Brutal Titan: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Golden Olympus Academy Book 3)

by A. J. Logan

  Brutal Titan

  Golden Olympus Academy Book 3

  A.J. Logan

  Copyright © 2021 A.J. LOGAN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by KD Proofreading

  www.kdproofreading.com

  Contents

  1. Victoria

  2. Elliot

  3. Victoria

  4. Elliot

  5. Victoria

  6. Elliot

  7. Victoria

  8. Victoria

  9. Elliot

  10. Victoria

  11. Elliot

  12. Victoria

  13. Elliot

  14. Victoria

  15. Elliot

  16. Victoria

  17. Victoria

  18. Elliot

  19. Victoria

  20. Elliot

  21. Victoria

  22. Elliot

  23. Victoria

  24. Elliot

  25. Victoria

  26. Elliot

  27. Victoria

  28. Elliot

  29. Victoria

  30. Victoria

  31. Elliot

  32. Elliot

  33. Victoria

  Vicious Titan

  About the Author

  1

  Victoria

  Loud music swarms my mind, overpowering any chance of rational thought as my eyes easily find him in the rowdy crowd. Not that I’ve had many logical thoughts recently—especially where Elliot Bass is concerned. I learned long ago there’s a reason his last name rhymes with ass. Because that’s all he is—a major pain in the ass, always around since he’s my brother’s best friend but just out of reach for that same reason.

  Tossing back another shot, the amber liquid smoothly flows down my throat, telling me that I should probably stop. Instead, I pour another, quickly downing it too.

  “You ready, Victoria?” Grant asks, hopping on the counter next to me as I pass him the half-empty bottle.

  Been ready. I pry my eyes from Elliot, turning to Grant. “For what?”

  “Monday. First day. Senior year. What could be better?”

  “The last day,” I mumble, looking over to the current cause of my misery. He seems to be enjoying himself without a care in the world.

  Grant starts babbling on about something that is thankfully easily drowned out by the thumping music of the house party that is in full swing. Practically every student from Golden Olympus is in attendance, including the one standing in front of me looking as desperate as ever.

  “Where’s your brother?” Allison asks, looking past me to the sea of drunken classmates.

  “Hi to you too.” Snatching the bottle from Grant, I take a generous swallow, forgoing the shot glass. Allison is the closest thing I have to a friend in the hell hole, and I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that’s only the case because she wants to hook up with my brother. That’s all I am to everyone around me—Asher’s little sister. Every now and then I get the part of Victor Hastings’s daughter, but that’s about it. I’m never just a person independent from them, particularly to those I want to see me as my own distinct being.

  “I’m sorry. I just want to talk to him about something. He’s been really distracted lately.”

  No doubt what she wants doesn’t involve talking. My stomach turns. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Don’t you have twin telepathy or something?” Allison stands on her tippy toes, glancing around the room again.

  “Maybe I would if we were actually twins.” I’m done hiding my frustration, and it’s more than evident in my response. What a great friend who knows me so well.

  Allison looks to me with confusion. “But I thought … you’re both seniors.”

  “Yeah. I doubt you’ve done much thinking about anything. We aren’t twins. Asher was held back a grade when we were kids.” I’d thought it was a good thing at first. Then I realized there was no separation with us.

  “Oh, have you seen him?”

  “No.”

  “There he is.” Grant points to the opposite side of the room where Asher is sitting, looking just as miserable as I feel. Maybe we should’ve been twins. Same grade, same friends, same miserable parties.

  Allison wastes no time, heading straight for Asher. He looks even less thrilled to see her than I’d been as she attempts to spark a conversation with him. I almost feel sorry for her because I understand the desperation. The wanting of someone who doesn’t want you back.

  Looking to Elliot, I find his gaze shifting between me and Grant before he turns his back and heads up the staircase. I shove off the chair, knowing that I shouldn’t follow him. It won’t go anywhere, but at least I can yell at him for a little while, cause him half of the agony he’s caused me.

  A tender hand grips my arm, halting me. I turn to see Grant looking at the staircase. “Are you good?”

  Tugging my arm out of his grip, I lie, “Yeah, I’m fine.” I’ve known Grant all through school. He’s not exactly someone I’d consider a close friend, and it’s not like he’s ever hung out with me at one of these ridiculous parties, so his sudden interest in my well-being is throwing me a bit. But there’s no time to look into his motives because there’s another person inhabiting every square inch of my mind.

  Stumbling off, I follow the path that I’m sure will end in more despair, but I have to know why he did it.

  My fingers grip the cold metal of the banister as I make my way upstairs. Surely more steps had appeared since the last time I’d taken the staircase because it feels never-ending. Finally reaching the landing, I make my way down the hallway to the door I know he’s behind because it leads to his bedroom. Tightly gripping the cold metal, I turn the knob and swiftly step inside, spotting him sitting on the edge of his bed with his face buried in his hands.

