Hard and Brutal, page 1
HARD AND BRUTAL
A FORBIDDEN ROMANCE
S.E. LAW
S.C. ADAMS
Copyright © 2022 by S.E. Law and S.C. Adams
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
SUBSCRIBE NOW
Get The Babymaking Service free when you join my mailing list here. Also, text SELAW to 833-213-3403 to join my VIP text newsletter and get 15% off your first order from my website!
For my readers.
CONTENTS
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Filthy Uncle To Go
About S.E. Law
About S.C. Adams
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Carlton: Ramona Monk says I used to tease her when we were kids, but honestly, I barely even remember the curvy girl. All I know is that:
(1) she’s hot;
(2) she works for me; and
(3) I want her, hard and brutal.
Of course, Ramona says that what I’m doing is illegal. She says I could go to jail for blah blah blah yada yada yada. Clearly, I don’t care because if she isn’t on her knees in about ten seconds, then she can kiss her paycheck goodbye!
Ramona: Carlton James thinks I’m going to plead? On my knees? Please, Mr. Bad Boy CEO. You’re the one who’ll be begging by the time I’m finished because hard and brutal runs two ways … and you’ll be ready to explode by the time we’re done!
* * *
Holy cow, call the cops! Who knew hard and brutal could be administered right side up, upside down, and all the ways in between? Fifty Shades this is not because we’re getting down for some rip-roaring hard-core action. (Not to mention some things that really might not be legal.) But turn on the A/C because our hero and heroine are tearing up the sheets in this steamy, over-the-top romance. This book is a follow-up to Caught By Daddy, but all of my books are standalones and do not need to be read in order. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and always a HEA for my readers.
1
Ramona
* * *
Twelve years earlier.
I frown unhappily with frustration at my hair. My mom put it in pigtails again today, but the hair-ties are too tight and are pulling at my forehead. My grubby, dirt-stained hands yank at the knots, but it’s no use. The ties won’t budge.
After a few more tries, I change tactics and start tugging on the front of my hair, hoping to loosen the pigtails that way. Somehow, by pulling my curls in both directions, I manage to yank the ties slightly lower, leaving my frizzy brown hair an even frizzier mess. I stare at my reflection and stick out my tongue.
“Ramona!” my mom’s voice calls from downstairs. “It’s time to play outside.”
I shrug at my styling conundrum, accepting the fact that my ten-year-old hands aren’t capable of fixing the chaos I call curls. I grab a jacket since I know my mom will make me take one despite the fact that it’s still early September and our tiny town of Portnoy has yet to feel the effects of autumn.
I bounce down the stairs and into the kitchen. My mom is standing at the oven, arms on her waist, staring at a large pot on the stove. I walk to her and glance into the pot. It doesn’t smell bad, but I’m not sure it smells good either.
“I’ve never made this soup before,” she mutters absently, her pretty face creased as she reviews some instructions in the cookbook next to her.
I take a moment to admire my mom. Martha’s tall and thin, with a lovely smile and lush, velvety brown hair. People always tell me I look like her, but I honestly feel like a gremlin compared to my mother. I pat my frizzy pigtails again, hoping my mom doesn’t make me redo them before I go outside and play.
“It smells good, Mom,” I fib as I slowly back out of the kitchen, praying she doesn’t turn her head to look at me.
“Mmm, thanks honey,” she murmurs. “Did you grab a coat?”
“Yep,” I assure her quickly.
I nearly make it to the backdoor when Martha spins around abruptly. Her eyebrows rise as she takes in my appearance.
“Ramona Marie Monk, what on Earth have you done to your hair?” Her tone is half lament and half exasperation.
I shrug. “They were too tight.”
My mom sighs, her pretty face contorting as she looks me over from head to toe. I can only imagine how I must look through her cornflower blue eyes.
Of course, my own eyes are a deep brown. My friend Carlton called them poop shade, but I would never tell my mom that he said so. I’m tall for a ten year old girl, but I’m also lanky and uncoordinated. Carlton also told me I have buckteeth, so I decided to stop smiling for pictures. My knees are covered in scabs from my most recent tree-climbing accident, and I’m pretty much convinced that I’ll never get boobs.
“Ramona,” my mom begins to speak but stops. She sighs deeply. “Be back by six o’clock, okay? Your dad will be home then and we’re having a family dinner.”
I can’t help but grin widely, grateful that my mom decided against launching into a lecture about being ladylike, polite, and well-bred.
“I’ll be back at six!” I promise as I dart out the door. Quickly, I scamper around the house and grab my bicycle from its post next to the wall. My dad is constantly telling me that I need to remember to bring it all the way into the garage, but it’s such a pain to do that. Besides, my hometown is safe, and my neighborhood is filled with other kids who do the same thing.
After all, Portnoy, Illinois, isn’t exactly the coolest place to live, but I like being here. There are a few kids my age nearby, and some classmates from school live a few blocks away. But I’ve mostly been hanging out with one particular guy since I was a little kid: Carlton James.
