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

  I sink onto the bed once more. How much longer can I put up with this? This isn’t the life I planned. I had dreams of finding myself, working on my confidence, and being the strength other women so desperately need. Thomas is toxic and he’s stalling my growth. I can’t put up with this. I won’t put up with it for long. He wants me to join him tonight? Fine, I will. I’m tempted to cause a scene in the hope he’ll never invite me to these dreadful gatherings again, but I know that won’t be the case. He’ll simply carry out the threat I’m most afraid of.

  ***

  I stare at the cocktail jug before me, the devil on my shoulder telling me to consume every last drop. I’m in a foul mood. The angel wins and I sip my orange juice like a good little girl. I shake my head, my lip curling in disgust as Thomas plays the good host to some pretty blondes. He’s over the top, laughing, leaning in close, fussing all over them. Why does he want to be with me? He has women throwing themselves at him. Is it the sense of power he gets? Is it the fact he likes to be different, because I’m different to all these girls? He’s always loved being the centre of attention. I force myself to stop questioning and overanalysing everything. My ego is hurt, not my heart.

  Wanting to pass time and being fond of a song playing, I jump up. I dance, slowly swaying my hips from side to side, and lifting my arms in the air. From high up here on the second floor, being able to see the whole crowd below, I pretend I’m a performer, a dancer, someone else, but Amara Jain. Let me be reckless, fun, and free. I close my eyes, the soft vocals soothing, the beat matching the pace of my heart.

  When a large hand slides around my waist, making my whole body tingle, I know it’s him and I welcome his touch. What is Elias doing and how can such a simple act have me longing for more? The front of his body collides with my back and I continue to dance, until my feet stumble forwards. My eyes spring open and I glance over my shoulder to check his expression. There’s nothing seductive about it. When I see a couple pass, disappointment plagues me. Elias was making room for them in this packed area, edging me out the way. Me and my wayward thoughts.

  “I need some fresh air,” I mutter, hoping he can’t see the embarrassment which has no doubt reddened my face.

  “I’ll come with you.” It’s a statement not a question.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Mr. Dawson wouldn’t like you wandering around alone.” Before I can protest he catches Thomas’s eye and jerks his head to the side, silently telling him we’re heading outside.

  I grab my handbag off the sofa and march to the back of the club. I have to push my way through people, weaving in and out of the crowd. Elias’s hand rests on my waist again and I think it’s because he doesn’t want to lose me. I shrug him off, not wanting further temptations. Not that I’d ever act upon it.

  The air reeks of cigarette smoke when I’m outside. I head to the far corner where it’s quieter and find an empty table. Elias sits opposite me, his elbows propped on the wooden surface, hands linked together, all business-like. I don’t smoke. I never have, nor taken drugs. What can I do but sit here? It’s not even like I can fiddle with my mobile. It’s way too late to call or text anyone.

  The loud laughter of a girl catches our attention. She’s leaning forward, her boobs spilling out of her top, clearly drunk. She straightens and grabs her friend planting a big kiss on her lips. The boys accompanying them whistle and it’s obvious she’s doing it for attention. From my periphery I take in Elias’s reaction. He’s not smiling. In fact he couldn’t look more bored. Is the gorgeous woman not his type? What is his type? I rub my aching temples. Why do I care? Stop it, Amara.

  “Why do you come to these clubs?” He faces me again.

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “They don’t seem your scene.”

  I tap my manicured nails on the table. “And what is my scene?” I find myself getting all defensive. Does he think I’m too boring for these places?

  “Somewhere where the clientele are more mature.”

  What? I blink. Is that how he sees me? He coughs and I sense he regrets his words, that he shouldn’t have said anything. I hide the fact I’m flattered. “I don’t really get a choice. Thomas insists.”

  “Do you do everything he tells you?” He gives me a challenging look.

  “I just want a peaceful life,” I confess.

  He leans in and his voice is low. “Why did you get a gun?”

