Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1) by Lana Grayson Page B
Authors: Lana Grayson
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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.
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.
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