Dark BWWM Romance Books: Bully’s Brat (BWWM Bully Romance)

My first full-length novel coming in 2021. If you enjoyed Fraternity Plaything (or maybe liked it but wanted something a little tamer) you’ll enjoy Bully’s Brat. This steamy story follows an 18-year-old black woman named Keisha Preston-Scott whose celeb parents send her packing to Scotland…

In Scotland, she meets a ridiculously sexy Spaniard who she obviously hates because not only is he the school’s biggest bully but he’s picked her as his next target…
Could you ever come to love your worst enemy?

Click here to order the new release: smarturl.it/bullysbrat

Bully’s Brat (2021)

Bully’s Brat | Romance Novel Excerpts

Chapter One

“Fuck him,” says Katie. “Hope he rots in hell.” 

I nod, already bored. Why is she surprised that the boys at Thornwood Academy are pieces of shit? You only go to Thornwood if you’re a piece of shit. No Prince Charming here, just a lot of frogs who blackmail you with nudes and still want you to kiss them.

Katie flicks ash off her cigarette. “I swear, Keisha, I’ll fucking kill him.”

“No you won’t.”

“I’ll cut his nuts off and feed them to his- Oh shit. Is that-”

“Yep.”

Sure enough, Diego Santi is coming over. My theory is Thornwood only accepts boys if they’re extremely good looking or amazingly evil. Diego Santi is both. He’s been at Thornwood since he was thirteen and has the whole school squirming under his Meermin-clad heels. He wears all black like a cartoon villain.  

His dark hair flows loose and wavy over his shoulders as he crosses the field towards us.A smirk plays on his sulky lips.

Katie’s cheeks go pink but she draws coolly on the cigarette, ignoring him. I copy her. I know Diego hates me. Maybe because I’m not chicken-shit like the other kids here, and I stand up to him.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you until dinner,” says Diego to Katie. She rolls her eyes.

“Fuck off, Diego,” I say.

His dark eyes sparkle. “Do you have free time to be out here, Katie? I thought you had a job to do for me?”

Diego sits on the bleachers beneath us and puts his hands in his pockets. The wind blows his curls around his face. He’s got the longest most luxurious eyelashes for a guy; it’s unfair.

Diego Santi is from Spain, originally, and his family’s loaded, but not as much as Katie’s. They don’t like him much, his family. I think if they could get away with it they’d make Diego stay at Thornwood for the rest of his life.

He pulls out his phone and messes around with it, then holds it up to Katie. She goes white and her jaw clenches and Diego plucks the cigarette from her fingers and smashes it under his heels. I hear wet, sloppy sounds coming from the phone. Katie picks up her backpack and with a muttered excuse goes rushing off the bleachers. Diego watches her with a smile on his face I instantly want to remove.

“What did you show her?” I demand.

“You know,” says Diego, “You must be the only girl here who talks to me like that.”

“I’m the only one here you can’t control,” I retort. “What did you make Katie do?”

“Katie’s my new Dog. Right now she’s doing my homework. Tonight she’ll be in my bed, and tomorrow night, and tomorrow…Until I get bored.” He smiles. “I won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. But then again, women don’t really say no to me.”

He shows me the video, which of course is Katie, sucking someone’s dick. Mark’s dick. I’ve heard her describe it enough times to know. Mark’s taking the video. I glare at Diego angrily. 

The only thing worse than being trapped at Thornwood is getting expelled from it. Katie’s parents are psycho televangelists. They might honor-kill her or something if they heard she made a sex tape. Which Diego knows.

“You’re a piece of shit, Diego,” I spit.

He tilts his head and his dark eyes dance into mine. “You want to help your friend?”

“Look, just delete the video, okay?”

“No.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Let’s work it out this way,” says Diego, his wolfish smile widening. “I’ll delete the video if you do me a little favor.”

I stand up and hoist my backpack on my shoulder. The Chemistry building is a long walk away, and I’ve stacked up so many late cards I’ll be in detention until I’m fifty. I don’t have time to waste on Diego and his games.

