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

  Oh no. I rack my brain trying to come up with something. “I…um…have a friend I think you may be suited to.”

  His features fall and I’m almost certain he’s disappointed. “I don’t think I’d be interested in your friend.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “What makes you say that?”

  He blinks. “Someone has already caught my eye.” His gaze darkens in hunger and I know I’m not imagining it. Goosebumps scatter up my arms and I’m shy all of a sudden, desperate to look away, but I display confidence. He must be referring to me. He must be. I have to know.

  “Do I know her?”

  His chest inflates as he inhales. “Not as well as you should.”

  With that he enters the bathroom leaving me confused. Again, could he be referring to me? Does he think I don’t know myself very well? If so he’s correct. I’m yet to find my full identity. I’m yet to find the girl I’m meant to be, which I hope will bring peace and happiness.

  “You’re trouble, Elias Cortez,” I whisper to myself. He’s confirmed he’s single. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it changes everything.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ELIAS

  I sip my water and study the bustling restaurant we’re in. It’s dimly lit, all tables full, a hostess assisting customers in the queue waiting to dine here. Even the bar is busy, the server handing a concoction of drinks to over excited women. Thomas has already downed a fair few drinks and almost caused a fight. He stumbled into a couple and I had to pacify the man who wanted to punch him.

  Thomas is a drunken idiot at times and making enemies is beginning to be a regular thing. I watch as he picks at the food on his plate, and before he can take a bite a redhead appears. I’m expecting her to greet him, but instead she tosses the contents of her drink, his shirt drenching in seconds.

  “What the fuck?” He bolts upwards at the same time as I do.

  I stand before the woman and gently guide her backwards.

  “You think you can fuck me and be with other women the day after?” She glares at the beautiful women accompanying Thomas. He told me they were friends. This surprises me as much as the fact he’s actually been unfaithful to Amara.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he drawls. “I don’t even know you.”

  She bats my hand away and attempts to lurch forward again, but I restrain her.

  “Outside,” I order. “Now.”

  “You’re an asshole, Thomas!” she yells catching the attention of almost everybody in here, even though music is playing. “Karma is a bitch, remember that.”

  I lead her outside into the cool night air. She removes a cigarette from her purse, pops it between her lips, and lights it. Tears are welling in her lower lids and guilt pangs away at me. I don’t agree with most things my clients do, but to get involved would be to sacrifice my job. I clench my teeth, annoyed on Amara’s behalf that Thomas has slept with someone else. Even though I won’t tell Amara for fear of hurting her, I need clarification.

  “Where did you meet Mr. Dawson?”

  She brushes a tear away. “Revolution. Where he probably meets all the poor women blinded by his bullshit.”

  “You’re a beautiful girl. It’s his loss.” I’m hoping the compliment will get her to open up. “When did you sleep with him?”

  “The other night,” she mumbles glumly. “I’m such an idiot. He wasn’t even all that.”

  I don’t ask why she’s chasing after him like a lunatic then, throwing drinks about.

  She brushes her hair out of her face and assesses me. Smoke seeps from her mouth and she smiles. “You’re hot. You single?”

  “Nope.” I have every intention of dating again, to keep my mom happy, but no way am I entertaining Thomas’s cast-offs.

  I tell her goodbye and return to the restaurant. Thomas has ordered another round of drinks. One of his friends Reece is flirting shamelessly with a woman and I notice he’s removed his wedding band. These men wouldn’t know good women if it hit them in the face. Although I’m certain Amara has been a bit playful with me lately, the attraction two-sided, I know she wouldn’t betray Thomas. She may be unhappy, but she’s no cheat.

  “What can I say? Women become obsessed with me.” Thomas laughs loudly, along with his idiot companions. “I don’t even remember her name, that’s how drunk I was.”

  It just gets better and better. A hook-up which meant nothing to him. I wonder how many times he’s cheated. He turns to me and offers me alcohol and I shake my head. I clasp my hands together, fighting with myself and my morals which want to educate Amara of his activities. Could I lose my job for her? I groan inwardly, the devil and angel on my shoulders at war. Mr. Thomas is my client, surely I owe my loyalty to him?

