Tags:
Suspense,
Psychological,
Romance,
Literature & Fiction,
Action & Adventure,
Crime,
Mystery; Thriller & Suspense,
Contemporary Fiction,
romantic suspense,
Contemporary Women,
Women's Fiction,
New Adult & College,
Mystery & Suspense
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
Chelsea Camaron, Mj Fields