Brutal: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Read online

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  INTRODUCTION

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Fourty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY S.VALENTINE

  KB Worlds

  ALSO WRITTEN BY K. BROMBERG

  BRUTAL

  A Driven World Series Novel

  S.VALENTINE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  © 2020 KB WORLDS. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  Published by KB Worlds LLC.

  Cover Design by: Literary Graphic Designs by Emma Nichole

  Cover Image by: Deposit Stock Photos

  Editing by: Lifestyle & Literature

  Formatting by: Lifestyle & Literature

  Published in the United States of America

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to the Driven World!

  I’m so excited you’ve picked up this book! Brutal is a book based on the world I created in my New York Times bestselling Driven Series. While I may be finished writing this series (for now), various authors have signed on to keep them going. They will be bringing you all-new stories in the world you know while allowing you to revisit the characters you love.

  This book is entirely the work of the author who wrote it. While I allowed them to use the world I created and may have assisted in some of the plotting, I took no part in the writing or editing of the story. All praise can be directed their way.

  I truly hope you enjoy Brutal. If you’re interested in finding more authors who have written in the KB Worlds, you can visit www.kbworlds.com.

  Thank you for supporting the writers in this project and me.

  Happy Reading,

  K. Bromberg

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  6ft 4, pure muscle, tanned, the bluest, most mysterious eyes I’d ever seen. As soon as I met Elias Cortez I was irrevocably drawn. There’s no getting rid of him, he’s everywhere we go. Within my reach, but completely unobtainable. Forbidden. My boyfriend’s bodyguard.

  I’m bound to Thomas by things out of my control. If I leave, I’ll be destroyed.

  If only Elias wasn’t so tempting. Never one for playing it safe, I end my toxic relationship and step into the dark side. Now I know why they call him BRUTAL. I hope I haven’t chosen the worst of two evils. But my heart won’t let me turn back…

  Our love is fierce, passionate and overwhelming.

  But loyal to his promise, Thomas gets his sweet revenge. He’s started a war which can cost us all everything. I’m not even sure Elias can protect me.

  Chapter One

  AMARA

  My heartbeat speeds up immensely at the sound of a loud Police siren blaring through the air. I swallow to moisten my dry throat, and try to control my shaking hands. Pushing through the crowds, I keep my pace slow not wanting to draw any suspicions. As I focus on the busy London street before me, I tell myself everything will be okay. The siren gets louder as the car nears me. I silently pray that Thomas hasn’t done anything stupid. We had a disagreement this morning. He’s the only person who knows my secret, who knows what I did.

  When the car whizzes past, my shoulders relax and I stop for a second to rein in my nerves and catch my breath. I have to trust Thomas and believe he’ll be there for me no matter what. But a tiny fraction of me is cautious, that he knows he has a hold over me and it gives him power.

  Continuing on my way, I chastise myself. Why wasn’t I more careful? It’s not even like I confided in him. There was a possibility I was going to at some point—I think. But he beat me to it, found the evidence. Before my mind can further torment me, my mobile rings. I remove it from my pocket and peer at the screen. Unknown number. I never answer these calls. Can never be too careful.

  Before I get to the white Victorian style townhouse me and Thomas live in, I feign casualness as I scan my surroundings, checking if anyone has followed me. The coast seems clear, people too pre-occupied with their mobiles and each other to give me a second glance. The house is empty and I love it like this. Living with Thomas isn’t always easy.

  My shoes squeak on the grey tiled floor as I enter the open plan living room and kitchen. It’s large, modern and bright. I should be more grateful. I begged and prayed and fought for this life. I need this.

  After I’ve shrugged off my jacket and prepared a sandwich, I drop onto the armchair before the TV. By the time I’ve finished and washed my plate, my mobile rings again. I tut, expecting another withheld caller. To my delight I see it’s my one and only friend Lori.

  “Amara,” she sings when I answer. “How you doing, darling?”

  I switch the TV off, pick up my jacket and start upstairs. “I’m fine,” I lie. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. Just had a load more orders so I’ll really need your help this week.”

  “Absolutely. You know I don’t have much else planned.”

  “Great. Well not for you obviously, but for me, I mean.” She laughs.

  She proceeds to tell me about her latest projects. Lori is self employed and bakes amazing cakes for a living. She lets me help out a few times a week and it’s fortunate I’ve always adored baking. Something I learnt from my mom. When she asks about Thomas I keep it short.

  After the call is over, I enter the bathroom. A hot, relaxing bath is calling me. I can close my eyes, no disturbances, and pretend I’m all alone and happy. That this place is mine. That I no longer have to look over my shoulder. And life is…normal.

