by K. M. Raya
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Playlist
Angel
The Brotherhood
By
K.M. RAYA
Angel: Copyright © 2019: K.M Raya. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used simply for the purpose of furthering the storyline and do not represent the institutions or places of business in any way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or used for fictional purposes.
Disclaimer: This is a dark RH title in which one woman has multiple love interests. 18+ due to graphic sexual and violent situations and strong language. Be advised that this book contains events that can be possibly triggering for some readers.
Prologue
The icy wind whips through my tangled hair and the dark strands sting my watery eyes as I glare at the ones I thought I could have loved. The ones I thought loved me.
I can smell rain in the air and know instinctively that it’s only a matter of time until the storm hits. Firelight warms my face, but the ice that has begun to crystalize around what remains of my heart chills me to the bone. I fight to keep breathing steadily—chin held high and shoulders back, but the effort takes more out of me than I’d anticipated. They think I’m a broken little girl—like all the ones before me.
Looking at them now, how could I not have known? How could I have been so easily fooled?
I know how.
Love.
It can do silly things to a girl of nineteen.
Love can make you forget.
Chapter One
Angel
It's all for my own safety.
I really do know this, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. I'm trying to stay positive though—knowing that it could all end up being a good thing, but eighteen years of hard lessons have taught me to hope for the best while still preparing for the worst.
The Greyhound bus rolls through the lush green landscape and I can't help but gawk out into the dense forest surrounding me like a living shield. Out here he can’t see me . . . can’t watch my every move or tell me what to do. I want to revel in the freedom and the foreign feeling of being able to breathe a little easier now that I’m out from under Papa's ever looming shadow, but it's pointless to let myself fall into delusion. I know he has men watching me. I may not be able to see them all the time, but I can feel their lecherous little eyes on me. They catalogue everything I do and send it back to Sal like the creepy fucking bastardos they are.
The bus driver has yet to say a word to me. We’ve been on the road for over three hours now and I’m the only one on board, yet I still prefer to sit on the back bench seat alone. I don’t give a single shit about how much Papa paid the man for his discretion. It isn’t anything new to me. Money talks so that people don’t have to.
When we reach the 'depot,' I find nothing more than a small wooden bench on the side of the curving coastal road. After unloading my one carry-on bag, the bus and its silent driver pull away, leaving me waiting alone in the chilly sea air.
It's midday now and cold enough that I have no choice but to shrug into a sweater before dialing an Uber. Smiling to myself, I can’t help but picture the disgusted look on Mama’s face if she knew I’d taken public transportation.
It’s not like it bothers me though. Honestly—fuck the town cars and the private jets too. I want none of it. I just want to be left alone for once.
After a twenty-five minute ride into town which boasts a worn but delicately antiquated sign that says ‘Welcome to Seaside’ across its wooden surface, I give myself the chance to examine my new home up close. The place is charming, but it still radiates wealth and privilege.
Back in New York, I’d been no stranger to mansions, yachts and obnoxious wealth, but there’s just something undeniably wild and carefree about the California coast that I can't help but admire. It's a different sort of wealth on this side of the states.
As I gaze out of the window, watching the residents of Seaside roam around their small town, I can easily pick out the differences between my new home and my old one. Back in New York, women pranced around in their diamonds, pearls and fur coats that draped across their exfoliated skin. They click-clacked around in their six inch heels, never owning a pair of jeans or flip-flop shoes.
But not here.
Though these people are obviously well off, there seems to be a much more relaxed aura to them that instantly puts me at ease. Sill though, I of all people should know how well appearances can deceive.
✽✽✽
We finally pull up to what I presume is my new home for the foreseeable future.
It's a beautiful place—settled onto the side of the coastal hill along with several other beach homes that make up a colorful looking neighborhood. Each property is vast, but the lines are clearly drawn where white picket fences run up and through the dense trees in between them.
My house is mossy green with white wooden shutters and a wraparound porch. It looks like a gigantic old plantation home, but the light colors and the clean paved driveway gives it a modern feel too.
At some point I register that my Uber left and idly I wonder how long I've been standing here gawking in the front yard. Thrusting my hand into my pocket, I pull out the key Papa handed to me as he bid be a cold farewell last night in his study. I look at the old style brass metal in the center of my palm—recalling his icy words for the millionth time so far.
“I need you to do this for me, Tesoro Mio—you’ll make your Papa proud, yes?” Papa squints at me in that way of his, making me feel five years old again.
“I’m placing trust in you, and you know my trust is to be earned, not given freely.” He frowns—a heavy crease forming between his thick black eyebrows.
