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.”