“Delete that video, or the next time I see you there’ll be a misunderstanding,” I snap, going all L.A tough.

To my irritation, Diego starts walking towards the Chemistry building in stride with me. I’ve studied his face so often I know it like the back of my hand. He never shows emotion. Not a single twitch. He has a strong brow, the widow’s peak swooping his dark hair backward in loose, explosive curls. His eyebrows are thick and black, and he can move them in a way that makes him look either hellish or innocent. Every small change in his face is completely controlled.

I’ve known a lot of liars. I was raised by two of the best liars in America. Diego is another breed.

“It didn’t have to be this way between you and me,” he says in a friendly voice. “I always look out for the new girls. You just decided not to like me. I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re the devil.”

“I can be an angel sometimes.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Diego- ouch!”

A strong hand jerks me backward so hard I lose my footing. Diego slams me against his chest. His other arm locks like a bar against my spine and my chin is forced upward so I can stare into his eyes...

What. The. Fuck. He smells incredible. Like oak and pine and smoke and leather and grass and sweat, and his own special scent of aliveness, which I can’t compare to anything.

“Let me go,” I say dizzily. Am I panting? Jesus God.

Instead he pulls me even tighter. One hand comes up near my face and I squeeze my eyes shut anticipating he will hurt me. Instead I feel a tickle on my scalp. Diego is rubbing my hair between his fingers. He feels me go rigid and his grip relaxes, but not enough to let me wriggle free. His expression is unreadable as usual.

“You’re so pretty. We’re not that different, you know.”

An insane idea jumps into my head. I slowly, slowly slide my fingers into the pocket of his jacket. It’s a nice jacket. Expensive. Padded. I pinch his cellphone between my fingers and take it out. He doesn’t feel a thing and I hold his gaze, making my eyes smolder just a little, drawing my lower lip between my teeth. I heave my chest a couple times like I’m out of breath. And it works, because Diego’s own lips part just slightly, and his eyebrows lift in surprise. Two faint red spots appear on his cheeks.

“Not that different?” I repeat. “What are you trying to say?”

“What do you think I’m trying to say?”

I jerk away suddenly, flinging the cellphone out into the grass. Diego doesn’t even notice; his arms go limp the second I resist them. 

“Nice perfume,” he says. 

“I don’t wear perfume,” I reply idiotically. I didn’t see where in the grass his cellphone landed. Can I get to it before he checks his pocket? Only if I keep him talking.

“Okay,” I say, acting flustered. “I’ll do what you say.”

“Good girl,” he says softly. “If you really want to help Katie, you have to come to my room. Tonight. Alone. One hour in my room.”

“Okay,” I nod. “One hour. Then you’ll delete the video.”

He smiles. I smile back, batting my eyelashes shyly. Like his alpha-male act is turning me on.

“Well, I gotta go to Chemistry. See ya.” From the tail of my eye I can see the shiny glint of his cellphone in the grass. Fifteen feet away. Why won’t he leave? Why is he staring at me like that?

I turn and start walking innocently towards his phone. I could scoop it up and start running. A fifteen-foot head-start. I can run like hell if I have to.

Dumb idea. Diego is an athlete. He would have been soccer captain, but he dislikes authority, Katie said. 

Turn around! I scream at him silently. Walk away! Go away!

He doesn’t. I glance over my shoulder. He’s staring at the grass. He sees his phone. His eyes fly back to mine. His mouth falls open in surprise, fury, oh shit oh shit oh shit-

“SANTI!”

Tom Hardlock, the football coach, strides across the field. His face is a dull angry red. I dive for Diego’s phone. Diego starts after me but a bellow from Hardlock freezes him in his tracks.

Tasting grass and dirt, I scramble to my feet. I shove the cellphone in my jacket pocket as Hardlock closes the distance. He’s roaring furiously at Diego about some team bullshit. I couldn’t have asked for a better distraction. Hardlock’s the only one Diego’s afraid of, if Diego Santi was ever afraid of anything.

I back away. Diego’s eyes burn into mine.

