Luckiest Bastard (Bastard #1.5)

by J. L. Perry

  I was immediately placed into one of the most exclusive all-girl schools in the country. I’d attended over twenty different public schools in the six years I’d been in foster care. Although I was bright, I was a little behind on my school work because I’d been shuffled from one home to the next. M hired private tutors to help me catch up. That’s what I now call her. I found out the initials M. M. stood for Miss Melody, but she preferred just plain M.

  It would be another seven years until I’d find out the true meaning behind those initials.

  She also went as far as putting me into speech therapy. I thought there was nothing wrong with the way I spoke, but she disagreed. Apparently talking like you have a plum in your mouth is the way people communicate in her circle. Ridiculous if you ask me, but I went along with it to keep her happy. To be honest, at the time I was grateful she seemed to care. Boy, were those thoughts misguided. It was all just part of her devious, masterful plan.

  On weekends, I attended one of the finest finishing schools money could buy. She said I wasn’t refined enough for a lady. Newsflash, I ain’t no lady. Well I wasn’t at the time. I was an eleven-year-old girl that, due to her past, was extremely tough and street smart. Over the next few years though, that’s exactly what I became.

  A lady.

  Once I hit fourteen, I was given my own personal trainer to help me stay in shape. Her words, not mine. At my age, even I knew that was kind of ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with my body. I was tall and slim with curves in all the right places. I guess out of all the misfortunes I’ve endured since birth, I was lucky enough to be blessed with the most amazing genetics.

  My new life came with strict rules. M forbade me to have a boyfriend. Like threatened to go all ninja on my arse if I even went near a boy. I honestly thought she was looking out for me, so I did exactly as she requested. I was only a child after all, so I didn’t really care, or know any better. Boys weren’t high on my agenda at the time anyway.

  I was around the age of sixteen when M confessed why she’d handpicked me from the orphanage. “You’re exquisite, my dear. You have the face and body of a goddess. Those eyes, breathtaking. The moment I saw you I knew you were the one. My men are going to be clawing to get their hands on you.” I had no idea what she meant by her men. Unfortunately, I’d find out soon enough.

  I’m not going to lie, it was confusing and hurtful to think she’d chosen me solely on my looks. Appearance was very high on her agenda though, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. I was continually scolded if I hadn’t dressed to her high standards, or acted accordingly.

  As long as I played by her rules, I had everything handed to me on a silver platter. The finest designer clothes and vacations all over the world, but my new home lacked love and affection just like the others. Looking back now, I suppose you can’t miss something you’ve never really known. Sure, she treated me well, but there were times she made me feel more like an object than an actual human being.

  It wasn’t until my eighteenth birthday, that I discovered the real reason M had been putting so much time, effort and money into making me so refined, so perfect. As it turns out, she wasn’t as generous as I thought. I was in fact being groomed. Coming from where I’ve been, I should’ve known nothing in life comes for free, and the day would come when I’d have to pay her back.

  It was also the day I found out the M in M. M. didn’t stand for Miss at all, it actually stood for Madam. Madam Melody. Can you believe it? Monster Melody would be better suited. She owns the most exclusive, high-class escort agency in the country. I became her protégé. Her new meal ticket.

  “I have put a lot of money and time into you, my dear,” were her exact words. “It’s time for you to repay that debt. You will be coming to work for me.” The tone in which she spoke told me this wasn’t up for negotiation. I would be working for her, regardless. “With your exquisite beauty, that body, and your sweet persona, Jade, you are going to make me a lot of money. Make us both a lot of money.”

  A week after my birthday, her long awaited plan came to fruition. I was set up in my own luxurious apartment, and began my training which ultimately would make me her number one girl.

  Six months later, I was ready to embark on my new life. My life as a high-class escort, or prostitute for lack of a better word. She made me sign a contract, binding me to her for the next seven years. One year of service for every year I’d lived with her.

  It all suddenly made sense. That’s why I’d been forbidden to associate with the opposite sex. She needed to guarantee my virtue would remain intact. That way she could sell me off to the highest bidder like a piece of meat. Bitch.

  Initially I wasn’t happy about her plans for me, devastated would be more the word. After reading the contract, I felt sick. Physically sick. It hurt to think all the nice things she’d done for me over the years weren’t because she cared. It was obvious I was just a commodity for her sick and twisted plan.

  The only positive thing I could see in this situation was the kind of money on offer, it would give me the opportunity to set myself up for life. A chance to start fresh. To live my life the way I’ve always wanted to live it. I’d be able to do all the things I’ve dreamed of doing. It was a chance to be free from all the horrors of my past. Without this, I’d be back to where I started, with nothing. All alone and penniless.

  The life of a high-class escort wasn’t all glitz and glamor. There’ve been times over the years I’ve struggled with what I’m expected to do, with the person I’ve become. Like really struggled. My first night on the job was the worst. The absolute worst. I remember thinking to myself I’d rather die than go through that again. What little respect I still had for M was now gone. It was replaced with hate. With contempt. How could she do this to me?

  My contract stated fifty percent of all my earnings were to go to M. Payment for all the money she’d outlaid getting me ready for this role. She was my carer, my guardian. There shouldn’t have been any need for repayment.

