me. I recognized them, and that only made the guilt worse. I didn’t look at him. “Do you think Mary ever embarrassed Jesus?” I asked. “One of those mom moments?” Father Raphael hadn’t expected the question, but he thought only for a few silent seconds. “I think everyone has mom moments.” “Some are worse than others.” “Do you remember the story of when he was a boy, and he was lost for three days in Jerusalem? Mary found him sitting in the temple with the other teachers.” “Yeah.” “It wasn’t written, but…” He smirked. “I bet she had some choice words for him in front of the rabbis before she dragged him away.” I shrugged. This was a different humiliation. Not the imagined scoldings of a worried mother, but the pained revelation of a hurt daughter. Mom wouldn’t give up her sobriety. Would she? “Honor, what happened?” I didn’t look up as he approached. “Do you think we’re being punished?” “Why would you think that?” “I deserve it.” “Do you?” His voice lowered to the wonderful and soothing growl I expected from him.

The night pressed close around us, darker yet with the sway of his black robes. I feared looking at him, wondering if I would see the proud priest cloaked in humility or the sensual man, naked and fierce, tattooed with his faith. “I won’t confess to anything, Father Rafe.” “What happened…what I did to you, it was…” I expected him to feel this way. “Don’t mourn for my virtue. And don’t try to save me.” “Why?” “Because I won’t pretend that night didn’t happen.” His temper was short tonight. He baited me, poised on the edge of his own patience. I turned, facing the same man who had invaded my dreams to comfort me in the time we spent apart. “Why won’t you let me help you?” He stepped closer. I stood to retreat into the shadows as he loomed over me. “I took your virginity. I’ve left you in a state of sin. I…” He lowered his voice. “I came inside you, Honor.” “Like a proper Catholic.” “I’m serious.” “And I’ll confess to being a little more modern than the teachings.” This was the awkward conversation, but it was good to have. “I’ve been on birth control since high school. It was meant to help regulate my cycle. We didn’t see a problem with it.” “And the sins mount.” He sighed. “Though this one is prudent.” “Sorry.” “Honor, I would apologize to Christ for everything I did, but first I must apologize to you.” “Why, Father?” He breathed deep, through gritted teeth. “I’ve ruined you.” “Again…I’m more modern than that. My virginity was mine to give, not a man’s to take.” “Wouldn’t you have preferred to save it? To offer it to someone who could love you, marry you, give you all that you desire?” He wouldn’t hear my honest answer.

“Instead I seized it. I desecrated it in lust.” His voice lowered. “And if you hadn’t left when you did, I’d have done it again.” Silence. I stared at him, trembling. He confessed under the moon, the stars, before me and God and the whole of creation. My voice was a whisper, its own secret and willing admission. “Father…now that we’ve been together…can you imagine letting me go?” Silence. He didn’t answer. My soul spoke for us both. “Can you imagine me with another man? Someone who would hold me as you have? Spoken those words? Kissed me like you did?” He turned from me. There was my answer. “Father…can you imagine another man ever taking me as you did?” I expected his hands, his kiss, the fierce closeness of his grip as he dragged me against his body. Father Raphael kissed me, his tongue stealing my words and transforming the horrible, ugly truths I might have uttered into a soft mew of desire. “No,” he hissed. “I can’t imagine it. I won’t. It pains me, my angel. Taking you was a sin, but keeping you will be my final damnation.” “Then you understand why I can’t confess.” I clung to him, meeting the fire of his gaze and expecting brimstone. I saw only haloes of perfect light, etching him in quiet reflection. “The only sin from that night is regretting anything we did.” His kiss overwhelmed me once more, and a shared shudder rolled through our bodies. It demanded forgiveness, a peace, a sanctity only we could give each other. “Meet me here tonight.” His words were a solemn command. “Midnight. Promise me, my angel.” “We can’t.” “You will meet me here.” “Why, Father?” “Because tonight…” He looked upon me with such adoration, such fierce possession, I feared what would happen to my own sanity if I denied him this wicked meeting. “I will restore you, Honor. Tonight…I will show you how truly holy you are.”

16

RAPHAEL

ll of our sins were committed in the dark. Why did my angel shine brightest A during the night? She entered St. Cecilia’s, slipping through the vestibule and into the sanctuary which awaited a service just for her. I locked the church behind her. She tip-toed to the altar. The door to the nave closed behind us. And we were alone. Honor turned, lingering before the altar as though she thought she would be cast upon it. Not yet. But soon. She studied the work I had done. Candles lit the sanctuary, bright and flickering. The light reflected from the stained glass and bounced in dark hues of reds, blues, and greens over the white linen folded over the altar. The incense teased in the air. Dusky. Sacred. It was the first time I felt comfortable in my own church in a week, and it was because I dressed it for my angel. “Father?” Honor wore only a soft dress, modestly hugging her curves. Her eyes widened. “What are you doing? This is…” Blasphemous. And it was meant to be. The thoughts tortured me for too long. The guilt became a constant burden, and the shame an unrelenting companion. And so I let it go. I let too much of myself go.

I reached for her, my fingers tangled in my rosaries. I brushed my finger first over her lips to silence the questions. “If I am to sin…” My words blessed and cursed us both. “I would celebrate it, just as I celebrate my faith.” I kissed her, delighting in the honesty of those words. I could take her. I could have her. We could be together, if only for this moment, if only in this one declaration of complete and total spiritual anarchy. I’d give of myself to join with another. And I’d lose my soul for a single moment to taste, touch, and feel the gifts of her body. What was mine would be lost and damned if only so I could praise her. Her lips quivered, soft and hesitant. She murmured soft words against me. A prayer. “What’s happened to you?” she whispered. I tangled my hands in her hair, across her curves, along her softness. Nothing compared to the press of her body against mine. This was a sin worth reverence. “I want you,” I said. “Here. Tonight. I need to make you mine in every way—our bodies, our souls, our hearts. I want to own you.” “I do too…” Honor brushed her fingers along my cheek. She wasn’t meek or mild, but she was just as gentle. Too gentle. It’d only make me take her harder. “But you don’t belong to me, Father. I can’t let you destroy yourself. This is a sin.” “Then it is the sweetest sin.” I kissed her again, trapping her against me, losing myself in her candied apple scent and silken touch. She was smaller than me. Fragile. Beautiful. She closed her eyes as I touched her and surrendered with my kiss. She had always been mine. Tonight I’d prove it. “Take off your dress.” My command rolled a shudder over her body. “Kneel before me.” Her fingers teased the straps of her dress, silken material that marked the end of something righteous and the beginning of our own destruction. The dress fell away, and her panties slid to the floor. My Honor stood before me, naked, trembling, and gazing over the church with a bitten lip. “Here, Father?” She looked over the church. “Are you sure?”

For weeks I’d struggled against my desire. Harsh and vile and all-consuming. I’d prayed. I’d fasted. I’d sought comfort in old books and exercise and charity. None of it helped. Nothing eased my desperation to take her, rut her, seize her within a display of utter sacrilege. If I was to violate her, then I would violate myself and everything that made me. My desires would not save me, and so I would worship the object of my lust. Honor drove me to madness. Only my angel would save me, sating those perverted desires with her own sacrifice. She knelt before me, naked and beautiful. Every curve dark and rich. She shivered. Not fear, but in lust. Desire. The same heat and passion which tore through my body and mind. I stood before her, savoring the power coursing through my veins. I didn’t remove my cassock. This night wouldn’t honor the man beneath the collar, but the one who wore it. The last of him. A baptism of sin as I felled an angel with me. I left it on and unbuttoned just enough to expose my hardening cock for her. The rosaries dangled too close. She kissed them. Honor stared up at me, her eyes wide. Her lips already parted for that sinful offering, a body I wished for her to consume. “Are you frightened?” I asked. She swallowed. “I’m…nervous. We’re in the church, Father.” I guided my cock to her with a confident hand. She waited upon her knees and took me in her mouth without protest, without complaint. She submitted. She mewed a gracious sound and savored me. The softness of her lips, the heat of her mouth, and the devotion of her tongue wracked me in pleasure, but I hadn’t realized she would enjoy it as well. “Do you know the story of Saint Teresa of Avila?” I twisted a hand in her hair. My head fell back, and she welcomed me deeper. “She was a nun in the sixteenth century…and she was granted visions from God so powerful, so intense she would be wracked with pains, pleasures, and overwhelmed in religious ecstasy.” Honor opened her eyes. She did not take my cock from her mouth, nor would I have permitted it. I shuddered, deep and heavy. Everything tightened within me already.

Too soon. Not soon enough. “She claimed an angel had visited her, one with a golden arrow he used to pierce her body again and again. Every thrust dragged through her in great pain. But she whispered stories. Said the sensations were so great, she was forced to moan. She did not wish to be rid of that feeling.” Her lips dragged over my shaft, my own golden arrow which would tear through her. The flick of her tongue stole my breath. I clenched my teeth. “It’s called the Devotion of Ecstasy. When the body and soul are connected in sweet pain. When it happened to her, Saint Teresa would swoon. She’d go weak, faint, and wake in beautiful tears. She was made comfortable in a passionate union with God.” I twisted her hair, sinking her deeper upon my cock. Honor groaned. Her throaty whimper vibrated along my shaft. I tensed, but I wasn’t ready to experience that ecstasy yet. Not when I had her. Not when I might have experienced it in her, because of her, drawn from her. My hands tightened, body strained, and my cock hardened more. Honor waited before me. Madonna or whore of Babylon? Or simply my angel, my beautiful and pure salvation who offered so much for me to take and destroy. I drew from her mouth, and her shivered gasp nearly had me pump every last drop of my desire upon those lips. But I was a proper Catholic. No sense disavowing all tradition. I pulled her to her feet only to cast her in my arms. She tensed as I lowered her upon the altar. I rested her on the linens, surrounded by the candles, drenched in the sweet light of salvation. “Father, this is…” “The altar.” Where I had imagined her every minute of every day since she first walked into my church. “It is where you belong, my angel.” “This is wrong. Are you sure you want to do this?” Nothing would stop me. “Do you know what altars were once used for, Honor?” I circled her, observing her body, her writhing, the sweet goosebumps which prickled over her flesh as her bared skin accidentally touched cold stone. “The altar was a place of sacrifice.”

“Oh, God.” “I’m sure He’s here.” Or would know the instant I fell further from His grace. “You are my perfect sacrifice, Honor. You’re beautiful. You’re gentle. Innocent. You possess every virtue I’ve lost. If I have faith in one thing in this world, it’s the words you speak, the breaths you take.” “You haven’t lost your faith.” I lost enough of myself to worship my desire. I studied her, committed her to memory. Why had I ever resisted her? “I want to consecrate your body,” I said. “Make it holy before I destroy us in this sin.” “Father, you’re not destroying me or yourself.” “I already have.” I prepared for this moment. The oils awaited my hand, and the holy water stilled in a gold chalice. I needed no prayer for this. Honor was as blessed, as beautiful, as pure as any woman gracing this earth. But I could worship her in my own way. Adore and ruin. Bless and profane. I sprinkled the water first, watching as the chilled droplets dripped over her curves. They ran in tears, rivulets of chill that teased her skin. Her nipples budded hard, and I followed every rolling bead of holy water as it trailed between her breasts, over her waist, and finally, dipped to the wonder between her legs. She shivered. So did I. “You are so beautiful,” I whispered. “I almost hate to defile you this way.” “You aren’t defiling me.” She spoke too much. I silenced her with a kiss, reaching for the oils we kept under a lock and key, safe from everyone but me. I reserved only a small portion for tonight, knowing how precious and rare it was. “This is a special oil. Chrism.” I breathed slowly, dipping my fingers into the vial and spreading it over my hands. “I cannot bless it. It is consecrated only one day a year, Maundy Thursday, Holy Thursday, and only by a bishop.” A position Benjamin wanted for me. A role I would never accept. Not now. Not after this. “Should you…waste it?” Honor asked.

“This is no waste.” I lowered my fingertips to her body, watching in amazement as she arched to meet my hand. Was this how it should have been? A body arching to feel a touch? For so long, I only knew to fear a touch. I lived because of the instinct to duck, flinch. Pray for it to pass. My fingers dragged over her skin. Down. Over. Forming a cross over her chest. The oil was intended for foreheads, lips, breast over the heart. This woman was my heart. All of her. Quivering. Shaking. Longing for my touch. The oil slickened her body. She gasped as I blessed every part of her, sliding my hands along her dark skin, over her breasts, rubbing against the budded nipples that strained and begged for more than perfumed oil. I touched lower, following the holy water. My hands tensed as I studied where her legs parted for me. She wanted me to touch that sacred mystery of mysteries. Her body twisted. She licked parted lips and breathed heated sighs. Just as I had yet to feel that ecstasy, I would withhold it from her. For a moment. Just a moment. I prepared her for it instead. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I take you.” I warned her with a shamed growl. “Your body is so pure, so innocent, so fragile. I fear my strength.” “Don’t, Father.” “You don’t understand the urges I have.” “They’re natural.” “They’re evil.” Honor stared at me as she twisted her hands in the linen beneath her waiting body. “You want me, Father. You can have me. You won’t hurt me. You won’t destroy me. You won’t lose me.” “The things I want are…so twisted.”

“It’s passion, Father.” “It’s dominance.” “Then I submit.” I laughed. “You have no choice.” “I have every choice, and I choose to give myself to you.” This misguided girl. I took her innocence, but she still suffered the delusion. Sex was not the passionate, loving embrace she imagined. It was primal. Wicked. Meant to overpower. I hated the thought of corrupting her, but I’d shield her from my perversion of faith. I untangled the rosaries from my hand and held out the beads. Honor lifted her head, accepting the gift. It wasn’t right to wear the rosaries as a necklace, but the instant the chain struck her flesh, the silvered cross lying between her breasts, I knew it was the most beautiful and sacrilegious and blessed vision I had the privilege of seeing. I pulled her legs to the end of the altar, pressing a hand to her chest to prevent her from rising. This was what I’d wanted to see. What I’d dreamed of. Honor defenseless, aching, naked. Waiting on the altar for the moment of utter sanctity when I’d rend through her with every perverse and befouling desire that hardened me for sin. My innocent angel slickened for me. She had no idea the dangers that awaited her. I stepped to the altar, wrapping her legs around my waist. Her breasts rose and fell in quick, harsh breaths. I clenched my jaw and pumped my cock. My soul threatened to tear me apart if I didn’t seek relief in her body. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “I can’t fight this temptation.” “It’s okay, Fath—” I thrust inside her, one solid and demanding strike. My cock forced itself in, rutting to the hilt and grinding flesh against flesh as I sheathed my impossible length within her delicate slit.

