Crowned by Hate (Crowned #1) Read online

  “Yeah.” I walk toward my half-packed suitcase. “I’ll see you a little later, or if I don’t, I’ll text you and we can grab some dinner or something?” I can’t imagine my life without Devon in it. The thought not only cripples me but it—nope. I’m not going there.

  He smiles again, stepping backward slowly. “Yeah, Just… text me.” Then he’s gone in a flash. Pausing for a split second, I think over at what point exactly, did that conversation go weird. I come up with nothing. Devon and I have always been close, so I can usually read him. The second we met each other we hit it off, and I knew instantly that we were going to be best friends, so him acting this way obviously is him being jealous about Bryant suddenly railroading my life. He’s just being territorial.

  Gathering up the last of my clothes, I head into the bathroom for all my toiletries and phone charger before slinging my backpack over my shoulder and wheeling my suitcase behind myself. I pause at the threshold of my room, turning around one last time. Last time? Maybe not. I don’t plan to stay with Bryant for long. The second he’s finished with whatever game he’s playing, I’ll be back. Switching off the light, I let that promise sink into an echo inside my brain…

  Fallen leaves crunch under my feet as I zip through the tree trunks and jump over old fallen branches. The air zips into my lungs like icicles from a cool winter day and the fog mists out of my mouth like smooth smoke from a cigar. Why am I running? Who am I running from? All I know is that I need to run. Jumping over a moss-covered log, I stop running, breathing in and out heavily. A wall of glass drops down in front of me, displaying my own reflection. It’s peering back at me like an empty lost part of who I am. Cocking my head, I stare deep into my eyes, sinking into my own thoughts. My reflection stills and I step back, but my reflection remains the same, unmoving, frozen in time. Chills break out over my body as my eyes in the mirror begin to turn a light grey, dead, lifeless. Seconds pass before dark black lines begin to crack over my flesh in the mirror.

  “Holy shit!” I gasp, stepping backward and covering my mouth with my hand. My chest starts to feel thick when suddenly I’m robbed of air. My throat feels as though a brick has been shoved inside of it, so I squeeze, hoping to rip out whatever it is that’s stopping me from breathing. My face swells and veins pop out of my head. As I’m about to collapse to the ground, bats fly out of my mouth in a loud squeak just as the mirror bursts and shards of the broken glass go flying over my skin, slicing me into pieces.

  Sweat drips off my skin as I shoot up from the floor in a panic. What the fuck was that? Looking around the room, I notice I’m still in my apartment, my bedroom door slightly ajar. Rubbing my hands over my sweat-soaked flesh, a range of goosebumps break out all over me. I bend down, picking up my fallen handbag and suitcase. Whatever that was sent chills down my spine. Speeding up to a slight jog, I head toward the front door, pull it open and rush out the foyer until the cool breeze washes over my face. I don’t know what the fuck that was. Too many weird things are going on in my life right now that I don’t know how to comprehend them all at once. Devon going cold on me, Bryant being Wolf, and then whatever that dream was. Nothing’s adding up and everything is starting to feel too overwhelming. “Isa!” Jerry runs up behind me with three other MIB’s following closely.

  “Sorry.” I pause. “I swear,” I look around nervously, my head still pounding, “I swear I wasn’t trying to run.”

  Jerry looks at me closely, I see the way his eyes run over every inch of my body, checking to see that I’m not visibly hurt. Nope. Just a little fucking freaked out. “All right.” Then he looks to another MIB. “Go and get the car.” Before he takes hold of my arm and ushers me outside.

  We’re waiting for the car when my phone vibrates in my pocket, I quickly slip it out and answer.

  “Hello?” I say breathlessly, moving my unruly dark hair out of my face and slipping into the backseat of the SUV.

  “Isa? Have you been running, are you okay?” Step-mother dearest. I calm my breathing, closing my eyes. Of course she would think me running would be something totally out of the blue. I don’t run, and if I am running, you should probably run too because that means something is chasing me.