  His eyes snap to mine as the door clicks shut behind me, my back pressing against the solid door. It feels like the only thing holding me up at the moment. “Damn it, Victoria. What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “I want to know why.”

  “You need to leave.” His harsh tone hits me as I watch his face drop to his hands, shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

  “No.”

  Slowly his head rises, and his fierce eyes meet mine, holding nothing but disdain. “Get out before your brother finds you in my bedroom and flips his fucking lid.”

  Pushing off the door, I make my way to him. I should leave but the fact that my presence is pissing him off gives me more pleasure than it should. “I’ve been in this room a million times. Why is it different now?”

  “You know why,” he mumbles into his hands before glancing up.

  Torment him. Twist his insides. That is what I want to do to him just as he’s done to me, but my body isn’t in agreement as I move between his legs, spreading them apart. He leans back, his hands quickly pressing against the bed at his sides, though he avoids looking to me. Climbing up, I straddle him, my knees sinking into the mattress before I rest on his lap. When he cusses under his breath, I wonder if maybe this is the best way to torture him.

  Draping my arms over his shoulders, my forehead drops to his as I rock agai
nst him. He can say all day long that he doesn’t want this, but his hard cock says otherwise. I whisper against his lips, “I don’t understand. Can you explain it to me?”

  “Stop it, Victoria. You’re drunk.”

  “I wasn’t drunk when you had me pinned against the wall in my bedroom this morning.” Clinging to his shoulders, my eyes snap shut remembering not only the kiss I’d longed for since … well, for as long as I can remember, but also the moment he’d pushed me away. His painful revelation that it was just a mistake as he bailed from the room left me even more twisted up inside, something I hadn’t thought was possible when it came to him. The boy who’s held my heart since we were kids, before I even knew what any of it meant. “Tell me why.”

  His fingers entwine in my hair as he pulls my mouth to his, kissing me with the same desperation I feel inside. Needing him, wanting him, desiring nothing more than him, my hands drop to the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it on the bed. He grips my ass, holding me in place as he lifts, pressing against me. Rubbing my palms down his strong chest, I’m fumbling with the button on his jeans when he suddenly goes rigid beneath me before jumping to his feet, sending me tumbling to the floor.

  Jerkily, he fastens his jeans before snatching his T-shirt off the bed, tugging it over his head as I sit watching, shocked by the abrupt change. It shouldn’t surprise me; it was the same as what had happened this morning. He’d seemed to want me as much as I’d wanted him, then a harsh reality wakes me. I’ll never be anything but his best friend’s pitiful little sister chasing him around. It’s an icy reminder straight to the core when I look up into the face that stares callously down at me.

  “I told you to get lost before Asher finds you in here. Now, get the hell out.”

  Anger overpowers my humiliation as I unhurriedly rise to my feet. “You’re such a fucking coward.”

  Methodically stepping forward, his body rigid, his tone harsh, he bites out, “Better than a desperate bitch throwing herself at someone who wants nothing to do with her.”

  “‘Nothing’ sure felt rock hard when I was on your lap.”

  “Hold a nasty bone in front of a hungry dog and he’ll still drool.”

  I want to believe he’s resisting out of loyalty for his best friend, but I’ve never felt more humiliated and dirtier than I do in this moment. “I. Hate. You. You did this. You made the first move when you kissed me this morning. You’re nothing but a pathetic, miserable little bitch.”

  “Good. Now haul your pitiful, needy ass out of here.” His glare is fixated on me. I hardly recognize him. The playful, happy persona is reserved for everyone except me.

  “Go to hell, Bass.” Quickly rotating to escape what feels like my own personal hell, I head for the door.

  “I’m already there.” The harsh, menacing tone is gone from his voice, almost causing me to turn and look at him. Almost. Yanking the door open, I dart out of the room and head for the nearest bathroom. Pulling the door open, I’m relieved it’s not occupied. The ruckus from the party downstairs ensures me that it’s still in full swing; everyone (except me and Asher, apparently) is having a great time as cheers erupt for who knows what. Either way, their night is going completely different than mine.

  Did I really just throw myself at him? The room spins, and I feel like I’m about to get sick. Between the alcohol and my embarrassment, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

  I plop down on the floor next to the tub, wiping away the ridiculous tears I’m unable to stop from falling. It’s because I’m drunk. At least that’s what I tell myself as I finally stand up off the floor. Elliot Bass has always been a pissant, going out of his way to drive me insane. I’m not about to sit on the floor in his house, crying over his foolish ass.

  Stepping to the sink, I snatch one of the neatly folded towels from the decorative basket and attempt to salvage what I can of my makeup. There’s not much left, so I opt to scrub it all off. That’s what I need to do. Scrub him out of my mind and my heart. Easier said than done because I’ve tried doing that for many years. I’d had a good handle on it until he tossed all my hard work out the window, showing me that the reality of kissing him was even better than I’d ever imagined, only to toss me aside afterward. Dickwad.