I expected her to cry out. To squirm. Fight. Beg. I thought she’d try to run…as I had so often fought to escape. Honor arched instead. Her whisper cried my name in sweetness. And her body shuddered in shivers of delight. I withdrew, each inch without the comfort of her molten slit a pained and terrible punishment. I pulled to end and teased my cock with the agonized shudders that wracked my spine. Nothing compared to this feeling. This tightness. This squeezing and unrelenting tremor that enveloped my body from the clenching of hers. I sliced through her again, filling her, stretching her when her body tensed over me. I made the room I needed for my own pleasure. And Honor groaned for me. She clutched the altar. Her breasts. My hands. It didn’t hurt her. She liked this. I gripped her thighs and positioned her where I could slam myself inside her, where every undulating squeeze of her softness rolled me in pleasure, panic. So tight. So perfect. I lost my soul, but it escaped only to be trapped between us. In her. The only place safe enough, wicked enough, primal enough for it. She bit her lip. Hard. Her eyes closed, and the curls of hair haloed behind her. Every thrust bounced her body for me, and her cries pitched high and pleading as I slapped against her. How could something so dark and sinful feel so beautiful and raw? My natural desire was to take, to seize, to own. But my sins were corrupted into something even more insidious. Every thrust indebted me to her. It saved me from darkness. She let me do this to her. She took pleasure from what I did to her. And her soft mews, too timid to even whisper in the church I defiled, called for me. Deliriously. Passionately. I grabbed the rosaries and pulled her to me. The beads acted as a leash, and I stole a kiss as I pinned her under me. I took her deeper than before, punishing her in

pleasure. “Father…” Her eyes closed. “Rafe…” I stiffened. She begged for a release—from my hands, my demands, and the pleasure I thrust within her. And so did I. It built with every slam of my body against hers. The dark, forbidden passion boiled inside me. Sparks of ecstasy centered in the worst shadows of my soul. And yet, her pleasure shuddered as a beautiful, vibrant gift. She offered it to me. Drew closer, held my hand over the rosaries that I clutched in my trembling fingers. I took her harder. Kissed her. My words rasped. “Will you ever forgive me?” “I already have, Father.” Her breathing shuddered. Every sharp gasp a song of songs. I had no defense against her. She stripped me bare, even as I yet wore the cassock and collar. Though I destroyed everything I once adored, she cleansed my soul. She understood. She soothed me. Comforted me. Honor came for me with a sweet innocence, and in that moment, I realized I never had any control over her. Any punishment I feared I inflicted faded. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t lost. She came and came and came, breathing pure pleasure and calling for my release with hers. Her body tensed too hard, but my hands guided her through the ache and into that pure bliss so forbidden to me. Beautiful. I groaned as the passion swept through me, lashing me as sharp as the barbs of a whip and as sweetly as the caress of an angel. I buried myself in her. Every loathsome jet of heat should’ve scalded her, poisoned her. Instead she arched to take more of my seed. She moaned with me. Accepted everything I was and would be and defied our temptation with a need purer and more honest than my committed sins. I collapsed over her, panting on the altar, over her body. Honor laid back and closed her eyes. Goose bumps rose over her soft curves, though she sweated too, a delicate sheen that purified her as we rested.

She reached for the rosaries, but I stilled her hand. “They’re yours,” I said. “I used them for strength, to prevent me from doing this. I have no need of them anymore.” “But Father—” “Nothing can save me now.”

17

HONOR

S in wasn’t easy, despite what people said. It was hard to commit. Hard to confront. Harder to stop. I knew what I did was wrong. I tried to live a life of faith and integrity, and I had failed. But, for the first time since I burned myself on desire, I sang at Mass with an honest heart. I was guilty. I had sinned. And Father Raphael needed my help. He suffered because of our night together—erotic, sensual, and blasphemous. I knew what I had to do. No matter my sins, I had to return Father Raphael to a state of grace. But first, I had to convince him that he deserved that forgiveness. I’d texted him, but he had a meeting immediately following Mass. I wouldn’t be able to talk with him until the festival prep later. That meant I had the afternoon… Off? No work. No classes or homework. No volunteer hours. I could go home and relax. With Mom. The thought twisted me, and I hated myself for it. Why did I look for any excuse to leave the apartment? Avoiding my mother shamed me more than anything I had done with Father Raphael. Mom hadn’t stopped talking since the church, and I doubted even she could remember what she chattered. She dropped her purse in the entry and prattled in the kitchen. I hung her bag over the back of the chair before the strap was soaked in

a puddle by the door. “Do you want coffee? I want some coffee.” Mom hummed to herself and fished in the cupboard for the grounds. She still had a cup of coffee on the table, cold from the morning. I moved it and groaned. The envelope underneath was splattered and wrinkled. Her bank statement. Unopened. That wasn’t good. “Well, that was a beautiful Mass today, wasn’t it? Hungry?” Mom didn’t remember where she kept the bread. She opened the wrong cabinet twice and set the peanut butter next to the plates in her forgetfulness. A side effect of the drug abuse for so many years. “Just beautiful. Your choir is doing so good, honey. I’m proud of you. I tell everyone, I say to them that’s my baby singing that solo.” I nodded, offering her a sheepish shrug. “I know, Mom. I can hear you. Everyone can.” “All the more reason to sing it loud and proud that my baby is doing her best by the Lord in every way she can.” She held her arms out. “Now where did I put that peanut butter…maybe I’ll make ham and cheese instead. Would you like that, baby? Did you want coffee?” I looked up. She didn’t realize we didn’t have the money for lunch meat. She laughed about the peanut butter and got the coffee brewing. “I swear, I don’t know where my head is sometimes,” she said. She smiled. It was too broad, too…unfamiliar. I tried to remember a time when Mom exhibited any signs of…life. Back when she was sick, she never drank for the thrill or the bubbly high. She downed enough to go numb, and then she drank more to stay down when the world kicked her hard enough. And the pills? The Oxy did the trick when she couldn’t carry a can or bottle. Was this really Mom? Was this the woman under the drugs? Her skin had cleared, and a few social programs had helped to fix her teeth. She smelled of soap instead of body odor and alcohol, and her words slurred only when she got too excited to unjumble her thoughts. She jumped from one topic to the next, almost manic, and I could hardly keep up. Then again, I hadn’t really tried. I couldn’t. Not when I had so many events and practices and classes and… No money. I stared at her bank statement. It was more frightening now that she was sober than it had ever been when she was sick. At least then we had a reason to lose so

much money. Mom didn’t have a job—hadn’t had one for years. She never really understood the value of a dollar. Her account was nearly overdrawn, and I had no idea where the money had gone. But I could guess. “Hey…Mom?” Why did I hesitate before calling her name? “I think we ought to sit down and talk about the bank account.” Mom hummed as she heated a frying pan. Grilled cheese it was then. “Oh, not just now, baby. Let’s get something to eat first.” “There were withdrawals this week for one hundred and eighty dollars.” I felt sick. “Cash from the ATM. Why are you pulling out cash?” “Don’t you worry about that.” Oh, but I did. I was worrying. Cash never lasted long around Mom. I hated to think it. Alyssa and Samantha hadn’t wanted to tell me about the gossip spreading in the church. I glanced up, staring through her graying hair and smile to find the woman I remembered. One hundred and eighty dollars paid for the electricity and groceries. I hated that I searched her expression for any signs of deceit. “Mom, is something going on?” “Of course not.” “We needed that money.” “Well, if you must know…” She flipped her sandwich too late and burned it. “I’m planning a surprise.” I didn’t like that. “Surprises that cost this much money?” Or a surprise that would account for just enough to hide a bottle of cheap whiskey under the sink and a handful of pills in her purse? “Okay, Honor. You caught me.” I held my breath. Mom plated the crispy grilled cheese with a dollop of ketchup on the side. She pushed it to me. Close, but it was Dad who had liked the ketchup. I preferred pickles on mine. I ate it anyway.

“I had this great idea,” Mom said. “You’re so involved in the church, and it’s wonderful. The woman’s group and the festival and this special Battle of the Choirs.” I peeled a bit of cheese from the bread and ate it to avoid speaking. “I wanted to get that sense of community too. Really thank the people who have been so kind. So…” Mom held her arms out. “I’m going to host a dinner party here for all those lovely people at St. Cecilia’s who have helped us.” I dropped the sandwich. “You what?” “I want to invite some people over. Judy, Ruthie, a few other ladies in the women’s club. We could even invite Father Rafe. He’d love a home-cooked meal.” “Mom, you’ve never cooked a meal like that in your life.” “Nonsense.” Mom frowned as she remembered. “I’m sure I have.” “Not in the past sixteen years,” I said. “I don’t think you know how to cook.” “We’ll learn.” “You don’t just learn this stuff.” “Of course you do. Everyone does.” Maybe when they were younger. Maybe before the drugs addled their minds. Maybe before they became a woman who couldn’t remember that she put the bread in the freezer and the peanut butter in the cabinet. “Mom, I don’t think we should do this. Money is…really hard to come by. And we’re behind on the bills—” “The Lord will provide, Honor. He did in the past.” “No, He really didn’t.” I tossed the statement on the table. “Dad was the one who provided. Dad shifted his schedules and took harder hours and did everything he could to make ends meet. But now he’s dead, and I’m here trying my hardest. I gave up my school, my job, everything to come here, and we don’t have enough money to—” Mom crossed her arms. “Honor Maria Thomas, you tell me right now what this is really about.” “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to have them come…here.” Mom looked over our apartment, her mouth drawing into a thin line. “I spent half a year confined to a space smaller than this. I am proud of this home we have. I am proud that I can walk out that door anytime I want without a guard on the other side. I can wear my Sunday best and not an orange jumpsuit. I can go to church and

talk with those nice God-fearing people.” She shook her head. “And I’m not going to be ashamed if I invite them into my home.” “But this isn’t home!” I couldn’t hide the bitterness in my voice. “Home was across town. With Dad. In the house he built with his bare hands for us. A house we don’t have anymore.” “Home is where your family is, Honor.” “If that’s true, half of our home is buried six feet under.” I pitched the bank statement onto the table. “Dad’s dead. This family is broken.” “Don’t you say such things.” “I hope that money is going to a dinner, Mom. I really, really do.” “Honor—” I stood. “I gotta get to the church. We’re doing the festival prep later.” Mom stood in silence, watching as I grabbed my purse. I hated myself for leaving, for the words I said and the bitterness in my voice when I spoke of family. But she had never acted like a mother. And, God help me, I wasn’t acting like the daughter she needed. The door closed behind me, and I nearly wept. I didn’t believe her story. A dinner party? With all that cash missing? She had been clean for an entire year. Why was she throwing it away now? After all the confessions? The jail time? Dad’s funeral? She wasn’t the woman I remembered, but I couldn’t allow the mother from my past to return. How was I supposed to help her if I couldn’t face her? If I hadn’t forgiven her for everything in the past? I drove to the church, hating how Father Raphael’s voice haunted me. His words repeated in my mind. Do you resent your mother? Lately, he was a bad priest, but I knew so much good existed in him. First he lost himself in sin, and now Mom destroyed herself in vice. Two good souls depended on me to make things right. The easiest way to heal Father Raphael was to remind him why he became a priest. To protect his flock.

I slipped into the church and greeted the few parishioners still lingering in the halls. His office door was closed. I stared at the handle. I hadn’t come to experience the thrill of his state. I wasn’t there for a kiss or a touch. I wouldn’t even return the rosaries I wore around my neck. I came to talk to him. My heart ached, and I longed to hear his voice whisper a kind word. Advice. Maybe see his smile and accept a compliment or two. Was it a sin to imagine a life without guilt? Probably, if only because it led to my most dangerous temptation. If I let myself imagine that life, I’d fantasize about something deeper than lust and desire. A moment without vows or collars. But I had enough sins to atone for. I wouldn’t tempt myself to steal more of Father Raphael than I already had. For that reason, I turned from his office and meant to escape back into the church. I nearly collided with him. And the warmth and joy that shuddered through me was worse than any sin. “Hi,” I said. Father Raphael gave me a knowing and twisted smirk, like he’d read through my intentions. “My angel.” “I…” I pointed past him. “I was going.” “Why?” “It’s not important.” He took my hand, squeezing over my palm with a burning authority and firm grip. He tugged me into his office, closing the door behind us. I breathed deep as he passed. He was richly drenched in the sandalwood incense from today’s Mass. So regal and sensual. How could a man smell so important? He guided me to the chair before his desk, but I didn’t sit. I stared at him—his lips, his eyes, the way his collar shone so bright. “You, above all others, know my office is always open.” “I know, Father.” “You’re nervous.” I licked my lip, a twitch more than an invitation, but he leaned in for a kiss. I closed my eyes as his tongue flicked over mine.

Wine. He tasted of wine. Or was it my imagination? My guilt? His hand brushed my cheek. How could the world and all its mysteries make sense during a kiss but shatter as soon as our lips parted? “I haven’t seen you since that night,” he whispered. “I was worried.” “Why?” Father Raphael moved the collar of my shirt to the side, touching the rosaries. I’d slept in them. Held them. Kept them as close to my heart as I could. “I thought I frightened you away,” he said. “I don’t think that’s possible.” He hummed, low. “We’ll see, won’t we, my angel?” It pained me to hear the defeat in his voice. He carried a burden of sorrow, so secret inside him. I wished he’d explain it, but that aspect of his life was truly forbidden. It existed in his obsession with me—fierce and intense. Why did he punish himself so much? “You know you didn’t hurt me, right?” I said. “Just the opposite.” “Not all wounds are physical.” He released me, and I couldn’t imagine what he saw with his stare. He looked at me as if I really were an angel. He was wrong. I wasn’t even that good of a person. But he told me I’d be his salvation. What was I saving him from? “Thank you,” he said. “For what?” He averted his eyes, studying the crucifix on his wall. “That night…you helped me to indulge in something dark and dangerous. It was a terrible desire, and I let myself fall. I explored a part of me I usually suppressed because I knew you wouldn’t run away when I revealed it.” He sucked in a breath. “But you should have run, Honor.” Never. “It wasn’t frightening, Father. Yes, it was very wrong, but it connected us —” “It corrupted you.”

