Crowned by Hate (Crowned #1)

by Amo Jones

  Oh Lord.

  Okay, now I wish it was a torture house. Now, I know I said how lovely his parents are, but I would still prefer a little warning. The prick obviously knew that.

  “Uhhh…” I answer absently, and when he leaves me in the dust by heading to the front door, I quickly catch up to him. Since the wedding day, I’ve noticed a slight change in Bryant. He’s not being as cold as usual, and I don’t know if that’s all part of his plan, but I’m not going to complain. If only he could break and give me more sex. I mean, we had sex last night—yes, but I’m a girl with needs, very demanding needs, and I’m seriously in need right now. His hands running down my navel—

  “Isa!” he snaps at me from the top of the stairs.

  “Coming.” I walk up toward him, clearing my throat from my quite obvious daydream.

  He grins down at me, right when the front doors swing open. “What were you thinking about just now?”

  I look up into his eyes, searching their dark green depths. “I—”

  “Son!” his mom greets with open arms. Because the wedding went so fast, I don’t remember either of his parent’s names and I feel terrible for it. I’m hoping Bryant introduces us again or, I get a random outburst of remembering.

  “Mother.” Bryant hugs his mom, and I see the side of his eyes soften at her embrace. Looking back toward his father, I see him smile at me, but it doesn’t have quite the same warm effect as when Bryant’s mother smiles at me.

  “Isa.” He gives me a curt nod, rather formally.

  I reply with a soft smile. “Hello.”

  “Isa, oh I’m so excited. I found a whole bunch of old baby photos as I was clearing out some old things in the attic,” Bryant’s mom announces as she ushers me into the house.

  My eyes go wide as I peek a look over my shoulder at Bryant, unable to stop his persistent mother from dragging me into the house. His mom is not what you’d expect from a rich family. Not saying that most rich families are snobby, but her son is, and eighty percent of the wealthy population tend to have gold cactus launched up their asses. It’s why I love Devon and my little life in New Orleans so much.

  I chuckle under my breath with found realization at how uncomfortable Bryant must be what with his mom showing me his baby photos and all.

  She gestures into the vast living room where couches are sprawled out tidily. It’s cozy, warm, and inviting—not so much how I interpreted it from the outside. “Have a seat, Isa. I’m so sorry that we didn’t get much time to chat after the wedding.” She takes a seat on the sofa opposite me and crosses her legs at her ankles. Despite the fact that I was raised in a wealthy home and my father is who he is, good, or even decent, etiquette has never been my strong suit. Or any suit. In fact, I don’t wear suits, I wear ripped jeans and tanks, and by my memory, my legs are open more than they’re crossed. Especially by my ankles.

  “Oh truly, it’s no problem.” I add a hint of a sweet smile with my reply, like I wasn’t just thinking about my legs being open. “Everything has moved rather fast, wedding day included.”

  “That is true, I guess,” she confirms, as a maid walks into the room carrying a silver platter and placing it on the little coffee table that sits between us.

  Bryant’s mom smiles at me briefly with a small flick of her eyelashes. Leaning over to pour tea into both china mugs, she sneaks a glance at me. “Autumn,” she answers my unspoken question innocently.

  “Pardon?” I question, taking the mug she’s handing me. I place it on my lap as she sits back in the sofa.

  “My name.” She quirks an eyebrow, but it’s not in a snobby judgmental way, more in a way as she knew I didn’t know her name but she was saving me the embarrassment of having to ask.

  “Shit.” I let out a defeated sigh, my shoulders slacking. “I’m so sorry.” I truly do feel terrible. I mean, Jesus, I don’t even know my mother-in-law’s name.

  She giggles, taking a sip of her tea and leans back into her chair. “It’s entirely not your fault. If my son had done this the traditional way, we wouldn’t have had this issue.” I hear the word ‘son’ in slow motion and watch as her mouth curves around each syllable. It sets something off inside of me. Up until this point, I had forgotten all about Bryant’s brother and what I had done. It’s made me somewhat realize how dangerously close I have been riding to the ‘attachment’ line. I can’t let this feeling get too comfortable, with her, or anyone in his family, or hell, even Bryant, because truthfully, I still don’t know what it is he actually wants with me (if my gut is correct which tells me it’s not just because of my father, but again, my gut has been wrong in the past), and also, if I do manage to build a solid foundation with his family, what will happen when they find out what I’d done? I’d lose more people, so no, I need to remember what is going on right now and not get sucked into Bryant’s… whatever the fuck kind of juju he manages to put over me.

