F*CKER

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Thirty Three

  Thirty Four

  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

  Thirty Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Amo

  F*CKER

  Westbeach #2

  By Amo Jones

  Copyright 2016 Amo Jones

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Note: This story is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

  *Potential triggers lie within this book.

  **If the word “fuck” offends you, please don’t read this book.

  Cover by Kari Ayasha from Cover to Cover Designs

  Model images from Bigstock.

  Editing by Kayla Robichaux from Hot Tree Editing.

  Formatting: Max Henry from Max Effect

  This book is dedicated to young, sloppy, messy love.

  “Love isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it takes two messy pieces to make one perfect piece. The piece that is perfect for you.”

  PRESENT

  The fairy lights dropped around the darkness of the night like little fireflies hovering above me, a silent but bright reminder of my poor choices. One being to attend this damn wedding. I should not have come, but as always, I had to keep up family appearances. The last name Monroe held power and respect. Power. I almost scoffed to myself. Obviously I had no power, or I wouldn’t have been sitting on this white chair, sipping the crisp bubbles of Kruseg Clos d’Ambonnay, and locked into a stare down with the man I spent the first half of my high school years loving, and the last half absolutely hating. A hate so strong that it drove me to move to Croatia to finish my school years. Moving to a completely different state in the US was not an option back then. Nope. I needed to uproot my entire life and leave, because yes, it was that bad.

  My eyes bored into his. His mouth was set in a hard line as he caressed the supermodel’s back who sat in the chair next to him, all while taking a long pull of his beer. With his hair messy and falling all over the place, his white suit top unbuttoned, and his tie sitting loosely around his neck, I was well aware of how dangerously good-looking Ryker Oakley was. It was hard not to see it when everywhere you turned your high school tormentor was all over the news, magazines, and social media. He thought our secret was buried long ago, but he was wrong. I’d battled the demons all of us had created together—on my own.

  Three things:

  Ryker Oakley was still drinking Bud.

  He could still disarm any woman with one flick of his stupid long eyelashes—and then have her drop her panties with his smirk.

  Judging by the crooked grin on his face, aimed right at yours truly, he was still a fucker.

  “Please, I’m fucking begging you, Ryder. Do me a fucking solid and don’t invite them,” I pleaded with my asshole brother, while they were writing up the invites. Think he’d listen? Fuck no. This was an Oakley we’re talking about here.

  “Ryker, that was years ago. You think she’d still be holding onto a grudge from that long ago? Fuck no, bro. You’re giving yourself too much credit,” he answered with a scoff.

  But judging by Bryleigh’s green eyes, which had droplets of honey laced through them when she was mad, I’d say yes. And yes, I still remembered the yellow honey flecks that were woven through her eyes. Cheesy? I don’t fucking care. One of the first things I noticed about Bryleigh Monroe—after her ass—was her fucking eyes. It wasn’t that they were an out-of-this-world color; it was the way they would look at me. Stripped my very existence with one gaze, because that’s all it took and the bitch hooked me. Well, that and her peachy ass lifted into the air. Was I a piece of shit for the way I’d treated her? Yeah, you could say that. But it was easier for me to push her away then, than let her get her heart broken. When Valentine’s Day ‘08 came to an end and the destruction of our actions came pouring down upon us, I knew I was fucked with this girl. I had to push her away the only way I knew how.

  Three things:

  Bryleigh Monroe was still hot as fuuuck.

  She still flicked her rings around on her fingers when she was nervous.

  She can still un-man me with one look.

  When I realized number three, I smirked at her around the rim of my beer and buried myself in…

  “What’s your name, baby?” I whispered into the ear of the woman sitting next to me. Her long, silky legs were crossed and her perfectly straight platinum hair was hanging down her back. She threw her head back and laughed at me, hitting me playfully with the back of her hand. When she brought her eyes back to mine and noticed I wasn’t joking, that I really didn’t know who she was, she scowled. “Are you kidding me?”

  I smiled behind my beer. “No, I’m not.” My amusement vibrated through my chest as I raised my glass back to my lips.

  Her eyes narrowed in on me. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. When I get back from getting another Moet, I think you should show me all the different ways I can scream your name.”

  I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and smirked, following her fine ass as she walked back to the bar in the middle of the yard. Shaking my head, my eyes involuntarily scanned the area until they landed on Bryleigh. She was standing next to a man who looked old enough to be her dad. My eyes narrowed as I raised my hand up to my chest, scratching over my heart. She yanked her arm out of his grasp in such a way it made my knuckles twitch—the only way they twitched when this fucking girl was around. She shook her head at the man before bringing her eyes straight to mine, and just like that, there was a silent pull of conversation that was set off between us.