My heart flutters even when thinking about him. Of course, he has no idea because when I first met him, I was nothing but a bratty six year old. So now, Carlton has no idea that I have an enormous crush on him, thank goodness. Instead, the boy treats me like a sister – he’s fiercely over-protective of me and is always willing to share his snacks. But on the other hand, I hate that he treats me like a sister because he’s equal parts bossy and harsh at times. As the leader of the local group of thirteen-year old boys, Carlton alone controls my tenuous membership into his little clique. Mostly he ignores me, but lately he’s been making me butt out of their adventures, to my chagrin.
Not today, I promise myself. I’m going where he goes, no matter what. Skillfully, I wheel my bike around the corner and onto the sidewalk toward the James’s house. As luck would have it, my crush is outside in the front yard, doing some work on his Schwinn. I walk until I’m just a couple of feet away from him, but he doesn’t look up.
“Hi Carlton!” I call out, my chirp disrupting the afternoon quiet.
The blue-eyed boy finally glances up at me. I stare, captivated, as he sweeps a lock of beautiful black hair from his forehead.
“Hey Ramona,” he growls, his teen voice already husky. I find myself wishing he’d say my name again, but I manage a bright smile.
“Whatchya doing?”
“What’s it look like?” Carlton rolls his eyes and continues tinkering with his bike.
“Is your bike messed up?” I lean closer, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever he’s so consumed with. “My dad has more tools if you need them.”
The older boy just shakes his head and gestures to a toolbox on the grass next to him. “I’m fine. Don’t need them,” he answers shortly.
I lick my lips and tap the handlebars on my bike, trying to think of something to say to my neighbor. We used to have an easy friendship, but lately, it feels like he doesn’t want to spend as much time with me.
Finally, I come up with a line. “My mom said I had to play outside. Do you want to go for a bike ride?” I ask, hoping that I don’t sound too excited by the idea.
Carlton huffs and starts throwing tools back into the toolbox without a word. Eventually, he stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. He considers me for a moment, perhaps contemplating whether I’m just an annoying kid today or someone who’s worthy of an adventure.
Finally, he speaks. “Some of the guys and me were going to ride to the Cove – ” my delighted squeal interrupts Carlton. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning as he takes in my goofy smile.
I nod quickly, trying to contain my delight. But inside, I’m going crazy with excitement. The Cove is the coolest place to hang out in our neighborhood and if Carlton James is inviting me…!
“I can keep up with you guys, promise!” I tell him too quickly. “I’m getting way faster on my bike.”
Carlton glares slightly. “No, Ramona. What I was going to say is that you can’t come with us today.”
My heart sinks. “Why not?” I demand, not caring that I sound like a petulant child.
“Because the Cove is no place for little girls,” Carlton says, his eyes shuttering.
“You never let me go!” I wail. Then I frown, my ang
Now it’s Carlton’s turn to be annoyed. “Come on, Ramona.” There’s a hint of exasperation in his voice. “You know the guys don’t like it when you try to tag along. Besides, you’re not allowed at the Cove. It’s a guys-only spot.”
“What?” I screech. “Says who? Besides, that’s not fair.” My entire body is shaking with anger, and I want to throw something at Carlton for calling me a girl.
At my pouting insistence, he changes tactics. “You’re not invited, so go home, Ramona.” His tone is harsh and authoritative.
I suddenly feel my tiny heart cracking with disappointment. Carlton is using his best ‘I know better than you do’ voice and I hate how bossy he can sound. I feel my eyes grow heavy with tears but refuse to let them flow over.
I will not cry in front of Carlton James, I vow to my ten year old self. It’s not going to happen!
Huffily, I turn my back on my mean neighbor and so-called friend and stomp back into my own front yard. Behind me, I hear Carlton sigh once more and the sounds of him tinkering with his bicycle resume. I plop down on the bottom porch step, dropping my own bike on the grass next to me.
For the next several minutes, I watch as members of the ‘crew’ pull up in front of Carlton’s house.
The other boys are all cute in that lanky, cusp-of-adulthood sort of way, but none of them are as good-looking as my crush. There are the Baker twins, both with fire-red hair and a lot of freckles. There’s Lewis, who grew three inches taller this summer and is always running into things. And finally, Jimmy Linder, who looks like a California surfer wannabe with his blonde hair and persistent tan. The five of them make quite the gang.
My innocent reverence for these boys is a mix of awe and jealously, fueled by my intense crush on the leader of the crew. Sure, they’re a little older than I am, but that never seemed to be a big deal until lately.
I glower as I watch the boys huddle together. It looks like they’re laughing over what appears to be some sort of paper or magazine. Carlton looks up with alarm, shushes them and then dashes into his house, emerging a moment later with his backpack. As he stuffs the magazine into the sack, I squint to try and make out the cover, but it’s no use. I’m too far away to figure out what’s going on.
