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

  I fly toward him and guide him backwards with my arm, telling him it’s a private party. I can feel the angry heat behind my eyes and I pray he obeys me. The majority of the time assisting my clients to events goes well. Other than a few drunks to get rid of my shifts are calm. A few times a year however, there’s always some idiot who thinks he can fight me. Full fights break out and it gets messy, everyone and anyone joining in. The security often back me, but one time the Police got involved. A man tried to glass me so I’d restrained him, after teaching him a lesson of course. I doubt he’ll ever raise a glass to someone’s face again.

  “I’m looking for my girlfriend,” the drunk man drawls. “What the fuck?”

  “Which one is she?” I place my palm against his chest. He’s big, stocky, but certainly no match for me. They never are. Even if they’re bigger than me, which isn’t often, I’ve no doubts I can take them down.

  “Her! With the red dress on. Tell her I’ve been fucking looking for her.”

  I get his pain. It can’t be easy watching another dude chatting up your woman, especially one who is rich and supplying her with everything she desires. An abundance of expensive champagne, drugs, and undivided attention. I shouldn’t get involved in Elliot’s business. The woman has her own mind, but my conscience gets the better of me. When Elliot is deep in conversation with a friend, I tap the woman on the shoulder and remind her of her boyfriend’s presence.

  “Tell him it’s over,” she states, her wide drugged-up eyes devoid of compassion. “Oh, and tell him not to forget the hundred pounds he owes me.”

  I blink. Heartless bitch. If it’s one thing that turns me off it’s materialistic, high maintenance women. I return to the drunk man and repeat her words, changing the last part to the hundred pounds being waivered.

  “She’ll be chasing you next week,” I tell him. “My client has new women every day.”

  He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but the hurt is apparent. I’m glad I’m single. Women, all they do is play games. I don’t have the heart or the head for it. My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I take a quick peak. It’s a text from Amara. ‘Thomas found it. Now he doesn’t trust me, and I have no means of protection.’ Protection from who? Thomas, the scrawny bastard, or someone else? I delete the message not wanting Thomas to ever see it. Why do I always end up getting dragged into other people’s issues? I told her to call me should she need me, meaning help, not to text me a rundown of the problems in her relationship.

  I focus on Elliot again. He’s content, that chick draped all over him. He’ll want a party back at his place later, I know it. A yawn escapes and I wish I could go home. I’ve had enough now. That song is still stuck in my head. My mobile suddenly seems heavier in my pocket, a massive temptation for me to look. I fold my arms across my chest, diverting my attention to a loud, random discussion before me, anything but look at the damn phone. The fight. The song. The lyrics. Don’t do it, Elias. Don’t look. My parents kept on at me to delete the images, but I can’t bring myself to do it. As well as excruciating pain, they also bring comfort. Don’t look! My stupid hand, ignoring my wise mind, grabs the mobile. I click on that particular photo album and swipe through the images quickly, stopping to pause on some, studying closely. The muscles in my jaw ticks and pain sears through my heart. I clamp my lips together and tilt my head back to the ceiling, trapping in tears that have been threatening to explode for months. Then I do it. It takes all the willpower and courage I have to delete the entire album. It physically hurts every single part of me doing this. If I could erase the devastating memories from my mind, which would include the good ones, would I? I chew on my bottom lip. No. The good times were worth all the heartbreak in the whole world.

  Taking my mobile again, I click on the trash folder and recover the album I deleted. I can’t move on.

  Chapter Five

  AMARA

  I bolt upright, my breathing fast, my brain trying to process where I am. It’s light, thank God. Warm sunlight is bursting into the white, airy room. A flowery scent fills the air and birds chirping are a delightful addition. Once having been in a dark hell, this place is like heaven, until I remember the argument with Thomas. Not a good start to the day. I could have had a hot luxurious bath, followed by coffee and a productive day working with Lori. My mom would have been impressed with the last birthday cake we baked, the decorations flawless. I sink back onto the mattress and wonder how she is, how they all are. I miss my family terribly, but I know they hate me for what I did. It’s been forever since I last spoke to them and it doesn’t get any easier.