“You didn’t.” “I dominated you.” “Yes,” I said. “And I surrendered to you.” He didn’t listen. “I used you. I lost myself that night. When I thought I controlled my lust, I suffered from pride. You tried to warn me, but I thought I could contain it. Then…I faltered.” “We both did.” “I think I meant to do it,” he admitted. “I sinned because I wanted to destroy myself.” His gaze fell over me, just as stoic and strong as ever. “I won’t have you defend me or any of the pain I caused you.” “I’m not in pain, Father,” I said. “Not physically. Not emotionally. I don’t know what to do about my spirit, but that’s my sin to bear, not yours.” “I was supposed to protect you.” “Stop—” “The thoughts I had of you…the things I wanted to do.” His smile turned cold. “I pinned you beneath me and plunged into you, and if my body hadn’t betrayed me in exhaustion, I’d still be rutting you. You wouldn’t have left that altar. I’d have taken my fill of your innocence and left you…broken.” “You can’t break me.” He snorted. “I sacrificed your virtue.” “I gave it willingly.” “I desecrated your body.” “We took our pleasure, Father.” “I fucked you like a whore!” I flinched, but he wouldn’t win this fight. “That night meant more to me than you realize,” I said. “Not all sin is born of hatred or because we turned on the Lord. Sometimes we think we’re unforgiveable, but we’re forced to look past the shame to see why we led ourselves into darkness. You taught me that, Father. You’ve preached that one simple truth. Look deeper. Confess the cause, not just the sin.” “I told you my reasons,” he said. “And they’re wrong. We sinned together, but not because we wanted to fall from

grace. We were together because we’re looking for something beautiful.” “It wasn’t beautiful, Honor. I see that now.” He turned from me, frustrated. His desk cleared of clutter, and that was good. The tension straining his arms might have cast anything within arm’s reach to the floor. He grunted. “What I did to you was horrific. I made you kneel. I made you take me in your mouth. I had you beneath me because, in my mind, that’s where you belonged. On your knees. On your back. You were the object of my pleasure, and I meant to take you that night in every way that would have satisfied me.” “Good thing I liked it then.” “It wasn’t my intent.” He lied, and he knew it. That was why he fell into silence. It must have been. He didn’t know what he believed anymore, about his faith or about himself. It was the first time I saw him truly frustrated. Or was he frightened? “That night wasn’t about desecrating my church,” he said. “I wanted to control you. That’s what sex is. Not the pleasure we feel but the power we take from another’s body. I took you because it made me feel powerful. Now do you understand?” The implication hurt. “Was that all you think it was? Just a way for you to be cruel to me?” “That’s the world, Honor. I would have protected you from it…if I hadn’t proven how vile I could be.” “Stop it.” I met his gaze, but I didn’t recognize the man behind the self-inflicted darkness. “Father. Rafe. Don’t you understand what you’re saying? You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt yourself. Nothing is unforgivable. You preach that. You taught me that—” “You don’t know the thoughts in my mind.” “And you don’t know what I feel in my heart. What does yours say, Father? What do you feel in your soul?” “I’ve lost my soul. I’ve destroyed myself. I’ve destroyed everything I loved. My faith. My willpower. My honor. And what remains is a demon of a man who wants nothing more than to violate you again, prove my power with every groan of my name upon your lips.” I wished he had told me the night meant nothing to him. That I was an excuse for a

man to explore his sexuality and get off, easy and quick. But Father Rafael had done all he could to make that night something dark and beautiful. The candles. The altar. The oils. The gifted rosaries. He meant to explore that wicked sin with me. And I had felt something then. Him. The real Raphael. A man, gentle and loving and hurting. Hurting so much. Hiding that pain and struggling every day with the reality of the burdens he carried. Something happened to him that perverted his view of sex and desire. Something that prevented him from understanding why I offered my body and soul. I would have helped him. I would have healed him. But he didn’t want that redemption. He didn’t even try. “You aren’t a monster, Father,” I whispered. “You’re broken. Let me in, and I’ll help you.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for your help or forgiveness.” “Ever?” “No.” But I would have given it if he would have let me care for him. I turned without a word. I never thought anything would hurt more than the fear of losing my soul. This was worse. I lost him. And I couldn’t save us both. I couldn’t save us at all. Father Raphael didn’t try to stop me as I left his office, and he didn’t emerge during the festival preparations. Hours passed in useless discussion about foods, vendors, and setting the stage for the choirs, but I didn’t remember a word that was spoken. After night fell, and after a quick choir practice with Alyssa and Samantha that I requested just so I didn’t have to return home, I finally left. I drove slowly and cleared Mom’s recent call from my phone. I’d have to face her tonight. She deserved an explanation. I had no idea how to begin or if it was worth opening old wounds, but sitting outside the apartment wouldn’t help. The prayer didn’t work either, but I gripped Father Raphael’s rosaries anyway. My key stuck in the apartment door, and I groaned. I jiggled the handle. It didn’t move. I knocked. Twice. Three times. Mom didn’t answer. I knew she went to bed

early these days, but it wasn’t even ten. I pounded louder. Nothing. I gritted my teeth, slamming a hand against the key lodged in the knob. The door finally yielded. The lights were out, and I groped my way inside. “Mom?” My voice echoed, even in the small space. “I’m back.” She didn’t answer. Probably asleep. I turned the corner and tripped over her slipper. My mother lay collapsed upon the hallway floor.

18

RAPHAEL

B enjamin died at seven-thirty in the evening. I made it to the hospice at seven forty-five.

His skin wasn’t even cold when I’d kissed his forehead. The nurses said it happened quickly. That was a lie. The cancer had been eating through him for the past six months. Now he was gone. Welcomed into Heaven and into the loving embrace of our Lord. I had come to confess to Benjamin, but I arrived too late to say goodbye. And my sins would die with him. No other man would understand what I had done. No one would see through the sins and recognize the pain beneath. Only Benjamin would know I hadn’t acted in defiance. I fell because I had no other way to rationalize the darkness inside me. A darkness that split, cracked, and faded in the light of Honor’s touch. She’d kissed me, and I’d felt whole. She’d touched me, and I’d felt healed. She’d offered herself to me, and I’d felt… Something more damning to a priest than just the temptation of lust. Something that would ruin us both. I could confess away the filth of sex, but what stirred deep in me wasn’t so easily cleansed. My first, only, and primary concern had to be to the church. To Christ. To my parish. Anything more, even something as pure and natural as the wrong feeling for the right woman, was a greater betrayal to my collar than what happened on that altar. Even Benjamin would have warned against those feelings.

I stayed with him for a while, but without his voice, without his guidance, it only pained me. I’d lost my mentor. My spiritual and surrogate father. The only man I’d trusted with the truth of my past. I left the hospice and let the nurses and funeral directors handle him. The diocese would arrange the funeral Mass. At least I’d be there. I couldn’t let him go without offering my own final prayer. Benjamin deserved that. He’d tried so hard to help me. It wasn’t his failure. It was mine. I returned home to sit in the dark and quiet. I’d cleaned the house, but I still smelled candied apples. Still saw her outline in my sheets. Imagined her in my kitchen. The forbidden fruit that conquered me wasn’t plucked from a tree, it had been baked in the oven. And before I tossed the chocolate cake away, I had a piece. It was the best cake I’d ever had. And in another world, another time, another life, I might have been able to enjoy it. That slice. More slices. Maybe we always would have had cake after dinner. I had whiskey to drink, but the glass stayed half full as the ice melted. My phone rang after a few hours, close to midnight. The damn phone tree. I imagined they heard the news. Except the phone number wasn’t Judy heralding a charge. It was the hospital. I answered with a rasped greeting. The nurse chattered quickly, the usual for a page to someone in dangerous need. “Father Raphael, we had an admission tonight from your parish.” Not good news, but it rarely was. “Do you need me?” “She’s stabilized now, but it might be good of you to come and give a bit of comfort. Her daughter is here now.” “Who?” “I’m sorry, Father. I’m only relaying the message. The patient was admitted by ambulance. Drug overdose.” My blood drained, cold and useless. Drug overdose? Honor’s mother. Donna.

I swore, grabbing my car keys. “I’ll be right there.” I sped to the hospital. Fortunately, it was late, traffic was light, and the police were without their radar detectors. But nothing would have kept me from reaching Honor. My poor angel. She’d confessed more than just her reservations about her mother. She’d whispered her fears without words. Relapses. Debts. Sicknesses. The loss of her father. Everything wound within her mother’s former addiction, and even a woman as bright and good as Honor couldn’t see past the darkness to forgive what had happened. I rushed into the hospital, and the staff directed me to the ICU’s waiting room. They didn’t know Donna’s condition, but they didn’t call me into her room. That was good news. At least I could deliver that to Honor. I found her sitting alone on a bench in the back of the waiting room, her purse at her left, an uneaten candy bar to her right, and a bottle of Coke at her feet. She hugged her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Tiny. Waiting. Not broken yet. But close. “Honor.” She looked up, her eyes widening as she saw me. Shock stiffened her movements, but she shed her fears and scrambled from the chair. I took her in my arms, clutching her close as her fists twisted in my cassock. Her words muffled in my shoulder. “If you’re here—is she…?” “It’s okay,” I murmured. “I was called because it was a member of my parish, not…” I needed to educate the congregation on when it was appropriate to anoint the sick, but now wasn’t the time. I stroked her hair, held her close, and let her lean against me as her nightmares came to life. “She was on the floor,” Honor whispered. “I walked in. I don’t know how long she had been there. I didn’t answer the phone when she called.” “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” “She needed me.” “And you got her help.” A page rang over the hospital. Honor still held me, burrowing her face against my chest. Her hair bundled over her shoulders, and my rosaries still hung over her

neck. She was warm but trembling. Tense but soft. She fit so perfectly against my body, it was like she was created specifically to nestle within my arms. She tensed, speaking so softly I didn’t know if was her voice or my conscience. “Are you allowed to hold me like this?” I clenched my jaw. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting you go.” In more ways than one. Nothing was wrong with holding her like this unless it meant more to me than a moment of comfort. Maybe that’s what I did. Maybe I rubbed her back to ease the strain in her shoulders. Maybe I leaned down to shelter her from the harsh lights and screeching pages. Maybe I hated to see a member of my congregation in pain. Or maybe I held her because Honor’s fear and sorrow struck through me like a spear to my side. Maybe I held her because I’d do anything to spare her this pain. Just as I’d do anything to see her happy. Smiling. Laughing. I had taken her. Kissed her. Lost myself inside her. But I had nothing to make her happy. That urge endangered us both. Another page. A nurse hurried down the hall. Honor pulled away. At least she had the strength to do it. “Sit,” I said. It came out as an order, another command. I gentled my voice. “Is there anything I can get for you? Are you hungry?” “I can’t eat.” She curled her legs back under her. Shivering. For any other woman, any other parishioner, I wouldn’t have compromised myself. For Honor, my lost and frightened angel, I’d have sacrificed anything. I wrapped an arm over her shoulders and let her rest her head against my shoulder. And the touch damned my heart. “What happened?” I asked. She shook her head. Not yet then. I understood. I had waited with enough anxious

families during these types of problems. I loved the church and my role within in it, but I could do only so much. In the moments after quiet prayer, I was just the same as anyone else waiting for the mercy of the Lord. After ten minutes—and eight hundred and fifteen pounding beats of my heart— she finally spoke. Softly. Pained. “The women at the church saw her taking something the other day.” No one had come to me with that information. “Did they say what it was?” “A pill.” My heart ached. Honor shifted. She nestled closer to me. I allowed her to rest, and she heaved a reluctant breath. “I was at choir practice when they told me. The night…” “In the Mary garden.” “Yeah.” I gritted my teeth. That was the night I let the darkness corrupt me. Maybe if I had fought my desire, I might have seen a woman in pain. One who needed me, her priest and her… Nothing else. Just a priest. “I should have been at home more.” Honor sighed. “I just couldn’t be there with her. Everything’s changed. I lost my home. I left college. I came back to this, and she was so…different.” “I understand.” “We fought this morning. She pulled almost two hundred dollars in cash from the bank account, money we can’t afford to be without.” I recognized those signs. She didn’t need to say anything else. I rubbed her shoulder, and her shudder tore through me. “I came back tonight, and I was upset. I was mad at her. I was mad at myself.” Her voice lowered. “I was mad at you, Father.” That I also understood. “She was passed out on the floor. I couldn’t wake her up. It was just like the times when I was a kid. I’d find her sick. Unresponsive.” She swallowed. “So selfish.” She twisted from me, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to say it. Not while she’s sick.” “It’s okay.” I cupped her cheek. “This was a fear of yours.” “Can…doubt make things happen?” She asked so sincerely, so desperately, I didn’t know how to respond. “Doubt?” “I never believed that she’d stay clean. I always thought this would happen again. I didn’t believe in her, and now I’m just thinking…what if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy?” “It’s not your fault.” “What if it is?” “We want to feel powerful,” I said. “We look for reason and meaning in all things, but you know as well as I do, we have no control over others.” If only I had learned that weeks ago. Honor shrugged. “It’s God’s will?” “I was talking about our own influence. How much we can guide and help another person. We want to protect them. We want to live up to their expectations, and them ours.” I brushed her soft cheek. “Sometimes it can feel like the greatest success or the worst failure, but every person is their own. We can’t control them, but, the lucky ones get to stay with them, support them, love them in whatever decision they make.” She stared at me, shaking her head. “You’re such a mystery, Father Rafe.” “I don’t try to be.” “You have a good soul.” “I doubt that.” “I don’t. I can feel it.” She touched my hand. “And I’m grateful for it.” That innocent touch would heal a thousand wounds to my heart and still cause the final slice that would end it all. Footsteps shuffled into the waiting room. Honor stood, facing the pot-bellied doctor carrying his stethoscope, lab coat, and cup of coffee. “Miss Thomas?” He asked. “I’m Doctor Bartlett. Let’s take a seat.” I whispered to her, leaning close. “I’ll wait just down the hall. Come get me when you need.” “No.” She spoke quickly. “Please. Can you stay?”

It wasn’t the first time a family asked me to stay while the doctor delivered news— good or bad. Whether it was an ill parent, a spouse in a car accident, a child in surgery, or the widowed wife of a soldier delivering their child alone, I had often stayed to help. So why did I feel relieved to know Honor wanted me to stay? She wanted me to help her. To be with her. Doctor Bartlett exhaled as he sat at the nearby table, rubbing his hip as Honor clamored to her seat. He sipped his coffee as if it were his first break all evening. “Well, your mother is a very lucky woman,” he said. Honor didn’t believe him, and she wasted no time. “Was it Oxy or something else? I always knew she’d find a knock-off or something more dangerous.” “Oxy?” Doctor Bartlett tapped the chart in his hand. “I know your mother has an extensive history of substance abuse, but it wasn’t painkillers tonight.” Honor sat back. “Oh God. Please, tell me it wasn’t heroin.” She found my hand under the table. Squeezed. I squeezed back. “Miss Thomas, your mother took too much of her blood pressure medications.” Honor blinked. “And it…causes a high?” I hadn’t expected that. I leaned closer to her. “Honor, the doctor is saying this was an accident.” She didn’t understand. “An accident?” Doctor Bartlett flipped through the charts. “Her prescriptions look similar in size, shape, and color. Tell me, has she experienced any confusion lately? Forgetfulness maybe?” “Yes. She’s…” Honor shrugged. “The drug use scrambled her a bit.” “Has she displayed any behaviors which would lead you to believe she wanted to hurt herself?” Her lip trembled. “No…but we had a f-fight…” I answered for her. “No, Doctor. Donna’s a member of my parish. I didn’t know her when she was sick, but she’s nothing but vivacious and lively now. I never sensed

any emotional distress in our conversations.” Or confessions, though I couldn’t speak of those, even to Honor, even when Donna confessed her every sin to clear her soul so she could finally be a good enough mother to her daughter. The doctor nodded. “Most likely, she didn’t realize she took her dose for the day. Or she assumed it was a different pill. Miss Thomas, does she take her medication at night?” “Yes. Before bed.” “Then I believe you found her in time. She’s still under right now. We’re keeping her in the ICU tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll move her to a regular room just for observation.” “She’s…okay?” “We’ll monitor her through the night, take EKGs and other toxicology screens, but she is stable and should be fine.” He gathered his stethoscope and coat. “I’d recommend going home for the night. Your mother will be sleeping, and you can come back in the morning during visiting hours. Once she’s out of the ICU, you can stay as long as you wish.” Honor didn’t move. I shook the doctor’s hand for her and thanked him on behalf of the family. He bustled off, downing the rest of the coffee before answering a page in a brisk run. My angel stared at the table before covering her face. “It wasn’t Oxy. Oh, God.” I rubbed her back. “It’s good news, Honor.” “But I told the paramedics, the doctors when we got here…I kept saying it’d be Oxy or painkillers. For all I know, they spent all that time on the wrong diagnosis. If something had happened—” “Nothing happened.” I knelt beside her chair. “Nothing. She’s okay. She’ll be okay.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked them away with a grunt. “I can’t believe I thought…am I a horrible person?” I pulled her into a hug. “Absolutely not.” “But I assumed the worst.” “And now it’s time to start counting blessings. The worst has passed.” I took her hand. “Let me get you home.”