  My chest heaved slightly as I pulled my eyes away from hers, ignoring the fact they were like four magnets that drew each other in. When my vision landed on the old dude next to her, she shifted uncomfortably and gripped his arm with her little hand. My eyebrows drew together as I tried to decipher what the fuck this asshole was doing to her. I looked back into her eyes, my jaw tensing. She shook her head slightly at me, knowing my watching was going to eventually led to my doing something about it. She knows what I’m like, or what I was like.

  She turned in her step and walked toward the bar. The nude little dress she was wearing accentuated her curves and her blonde/brown hair—I think Phoebe called it bronde, or some shit like that. Seriously? Bronde? Chicks are weird as fuck—pulled into a high bun thing on the top of her head. Prying my greedy eyes off her, I brought t
hem to the fella she was standing with, only to catch him already watching me closely. His eyes slanted as he cocked a smirk at me before following closely behind Bryleigh. He threw his arm around her neck and pulled her body into his forcefully.

  Dropping my beer to the table, I stood and began to make my way to them. I knew this was probably step one to many other steps of very bad decisions, but even after all these years, I just couldn’t let this fucking chick get hurt. I could only hope it didn’t end the way it ended the last time someone tried to make moves on her, with my ass thrown in jail.

  2008

  PAST

  I sat under the brown oak tree that was under our school auditorium, biting into my crisp, juicy apple. I liked apples. They’d fill your hunger while quenching your thirst too. I’ve always loved how some things in life can give you more than one purpose. Life. It wasn’t like my life wasn’t great or anything; it was actually pretty stupendous. I had a mom who, despite her strong southern hand, had a heart that was filled with love. I also had a father who the people in our community looked up to and admired because of his current standing in the elections this year, running for senator and all that snazz.

  From the outside, our family probably looked high-handed, if you weren’t from the San Diego area, but the people in this town knew my family. The town was small enough for that, and it was also small enough for every male within a ten-mile radius to know who my father was. I was sixteen, attending Chissicer Valley High school, and I had never been laid. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, or that I hadn’t found the right person. Actually, no, that was exactly it. I hadn’t found the right person yet. Someone who wouldn’t expect anything else aside from a good, old fashioned, deflowering of the daughter to one of the most powerful men in our town. I chuckled to myself, dropping my apple into the piece of paper I had sitting in front of me that read, What are the primary values expressed in films of the 1930s? scribbled in angry font as the heading. If there was such thing as an ‘angry font,’ it would be my handwriting right there. History wasn’t my favorite subject, but I loved old black-and-white films and had a profound love for the movie Scarface. I loved the Al Pacino remake, but you can’t beat an old classic.

  The bright red glimmer of hair caught my eye, and I raised my head up to see Indie, my best friend, walking toward me with her skirt hemmed up higher than it should be, and her white socks clinging around her upper-thigh. Indie was beautiful, there’s no doubt about that, and boy did she know it, but she was also the queen bee around here. She said I’m just as popular as her, and I thought maybe I was, but I didn’t like to look at myself like that, and truth be told, I just didn’t really care.

  She plonked her bag down beside me before dropping her weight down onto the seat. “Bry, I think we need to go out this weekend. It’s time to punch that V-card, don’t ya think?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows with a smirk.

  “Indie, no one is game enough to bed me.” I shook my head.

  She laughed, laying on her back and bringing her hand up to cover her eyes from the bright afternoon sun. “True. I think there’s still someone though,” she answered, turning her head to where a huge crowd was spreading wide like Moses himself parted it. My eyes squinted from the sun, and before he even appeared, I knew who was walking through the mass of people. Sure enough, messy bed hair, tattoos all over his arms, and a sexy grin with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth like he didn’t give a fuck that this was high school, came Ryker Oakley. He and his twin brother, Ryder, moved here a while ago. Apparently, he came from a rough upbringing, so, naturally, my father took to him.

  The past couple of nights, my dad had him and Ryder around after school for basketball training. My dad was a big deal in basketball when he was younger, and both Ryder and Ryker had all of a sudden decided they wanted to play the sport. So as of two nights ago, my dad had them at our home on our private basketball court. I’d made it my personal mission to escape them when they show up. I never actually had an encounter with either of the Oakley brothers, and I would try to keep it that way as much as I could. They’re both two years ahead, and probably didn’t give a rat’s ass about a little girl like me. Which worked well for me, I wished more people thought like that.

  “Bry?” Indie’s voice seared into me.

  I flinched out of my thoughts. “Hmmm? Sorry, I spaced out.”

  “I see that.” She smirked with an eyebrow cocked.

  “What’s that look for?” I asked, narrowing my eyes on her.

  She turned onto her stomach and pushed her big sunglasses over her head. She meant business; she only did that if shit was about to get real.

  I should’ve been scared.

  “It means, I think you and I both know who we should offer your virginity to on a silver platter.”

  I cocked my head at her. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

  “Ryker Oakley, babe. He will slay you in a heartbeat, and guess what? He’s not pussy thirsty, so he will eat you alive and then spit you out. Perfect.”

