Crowned by Hate

  Crowned by Hate

  Crowned Trilogy: Book One

  Amo ma’fucking Jones

  Edited by

  Ellie McLove

  Crowned by Hate

  Crowned Trilogy: Book One

  By Amo Jones

  Copyright 2017 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 e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this e-book 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.

  Cover: Jay Aheer from Simply Defined Art

  Editing: Ellie McLove

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Untitled

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  12. Bryant

  13. Isa

  14. Bryant

  Chapter 15

  16. Isa

  Chapter 17

  18. Bryant

  19. Isa

  20. Bryant

  21. Isa

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  24. Bryant

  Untitled

  Dedication

  To all the fuckers who said I would never amount to anything.

  *grins*

  Sup.

  Acknowledgments

  I just want to thank everyone who has helped contribute to not only my stories, but to my sanity. Don’t all laugh at once!

  First of all, my children and partner. They’re my rock, my home, my loves, and my most favorite people walking this earth. Everything I do, I do for them.

  I want to thank my family who continues to support me.

  Isis! My best bitch. Somewhere between a sister and a soul mate. You’ve been my #1 supporter, counselor, therapist, just basically my all-around PERSON.

  Anne Malcom. My sister. My best-author bud, who has seen some of my darkest days but continued to support me. I love you, forever and for always.

  The bloggers! Your undying support means the world to me! You promote these babies, take them in as your own, and your reviews keep me going on my worst days. THANK YOU x100000

  Ofa & Priscilla from Tongan Book Lover! Y’all are my girls. MIINEEE. Your loyalty and support never goes unnoticed with me. You’ve been riding with me for what feels like decades. I love you both so much! #RideOrDies

  My Wolf Pack! You girls keep me going even on my darkest of days. You make me smile when I want to frown—this is getting soppy… oh look! The D…

  My betas, thank you for reading my unedited words. Truly, you probably deserve a medal or something.

  Ellie for editing my words! The girls from Give Me Books for handling all my promo, Jay Aheer for always getting my covers on point.

  Thank you to my author buds who always keep it real!

  And last but not least, my readers. Not enough words can describe how much your undying support means to me. I hope I always do you proud.

  1

  “Isa, pick your chin up and smile. I taught you better than that.”

  “I’m twenty years old, Lydia, not fifteen. I know what I’m doing.”

  Swooping up my wine glass, I empty the contents down my throat.

  “Well, I beg to differ. Why can’t you just be like your sister?” Lydia quips, eying me up and down.

  “Well, I don’t know, Lydia,” I mutter sarcastically while smiling politely at a passerby. Because it’s one of the nights my father gives me and my sister the pep-talk to behave ourselves, I have to be on my best behavior. Only he doesn’t need to drill everything into Brianna’s head like he does mine, because she understands it. She knows how to handle herself—apparently I don’t, being the delinquent and all. But, I don’t see her here tonight. Oh no, perfect big sister is shacked up studying Harvard Law.

  See.

  Golden child.

  “Maybe it’s because I have a thing called a backbone and a mouth?”

  “That’s a cheap stab at your sister and you know it, Isa. Stop this.” My eyes go over Lydia’s ridiculously perfected chiffon bun and land on my father, who has his salt and pepper hair slicked back to show his strong features and bright blue eyes. My dad was strapping when he was younger, but age has not been kind to him. Or maybe that’s karma.

  “My favorite girls.” He grins, his arms stretched out wide.

  “Great,” I murmur from around the rim of my glass. “Dad is extra cheesy tonight.”

  A foot hits me under the table and when I look up to Lydia, I catch her glaring at me. See, keeping up appearances is what my family is all about. Since my father not only has his fingers in all sorts of dealings in the US, and by dealings, I mean he’s a shady individual, he’s also the president of the United States of America—blah blah, that’s why it’s imminent that I’m on my best behavior constantly, and even more so while we’re at one of the many events we attend together as a ‘family.’ Family is a strong word to use, though. What I have, is more like a business gathering where we all barely tolerate each other—not so much a family.

  My father continues to walk toward us, pulling out a chair beside his and then taking a seat. Another figure catches the corner of my eye, but I don’t look toward it because I’m too busy counting the new wrinkles that have carved into my father’s forehead, though it probably looks like I’m openly glaring at my dad in annoyance. I can neither confirm nor deny this assumption.

  “Isa, I want you to meet Bryant Royal. The CEO of Royal Enterprise.” He ends his sentence with a tinge of urgency and warning, obviously hoping I’d catch his drift to behave myself. I finally bring my eyes to the man seated beside him and I have to stop my mouth from dropping open. All tied up in a sharp well-tailored suit is probably the most stunning man I have ever laid my eyes on. His brown hair is shaved short on the sides and slightly longer on the top—long enough to run your fingers through— and I wince slightly at how his green eyes watch me with burning intensity. Why the fuck is he looking at me like that. Just as I’m about to gear up with my flashy ‘I’m the President daughter’s smile,’ his lip curls up in disgust.

