Takeover: A Step-Brother Romance (The Legacy Book 1) by Lana Grayson Page B
Authors: Lana Grayson
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escape. Glass littered the floor—a shimmering sea of danger.
I screamed as Darius pitched me to the ground. I tumbled onto the glass, and a thick shard instantly sliced my palm. He missed the worst of the pile, but the few crushed slivers tore at my skin. I bled everywhere, even from the smallest nicks on my exposed arms. His heel pressed against my neck. I struggled, but the movement only ground the glass into me. I stilled.
Darius Bennett looked too much like Nicholas—an older, greying, severe Nicholas who lost the amber tint to his eyes in favor of a lifeless brown. Darius didn’t have the same strong jaw or Roman nose, but the similarities were enough. The brow, his drawn lips. But Nicholas hadn’t played his emotions so vividly. Darius snarled, practically baring his teeth as he threatened to snap my neck with a steady kick.
My chest fluttered with useless breaths—hopefully fear and not the beginning of a serious attack.
A tear escaped as Darius knelt at my side, cradling a handful of glass in his palm. His voice lowered to a hideous threat.
“My dear, consider your circumstances. You are our guest because we need your cunt.” A sharp shard of glass the size of a paring knife danced in his fingers. He pressed the serrated edge against my throat. “The rest of your body doesn’t matter. Perhaps you wish to pick this glass up piece by piece with just your mouth?”
He wouldn’t.
“No?” He pressed the glass against my cheek. “What if you cleaned this mess by hand?”
I shook my head.
“Then if you promise to be a good girl…” The glass drifted low. I tensed as it passed my throat but stiffened when he teased the edge over my chest. He swept over my breast and poked my nipple hiding beneath my shirt. “Maybe I won’t have you sleep in this mess all night.”
The shard traced down. Lower and lower, summoning a frenzied breath that forced a tremble over my body.
He dragged the tip over my stomach to the hem of my shirt. I swallowed bile as he focused on the crest between my legs. The glass prodded where nothing should touch.
Son of a bitch.
My hands curled within the glass shards. I swore and threw the dust at his face.
“Little bitch!”
The backhand struck harder than I expected. He laid me out before I had a chance to run, but his second strike never fell.
Nicholas loomed over us, his hand gripping his father’s wrist. Reed rushed to my side, hauling me up from the glass. He pushed me behind him, just far enough to give me a momentary head start if his father dove at me once more.
Darius dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, but he’d never admit that an Atwood harmed him. He snarled, pointing to the glass.
“Clean this up,” he said. “Then come to us in the smoking lounge, do you understand, young lady?”
He didn’t have the right to call me young lady .
“She’ll clean,” Nicholas said.
I blushed the instant he spoke. Darius growled and left me to my chore. Reed and Max followed, dutifully, as proper sons and lapdogs.
Nicholas waited, as though he expected a moment of gratitude for preventing the second blow. I hardly believed the first one had fallen, and the pain was only now blossoming over my cheek.
“I told you to wait for me,” he said.
Was it an apology or another punishment? I brushed the glass from my clothing, amazed I wasn’t more injured. Blood smeared, and the cut in my palm burned, but the sting distracted me from Nicholas’s sharp glare, a prickle worse than any of the serrated shards scratching my skin.
“Next time, you will listen to me.”
I didn’t answer. He didn’t offer to help. Was it all intimidation? He didn’t threaten me, but what could hurt more than the damning kiss he forced upon me in the woods?
A kiss that took my breath then and now.
He followed his family and left me to my hell.
I fantasized about scratching the elaborate dining table with the glass, slashing through the original art decorating the walls, or simply
I screamed as Darius pitched me to the ground. I tumbled onto the glass, and a thick shard instantly sliced my palm. He missed the worst of the pile, but the few crushed slivers tore at my skin. I bled everywhere, even from the smallest nicks on my exposed arms. His heel pressed against my neck. I struggled, but the movement only ground the glass into me. I stilled.
Darius Bennett looked too much like Nicholas—an older, greying, severe Nicholas who lost the amber tint to his eyes in favor of a lifeless brown. Darius didn’t have the same strong jaw or Roman nose, but the similarities were enough. The brow, his drawn lips. But Nicholas hadn’t played his emotions so vividly. Darius snarled, practically baring his teeth as he threatened to snap my neck with a steady kick.
My chest fluttered with useless breaths—hopefully fear and not the beginning of a serious attack.
A tear escaped as Darius knelt at my side, cradling a handful of glass in his palm. His voice lowered to a hideous threat.
“My dear, consider your circumstances. You are our guest because we need your cunt.” A sharp shard of glass the size of a paring knife danced in his fingers. He pressed the serrated edge against my throat. “The rest of your body doesn’t matter. Perhaps you wish to pick this glass up piece by piece with just your mouth?”
He wouldn’t.
“No?” He pressed the glass against my cheek. “What if you cleaned this mess by hand?”
I shook my head.
“Then if you promise to be a good girl…” The glass drifted low. I tensed as it passed my throat but stiffened when he teased the edge over my chest. He swept over my breast and poked my nipple hiding beneath my shirt. “Maybe I won’t have you sleep in this mess all night.”
The shard traced down. Lower and lower, summoning a frenzied breath that forced a tremble over my body.
He dragged the tip over my stomach to the hem of my shirt. I swallowed bile as he focused on the crest between my legs. The glass prodded where nothing should touch.
Son of a bitch.
My hands curled within the glass shards. I swore and threw the dust at his face.
“Little bitch!”
The backhand struck harder than I expected. He laid me out before I had a chance to run, but his second strike never fell.
Nicholas loomed over us, his hand gripping his father’s wrist. Reed rushed to my side, hauling me up from the glass. He pushed me behind him, just far enough to give me a momentary head start if his father dove at me once more.
Darius dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, but he’d never admit that an Atwood harmed him. He snarled, pointing to the glass.
“Clean this up,” he said. “Then come to us in the smoking lounge, do you understand, young lady?”
He didn’t have the right to call me young lady .
“She’ll clean,” Nicholas said.
I blushed the instant he spoke. Darius growled and left me to my chore. Reed and Max followed, dutifully, as proper sons and lapdogs.
Nicholas waited, as though he expected a moment of gratitude for preventing the second blow. I hardly believed the first one had fallen, and the pain was only now blossoming over my cheek.
“I told you to wait for me,” he said.
Was it an apology or another punishment? I brushed the glass from my clothing, amazed I wasn’t more injured. Blood smeared, and the cut in my palm burned, but the sting distracted me from Nicholas’s sharp glare, a prickle worse than any of the serrated shards scratching my skin.
“Next time, you will listen to me.”
I didn’t answer. He didn’t offer to help. Was it all intimidation? He didn’t threaten me, but what could hurt more than the damning kiss he forced upon me in the woods?
A kiss that took my breath then and now.
He followed his family and left me to my hell.
I fantasized about scratching the elaborate dining table with the glass, slashing through the original art decorating the walls, or simply
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