RUTHLESS HEART© Copyright 2021 Eve L. Mitchell
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organisations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
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Cover Photo provided by Wander Aguair Photography: www.wanderbookclub.com
Cover model: Joey Lagrua
Contents
Note from the Author
The Morning After
1. Ava
2. Jett
3. Ava
4. Jett
5. Ava
6. Jett
7. Ava
8. Jett
9. Jett
10. Ava
11. Ava
12. Jett
13. Ava
14. Jett
15. Ava
16. Jett
17. Jett
18. Ava
19. Ava
20. Jett
21. Jett
22. Ava
23. Jett
24. Ava
25. Jett
26. Ava
27. Ava
28. Ava
29. Jett
30. Ava
31. Ava
32. Jett
33. Jett
34. Ava
Epilogue
Playlist
From the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Eve L. Mitchell
To coffee, for getting me through the late nights to hit this deadline.
This is a book of fiction, general landmarks, places, cities etc are referenced, but my knowledge of them is from maps, wikipedia and my imagination.
Please note that the deviations that there may be from the cities or places mentioned in this book or surrounding area are to fit in with the story.
I am a British author and although I have tried to make this story as universal as I could, there will be some British spelling, phraseology, and terminology that I can’t (and won’t) eradicate from my writing. I’m okay with that, I hope you are too.
Ruthless Heart
She is his enemy. He is her nightmare.
Three football stars who have it all: looks, money, talent and the world at their feet. No one messes with the Devils. You’re either with them or against them…and you’d have to be stupid to be against them.
Ava isn’t stupid, but one night of being in the wrong place at the right time is coming back to haunt her. One of the Santo boys—Jett—is out for blood. Specifically, her blood. Thankfully, he doesn’t know who she is, and Ava plans to keep it that way.
Sophomore year threatens to stop Jett's progression to the championships and, more importantly, his plan to play in the NFL. All because of some mystery blonde. But he has a plan: find the threat and eliminate the threat. Jett is ruthless in his pursuit to find the girl who threatens his career.
They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and neither is prepared for the consequences when they cross that line.
Three guys, three girls, one game. Are you ready to meet the Devils?
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Content warning: please note that there are elements of this story that may be disturbing to some readers. The story involves an incident of drink spiking but there is no non-con involved.
When the truth is a weapon
And you know you can’t hide from it
Do you run?
Or do you play the game?
Eve L. Mitchell
Bright light pressed against my eyelids painfully, the morning sun demanding I open my eyes and wake up. Moving my head away from the brilliant light, I turned onto my side. I wasn’t ready to admit that I was awake, not even to myself. Moving hurt my head. Pounding started from what felt like an inch behind my eyeballs all the way to the back of my skull where the throbbing sensation resonated off of my cranium and bounced back to my eyeballs, which seemed to be pulsing in rhythm.
I had a hangover?
I’d never had a hangover before. I’d only been drunk a few times before, and it didn’t feel like this. I’d definitely never had this thumping in my temples before. Sleep. I needed more sleep. My friends told me that sleeping was the answer and then coffee. I peeled an eyelid open…coffee? That was a reason to bear the blinding pain that rushed into my head as my open eyelid allowed light in, and I hastily closed my eye again. No. Not even coffee was worth this pain. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say, I thought ruefully.
Sleep, that I could manage.
Settling in under the sheet, pulling it high up over my face to block out the light, I promised myself five more minutes.
Running water had my eyes peeking open again, and slowly, I moved my head from under the sheet to look around. I could hear the shower? As my eyes adjusted to the horrific brightness, I slowly realised three things.
This was not my room.
These were not my sheets.
This was not my bed.
Cautiously, tentatively, my hand slipped under the blanket and explored as worrying realisation crept into my foggy head. I’m naked? Why am I naked? Where are my clothes? Alarm and panic were quickly replacing the pain in my head from too much alcohol the night before.
The bathroom door opened, and I hastily dropped my head under the sheet, closing my eyes as the rest of my body froze.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” a male voice muttered.
So, he knew I was here, and from the sounds of it, he wasn’t happy about it. But the more important question to me was, who was he?
“Yo, chick.”
Chick?
“Yo, girl.”
Slightly better.
“Woman!” he said loudly, his irritation bleeding into his tone. “Wake the fuck up and get the fuck out. I don’t have time for this.”
I will never drink again, Lord, if you send me a sign that I did not have sex with this guy.
