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

by A. J. Logan

  Losing track of time, I lie in bed, comforter pulled up to my chin, until I hear a hard rap on the door. Unmoving, I listen as it continues. Something solid hits the door, maybe a glass bottle or something metal. Either way, I don’t care to respond. My phone dings with a message. Closing my eyes, the message alert dings several more times before I reach to the nightstand to grab my phone. The first message is the last person I want to be outside my door, knocking to enter—Elliot. And his latest message says he’s not leaving until I open the door.

  Too bad.

  Pressing the power button, the phone goes dark before I lightly toss it back on the nightstand, pulling the comforter back to my chin. There’s silence, and I’m grateful he’s finally gotten the message, or lack thereof, and taken the hint to leave me alone. No sooner had I released a relieved sigh, when a loud crash sounds against the door.

  Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the hint because something very heavy is slamming repeatedly—and loudly—into my door as he bellows for me to open it.

  Sliding off the bed, I shuffle to the door, unlocking it, I yank it open just as Elliot lunges forward, stumbling into the room. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, he still manages to splash it on the floor.

  “’Bout time.” He steadies himself, rolling his shoulder back before taking another swig. There’s no way to guess how many drinks he’s had out of the bottle, but it’s got to be a lot based on his current state. He doesn’t slam bodily into my door under normal conditions.

  “When I said don’t ever come near me again, I meant it.” My harsh tone does nothing to deter him from causally strolling around my room, glancing about before looking to me. There’s a pained look in his eyes, maybe regret or remorse, but I don’t care to look deeper. I just want him out of my room, my head, my heart, and my soul. “Leave. Now.”

  He moves next to me, as I point out the door, holding it open with one hand and motioning for him to leave with the other. I almost think he will be a decent human being and cooperate, but this is Elliot Bass, so instead he jerks the door from my hand, slamming it shut. “I’m not leaving until you let me say something.” His words slur as he holds his hand up with the bottle gripped in it. One finger loosens, pointing to me. “You are driving me batshit crazy.”

  “Okay.” I nod, reaching for the doorknob but he steps in front of me, placing his body against mine as his hand brushes up my thin cami. Unlike the vile touch I’d experienced from Grant, this one is unwanted for a completely different reason—it doesn’t feel wrong or out of place; it feels right, like it belongs to me, yet I’m smart enough to know it’s as hopeless and unattainable as its owner. “Get out.” My voice squeaks out as I step away from him.

  Dropping his hand to his side, his voice is strained as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  Suppressing the shock of his words, I do my best to maintain an emotionless stare. He’s drunk, and I’m done getting twisted inside out by him. “I said get out.”

  His shoulders fall forward in defeat as his head shakes. He steps back and in one quick motion, his arm cocks back and he slings the bottle across the room where it shatters against the wall.

  I stand rigid, not fearing him but not knowing what to do as he falls to his knees in front of me. His hands grip my sides, pulling me against him before his arms wrap around my waist, his face against my stomach as my arms awkwardly lift, unsure what to do. Elliot kneeling before me is even more shocking than him actually apologizing for being a jerk. But in the end, the asshole I’m all too familiar with is bound to resurface, the cycle will repeat itself. I’ll have hope that something could happen between us then he’ll shut it down. Besides, this is only a show from drunken Elliot, and even though I desire to give in, I know sober Elliot will return with a vengeance way too soon.

  “Please just tell me what to do, what to say.” His voice is strained as he nuzzles his face against the thin material of my shirt, his hands stroking my back. “Please just tell me how to make this right, how to make us work.”

  “There is no us. You’re drunk, Elliot.” My voice is shaky as I force the words out. It breaks my heart to say it, but I know he’ll just crush me further when he sobers up from his inebriated state.

  “Yes, but I know exactly what I want, what I need.” As he rises from his knees, his mouth trails up my torso before he moves to my neck, his lips brushing across my exposed skin, sending a shiver through me as my fingers clutch his biceps.

  Unbidden, tears stream down my face, and I swallow the lump in my throat. His eyes meet mine, his finger trails along my jawline as he speaks softly. “Please forgive me. Tell me that it’ll all be worth it because it’s what we both want, both need. Tell me that you’ll stay … that you won’t give up on me.”

  “No. I can’t do this, and you need to sober up.” My voice betrays me as his finger brushes across my cheek.

  “Victoria, please.”

  Clenching my eyes shut, I whisper as my arms drop to my sides, “Hopeless. That’s all this will ever be.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he mutters, his lips tenderly brushing against mine before he releases me.

  My arms fold across my chest, my fingers dig into my arms in an attempt to fill the void left behind by his vacant touch. I know this is the right choice, even if it feels all wrong as I watch him walk away from me. Every part of me yearns to beg him to stay, but I don’t because every time I give into him, it still ends the same way—with me watching him walk away.

  11

  Elliot

  The hot shower does nothing to lessen the throbbing in my head. Stepping out of the en suite, I dig through the dresser for a clean set of clothes, thankful when I retrieve freshly laundered jeans. Tugging a T-shirt over my head, I wonder if I have more clothes stashed in this room than my own bedroom because it surely seems like it.