  I’m about to undress when the front door slams shut. I freeze. Someone is here. It can’t be Thomas. He always rings and informs me of his whereabouts and expects the same in return. He
also calls my name every single time he’s home. I rub my forehead, hating how life is testing me today. We rarely get visitors. What if I’ve been caught? Or if I’m in danger? I need to get to the bedroom and quick.

  Tiptoeing to the door, I strain my ears, desperate to know where this intruder is. I hear objects being moved around and wonder what they’re looking for. It feels like it takes an age before I get to the bedroom without making a sound. Heavy footsteps come up the stairs and I move frantically in different directions. Where do I go? I can’t jump out the window, it’s too high. Hiding under the bed or in the closet won’t do much good. I have no other choice but to do what I have to.

  Dropping to my knees, I move the bag of shoes from under the table. I pull up the carpet and feel for the gun I purchased from a local thug. Thomas doesn’t know I own it. I want to keep it that way. I’d never want the weapon to be reversed and used on me, not that I think he would, but how much do you really know someone these days? He doesn’t know me that well obviously. He’d be horrified if he discovered this gun and maybe even fear for his own safety. I can’t allow that. I need to keep him on my side.

  The footsteps stomp across the hallway and I position myself behind the door, ready to leap should I have to. This person is making no attempt to be quiet. Whether it’s a scaring tactic, I don’t know. How did they get in? I don’t remember hearing the front door being forced open. Did I shut it properly? Surely I wouldn’t be that careless, but I was in a hurry to get out of the public eye.

  The intruder seems to pause at the doorway and I shrink further against the wall, my hold tightening on the gun. I clamp my mouth shut, hoping my breathing can’t be heard. Before I’m able to react, a man is before me, the gun snatched from my hand.

  “Don’t. Move,” he warns, the weapon aimed at me. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

  I don’t dare move a muscle, until he repeats himself slowly, then I hold up my palms.

  Who is this giant of a man? I can’t help but examine every detail. He’s smartly dressed in a black suit which complements his broad frame, the blazer stretching over big biceps. He must be 6 foot 4 easy, and is probably the most intimidating person I’ve ever seen. His intense blue eyes—a stark contrast from his dark hair—meet mine.

  “Who are you?” he asks, his expression impassive.

  Who am I? I blink. Is he testing me? Surely he knows who I am, along with every little secret I have. “You know who I am.” It’s useless me trying to fight as I’d never succeed. I wouldn’t have pictured someone like him coming for me though. “Who are you?” I ask even though it’s irrelevant.

  He’s silent and I’m unsure if he’s going to answer. “Elias Cortez.” When he sees no spark of recognition from me, he further clarifies, “Mr Dawson’s bodyguard?”

  An incredulous laugh escapes from me and I shake my head. “Thomas’s bodyguard?” I snap. I’ve never seen him before. Is he new? “What are you doing here?”

  “He sent me to get his mobile.” The gun is still pointing in my direction. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m his girlfriend, Amara. Didn’t you get briefed?” I tut. “Get that gun out of my face!”

  His eyes widen, regret entering them. He’s messed up big time.

  Now I’m not in danger, I assess him properly. He’s extremely handsome and I never notice the opposite sex. His hands are huge, the sort which could probably bring intense passion, as well as hurt someone with rage, no weapons needed. He slowly comes toward me like a predator on its prey. When he places the gun in my hand, our fingers connecting, a shrill of excitement heats my body. I must be deranged, a glutton for punishment, because I find him dangerously hot. This is not good and this is definitely not like me.

  “How long have you been working for Thomas?” I ignore my stupid, shameful hormones and stash the gun on top of the wardrobe.

  “Since yesterday.”

  “What happened to Trevor?”

  “No idea.”

  Gosh, he’s a man of words. We stand staring at one another awkwardly. It’s weird—us strangers—being in a bedroom together. “Do you want a coffee?” I offer.

  “No.” He follows me down the stairs. “Do you know where Mr. Dawson keeps his phone?”

  “Why? Is he too drunk to get it himself?”

  Elias remains silent, loyal to Thomas. I scan the kitchen counters, the table in the living room, and then feel down the creases of the sofa. I locate Thomas’s mobile and hand it to him.

  “Why do you have a gun?” he asks me outright.

  “What’s it got to do with you?”

  He jams the mobile and then his hands into his trouser pockets and scrutinises me. “Does Mr. Dawson know you have a gun?”

  I fidget from one foot to the other, trying to conjure up a lie. If I tell him Thomas gave it me for protection, what if he mentions it to him? Honesty is the best policy right now.