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” He leans in. “Maverick wants to meet you on Friday. Good news, I’m sure of it.”

  I hold in a defeated sigh. Mr. Thomas has me right where he wants me, at his beck and call. I can’t get on his bad side, certainly not now he’s done me a massive favour. Maverick Haynes? Good news? Hopefully this will be the huge boost my career needs. I just hope Amara discovers Thomas’s infidelities herself for my lips have to remain sealed.

  ***

  It’s 4 A.M when I’m home sprawled out on my bed. I type a message to my mom asking if there’s any further news on my dad, but she doesn’t respond. Knowing her she’ll be asleep at his side. I lean over to grab the remote from the bedside table, but accidentally knock it to the floor. Sliding onto my front, I feel under the bed until something hard and small meets my fingers. My spine stiffens as my brain registers what it is. I’m right. Her engagement ring. My mom obviously hadn’t packed it away properly. I make myself comfortable and twiddle it between my fingers, the diamond glistening under the ceiling spotlights. Sometimes I wish I’d left the ring with her.

  Annoyed at myself, I return it to the box and push it out of sight. If only I could push it out of mind too.

  My stomach rumbles and I realise I haven’t eaten much today. I can’t be bothered to put something in the oven so I strip naked and get in bed. I need the noise of the TV again, to distract me from the silence, loneliness, and memories. As I stare at the empty side of the bed, I sigh softly, hating how I ended up like this. It wasn’t in my plans. My chest becomes heavy, emotions building, but I swallow them down, forcing myself to forget. If I was as strong on the inside as I am on the outside I’d be in a much better position.

  Hopefully one day my future will be as good as parts of my past, and I’ll be able to sleep undisturbed, and enjoy life again. Hope. It’s all I have right now.

  When Friday finally makes an appearance I work out with DeShawn in the morning, and then get ready to meet Maverick. I put on my finest black suit, gel my hair back, and spritz on some aftershave. Scrutinising my reflection in the mirror, I wonder if there’s anything I can add. I grab some silver cufflinks from the draw and attach them. I don’t need a tie, I think, as I fiddle with the collar. Unfastening the two top buttons, I then grab my mobile and car keys.

  Twenty minutes of slow moving traffic I get to the restaurant in Mayfair Maverick requested I meet him at. When he sees me approaching I don’t miss the widening of his eyes, which I’m guessing is due to my stocky frame and height. He bolts up and holds out his hand which I take in a firm grip and shake. He’s much shorter than me, and must be in his early thirties. Wealth emanates from him, in his Tom Ford suit, the Rolex on his wrist, and the latest iPhone on the table. We both sit and he orders drinks and starts to question me, about how long I’ve been working as a bodyguard, what clients I’ve had, the events I’ve attended etc. Then he rambles on about himself, not forgetting to drop in the name of his Hollywood actor father, uncle and cousin, who were big shots in the eighties. Just like Thomas, he’s living off his parents.

  I remain calm and optimistic throughout the entire interview. Maverick brags quite a lot, and I’m unsure whether it’s insecurity or whether he thinks he’s that importan
t, but he ensures his good fortunes are known. He orders the most expensive bottle of champagne, has the waiters running around after him, and catches the attention of some nearby girls, his American Express held out boldly as he settles the bill.

  “Are we celebrating?” I nod to the Champagne now before us, attempting a light joke.

  “We sure are, Mr. Cortez.” He grins, topping up the glasses. “You’re hired.”

  I nod in contentment and thank him. Some good news at last. I’m on the path to success and I won’t stop until I’ve reached the peak of my career.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AMARA

  I stare at the wall clock, each tick seeming to get louder and louder. In exactly one hour I’ll be on route to visiting Thomas’s parents with him. I feel sick with dread and anxiety when I should be pleased. All hope of having a good relationship with them diminished when I kept giving and giving, and never receiving anything back. After a mental pep talk I tell myself I can do this for Thomas. We’ll only be there for a few hours, I hope.