  “So! Photos!” Autumn grins, pulling a large —and what looks to be very heavy—chest over toward her. I go to get up off my chair, wanting to help her because honestly, it looks heavier than her, when I hear Bryant’s voice from behind me. “Mom…” he warns, and I cast a glance over my shoulder. Walking in with an unlit cigar between his fingers comes the king himself.

  “Oh, Bryant. Leave us alone to talk gossip, and go back to your father.”

  Bryant looks at me and then looks back to his mom. Can he read my mind? Can he see that I had a brief moment of sadness, thinking about his brother? How will I react when I see a photo of his brother? Will it set off a panic attack followed by a shit storm of drama as I unintentionally display my guilty memories for everyone to see?

  “Come…” Bryant nudges his head toward the double porch doors, breaking through my slight panic. Everything sucks back into reality, and I look back at Autumn, not really wanting to leave her because I don’t want to come off as rude, but also, I sort of want to leave just in case that scenario I played out in vivid detail inside my head becomes a reality.

  Yikes.

  We can’t have that.

  I plaster one of my go-to cute smiles at her, hoping she will maybe let me off the hook.

  She rolls her eyes with (what I think is) a knowing smile. “Newlyweds. Don’t be too long. I have some good photos here.”

  I stand to my feet. “Thank you for the tea, Autumn, I won’t be long.”

  She smiles sweetly and then flips open an album, getting lost back in what I’m guessing is some of her most favorable memories. I’ve not thought about having children much, only because, well, I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it. Between cankles, the feeling of your guts and ovaries being ripped open and then your vajayjay literally getting ripped open, it lost its appeal. Not to mention mom friends…. Yeah, I don’t see how that would go down very well considering my favorite F word is ‘fuck’ and my second favorite F word is Friday because Friday usually means drinking followed by getting fucked.

  Point being, I’d be a shit mom, so I’m doing the universe a favor, it would seem.

  Bryant tugging on my arm brings me out of my reverie, so I follow him out the porch doors, the late afternoon sun kissing my skin instantly and the whispering sound of wind whirling between the branches of the trees.

  “Why’d you save me from that back there?” I ask as we step onto the damp grass. The entire outdoors in the back is set like some old English manor. Thick large shrubs line the vast paddock, and a large round fountain sits right in the middle.

  Bryant shrugs. “Only seems fair, and I don’t really want Mom and Dad to know that my new wife was the person who murdered their son.”

  I snap my mouth closed, just as a boulder-size ball of nerves sets at the core of my throat. “That’s not fair.”

  He stops and then stares at me. His eyes scream authority. “A lot of shit isn’t fair, Isa, with the amount of time you use that line, it’s starting to lose its effect, but for argument’s sake, how so?”

  I flinch, looking away from him. He’
s right about the whole a lot of shit isn’t fair thing, and I wish I could give him a valid answer. “I don’t know, but I was sort of hoping that with us now married, the brother jabs would lessen.” There, that wasn’t so bad.

  He disregards me with a lazy lip curl before continuing to walk toward the backyard.

  “Can I ask you something?” I catch up to him before walking at his casual pace beside him.

  “No.”

  Nice try.

  “Well, I’m going to ask you anyway…”

  “Figured,” he mutters. He slows his walking pace, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  “Were you close to your brother?” He doesn’t flinch with my question, but he doesn’t answer either. We remain in silence until I see we’ve walked the entire space of the yard and now we’re right at where a pool house is built, tucked away discretely. It’s a little more modern than the main house which means it must be newer, and by the judge of the structure, a lot newer. It’s all glass walls, black marble, and more glass. Whereas the main house, well, I thought it was a sex torture chamber, so that says enough.