  “Yes, I’m fine, what can I do for you, Lydia?” We pull away from the curve after Jerry gets in beside me, and I crank down the window, attempting to dry off the excess sweat I still have trickling down the side of my face.

  “Well… your father wanted to know how your night with Bryant Royal went…”

  I scoff. Scoff. Flat out could not help the ridiculous scoff that escapes my mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, so why didn’t he call me himself?” I rest the phone on my shoulder and lean forward toward the driver. “Bryant’s place, please.” Then I lean back in my seat. “Tell him it was fine. Bryant and I have known each other for some time so we’re picking up where we left off—why?” A terrible lie, but if my family isn’t going to believe that I’m about to marry Bryant, it will only work if they think we’ve known each other for a while.

  “Well…”

  “Lydia, stop saying well and cut to the point.”

  “It’s just… your father would really appreciate your cooperation in what Bryant may or may not ask you.” I sigh, massaging my temples with my fingertips. Seems Bryant has already beaten me to it, though I should applaud him for his brilliant swerve in working my parents. Of course going this route would work better. This way it will make my father feel important.

  Rolling my eyes, I tilt my head back into the headrest. “What exactly are you asking me?”

  “Well, I think you know what it is that I’m asking you. Don’t fight this, Isa. You could have done worse off. This is Bryant Royal for goodness sake.” Having about enough of this conversation, I hang up my phone in a huff. Bryant has already interfered with so much in my life. I dial Devon’s number, because, well, he’s all I really have as far as friends go. Aside from Jen, but she’s married with kids and will be jumping up and down to have me get with Bryant, so I could really do with Devon’s insight in this situation. I know I can’t disclose too many details to him right now, but he’s always been good at talking me off the cliff. And I feel very close to falling off the cliff right now. Maybe he has cooled down enough to talk some sense into me.

  After the fourth time of him not answering, I throw my phone onto the seat beside me and glance out the window to all the passing trees and runners jogging through the streets. The cute couple walking their fluffy Labrador and the mom who is pushing her stroller down the street as her child licks his half-melted ice cream. Why couldn’t my life be this simple. As simple as strolling down the road on a relaxing Saturday morning? My life has never been simple or relaxing. Even when I was a little girl, Dad was non-existent, but yet somehow, he always managed to rule with an iron fist. My sister and I hardly had a life outside of our house and all though it didn’t bother her so much, it sure as fuck bothered me.

  We pull up to a stop outside of Peppers, where Bryant lives in his massive penthouse. Once I’m out of the car, Jerry already has my bags out from the trunk.

  “Thanks, Jer.”

  He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Not that it does reach his eyes a lot, but I can sense something is stressing him, so I ask, “What’s up, Jer?”

  He cranks his neck and it looks like he’s trying to relieve some of the tension from his neck. “We will be in the suite beside you. You need anything, you know I’m on speed-dial and of course, there will be someone outside your door at all times.” I wanted to say how the one time I went back to this very place unprotected—probably my father’s doing what with him all excited that I was about to bed Bryant—was the time I got semi-kidnapped. But I don’t say that, of course, I just smile. “I know, Jer.” Ending my sentence with a light pat on his shoulder. The doorman who guards Peppers is a little on the old side, and I could probably outrun him if I wanted—if I didn’t hate cardio—but he seems nice enough.

  Clearing my throat, I step forward an
d make my way toward the entrance. Walking through the glass doors, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I quickly shift hands to reach for it, excited that it might be Devon returning my call.

  “Aw, you miss me and you’re done being shitty?” I purr down the phone.

  “Isa, the code to the penthouse is 4566.” My smile drops instantly.

  “Got it.” Hanging up my phone, I shove it back into my pocket, this time a little more on the angry side. Bryant pisses me off, yes, but do we fuck like machines? Also yes. But I hate him. I hate him with a fire so hot it could burn the freaking sun. That was dramatic, but you catch my drift. Bypassing the reception desk, I head straight to the elevator and push the up button. Watching the numbers slowly drop has my stomach all twisted. Fuck. I’m doing this. I mean, I’ve already pretty much done it, but this time I’m really doing it. As in, I’m about to have all my shit in his apartment, and I can’t go home.