  Returning to my wholemeal cereal I eat every last bit until my bowl is empty. I’m hoping a full stomach will ease the persistent churning. A scratching on the door makes my head jerk sideways and I wait to see if Thomas has returned. The scratching continues and so I dart towards the window. When I see the stray dog has returned my heart swells. It doesn’t take me long to throw a few sandwiches together, and fetch a bowl of water. I must remember to buy dog food. When I open the front door, it recoils, trying to hide in the bushes.

  “Hello,” I coo softly. “You came back?” I place the plate and bowl down, pushing them toward him.

  The dog doesn’t move, simply remains crouched, his wide eyes assessing me cautiously.

  “I’m going to have to give you a name if you keep coming back.” I kneel down. His fur is long, grey, dirty looking. I stare at him, trying to come up with a suitable name. Thomas won’t be happy if the dog keeps returning, but it comforts me being able to help him, and hopefully one day this dog will trust me. At the moment it’s going about life unable to really enjoy it, afraid, not knowing one day from the next, a bit like me. I can be his carer, his rescuer, and only pray I’m ever this lucky.

  “Roger.” I grin and nod. “You like Roger?”

  The dog lies down, seeming more at ease, not enough to go for the food though. Knowing he must be starving I go indoors and watch from the window. He slowly stands and checks his surroundings before taking careful steps to the food. I’m ecstatic when he eats and drinks, a little too fast for my liking. It’s as if he fears they’ll be taken away. I wonder where he goes at night and if he gets shelter from the rain. If only Thomas would let me keep him, but God forbid his perfect home should get messy. This isn’t a home. Not really. There’s no indication of his personality anywhere. No books, no photographs, nothing to reveal any hobbies, just minimalistic tidy rooms. What would happen if we ever had children one day? Would he welcome their mess and clutter, and let them take over the house with toys and whatnot? I know he wants children one day, but he doesn’t harper on about them enough to show he wants them soon. Would he have the patience for them? Would he cut back on his social life to spend time with them? Worries plague my mind. How am I meant to ever plan and look forward to my future when it’s clouded and so confusing?

  “Away!” I hear shouting from outside, followed by Thomas at the door, his expression stony. “Don’t influence the strays to come here, Amara.” He tuts in disapproval. “He’s ruined the fucking plants.”

  “He hasn’t got a home, food, or anything.”

  “Not my problem,” he says sternly and it increases the emotional gap between us further. “You ready to go?”

  “Yes,” I respond. “Is my outfit appropriate for your parents?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Yes.” He doesn’t even properly take me in before he bounds upstairs, yelling he’s getting his wallet.

  I turn to the mirror, my confidence hitting rock bottom. I made a real effort today, spent longer on my hair and makeup. For once I even felt pretty. I shake my head and block out my disappointment. Thomas couldn’t care less about me. I need to face facts and decide what to do and soon.

  When we’re at his parents’ posh townhouse, every single expensive item boasting their success, I notice snide remarks which go over Thomas’s head. The spitefulness comes in tiny things which would make me sound petty should I mention them. My coffee for example. I specifically asked for it to be milky as I don’t like strong coffee. As soon as I sipped it I almost gagged. Hardly any milk. Too many coffee granules. I know it has been made this way purposefully. Trying my hardest to be nice, I compliment Thomas’s mother on her dress and ask them both how they’ve been. Feigning interest isn’t easy with shallow, boring people, who think they’re superior to others.

  “Still baking cakes?” Mrs. Dawson asks, the words dripping with venom, as if I’m creating bombs for a living.

  I nod and sip my disgusting drink again, out of both politeness and an excuse not to further elaborate.

  “Whatever happened to that girl…Patricia?” Mr. Dawson asks Thomas. I know he’s referring to someone Thomas dated in the past and I hate how rude and forward he’s being.