  Opening the bedroom door, I hesitantly peek out into the hallway. Finding it vacant, I notice the door just down the hall closed, like it always is to me.

  Shuffling down the stairs, I find Asher sitting on the sofa, the room is cleaned spotless, no evidence of the party remains.

  He looks up, eyeing me. “Didn’t think you were ever going to get up.”

  “I have a killer headache.”

  “Same.” He lets his head fall to rest on the back of the couch, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. I flop down next to him, assuming the same position. The room remains silent until I hear her voice. Great. Victoria glances our way briefly as she walks through the room, her phone up to her ear.

  “Can you give me a ride to my place? I need to grab an extra key fob.” And I need to get out of here.

  Asher lifts his head, tilting it to the side as he looks over his shoulder before looking back to me. “Victoria! Take Elliot home since you’re the one who tossed his key.”

  She speaks into the phone for a moment longer before disconnecting. Walking over to stand at the side of the couch about five feet away, she says, “No. I’m busy. You can take him.” Her eyes avoid me, concentrating on typing a message on her phone.

  “I take it she’s still pissed at you.”

  “Yep,” I reply as her unwavering eyes look up to meet mine. “I should’ve apologized last night to Lil’ V, but I was wasted.”

  Her body tenses as she folds her arms across her chest. “Do you even remember anything you said?”

  “I vaguely recall saying something about you not having the balls to drive my car into the pond but not much after that. I passed out pretty quick. I’m sorry for underestimating you.”

  “Unbelievable. Of course you don’t remember, not that it would make a difference.” Her fingers tuck a lose strand of hair behind her ear, and I get the urge to smooth mine over the same place. I’m pulled together enough to remain seated. I know there would be no BS-ing my way out of that move.

  “Victoria—” Asher begins, but she heads for the front door.

  Glancing back to her brother, she completely ignores my presence as she ca
lls over her shoulder, “I have somewhere to be. He’s your friend, you take him.”

  Asher looks to me before motioning to the door. “Let’s go.”

  Silently, I follow behind him, unable to crack a joke. Every second that ticks by adds to the heaviness growing in my chest because I’m not only lying to myself, but I’m lying to my best friend. Thankfully, the ride is silent before he stops in front of my house.

  Pushing the door open, I look back to him. “Give me one sec and I’ll be right back.”

  Running up to the front door, I push it open and jog through the house, making my way into my bedroom. I grab a spare key fob before heading back downstairs.

  “Finally, he returns to welcome his old man home.” My father stands at the bottom of the staircase.

  “Sure,” I reply, sarcastically as he dramatically holds his arms out. Neither of us give a shit whether the other is in this dreadful house or not. “I’ll be back later.”

  “Already leaving? Didn’t you just get here?”

  “Yes, but I have some things to take care of.” Not that it makes a difference what those things are, I just don’t want to invite him to ask questions or pretend to hold a meaningful conversation for the first time in who knows how long.

  “Good deal. I’ll probably head out before you return. I have to be in Atlanta before Monday morning, so I’ll be taking a flight out tonight.”

  “Okay. Because you need to fly out on Saturday to make it to Atlanta by Monday morning.” I walk to the door, shaking my head in disbelief that he still attempts to cover his absence with pathetic explanations. The last thing I want is for him to be there when I return, but it still claws at my insides that he would rather be anywhere else.

  “Susan said she’ll help you get everything set for the bonfire next weekend but if anything isn’t up to par, just let me know.”

  Halting in place, I take the statement as a dig, as if I’m unable to handle something simple. Besides, Susan keeps everything more than up to par as Richard Bass needlessly jets around the country to avoid being at home. He’s the last one I’d call for help. “A pile of wood and some booze, I think I can handle it.”

  “Just like you handled the first week of school, managing to get in a fight already? Speaking of, shouldn’t you be at the school now for detention?”

  “I’ll get there when I get there. It’s not like Huntington will kick me out of school, especially since you told him about Mom.” I don’t want to use it to my benefit or hide it away when it’s convenient, but he’s doing both. He’d preached so much about not telling anyone and the first time he talks to the principal, he offers it up as a sob story.

  “Elliot,” he begins, but I shake my head, moving to the door as he follows. “I just thought he would better understand your misfit actions if he knew what we were dealing with.”

  Stopping in my tracks, I slowly turn to face him. Every muscle in my body tenses. “We? I haven’t seen you dealing with anything regarding her. All you did was lock her away like a dirty secret, using her only at your convenience, like you always have. Where were you that night? San Francisco? Sacramento? What bullshit city were you in that night, because you sure as hell weren’t here to find her facedown, bleeding to death, and you sure as shit didn’t try to stop her bleeding with your own two hands while screaming for help in an empty goddamn house.”

  The muscle in his jawline tenses before he speaks in a harsh tone. “Yes, son, I was away on business that night because I had to be.”

  “Bull. You don’t have to travel you choose to because you’d rather be anywhere but here—not that I blame you—but don’t forget I know exactly what the job entails.”