  Bryant starts, heading toward the glass sliding doors and opening them. “No, we weren’t.” I exhale out a breath of air, all though I don’t know why I’m relieved from this revelation. Close or not, it was still his brother. I guess a small part of me was hoping… birds of a feather and all that shit…that he wasn’t like him.

  I follow him into the pool house.

  He must read my sudden relaxed expression because he scoffs, legit scoffs, while closing the door. “Just because I wasn’t close with him, does not mean I’m not a bad man, Isa. We were two different kinds of bad.”

  If I weren’t so stubborn, I’d cringe right here because damnit it all, he can read my damn mind. “What kind of bad are you?” I ask teasingly, making sure my shoulder brushes against his hard chest as I prance past him.

  I feel his chin brush over my shoulder as his breath touches the nape of my neck. He leans into my ear. “The kind you can’t kill.” Then bites down on my shoulder roughly.

  Yelp! This man is on a whole other level, but I smirk. “I could have fun trying,” I answer, looking at him over my shoulder. He narrows his eyes at me and for a few seconds, we stare at each other for a beat too long. My stomach clenches and my nipples harden and suddenly, I feel like the submissive girl he loves to play with all over again, but this, this is pushing the rules. I’m only submissive in bed—there’s no way I’d let him tell me what to do outside of the bedroom or where there’s no sexual shenanigans going on. Maybe I need to start some shenanigans. Breaking our eye contact, I look forward and see a lap pool and watch as the water glistens from the late afternoon sun setting on it. Glancing up, I see that the entire roof is clear glass, which gives you a direct view of the sky. I think it’s my favorite place of the house. I respect the character of the main house, but for some reason, out here feels a little less haunted. Around the pool, there are lounge chairs and canopies and directly in front of us, there’s a rectangular bar that overlooks everything.

  “It’s beautiful out here.” I take in the glass walls, the glass ceiling and glass bar. “Seriously, really beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” Bryant agrees, stepping forward so that he’s beside me. “They wanted it after my brother went missing…”

  I pause. “Missing?” I look at him.

  He glances down at me. “Yes, missing. They don’t know that he’s dead. They think he’s missing.” He continues further into the pool house, heading straight to the bar.

  I follow. “Huh. I guess I never asked how you managed to… you know, the body and stuff after…”

  “And you won’t.”

  “I won’t?” I question, pulling up a bar stool and taking a seat.

  “No.” He uses his firm voice. Which I’m starting to think that he uses it a lot with me. “You won’t. The less you know about what happened after, the better.” He takes down a bottle of whiskey and grabs two glasses before walking back around and taking a seat beside me. He grips onto my chair, spinning me around to face him then proceeds to pour whiskey into each glass.

  “We’re going to play a game.”

  Oh Lord.

  “Hmmm,” I tease, taking the glass he’s handing me. “What kind?”

  He loses his tie and pops the first few buttons off of his collar, displaying the tip of what I know is a very ripped and very tanned chest. My mouth waters. I throw my leg over the other one to cross my legs in an attempt to calm the throbbing ache that has started in between my legs—

  He laughs, tossing back his whiskey.

  “Something funny?” I quirk an eyebrow and take a small sip of my drink. There’s no way I’m losing control with alcohol, who knows what I’d say. I’m not worried what I’d do, just my mouth. It always seems to get me in trouble.

  “Yeah, the fact that you’re insatiable is rather funny.”

  “I’m in control. Complete control.” I stretch my arms wide to accentuate my point. My point is pretty bent because I’m not in control at all. He makes me all… stupid.

  He regards me by pouring more whiskey. “We’re playing twenty-one questions.” I can do this. I think. I can lie, I’m rather good at lying. I look at Bryant, his eyes connecting with mine and holding my attention far too effortlessly for my comfort.

  Ok, nope. I don’t think I can lie to that. Fuck.

  I throw back another shot of whiskey. “Is this like husband-wife bonding time?”

  His eyes narrow at me in obvious annoyance. “Something like that.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll start!” Down goes another shot, to hell with not losing control, this is going to be torturous. “Do I annoy you?”

  “Oh that’s easy.” He grins, and goddamn I would give my left arm to see that grin again. Not really, because I’m left-handed so that arm is pretty important, but Bryant always has a great grin. “Yes. Daily.” He finishes with a wink. “My turn…” I’m not even surprised by that answer, I wanted to start easy. You don’t fuck someone in the ass on the first date.