  Fuck being polite to this prick. The way his cocky eyes narrow on me, he obviously knows how hot he is, which means, I won’t be fueling that ego.

  He’s maxed out of ego fuel.

  I look to my father and watch as his eye twitches in slight annoyance.

  Great. Fuck my anal cavity.

  “Hi.” I lean over the table, placing my hand out to him with a very forced and very toothy smile on my face. I mean, you could count all my teeth from across the room, that’s how wide this smile was. “I’m Isa.”

  He looks to my hand, then looks up to my face, then back to my hand. Said hand is getting very tired waiting for his prick hand to accept. His angular jaw clenches a few times before his penetrating eyes pierce through mine with such hate, I almost flinch. Don’t you fucking flinch.

  Flinch.

  Fuck.

  “Bryant.” His voice. I wish it was ugly and ratty. However a rat would mutter the word ‘Bryant,’ but I wish it was like that. Instead, it was like, you know when you take that fir
st spoonful of a molten lava cake, and the moist—yes, I said moist—cake melts away on the tip of your tongue, right before your taste buds get the ride of their life with the rich creamy sauce that begins to slither down your throat?

  Yeah. His voice was like that.

  I tug my hand away, slightly ashamed at how obvious he was at rejecting me. What the ever-loving fuck did I ever do to him. Or maybe someone pissed in his million-dollar cornflakes this morning.

  Clearing my throat, I bring my glass up to my mouth, eradicating any thoughts about his sexy voice. I can’t believe I compared his voice to a molten lava cake.

  What an insult to the cake community.

  I sip my wine, just as my father starts talking with Bryant about some trade deal in the PNW (Pacific North West) when my phone vibrates in my purse. I smile sweetly at my dad, even though his attention doesn’t stray from Bryant, and unfold the flap to my purse, pulling out my phone. Swiping it unlocked, I open up to a text message.

  How are the Hiltons?

  I smirk at my best friend’s text message before shooting one back.

  What are they ever? Perfect and all that boring shit.

  Lydia clears her throat rather obviously and bumps me under the table with her leg—again. I look to her and she widens her eyes at me. She’s a little unbearable at times.

  I’m at a rage right now and have the biggest cock you could imagine rubbing up against my leg. Oh, Isa, oh, Isa, you have to feel his mon—

  I choke on my drink, my hand flying up to my mouth to stop it from escaping. Jesus, Devon! Lydia pats my back in a nice gesture—well, nice to people who don’t know that she’s a bit savage on the best of days—and says in a soft tone, “Are you okay, dear? You almost got your drink everywhere!”

  I smile apologetically at her, and then offer that same smile to my father, and then furthermore to Bryant, though his includes a slight clench of the teeth. “Yes, so sorry about that.”

  Bryant leans back in his chair, propping one elbow onto the armrest and runs his index finger over his upper lip. “Something funny, huh?”

  My dad shuffles in his seat, watching me carefully and Lydia’s eyes snap to mine. I can see them both glaring at me carefully out the corner of my eye. They’re both probably praying I don’t say something sassy that will land my ass in hot Royal water.

  “I suppose so,” is all I answer, pulling away from his annoying fucking gaze. I hate the way he has been watching me. It makes me a little uncomfortable, and I don’t know why. He reminds me of someone or something. Something calculating. Something I’ve only witnessed on someone once in my life.

  Red alert. We aren’t going there right now.

  I glance back to him once I realize he hasn’t replied back to me, only to find him flicking an unlit cigarette around in his mouth. Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can’t smoke in here. He reaches into his pocket, flicks open his Zippo, and lights up his cigarette. Taking a long inhale, his eyes flick to mine, a smirk tickling the corner of his lips. Thick grey smoke slowly leaks out between his cocky lips.

  Now it’s my turn to ask questions.

  “Something funny?” I tilt my head my head and cock my eyebrow.

  His grin deepens before he shakes his head, blowing the remainder of the smoke out through his mouth. “Nothing that concerns you.”

  “Ho—”

  “—So, Bryant, how was the game last weekend? Was a tight run in?” My dad interjects, knowing what I’m like and how I struggle to keep my mouth shut. Not to mention, you could pretty much cut the tension between Bryant and I with a pair of scissors—it’s that thick.

  Rolling my eyes, I snatch my purse off the table. “Excuse me.”

  Pushing past all the expensive frocks, fake tans, hair extensions, and dollar-dollar-bill bitches, I finally walk through the doors and step outside, letting out a long breath. God, why do I feel like I just survived The Hunger Games—foreplay version. Probably because I just did. That man had me hungrier than Katniss Everdeen right before she almost got ganked for stealing those bags of food.

  My phone vibrates in my purse and I quickly grab it out.

  “Hello?”

