Protecting His Brat (Rock Hard, Love Harder Series Book 1)

by Brandy Ayers

  Their faces would haunt me for the rest of my life. Some obviously on drugs. Some crying. The bruises on their faces and bodies. Agent Rose had started to show me even worse photos. But I looked away.

  Bet you didn’t know the money sitting in your trust fund was built on the backs of sex slaves.

  Even though I haven’t touched my trust in years, a layer of grime sits on my soul knowing anything in my life contributed to the pain of those girls. Guilt makes me shiver. I couldn’t even give them the courtesy of witnessing what had been done to them while I sat in my fancy dress trying to get my millions back.

  “When I got back from the interrogation, Scott tried to comfort me. Make me something to eat. He wanted to talk and rub my feet. Make me feel good. But how could I let him do those things when I felt so dirty? I don’t deserve his kindness and affection. I’m a spoiled brat who’s never known a real hardship in my life. Poor me, my daddy never really loved me.”

  Disgusted with myself, I stand from the chair and pace Marci’s small kitchen. “So instead, I needled at him until he gave me the dirty things we do together. I thought if I got down on my knees and then antagonized him into spanking me, that it would prove that, I don’t know, that’s what I’m good for maybe. But it backfired. Even when I’m trying to prove that I’m only good enough to suck cock and take pretty pictures, he still made me feel cherished and worshipped…”

  A sob breaks free, and I realize tears are burning a path down my cheek. My hand goes to my stomach, the nausea I’ve felt since this afternoon roaring to life all over again. “...worthy, loved. I don’t deserve any of that. So, I ran out. I left while his cum was still dripping down my leg. And I ended up here, where I knew I would find someone who does hate me.”

  That’s it. That is why I ran to Marci, not because I thought my friend would forgive me or offer advice. I need her to hate me, to push me away and say all the things she threw at me all those weeks ago. But she’s not. She’s looking at me with pity and tears in her eyes.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Yes, you do.” The accusation is screamed from the top of my lungs. “I’m ugly and only care about myself. I treat people like commodities. That’s what you said, right?” I suck in a deep breath, willing the tears and the pain to go away.

  “I did say those things.” Marci climbs to her feet, crosses the kitchen, and wraps her arms around me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced. “But I said them about a girl who is not the same one standing in front of me now. And wasn’t the same girl I bonded with over Veronica Mars and rocky road ice cream in college. Whether it’s the case or Scott or something else, you have changed.” Marci braces her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back, so she can stare directly into my eyes. “But even if you hadn’t, not even at your worst, did you deserve what your father is putting you through. Just like those girls in the pictures you saw don’t deserve what he is doing to them.”

  This time, it’s me who pulls Marci in for a hug. I cling to her like she’s my life raft in the middle of the sea.

  “The worst part? A part of me still loves my father. Still wants him to acknowledge me and to love me back. How fucked up is that?” I wipe at Marci’s shirt where I’ve left tears, and yeah, probably some snot, too, with how hard I’ve been crying.

  “I don’t think it’s fucked up. It’s natural. You’ve spent your whole life trying to get his attention, to win his approval. That isn’t going to go away overnight.” Marci smooths back my hair, wiping at the tears on my cheeks.

  “Can we be friends again? Maybe you could show me how to be a good person?” I sound so pathetic, but at this point, what do I have to lose? I probably freaked out Scott so much, he’ll never want to touch me again.

  “I’d like that. And I haven’t always been the best person either. Just ask Micah about the first night we met.” Marci laughs a little as her eyes twinkle. “We’ll work on it, together. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I look down at my shredded feet. “Can I also borrow some shoes?”

  “Yes. And the first lesson in being a good person?” Marci gazes at me with humor and sadness all mixed up. “Warn a girl before she cleans your foot that probably had jiz dried on it.”

  We both laugh and hug tight to each other once more. But even with as much peace as I feel right now, I need Scott’s arms around me. Knowing I left him naked and probably scared shitless at home makes me anxious to get back to him. He’s become part of me these last few weeks. Filled a hole in my life I didn’t realize was there. I need him.

