Crowned by Hate (Crowned #1)

by Amo Jones

  I killed someone.

  “Now!” he roared, and my body immediately responded. I shot to my feet, wincing at the pain just as Brooke threw my arm over her shoulder and leaned. “Come on. I know someone who will be able to stitch that up.”

  6

  The door slamming brings me out of my dark thoughts, but it’s too late, I’m rocking in the corner, reliving my most horrific memories over and over again like a vivid live movie that won’t shut up in my head. Wrapping my arms around my knees protectively, I continue to rock softly in the corner while swiping the tears off of my cheeks. I’ve swiped so many tears off of me already that it now feels as though my cheeks have been scrubbed with sandpaper. How’d I not peg Bryant before? How’d I not notice those eyes. I mean, his body is visibly larger now, more muscular, more manly, and his hair is styled differently. Back then, he also kept his face clean of any scruff instead of the shadow he now has, but those eyes. They should have been the giveaway. Had I buried those memories so deep into my consciousness that I had forgotten those eyes?

  “Do you regret it?” Bryant’s dominant growl sets off shivers down my spine, his body hidden in the shadows.

  “Regret killing him?” I ask through a shaky voice. “Yes, because it was a life. I don’t regret what I’ve done, though. He should have stopped.”

  Bryant walks closer into the room, out of the shadows slightly, and drops something into the bedside dresser. “Is that what you tell yourself when the nightmares get to be too much? Hmm?” He adds, pulling open a draw.

  I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “I’ve not had an episode in some time.”

  “Then you are a heartless bitch. Which is good, because what we have, you don’t need a heart for. Get the fuck up, arch your back, and touch your toes.” I instantly get to my feet, ignoring the pang of pain I feel deep in my chest.

  “Where do you want me?” I ask softly, bringing my cold eyes to his. It’s like stone facing stone as the soft light from the lamp casts shadows over his chiseled jaw, enhancing the intensity of his glare.

  “I want you naked, on your fucking knees, and at my feet. Do it.” Clenching my jaw and fighting my instant reaction to say something sassy in response, I slowly pop the buttons off of my dress, watching him watch me.

  He steps backward, loosening his tie before throwing it across the room into a pile of mess on the floor. He unbuttons his pale white dress shirt until his ripped chest comes into display. When he turns to show his back, every muscle has been worked and then worked again. I haven’t seen Bryant naked, but he has large tattoos on his back, one in particular that perks my attention. It’s a large tiger that claws up the back of his neck. His muscles flex and bend as he moves his arms, rolling his shoulders like he’s gearing for a fight. Dropping my dress to the floor, I shimmy out of my lace panties and kick them to the side until I feel the cool winter air whisk over my nipples. Keeping my eyes on his back, I drop to my knees as instructed, placing my hands behind my back. His bare feet come into view, the bottoms of his slacks hanging around his ankles. Clutching a fist full of my hair, he tugs on it roughly, yanking my head back until I’m looking up at him from the floor.

  He searches my eyes. “You don’t speak unless spoken to, you don’t fuck unless instructed to, and you sure as fuck don’t let those pretty little eyes land on any other man. Are we clear?” I don’t answer because as much as I know how much of a dominant he is, I fight it. I’m not the submissive type, I’m a little too fiery to just bend over and obey, but I have a lot of myself riding on this…situation. Until I can find whatever it is that Bryant has as proof against me killing his brother, I have to play along in this sick and twisted little game.

  “Yes, we’re clear.”

  I swallow and go to stand to my feet, but he stops me by clutching my chin with his hands all while his other tugs on my hair until my head cranks back further. “Now,” he murmurs, a smirk coming across his mouth as his tongue slips out and licks across his bottom lip. “Show me what that pretty little mouth can do.” Bringing my eyes to the front of his pants, I tug down his zipper, pulling his briefs down until his cock springs free. Wrapping my fingers around his large, warm, length, I slowly suck him into my mouth. Letting my tongue pave and moisten every single bit of his thickness before I slip out, lick my tongue down his shaft and all the way to his balls. Working his cock with my hand, I slowly suck one of his balls into my mouth, massaging it softly with my tongue before popping it out. Running my tongue further, I bring it down to where the skin bridges from his balls to his ass, and then circle his ring slowly. His cheeks tense, his grip tightening.