  Or do you.

  He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Shit. That was hot too. Focus. I need to focus. “How many times have you orgasmed in one session?”

  Well, it appears, Bryant does fuck someone in the ass on the first date. He hits it raw too, no lube.

  I choke on my whiskey.

  “Oh shit.” He pats my shoulder sarcastically. “It seems you had a different idea about twenty-one questions.” Then he laughs and relaxes back into his chair.

  I narrow my eyes at him, swiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t know. There was this one time… I think, it’s like four.”

  “Four.”

  I nod. “Four.” Holding four fingers up before grabbing the bottle and pouring more into my cup. “My turn!” I place the bottle back onto the counter. “Do you hate me?”

  He’s still silent by my number revelation, but he searches my eyes and seems to think over my question. “What? Like in the bedroom or everyday living?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, either…”

  He seems to mull over my question. A couple jaw clenches later, he answers, “Yes.” I down my entire drink. Okay, so his hate is real.

  “Why did you have sex with Devon?” He flicks his glass away from him slightly.

  “Because it’s comfortable…” I begin while thinking what I should say next and of course, taking control of the bottle of whiskey. “He knows what I like and how I like it. He needs it as bad as I do and it just, I don’t know. It always worked for us.”

  Bryant nods. “I get that.” He does?

  Wow. I’m shocked.

  Knowing it’s my turn, I look right into his eyes. “Why do you keep asking me about sex? Why no real questions?”

  He chuckles, his cold eyes flicking blankly over my shoulder. “Because I know everything else that there is to know about you, Isa.”

  “You’re cocky.”

  “Very.
And I have a big one, so…”

  “You’re not very funny though…” I lie, the effects of the alcohol slowly slipping into the driver’s seat of my thoughts.

  “I don’t want to be funny.”

  “I like funny.”

  “And I don’t give a fuck what you like.”

  My eyes narrow. His narrow back.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “What?” He chuckles. “That I don’t know everything that there is to know about you?”

  Long pause. “Yes. I don’t believe you.”

  His glass dangles lazily between his fingers as he tilts his head and runs his piercing eyes up and down my body. Slowly but surely, it’s as if he’s undressing me with his stare. “Isa Maree Johnson, one sister, mom ran away when you were a baby, sister is the poster child of the family, you’re the rebel—one of the reasons why your favorite color is black—you have three piercings, three tattoos, childhood best friend—except for Devon—was Jennifer Black, first car was a piece of shit Honda, you play the lottery for the excitement even though you know you’d never win and you have enough money in your trust account to put the lottery winners to shame, oh, and you’ve always wanted to be an architect.” My mouth is still open when he finishes because everything he said was spot-on. I’m appalled. And a little turned on.

  “How?”

  He grabs his drink again. “I knew everything about you before you even knew I existed.”

  Standing from his chair, he looks down at me and I look up at him, my eyes crossing slightly at the angle. Pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I run my eyes down his long massive body and then stop near his zipper.

  I need to touch him.

  Reaching up, I press the palm of my hand against his chest, and his eyes close in response. Standing to my feet slowly, I unbutton his dress shirt with one pop at a time. Just as I hit the final button, his eyes slam open, straight onto mine, with fire burning deep inside of them. He drops his forehead down to my own before kissing me, his soft lips pressing against mine. He’s a great kisser. Usually, he’s raw, rough, and there’s always a lot of tongue but this one is tender. Still a lot of tongue and still rough, but the pace of his tongue massaging mine is slower. I lose control slightly, moaning into his mouth while wrapping my arms around his neck. He palms my ass, gripping my cheek tightly while grinding me into his massive bulge. I grind against it until a low groan escapes him and he’s picking me up off the ground. My legs wind around his waist all while we never break out of our intimate kiss. Then the kissing turns frantic, desperate. He steps forward until my back collides against the wall, my head hitting the glass with a thud. Gripping my breast from under my dress, he tears my dress off of my body and throws it to the ground before ripping my bra off and sucking a nipple into his mouth.