  Forever.

  Chapter Ten

  Scott

  I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I’ve spent three hours scouring every place I could think of. The shops Lacy’s been helping with promotions. Her old apartment building. The coffee place she loves down the street but refuses to let me get her drinks from because she doesn’t want to be a kept woman. After I exhausted all the places I knew she’d visited over the past few months, I started just wandering around, hoping like hell I would find her.

  Thank god she called and asked me to pick her up. I take the stairs two at a time up to the apartment of her so-called friend. Lacy’s told me all about the speech her friend gave her, and I’m not sure I like this girl all that much. Who dumps their friend for a date? Sure, Lacy can be a brat, but she’s also so much more than that. I’ve only known her a relatively short time, and I can already see that.

  Finally, I skid to a stop in front of the door and pound on it. Lacy swings the door open, and we both collapse in on each other. Holding her is the most natural thing I’ve ever experienced. As if I’m made to wrap my arms around her.

  “I’m so sorry I ran. I panicked.” Lacy’s crying against my chest, and her tears damn near rip my beating heart from my chest.

  “What happened, Lace? I can’t fix it if you can’t tell me.” I pull back, cupping her gorgeous, tear stained face gently in my hands.

  “Scott, you can’t fix this. I promise I’ll tell you, but I just poured the whole story out to Marci, and I can’t do it again right now.” Her hands come up to grip my wrists, the she pulls my hands away a kisses one palm then the other. “But I promise, I will tell you everything.”

  That will have to do for now, so I simply nod and check her over. “What happened to your foot?”

  Lacy giggles a little. “I remembered why I never go barefoot anywhere. Cut my foot on the way up the stairs.”

  “You two wanna come in? Micah is on his way with food.” A curvy redhead appears behind Lacy with a smile on her face. “Hi, I’m Marci.”

  We shake hands, and she starts to give me that look, one signaling she’s trying to place where she knows me from. This can’t happen right now. I cannot be recognized and outed before I even have a chance to come clean to Lacy.

  “We should get going, get you home and rested.” I wrap my arm around Lacy’s shoulder and squeeze her to my side.

  With wide, pleading eyes, Lacy pulls me closer to the apartment. “Can we please stay just a little bit. Marci wants to introduce her boyfriend to Veronica Mars, and I haven’t watched it since college. Have you seen it? Vintage Kristen Bell.”

  I don’t tell her that I have seen it because Geoff briefly dated one of the supporting actresses and made us watch the entire run of the series on the tour bus a few years ago. Because she doesn't know a goddamn thing about that side of my life. I need her to know. But I can’t tell here, not in front of her friend.

  I also can’t say no to her. Not when it’s obvious spending time with this Marci girl is important to her.

  “Flores?” A deep voice I haven’t heard in years echoes down from the stairwell.

  “Othon?” My eyes damn near fall from my head when the giant man I’d spent many an afternoon getting baked with back in the day comes down the hall holding huge bags of what looks like Chinese food.

  Before I can recover, Micah is placing the bags on the floor and pulling me into a back-slapping hug. “Fuck, man.
I haven’t seen you since Malfeesance went on their first world tour. How the hell have you been? When the fuck did you chop off all your hair?”

  I cringe, knowing Lacy just heard all that, and the jig is up.

  “I knew you looked familiar. Micah showed me all his old photos from when he hung out with you guys. But you do look so different without all that long hair.” Marci comes out into the hall with us, bumping Lacy’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me the Scott you’ve been seeing is a rock star. Wow, you really have changed, Lace.”

  “Wait, a rock star? What the hell are you talking about? Scott is a studio artist barely scraping by. That’s why he has to renovate his place himself.” Awkward silence fills the space around us as Lacy looks from Marci, to me, to Micah. “Right?”

  My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I need to explain, tell her I was just scared. But the fear of revealing myself these past few weeks is nothing to the fear of how Lacy is going to react to my lying to her for weeks.

