Dylan (Dark Legacy Book 4)

  Dylan

  Dark Legacy Book 4

  Tate James

  Jaymin Eve

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Part Two

  Also by the authors

  Tate James & Jaymin Eve

  Dylan: Dark Legacy Book 4

  Copyright © Jaymin Eve & Tate James 2020

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2020

  Eve, Jaymin

  James, Tate

  Dylan: Dark Legacy book 4

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover: Tamara K

  Editing: Jax Garren

  For Dylan’s fangirls (and boys), who loved him so hard he got his own book.

  Foreword

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  Jaymin Eve: facebook.com/groups/jayminevenerdherd

  Tate James: facebook.com/groups/TateJames.TheFoxHole

  1

  Every time I was with Dylan “the world’s most eligible billionaire bachelor” Grant, I told myself it would be the last. As much as I craved those lost hours with him, I needed to get my life sorted, and he was a complication that could bring everything crashing down around me. If my brother found out about him—if he knew that there was someone who touched me the way Dylan did—he’d lock me in my room and never let me out.

  Of course, it was easier said than done because anytime my damn phone buzzed, I hoped it was him. And on those rare occasions his number appeared, I’d find myself racing out of my hellhole of a house, needing the escape.

  The mindless, blissful hours where he fucked me until I couldn’t remember anything that was going on at home.

  He pulled some of my broken pieces back together, and he had no idea those were the best hours of my life.

  Buzz. Buzz.

  I stilled and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I hadn’t heard from him for two weeks, and every single time my phone went off, I almost shook with anticipation. Unable to stop myself, I opened the message immediately.

  D: Hotel on eighth. 7 P.M.

  Thank. Fuck.

  But seriously, this was it… the absolute last, last, last time. I shouldn’t be going at all, but it had been a hard fucking week and I needed this. Damn, the addiction was real, but who could blame me? Dylan Grant was perfection with his six-foot-four frame, dark skin, expressive green eyes, and the sort of raw magnetism that had rendered me speechless that first time I saw him.

  The first time, I gave him a fake name and age and fell into a world that wasn’t mine. And even though, to this day, he still knew virtually nothing about me, I was well-read on everything about the "Delta Heirs." The five of them had been trending on every tabloid, newspaper, magazine, and internet site for months, ever since their parents had been massacred and the five heirs had taken over a multi-multi-billion-dollar company. The press was especially enamored with Riley and Sebastian Beckett, aka Beck. The power couple. The dream team. But there hadn't been any shortage of information on the other three heirs too: Jasper Langham, Evan Rothwell, and him... Dylan Grant.

  My phone buzzed again to remind me there was an unread message, and I closed my eyes, slowly counting in my head.

  One … two … three … four… Make him wait, Brooklyn. Make him fucking wait this time.

  My eyes flew open as my fingers danced across the screen. I paused on the send button, but I couldn't stop myself from pressing it.

  Me: I'll be there.

  My heart thundered as my stomach flipped. Since this was the last time, maybe I’d even tell him my name and age. My real name and age. That would probably stop him from ever contacting me again anyway, and problem solved.

  The fact that we’d even met at all was somewhat of a miracle. It was the first time I’d ever been out at night, and it only happened due to a rare visit from family, which kept Blake occupied and allowed my cousin to sneak me out. In the first club, I’d been at a bar using her ID to buy a drink when Dylan had sidled in next to me, caught sight of my identification, and from then on, assumed me to be twenty-one-year-old Serena Michaels.

  I hadn't corrected him. Why would I? He sure as hell wouldn't have let me blow him in the back of his limo had he known I was only seventeen at the time. Not to mention everything that happened afterwards…

  Anticipation flipped my stomach over and over, and I stared at my phone for way too long. He wouldn’t reply, I knew that, but I liked to see that he’d read my message.

  “Brooklyn!”

  The shout almost sent me toppling off my bed, and the tone had my chest clenching. Not in the way that sex with Dylan did. Nope. This was dread. Pure, unadulterated dread.

  “Y-yes?” I shouted back, hoping he just had a question to ask.

  “Get your ass downstairs. Now!”

  I was up and moving before my brain could catch up.

  Ignoring a request from Blake Lawson, aka big brother, was something I’d learned never to do—learned it the hard way. And even if he was planning on punishing me right now, it would be ten times worse if I made him wait.

  “On my way,” I shouted, rushing out of my bedroom.

  We lived on the edge of Boulder, Colorado, in a huge estate that backed onto forests and a lake. From the outside it looked like I had it all, including a rich, handsome older brother who doted on me and gave me everything I wanted.