He grimly shakes his head in warning. 

I turn and start running across the field. The wind roars against my back and I go faster, faster, so fast I think my heart will burst. I’m running on thin air with a hysterical laugh bubbling in my chest.

*

Thornwood Academy sits on the Highland coast in Thelmine, Scotland. On clear nights and hazy days it feels like the edge of the world. It's supposed to feel that way. Kids are sent here to reform their wicked ways. There are a lot of rules at Thornwood, but the most important rule is not to get expelled. We’re only here because we deeply pissed off our parents. 

No one wants to get cut off from that sweet, sweet inheritance money. We're rich kids at Thornwood, let's not kid ourselves, and some of us (most of us) don't know how to do anything but spend. Without daddy’s money, we’d be helpless. Yours truly included. 

The school houses all three hundred and fifty students in two towers. Flora Tower is for the girls. Mallory Tower is for boys. I could lock myself in my room and peruse Diego’s phone on my own sweet time, but the Towers are the first place Diego will look. Boys aren’t allowed in Flora Tower, of course, but that probably doesn’t matter to Diego. Even less so now that I could literally ruin his life.

I duck inside the ceramics building because it’s never used.  I make for the girls’ bathroom and take out Diego’s cellphone. The passcode is five numbers. I stab in his first name and struggle not to laugh as it instantly works. Can the guy get any more pathetic?

His background is a dog. That’s nice. I go instantly to his photo app and delete the video of Katie. Empty deleted folder. Then I start scrolling, my stomach knotting tighter with every picture that flashes across the screen.

Nudes. Faceless nudes, but I recognize a couple birthmarks from the girls in my hall. The guy is a major creep. Delete, delete, delete.

My ears pricked for any sounds in the building, I keep going. I empty all his photos into the trash, then delete them forever. 

But way back in the camera roll is a selfie of Diego with a little boy. The kid is maybe twelve. He has Diego's black hair and black eyes. The smile is also Diego's, but not so wolfish. A real pure child-smile. For a moment I forget my revenge mission and just stare at Diego's pixelated face. He looks happy. He looks normal. Like nothing else in the world matters. The picture seems so innocent compared to the others it's almost frightening.

Diego looks really handsome in it. He has a very nice smile. I’ve never seen it before. I send the picture to myself. Then I delete it too.

After that I scroll quickly through his texts. Mostly boring stuff about practice, but Diego sent one just an hour ago to someone named M. Mark? The text says,

Who is the new girl KPS? Why is she here? Need info.

KPS is me. Keisha Preston-Scott. I almost have to laugh. Diego’s dreaming if he thinks he can get a score on me. 

My real secrets are buried under California dirt. All the money in the world can't dig them out.

Suddenly the door of the ceramics building slams open. I shove the phone deep in my pocket and sling my backpack over my shoulder. Hovering near the bathroom door, I pick out two voices. Boys from the soccer team. 

"Derek saw her go in here."

"Check the lavatory."

The window screeches treacherously as I crank it open. Running footsteps. I climb on the radiator and shove myself through the narrow gap, tumbling in a heap to the gravel. I hear the bathroom door slam open behind me but I'm gone, gone, gone.

I stop at the Science Center building, out of breath. My own cellphone buzzes. A text from an unknown number.

Give it back or I will ruin you, it says.

My fingers shake as I text back, science center. Two o' clock.

An hour later I watch Diego's tall form coming up the path. I'm standing on the science center bridge. Fifty feet beneath me swirls deep dark water, and leaning over the bridge's iron rails I can make out the warped edges of my reflection. I don't like mirrors. I spent half  my life being thrown in front of cameras, having my kinky hair burned straight in salon chairs, my face slathered with red-carpet makeup, my clothes pinched and teased around my body to make me look skinnier. The uncertain image in the moving water feels more like myself. Insubstantial. Always changing. 

Diego stops at the head of the bridge. Slowly he approaches, stopping just a few feet away. He doesn’t look annoyed. Or bothered. Just curious. Jumping me would be pointless. I'm holding his phone perilously close to the railing.