  Her words hit me right in my gut, where a swarm of unknown feelings fluttered. Why the fuck were they fluttering? They should not be fluttering. I’d need to chop their wings off.

  “No, definitely not,” I answered with certainty. Dragging my eyes away from her, I began to put my books back into my bag.

  “Are you telling me that you would turn down that fine piece of ass?”

  I paused my piling and brought my eyes back up to him. He was sitting on one of the tables outside the cafeteria with Ryder, Leo Adkins, and Tommy Stevens. They were like, the fantasy four of Chissicer Valley High School. Every girl wanted to give them head, and every guy… probably wanted to give them head too. They were the holy grail of this school. The students here may as well have dropped to their hands and knees and kissed the ground they walked on; it was that bad. It intensified daily too, because the band they had formed was beginning to really kick off. They do nights at Shacks, the bar up the road, and Shack—that really is his name—didn’t give a shit they were only eighteen. He’d always let them play there, and it worked. Their name was spreading fast, and with the evolution of the web, it was only a matter of time before these boys were going to be huge… mega huge. Anyone with musical eyes and ears could see that. I had never seen them perform before, but it was on my list of things to do this year. Along with dropping my V plates. Speaking off…

  “I’m saying I don’t think the ass would be worth it,” I answered, pushing my hair into a messy high ponytail.

  “Oh, I think the ass would definitely be worth it.” Indie got up from her spot on the grass and swiped off the residue of dirt from her skirt. “Come on, we have cheer practice, and then we are going to figure out a way you can bump into the Oakley brother so you can have him bumping your bed all…” She bit down on her finger, flicking her bright red hair over her shoulder. “Night…” She sucked her finger out of her mouth with a pop! And mine almost damn near dropped to the ground. “Long. Mmmm,” she moaned, squirming in her spot. Looking around, some people around us had noticed her little performance, which was no surprise, because people watched us everywhere.

  I shoved her in the shoulder. “You’re such a whore. Let’s go. I can’t be late.” I swung my backpack over my shoulder.

  She laughed, hooking her arm into mine while winking at Matty Shumaker, the quarterback, who was eyeing her performance with lingering eyes. “You better not be late. You are the captain!”

  ***

  We pulled into our private street after swiping my security card through the gate to let us in. Indie was bouncing in the passenger seat, clapping her hands and dancing along to Lady Gaga’s “Love Game”. I laughed, shaking my head. Because practice finished late, we didn’t have time to get changed before heading home, so we were still sporting our black, red, and white cheer uniforms. Pulling into our cobble driveway, I pushed the button to close my convertible top before getting out. My red Mercedes Benz S-class was my sixteenth birthd
ay present. I loved my car, but I would have been happy with anything. Of course, nothing could make me stick out more than I already did, so me owning a Mercedes didn’t make anyone bat an eye, so it worked well for me.

  “Did I tell you about what happened at Matty’s party last weekend?” Indie asked, walking around to my side of the car. My eyes zeroed in on the black GMC pickup truck that was sitting outside our house. Our house. It was a little over the top. Both my parents came from no money; they built their life together, and it shows in their hearts. They may be dirty, filthy rich now, but they’re the most down-to-earth people you could ever meet.

  “No, you didn’t tell me, spill,” I said, closing my door and walking to the front of the car before we both started walking up the large cobble steps to our heavy wooden double doors. Our manor—yes, it’s called the Monroe Manor—was equipped with twenty-three bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a pool house, a cinema, an underground garage, and a large rock lagoon that sat in the middle of where one side of the house met the other. The back was shaped like two L’s, with the swimming pool and outdoor area sitting in the middle. We also had an indoor basketball court, which I was guessing was where Ryker, Ryder, Leo, and Tommy were with my dad. I wanted to sneak past them, but Indie—being Indie—wanted to make an appearance.

  She hooked her arm in mine. “Let’s make a detour.”

  I rolled my eyes, dropping my bag in the doorway. Pauline, our maid who had been here since I was born, walked out in her black-and-white apron that was wrapped around her waist securely. “Bryleigh, how was school, sweetheart?” she asked, collecting my bag from the floor.

  “It was uneventful, as always.” I took the bag off her and swung it over my shoulder. I forgot she always went beyond what was expected of her. She had her own living area upstairs, even though we said she could have the pool house, but she insisted I should have it because I was “young.”

  She nodded her head. “I’m heading to the store to stock up on some food. Your dad is holding a dinner tonight, and Buretti is screaming profanities from the kitchen about the shopping list he needs,” she replied sweetly, with a roll of her eyes. Buretti was our private chef. He only came in when we held dinner parties or big events. He’d been there since day one, teaching me how to scramble eggs and cook toast when I was as young as four years old. I’d missed him lately, since he hadn’t been around a lot.