  My back straightens. So that’s the reason for his question? He’s prying, trying to work out if I’m afraid of Thomas again. With a heartfelt sigh, I shake my head. “You’re relentless. The gun has nothing to do with Thomas. Please, drop it.”

  I make my way back to the club. Elias needs to go. I have to persuade Thomas to hire a new bodyguard. My heart sinks. Can I really do that? I know I’ll miss him. I like having Elias around and being able to talk to him. I feel his presence behind me without even having to look. There’s telltales signs in the lustful, widening eyes of the women before me, on the shocked, intimidated faces of the men. The safety is like a big, warm blanket wrapping around me. No. I can’t let him go anywhere. Maybe I can put him to good use and start to explore more of London. I need to make a huge promise to myself though: Don’t get too familiar or personal.

  Chapter Twelve

  ELIAS

  “Oh, honey, look at this place,” my mom whines, picking up discarded clothes from the sofa. “It’s a state.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I lie. In all truthfulness ever since I became single I haven’t bothered much with my surroundings. On the first floor my apartment is modern, but messy. What’s the point in cleaning when it’s only me here. “Beer?” I hold out an ice-cold Corona to my dad.

  He turns from the TV and takes it. My parents have dropped by unannounced and although I’m a little inconvenienced I’m glad of the company.

  “Right, sit yourself down, and I’ll make some food.”

  She’ll have a job, the cupboards are empty. When she discovers this, she paces back into the living room.

  “You ever heard of a supermarket? They sell food, drinks, cleaning products?”

  I hide the grin straining my cheeks.

  “Looks like we’re ordering food. Pizza? Curry? Chinese?”

  We all agree on pizza. When it arrives my mom fusses about us sitting at the table like a proper family. Afterwards, when I’m full, I watch an old Stallone movie with my dad and my mom gets to doing what she does best: cleaning. I reckon she just wants to snoop. As I watch my dad laughing away, I’m comforted. I should have invited them around more often in the past especially when I needed them the most, but I couldn’t. When I’m in a dark place I prefer to be alone. I hate asking for help and I hate being pitied.

  After an hour I realise my mom is too quiet. Never a good thing. I check both the kitchen and bathroom to find them spotless, everything gleaming. Women must have some sort of superpower, how she’s cleaned so fast is beyond me. It would have taken me a week. I find her in the bedroom rummaging through that box, the pink one containing the stuff I couldn’t throw out such as her makeup, engagement ring, anti-ageing creams, a couple of books, the pages folded at the corners, which she never got to finish.

  My mom hasn’t heard me enter and I take a deep, calming breath, trying to hold it together, to not lose my shit at her overstepping the line. Only when I see her swipe her cheek do I spot she’s crying. Although she sometimes couldn’t stand my rebellious, but beautiful Kaley, she truly did love her.

  “Elias.” She jumps when I sit beside her. “I was having a clear out…do you want this stuff?” She’s trying to appear casual. Like the photographs she knows I’ll never throw anything away. She’s different to me. My mom hates painful reminders wanting to move on, forget about the past, whereas I get comfort in reminiscing about the past even if it can hurt too.

  “They’re fine under the bed,” I tell her softly, where she found the box.

  She studies the ring a final time before gently placing
everything back in the box and moving it out of sight.

  “We should do this more often,” I say, eager to divert the conversation from where I know it’s headed. “You both coming here for dinner, I mean.”

  She nods. “That would be nice.” She stares at me before stroking my hair from my forehead. “You’re so handsome.” She half smiles. “And you’re still my boy, no matter how old and big you get.”

  I chuckle.

  “I want you to be happy.” Her features fall, her mouth drooping and I hate how she worries about me.

  “Happiness isn’t dependant on a relationship.” I rub my palms up and down my face, tiredness having kicked in. “If I wanted a woman, I’d have one.”