“Do not disappoint me, Angel. Understand that I am doing this out of kindness . . . to show you that I care for your wishes.” He strokes my hair back from my face and I barely restrain a wince.
It’s all a sham.
The man doesn’t give a shit about my wishes. If he did, we’d be having a completely different discussion right now. No matter how musical his soft voice is . . . with his thick Italian accent making it so easy to be fooled into a false sense of contentment with him . . . I know better.
“Yes, Papa,” I murmur as I cast my eyes to the plush carpeting of his study. I watch my shining leather pumps and concentrate on the cold black against the warm cream color of the luxurious fibers, anything to avoid thos
e eyes of his—those light green eyes that look so much like Sofia’s that it makes me want to tear my hair out.
“Good girl,” he says as he pats the top of my head lightly before returning to the other side of his desk. I know this discussion is over when I hear the telling shuffle of papers.
Leaving his office, I click the heavy wooden door closed behind me and immediately draw in a deep lung full of precious air as the weight of his presence leaves my shoulders. Mama waits for me at the end of the hall and I know that it's the last time for a while that I’ll stand here within these walls. A part of me feels a pang of grief at the thought, but a much larger part of me can feel the oncoming elation, knowing that a small semblance of freedom is waiting for me, just outside the front door.
Chapter Two
Angel
My bedroom is decadent.
That's the only way to describe it. Living alone means I have the master bedroom which takes up most of the top floor consisting of a spacious apartment, a bathroom larger than most living rooms and a two room closet.
It's decorated in dark red and hints of black with touches of delicate white lace making the room seem feminine while still tasteful and relaxing. It’s exactly the way I’d have done it myself. I know this is Sal’s doing, but bitterness still gets in the way of gratitude. He’s not doing this to make me happy but rather to keep me complacent.
For now though, I say ‘screw it,’ I'm going to enjoy the hell out of my jacuzzi tub and heated bathroom floors.
The first thing I do before bothering to look around is strip before plunging into the tub and settling backwards as the hot water pours in. I let my black hair dangle over the edge and breathe out a gentle sigh of relief.
My mind unwillingly drifts to Mama—Gianna, all alone in that huge house. I know she’s alone because Papa always has someplace better to be. I want to feel bad for her, but years of built up resentment have hardened my heart to the point that I couldn’t actually care less when I really stop to think about it. She stood by all those years ago and did absolutely nothing as Sofia was dragged out by an invisible chain around her neck.
My breath catches in my throat as I think of my older sister. So beautiful, elegant and poised. Everything I could never be. Not anymore, anyways.
I’ll never forgive Papa for what happened to her. As long as I live I’ll never let myself forget what a monster he truly is beneath that carefully crafted mask of propriety.
It's all bullshit.
Him sending me across the country is bullshit too.
My eyelids start to droop and I know I’ll need to sleep soon. Tomorrow is my first day at Draven Preparatory Academy, where the students are probably coiled like vipers—eagerly awaiting their next prey as all rich kids tend to be.
The way I tend to be . . .
✽✽✽
Affluenza is a plague that’s clearly infected every inch of Seaside. The cars in the student parking lot attest to that easily.
Of course, I can't really talk, not as I rock up in a brand new Tesla that Papa left for me in my new garage. It blends in seamlessly with the privileged masses. I won't complain though, the car isn't actually all that expensive . . . and at least I'm doing my small part to save the environment.
‘Yep, we’ll go with that.’
Flipping the visor down, I take the time to fix my makeup in the small mirror. My glossy black hair hangs pin straight, cut off bluntly just below my collar bone. I fix the tight line of black that wings at the edges of my chocolate brown eyes and blot my cherry red lips—making sure not a single pigment is out of place.
My features seem gaunt against my alabaster skin. I look like a fucking vampire, a stark contrast to the golden surf goddesses I can see ambling around the parking lot with their long wavy hair and suntanned skin.
One lesson Mama ingrained in my head as a little girl is to always make my first impression count. People have the nasty habit of basing their entire opinion of someone off of their first good look at them. For some reason this resonated with me through the years. I usually make it a point to appear polished and sure of myself, though what simmers beneath the surface is another matter entirely.
A sharp knock on my car window startles me. Snapping my head to the side I can see a tall male form; his arms are crossed against his well-dressed, muscular body, just waiting for me to acknowledge him.
I take my time gathering my bag from the passenger seat before slipping out the door and locking it behind me with a beep. The guy stands there, tapping his foot like an idiot as I pretend to notice him for the first time.