  Throwing the covers back, I yank my nightgown on and set off downstairs, barefoot. Thomas was horrified and astounded when he found my gun. He’d drunkenly crashed into the wardrobe on his way to the bathroom, causing it to fall to the floor. When he’d asked why I had it, I’d almost told him it belonged to Elias, that he’d asked me to store it at the last minute. I couldn’t lie though. If Elias lost his job, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. I also need him around. Thomas believed me when I said it was to protect myself from them, from being punished, dragged to prison, or whatever my terrible fate will be. When he said he would keep the gun until I needed it, I panicked. That drew suspicions and he said he wasn’t comfortable knowing I had a weapon, and what would stop me using it on him? After all, I had a tendency to be ‘violent’ in my past. I’d tried to argue, to explain if I was home alone and in danger, I’d need it. Now it’s in Thomas’s safe, of which I have to call him should I need the code. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel afraid and helpless. I need to stay on his good side even more now, because what’s to stop him turning me into the Police? He uses everything else against me. Not long now, Amara.

  “Morning,” I call out, passing Thomas for the kitchen. He’s on the sofa flipping through a newspaper.

  “Hi,” he grumbles, evidence he’s still in a mood.

  “Breakfast?”

  That gets his attention. They say a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Luckily for me, that’s true. Luckily for Thomas I can rustle up some tasty dishes.

  “I am kind of hungry now that you mention it.”

  Before I set about grabbing pans and ingredients and getting busy, I saunter toward Thomas and sit down. He’s handsome with his light blond hair, green eyes, and model structured face. His features are perfect, his frame tall and slim. He could pass for being a model easy, all pretty boy and charming. If only he hadn’t found out my secret. We met eleven months ago in a coffee shop. I remember being uneasy at the time, and had clumsily knocked my drink over his designer coat. I’d expected for him to yell, request I pay for it, but he hadn’t. He must have seen the sorrow on my face, my desperation to get out of there. He said as long as I gave him my number he’d let me off. Thomas had been a welcome distraction at first, invited me into his more than comfortable lifestyle. Not that I ever took a penny. I’ve been saving from the baking stint and still am. I never wanted a man to have a hold over me, but stupidly Thomas ended up having just that anyway.

  “I’m sorry for not telling you about—”

  “It’s fine,” he cuts me off. Insecurity digs away at me, silence descending upon us. Then he puts the newspaper aside, and slides his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “I know why you had it, baby. But you’re safe here, I promise.”

  He’s wrong, but I don’t correct him.

  “I love you. And I’ll never let anything happen to you.” He presses his lips against mine. He kisses again and again, until he’s prying mine open with his tongue. I reciprocate. Warmness fills my heart from being wanted. I love Thomas, but it’s not in a passionate, intense chemistry type of way. I tell myself lust isn’t that important as it eventually fades anyway, I think. We share some things in common. We love architecture, nature, music. As his hands slip under my nightgown, I push away the doubts and all the things we don’t have in common. No-one is perfect and definitely not me.

  “So, what do you want f
or breakfast?” I pull away and kiss him hard on the lips to soften my rejection. “Full English breakfast, or I can do you avocado on toast, or—”

  “Don’t worry. I think I’ll grab breakfast while I’m out.” He stands. “I’m going to have a shower. Let Elias and Rick in when they come. I won’t be long.”

  I smile. “I’m going to Lori’s today. She’s had a lot of orders come through.”

  Thomas halts to a stop. “Are you going to be okay getting the tube there and back? I don’t know why you don’t get taxis everywhere, or let me pay for a driver.”

  “It’d end up costing too much. And we both know I need to face my fears.”