  “No he doesn’t. And I’d like for it to be kept that way.”

  “It depends whether my client is in any danger,” he says it slowly and carefully as if warning me.

  “The gun has nothing to do with Thomas.”

  He’s silent as if trying to read whether I’m being sincere or not. “If anything happens to him, I won’t be keeping this incident to myself.” He coughs to clear his throat. “I didn’t catch your full name, Amara…”

  “Amara Jain.” I give him a condescending grin.

  “See you soon, Miss. Jain.”

  I watch him leave, even going so far as to peer out the window. He walks tall and confident, and extremely threatening. He’s the sort of man no-one would want to get on the wrong side of. He halts to allow a pretty blonde to pass by, and I’m certain she’ll glance back. After a few beats she looks over her shoulder and smiles. Elias turns right and continues on his way, his expression again unreadable. He’s mysterious, I’ll give him that. I can’t believe Thomas didn’t even give me a heads up. So Elias Cortez will be assisting us everywhere we go now? I’m annoyed yet another man knows another secret of mine, that I illegally keep a weapon. I can’t afford little mistakes like this.

  Sliding onto a chair at the table, I stare out the window people watching. A couple stroll past, hand in hand. She’s staring at the man, a naughty smile present, and he stops to give her a long, lingering kiss. I’ve never experienced passion or love like that.

  A group of girls then pass, wearing beautiful outfits, clad with shopping bags, and I hear one suggest they go to a spa. I continue to take in the outdoor scene, like my window is a TV displaying a movie. Smart suits pass, having finished work for the day, no doubt content with careers I can only dream of. These people, they live normal, carefree lives.

  My chest rises and falls as I sigh. In an alternate Universe everything would be different. Everything. Tears prick my eyes and I curse to myself for being weak and pathetic. If only I could leave Thomas, but it’s impossible. I’ll be destroyed. And I’m so close to getting everything I want.

  Chapter Two

  ELIAS

  Sweat drips from my face, my breathing and heartbeat so fast I fear my chest will burst open. My arms shake as I grimace, bench pressing 200 kilos. Just four more. I bring the bar down, then up, and down again. Pain shoots through my shoulders. Putting the bar back, I gasp for air. I’ve been working out for the past hour. It’s important to stay in shape with the job I have. I need to be fit and healthy, to protect my clients at all costs.

  “Yo, Elias.” DeShawn slaps me on the shoulder. He’s a bodyguard too and massive gym enthusiast, the latter mainly for the ladies. “How’s it going, bro?”

  “Good,” I respond, dabbing my hot face with a towel.

  “Heard you had some trouble at Revolution on Saturday.” Revolution is a popular club in Mayfair.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  He sniggers. “Ain’t nothing you can’t handle.”

  I tense, wishing it was the truth. Emotion builds in my throat and I sw
allow down the painful lump. If only my past was solely filled with childhood memories, my college years, the beautiful women I’ve bedded, the exotic places I’ve travelled to, but no. Something dark and evil will always have a hold over me. Regret is the worst thing in the world because you can never go back and fix it. Well, not in my case anyway.

  I’m frustrated now, my mood vicious, and instead of leaving the gym like I usually would, I head for the treadmill. I put my wireless headphones in and play loud, angry heavy metal music. I run and run, building up speed, getting faster and faster until I can’t take any more, until the pain in my legs is so excruciating I’m forced to stop.

  “Who you working for now besides Elliot?” DeShawn reappears.

  “Some dude living off his rich parents.”

  He nods. “I better get going.” He tosses his towel on his shoulder. “Gotta take some rich bitch to a fashion show. Fucking shoot me, man.”

  I half smile. Better him than me. I’m glad both of my clients are men. I’ve assisted women before and hard work doesn’t even begin to explain it. Some treat you like their personal slave. Others make a move on you, not in the least bit bothered if you lose your job. Getting intimate with a client will never be worth the risk, and that won’t change. I’ve worked far too hard and long to gain my current clients. Most are respectable, generous with tips, and I like them. There’s one guy I have my eye on, who Thomas believes may need a new bodyguard soon. Maverick Haynes. He’s massively rich, his family having links to Hollywood royalty. If Thomas puts in a good word as promised, not only will my portfolio shine, but my bank account will reap the benefits, and living in London isn’t cheap.

  After I’ve showered, I make a quick pit stop to my parents place in Brixton. The town is hip, up-and-coming, culturally diverse, and busy, with buildings tastefully painted with iconic artists such as Tupac, Biggie Smalls, Bob Marley, and David Bowie, Brixton having been his hometown.