I heard a door being flung open, as it bounced off what I assumed was the wall, announcing that there was another person in the room. “There’s a girl in your bed?” the new person said, and I wasn’t sure in my hungover, dying-of-humiliation state if he was stating a fact or asking a question.
“Yeah, she’s not waking up either.”
“Fuck.” I heard the hesitation. “She dead?”
“Are you fucking stupid?” I heard the scorn in bathroom guy’s voice, and between the pain in my head from the hangover and the burning embarrassment, something niggled that I recognised his voice. “You think I fucked her to death?” I could hear his amusement as his movements sounded louder in the room, and I guessed he was getting dressed.
Cue snort laugh from the other guy. “Maybe she’s just passed out in bliss?”
“My dick feels red raw, so I definitely fucked her more than once…so…not impossible.”
He did? Cold horror crept slowly up my body
. I had sex? With him? He sounded like a complete dickhead. It was taking all my willpower to lie there and breathe evenly when, in reality, I wanted to bolt out of the room and then crawl into the nearest hole that I could find.
“Well, that was TMI,” the other one said with a small laugh. “You better have wrapped it up.”
“Obviously. Can’t remember much, but I picked up enough wrappers when I went to the shower this morning,” I heard him tell the other one, and then I heard him stamp his feet. Was he putting shoes on? “She isn’t waking up.” The irritation was back in his voice.
“Back up a minute. You? You’re fuzzy on the details?” the other guy asked curiously. “I thought you weren’t drinking last night?”
“Yesterday was fucked, you know that.” I heard bathroom guy sigh. I needed out of this room. “I must have had more to drink than I thought,” he added quietly. “You know what those parties are like, the cups have more alcohol than soda.”
“Yeah, but still, you shouldn’t be drinking the night before.”
Even under the sheet, I could feel the unspoken tension between the two of them, and I was now rigid waiting for the fallout. The other chuckled softly in what I think was his attempt to lighten the mood before he changed the subject. “So who’s blondie?” he asked casually. “You do know who it is?”
Which confirmed that they couldn’t see me, which was great, I thought as relief washed over me. However, it was clear the asshole I slept with didn’t know who I was any more than I knew him. The bright side of this was that I may still get out of this unscathed. Well, apart from the damage to my dignity, but if it meant I could avoid a face-to-face confrontation this morning, I was okay to deal with my dignity later.
“Fuck knows, some girl,” my sleeping partner answered casually. “Not sure I could pick her out of a lineup.”
I could almost hear his shrug. Asshole. He obviously did this a lot, and that realisation made me feel worse.
“You really were wasted, was that wise? Damn it, how are you standing right now?” Again, the amusement leaked through the reprimand, and I also would’ve liked to know how he had no hangover. Reprimand Guy spoke again. “What do we do with her? We’re going to be late, and we can’t be late today.” He was now sounding less amused and more frustrated.
Welcome to my morning.
“Fuck.” I heard the footsteps approach and forced myself not to cower. “Girl?” the guy snapped at me. I lay immobile, forcing my breathing to be calm and steady, which would be funny if the rest of my body hadn’t been drenched in nervous sweat.
Could this be any worse? I will never ever drink again, please don’t make him pull the sheet back. My stomach churned, and my eyes opened in horror. No. My mouth flooded with saliva. Please no. My stomach roiled again, and I had no choice but to bolt upright and shove past whoever as I launched myself at his bathroom and hurled up the contents of my stomach.
“Fuck, that’s nasty,” I heard his friend mutter. “Fine ass though.”
Even over my retching, I could hear the guy’s answering grunt. “Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit,” he protested.
“We really don’t, you’re going to have to leave her here.”
“Shit.” I heard him swear again just as another wave of nausea hit me.
“Just lock up the goods and make sure all the used condoms are gone. She could be a crazy clinger looking for a meal ticket.”
I heard the bathroom door slam shut as I said another prayer to the porcelain throne my head was halfway down. Even as I threw up and clung to the toilet bowl, I heard them moving around in the bedroom. There also seemed to be more voices now. As my stomach tried to turn itself inside out, or what felt like it, I was very, very conscious that I was stark naked. Tears from my violent gagging ran down my face, as did snot from my nose, and I could almost taste the vomit in my nose.
Oh my God, I’m dying.
The door opened as another wave of sickness left my body.
“Ugh, Jesus.” I heard him hesitate. “There’s water by the bed, painkillers too, take them and leave. Do not use my shower.” He hesitated. I could feel him behind me, and I was suddenly grateful that my head was hanging down his toilet so I didn’t have to look at him.
