Authors: Ann, Pamela
(A Torn Series)
Copyright © 2013, By Pamela Ann
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Kristin and Alizon
Cover design by:
Melissa [email protected]
To my beta readers, Cami Hesnault,
Kimberly Harris, Beck Sewell and Tia Marie, writing this book wouldn’t have been the same without all your opinions and awesome discussions. Melissa Gill, you’re my life saver—‘nuff said.
Josie Melendez, Ashley Suzanne, you ladies rock!
To the ladies at Chasing Bassphemous
, I heart you all.
To my editors, Kristin and Alizon, thank you
And to my family, thank you for everything.
Songs I listened to whilst writing the novel:
Enrique Iglesias Ft. Nicole Scherzinger
What Comes Around
Me and Mrs. Jones
Take Me Somewhere Nice
Always On My Mind
Nelly Furtado FT. James Morrison
You Make Me Wanna Die
“Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.
Life is beauty, admire it.
Life is a dream, realize it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is a tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it.”
I wasn’t a woman who minced words to soothe another person. Nor was I one to change my mind once I had placed a person in my “trash” bin.
People have described me as bitchy, stuck-up, scary, hot and crazy vindictive. Do I care? Ha. Yeah, right.
Wealth, beauty and all the attention I could ever want were showered on me at a very young age, but one thing was missing; love. Where do I even begin with that complex word?
Love led my father to his demise.
Love made me ache for my mother’s non-existent emotion towards us, her family.
Love ruined me for the male species.
It didn’t take long, though, to discover the power of beauty and sex. I got my euphoric highs from making men suffer—may it be emotional, mental, physical. Blue balls anyone?
It was all about validation. Needing to prove a point that I held the power, that no one could come close to hurting me any longer. I was excellent at it. I was my own master. What else could be better than that?
Yet, once again, Mister Cupid had a perverse way to scramble my very guarded personal life.
Would I let fate choose for me? Or should I fight it tooth and nail as I’d done in the past?
"If she's amazing, she won't be easy. If she's easy, she won't be amazing. If she's with it, you won't give-up. If
you give up, you're not worthy. Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for."
- Bob Marley
A month ago, Taylor’s Party
I was leaning against a tree, gazing at the garden’s miniature falls that connected to the fountains, lost in thought… with dread and fear accompanied by damning memories, when I heard someone approach my direction.
“Dance with me, pookie,” someone said behind me.
Ever since he found me crying when my nanny, Esmeralda, left, due to her mother being sick, he continued using the pet name she called me.
was an endearment in Spanish.
“You really need to stop calling me that. I’m not six,” I nonchalantly voiced out without gazing back at him.
I heard him move close to my back, making me conscious of his body’s heat. Persistence thy name was Brody. For all the years I’d known him, he had rarely backed down.
“You’re very edgy tonight. Feel like talking about it? I’m all ears.”
Like that was going to happen. “I’m fine. I just want to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Why do you always do this the day after you sleep with me? Is that all I’m ever going to be to you? Someone on your speed dial to scratch the itch?” Brody sounded a little angry.
However, I didn’t care.
. Knowing the crap was going to rain down on me very soon. “Seriously, Brody, this is not the time nor the place to discuss this.” Really. If I could hide here forever, I would.
“For the past year, you’ve had the same line. You’ve paraded men right in front of me while I watch in vain, but I’ve endured all of that because I know, deep down, you love me; you always have. How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? Just tell me how long I have to wait for you, Lindsey.”
Was there anyone in this fucking city who didn’t know I was in love with him? I studied the man who meant so much to me, knowing that I had no answer for him. This man that was six feet of tightly packed muscles, killer smile and dark eyes with an uncanny resemblance to a young Pierce Brosnan.
Brody, ever since I was a child, had been my idol. I had followed him everywhere, thinking he was God. At ten-years-old, I blurted out that I loved him after he tasted the cookie I made, saying that they were delicious because I made them. Of course, my brother, Carter, spit them in the sink after the first bite, whining that they were too salty and hard. That wasn’t the only time I told him that I loved him. Through the years, I would randomly tell him. Each time, he would just give me a smile and tell me, “That’s very sweet of you, Lindsey.”
That love turned into loathing the second I found out Cece slept with him behind my back during freshmen year. Brody, along with Carter, were very popular with the girls and those two never had any problem getting what they wanted.
Upon learning about this, I ended my friendship with Cece and tried to end my feelings for Brody as well. I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be easy, even after years of trying. Accepting that it was never going to go away, I learned the art of impassiveness instead.
Deep inside, I knew that I was still reeling, but that love was now mixed with hate, affliction and scorn. Still, every time Brody was around, every time he greeted me after learning about Cece, he was still sweet and polite towards me—after my giving him death stares and all—the man still tried.
For the rest of my freshmen year, I did not speak a word to him. Of course, he tried to make amends. He would insert small post-its in my locker with messages like, “Have a good day, pookie”, “Miss you, pookie”, “I miss seeing your smiles”. These messages changed during sophomore year, though. Monday to Friday, for the rest of that year held only one message, “I’m sorry.”
I was simply done.
The memory was too ingrained in my mind, the hurt still too fresh. So what did a young, impressionable girl like me do when they’re heartbroken? Party, of course.
When junior year came, I spent all that time partying and making out with boys. When senior year rolled in, I changed my wardrobe and used whatever I could for my advantage. I realized that a woman’s look could be used as a tool to get what they wanted.
My childhood friend, Amber, provided our fake I.D’s. So the three of us, Amber, Trista and me, partied in Hollywood almost every night. I even lost my virginity in the back of Range Rover in the club’s parking lot. The man’s name I could barely recall. Yep, it took me that long to lose my virginity… because I only wanted Brody to have it. Losing the v-card to a stranger was a major sign of my concealed hatred for him.
I turned into a cold hearted, vindictive, aggressive woman and I loved it that way. I felt in control instead of a slave to my emotions.