  “What are you doing?” He narrows his eyes down on me, tugging my hair gently but not telling me to stop.

  “Let me play…” I answer from between his thighs before slipping my tongue into his ass and circling it.

  “Fuck,” he growls in surprise but grinds his dick into the palm of my hand. “Keep doing that, baby. Harder.”

  I do. I shove my tongue in harder, circling it when it’s inside before his knees begin to tremble. He pushes me back and my ass hits the floor in a thud. “That was fucking hot, but I’m in charge here.” He bends down, grips me from under my shoulders and throws me onto the bed until my small frame bounces up from the impact. Crawling up my body, he pulls out a small switchblade from the bedside drawer. It’s small but looks sharp.

  He grins, his straight white teeth flashing across his face. “Time to play, baby.”

  “Well, ok, but last time that didn’t end well, so...”

  He shakes his head. “This is how I play. I’m not into drugging girls to get them into bed.” I flinch, but he carries on. “And anyway, as I said, I’m in charge.”

  He brings the knife up to my inner thigh, running the blunt side across my flesh teasingly, torturing me with what’s to come. Small memories dance across my brain because he’s treading dangerously close to the scar on my thigh. When suddenly, it’s gone. The sensation of the unknown has disappeared, so I open my eyes, only to find him on top of me, his eyes watching me so intensely it’s almost unnerving.

  Almost.

  “Close your eyes,” he commands.

  I do as I’m told, just in time for him to pull, what feels like a blindfold over my eyes. “Now, spread your arms wide. I’ll need you locked down for this.” I don’t know why, but I do as I’m told, spreading them far until I feel a cold metal clamp around each of my wrists. He tugs on them, bringing them both up toward the headboard where I hear two metal clinks on either side of the posts. The darkness from being blindfolded and the lack of control from being bonded to the bed has kicked up all other senses tenfold. My skin electrifies to life from the mere whisper of breeze what whizzes through the room from a cracked window, and the silence that hangs between us could lick over every inch of my screaming flesh. He presses his cock into me while bringing the tip of his nose down to mine.

  “Isa…” he mutters, his breath falling over my cheek. I feel the tip of the blade come up my leg again. “Don’t flinch, or I’ll use a bigger one.”

  I listen, unmoving. I don’t want a bigger one, I barely want this one. It should make me uncomfortable. If I were normal, this would be classified as a hard limit because of my history, but it’s not. It…. Excites me. Maybe that’s one of the many reasons why I’m fucked in the head. My deep breathing begins to drown out any other sounds, just at the point the blade drags against my tender thigh. Bryant’s breath moves from my face, trickles over my jawline, down my throat, and over my breastbone before he presses his lips against my flesh. “Don’t fucking move.” I obey, completely submissive in the bedroom against my own will. He continues his travels, drawing his tongue out and licking his way down, past my belly button and against my pelvic bone. One of his hands slides down my leg until he clutches my ankle, spreading my legs wider. The tip presses into my thigh, but away from the scar. There’s a sharp sting that stabs into me just as Bryant covers my clit with his mouth, licking his tong
ue over my clit softly. The sharp stab of the blade somewhat intensifies the pleasure in my apex as the trickle of blood seeps over my thigh. Bryant pulls away, the cold air whipping over my pussy and now my aching leg. I’m thankful in a way that he didn’t cut the same place his brother did all those years ago. I haven’t been able to touch that area, let alone let another person inflict pain there. His thumb presses against my clit just as his hot mouth opens against the pain in my leg. He suckles over the wound like a vampire would his last feast, biting down on my flesh roughly as his thumb increases pressure, circling me continuously. My back buckles from the bloom of pleasure I feel building in my core, about to shatter under his very touch. Just as I think I can’t take anymore, his mouth replaces his thumb and I’m done for. One-hundred thousand bombs all set off at once, shattering heavens doors open until fucking angels sing and it feels like drops of fire rain down on me. My orgasm rips through my body with my legs quivering and stars dancing in front of my blacked out vision. Coming down, his finger dives inside of me and circles around, running it over the skin between my pussy and my ass. He presses the same finger to my lips, dipping it into my mouth. I open and taste myself on his fingers, circling it as my body jolts from the aftershocks from my orgasm.