Within moments, the five of them are climbing on their bikes to ride out toward the Cove. As they pedal past my house, making a series of honks and shouts, Carlton’s piercing blue eyes lock with my teary brown ones just for a moment. He winks at me, but instead of feeling consoled, I find myself completely enraged by the gesture. How dare he!
Before the boys get too far away, I hop up from my perch and climb on to my bike. Once on the sidewalk, I start pedaling quickly, determined to tail them all the way to this mysterious “cove” that I’ve never been to.
Unfortunately, the boys are all considerably taller and faster than I am, and it takes almost all of my energy to keep up with them. Of course, I’m trying to stay out of sight too, so it’s a balancing act. At one point, I think that Carlton may have spotted me, and I skid into a nearby bush to avoid detection, nearly flipping my bike over in the process. But either Carlton didn’t see me or he’s just choosing to ignore me, per usual.
We ride on for what seems like miles to my scrawny legs. The road in this part of our neighborhood is dirt, and after a few minutes, my whole body is covered in the soft white dust. My thighs are burning with exertion and I’m almost ready to call it quits when I see the boys round a corner into a wooded area.
Feeling a renewed sense of excitement, I will my legs to pedal even harder up the last steep hill. A few feet later, I reach the corner and then grab the handlebar breaks and screech to a stop. Oh crap. All five boys are waiting at the top of the hill, staring at me with anger in their eyes. I swallow hard, suddenly nervous. This can’t be good.
Carlton hops off his bike and lets it drop to the ground in a clatter. He crosses to me in a few short steps. He looks pissed, and I’ve never seen his eyes look quite so cold.
“What are you doing here, Ramona?” he asks in a terse, unfriendly voice. I feel my heart skip a beat.
“I just wanted to hang out with you guys,” I mutter, staring down at my feet. “Is that a crime?”
“You thought you could hang out with us?” one of the redheaded Baker boys jeers, his tone full of mockery.
“You guys don’t usually mind if I tag along,” I protest, hoping my voice doesn’t sound too whiny as I plead my case.
“Yeah, but no one wants girls here,” Lewis the giant chortles. “Get lost, kid.”
I stare at the group, unsure if I’m offended more at being called a girl or a kid. “Come on, guys, I won’t bother you,” I argue, choosing to ignore Lewis’s taunt in the hopes that they’ll change their minds. “I just want to see the secret hideout.” I know I sound calm, but my heart is pounding with nervous energy.
What if they say no?
It’s Carlton, though, who makes the decision.
“I told you earlier, Ramona, and I’m going to say it one more time since your pigtails are clearly too tight for your brain to work: the Cove isn’t a place for little girls.”
“I’m not little!” I shout back. “And it doesn’t belong to you!”
My nemesis merely frowns. “You’re not welcome,” Carlton says sharply. “Now, go home or else.” The threat is so clear in his voice that I have no doubt that Carlton James will find a way to make me leave.
I stare at him, my hero worship slowly fading into disdain for this boy who clearly thinks I’m not worthy of being his friend.
My eyes fill with tears and – before I can control myself – they spill down onto my cheeks. To my dismay, the older boys notice immediately. Within seconds, they start laughing and hooting, clutching at their sides and pointing at my now-stained cheeks.
But my crush merely stares at me, his ice blue eyes causing me to cry even harder.
“Go,” he says once more, his shoulders squaring as his jaw sets.
Between the jeering and Carlton’s cruelty, it’s more than I can stand. I drag my bike around and start making my way down the steep hill. The wind whooshes by my ears as I pedal hard in the direction of my house, my embarrassment making me ride as fast as my legs can carry me as I ignore the ache in my thighs and calves.
By the time I arrive home, the sun has faded to a soft orange, my cue that it’s close to dinnertime. I drop my bike in the front yard with a clatter, no longer caring if my dad gets mad at me for not putting it away properly. All I can think about is Carlton’s words, and the nasty way he looked at me.
I shove open my front door and then slam it closed before stomping through the house toward my room.
“Ramona, is that you?” my mom’s singsong voice calls from the dining room.
“Yeah,” I grunt sullenly, one foot already on the bottom stair.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes. Wash up and come set the table, please.”
I don’t answer my mother but instead head to the guest bathroom to follow orders. But once in the seashell-themed room, I can’t help but stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Of course, Carlton didn’t want to hang out with you, I tell my mirror self, because you’re just a grubby, ugly little girl who cries.
With that, I look down blindly. Despite being so upset, I’m grateful that my tears are mostly done and that I can take a deep, shuddering breath. I scrub my hands and face with the soft coconut soap, wishing I could wash away the afternoon, too.
A few minutes later, I settle down to dinner with my mom and dad. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with my own emotions, I might have noticed that my parents are less talkative than usual. Instead, I’m stewing over Carlton and how I’m going to exact my revenge. That boy is going to pay.