“Are you sure?” No. I had the phone tree for this. The women’s group. Emergency contacts to take care of my flock when it was inappropriate for me to take that step. But I couldn’t leave her. Not now. Not when she needed me. I’d already tarnished her soul. I wasn’t leaving her with a broken heart.

19

HONOR

I welcomed Father Raphael into my apartment.

This was the one place I hadn’t wanted him to see, even if it was by his letter of recommendation that we could afford the one-bedroom apartment in a bad neighborhood. If he cared, he said nothing. He closed the door behind us and waited for the moment I’d speak. I didn’t know what to say. I had visited his home, but so had most of the parish. But here? The apartment was private. He could see into our kitchen, read from the stack of overdue bills, or study the mattress in the corner I’d adopted as my room. This was a humbling experience. Twice now, we had been together, as physically intimate as two people could be. But this was different. I let him into my life now. I feared the day he’d leave it. I moved my course books from the couch, marking my place with a pencil before closing the covers. I’d have to remember to email my professor. I couldn’t go to class tomorrow. I sat. He didn’t. It was probably for the best. “Your summer classes?” Father Raphael read the book’s cover. Race, Class, Gender and Sexuality in U.S. Law and Society. “How are they?” “Expensive.” No need to lie. “I wanted to finish my degree. I think I was being selfish.” “Why?” “Mom needs more help than I’ve been giving.” I lowered my gaze. “I don’t think

I’m a good daughter.” He took the chair at my side. “You put a lot of pressure on yourself.” “But it’s true. I know I haven’t been a good person. Why do you think I’ve spent so much time at the church?” His eyebrow arched. “Maybe you ought to answer that.” Another damning mark on my soul. “It wasn’t just to spend time with you, Father. I wanted to stay away from here. From her.” “Why?” “I’ve told you why.” “No. You haven’t.” I should have offered him tea or coffee or something. That’s what people did with visitors. We never had visitors when I was young. No family. No friends. It was amazing Mom survived as long as she did. “Let me get you something to drink,” I said. He took my hand, preventing me from escaping. “Honor, I’m fine. I want you to answer the question.” “What question?” “Why are you avoiding your mother?” He leaned forward, watching me, listening to me. Was everything about this man so intense? Even when he comforted, he demanded so much. I met his gaze, and the thrill almost blinded me to everything but the damning bit of white on his collar. It strangled us both. Him in his responsibilities, me in my own feelings. “It’s not that I avoided her,” I said. “No?” “I just…I didn’t have faith in her. I thought for so long she’d relapse and prove everyone right. I couldn’t watch her destroy her body and mind again, not after everything that happened. It scared me so much, I just assumed that was why she collapsed. I told the EMTs, the nurses, the doctors to look for Oxy. And it wasn’t. What kind of person does that make me?” He studied me. “What kind of person do you think you are? What do you hope to be?”

“A realist.” “It’s not that great, I can tell you that much.” “Well I don’t feel very idealistic. I remember the past sixteen years. I know what happened, and I saw how hard it was for her to stop. Her addiction didn’t end when Dad died. She finally kicked it when she went to prison for vehicular manslaughter. Dad couldn’t enable her then, and she couldn’t get a fix. She sobered up alone and widowed in a tiny jail cell.” My words embittered, broken with a quiet whimper. The momentary weakness trembled my lip. “I didn’t visit her in prison,” I said. “I couldn’t. I left after the funeral, and I went on with my life. I tried so hard to forget my own mother—my own sick mother— because I couldn’t look at her anymore. I felt nothing for her but grief and loss and this…this…” “Tell me, Honor.” “Anger.” I pointed to the apartment. The wretched walls became cells of my own guilt. “You asked me why I didn’t want you to write the letter of recommendation? It’s the same reason I didn’t want my mother getting groceries from the food pantry. She doesn’t deserve help!” I covered my mouth, silencing the awful, terrible, damning truth. Father Raphael and I might have committed the worst of our sins together, but speaking those words felt worse than our forbidden relationship. We didn’t share this sin. This pain came from me. Inside me. Dark and secret and absolutely consuming me in a terrible rage. The truth ate at me. It festered, and those awful feelings would forever destroy any relationship I’d have with my mother. Whoever she was. The words poured from me. I didn’t look at Father Raphael, and I wished desperately for the confessional screen between us, the stark imposition of the church, the curse of the saints as they judged me. This confession shredded my soul, and I wasn’t sure I deserved forgiveness. “I blame her for everything. Her addiction ruined our lives. I never had a mother. Because of her we lost our homes and our friends and our families.” I met his gaze, losing myself in the comforting dark of his eyes. “Because of her my father is

dead.” I stood, tossing aside a box of empty tissues and rubbing my face raw with a paper towel instead. I hic-upped. Once. Twice. Too many times. He came to my side and reached for a glass in the cabinet, as if he already knew the layout to our apartment. Or maybe it was so small and pathetic we only had one place where we could keep our glassware. He filled the cup and held it for me. I took the glass from his hands before I sipped, before I committed any more blasphemy. The water was cool. It helped to ease some of the ache. Not all. “She’s not that woman anymore.” The cup trembled in my hands. “No matter what I feel or remember or hate…she’s changed, Father. Completely. Totally. And even when I think she’s relapsed...” I pitched it in the sink. “She’s still sober.” “You must talk with her.” “I knew you’d say that.” He shrugged, the dark cassock and collar taunting me. “Comes with the territory. And it helps. It works. Both of you still suffer from that horrible past. She needs to know how you feel.” “Does she?” I swallowed. “She spent sixteen years in the hell of addiction. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?” “That’s up to you.” “That’s not what I asked.” “I can’t tell you what to do.” “You used to, Father.” It wasn’t fair to turn the spite on him, but he was more patient than me. “And that’s my own sin, Honor.” I looked away. “So what am I supposed to do?” “Forgive her.” “How?” “I can’t tell you that either.” “Well, open your book!” I didn’t mean to raise my voice. “Quote some more

scripture at me like you always do. Tell me what Jesus would do. Act like a priest!” He stiffened. “I am a priest, Honor.” Yeah, and that was another problem I had yet to face. I pushed past him, collapsing on the couch. I pulled my knees to my chest and lowered my gaze. “Confronting her feels selfish.” And confronting him was worse. “It’s not selfish to want to heal,” he said. “At the expense of another?” “Ideally.” He circled before me, kneeling at my feet to look in my eyes. “You’d heal each other. Many people in this world hurt, Honor. And many more carry that burden with them. The more severe the wound, the more likely it is to infect others. Whether they intend it or not, that pain will hurt the innocent people who surround them. Ones who don’t deserve that misery.” “Father—” “I wouldn’t have you bear my pain, Honor. There’s no reason a soul as lovely as yours should be tarnished with something that vulgar.” “Even if I want to carry it?” I whispered. “Even if I could help?” “You can’t, my angel.” “Because you won’t let me in.” He didn’t answer. I knew he wouldn’t. Somehow we could strip each other bare, kiss, touch, take each other in the most animalistic and primal ways, and yet we couldn’t trust each other with the truth aching our hearts. He hadn’t moved, and I reached for him, brushing my fingers along the hard line of his jaw. Lower. To his collar. He stiffened in more ways than one as I touched it. “Why did you become a priest, Rafe?” The words pulled from him, reluctantly. Heavy. “I was looking for reason in the world. A way to heal. Some hope.”

“Did you find it?” “Now I did.” My chest tightened as he kissed my hand. But he released me almost as soon as his lips graced my skin. It wasn’t fair. Every beat of my heart separated me from him. “What are you afraid of?” I asked. “Things that have already happened.” “What things?” He shook his head. “Too many to count. The world is a vicious, repetitive cycle, Honor. And it’s claimed you because of me. I fear too much what I’ve done to you.” “And I’m blessed that it happened.” I leaned forward, hoping for a kiss. Praying that he’d just listen to me. “I’m blessed that I found you, Rafe.” He stood. It was the first time he pushed me away. The first time he ran. He didn’t trust his pride, his faith, or his ability to deny me. “I’m not the right man for you.” “What if you’re the one I need? What if I’m the one—” He silenced me with a glance. “There is a temptation greater than lust, my angel. And I would not challenge it. Not now. Not ever.” “Why?” “Because I’m not strong enough to fight it.” He shook his head. “And I’m not the man who can explore it with you.” The broken parts of me ached. He looked away, his expression drawn in the same remorse and somber pain that beat in my chest. “I should go,” he said. “Don’t.” “Honor.” “Please. Can you stay? Just for a little longer?” Was it selfish to admit this weakness? “I don’t want to be alone.” Not now. Not ever again. But even I wasn’t foolish enough to dream of the possibilities of what I asked. I lost my innocence to a priest. I lost my state of grace in the wicked games we

played and desires we tempted. But I also lost my heart to him. And that was the one gift I couldn’t reclaim. No confessions would heal it. No prayers would save it. And no love would warm it. Father Raphael hesitated at the door. After a long moment, he nodded. He returned to the couch and welcomed me into his arms as I cradled against the warmth of his body and strength of his chest. And he held me there. Protected. Safe. Honored. I never should have asked for such a wonderful and beautiful moment, but it was mine, and it was all I would ever have of us. We didn’t kiss. We didn’t make love. But still I sinned. I dared to hope for a man who didn’t belong to me, and I imagined a life he couldn’t offer. But I slept in his arms, safe and comforted. And loving him became my greatest sin.

20

RAPHAEL

B enjamin’s funeral was a joyous event, celebrated ten days after his death.

Priests from our area and the adjoining dioceses helped to honor him. We traveled to the cathedral in the city where the pews packed were with those he’ d helped during his ministry. Standing room only. Benjamin had blessed so many, and the faithful came to welcome him into the arms of the Lord. But I couldn’t pray with them. I couldn’t speak any words. Forty of my brother priests circled his casket and the altar, and I’d never felt more alone. I suffered a new and terrible type of pain. I’d surrounded myself in the church. I’d given my life to help the thriving community. And when I preached, I spoke the same prayers which had graced the lips of men for centuries. And yet loneliness chained me to the same altar at which I worshiped. Prayer for the soul was good and just. Prayer for the touch of a woman was forbidden. I was meant to imagine a life of eternity and glory when I died, but first I had to suffer through long nights of still silences, alone in an empty house. We laid Benjamin to rest, and he was surrounded by hundreds of his faithful friends. But at the moment he died, when he took his final breath? I hadn’t been there to hold his hand. I’d never forgive myself. I declined invitations to join my fellow priests for a dinner to honor our friend. But I didn’t want to remember Benjamin. Didn’t want to think of the day he welcomed me into his home. Or I’d remember what came before. And I fought every day, every night, every beat of my heart, and my every cursed breath to forget my life before Benjamin saved me.

I went home and sat in the dark. At midnight, she knocked on the back door. I knew it was her. No one else would visit so late. The door opened, but Honor stilled as she looked at me. No cassock. No collar. Just a t-shirt and sweats over an aching body. The parish could survive without me for a time. I took the funeral and the next day off and planned to sleep away my misery. Honor clutched a cake carrier. She stepped inside but handed it to me with an averted glance. “Pineapple upside-down cake.” She prevented me from popping the lid. “Maybe… wait until I’m gone.” Prudent. I set the cake on the kitchen counter, but Honor didn’t follow. She twisted her fingers in the folds of her dress. Concert black. She hadn’t changed from the funeral. St. Cecilia’s choir sang for the Mass. I didn’t remember hearing a word. “I found something in the church,” she said. “Took a picture.” She offered me her cell, but I knew what she had found. I didn’t bother with the picture on her phone, not when I had the real one in my living room. I grabbed the frame resting on the end table and handed it to her. The photo was of me at age fourteen—one of the first pictures I had taken of me where I actually smiled. I stood next to Benjamin, posing with him in his new robes, bishop purple instead of priest black. We both had copies of the photo. The women’s group must have made a collage of his life to put in the church. They included this moment. Smart. It was one of the greatest days in both our lives. “Bishop Polito?” Honor stroked the photograph. Her finger drew slowly over the image of me. “You said he was your mentor.” I wasn’t ready for this conversation. I took the frame and sat on the couch. “He meant more than that.” I gave her nothing else, but how long could I deny this confession? Honor approached, gently sitting on the edge of the coffee table to face me. Relentless woman. She shrugged. “In the homily…” Honor waited to for me to speak. I didn’t. The bishop presiding over the Mass said many beautiful things about Benjamin. None of it personal, just words and empty

platitudes about his commitment to god, his ministry, the accomplishments in his life. Nothing about his kindness. Nothing about his patience. His insight. How he could take a boy, broken and lost, and prove to the unlovable that good people did exist. That not everyone would hurt him. That life was more than suffering and pain. But Honor already knew that. She heard enough from the homily to slip through my mind, my soul. What did it matter now? She was already in my heart. “Bishop Polito took on a ward fifteen or so years ago,” she said. “They said he raised the boy on his own. Put him through minor seminary high school. Helped him to take his Holy Orders and become a priest.” I nodded. “It’s true.” “It was you.” “Yes.” “But you said you had a family.” She frowned at me. Did she think I lied, or did the truth frighten her more? “You were the youngest of eight?” “I was, but that was a different part of my life. That was where I came from. Benjamin was my real family. He took me in. Helped me, though God only knows how he did it. Without him…” My voice faded. “I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d have become. I doubt I’d even be alive.” My gentle angel listened with glistening eyes. She had questions. Many of them. But this wasn’t a conversation for her. I’d taken enough of her innocence. I couldn’t corrupt her with my past. “He died the night Mom was in the hospital,” she said. “Yes.” “And you stayed with me. Until morning.” A sleepless night I’d never forget. We hadn’t kissed. Didn’t have sex. Just rested in each other’s arms. Those few hours meant more to me than any of the breathless, passionate moments when I had moved inside her. It was a warning, a sign, which wouldn’t go unheeded. Honor shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me your friend—your father—had died?” “Your mother was sick.” “And he…”

“I wanted to help you that night. That’s what Ben taught me to do. Help others. Care for them. Show them the kindness the world hadn’t shown me. He would have wanted me to comfort you rather than mourn him.” “Did he know…what happened between us?” “No.” The pain struck too close. “We ran out of time.” The lie hurt. More than the mournful realization of his death. More than any of the times I’d visited in the hospice and watched him waste away. Ten days had passed since he died, and my heart hadn’t healed. I couldn’t even speak his name without suffering the hollowness in my chest. I knew why. I deceived myself and dishonored his memory. “That’s not true.” I bowed my head. “I told myself—again and again—that I would confess to him. I had the opportunities, and he realized something weighed on me. I could have confessed...I didn’t.” “Why?” The words choked. I forced them out. “I didn’t want him to see what I’d become.” Honor leaned close. Her sweet voice comforted and quieted the shame that welled within me. “Father Rafe…you are not a monster. You haven’t hurt me.” Her words gentled. She drew the pain from me as if she pulled poison from a bite. “But someone hurt you.” I stayed silent, content to let the dark quiet suffocate me. It was better than admitting the truth. Better than suffering from those memories. Better than becoming what I feared. Honor sighed, mourning me instead of the dead. “What happened to you? Something hurt you. Something changed you. Please let me in.” “What if you don’t like what you find?” “And what if I can help you?” She couldn’t. No one could. Nothing helped. Not prayer or fasting, blessings or ordinations, a busy life in the church or all the responsibilities and souls that came with it.