  Finally emerging from the bathroom, my head is down, looking at my feet in an attempt to steady myself (to no avail) when I crash into a solid body, falling back until a firm but tender grip uprights me.

  “Hey, you okay?” Grant studies my undoubtedly blotchy face from crying.

  “Yep. Just heading home.”

  “Already? It’s still early.”

  “It doesn’t feel early.” I wobble a bit as Grant helps me balance again. “I’m good.”

  “You don’t seem good. Come on. We’ll take a break while you wait on a ride.”

  Looking up, I see him hesitantly gesture down the hallway as Elliot emerges from his room. Spotting us standing there, his harsh glare is still in place. “No. I’m going home.”

  Turning, I do my best to walk away with whatever dignity I have left, which isn’t much, if any at all. Stepping out of the front door, I plop down on the stone staircase, reaching for my phone. At my empty pocket, I remember leaving it in the guest bedroom I’m supposed to be staying the night in. Shit. There’s no way I’m going back in that house. I can’t. At least not right now. I just want to get away. Shoving against the hard surface, I stumble to my feet. Walking a long distance is out of the question, so I trudge around back, knowing the guesthouse will be vacant since it’s the one place that’s off-limits during these miserable parties. As I elbow past several rowdy but happily-drunken partygoers, I maintain an emotionless (or more accurately: pissy) stare because I want to be left alone. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to discuss the big year coming up. I want to be left alone so I can crash and forget this day ever happened. I wish I could obliviate everything from the disastrous morning kisses to the hellish torment of the night.

  Lethargically, I punch in the same code that’s used on the main house, but the lock buzzes, signaling an incorrect code. Trying once more, I slowly punch each number in, relieved when the mechanism unlocks, allowing me to push the door open. Stepping inside, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I glance around the space, thankful to find it indeed vacant. Moving away from the door, I hurry to what I know to be a very comfortable couch as my legs feel like they are about to give out. Plopping down on the soft leather, I pull one of the throw pillows under my head as I kick my sandals off. Clamping my eyes shut, I hope to fall asleep fast so the night will be over soon. The whiskey must help because I don’t even realize I’ve dozed off until a hand rubbing up my bare thigh jars me wide awake, sending a jolt of fear through me as a tender kiss is pressed against my forehead. Gasping, my hands swing in front of my face, urging the unwanted touch away before attempting to remove the solid grip on my thigh.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me,” Grant says in a soothing voice, shifting back slightly but not enough for comfort as his hand stays in place on my thigh.

  “What are you doing in here?” Still in utter shock from the rude awakening, my eyes dart around. Grant is the only other person in the room—a space that should be vacant and, party-wise, is categorically out-of-bounds.

  “I just wanted to check on you.”

  My eyes stay on him as I shove away, sitting on the opposite side of the couch. Rubbing my eyes, I try to figure out if this is a drunken nightmare or reality. Grant hasn’t given me any reason to not trust him in the years I’ve known him, but this feels different. Wrong. Like a violation. “How did you get in here?”

  “The door wasn’t shut. I saw you slip in.” His hand releases my thigh only to move further up, heading in the wrong direction as he leans forward. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Ramming against him, I stand, finally free from his unwanted touch. “You shouldn’t have followed me. I told you I was fine. Go back to the party.”

&nbs
p; Blowing out a defeated breath, he rises from the couch, walking to me as I stand rigid. Only the sound of faint voices from outside can be heard. “I can hang out here for a while.”

  “No.” I move to walk away as he shifts in front of me, blocking my path as both anger and fear fill my mind. “Get out of my way.”

  Something shifts in his features as he steps closer to me. Backing up, I hit the wall as his hand reaches forward, gripping my waist. “I can make you forget all about him if you give me a chance.”

  “Get your hands off of me.” I can’t consider his words—although unsettling—because his unwelcome touch is the only thing I can focus on.

  “Are you sure? I think we could be good for each other.” His voice is smooth yet harsh. Undeterred, he leans in, pressing his lips to mine. I shunt him away, struggling to move his solid mass from in front of me. His hand drops to my leg, brushing up as full-blown panic sets in.

  “Stop!” I scream, propelling as hard as I can. He finally stumbles back, releasing his hold on me. I waste no time and move to walk past him.

  Too quickly, he reaches out, his former tender grip is replaced by a harsh grasp as he looks to me. Bending forward, he places his lips next to my ear. Although I pull away, he holds me in place, whispering, “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll fuck you better than Bass ever has.”

  My mind races at the mention of Elliot’s name, but my current need to be out of this situation overpowers everything else. In the moment, there’s a part of me wondering if my simple refusal will stop Grant—he seems hell-bent on taking our friendship somewhere it will never go.