  I’ve had enough of this. I’ve had enough of people treating me like dirt my whole life, like I’m no-one important. I jump to my feet. “I’m going to add some more milk to my coffee if you don’t mind.”

  “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “Taste it.” I hold it out to Mrs. Dawson, daring her to try. Before she protests I thrust it at her.

  She reluctantly takes the cup and saucer, and sips. Her face remains impassive, fake. “Tastes fine to me,” she lies.

  “You can have that one then.” I beam and grab her coffee, gulping some down. Much better. Her face is priceless.

  Throughout the rest of the torturous visit I hold Thomas’s hand tightly and peck his cheek here and there. If they want to be petty, two can play that game. When Mrs. Dawson offers to cook us a light snack I volunteer to help. I’ve made up my mind I won’t be visiting them again, and so I ensure I put my two pence worth in. I won’t be sneaking off to the bathroom this time to have a little meltdown. No chance.

  “So, me and Thomas have been discussing having children,” I lie, mixing sauce in the pasta minutes later.

  Mrs. Dawson stops dead in her tracks. “Thomas didn’t mention any such thing to us.”

  “We’ve been keeping it a secret.” I plunge the knife in deeper. “I’m a little worried though.” I turn the hob off. “He goes out drinking quite a lot. Gets completely drunk. Maybe I should call the doctor or something?”

  Her face pales. Shame this family? She wouldn’t allow that. “Thomas will be fine. He’s always been a social drinker.”

  I nod and hum softly. “I guess being a heavy drinker didn’t do his father any harm,” I pretend to say it lightly however intending to be offensive.

  “How are my two favourite ladies getting on?” Thomas interrupts, as false as everyone else in this place.

  “We’re getting alone just fine.” I sashay to the living room no longer wanting to help her with dinner.

  When the food and drinks are set on the table half an hour later, we all dig in. I bet Elias’s parents are never this rude. They only met me once and were pleasant. The people before me have known me a while and act as if I’m their enemy.

  In bed that night Thomas holds me tight, saying how thrilled he is to see me getting along with his parents. He’s either oblivious to what’s happening, or hiding from the reality.

  When his mobile lights up the darkness and he checks it, insecurity bubbles again. I know it’s one of many women who desire Thomas. If only they knew what he’s like behind closed doors.

  “Why are you with me?” I whisper when his arm snakes around my waist again.

  He groans, sick of the same conversation. “You’re beautiful. And you’re a nice girl.”

  Too nice for y
ou, I think. Too nice and wasted on a man who is anything but that. When Thomas snores, peacefully sleeping, while I toss and turn, a million problems playing in my mind, I sneak off to the bathroom. I turn on the hot and cold taps, waiting for the tub to fill. My sanctuary. My escape. There’s going to be some changes this week. I’ve had enough. Bad consequences may follow, but it’s a risk I have to take.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ELIAS

  I’m waiting beside the car for Amara and Thomas studying my suit in the window when something touches my leg. Glancing down I find a scruffy dog, probably the one Amara was feeding before. I go to stroke him, but he cowers away, frightened.

  “Hey, boy.” I kneel down, hoping if I appear smaller he’ll be less intimidated. “Hey, boy.” I make a clicking sound.

  The dog pauses for a moment, unsure if I can be trusted. Then he slowly steps toward me and I hold out my hand. I don’t rush to stroke him, knowing it’ll get me nowhere. This animal needs to want attention at his own pace. After a few minutes of waiting, I almost lose patience until his head touches my hand. I slowly reach toward him and stroke his back. He edges away slightly and I hold my hand out again. We go back and forth with him brushing against my hand and me sneaking a quick stroke. I love animals, always have done since I was young. I prefer them to humans sometimes. From a small boy to about my mid twenties I always had pets. Then I couldn’t handle losing them when they passed away, so I’ve never owned one since. There’s a quote which says, ‘It’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all,’ but I’m unsure how I feel about that. Sometimes it’s easier to not love, to not have your heart ripped out your chest. Being safe and alone is less of a risk.