  This is fine, I can make it work. Bryant Royal doesn’t scare me, no not at all. I’m Isa Johnson. A fucking badass who eats men like Bryant Royal for breakfast, lunch, dessert and still have room for a side dude. He has nothing on me. Ding! The elevator doors slide open and I swallow past the ball of nerves that has set up in my throat. Fuck, I was thinking so much shit right then. I don’t have myself at all.

  Stepping inside, I watch as the doors slowly slide closed, and I try to allow the soft melody of music to calm my chaotic thoughts and raging feelings. I have no options right now. Whatever Bryant has on me is relevant to my surviving this ordeal—that much I do know. The car ascends higher, along with my gut until it comes to a halt and the doors slip open again, the familiar charcoal walls and the rich mahogany wood on display, yet again.

  “Bryant?” I call out, walking into the apartment and removing my jacket. I know I should ask more questions about who it was that was there the day that he captured me. The day the truth came out. It feels like a lifetime away already, but I figure I already truly know who it was. It would have been one of the other guys from that day, whose faces I wouldn’t be able to pick out if they were all lined up together. I didn’t recognize Bryant as Wolf the first time I met him, there’s no way I would notice the other guys. This is why drugs are bad and why you should stay in school.

  “Yeah?” his voice cuts through my thoughts as he saunters into the kitchen. Dark loose sweatpants hang from his lean hips just as droplets of water drip off his floppy dark hair and cascade down over his chiseled chest.

  Fuck me. This is not helping my train of thought at all. Then his ocean blue eyes pierce through me like lasers, so I quickly divert my eyes before I get sucked in.

  With his eyes still on mine, he pulls open the fridge door and takes out a carton of milk, flicking it open before bringing it to his lips.

  “Are you just going to stare or are you going to tell me a plan?” I snap, tossing apartment keys onto the kitchen island.

  He chuckles, swiping the milk from his lips. “You don’t throw orders around, Isa. You will know the plan when I say you will know the plan. Until then, learn to control your mouth or I’ll fuck the shit out of it. Are we clear?”

  I grit my teeth. “Crystal.” Not clear at all, but again, the play nice card. Which is going to be maxed out soon if he carries on like this. How long is he going to treat me like this? Because honestly, a girl can only take so much.

  He points. “Go upstairs. I’ll have someone collect the rest of your shit from your apartment.” How he knew that I had left some of my belongings at my apartment, I don’t know, so I follow his orders, heading up the stairs and into his room. I take a seat on the edge of his bed, just as he walks in moments later. He leans against the doorframe. “We have to lay the groundwork, and you won’t make this difficult for me, Isa.”

  “I won’t,” I murmur, resting my elbows on top of my knees. “I just—what do you have on me and can I please see it?”

  He glares at me, so I glare back. I don’t back down without a cause, and him having a tape that could possibly prove I’m a murderer is a very good cause to back down for, but he’s testing my self-control. Just when I think he’s about to tell me to fuck off, he pushes off the wall and walks toward the closet that is opposite his bed. He disappears inside for a few seconds before coming back out, carrying a USB stick. Kneeling down, he reaches for a bag and places it on the bed, unzipping it but keeping his eyes on mine.

  Pulling out a laptop, he throws the bag back onto the ground and takes a seat beside me, placing the laptop on his lap.

  He looks at me. “You want to see or not?”

  Kicking off my shoes, I crawl down the bed and sit just behind him, enough that I can see the screen of the laptop clearly.

  He chuckles, shakes his head, and then looks back to the screen, hitting play on a video. I see from the corner of the room where I walk in. It was just after Brooke and I—well, Brooke—hit some lines of coke, and the four post bed is in clear view of the camera. Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes, trying to squash down the memories. Seeing the tent again isn’t something I thought through—obviously. I know what happens about five minutes after that and so on. It’s obvious that they recorded the whole thing. “I don’t need to see anymore.”