  “You didn’t answer me, I thought you might have been dead.”

  “Nope,” I pop the “p,” taking my smokes out of my bag and putting one in my mouth. “Sorry, still here.” I light up my cancer stick and take a long inhale before blowing out.

  “You need to quit the cigs.”

  “You need to quit sucking dick every day but hey! What do I know.” My best friend is bi. He tends to swing both ways. I love him to bits for many reasons, but one of them is definitely because of this. He has never cared what people thought nor has he cared for labels. If he finds you attractive—and I don’t mean that in a shallow way, I mean that if he finds you attractive in any way, he will try to sleep with you, and he usually gets his way because not only does he look like he should be on the cover of GQ magazine, but he has the gift of the gab too. He could sweet talk a nun into removing her panties in record time.

  “What time are you bringing your sexy ass home?”

  “I’m leaving now.”

  Hanging up my phone, I put it back into my clutch before pressing my fingers into my mouth and whistling for the first taxi I see speeding toward me.

  2

  A sharp ringing sound pierces through the dark depths of my dreams, so I groan, flipping over onto my tummy while squeezing the pillow to my ears. “Make it stop!” The nuisance doesn’t stop though, oh no, it continues.

  “Isa!” Devon—the best friend—storms into my room, the door handle hitting the back of my bedroom wall.

  He snatches my phone from my bedside drawer and flashes it in front of me. “Answer your fucking phone.”

  He must see that I’m not about to answer my phone or him, so he answers, “Hello?” Devon groans down my phone. “Yes, ma’am.” The mattress dips from underneath me. “Isa!” he whispers harshly. “It’s Lydia, wake up!”

  “Sorry, I’m dead,” I murmur, snuggling deeper into my warm blankets.

  “You asked for it…” something drops to my bed and then he walks out.

  “Isa! Are you still asleep? It’s midday! For goodness sake, woman, get up!”

  I let out a throaty groan while shoving the blankets off myself.

  Fucking Devon, putting my phone on speaker.

  Massaging my temples, I close my eyes. “Yes? What do you want!”

  “The charity auction is tomorrow. I expect you to be here. Both your father and I do…”

  “I can’t. I have work.” I flip my warm squishy blankets off my body.

  “You’re an artist. Your job is not that important. Reschedule.”

  I swing my legs off the bed and pull my ruffled socks up my legs. “My paintings don’t allow me to reschedule. Sorry, the creative brain curse, it means we’re a slave to ourselves.” I walk into my closet and tug down a pair of tight ripped skinny jeans and a clingy off the shoulder crop top. I have a slender body with a bubble butt and double DD’s. Devon says I have the body all men crave and all women envy, I’m not sold. I have wide ass hips and tiny legs. That means, when I buy a size two in jeans, they’re almost always tight around my butt while being loose around my waist. But these jeans are my favorite. They’re washed denim with a couple holes in the knees of each leg. They’re my favorite because they tuck and shove all of my skin in, and by skin I mean fat. The crop top is for added innocence since these are practically hoochie jeans.

  Taking out a pair of nude strappy heels, I dump everything onto my bed. I wonder if this top will go with those dashing hoops I bought last week. Why am I caring what goes with what ou—

  “Are you listening to me, Isa? You need to attend. Your father has important men coming tomorrow, and we need the family together!”

  “For what— exactly?” I shuffle out of my loose cotton shirt, throwing it across the room. I’m not a tidy human. It drives Devon crazy, but I think it’s good for him to r
ealize if he ever decides to settle down, that not all woman—or men— are uptight little OCD clean freaks. Some of us, don’t care.

  Some of us, think there are more important things to waste your time on. Like I don’t know…eating.

  “For the election, Isa, for goodness sake. You know your father is in his second term running for the presidency. You need to support this family whether you agree with some of your father’s decisions or not, it’s imperative that you attend. Especially with the end drawing near.”

  “Jeeez.” I clip my strapless bra on. “How much did he pay you for that speech?”

  “Isa…” she exhales. As much as I love to ruffle my stepmom’s feathers, deep down, I don’t want to overly-stress her out. My father does that enough for both of us.

  “I’ll be there, Lydia.” Picking up my phone, I hang up and toss it back onto my bed just as Devon waltzes back in with his gym shorts hanging casually off his hips and a tight tank clinging to his chest.

  Around a mouthful of granola, he points with his spoon. “You’re looking much more awake.”

  My eyes narrow. I know it’s not his fault, but being mad at Devon is always fun, and anyway, now I’m in a pissy mood in general because I have to fucking fly to Washington.

  “You got sucked in, huh?” He grins at me around his spoon, his boyish dimples sinking into his cheeks. Devon is handsome, that’s a given. He has thick lashes which curve around his ocean blue eyes, a messy mop of blond hair, and a hint of a smooth golden tan that I’m guessing, he inherited from his part Spanish background.