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.