My head was on my arm, which was currently across the toilet bowl, my blonde hair a curtain around me giving me some privacy as my body shuddered in aftershock of the violence of my vomiting. I tried to nod that I heard him, acknowledge his stern disgust that he wasn’t bothering to hide from me.
I could feel his eyes on me and then heard another curse as he seemed to make the decision that he had to leave me. With effort, I managed to lift my head and look up as I heard another heavy sigh. A mirror above me allowed me to catch a look at his side profile as he turned and stormed out of his bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
Even with him gone, his presence lingered in the bathroom, and as I crouched there, the image of him burned into my brain. Thick black hair with a clean sharp jawline, a nice straight nose. Even side-on, he was gorgeous. Nausea washed over me again but not from my overindulgence in alcohol this time.
No.
It was because of who was leaving me to throw up in his bathroom. I knew exactly who he was, even if he didn’t know me.
The infamous quarterback for the Cardinal Saints, my college.
Possibly the most arrogant, dangerous guy I had ever met.
Jett Santo. Shit.
I knew who he was, the whole of Tennessee knew who he was. What I didn’t know was how I ended up in the same orbit as him, never mind his bed, and as I leaned over the toilet again, my focus shifted to getting out of here.
And him? Well, he didn’t know who I was, and since I had no intention of ever letting him find out, I could deal with this whole experience later. For now, I needed to stop vomiting, pick myself up off his bathroom floor, clean up, and leave without letting anyone see me.
Totally doable.
“Ava? Are you even listening to me?” Mia snapped at me as I looked up from my phone.
“Yes,” I lied. “I completely heard you.”
My friend narrowed her hazel eyes at me as a frown marred her face. Thick auburn hair hung in waves over one shoulder, and I envied her hair colour as the sun picked up the highlights of chestnut and toffee, which shone through the natural red hues of her hair.
“Well, what did I say?”
“Um…” I winced at her glare. “I don’t know, I was reading the stats from this weekend’s game,” I explained hurriedly.
“Why? Was there a yard that you missed on Saturday?” Mia mocked as she rolled her eyes.
“Rushing or passing?” I teased her as she took a drink of her soda.
“Ugh, who cares?” Mia threw her hands up as she laughed at me. “As long as they move it down the field, does anyone care how?”
“Yes!” I answered with a long-suffering sigh. I loved football. Even after my less than spectacular experience on Saturday morning, I was not letting that deter my passion for the game, and still watched in the afternoon. Mia, who had been my best friend since we were four years old, knew I adored the sport. “How can you still not know this after fifteen years?”
“Because, Ava, darling, I stopped listening to you talk about football when we were about, hmmm”—she pretended to think about it—“four?”
“You’re full of shit, Mia Davis,” I laughed as I swung my bag of chips at her.
“Am not,” Mia giggled as she snatched my chips off me and stole a handful.
“I thought you were off carbs?” I smiled knowingly as I lay back on the grass, enjoying the afternoon sun.
“I am,” Mia moaned as she lay beside me. “I’m just so cracking hungry.”
I snort laughed at her terminology. Mia refused to swear, and her alternatives always made me laugh. I closed my eyes against the bright August sunshine. “What did you read this time to tell you carbs were bad?”
“It was in the college newspaper.�
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One eye popped open as I turned my head to look at her. “Serious?”
“Yes, Hayley’s health piece this week was about how carbs destroy your weight loss goals.”
I rolled onto my side as I looked at Mia. Even lying on the grass in a short jean skirt and a pale pink T-shirt, she was stunning. “Mia, what are you losing weight for this time?” I saw her frown of annoyance at the inflection of my voice and belatedly realised she was hangry. Shit.
“This time, as you put it”—she shot me an annoyed glare—“I need to lose eight pounds.”
I cast my eye over Mia’s frame. She was taller than me by about two inches, and her five eight height allowed her to have some of the best legs I’d ever seen on a female. “Where do you have to lose it from?” I teased. “You have nothing spare to lose, Mee.”
“I think I’m carrying excess water.”
“I think you’re an idiot,” I replied with a smile as I rolled onto my back again and closed my eyes.
“Whatever,” Mia muttered beside me. “Anyway, as much as I am wonderful to talk about, I was asking how you were?”
“I’m good.”
“You’re full of poop.”
I grunted in amusement. “Honestly, I’m good.”
“You never talk to me,” Mia complained. I didn’t answer; I did talk, I just didn’t have much to say. Mia stood suddenly. “Okay, I need to go get a salad or something before I start chowing down on the grass.”
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