  The truth was, since our parents had died, leaving the bulk of their property fortune to Blake, I’d been a virtual prisoner in this home. He monitored my every move, my food intake—”no Lawsons are fat, Brooklyn!”—my phone, and my friends.

  Whenever Dylan messaged, I had to devise a new excuse to leave. I hadn’t had a chance to work on today’s, but I’d think of something. Hopefully, Blake would go out for some business, and all I’d have to do is get past the security on the outside. No one disturbed me in my room except for my brother.

  When I reached the staircase, I let my fingertips trace across the smooth, highly polished timber handrail. Our family home was beautiful, thanks to my mother’s decorating genius. It was open and light with lots of sunlight streaming through high windows, warming my face as I hurried downstairs. Jumping the last three steps, I winced as my bare feet protested before I raced across the marble foyer an
d into the large, wood-paneled office off to the right.

  Blake sat behind his monstrosity of a desk, allegedly carved from a thousand-year-old tree. “Everything okay?” I asked, trying not to puff too loudly. I really needed to start jogging or some shit because my cardio was woeful.

  Dark, angry eyes met mine, and I gulped down my next words, going very still.

  “Melody McCane phoned me,” he said softly, fingers pressed together in front of him, his broad shoulders filling out the dark leather chair that he sat in. “Apparently she saw you out yesterday. In the mall.”

  I couldn’t speak. Every part of me was frozen in place as my mind raced desperately for what to say to defuse the fuckload of trouble I was in. Blake leaned further onto his desk, and I realized he was dressed in a suit, like he’d been about to head into his offices in the downtown area. Clearly the call had held him up, and he hated that more than anything.

  “Uh,” I cleared my throat, “I needed some supplies for school. I told Mary.”

  Mary had been my nanny growing up, and now she worked as our housekeeper slash head chef. She was the only person in this house I loved, and the only one who tried to make my life happier. I had to be very careful not to get her into trouble, but I knew Blake would never fire her. She was one of the very few people he could use to make me complicit. If I rebelled, he’d hurt her, and I would never take the risk.

  “Mary does not get final say in where you go,” he said as he stood, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the desk. He ran a hand through his ice-blond hair, the exact same shade as mine. Blake, though, unlike me, kept his cropped close to his head to stop the waves from showing. Our hair was the only obvious similarity between us, since otherwise I was short and curvy with hazel eyes... and Blake was a monster. Tall, strong, and scary. His eyes were very dark brown, and they inspired the sort of terror that kept me up at night.

  He rolled his sleeves as he walked around the desk, and I trembled, wanting desperately to leave but knowing that would only make it worse later.

  He closed the door, the soft snick of the lock ominous but expected.

  He walked toward me. “What’s our number one rule, Brooklyn?”

  To anyone else, that quiet, calm voice would not have instilled terror, but to me, it was the beginning of the end…

  The first hit slammed into my ribs, and I bit my lip, forcing myself not to cry out. This was our new game, one where I didn’t make a sound and he tried to invent new ways to make me scream.

  “What is our fucking rule?” he growled.

  Part of me, a defiant part that he’d been trying to beat out of me for five years, rose up, and I wanted to ignore his question. But then I remembered the text from Dylan and the escape that would be mine if I didn’t force Blake to beat me unconscious, so I played the game.

  “Blake decides everything,” I said dully.

  Satisfaction stretched his lips into a grisly smile, the smile I saw in my nightmares.

  “That’s right, little sister,” he whispered, brushing his fingers across my cheeks and down to my lips. “This pretty face belongs to me. You don’t go anywhere without my permission. You don’t talk to anyone without my say-so. You don’t go to the mall, a place filled with horny teenage fucks who are just looking for an innocent blonde to screw. No one touches you but me.”

  At this point, his creepy attitude toward me was old news, and I was eternally grateful that he’d never tried to sexually assault me. If he ever found out I wasn’t a virgin anymore, I was pretty sure he would beat me until I couldn’t move.

  Rough hands gripped both of my arms hard as he yanked me closer, his hot breath fanning over my face, making me gag. “I’m heading out of town for business,” he said, “but we will revisit this when I return. Until then, you’re not to leave these grounds at all. Security and Mary have been informed.”

  I wiggled, arms aching under his grip. “What about school?” It was my one allowed escape from this house.

  Blake shook his head. “No. You’re done for the year. I need you to keep an eye on the house.”

  Done for the year? It was only the middle of freaking October.

  “When can I leave the house again?”