The only way to survive was to hide it. I knocked her hand away. It offended her, and her pain hurt me more than I realized. Honor’s voice was a whisper. “You fear intimacy.” Close. So close. The words sickened me. “No. I fear more abuse.” It had been fifteen years since I’d admitted what happened to me. Only one man knew besides God, and it took two years after Benjamin adopted me in before I could reveal it to him. I said it once, and then I never spoke of it again. Maybe I should have confronted it, but Benjamin gave me a new life of safety, comfort, and love. Why would I have reopened my wounds after they finally stopped bleeding? But I hadn’t healed. I scarred. The cuts were too deep, and every nerve was still exposed. Benjamin was gone. The memories returned. And I couldn’t fight both my desires and my past. I don’t know why I spoke, but I wrenched the truth from my soul. “My father hurt me,” I said. “It started when I was young and ended the day I ran away.” Honor held her breath, like she feared to make a sound in case it’d silence me. But the filth rose to the surface now. I couldn’t hide it. I couldn’t avoid it. “Emotional abuse. Physical. Sexual.” I shuddered. “My father was as cruel as he was perverted. My brothers and sisters suffered too, but not as badly as I did. One night, I didn’t know if he wanted to beat me or just…” I couldn’t say the word. “He did both. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the worst. I thought he was going to kill me. I hoped he would.” “Rafe…” “That was the night I knew I had to get away. I couldn’t let him do those things to me. I couldn’t stay and hope to be saved. I didn’t wait for my bones to heal or the bruises to fade. As soon as I could roll out of my bed, I escaped.” I gritted my teeth. “And I never looked back.” Honor dropped from the coffee table to kneel at my feet. She took my hands, squeezing and warming them. It was all she could do, and it was all I needed, but I shook her away.

“The church welcomed me. Ben helped me…recover. I wasn’t a healthy teenager. I suffered. I self-harmed. I had…very destructive behaviors. He took me in at thirteen, knowing I was lost, and he saved me. The church saved me. Here, I felt what real love was. I joined the communities and experienced a real family. It was a blessing. I studied to become a priest because…it was the only good thing I ever saw in life. I wanted to help others. I wanted to show them the safety and kindness I found in the church.” I could have stopped then. Honor was satisfied and my soul unburdened. But it wasn’t enough to admit my sins. If I wanted the pain to stop, I had to examine why. The cause of the sin, not just the action. Even if it destroyed me. My voice hardened. I’d never voiced the truth, not even to Benjamin. “I became a priest because I wanted to live a celibate life. I thought…it’d protect me.” Honor lowered her eyes. The guilt dulled her spirit, and I wouldn’t tolerate it. She’d done nothing wrong. “I don’t regret our nights together,” I said. “I just wanted to protect you from…me. I always thought sex was something vulgar, destructive, and sadistic. What we did, I did to you.” She looked up, her voice soft and steady. “And was it as vile as you had thought it’d be?” No. Not in the least. Her body, her soul, her touch had been a glorious, tender blessing. “Did I hurt you?” I whispered. “Honestly, Honor. I need to know.” “You’ve never once hurt me.” I ached to believe her, but it was the first time I feared hope would be a sin. “Honor, I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you. I imagined you beneath me. Impaled on me. Serving me.” Her smile was too warm. “And I imagined you above me. Within me. I wanted to serve you…that was my pleasure.” No. No, no, no. She didn’t understand. “You’re twisting my words,” I said.

“I’m not. You think you’re corrupted.” She shrugged. “It’s not a sin to want someone. To want that connection with another person.” “But I had such dark and terrible urges. I had to fight them.” “Were they dark? Did you honestly want to hurt me?” “Never. No.” The thought revolted me, but so did my desires. “But the things I’d have done to your body…” “I wanted you to do that to me. I wanted to experience it with you.” It couldn’t be right. I didn’t look at her, fearing the images I’d see. The memory of her naked body was almost as frightening as the kindness of her smile. “Father.” How was her voice so comforting? “You told me we had to deny temptation so we could fight our sins and test our faith. But you weren’t battling temptation, were you? You were hating yourself. You desired me, and you thought that meant you’d abuse me…just like you’d been hurt.” I gritted my teeth. Hell was guilt. Hell was shame. Hell was admitting a truth no man should have uttered. “I wanted to prove that I was stronger than my father,” I said. “That I could be tempted, but that I had the strength to walk away. I wanted to know that it was possible to desire and lust, but not become a monster like him. I had to know I could deny myself those perversions…and, in the end, I couldn’t.” Honor touched my cheek. Why didn’t I push her away? “That’s because what we have isn’t a perversion. It’s not pain or abuse. It hasn’t shamed me or hurt me or ruined me.” “What was it?” “Amazing.” She leaned in close. “Perfect. Something that was always meant to happen.” Her lips met mine. Soft. Tender. Loving. “Have you forgiven him?” she asked. Such a simple question which was only answered in a lifetime of hatred. Benjamin had asked the same question. I had no answer for him then. I couldn’t imagine the truth now. I clenched my jaw. “No. He molded me into something I hate. He does not leave the

guilty unpunished; he punishes the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation. I fear my father’s sins as much as I fear my own.” “Why?” I closed my eyes. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.” “You haven’t hurt me.” “Yet.” Honor’s hand wove through my hair. A touch so intimate and warm I was amazed at how much she healed in the grace of her fingers. “You can’t fear your desires.” “And I can’t trust them.” “Why?” “Because I only want you, my angel. My body, my blood, my soul wants you. That is my true confession, Honor. I would whisper a thousand prayers for a chance to experience the miracle of your kiss.” “It’s no miracle.” She stared at me, so beautiful and honest. “It’d be a sin to deny what we feel. What we are together.” “What are we?” “Healed.” I hardened, lost in the grace of her words. I could fight my urges. I could deny my instincts. I could hate myself, my thoughts, and my soul. But I couldn’t refuse her. My body craved her touch, and my heart begged for her comforts, her kindness, and the words we could never whisper. I caressed her cheek. Her mouth parted in a breathless sigh, and I stroked my thumb over her soft lips. She kissed me before she revealed too much. “Then let’s sin, my angel,” I whispered. “And we’ll both be healed in that beautiful darkness.”

21

RAPHAEL

H er kiss burned like fire and tasted of forbidden fruit.

And it felt like something good. Holy.

She acted as though I were fragile. As if I would crumble if she touched my chest or that I’d lose myself if she parted her lips too much. But I never feared for myself. My control faltered near her. I never trusted myself with her innocence, purity, and submission. But she did. She gave herself to me, without care for the sins I’d committed or the scars that shaped me. I kissed her, softly and with a deliberate reverence for the gift she promised me. Honor smiled. She mewed over my lips, but she wanted more. She tugged my hand and led me to the shadows in my bedroom. I hadn’t slept there for three weeks, not since that night I had first taken her. Was it guilt or joy that kept her in my memories? Her scent lingered on my pillows. I still felt her in my sheets. And any time I closed my eyes, I saw her beautiful dark curves cast upon my ivory sheets. Was it the devil’s torment? Or was it a secret blessing? I kissed her, even as she pulled me onto the bed. She encouraged me to climb over her. Dangerous woman. Her legs opened for me. I followed, a man possessed, to nestle within her softness. How could she trust me this much? Didn’t she realize how badly I strained, how her

simple devotion hardened me in lust and vile thought? “All summer, I’ve lived in shame,” she whispered. “I can’t feel guilty for wanting you anymore.” “Wanting you is my temptation, my angel.” “Save me, Father.” Her lips met mine. “I would sacrifice my eternity to spend a lifetime with you.” God, help me. With a single breathy whisper, this woman became more than temptation to me. She became my prayer. A reason to live. The moment of my salvation. Honor arched to kiss me. She offered more than I was willing to take, and I still gorged myself on all that was her. I pulled off her shirt, tossing it somewhere beyond my bed. She helped, wiggling her hips and slipping from her skirt and panties. Every brush of her skin hardened me. Dark velvet against my calloused hands. Why would a woman this perfect damn herself for me? My desires tormented my thoughts. Would I praise her? Or would I have her stripped? Rutted. Used. Honor smiled at me. Her lips twitched in shy and lovely gratitude. She surrendered to my touch. And I’d have spent days in prayer to understand why. “Don’t worry,” she said. “This isn’t something to fear. This is us. Me and you. Together.” I let her move me, taking a kiss as she rolled me onto my back. Her bra fell away, and she angled herself over my hips. I clenched a fist before my fingers curled with the instinct to seize her, twist her, pin her to the bed where she belonged. Instead I savored how my angel posed over me in regal grace. I leaned forward only so she could remove my shirt. Her fingertips tickled my chest. I’d never liked being touched, but Honor’s caress was nothing to fear. She traced my muscles and summoned a raw heat inside me with every press of her fingers. I tensed, and she was there. Over me. Kissing my shoulders, my neck, my lips. I closed my eyes. “Do you trust me?” “Always.”

Heaven. “Why?” Honor’s breath was warm against my skin. “Because you are a good man. You are a good priest.” She pulled away only to stare into my eyes. “And because I know you have a good soul. I’m not afraid of the thoughts you have. I’m only afraid that I won’t be able to share them with you.” “I’ve never confided in anyone like this.” “I may be your first…but I hope I’m not your last. You deserve every kindness you give to others.” She smiled, lovely and bright. That only made it worse—the need throbbed inside me. Honor wiggled her hips over mine. She pressed against my cock as it ached for her. I regretted that I wore my sweats. Every shudder that tore through me delighted her. She teased her body against mine. Her head fell back, and her hair caressed her chest. The dark curls hid her budded nipples from my view. The tease enthralled me. Honor moved to pleasure herself, to grind that secret part of her against my hardness. I doubted she knew how her shimmying body and parted lips burned me. She danced on me. My Salome, for whom I’d promise the world and all its sins if she enthralled me with another grind of her hips and brush of her hand. I couldn’t help myself. I cupped her breasts to see more, feel more, touch more of her sacred skin. My thumbs rolled over her nipples. Honor flinched—not in pain or shame. She wanted this. And me. Such a delicate creature, but powerful. Forbidden. Her curves tempted me to do worse than touch, and yet she thrust her breast into my hand and sighed as I rolled the aching bud in my fingers. This caress wasn’t meant to test her willpower. I wanted to give her pleasure. I longed for her to accept it, surrender to it. She tensed, eager for release already. And I could give it to her. My desire for her was as dangerous as sin, but she needed no protection from me. I worshipped her spirit. I adored her body. I’d bless every curve with the brush of my fingertips. For a chance to earn her devoted whisper, I’d submit just as she had surrendered. Body. Will. Soul.

My hands drifted low, and her breath caught with a smile. She angled her hips to press against my cock, and every wiggle gave her a thrill of pleasure. Once, I believed this would be an abomination, that she would please herself and it would desecrate her in some way. Never again. Her eyes fluttered closed as the rough cotton teased her slickening body. She wetted for me. I felt her heat and imagined what softness awaited me. Every arch forward rewarded her with a groan of delight, and every retreat of her hips shuddered her breath. She deserved more than the bunched fabric of my pants against that heavenly secret. My fingers threaded between her slick petals. Honor’s shiver surged adrenaline through my body. She braced herself against the heat of my hand. I stared into her eyes and teased that swollen, delicate, beautiful nub. “Father…” Her words gasped between the strikes of pleasure. “I want you.” And I wanted her. Hard and gentle. Fast and slow. Upon her back and on her knees. Was it possible to both praise and destroy this woman? Could I adore and desecrate her in the same touch, the same breath? She wetted for me, readied and begging for my invasion. My mounting. My love making? I feared taking her too hard, just as I worried I’d never take her enough. Honor soothed me. She tugged the waistband of my pants low. My cock sprang free, thick and vulgar and throbbing hard enough to stand. The weight and size of it thudded against her slit. I shouldn’t have taken pride in the length. I’d impale her if she did what I prayed she’d do. What I needed her to do. This desire had to be dark and terrible. It was too powerful for anything good.

My cock would pierce inside of her. Siphon her breath and strength and rend through her. Beautiful innocence teased the devil in me. I wouldn’t survive denying myself the pleasure. She tugged too gently over my shaft, still unsure of what I liked, the pressure I needed. My little temptress had no idea what she did to me. She straddled me, unaware of the fires that would burn us both. It didn’t scare her. Not my rasped breath. Not my fingers curling within the blankets. Not even my pulsing cock, threatening her most vulnerable softness. Honor moved before I could toss her away or pin her down. She rubbed the head of my cock against her silken folds. The heat nearly seared my flesh and bones away, revealing the aching soul beneath. “I want this,” she whispered. “I want you inside of me. Taking me. Overwhelming me.” And she could have it. She lowered over me, and her tightness welcomed my length. Slowly. So slowly. She eased down upon me, every inch which invaded her a declaration of trust and forgiveness, desire and understanding. I filled her. She enveloped me. I shuddered. She groaned. And within an eternity of moments, breaths, kisses, and shivers, I was sheathed inside her. Her body clenched, but her grimace wasn’t of pain or shame. Her lips parted, and she whispered my name as her hips moved a gentle inch. I would have come then. That soft, forbidden slickness trembled over my cock. She groaned, moving once more, just enjoying how I pushed through her, how she stretched over me. She glided only an inch or two along my length, but shivered in a quick, fierce, and desperate response. “Show me.” I didn’t recognize the strain in my voice.

Seize or give. Bless or defile. “Pleasure yourself, my angel.” Give yourself to me. Teach me. Absolve me. Honor leaned over me, her hands on my chest and her hair falling before her face. She tensed, but she didn’t allow herself that peak. She kissed me. Her words murmured between parted lips and flicked tongues. “Together.” She dared to take more of my thickness. “We’ll take our pleasure only from each other.” She moved against me in such passion. Every arch of her back and grind of her hips took more of me within her—by her own will, at her own pace. Her breathing quivered, and I tensed as her fingers gripped me. Not to hold me down. Not to pin me. Not to take. Because she needed to feel me. She depended on my strength to keep her upright. Her slit wetted, and my cock slid deeper, harder, faster. She groaned my name and clutched at her bouncing breasts as that delight and trust and connection unified our bodies. I held her hips and squeezed. She whispered a deliciously tempting prayer for a mercy I wasn’t ready to give. “Do you know the story of Lilith?” My voice growled, low in wonderful agony. “It’s old Jewish folklore. Lilith was Adam’s first wife.” “First?” I held her tighter. Controlled her. She fell onto my chest. I could do so much to this body. My hips arched, and I buried in her deeper. She groaned my name as I slammed her harder, lifted her higher. “The story says she refused to submit to Adam.” A thrill teased me. “She wanted to stay on top.” Honor’s soft words panted in desperation. “Who wouldn’t?” “Tell me honestly.” I gritted my teeth and crashed her hard against me. “Do you trust me, my angel?”