  I’m afraid every single time I leave the house, but I can’t lock myself away forever, away from people, and the world. Besides I need to earn money. London is huge and packed. I’m hoping I blend in and I’m unrecognisable, especially since my appearance is a far cry from what it once was. I wear makeup now, my fashion sense is completely different, and I regularly straighten the natural curls of my hair.

  “Amara, if you felt safe you wouldn’t have bought that gun from God knows where.” He starts up the stairs. “You can have Elias for the day. I’ll call one of the other bodyguards to assist me.”

  I try to protest, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. Thomas can be sweet sometimes. I know he cares about my safety and my wellbeing, but only when it’s advantageous to him. A person who truly cares wouldn’t blackmail you and force you to stay in a relationship.

  Just as I start my own breakfast the doorbell rings. I answer it and find Elias suited and booted, and…Let’s not go there, Amara, I silence my thoughts. I invite him in and offer him a coffee which he unexpectedly accepts. He’s polite and doesn’t head for the sofa to relax, instead asking if I need any help. I’m yet to meet a man who is good in the kitchen, so I ask him if he cooks.

  “I do.” He leans against the counter and I realise it’s his full answer.

  How did I forget he barely speaks? I switch on the kettle, get two fine china cup and saucers out, and turn to face him. I only remember I’m in my short nightgown, my legs exposed, when Elias’s gaze flickers up and down. I wish for once his expression would tell me something. Hating the charged atmosphere in the air, I lead him to the sofa and switch on the TV.

  “You’re stuck with me today,” I inform him. “Thomas is worried about me going out alone.”

  He nods.

  When I hear the kettle boiling, I rush toward it. I can hear Tom and Jerry in the background and curse myself for not giving him the remote. When our drinks are before us and I’m on the sofa too, I go to change the channel.

  “What would you like on?”

  “This is fine.” He shifts forward and picks up his cup.

  “You like cartoons?” This huge hulk of a man enjoys cartoons? Seriously?

  “They remind me of my childhood.” He swigs his coffee.

  “Is adulthood that bad?” I tease. It suddenly dawns on me that although I sometimes get shy around this man, he also brings out my playful side, the side that forgets about my problems. He doesn’t respond to my question, simply focuses on the cartoon. I’m desperate to know more about Elias, but I’m unsure if it’s because I’m being nosey, or I’m genuinely interested. He said he lives alone. Perhaps that’s why he can cook, because he has no choice but to.

  I expect little to no conversation when he asks, “What did Mr. Dawson do with the gun?”

  I make myself comfortable and turn to him. “It’s in his safe, which is no use to me.”

  “Why do you need it?”

  “Asks the man with never any answers of his own?” I raise a brow. “Conversation works both ways.”

  His lips quirk upwards slightly and I know he likes my sarcasm, a little. “I keep my relationships with my clients strictly professional.”

  I twiddle a strand of hair around my finger. “I’m not one of your clients. Thomas pays for your services, not me.”

  He doesn’t respond. He’s infuriating. I want to grab him and shake words out of him.

  “Tell me one fact about yourself, or I’ll subject you to a torturous day of girly shopping, followed by coffee at a loud kid’s play centre.”

  He massages the back of his neck as if to alleviate tension and I know I’ve got him right where I want him. “I’m half Spanish.”

  I laugh. “I gathered that by the surname. That doesn’t count.”

  He pauses to think. “I don’t mind cartoons.”

  “We’ve already established that too. Next.” I shuffle over. “And don’t tell me you cook either.” I cross my leg over the other and my nightgown rides up my thighs. It’s only when I notice Elias’s reaction that I again remember how inappropriately dressed I am. When he drags his stare from my legs, his eyes are clouded with darkness and unmistakable passion. He’s looking at me as if I’m the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

  He coughs to clear his throat and returns to the TV. “I’m a good driver,” he answers my question.