  He looked pleased. “Actually, glad you asked. There’s a boot camp in about six weeks that you’ll be attending. I have another extended trip away in early December, and I want to know someone else will be keeping you in line when I’m out of town.”

  “Boot camp?” I choked out.

  Blake smirked. “It’s a camp to teach you discipline and respect. I expect you to be a different person when you return, one that’s not quite so”—he played with my hair, twirling it around his fingers—“willful.”

  Willful. Stupid asshole. I was about as docile as a human could be that was still in possession of all their wits. I’d had to be to survive.

  “I’ll also be sending Jonnie along to keep an eye on you. I’d hate for you to get any ideas about escaping.”

  Jonnie. Motherfucker. He was the worst of Blake’s guys, with more muscle than brains, but there was nothing I could do to fight this. Blake decided everything. “Okay, I’ll do my best,” I said quietly.

  His eyes narrowed. “More than your best, Brooklyn. I’ve seen your best, and it’s just not the level that this family requires.”

  I wanted to shout at him, tell him what a horrible human he was—hurting people, stealing and lying for money and power—and really reiterate that if he was the best of this family, I hoped I was the worst. But I didn’t let a single word fall.

  Somehow, he still saw it in my eyes.

  His fist slammed into my sternum, just above my left breast, and immediately my chest ached as a wheezing cough escaped. One day he’d make a mistake and hit me too hard; at least then I’d finally be free of him.

  Crumpling forward, I protected myself the best I could as he slammed more fists into me. He knew exactly where to hit to inflict maximum pain with minimal evidence and was always very careful about that since hospitals asked questions and that was the last thing he wanted in his life.

  Appearances mattered to Blake, and for that reason alone, I was slightly spared.

  Small mercies.

  2

  Hot water beat down on me as I scrubbed my skin, needing to remove the memories of my brother’s hands on me. I could already see some bruises and welts, and if I didn’t desperately need this evening with Dylan, I would have canceled.

  I’d just have to insist on no lights so that awkward questions were avoided.

  Dylan didn’t give a fuck; he was only there for… well, the fucking. Full sunlight or pitch black, it didn’t matter as long as his cock could find my pussy. He wouldn’t notice my puffy, red eyes or the slight tremble in my limbs.

  And for once, I was thankful to be nothing more than a warm body available when he visited Colorado.

  When I was done showering, I stepped out and toweled off quickly. It took me a few minutes to run a brush through my long hair before I rubbed some styling gel into it to stop the curls from frizzing into a hot mess. The green in my hazel eyes was brighter than usual—typical after I’d cried. It frustrated me that Blake could still make me cry after all this time … that the pain still stole my breath and brought me to my knees. I should be stronger than this.

  A scream built in my chest, and I gulped huge lungfuls of air to stop it from bursting free. One day I was going to explode. But it wasn’t today. Today I had a billionaire to seduce.

  Once I was dry and dressed, my hair falling in loose curls, I used a small amount of makeup to cover any visible bruising. I wore only faded blue jeans and a white shirt, no doubt underdressed when rushing off to meet one's secret lover. But Dylan would just strip me the second I walked in the room anyway, so it didn’t much matter what I wore.

  Better to be comfortable for the sneaking out part since it was where all the danger lay. It was almost time, too; I just had to wait for Mary’s final check-in. She was the onl
y one allowed near me after Blake had gotten to me, and I’d already had hugs, tea, and a sneaked cookie earlier. This last visit would be just to say goodnight.

  Her soft knock came a moment later. “You okay in here, sweetheart?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Come in.”

  When her familiar, caring face came into view, I almost cried again, somehow holding myself together long enough to give her a hug. She gave the best hugs, and even though we looked nothing alike—she was half a foot taller than me, slender to my curves, with gorgeous black skin—I thought of her as a second mother. She could do so much better than suffering under Blake’s arrogant bullshit, too, but she’d been with us since both Blake and I were kids and she was too good of a cook for him to ever fire her.

  Actually, she was too good to be anyone’s cook. She deserved to be a head chef in a fancy restaurant somewhere. One day, she’d get there.

  “We need to get you away from him,” she growled as she released me. “He can’t be allowed to keep hurting you.”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t do anything that will draw his attention. I need you to still be here.”

  My greatest fear was that she’d die, and even though she was only in her early fifties—and looked at least a decade younger—with Blake as a boss, you never knew what would happen. Especially the way he threatened her health and well-being to keep me under his thumb. Until Mary and I had quietly pilfered and pawned enough of the Lawson family assets to make a fresh start for ourselves, and enroll Mary in culinary school, then I was gritting my teeth and bearing it.