  She grabs my hand and squeezes it. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  I focus on the grey laminate flooring which has clearly been swept and mopped. “Not for a while,” I confess.

  “Have you spoken to Sarah and Derek?”

  “No.” I pause. “I think I’ll go to Brighton at some point.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Can you promise me something?” She shuffles closer.

  I look at her, silent, willing her to continue.

  “Can you at least try and date? Love doesn’t happen only once, and I should know.”

  My mom was married and divorced before she met my dad. The abusive relationship should have scarred her, made her give up on love, but it didn’t. She told me it made her more determined to find the right kind of love.

  Her eyes are pleading with me and when I nod I see the flash of hope. “I’ll try.”

  “You better,” she says firmly now. “I’ll be ringing you for updates.”

  I shake my head, not in the least bit surprised of her bossiness. My mom’s one of those people who never forget a promise. I suppose it can’t hurt to go on a few dates even though I already know the outcome, that there won’t be second dates, and I won’t give them a chance. How am I meant to love someone when I don’t even love myself? How can anyone else love me if they knew what I did, what I caused?

  Chapter Thirteen

  AMARA

  I stand back and admire the birthday cake I’ve baked and decorated. It’s for an eleven year old girl who loves unicorns. Topped with white icing and all the colours of the rainbow, I think I’ve done a good job. Me and Lori have baked four cakes today, all the customers specific on design. It’s taken us hours to decorate, to create figurines and words out of fondant, as well as adding finishing touches with icing pens.

  When the final customer has collected her cake, we remain in the kitchen, grateful to have a chance to catch up. Elias is in the living room having driven me here. I slide onto a stool at the table as Lori pours wine for herself, and cranberry juice for me. I haven’t properly spoken to her since we went out that night.

  “So, how did it go with Kyle?”

  She guzzles back her wine like there’s no tomorrow. “Really good.” There’s a naughty glimmer in her eye.

  “Define good.” Surely she didn’t sleep with him already? Lori tends to develop feelings for men quite quickly and gets upset when her dates rarely ring her back.

  “We hooked up.”

  I cradle my glass, hoping he’s called her. “And?” I prompt when she’s not forthcoming with the information.

  “And…we’re going out this Friday.” She beams.

  My posture relaxes and I grin. “What do you have planned?”

  “Not sure yet.” She removes the band from her wrist and ties her blonde hair into a messy bun. “The sex was amazing!” She giggles. “Like…the best I’ve ever had.”

  My leg is crossed over the other, swinging back and forth in a steady rhythm. When I realise I’m doing this, I stop.

  “Honestly, Amara…” She begins to rattle off the details and I find myself losing concentration. When she taps my arm, I focus. “Anyways, how hot is Elias? I bet you wish you were single.”

  I tut and shake my head. She knows she’s a bad influence.

  After an hour more of listening to Lori gossip, I hug her goodbye, pocket the money I’ve made, and set off home. Elias seems even quieter today which I didn’t think was possible. Something is up, but I don’t pry. It’s not my business.

  I reach forward to switch the radio on at the same time as Elias and our hands collide. I mumble an apology, but he tells me to continue. I do so, then relax against my seat. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, an internal battle obviously occurring in his head. So serious and mysterious.

  Lori’s words return to me and I surreptitiously check him out. He really is a fine specimen, so handsome and put together. Every hair on his head is perfectly gelled, his suit without a single crease. He must work out. Shoulders and arms that big and impressive don’t come naturally. I bet he’s never had to struggle for women in his life. I chastise myself for doing it again and attempt to think of something—anything—else.

  “My ex boyfriend was abusive,” I tell him, following on from our conversation in the club that night. I want Elias to stick around, but I also need him off my back. It’s a complete lie, but he doesn’t need to know. I’m hoping it will quash his curiosity, or concern, whatever it is.

  “Is he still a threat to you?”

  I shrug.

  “Where is he?”

  “I’m not sure.” A long, heartfelt sigh escapes.