  “Lace,” Marci leans closer to her friend and whispers, as if we all can’t still hear her words. “Scott is lead guitarist for the band Malfeesance. He's won Grammys. Played around the world. He’s probably got more money than you do.” Marci says the words gently, as if she knows the truth is going to sting, so lowering her voice might soften the blow.

  “You’re famous?” Those beautiful brown eyes of hers look at me with such disappointment and sadness, I want to rewind time to that first night and tell her then.

  But I also don’t, because the last few weeks just being Scott and Lacy, with no pretense, have been the best days of my life. “I can explain.”

  “You can explain why you’ve been lying to me for weeks, hell over a month? When you are the only person I thought I could trust? Please do explain that.” I stand there with my mouth opening and closing. Justifications rush up, and I slam them back down before they can tumble from my mouth.

  “Lace, do you want to stay here for a while?” Marci rubs her friend’s back, and I want to snatch my girl away and carry her back home. To our home.

  Glancing over to Micah, I can see he is not much fonder of the idea.

  “Thanks, Marci. I’ll be fine.” Lacy turns to her friend and my old high school buddy, which is just weird as all hell. “Sorry about all the drama I’ve quite literally brought to your doorstep.”

  Marci smiles, pulling her friend in for a hug. “I’m glad you came over. We’ll talk later this week. If you need anything”—Marci shoots me a death stare— “I’m here. We’ll figure it all out.”

  I shake Micah’s hand and promise to give him a call to catch up, then before I know it, we’re in the Uber I had waiting downstairs. Silence isn’t something I’m used to experiencing from Lacy. She doesn’t do the silent treatment. Under normal circumstances, she’d be yelling and stomping, slapping those glorious thighs of hers. I’d give anything for one of her tantrums right now, because this, the quiet sadness radiating from her right now, is killing me.

  “I’m honestly kinda surprised you never tried to Google me. Isn’t that standard operating procedure now-a-days?” My attempt at a joke falls flat as Lacy slowly swings her angry brown eyes around to glare at me.

  “I figured if you were someone important, I would already know who you are.” She turns back to stare out the window.

  “Right.” It’s killing me not to reach over and pull her into my lap. Everything about her closed off posture and expression are telling me to stay to my side of the car though. Thankfully, it’s a short drive to the apartment, and in no time, we’re back home.

  The second we’re back in the place, Lacy stomps up the spiral staircase to the loft and into the closet. Slowly, I follow her up. Eyes going wide, I watch as she throws every single piece of the clothing she’s been collecting since living here onto the bed. I haven’t paid for a single one. I offered. She refused. How could I have thought the fact I have money would change things?

  Wait. Is she packing?

  Oh, hell no!

  “You aren’t leaving.” I say it calmly, but the danger in my voice is unmistakable. Crossing to the bed, I pick up the pile of dresses she just flung from the closet and take them back in to rehang.

  “What are you doing?” Lacy screeches, stomps her foot, and slaps her thighs.

  My goddamn cock is trained to harden at the first hint of her little tantrums and begins to length in my jeans.

  Not the time, dude.

  “I’m putting your fucking clothes back in our fucking closet, because you are not moving out. You belong here. With me.” She takes the clothes from me, I swear growling a little when I don’t immediately relinquish my hold on them.

  “You think I’m packing?” Lacy laughs, but there is sadness and anger still simmering just beneath the sound. “Oh no, buddy. You aren’t getting rid of me that easy.”

  Stunned, I let go of the clothes, and she spins to take them back to the bed. “You’re not packing to leave?”

  “No. You think lying to me about your money and career is going to scare me off? You obviously underestimated how stubborn I am.” Lacy stomps back into the closet for another armful of dresses. “You’re famous. Who gives a flying shit? You know how many famous people I’ve met and dated? It sucks you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about yourself. I’m pissed as hell you made me think you didn’t want me to help because you thought I wasn’t good at what I do.” She stops on her next trip inside the closet, pointing her slender finger right in my face. “I’m fucking fantastic at my job.”

  “I know. You run circles around my PR people.”