  “Calm, Isa. Learn to control yourself, control your needs. Embrace what the fuck it feels like to be fucked, get fucked, and do the fucking. ‘Cuz in here, baby, there are no. Limits.” I want to blurt out how no limits is what turned me into a murderer, but I get the feeling right now isn’t the time to be sassy.

  I swallow, the taste of my arousal now clinging to the back of my throat. “Understood?” he demands my answer.

  “Yes, understood.”

  “Good,” he answers, his weight pressing down on me. Unlatching the handcuffs from their links, he presses the head of his cock to my entrance. “Leave the blindfold on until I say.” He sinks into me, my pussy stretching to accommodate him as he circles and thrusts against me. Pulling out, he then dives back into me with a hiss escaping between his teeth. His hand flies up to my throat and clamps down on it so tightly, I will definitely pass out if he doesn’t loosen it. Like my own personal collar.

  “Holy shit.” I let out a throaty groan, my head digging into the mattress from his weight pounding into me. He continues to ride my body expertly.

  “You like that, baby. What do you want?”

  “What?” I ask breathlessly, locked in my own world of pleasure.

  “Tell me what you want, Isa, use your words.”

  “No, I can’t use shit right now.” What am I? A toddler.

  He stops. His weight suddenly disappearing off of me causing the rude as fuck air to invade the space between our bodies.

  “What are you doing!” I yell, reaching for the blindfold and ripping it off.

  Bryant’s shoulders straighten, his jaw clenches and his eyes remain dead as though they’re peering straight through me. “I said use your words, Isa. Now…” he begins, walking back toward the bedside dresser slowly. He pulls it open and takes out a riding crop, the thick leather belts on either the end running over his olive skin as each muscle on his body flexes with fluid movements. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll hit you once. Don’t tell me what you want?” He grins, coming back toward the bed where I’m now crawling up like a scared little kitten. He takes hold of my ankles and drags me back down the bed until they’re hanging off and my face is directly under his. Stepping between my legs, he places each fist on either side of my head and tilts his head. “You’ll get two.”

  “Two?” Shit.

  He nods, a dark smirk displaying across his face. “Yeah, babe, because either way, I’m getting your ass red tonight.” It’s as though he loves to inflict pain, like he almost needs to inflict pain to get off. It’s hot, to a point. That point not being until I’m bleeding out on a bed, half fucked and half cut open, a dead man lying on top of me with a knife slit in his throat.

  “I want…” I search for the right words. “I want you, inside me.” Bryant flips me over until my stomach is pressing into the mattress.

  “Not good enough, Isa. You can do better than that.” With a loud slap, he belts down on my ass cheek and I screech out in pain, the shards of the sting pricking over the point of impact.

  “Fuck!” I exclaim. “That hurts.”

  “Try again, Isa.”

  “I want your fucking tongue inside me until I come all over your face.” I slam my mouth closed when I realize what I’ve said.

  “Much fucking better.” Gripping my hip bones, he yanks me up onto all fours, presses my head down into the mattress with his other hand and I feel the scruff of his beard brush over the flesh of my inner thighs. I pause, watching, waiting, until something or anything comes. His mouth covers my pussy from behind, his tongue flicking over my clit before dragging down, and in one push, it slips inside of me, circling my walls and hitting a spot deep inside perfectly.

  “Yes,” I groan, grinding against his mouth. His fingers come up to my ass until he’s pressing one inside roughly, pushing it deeper until his tongue is fucking me and his finger is smashing my ass. My orgasm tips over the edge from all the sensations that are engulfing me. He pulls back once I come down from my second orgasm and sinks back inside me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and tugging on it roughly until I feel the strands of my hair being torn out of their sockets. He slams into me relentlessly, as if he hates me and wants to kill me by shattering my cervix fucking open. His grip doesn’t let up and I arch my back, feeling yet another orgasm build inside of me. A loud slap stings my left ass check as he continues to, pound into me. “Don’t come.”