She didn’t hesitate, and her answer moaned as she took my cock harder within her perfect slit. “Yes, Father. I trust you.” Then it was time to trust myself. I pulled her from my cock. Honor knew what need possessed me. She willingly rested on the bed beside me, drawing up to her hands and knees under the guidance of my trembling hand. Glory and sin warred over her curves. She glistened with sweat and baited me for a bite, a kiss, a touch. I moved behind her. Every twisted fantasy and wicked desire that possessed my mind was born of this image. An angel upon her knees. A woman submitting to her man. A passion and pleasure bound within the depraved lusts of a sinner. I asked her to trust me. I had no right to demand it of her, not when I didn’t trust myself. But I readied myself at her hips. I kissed between her shoulders, down her elegant back, to the curve of her thighs. Every primal need roared through me. God, forgive me. I pressed my cock against her folds. I once believed this would become the destruction of my faith. The rage, fear, uncertainty, and sin burned away—sins purged in the absolution and truth I found within her. Honor arched as I mounted her, her mew a timid tremble and the milking clench of her heat a dizzying gratitude. I sheathed within her. Entirely. Completely. This was pleasure. Not a conquering of one body, but a surrender of both lovers in amazement, worship, and overwhelming desire. Lust transformed, lost in the flames of passion, not hellfire. I didn’t claim. I didn’t take. I didn’t fuck. We were one. A single body, mind, soul, heart. Everything good and pure I had

preached and taught and lived to experience, made whole in a union of our bodies. Peace. Forgiveness. She trembled, and I took her in my arms. I no longer forced her onto her hands and knees. She joined with me, my arm over her waist. I thrust within her, again and again, earning a sweet cry and the warning tension which ripped through her. It mirrored my own. Every invasion welcomed. Every intrusion forgiven. Every pleasure gifted. I lost myself in her tightness, and she found me in a beautiful promise. She blessed me with her delirious cries. Whispered promises I couldn’t reciprocate. Together we suffered and sinned and worship. We built to that beautiful moment when our hearts ceased to beat, when everything crashed upon the singularity of pleasure. A mythical peace. The crash of sin and sorrow and passion and wonder that destroyed our separate souls to create one. She came for me, and her pleas sighed and begged for my own release. I was already there. With her. In unison with her. I caught her in my arms before she collapsed. We both fell to the bed, and I pinned her between me and our sweet oblivion. She trusted me. Her body so delicate and holy. I thrust within her completely to hear her moan, to savor the tensing waves of her pleasure. Her orgasm stole her breath and words, and I knew my place in the world was to protect her in this moment of pure surrender. My ultimate sin became a glorious conversion. Nothing shamed me, nothing bound me, and I released my soul within her. How had I become so blessed? Her thoughts, her words, her very touch purified what had been ruined. In her arms, I wasn’t broken. She made me new. Whole. Her whisper spoke to me like Heaven’s sigh, and I was the one renewed within her gifted virtue. I lost myself within her for too long. I jetted until I was spent but never softened. I stayed within her and kissed her neck, whispered every honesty, and accepted pleasure for the first time in my life. Only once my body burned too hot, only when I feared I’d be turned into a pillar of salt for staring at someone so holy, did I pull away.

I collapsed upon the sheets. She nestled at my side, cradled against me, head resting upon my chest. I brushed her hair and rested in the quiet comfort of our silent admissions. But it wouldn’t last. This peace was only the first complication—the most damning and mournful sin of all. Honor spoke first. Her words hollowed like in solemn prayer. I recognized the sound. She begged for answers to questions she never wished to ask. “What do we do now?” My poor angel. “Nothing,” I said. “You know how I feel about you.” “Don’t.” I stared at the ceiling, hating the darkness, the walls, the truth that bound me so far from her arms. “Don’t speak it.” “Why?” “I didn’t tell you.” She stiffened, but I didn’t let her move from me. I savored a false warmth and forced a moment of quiet peace that was little more than a lie. “I spoke with the bishop after the funeral mass. Benjamin had helped to keep me in a single parish, to teach me family, community, and togetherness. Now that he’s dead, no one is petitioning the diocese on my behalf.” Honor shook her head. “I don’t understand.” “The diocese is moving me across the state at the end of summer.”

22

HONOR

I never thought I’d refuse salvation.

When I was younger, I prayed. When I was older, I questioned. And when I became an adult… Faith meant everything and nothing to me. It strangled me. It gave me hope, but it stole it just as easily. I believed more in disappointment than miracles now, and the faith that remained broke my heart as much as it healed it. I curled up on the couch at home. The sun had set, but I didn’t bother to move the homework from my lap or turn on a light. I didn’t want to do anything but stare into the shadows and curse the very faith that made me the woman I was and the angel he saw. And it hurt. Worse than the fear of sin or the ache of temptation. Hell wasn’t a place of fire, brimstone, and torment. It was this. Loneliness. Realizing that the one thing I wanted was the one thing the Lord wouldn’t provide. Father Raphael wasn’t a man. He was a priest. That distinction, that damned white collar, tethered him to something bigger, more important, more blessed than me. It wasn’t right to hate it. Or him. Or myself. But without an enemy to fight or a hope for a prayer, I had nothing. And so I sat in the dark, waiting for answers, hoping for a sign. And all He gave me was the scratch of the keys in the front door. Mom bustled into the house carrying a load of groceries. The bag smacked on the kitchen counter, and she flipped on a light.

We both flinched. “Oh, Mother Mary and Joseph.” Mom grabbed her chest and tutted at me. “Honor Maria! You’re gonna give your momma a heart attack—a real one this time.” I removed the keys she left in the lock and handed them to her. “Sorry.” “Why were you sitting in the dark?” “Must have fallen asleep.” It wasn’t a bad lie. She tucked the keys into her purse and unloaded the bag. She’d kept to the list. Apples, milk, bread, peanut butter. But she snuck a smile and offered me a big chocolate chunk cookie, wrapped up from the bakery. “Your favorite.” She winked. “I remember your Dad always used to get you those cookies. Big as your head.” “You remember that?” “Lord, the sweets that man shoved into you. Always trying to make you smile.” Mom put the groceries away, talking mostly to herself. “It’s a wonder you didn’t grow up with more meat on your bones. You should have been my own little sugar dumpling.” Maybe. Mom didn’t remember it all. I fed myself mostly—ham sandwiches, a handful of carrot sticks, a can of soup. Most nights I didn’t want to disturb her, and she was passed out by eight. That’s when Dad could finally rest for the day, after working, cleaning the house, and taking care of her. “Yeah.” I nodded. “Definitely had a sweet tooth.” Mom unloaded a rotisserie chicken from a second bag with a sheepish shrug. “They just smelled so good. And I didn’t know if you’d be here for dinner.” I had nowhere else to go. “I’m staying.” “You didn’t come home last night.” My stomach clenched. She had noticed? I hadn’t stayed at Father Raphael’s all night, only long enough to break my heart. “I came home late, and I had an early class,” I said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Mom shook her head. “You’re an adult, Honor. And you’re here out of the goodness of your heart. You don’t have to tell me where you’ve been or when you’re coming back. I think I lost that privilege a long time ago.” She said it so thoughtfully, so honestly. It stung. Mom popped the plastic top off the chicken and thunked the bird onto a plate. She carved with an eye on the wing.

It had always been Dad’s favorite too. She offered me the first one. I shook my head, but I pulled a chair to the counter and watched as she worked. It took a long week, but it seemed like she’d finally regained her strength from the two-night hospital stay. She was her old self again. Or her new self? Mom praised the Lord after a bite of a particularly juicy piece of chicken. “I know I don’t say it enough,” Mom said. “But it feels like I can taste things again. The chicken tastes chickenier. The cookies are sweeter.” She sipped some water and sighed. “Just wonderful. It’s the simple things, Honor. If the world tries to take them away from you, you just stand up and say no. That world will listen.” Not in all things unfortunately. I reached for a drumstick and peeled it off the bird, licking the juices from my finger. “When was the last time we had a dinner together?” I asked. Mom tapped the wing bone on her plate. “Well, this week’s been busy, especially with the sickness. Oh.” She nodded at me. “You snuck me a sandwich while I was in the hospital.” “I mean…a real dinner. That doesn’t count.” “Of course it does, baby. Doesn’t matter where you break the bread. Just matters that we’re together. A family.” Now it really hurt. I didn’t know if it was Mom’s newfound optimism or if she generally thought life was better than it was. I thought back through the summer, through the breakfasts I’d skipped and the dinners I’d missed because of the church. Every day I’d raced from activity to charity to class, and I couldn’t remember a time when I’d actually sat down at the table with Mom. And that was a horrible, unconscionable realization. As much as I hated to think of him, hated the pain that came from remembering the comfort he offered, Rafe was right. I needed to talk to Mom. I had needed to do it for a long time. I picked at the chicken, but my appetite faded. I wished my voice hadn’t trembled. “Mom?” She pulled a glass from the cabinet and topped it off with a bit of sweet tea for me. Her eyes met mine. Clear, focused. Nothing like what I remembered.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “For what?” “Everything.” “What?” She laughed and pushed my plate towards me. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.” I couldn’t eat now. I had to make her listen. “No, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you before this. I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to eat a proper meal with you. I’m just sorry.” “Baby, what are you talking about?” “I thought you had relapsed last week. I thought when we took you to the hospital, it was because you OD’ed on something—anything. I’ve been waiting all summer for you to break, even though I know you’ve been clean.” Mom busied herself over the sink, washing the grease from her fingers. “Don’t, Honor. You don’t have to.” “And I’m sorry I’ve been embarrassed by you. This whole summer. I came home, and I didn’t know what I’d find. I made everything worse. I doubted you. I was ashamed of you. I made this hard for you. All of this. The church. The bills. The groceries. Even this apartment.” “Honor—” “I’ve never told you how proud I am of you.” The words poured from me now, untapped and trembled. “You’ve changed. I don’t recognize you, and that’s a good thing. But I’ve treated it like it’s some failure, like it’s a fault of yours, and it’s not. You fixed your life, and I should be commending you. I should be making you chicken and sitting with you at dinner and thanking you for the changes you made.” I looked down, away from her. A napkin tangled in my lap. I pressed sticky fingers into the paper and tore it to shreds. “You’ve been mad at me,” Mom said. “Yeah. I think. I don’t know.” She lowered her glass to the table. “I deserve it.” “You don’t.” “Yes. I do. Honor, I take full responsibility for my actions. All of them. For what I’ve done in the last fifteen minutes to everything I ruined in the past fifteen years.”

“You shouldn’t. You’re a new person now.” “No, baby. I’m not. I’m the same person, and to deny me that past is to deny who I am. If I don’t have that history, I can’t see what I’ve overcome. If I don’t acknowledge what I’ve lost, I won’t be able to gain it back, brick-by-brick.” She tapped the counter. “Don’t you apologize to me. I won’t tolerate it.” My heart pounded, but Mom burst ahead. She bore more pride for her failures than most people earned in their successes. “You have every right to be mad,” she said. “I made mistakes. I messed up. Bad. And I paid the price. I lost my home. My family and friends. My husband.” Her voice wavered. “If it meant your dad would have lived, I’d have spent a lifetime in jail. God as my witness, Honor, for so long I wished it had been me. I would’ve given my life, my freedom, my soul if he might have stayed on this earth and been there for you.” I sucked in a breath. It cooled the tears, but I didn’t know for how long. “Dad loved you.” “Not as much as he loved you. And I love you too, baby. I never expressed it right. The drugs and the drinking…it put a distance between us. I could never tell people that they meant the world to me. And I know you must have thought you weren’t as important as my next high, but, believe me, honey. You were always more to me than the addiction. Even if you didn’t know it.” “I knew it.” I hugged myself. “But I pretended I didn’t. It was easier that way. But I knew.” “I never showed it.” “Yes, you did. When I was sick and home from school, you’d cuddle me on the couch.” Mom shook her head. “I was passed out most of the time anyway.” “You taught me how to French braid my hair.” “A mother should be more than that.” I sighed. “On your bad days, you told Dad and Grandma to come help. You never wanted me to be alone. You tried to hide the sickness from me.” “Because you were so innocent,” she said. “You still are.” I didn’t feel that way anymore. “It doesn’t excuse my behavior. I should have helped more. I should have tried to understand.” “That was your dad’s problem,” Mom said.

“That he helped?” “To the detriment of himself. I see so much of him in you. You want a family. You are eager to love. You take responsibility for everyone and put too much pressure on yourself.” She leaned over the counter to take my hand. “You were a good child, and now you’ve grown into a great woman.” “I don’t think so.” I didn’t pull away. “I tried to be good, but I’m…” “You’ve not hurt anyone. You’ve not caused problems. You’re respectful and kind. Charitable.” Mom forced a smile. “And let’s not forget—you didn’t lose the best years of your life to a bottle of whiskey.” I looked down. “Not all addictions are chemical, Mom. And some can ruin your life just the same.” Mom settled in her chair. She pulled the uneaten chicken away from me and handed me the cookie instead. I watched as she dumped my sweet tea in the sink and filled the glass with milk instead. I frowned. “What are you doing?” “I know when my daughter needs her momma.” She tapped the cookie. “And I know when she’s talking about a man, even if she tries to hide it.” “Mom—” “The more capacity you have for love, the worse it hurts when your heart is broken.” I shifted. “It’s okay. I don’t want to talk about it.” “Take it from me—talk about your problems. Don’t bundle them up tight, or you might lose them in a dark part of you that demands more pain to keep things hidden. Baby, learn from my mistakes. If you have someone in your life who wants to help, take that blessing.” Blessing? The only blessing I wanted was the one gift I’d never receive. I didn’t know what to say. How to say it. I couldn’t justify my behavior, the things I’d done, the life I’d ruined. I didn’t just tempt myself. No matter how beautiful our nights were, no matter how much we healed each other, when I came to be judged, my greatest sin wouldn’t be forgiven. I desired a priest. “I fell for the wrong man,” I said.