  As if she doesn’t hear me, Lacy keeps going. “You may not trust me enough to let me in yet, but I’m not giving up. Hell, I almost understand it. Who would trust a spoiled princess like me with information like that? No one.” I’m horrified to see a tear tracking down her cheek. Before I can reach up to swipe it away, she turns back into the closet and picks up a couple shoe boxes.

  “It wasn’t…”

  “No, I get it. You thought if I knew about your money and fame, I would want to exploit it. Use it to my advantage.” Lacy stops right in front of me, her eyes sad and resigned. “I really do get it. And maybe I would have before that night I met you. I thought you saw how much I’ve changed, grown, these past few weeks. It doesn’t matter.” She stands straighter, grips the boxes closer, steels that already formidable spine of hers. “I’m not leaving. I love you, and I’m just gonna have to make you trust me. You’ll see. But until then, you’ve got yourself a squatter.”

  Love? Did she just say she loves me? Possession and peace roar through me. Lacy turns and places the shoe boxes by the bed, then walks back toward me for another load of her things. I grab her arm before she can move past me again.

  “My turn to talk.” I yank her closer, so she’s pressed up against the length of my body. “I didn’t tell you because of my own issues. I’ve been burned a lot over the years. By people who only wanted me for the fame and everything that goes along with it. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with my own baggage.”

  Lacy fists her hands in my shirt, pulling me just a little bit closer. “Hey, asshole. Don’t you think I know about being burned?” She shoves me a little but doesn’t let go. “You know everything about me. My past. You know just how deep the scars go. But you still thought I wasn’t worthy of knowing you.”

  Jesus. The pain etched on her delicate face slay me straight to the core. I will never forgive myself for doing this to her. Unable to witness that pain anymore, I press my lips to her forehead, then tuck her under my chin. “I trust you. It’s me I don’t trust. It’s hard for me to believe that I’m good for more than my fame. The band hit it big when I was nineteen, before I’d ever had a serious girlfriend. Hell, I was still a virgin. All my first relationships with women were fucked up groupies looking for a story to tell or actresses just trying to get ahead. I couldn’t recognize real love when I saw it. Or maybe I was afraid to recognize
it and be wrong. I don’t know. But it was all on me. None of it had to do with you. I love you. My fear of not being enough doesn’t change that. Hell, the depth of my love, my complete obsession with you, it only magnifies my fear.”

  More tears stream from her eyes. “You love me?”

  I cradle her face in my palms. Her pale skin has gone all red and blotchy with emotion. There are bags under her eyes from the stress of the day, and she isn’t wearing a single bit of makeup. Her hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it, frizzy and out of control. She’s the most god damn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. So beautiful, my heart aches that I’ve hurt her.

  She should be yelling, screaming at me. I want her to. But instead, she just looks at me with disbelief. As if being loved is something that couldn’t possibly be true. I never saw it before, but now I do. Our scars match. But where she pushed past hers and let me in, I just hid behind mine.

  She’s stronger than I will ever be.

  “I love you. I love the tantrums. I love how you spend hours in the bathroom doing god knows what every morning. I love that you can’t cook for a damn but keep trying. I love that you don’t kiss my ass. I don’t want you to change. I want you to be my brat, forever. I will work for the rest of my life to make sure you know just how thoroughly I love everything about you.”

  “I could be nicer.” She says it quickly, as if to dispel the compliments I gave her. “Marci said she’d help teach me to be a better person.” Lacy sniffles and leans into me, pressing her tear-soaked face against my chest.

  After living with her for over a month, I know she’s hiding the emotions bubbling below the surface. For every tear that escapes, there’s a world of hurt beneath she refuses to show. In her previous life, showing emotion had been a fruitless act. No one cared how she felt. They gave her what she wanted to shut her up.

  Tilting her head back to look at me, I tell her the truth. “You may not be the best at saying please and thank you, but you are already the best person I know. You fight for what you want. What you deserve. You fight for the people you believe in. Look at everything you’ve done for the designers and artists in this neighborhood. They have a shot of making their passion the thing that supports them. Because of you. So, you like to get your way. Who doesn’t? When the brattiness gets out of control, I’ll help you reign it back in with a slap to the ass.”