Scorned (Torn #4)


by Pamela Ann

Prologue

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

Chapter 1

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.

Brody.

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. Pookie 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. Not tonight. 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 f**king 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.

This frozen state started to waver when everyone found out that I was sleeping with one of Carter’s friends, Cooper, last year. Brody sought me the night he found out, breathing fire as he yelled at me for sleeping with his friend. I didn’t know what had happened, but after all the yelling, he ended with kissing me. And, my God, that kiss—his kiss—it was even better than what I had dreamed of all my life. My love for him resurfaced, hate and loathing were nowhere to be found. He basically consumed me on the spot, matching his fire with mine.

I ended up sleeping with him that night, a year ago, leaving his bed the second he knocked out.

Brody has been chasing me ever since.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” I murmured, wondering why he hadn’t given up.

“You know why,” Brody murmured, pulling me against him as he wrapped his arms around my hips.

I did know, but it wasn’t enough anymore. So much had happened. My love for him was tainted. He betrayed that love years ago, knowing quite well what it would do to me.

“Let me hold you. Dance with me?”

Sighing, I finally conceded. I hated and loved when he turned that soft and husky voice on. I always had a hard time resisting him when he used it. “Fine. One dance.”

“Thank you.” Brody spun me around and gave me a quick kiss before leading me to the swimming pool that was glassed over to use as a dance floor.

Wrapped in Brody’s embrace, I was about to say something when a voice interrupted us.

“I finally get to see you again, i̱ gynaíka mou.”

I stilled, knowing quite well what that meant. FUCK. Gaining every bitchy fiber in me, I spun around and faced my estranged husband. “Dimitris, do you need something?”

Bright blue eyes pinned me on the spot, awash with anger, amongst other things. “You know damn well that I do. Unless you want to discuss it out here.” The Greek raised his ebony brows at me with words that held threat. Those pull-you-in eyes drew me in, feeling beyond nostalgic as memories ran riot in my head.

This man had some sort of power that always made me feel… off, like a switch. When he’s around, it high-jacked my existence, but when he wasn’t, I was normal again. As I emphasized earlier, I felt that off button ready to shift me into a hapless woman.

The thought of being in that vexing state made me spin around to face Brody, who was still holding my hip quite possessively, before giving him a reassured smile. “I have a quick business chat to attend to. I’ll be back.”

Brody gave me a chaste kiss before he whispered, “Be safe. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a quick hug before I strutted past Dimitris, straight indoors and inside the room that my friend allotted for me to use tonight. I didn’t need to check if the Greek was following me because I just knew he was. I could feel those amazing eyes on me, watching my h*ps sway, admiring my backside.

Secured in one of the guest rooms, I strode towards the windows, staring out it absentmindedly, not wanting to face him. It took us a good five minutes until someone finally decided to break the silence.

It sure wasn’t me.

“I have the divorce papers with me. Tell me your address and I will drop them off tomorrow,” Dimitris delivered with ease, not pausing to give me a moment to breathe.

We were all staying here tonight, but with the divorce papers, I couldn’t risk anyone seeing them. As far as I was concerned, no one knew about this secret marriage and I wanted to keep it that way. “I’m staying at The Chateau Marmont. You can drop them off there in the morning. How long does it take until we’re divorced?”

I could hear him move a little closer to me. “It’s Greece, so it can vary, but with my influence, I can probably have it done in six to eight weeks. My lawyers are working overtime to make things possible.”

I’m sure they were. A demand from a Kosta was not taken lightly back in his homeland.

My feelings for Brody I could easily control, but when it came to Dimitris, my body took over like it was under a spell and I had a hard time remembering things. Lust, hard-exorbitant-potent lust was what I had with this man. From the first moment I met him, I spent the first night in his bed and never left it until he made me his wife. He was demanding, caring, took care of everything, but most of all, he declared his love for me—which was a refreshing novelty, especially knowing he was a playboy. It was an odd mix, but one I enjoyed very much.