  “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again…” His fierce stare lands on me. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” A car cuts in front of us and Elias presses down hard on the horn. Nostrils flaring, he peers at me, his jaw dropping. “Please put your seatbelt on!”

  Oh. I’d completely forgotten.

  “If anyone’s a threat to you, it’s yourself,” he snaps, shaking his head in disbelief.

  I strap the belt on begrudgingly, hiding my satisfaction of him worrying about me. Doesn’t he ever forget stupid things? “Sorry, Mr. Perfect,” I mumble sarcastically. I just can’t help myself.

  “I never said I was perfect.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Well, you seem to preach like you are.”

  He inhales in and out as if he has no patience. I better stop testing him. Tension is charging through the air, neither one of us speaking. He picks up speed, pressing down on the pedal.

  “I don’t want to go home yet,” I tell him. “Take me somewhere.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t like to make choices for people, so you pick somewhere, and I’ll take you.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Okay…” I dig deep into my brain. “How about Madame Tussauds? I’ve never been.” It’s a waxwork museum which features life-size replicas of celebrities and historic icons.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “You’re the boss, Miss. Jain.”

  The built in car sat nav comes to life when he taps in the address. When the car veers into a different direction excitement bubbles inside me. Thomas never wants to do these sort of things. I guess being born and raised in London sightseeing isn’t special to him.

  It doesn’t take long to get to Westminster. After we’ve found adequate parking we leisurely stroll to Madame Tussauds. The sun is in full swing today, the weather glorious. Perhaps it’d be nice to visit Hyde Park afterwards. I strip off my light jacket, now in a black vest top, my arms exposed. I’m dressed casual today in matching lounge-wear bottoms and trainers. Tightening my hold on my handbag, we’re almost at the museum. Before I can turn right I’m almost knocked off my feet by a man who barges past. I barely get chance to process what’s happening. Elias has grabbed hold of his t-shirt and has yanked him back.

  “Apologise,” he demands, his tone low.

  “What the fuck?” The man stares at him as if he’s crazy.

  “You knocked into the lady. Apologise.”

  He looks me up and down. “Sorry.”

  Elias rele
ases him and guides me on my way. “I don’t like people who lack manners,” he informs me.

  Now that I think about it Elias is actually very polite. Forceful sometimes, but still polite. I wonder how he manages in the line of work he’s in. The majority of Thomas’s friends are rude and entitled. He must have a lot of patience and a thick skin.

  After we’ve queued for a good ten minutes, I purchase tickets and we’re heading inside. I can’t wait to see the replica of Queen Elizabeth.

  Elias doesn’t seem too enthusiastic at first whereas I’m darting here and there, in awe of everything. We find the Arnold Schwarzenegger model and he seems to perk up, asking me to take a photograph. I snap pictures of everything on my mobile, to add to the few other memories I’ve captured. My problems are long forgotten as I make an effort to have fun. My cheeks are aching from smiling so much by the time we’ve finished.

  “You hungry?” I ask him,

  He purses his lips. “I could eat.”

  I lead us to the nearest traditional English tearoom. We find a table by the window where we can people watch and appreciate the weather. My mouth waters when a platter of sandwiches, cakes, scones, with a dollop of jam and cream, is set before us. We both decide on a cup of tea rather than a glass of Prosecco. I tuck in and the silence between us is comfortable. I’m liking Elias’s company a bit too much. I’m tempted to ask him a million questions about his life, family, hobbies, and although I know I shouldn’t, words blurt out.

  “How long have you lived in London for?”

  He picks up a napkin and wipes breadcrumbs from his hands. “About two years.”

  I nod, and start to think he’s not interested in me or my life when he repeats my question. Maybe I shouldn’t have started getting personal. “I’ve been here almost a year.”

  “Where are you originally from? I can’t place your accent…”

  “Can I get you anything else?” A waitress interrupts us.

  Picking up the menu, I ask “What would you recommend?”