  I felt trapped. I had no money and nowhere else to go. Sure I had a good education and would eventually find employment, but for the interim at least, I’d be forced to live on the streets. She manipulated me into thinking I owed her, and that what she was doing was for the best. Although my common sense knew this wasn’t the case, the vulnerable part of me believed her.

  That first sexual encounter will haunt me forever. For-fucking-ever. Over the years though, I learnt to deal with my current situation. I hated it, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a walk in the park compared to some of the things I’d endured growing up.

  I only have two more years of my sentence to serve, and then I’ll be free. I’ve survived a lot worse in my short life, so I knew I’d get through the remainder of my contract easy enough. I’d finally accepted this is my destiny, my fate. This is who I was meant to be. For the interim anyway. Or so I thought.

  I had no idea in the coming weeks I’d be faced with a situation where I’d break all the rules. M would’ve been spitting kittens if she was to ever find out I’d betrayed her trust. Tough shit I say, she betrayed me in the worst possible way. She should’ve been the one person who looked out for my welfare, not the one to throw me to the lions.

  It clearly states in my contract I’m not allowed to have any contact with a man outside of my work. That meant no boyfriends and definitely no casual sex. Because of what I’ve been forced into doing, I kind of hated men anyway. I had no qualms about that clause. None whatsoever. Well I didn’t until I met Brock Weston. After my encounter with Mr Weston, my life would never be the same.

  One night of passion with a sinfully hot, charming and charismatic stranger would change everything.

  Would change me …

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Bastard …

  If you enjoyed Luckiest Bastard then read on to see how it all began for Carter and Indi . . .

 
Bastard

  by J. L. Perry

  Available now!

  Bastard

  My name is Carter Reynolds. I was born a bastard and I’ll die a bastard. I learnt it at a young age, and nothing and nobody can change that. I’m on a one-way path of destruction, and God help anyone who gets in my way. I hate my life. Actually, I hate pretty much everything.

  That’s until I meet the kid next door. Indi-freakin’-ana. My dislike for her is instant. From the moment I lay eyes on her, she ignites something within me. She makes me feel things I thought I was incapable of feeling. I don’t like it, not one bit. When she looks at me with her big, beautiful, haunting green eyes, it’s like she can see into the depths of my soul. It freaks me the hell out. She’s like sunshine and rainbows in my world of gloom and doom. I hate sunshine and rainbows.

  •

  I’m Indiana Montgomery. My friends call me Indi. Despite losing my mum at the age of six, I have a wonderful life and great friends. My dad more than makes up for the fact that I only have one parent. I’m his little girl, the centre of his world. I adore him.

  When Carter Reynolds moves in next door, my life takes a turn for the worse. He’s gorgeous, sinfully hot, but that’s where my compliments end. He seems hell-bent on making my life miserable. He acts tough, but when I look into his eyes I don’t see it. I see hurt and pain. To me, he seems lost.

  I should hate him for the way he treats me, but surprisingly I don’t. If anything, I feel sorry for him. I want to help him find peace. Help him find the light that I know is buried somewhere within his darkness, but he won’t have a bar of it.

  He’s warned me time and time again to stay away, but I can’t. I’m drawn to him for some reason. He’s always referring to himself as a bastard. That may be true, but to me, he’s more like a beautifully, misunderstood bastard. Whether he likes it or not, I refuse to give up on him.

  Prologue

  The Past …

  Carter

  Reaching out, my mum wraps her long, dainty fingers around my small hand. “Jump, baby.” She smiles as I launch from the bottom step off the bus, landing on the sidewalk. We both laugh. I love my mum. She’s fun.

  “Brrrrrr, it’s cold today,” she says.

  Looking up, I find her shivering. I smile at her as she zips up her coat to keep warm. Digging through her bag, she takes out my favourite Spiderman beanie and scarf, holding them up for me to see.

  “Put these on, sweetie,” she says smiling as she crouches down in front of me, placing my beanie on my head and wrapping the scarf around my neck. “Let me get your gloves,” she adds, reaching into her bag again. “I can’t have my little man getting sick.” I stand and watch as she pushes my small fingers into my blue gloves, one by one. “There, all snug.”

  “Snug as a bug in a rug,” I add. This is something she says to me every night when she tucks me into bed.

  “That’s right, baby,” she says leaning forward, giving me a soft kiss on my nose. Rising to her feet she reaches for my hand. “Come on.”

  As we walk down the street, my eyes take everything in. I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. There are shops on one side of the street, and big houses on the other. “Where are we, Mummy?” I ask while looking around. The loud roar of a motorbike passing makes me jump.

  “This is my hometown. I grew up here.” I look up at her. Wow. Mummy lived somewhere else before our home?

  She gazes down at me, but she looks sad. “You lived here when you were little, like me?” I ask.

  “Uh huh. This is where your grandparents live.”

  “I have a grandma and grandpa?” I didn’t know that either. I feel my eyes widen and I smile. I hear the kids at school talk about their grandparents all the time. I’ve always wondered why I didn’t have any of my own.