  “What!” I yell out through ragged breaths.

  His cock pulses inside of me, throbbing against my walls and I collapse onto the bed like a starfish laying on my stomach. “Holy shit,” I groan into the silk sheets, my body starting to pound with pain. With heavy eyes and sleep threatening to surface, Bryant flops down beside me and tosses the sheet over both of us. I don’t move to accommodate him. I’m not moving for anyone.

  He clears his throat. “I hate that I can’t really blame you.”

  Before I can question what he means, I fall asleep.

  7

  “What do you mean you’re getting married?” Devon scoffs, following me around my room as I begin to gather all of my belongings. After leaving Bryant’s place this morning, he told me to go home and pack a bag. I don’t know what he expects me to do to be honest because those who know me know that I would never just pack up my life over a male.

  “Yes, I am.” I ignore his pleading stare and walk across the room and into the closet where I start taking clothes off the hooks.

  “How the fuck can that happen?” Do I just tell him? He is my best friend. I’ve never hidden anything from him in my entire life. But if I tell him, I’d have to tell him the whole story—including me being a murderer. I’m not ready for my best friend to look at me as a murderer. I pause, clutching my bathrobe in my hand. I need to tell him something, though, or he won’t believe me otherwise. Devon knows me. He knows that there’s no way in hell I’d ever be on board to marry anyone let alone some hotshot I met after one night.

  “Fuck.” My hands falling in defeat before I turn to face him, my eyes coming to his worried ones. “You cannot say anything, Devon. This is serious and it involves a lot of people. Do you understand?”

  “Goddammit, Isa!” He growls, walking toward me, every muscle on his chest flinching with his movements. He comes nose to nose with me, reaching up and clutching my face with his hands. Searching my eyes, he whispers, “I fucking love you, Isa. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I exhale. “My dad, he, he sort of has to do with this. I’m… I owe him, and in order for me to get out of this rut he has put me in, I must marry Bryant Royal.”

  “—What rut? And—hold the fuck up!” He pauses, his face stilling and his hands dropping from my face. “Bryant Saint?” He looks back down at me, his eyes searching mine,
waiting for me to answer.

  “Yes…”

  “No!” He shakes his head, stepping backward and tugging on his hair. “No, fuck that, Isa!”

  “Fuck… what?” I reply, confused while matching his retreating steps. Dropping my robe to the ground, I slowly make my way toward him. “What does ‘fuck that’ mean?”

  He drops down onto the bed, his hair still dripping wet from his shower, then he stares off blankly in front of himself. “Nothing.”

  “Right, okay, well now that you know, can you stop asking me questions?” I raise my eyebrows, about to throw out a sassy joke about how hot Bryant is when I see Devon’s distressed stare. “Earth to Devon?” I wave my hand in front of him, but he still doesn’t flinch.

  “What?” he snaps, looking back toward me with a stare I have never seen from him before. Devon has been mad at me before, sure, what best friends don’t have disagreements and all that, but this stare was something else. It was as if he hated me.

  “I said now that you know, you can leave me alone about the subject?”

  “Oh.” Devon collects himself, smiling weakly. “Yeah, okay. I guess it makes more sense and all that.”

  “Good.” I straighten my shoulders, surprised at how easy he was to convince. Even though I’m surprised, a huge relief has been lifted off my shoulders. “Now that that’s settled, I’m leaving tonight.”

  There’s a long pause. “Isa?” Devon groans, dropping his head to his hands and leaning over his elbows which are resting on his knees. “Please just tell me you will be careful.”

  I tilt my head. “Devon? What’s wrong?”

  He stands to his feet while shaking his head. “Nothing.” Then he comes toward me, gripping the back of my neck and pulling my forehead to his lips. “Nothing at all,” he whispers against my skin. Stepping back, he smiles weakly and I see a sad glint flash through his eyes. “I better go. I have a photoshoot thing at twelve, and the photographer hates when I’m late.”