“How wrong?” My eyebrow rose. “The worst…and the best.” “Does he care for you?” she asked. “He’s not supposed to.” Mom arched an eyebrow. “But he does anyway?” She made it sound like my mystery man was married—and he was. To the church. To his calling. To his ordination and faith. And yet, I was glad she thought of me as an adulterer. It was better than the truth. “He’s a good man with a good heart and soul,” I said. “If he could…I think he would love me.” Mom didn’t like that. “That’s the only type of man worth your while. One who does love you. Who would care for you. Take you in sickness even if he never sees you healthy. If he can’t give you that, he’s not good enough for you.” “It’s complicated.” “Love isn’t. Either it’s there, or it isn’t. It’s people that complicate the simplest gift God gives us.” “He loves though. He does. Very much. Everyone and everything.” Her eyebrow rose. “Is that right?” “He gives so much of himself. Hours upon hours. Even in the depths of his own mourning, he still makes time for others. He…was there when you were in the hospital. Selflessly. When I needed him as badly as he might have needed me.” Mom sipped her tea, thinking long before she spoke. “This man…he’s young?” “He’s older than me.” “Too old?” “Eight years older.” Mom scrunched her nose, but she allowed it. “And he’s respected then? In the community?” I answered twenty-questions while tip-toeing around a minefield. “Yes.” “I see.” I think she did. I braced for a lecture, a smiting, anything that might have punished

me. But nothing hurt more than unrequited feelings. Except being alone. Mom exhaled, long and slow. “Honor, the heart wants what the heart wants.” “What about what God wants?” I looked away. “It’s not fair to the flock if the shepherd is the one lost.” “This has only one answer, but it isn’t what you want to hear.” I nodded. “We’re taught that God sacrificed his only son so we’d be saved,” Mom said. “If you sacrifice this, he would save others. He has a duty, and he made his commitment.” “I know.” “I’m so sorry, baby.” “So am I.” I released a pained breath. “It’s just hard to admit.” “I wish I could tell you the hard part is over, but I know better.” Mom pushed the cookie towards me. “It’s not hardest when you pour out the bottle or flush that last pill. It’ll be a week from now. Two. When you think you’ve finally beaten that craving only to let doubt creep in. That’s when it’s hard. When it feels impossible. When you don’t know why you’re living.” She brushed the hair from my face. I took her hand, amazed by the wisdom in a woman I hardly knew. Mom continued, her voice a burst of passion. “That’s when you look around, take stock in what you have, and accept the help that’s been given. Do you know what you have, Honor?” I shook my head. “You have me. I’ll be here, and I’ll help you. I’ll be the mother you’ve needed.” I looked away. “I don’t think I need a mom right now.” Her smile cracked, but she hid it, nodding her head. “Of—of course.” “I think I need a friend.” Mom leaned over the counter, kissing my forehead. “You’ve got that too, baby girl. You’ve got that too.”

23

RAPHAEL

her confession, but this one wasn’t delivered behind screens or in the I expected darkness. We met in the adoration chapel, where it had all began, and where it would have to end. Honor had come to me in the darkest hour of my life, only my lovely angel wasn’t able to deliver me from myself, my thoughts, or my heart. The church was empty this late at night. The choir had finished their last practice before the big competition. The festival preparations were complete, and the grounds awaited the vendors, games, and stands. The parish should have been excited. But I told them during Mass of my departure, and my last days at St. Cecilia’s turned somber and dark. Honor closed the door. It was unnecessary. What was done was done. It wouldn’t happen again. Not now. Not after our lust became something more. I finally trusted my body and desires, but it was my heart that failed me. “You understand why I have to go,” I said. Honor didn’t speak. She leaned against the door, hands behind her, head bowed. I’d have thought she was praying or crying or trying to escape. Instead she pushed forward, taking the few steps to approach me. “You know why I want you to stay.” Her words haunted me—too sorrowful. They weren’t spoken to convince me to remain in the parish, to appeal the Bishop’s recommendation. She simply admitted the truth to me, to herself, to the Lord and all the angels and saints, sinners and demons who mocked our foolishness.

“I knew the relocation was a possibility,” I said. She sat next to me. Two imaginary Bibles separated us. “When are you leaving?” she asked. “Next week.” “That quickly?” “I should have been moved long ago. They’ve been waiting. I don’t think the diocese trusted me.” I clenched my jaw. “To them, I was someone young and…” “Tempting?” I didn’t answer. It wasn’t the mark I wished to leave on such a pure soul. She bit her lip. “Do you have to go? Is there…anything we can do?” Such an innocent angel. “I’m leaving. It’s not a curse. It’s a blessing. We should be grateful for this.” “Why?” “Because we don’t belong together.” I said it, and it hurt. “I am not the right man for you. For anyone. It was wrong of me to get involved with you.” “Even if it helped us? Even if we…” She looked away. “Healed each other?” “Still a sin, Honor. And it’s made worse in how I feel for you.” Her eyes widened, that same almond-shaped surprise as the first time I touched her. “What do you feel, Father?” That I wished she would call me Rafe. And that was reason enough for me to leave. “We are in a dangerous place, my angel. What we feel is more damning that the temptation to…” I shouldn’t have looked at her, watched the quiver of her lip, met the innocent, fawn-brown of her eyes. “What we feel for each other is more profound than a single night of inhibition. We can confess our sins, but we can’t pray to stop our hearts from beating.” “Do you think it’s fair?” “I think it’s wise that we’re separated.” “That’s not what I asked.” That was the only answer I could give her. I stared at the altar, the flickering red candle which signified the divine spirit in the monstrance. It once gave me comfort.

A reason. A way to live. But now, it felt like my orders took something from me. “Do you believe in God, Honor?” I asked. She didn’t like the question. “Yes.” Her voice shifted. “No.” “No?” “I don’t want to believe anymore.” That broke my heart. “Why?” “Because then…it’d be easier to want you. I wouldn’t be breaking a covenant with God. I could be free to…” She bit her lip. “Be selfish. To sin without fear of reprimand for feelings I can’t deny. I don’t even know if I should deny them.” She hesitated. “If you didn’t believe, you wouldn’t fear the sins either.” “The sins are my own, Honor.” “Not these.” “Yes, they are. They are the sweetest sins. And I wouldn’t purge them away for a clean soul or untouched skin. I will keep this burden, my angel. You are the reason that I am healed, and that darkness was cast away.” “Then why can’t we be—” I interrupted her before she said anything foolish. “You healed me, but I don’t deserve you.” “I don’t believe that.” “You gifted me your virtue, and your touch has meant more to me than any blessing I’ve ever received. Because of you, I understand passion now. I see why it should be protected and sanctified. Why it should be a covenant, a sacrament. That…connection is too precious to give to anyone.” “You aren’t just anyone, Father.” “Not anymore.” “That’s not true.” She was getting upset. So was I, but I could hide the pain. I’d pray it away. I’d run laps around my block or beat the punching bag in the rectory basement to relieve that strain. “What happened between us wasn’t a mistake, Father,” she said. “It wasn’t a lapse in judgment or a failure of temptation. It was real. What I feel is real.”

“And it’s best you forget it.” “How can I?” I exhaled. “The same way I will. Time. Separation.” “And if I want to see you again?” My chest ached. “Don’t try, Honor.” She stood, kicking away from the pew. I didn’t try to comfort her. “I’ll leave the parish,” I said. “And you can go on with your life. We have our own paths, and they diverge here. It will protect us both.” “From what? From our hearts?” “From each other.” She shook her head, the curls falling before her beautiful face. I wished she would have tucked them behind her ear. I feared this would be the last time I’d see her this close, this raw, without pretense or shelter. I’d have brushed her hair myself, but I didn’t trust where my hand would linger. “I’m not afraid of what I feel,” she said. “I just wish—” “Don’t wish,” I said. “We’ve already taken too much.” “So that’s it? We just…forget what we had? Ignore everything we’ve discovered?” “No, there’s one last thing I want you to do.” She sensed it from me, and like a raging animal, her hackles rose. Her beautiful face twisted in pain and she stepped away from me. “Don’t you dare, Father.” “I want you to confess to me.” “No.” She was too stubborn, to hurt to see why this needed to be done. “Why do you fight me on this?” “Why take away what precious memories I have?” “Why tarnish your soul with my mistakes?” “You have your sweetest sins.” She spat the word. “Leave me my beautiful mistakes.” “You trusted me with your body. Your innocence.” I extended a hand, calling her

over. She refused. “Trust me now with this.” “It hurts.” “Yes. It hurts us both. But I will not leave you in a state of—” Her voice rose. “No. Just stop. Stop making what happened something perverted and terrible. Don’t make me hate what we did because I don’t, Father. I won’t repent a single minute of it. Not your touch. Not your kiss. Not the way it felt with you inside me.” “You’re in mortal sin, Honor.” “Then let me sin.” I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not if I could help her. Honor stormed before me, outraged and beautiful and hating me with such a furious passion. “You once said not confess our sins. We are supposed to uncover the reason we were led into darkness.” Honor knelt before me. I stiffened. “This is my confession, Father.” “Honor.” “Bless me, Father. I’ve never been honest with you. My last confession was so long ago, so broken and defiled, I don’t remember if I was even absolved.” “Stop this.” “For the past summer, I’ve had impure thoughts—I can’t count the number. I’ve engaged in sexual activity. Kisses. Touches more times than I can count. I’ve had sex with a man three times, and each encounter was greater and more meaningful than the last.” I wouldn’t hear this. “Honor—” She spoke over me, her words twisted in fury. “I don’t know why I did these things. At first I thought it was a test of faith. I believed it was temptation that darkened my desire and forced me to commit acts that I never imagined. But now…I understand.” I tried to stand. Honor pushed me back into the pew. “Bless me, Father. I gave myself to a kind, honest, and moral man. A man who was in pain. A man who lived a life of self-inflicted punishment for the sins done to him as a child.”

This was a mockery of everything in my soul, and yet I stared into her eyes and hated that I hung on her every word. “I surrendered myself to this man,” she said. “And he taught me more about my faith and my body and the dangers of lust than anything I had ever read in scripture. Through him, I found the strength to confront my mother, to take a role of responsibility in the church, and to give of myself to others so that they might be healed.” I clenched my jaw. “Are you done?” “No. Because I have one final confession, Father.” And it would damn us both. Honor held my gaze. “Over the past three months, I thought I suffered from the sin of lust, but I was wrong. I felt something more. Something holy and pure. Something I’ve never experienced for any man in my life. My heart had a revelation. You might try to take this joy from me, but I will fight you for it until the day I die. It can’t possibly be a sin!” I said nothing, waiting as she took a breath wracked with rage and fear and such sorrow I pleaded for Mary to take some of her pain. “Do I confess to this? Yes.” Honor whispered. “Did we touch? Yes. Did we kiss? Yes. Did we have sex? Yes.” Enough of this. I could tolerate her temper, but I couldn’t endure her tears. “It’s time to pray, Honor,” I said. “You’re angry now. Don’t blaspheme any more than we already have.” I stood, but Honor was already retreating to the door, brushing away tears. “I won’t repent for those sins,” she said. “They’re mortal, Honor.” “And I cherish them.” She ripped my rosaries from her neck and threw them at my feet. “Falling in love with you is my only regret.”

24

HONOR

he festival descended upon St. Cecilia’s. The parish was meant to celebrate T the end of summer. Instead, we mourned the departure of Father Raphael. Some more than others. The Battle of the Choirs drew the crowds for the opening night’s events. Other parishes and neighboring churches sent their best for a “friendly” battle of song, but the congregation came to support our nine-person troupe. Suddenly, St. Cecilia’s was desperate for the win. Something for Father Raphael before he left. But hadn’t I already given enough? My heart. My soul. My virginity? I had nothing else to give this man, and yet, if he had asked, I’d have given him so much more of me. But he’d made his choice. He decided on the path for his life, and I wasn’t a part of it. I shouldn’t have expected to be. It was selfish. Wrong. And it hurt too much. The festival was blitzed in light and music, shrieking laughter and crying babies. The cacophony swirled in my head, throbbing like a hangover. I wished I had the courage to drink, but Mom and I kept no temptations in the house. Why test an already tested soul, she had said. If only I’d listened to her. I hadn’t slept. My voice wasn’t in any shape to sing for the concert, and I feared the sounds that would squeak out once I attempted my solo. Deacon Smith gathered us in a circle, and his blessing for a fun and productive Battle of the Bands quickly devolved into a plea for some sort of miracle that would

keep us on key or un-tune everyone else’s ears. But despite his lack of faith, Father Raphael had always complimented us. And he was nothing if not honest. I scanned the crowds. The stage and risers were installed in the back of the lot, shimmering in the lights and the neon glow of the rest of the festival. I remembered St. Cecilia’s events as a child…and it was probably why I worked so hard to make this event better. Craft booths were moved to the far corners so we could open the main path to games, bouncy houses, even an arcade. The rides were installed to the right, near the road to draw in more people. And the food booths and candy shops were pushed to the back, so more attendees would walk through the lanes. It worked. The festival was packed into the lot, and hundreds of people swarmed in the sweltering late-summer night. But he wasn’t here. Or he wasn’t with us. Father Raphael probably spoke with the other churches, greeted the rest of his congregation, or accepted the well-wishes of everyone in the parish who was still finding the time to thank him for his love and service to the community. I hadn’t thanked him enough for that kindness. And I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. I had no idea what I’d do when I faced him again, probably for the last time. I wanted to cry, to scream, to rage. But hadn’t I already done that? How could I resent a priest for following his calling? What was wrong with me? No matter how hard I tried, I’d never justify my feelings. Our last conversation spawned words that erupted from a dark and terrible place in my heart. I didn’t know that sin existed in me, and I hated that it might have been the last thing I ever said to him. The crowd cheered as the lights centered on the stage. Judy crossed into the spotlight to greet the festival. “Welcome, welcome!” Judy took a microphone, juggled with it, and struggled to shout over the feedback until Deacon Smith slapped it from her hand and adjusted the setting. The crowd showed their gratitude in modest applause. “Thank you all so much for coming to cheer on St. Cecilia’s first—and hopefully annual—Battle of the Choirs!”

The festival attendees funneled towards the stages while the bells, whistles, and other loopy game sounds echoed over the park. Alyssa and Samantha each took one of my hands and clutched them to their chests. At least it covered them up. Deacon Smith was unable to convince them to wear something more modest that didn’t reveal their flirty pink bra straps to the entire congregation. “You ready?” Alyssa giggled. “How pathetic is it that this is the highlight of my summer?” Samantha pouted. “I don’t see Daddy El. He better come over to wish us luck before we sing.” I said nothing, listening as Judy introduced our distinguished judges for the event— two town commissioners and the owner of the local Pizza Hut. It seemed absurd now, but all Father Raphael had wanted was to provide the church better opportunities. He’d worked tirelessly to give us fun activities and a chance to get involved in the community. And he’d succeeded. Despite the sins and darkness and nightmares of his past, Father Raphael did good everywhere he went. The least I could do was sing for him, so he realized not all of things we did together were sins. In fact, the entire summer had been wonderful. Confusing. Heart-Breaking. I chugged my water before I got upset. I’d lose my voice if I started to cry. And I’d never be able to explain the tears. We took to the stage last—and after four rousing renditions of Ava Maria, the crowd cheered when Deacon Smith announced our chosen hymn, Pie Jesu. The choir picked it because it best complimented my voice. I chose it because I knew Father Raphael would love it. But I still didn’t see him. My heart beat a little too fast as organized on the stage. I scanned the crowd. Mom bounced in the middle of the woman’s group, cheering me on. It was the first event she’d ever attended in support of me, so I expected the barrage of camera flashes. Others also shouted and called for us. The women’s group. The youth group. The deacons. But not him.