  I’ve never asked my mum why. Once I asked her how come I didn’t have a daddy like the other kids, and it made her cry. I don’t like seeing my mummy cry.

  “I’m taking you to meet them now. They’ve never met you before.” I’m getting so excited, like I did a few weeks ago when I turned five, and my mummy bought me a big chocolate cake. My friend, Josh, was allowed to come over. He even bought me a present. Nobody but my mummy has ever bought me a present before. I met Josh’s grandparents once, when I was playing at his house. They were really nice. I hope my grandparents are like his.

  I start jumping along because I’m so happy. Mummy stops in front of a big, white house. It’s really, really big, like the houses you see in movies. It’s so much bigger than where mummy and me live.

  My mum’s hand starts shaking as she holds mine. I look at her. She looks mad, like the time I drew on the wall at home. Her eyes are doing funny things.

  “Your hands are shaking, Mummy.”

  “I’m okay little man, I’m just cold.” She looks down at me and smiles. Her eyes look happy when she looks at me.

  “Do you want to borrow my gloves?”

  “No, baby,” she says as her smile widens. She crouches down, placing her hands on either side of my face. “No matter what happens when we go in here, just remember how much I love you, and how special you are.”

  “Okay,” I say. I love my mummy. I know I’m going to love my grandparents too.

  “Good boy.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek before standing up and reaching for my hand again. “Let’s do this.”

  As we walk down the long driveway, my mum’s hand continues to shake. I wish she’d put my gloves on. I hate how she’s cold.

  “One … two … three … four … five.” I count the stairs in my head as we climb them before we stop in front of the big yellow door. I hear my mum let out a big breath. Letting go of my hand, she makes a fist as she raises her arm, but she stops mid-air. Looking down at me, her lips turn up before finally knocking on the door. I can’t wait to see my grandparents. I hope they have chocolate. I love chocolate.

  Reaching for my hand, she gives it a squeeze. When the door opens, I look up at the man who stands there. He doesn’t look happy when he sees mummy.

  “Elizabeth,” he says sternly.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she replies nervously. He relaxes when mummy says that. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. I feel my own big smile. Wow, this must be my grandpa. He looks so strong.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  My mum doesn’t say anything for what feels like one hundred years. “I wanted to see you. I … ummm, wanted you to meet your grandson, Carter.” She gives my hand another squeeze as she looks down at me.

  “Hello, Grandpa,” I say. I’m seeing my very own grandpa. I want to hug him.

  He looks angry again as he stares down at me. Then his head snaps back up to look at my mummy. “Why did you bring that little bastard here?” he asks really, really meanly. “Get him out of here. Don’t you ever bring him here again.” Stepping back, he slams the door in our faces.

  My mum makes a strange sound and I feel like crying. I’m sad because my mummy is sad. She only makes that noise when she’s upset. I don’t like my grandpa. He’s mean. “Come on, baby,” she says. When her eyes meet mine, I see her tears are already falling. I don’t like seeing my mummy cry.

  I’m almost running behind her as she tugs on my hand. She hurries down the driveway and back out into the street. “What’s a bastard?” I ask. I’ve never heard that word before. The way my grandpa said it, it doesn’t sound like a nice word.

  My question stops her walking. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she squats down in front of me. “You’re not a bastard,” she says sadly. “Pay no attention to what he said. You’re a beautiful boy.” She gives me a kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry I brought you here.”

  “It’s okay, Mummy,” I say trying real hard to be brave. When my bottom lip starts to quiver and the first tears fall, I know I’ve failed. I’m not
brave.

  “Oh, baby.” She opens her arms, pulling me tightly against her as I cry into her chest. “You’re not a bastard,” she whispers.

  I want to believe her, I do, but why would grandpa say it if it’s not true? I hate that I’m a bastard. Even though I don’t know what it means, I know that this moment and that horrible word are going to stick with me for a long time. Maybe even the rest of my life.

  •

  bas·tard

  1.Offensive A person born to parents not married to each other.

  2.Slang

  a.A person considered to be mean or contemptible.

  b.A person, especially one considered to be unfortunate.

  3.Something that is of irregular, inferior, or dubious origin.

  It’s funny how one fleeting moment in time can change you. One stupid, crazy, fucked-up word can define you. I didn’t know it at the time, but after that day things changed—I changed. I was only five years old the day I learnt I was a bastard, and sadly as the years progressed, that’s exactly what I became.

  Chapter One

  The Present …

  Carter

  Packing the last of the boxes into the trunk of the car, I turn and take one final look at the only place I’ve ever called home. The place I’ve lived for the last seventeen years of my life. Sure it’s just a shitty old apartment block, but it’s my home. It’s all I’ve ever known. I’m fucking pissed they’re forcing me to leave here. I’ve been dreading this day. I hate that I’m going to have to live with that fuckwit my mum now calls her husband.

  Thank God it’s only for six months. That’s when I’ll be turning eighteen; finally becoming a legal adult. You can be sure as hell the first thing I do, is blow this godforsaken place. My mum has that cocksucker to look after her now. She doesn’t need me anymore.