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.”
There 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.