  He shuts the laptop and turns to face me. “We could both benefit from this, Isa. It gets your dad off your case, too.”

  I can’t help but laugh, sliding off the bed. “Who said my dad was an issue for me?”

  He shrugs. “The fact that at almost every social event, you hated it, but yet you were obligated to go.”

  I pause. Honestly quite shocked at his answer. I thought my fake smile was on point. “How would you know?”

  He halts, looking up at me from picking up his bag, then grins. “I’m observant.”

  Brushing my hair out of my face, I stand and place my hands on my hips. “Okay so what exactly are you proposing? What’s the plan?”

  He gets to his feet and struts right up to me. Cocking his head, his eyes scan over my face. “Business arrangement. You stay here, play wife to what everyone out there,” he points to the windows, “thinks, but in short, we remain open.”

  Okay, see this was what I was afraid of.

  “Hang on a second…” I interject, trying my hardest not to bite his fucking dick off. “So what you’re basically saying is that I will have to be okay with you sleeping with other people?”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Tell me, who have I ever been known to sleep with?”

  “What, media-wise?” I ask, tilting my head and wondering where in the hell he is going with this.

  He nods, a small grin coming on display. “Yes, media-wise.”

  I think over what he’s just asked. As far as the research I’ve done goes, he hasn’t been known to be with anyone. If I looked hard enough, though, or if Devon looked hard enough (because that man should be in the CIA), I bet we could find something. And anyway, what has that got to do with anything. “No, but what has that got to do with my question?”

  “Answer me this honestly, Isa.” His chest brushes against mine. “If you had the chance to get fucked, any which way you wanted, and it not be leaked online, would you do it? Hmm?” he asks, running his eyes up and down my body.

  “Well, yeah. But because of my dad, I never get that option so I settle on one-night stands or…” I pause, and then my mouth snaps shut.

  “Or Devon,” Bryant continues for me anyway.

  My eyes slant. “How do you know about Devon?”

  His face turns to stone, and then he barges past me, heading toward the bathroom. “I know everything there is to know about you, Isa. Get changed, we need to start on our groundwork.”

  I got changed in record time, mostly because Bryant was waiting for me in the sitting room, and what I guess, glaring at his watch every second. He wants us to start working on our ‘groundwork,’ whatever the fuck that means. Slipping on my strappy shoes, I take one last glance in the mirror. Well, this is more than over the top for groundwork.
What if said groundwork is covered in mud, then this Louis Vuitton beige strapless short dress will no doubt get ruined. I wouldn’t even flinch, I hope it pains him. Although guessing from the amount of money Bryant has, I don’t think he’d care—no scratch that, I know that he wouldn’t care.

  “You done?” he asks from the doorway. I look at him in the mirror, admiring what he’s wearing. Well, damn, it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen Bryant in a suit, every time I see him in one my mouth waters the same.

  “Yup!” I cut off my own thoughts, picking up my clutch from my bed and wrapping the chain around my fist. I’m going to need to go and buy a vibrator because this lack of sex thing is not working for me.

  We both get into the Ferrari once we reach the parking lot, and I take a look at the side mirror while reaching for my safety belt, watching as Jerry and three other MIB’s get into the black Range Rover behind us. Bryant puts the gear into reverse. “So,” I start, looking toward him. “What are we doing to start this groundwork?”

  “Work party.”

  “Figures,” I mutter, looking out the window as he floors it out from the underground parking and onto the busy street.

  On our way to wherever this work function is, I created a plan. Bryant isn’t making this easy for me. In fact, he’s making it very difficult with his asshole tendencies. If he were nicer, maybe I would have come to him on my own accord instead of him basically blackmailing me into marrying him.

  That’s a lie and I know it. I just maybe wouldn’t have thought of this plan that I’m thinking about right now.

  1) I can’t just accept this fate. But if I do anything, will he unleash the tape to the police? He could.

  2) He wouldn’t. He’s already expressed how much he wants and needs me to be his wife, therefore, I’m far more useful to him when I’m not behind bars.