"Here's what's gonna happen," I start, but he interrupts.

"Keisha," he says, "It's over."

"The principal's gonna flip when she sees half the shit you've been doing."

"I don't think so." He takes another step. 

"Every figure out why I got sent to Thornwood?" I fling out.

"Maybe you can tell me on our first date. Go to Mews with me. Tomorrow."

He says it so casually for a second I think I’ve misheard. 

"Very fucking funny, Diego. I'd rather eat glue."

His lips twist. "So it's a no?"

"It's a hell no, absolutely never, not even in your wildest dreams. Fuck you."

"Okay," he shrugs, and his eyes flicker to his phone. "Give that back. This is stupid."

"I don’t like bullies."

A surprised laugh. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

I feint like I'm going to throw it over the bridge. Diego lunges for me. I see red. Does he think he can intimidate me? With all my strength I hurl Diego's cellphone over the bridge, and the next second the air is knocked from my lungs and my head cracks against the railing. Seeing stars, I stagger to my feet. Diego's face is dead white, hovering over mine.

"You threw it," he says in disbelief. 

 I grab for his collar but he’s stronger and quicker. For a moment we grapple on the bridge, and the next thing I know I’m sailing through the air into a blur of clouded silver...Ice shoots into my veins as the dark water sucks me below, below, below. 

*

My name is Keisha. My parents are Brad Scott and Lina Preston, the famous actors. I grew up in Hollywood. They adopted me from Ethiopia. It was fashionable, at the time.  

I’m officially 19, but I could be older. 

As a kid, my parents were gone a lot shooting movies or taking retreats for their Bunsharma religion. Being loosely homeschooled left me with a lot of free time. I started leaving the house with Najla, our chef’s daughter, who knew all the good spots in the city. Our driver would take me down to Inglewood High and I would wait for Najla and her friends to get off school. My parents had told the driver to take me wherever I wanted, since they believed a child needed independence. Soon I just started riding the Metro. Najla showed me how to look mean and tough so people wouldn’t mess with me, how to walk and talk and mind myself, which men to look out for, which clubs were shady, all that kind of stuff.

Though I was famous through my parents, most of the time no one recognized me in the city. You know how many black girls live in L.A? Millions, probably. 

Najla’s friends were crazy, and we did typical delinquent shit, always one step ahead of real trouble. I maxed out credit cards but dad never noticed no matter how much we spent, and sometimes I would be gone for days before he called and asked if I needed anything.

One day my parents came back early from their Bunsharma retreat in Hawaii. They used to go to these retreats once a year between gigs but now they go three, four times. They live for them. From what I know it’s a lot of meditating, smoothies, yoga, and hippie-dippie spiritual talk about Releasing Your Inner Light. Lots of celebrities do it. My dad, Brad, had caught a stomach bug and decided to come home early.

After three days of ‘re-adjusting’ at home they noticed I was missing. None of the house staff had a clue where I was, not even Najla’s mom. I’d started taking Ubers instead of using our driver. I told everyone I was going to ballet lessons.

My mother paid the staff a year’s wages on the spot for their silence. She hoped I would come home before the story leaked to the press. At the time I was sitting in jail on an assault charge, though really that was slight compared to what I’d actually done. I had stupidly given a fake name to the police, so it took a while to find me.

Obviously, the media went nuts when the story broke. The lawyers called me a naive girl led astray. The judge was a black lady, and when she saw me standing there with my opposite-of-black parents I think she felt sorry for me. Or maybe she felt sorry for my parents, who were trying hard to correct the impression they had neglected me. My handsome actor father looked close to tears. My pretty actress mother looked pale and fragile. It could have won an Oscar, that performance. They were actually furious with me. I stood between them like a fly in the buttermilk, wanting to sink into the floor.

My parents thought talking to the media might help me understand the consequences of my actions. But I couldn’t control my mouth and the press runs ended quickly.