The second our eyes meet, I have to fight to hide my schoolgirl reaction to his deceptively angelic face. Sandy blonde hair hangs soft and luxuriously long all the way to his shoulders in that way only surfers and rockstars can pull off without looking homeless. His clean shaven face is angular, tanned and lightly freckled across his sturdy nose. Navy blue eyes glare at me, framed by golden lashes. They’re filled with anger that I don't quite understand.
He kind of looks like he wants to punch me.
“Can I help you with something, Sunshine?” I ask as I slip on a pair of Ray-Ban's—attempting to cut off a little bit of the intensity boiling between us.
His glower deepens and I know I've said the wrong thing.
“You need to move your car, this spot is reserved,” he snaps. His voice—though velvety and oh so very deep, is filled to the brim with pompous attitude and entitlement. It makes me feel worse because my belly fluttered when he spoke.
I stare at him dubiously while he waits for me to obey.
I take a second to glance around in case this spot really is reserved. I wouldn’t put it past an uppity school like this.
As expected though, he’s just full of shit.
“Maybe someone should have woken up a little earlier and beat me to it because I don't see a name anywhere. I guess you're out of luck, buddy.”
The guy glares down at me from a full head taller than my 5’4 frame. He’s trying to intimidate me the only way he can. It wont work.
“I said move your shit, little girl. Is this really how you want to start off your first day?” He takes a quick step closer. “Because I can tell you right now, you're gonna have a bad year.”
I blink at him.
I can’t hold in the laughter.
I can't do it.
It bursts out of me like a hysterical tsunami and I feel the need to double over but he's still too close. His blue eyes widen a fraction before he squints them at me like I'm some sort of riddle in human form.
Once I compose myself, I place a hand against the silvery paint job of my car, attempting to calm my breathing. This high school guy really thinks a simple scowl is going to scare the new girl into submission? Little does this shithead know I’ve taken on men three times his size and come out victorious.
I resist a shudder at the memory.
He’s still staring at me, and I notice belatedly that others are too.
“Oh! You're serious . . ." I sober up, but not much. "Well this is awkward." I clear my throat.
"Who the fuck are you?" he barks, eyes drifting slowly from my toes to my head. Despite the fact that he’s visibly irritated with me, I don’t miss the unmistakable flash of heat in his eyes as he takes in my short black uniform skirt and knee high heeled boots.
I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but I'm already getting spoiled brat vibes from him. It doesn't matter how sexy he is—I don't have the patience for it.
"I’m your walking nightmare, Sunshine." I reach up and pat him on the shoulder quickly before snatching my hand back as he stiffens under my touch.
"Better luck tomorrow." I wink at him as he stands there dumbfounded.
He doesn't say a word but I can feel those penetrating eyes on my back as I turn around quickly and make my way towards the school. I try so fucking hard to ignore him in favor of running my eyes over the ostentatious and dramatic display of wealth that Draven Prep has to off
er.
The school looks like a mixture between Hogwarts and a country club. I know it's hard to picture, but it's the only way to accurately capture the absurdity of the monstrosity. The steepled turrets above the calcium coated brick facade are pointed sharply—reaching for the cloud covered sky like claw tipped fingers. The gothic architecture seems glaringly at odds with the lush green landscaping and bright flower gardens surrounding the main building.
I’ve seen enough academies, prep schools, public schools and boarding schools to figure out for myself where I need to be. Draven is laid out much like any other institution in that its classrooms are numerically placed and the floors are lettered A for the bottom and D at the fourth level.
Simple enough.
Thanks to Sunshine, I’ve already missed homeroom so I head straight for class number one—English Lit. I don't hate the subject as I've always been good at writing and storytelling. I have no idea where they are in their syllabus compared to my old school, but I'm hoping they're passed all that Shakespeare shit.
The classroom door looks old. It’s wooden and heavy and has no window for me to peer inside before feeding myself to the wolves. I decide to bite the bullet and just swing it open and let myself in. Most of the seats are already filled up, but multiple sections towards the back of the room seem to be available for the taking.
After handing the old, pudgy teacher my enrollment slip, I make my way to the back of the room when the dreaded whispers begin. I knew this would happen eventually. It's a natural part of always being the new girl, and yet it still bothers me. It's the same everywhere I go—whether it be a boarding school or not, there's always that initial curiosity that comes with adding new meat to a small community.
A chill snakes down my spine, causing me to break my stoic tunnel vision and glance towards my right where I lock eyes with a striking, angry looking guy glaring at me beneath heavy black brows and a sneer.