  I sit straight and tighten the sash on my nightgown, my cheeks filling with embarrassed heat. I’ve never felt so desired as I did a second ago. Thomas—my own boyfriend—doesn’t even react like that. Is Elias Cortez attracted to me? I study his large hands, his full enticing lips and the cold stare which has returned. A reputation for being brutal when fighting, I bet nothing about him is gentle in the bedroom. I hate myself for even giving it any thought, and shame creeps up my neck as I blush. I should stop being hard on myself. It’s not like I’ve ever lived out any of my desires.

  Before I land myself into trouble, I jump to my feet. Getting to know Elias is not a good idea. This man is forbidden for many different reasons. But why do we always want what we can’t have?

  Chapter Six

  ELIAS

  When Amara vanishes upstairs, I shake my head and lean back against the sofa. I’m agitated. This can’t be happening to me. I’m not tempted by this woman. I’m not. Or so I again tell myself. I’m perfectly happy being alone, and besides she’s a client and she’s taken. For some strange reason I have a strong desire to protect her, to keep her safe. Behind the humour I know she’s hiding something and is hurting. I can relate to that. I bet she’s as fucked up as I am which is another reason why I need to keep my distance.

  The way her nightgown rode up though, her tanned, slender legs on show, her black hair cascading down her shoulders, and those deep brown eyes. She’s naturally stunning without a touch of arrogance. In fact, I don’t think she’s even aware of how beautiful she is. Dainty and small, I want to take her in my arms and look after her. But I won’t. I’m her bodyguard and that’s all I’ll ever be. I need to ensure I don’t cross the line. I’m no good for a woman like Amara. No good for any woman. My life is dark and dangerous, and if she saw my vicious side she’d run a mile.

  The dinging of the doorbell brings me back to the present. I hurry to answer it. Rick. We make small talk until both Thomas and Amara are ready. She’s dressed in smart black trousers, matching shirt, and heels. She’s different from most women. No revealing low-cut dress, or over the top makeup. No tattoos or piercings. She’s pure, untouched, and classy.

  I have to look away when Thomas kisses her like he’s staking his claim.

  Outside, when it’s just me and Amara, she breezes past my car. “Where are you going?” I ask.

  “I don’t drive. We’ll have to get the tube.”

  What woman of this day and age doesn’t drive? She continues to surprise me. It’s like in some ways she’s independent, but in other ways, she’s far from it. “I have my car here. We can take that,” I suggest.

  She comes to a stop and nods in agreement, seeming pleased. When we’re in the car, the music is the only sound. I’m unsure if she’s embarrassed about the incident in the living room, or whether like me, she knows us getting friendly is a bad idea.

  “Put your seatbelt on please,” I tell her, not wanting anything bad to happen.

&n
bsp; “I will,” she states. “Thanks, dad.”

  I ignore her sarcasm and strap my own on. Although the roads are swarming with fancy cars in this area, black cabs, and red buses, the traffic isn’t too heavy. Sunlight pours through the windscreen and I pull down the visor. I can hear the bleeping of a lorry reversing, chatter, and a baby squealing. A car from the left edges forward and I’m the only one to brake and give way. The frustrated face softens and he holds his hand up in thanks. London. I have a love-hate relationship with this place. I love how there’s so much to do and see, and endless opportunities to become something. What I dislike however is the unpredictable weather, the rushing around, and how the days rapidly merge into night. I miss Brighton sometimes—of where I lived for ten years—the beach, fresh air, and how it seemed slower paced. I yearn to go back, but that life is long gone.

  Fifteen minutes into driving, Amara sighs as if she has the whole world on her shoulders. I reassure her everything will be okay. I meant what I said about being there for her. I don’t ever want this woman to live afraid. “You don’t need the gun. You have my number and you have me…my services,” I quickly correct myself.

  She doesn’t respond, but I can see her reflection clearly in the window. Her chest is rising and falling slowly and she appears sad, like she’s given up on fighting, or something. Is she not confident of my ability to protect her?