  “Good thing since you’ll be doing it soon enough, but I’m sure you’ll screw it up even sooner.”

  “Learned from the best.”

  His hand rubs along his face. “Take this all out on me. I can handle it but don’t forget she’s the one who said she doesn’t want to see you. I’m still here.”

  The words are another punch in the gut, reminding me that my mother refuses to see me. In the beginning it was a relief because my anger kept me from wanting to face her. I didn’t want to relive that night again, even though I do it every night anyway when I close my eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she was unhappy, miserable in her marriage, but I never would’ve imagined ending her life, leaving me behind, was a better solution to her.

  Now, I just want to ask her why. But even if she did agree to see me, I don’t think I could bring myself to face her, say the things to her that I wished I’d said before that night, before she felt so … hopeless.

  Rushing out of the house, I hurry into the passenger seat of Asher’s waiting car. I’m hopeless, that’s a given. But there’s something I need to do, something I need to make clear. The only thing I can think of worse than not having the chance to say the things I meant to say would be saying exactly how I feel then taking it all back like the coward that I am.

  12

  Victoria

  Slowly navigating the driveway, I maneuver to the garage, dodging some vehicles lined around. They must be the early arrivals, as it’s not late enough for the party to be in full swing. There’re times I enjoy my house being the preferred hangout, then there are times like tonight where I just wish Asher wasn’t selected as this weekend’s party host.

  Closing the garage, I sit in the comfort of my car, already hearing the bass from the loud music. Maybe I’ll join in later, but right now, I just want to head straight to my room and avoid everyone.

  Pulling the door open, the music blares as I make my way upstairs. Forcing a smile, I wave, saying hi to a few familiar faces. Stepping inside my room, I pull the door closed behind me, thankful to have avoided the one familiar face I don’t want to see. I know I made the right decision last night, but the fact that he doesn’t remember—and probably hadn’t meant a word of it—hurts worse than anything. I’m stuck with the memory of his words. How the desperation in his voice resonated in his eyes as he begged for forgiveness. The feeling of wanting nothing more than to forgive him while he doesn’t remember a freakin’ thing about it.

  Pushing off the door from where I’d been leaning against it, I toss my bag on the desk. Looking over to the bed, something catches my eye. A black sketchbook, identical to the one that Elliot has thrown into the pond twice, sits in the middle of my bed. Its leather feels smooth, untarnished as my fingers brush across it. Hesitantly picking it up, I flip it open, spotting a handwritten note on the inside of the cover.

  Hopeless or not, I meant every word.

  E

  He remembers. My hand clamps over my mouth, silencing the gasp as I read the words over and over. Why? Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? Why does he have to be the biggest jerk in the world and then do something like this … something sweet. Caring. Something that makes me think he might actually have feelings for me, until he flips the switch and becomes a brutal jerk—again. Push. Pull. Up. Down. Elliot Bass is determined to twist me every which way; seemingly enjoying it way too much as evidenced by his cheerful demeanor while I’m fraught with turmoil. Soon he’ll toss me aside, his brutal game with my heart never ceasing. And I’m sick of it.

  Gripping the smooth leather, I swiftly exit my room, hoping I’ll find him in the guest room. But even if he’s not, I have something I need to return, and I don’t care who is around to see it. Flinging the door open, I charge into the room. He’s lying across the bed, his head turns to me, spotting the sketchbook in my hand. Sitting up, he tosses his phone on the bed before standing, cramming his hands in his pockets. He begins to speak, but I don’t want to hear it. Any of it.

  Gathering all my strength, I sling the sketchbook at him. His arms come up, shielding his face, as he shifts to the side. The book just misses his stupid head.

  “What the hell?” He looks behind him, shock flashing across his face before turning to meet my gaze with a genuine Elliot-Bass-is-a-pompous-ass smirk. “
I’m guessing you didn’t like it.”

  Walking forward, I move in front of him. “I hate it. I hate you. All of this is nothing but a joke to you, and I’m sick of it.” Spinning, I take a step away, but his hand grips my arm, pulling me back to him. My hands shoot out in front of me, palms pressing against his chest as his mouth approaches mine.

  “This isn’t a joke.” His hand lifts, his palm brushing gently along my cheek before he slides his fingers into my hair, gripping the unruly locks. As he leans forward, his forehead rests against mine, my eyes snap shut. “Hopeless or not, I meant every word.” Tenderly feathering his lips over mine, he kisses me with such affection, I almost forget the brutal monster behind it.

  Shoving away from him, I wipe my hand over my face, wanting to remove the sensation he evoked from my lips. “So did I, and I can’t do this.”

  “Bass!” Wade’s voice booms down the hallway, causing Elliot to halt as he moves towards me just as Wade barges through the doorway, not giving a second thought to the intense scene as he shouts, “Get your asses downstairs. There’s booze to drink and hot bodies to grind against.” Wade moves his arms in front of him, mimicking his hands rubbing along a girl’s body as he performs some raunchy dance moves that I’ve witnessed more times than I care to recall.