I couldn’t find Father Raphael. And the realization made me sick. Deacon Smith called off the song. I missed the cue. Not that it mattered. We planned, practiced, and thought it’d be an amazing idea to sing our Pie Jesu acapella, written in layered harmonies. It all hinged on me. I was to sing the first half of the first verse completely solo, without even a tuning note from the piano. I didn’t have stage fright, but now I feared that note more than anything. It didn’t matter if it was out of tune or out of time. He wouldn’t hear it. He wasn’t here. Deacon Smith clapped a bit louder, counting off the song and marking the rest of the time with his hands so I could see the downbeat. Christ, what a fool I was. I didn’t look over the congregation. I opened my mouth, surprised that the note which emerged was as rich, powerful, and lovely as the first note I sang during tryouts. When he had been watching. Listening. Wanting me. He deserved better than the way I treated him. Even then, I sang deliberately to tempt him. I did all I could to draw his attention and earn his favor, even knowing what I was doing and the pain it would cause. Father Raphael had tried to protect me. From him. From myself. From the lust and desire and the darkness that I thought was just a physical attraction to the forbidden. It wasn’t. We hadn’t prepared for what would happen. Didn’t know why we’d wanted each other so badly. And now as I sang, as my voice rang over the festival and drowned out the whizzing games and electronic songs and the constant hum of conversations and phones, I meant for him to hear me. I wished he knew that I was sorry for hurting him. That I was so grateful for him.

That I never meant to fight. And that I did love him…and I understood why he had to leave. I just hoped I wasn’t too late to tell him. The song crescendoed, slow and melodic and surging the goose bumps over my skin as our voices harmonized and forged a beautiful, haunting breath of music. It ended softly, reverently, and the stillness was shattered by a rousing applause. Judy took to the stage, accepting the praise of the crowd as she reintroduced us as St. Cecilia’s prized choir. “Thank you all so much!” She clapped and the microphone buzzed. “Now I think we ought to invite up here the man who made this all possible up here. I am so pleased to introduce Father Raphael St. Lucian, our parish priest...” She hesitated. “At least for the rest of the week.” The audience cheered. I held my breath. I didn’t see him. Neither did Deacon Smith. He shrugged at Judy. “Father Rafe?” Judy called over the festival. She nervously made a joke. “Would our priest please come to the stage?” One of the youth group mothers shouted over the crying baby in her arms. “I thought I saw him in the church?” “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Judy sighed. “All right. We’ll just move onto the judging. Now, we’re going to give our esteemed judges a few minutes to discuss—” I wasn’t listening. Alyssa and Samantha called to me, but I hurried from the stage, jumping off the steps and nearly losing my heel to the muck behind the stairs. I knew where Father Raphael was, and I knew just what he was doing. Leaving. He wouldn’t have missed the festival unless he meant to avoid it, to rush from our lives, without the common courtesy to tell us he was packing his office. He was leaving. The tears stung my eyes and blurred everything as I sprinted to the church—as fast as I could break through the people and dart through the booths. The crowds thickened beyond the concert. Pressed in. Laughed and milled and got lost between the flickering reds and yellows and purples of the lights. Canned music and the rumble of chains on steel equipment muffled the presentations from the stage.

I didn’t care. I pushed through the dizzying crowds, parting the sea that would crush back and tear me upon the rocks of my own sin. Was he still in the church? He wouldn’t have gone. Not yet. Not so soon. I closed my eyes and prayed. Please don’t be gone. I twisted through the booths and vendors, sliding between two tables and rushing behind those restocking from their trailers. An electrical cord twisted in the grass, and I hopped to avoid it. My toe crunched against a concrete block used to pitch the tents, and the pain would have made me weep if I could afford those few precious seconds. In the dark, I slipped against mud and sweated as the night drew close. I filled my crushing lungs with humid misery. The parking lot was full, and I dodged parking cars and swarms of people milling outside the festival. I burst to the sidewalk and yanked on the back door. Locked. No. I didn’t have time to catch my breath. I ran to the front, tripping over my dress and falling to my knees at the front steps of the church. Before the crosses out front. Beneath the sculptures and shrines warning me of my transgressions. I stared at the crucifix, my words twisted in my own revelation and revulsion. “I have to tell him.” I confessed as I forced myself to my feet. “Please, forgive me.” The vestibule was unlocked. The door clattered behind me, and I plunged into the silent dark of the church. The doors to the sanctuary were opened wide. I walked to the entry. Just as I had done so many times before, but never for the right reasons, and always in pursuit of that selfish and destructive desire. Was this time any different? Did I have the strength to deny this temptation, this final unrelenting desire to find him, see him, talk to him…

Tell him how I felt? But wasn’t this the darkness he had tried to cleanse? We had failed in so many ways, and we drowned in every sin we tried to right. Was I that wicked that I couldn’t accept the one lesson he offered? I had to let him go. No apologies. No declarations. No matter how much it hurt. I turned at the door. Too late. “Honor.” His rolling, righteous voice had the power to fill the entire sanctuary or whisper just for me to hear. Once, it rumbled in confidence and power. Now it strained in an anguish he didn’t deserve. I should have left. But I was a sinner. I was tempted. I was lost. And it was because of him. Father Raphael waited at the altar, shielded in the cassock that once drew me to his wisdom and heart. Now I understood the truth. I realized just what that collar meant. A box rested at his feet. He’d packed his office. “You weren’t even going to say goodbye?” I asked. “I couldn’t say good-bye to you.” I didn’t trust myself to step closer, but his eyes met mine. Dark. Hardened. Was it my weakness or his that called to me? “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” I whispered. “I’m not mad. I’m not hurt. You were right about everything, Father.” “Honor—” “You mean too much to me. I can’t let you go without apologizing for the way I acted. You always tried to help me. I know you want to save me.” “You don’t need to be saved, Honor.” “Yes, I do. I know I do. And I’ll repent for those things we did one day…” I wished I

hadn’t taken the breath. It rattled in my chest, weakening me as my eyes blurred with tears. “I just can’t do it now. I can’t have you leave and then destroy those memories we had all at the same time. It’s too cruel.” Father Raphael clenched his jaw. He looked to the altar, the candles, and finally the crucifix hanging above. His lips moved in a silent, unfinished prayer, and his hand trembled before he finished crossing himself. I shouldn’t have shivered when he spoke, shouldn’t have let his words wrap over me, center in me, and crush what fragile bruise of a heart remained. “You once asked me why I became a priest.” I didn’t speak. His words weren’t meant for me. “I did it to hide.” The truth burned in the holy silence of the sanctuary. I stared at him, memorizing the angle of his jaw, the strike of the candlelight in his hair, the pale loveliness of his skin that contrasted more with my color than the blackness of his robe. “I became a priest to heal everyone but myself. I wanted to shed the pain of my past without confronting it. I didn’t trust my desires, and I could deny them if I were celibate. I thought that made me…untouchable. Protected from the truth. From myself.” He turned, his expression softened. “I thought it’d protect me from you, my angel.” I’d have held his gaze forever if it weren’t burning my soul into ash. “Why are you saying these things?” “You healed me, Honor. You awakened me. You touched me, and that shame, the hatred I felt…faded.” “Father?” “I’ve forgiven him.” His voice was hard, but it edged only in pity. “My father was a man destroyed by his own demons…because he didn’t have an angel to guide him.” If he meant to praise me, it hurt. If he meant to thank me, I wouldn’t accept his gratitude. If he meant to break me… He stepped closer, but my instincts dulled. I should have pulled away before he took my hand. Temptation.

Hadn’t we suffered enough? “I was wrong,” he said. His words heated through me, whispered in delicate praise and forbidden closeness. He brushed my cheek. The pleasure ached in me. “I was using you to fight the pain in myself,” he said. “I thought you were the key to conquering my fears, but I was a fool. I was meant to forgive my past. That was the only way I’d finally have peace. I misled you, Honor. I hurt you. I…lost you.” I hated myself for pressing into his hand. The warmth, the roughness of his fingers struck through me. It took every strength I possessed not to touch him as well. So I reached for his robes. Twisted my fingers in the cassock. Held on to him, but pushed him away. I fought my every instinct to collapse in his arms. Father Raphael stroked me. “You are not a test of my faith. You renewed it.” “Don’t.” “You aren’t a challenge for me to overcome. You were the way.” “We can’t speak like this.” “I thought you were an angel sent to test me, Honor.” His words lowered. “I was wrong. You were sent to save me, and it’s because of you I am healed.” His lips brushed mine, but I twisted away before the softness dizzied my head and broke my heart any more. He leaned down, whispering into my ear, forcing me to listen to this beautiful torture. “I wanted to be a priest for the wrong reasons. You would have me face the world as a man for the right ones.” “I don’t understand.” “I wrote a letter to the bishop this afternoon.” “A letter?” “A petition for my laicization.” My breath caught, hard against a bubbling hope and wicked joy. He touched my face, and his words caressed the rest of me in gentle, loving warmth. “I’m resigning my position,” he said. “It isn’t fair to the parish. I can’t devote my heart to the church while belongs to another.”

“But you can’t.” I trembled in his arms. “This is your calling.” “I can’t hurt you, deny you, or live this life apart from you. How can I heal others, how could I help others, if I lost the one who saved me? I love you, Honor. I would have you be mine…if you would take this sinner for your own.” I breathed his words. I prayed. I silenced my own hope. “You would give this up for me?” I asked. “I already have. I did the moment I met you, whether I understood it or not. It was never temptation. It was never lust. It was never sin.” He pressed his lips to mine, and I savored a truth that tasted so sweet. “I fell in love with you, and no one, not God, not the devil, not even my own past can deny me this blessing.” I held him close. “Is it a sin to follow our hearts?” “No, my angel. This is our absolution.”

EPILOGUE - HONOR

Five Months Later

BLESSED ARE THE WEDDING PLANNERS. A day of dress fittings, shoe shopping, menu designing, and flower arrangements was a new type of hell I hadn’t known existed. We had a month until the wedding, but Alyssa and Samantha worked Mom into a tizzy, changing most of the details while demanding more decorations, a larger band, a bigger cake… I only wanted the chance to stand at the altar with the man I loved and whisper my vows to him, God, and any who were still shocked by the scandal of it all. It didn’t matter what the band played, what dinner we had, or whether we folded the napkins like roses or doves. As long as I had Rafe, I could stand before the altar naked for all I cared. Though…we promised we wouldn’t do that anymore. My classes let out at two, and I raced from the college to the boutique and florists. I met Mom with the caterer—a lovely woman from the parish—and made it to Rafe’s home at six. And beat him there. The little house was a perfect starter home for us, but I hadn’t moved in yet. The laicization process took months, and it was time we played by the rules. No indiscretions before marriage. I hated that it was the one tenant we decided to honor. But I had a key to his house, and I let myself in—carefully. He was still in the process of renovating. He said he wanted something fit for his bride. The church

was involved in enough habitat for humanity ventures that I never doubted his skill, but… I traced the lovely engravings on the cabinet doors. Scripture verses carved in beautiful calligraphy. He put so much of himself into our home. Entirely too much. After resigning from the clergy, he took the position as executive director for St. Cecilia’s struggling school system. It took most of his time and energy, but in just a few months the budget was balanced, attendance had risen, and the kids seemed happier. And so did he, especially when he saw the difference in the lives of so many children, ones the same age he was when that darkness seized him. He loved knowing he could help those in the parish, even if he wasn’t wearing the collar. The keys scraped his lock, and the little metallic twist thrilled me. I hopped onto the counter and waited to welcome my husband-to-be to our future home. I bit my lip as he entered. He’d traded his cassock for a classy black suit and looked no less intimidating. He grinned as he saw me, though his smiled faded as he stared at my legs, crossing and squirming under his inspection. “Hey,” I said. I still trembled for him, especially when he gave me that hungry look. He stood still and uncompromising in his suit. Broad shoulders. Thick chest. I remembered what hardened under it. Still imagined it. The wedding couldn’t come soon enough. He had spoken, but I missed it all. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked. His eyebrow arched. Rafe approached the counter, his steps deliberate and heavy. “I wondered if you had waited long?” The teasing edge to his words might have sliced through the pretty dress I wore…picked specifically because I knew we’d see each other tonight. “I guess so, or my angel wouldn’t be so distracted.” He drifted too close, his hand tickling over my arms, down my hands, to the lovely diamond ring he’d placed on my finger just a few months before. “Long day,” I whispered. “Classes and getting everything ready for the wedding.” “Right.”

His kiss teased a mew from my lips. It was a mistake to touch him, but my fingers drifted within his suit coat, stroking the hard muscle that strained against his dress shirt. He liked that, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. “Careful, my angel.” His warning was just another tease, an invisible stroke against my cheek, my chest. Lower. “We still have another month until our wedding.” I swallowed, hard. “I know. It’s just…” “Are you tempted?” He leaned close, his lips pressing my temple. “What are you thinking?” He did it on purpose, these little games. But I felt the hardness stiffen against me. We teased each other for the past five months. Look, but no touching. A kiss goodnight pressed against the wall, but nothing more. He burned me from the inside out, but I knew how to scorch him. “None of my thoughts are pure, Rafe.” “Can you resist them?” His hands tickled over my side, gripping my hips in the way I remembered. “Can you deny these feelings?” “I must.” He hummed, low. “I’d hate to think that my bride-to-be is suffering such… torment.” The thought slayed me. I kissed him, flicking my tongue over his just how he liked it. I murmured over his lips. “I can wait another month.” “I can’t.” I squealed as he lifted me from the counter. He swung me into his arms and carried me from the kitchen to drop me onto his bed. He groaned as his lips kissed a path over my neck and lower. I tried to hide my smile. “But it’s wrong…” I grasped his arms, his hair, and arched into his bite. “We aren’t married yet. We can’t give into this temptation.” “I’d surrender to these sweet sins.” His kiss drifted lower. “There is not a force in this world or the next that’s holier than my love for you, Honor.” He pulled my clothes off, and his touch, kiss, and worship cast me over the edge too many times in too many ways. I shuddered for him, calling his name and begging for the sweet mercy of his body within mine. We joined, moved, breathed as one.

Pure. Unified. Together. No temptation, no sin, would ever destroy what we surrendered in love.

The End

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Standalone Romances Sweetest Sin - A Forbidden Priest Romance Hard - A Step-Brother Romance

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First off, let me thank you guys, the readers. This book is a pretty big departure from my last ones. I will say, it’s my favorite. I love the themes, I love the angst, and I love pushing those boundaries. Thank you guys for letting me experiment and write something a little bit different. I hope you love Father Raphael as much as I do. Kelley. Thank you. You will never know how much your time and energy means to me. Thank you so much for working with me, betaing for me, tossing files back and forth with me. You are a livesaver, 100%. Winter...you’ve kept me sane these past three weeks. We’ll see how this turns out, but thank you for holding my hand the whole way and keeping me focused. And to my husband…sorry I’ve been working three straight weeks without a break. We can go see Deadpool now.

Thank you guys!