One night we had a quiet family dinner at home. Mom and Dad had spent the whole day with the Bunsharma-Sati praying for guidance. The Sati is like a leader of their Bunsharma “cell”. He ate dinner with us that night. He was a tall, older white dude with a long beard. He wore Eastern-style robes and a turban and spoke with a funny accent though he was actually from Cleveland. The whole dinner he kept giving me long piercing looks. I ate quickly and asked to be excused.

Mom said to hold on a minute.

“We think it would be good if you went away for a while,” she said. “You need to get a couple years of high school education.”

She paused, waiting for the explosion. “Okay,” I shrugged.

Mom continued carefully, “You’ll be leaving California. The school is in Scotland.”

“It costs fifty thousand pounds a year,” Dad interjected. “Which is a lot of money.”

“A lot of money,” the Sati mumbled. He sounded annoyed, as if it was his money.

“Is it like boot camp?” I asked.

Mom’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of my calm voice. “It’s a structured environment, but it’s not a boot camp. It’s just a regular school. You need structure, Keisha. Your father and I will have our schedules full. ” She smiled at my dad, who ignored her as always. “I think we all need time to ourselves for the next few months.”

“When would I leave?” I asked.

“Oh! In a couple weeks. The semester’s already started but we can get you a doctor’s note if you need time.”

“What’s the school called?”

“Thornwood Academy. We’ve been up there before, remember, Brad? The weather was incredible, for Scotland.”

My dad checked his watch and glanced at the door.

“A good opportunity,” said the Sati. “Very good. My friend runs the school. A remarkable woman.”

“I’ve never even been to school,” I said uncertainly.

“Have a positive attitude, Keisha,” Mom said. “Remember to attract good energy with your words.”

When I went up to my room after a dip in the pool, my dad was waiting at my door. His muscled arms were crossed over his chest. I tried to push past him but he grabbed my arm.

“You took that well,” he said. “It was your mother’s idea, but I think she’s right. You grew up too fast- some school will be good for you.”

“I want to get out of California anyway,” I agree, pulling away from him. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll go to Harvard.”

“Sure,” my dad laughed. “If you say so.” His eyes moved over my whole body, lingering. Heat rushed to my face. It was after the court date that I realized something had changed between us, something I didn’t like. My dad and I had always been distant, but it was as if he now saw me as a stranger. A young, hot stranger.

Still staring at me he said softly, “I feel like I never got to know you. I was always busy with work. Why don’t we spend some time together, Keisha? Your mother’s going back to Hawaii tomorrow with the Sati.”

“I have plans, dad.”

“Keisha, don’t call me that,” he grinned, stepping inside the room. His sparkling Hollywood eyes were hard as diamonds. “I always preferred just Brad.”

I sat on my bed. Brad turned halfway and looked at the door, then looked back at me. Downstairs Mom put on a record and turned the volume up. Brad and I stared at each other. He saw the expression on my face and moved across the room, sitting next to me on the bed. “When you come home for Christmas break,” he said, “Maybe you’ll be grown up a little more. You understand me, Keisha?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He put a muscled arm around me. “Good girl. Now give me a kiss.”

Feeling a hard lump in my throat I gave him a peck on the cheek. Thankfully, he left. 

The next day I told Mom I wanted to go to Thornwood early. She said she was happy to hear enthusiasm in my voice for once. She said I would be busy and probably have no time to call and that was okay. She would be too busy to receive long-distance calls. Really everything was better when people communicated by letter, she laughed.

“Mom,” I blurted. “Why did you adopt me?”

“Oh- it was easier to adopt in Ethiopia than anywhere else. Now they have so many laws. Really these people should be grateful someone ever wanted those children.” She kissed my forehead and swept out of the room. “I’ll book the ticket for you,” she sang over her shoulder.

*

A pair of strong arms haul me onto the riverbank. I feel like I’m being strangled slowly, like the air is slowly squeezing from my lungs. Am I still under that black terrifying water, sinking to the bottom? A hard blow lands on my chest and suddenly I’m coughing and spitting up gross lake water, pulling up grass between my fingers. 

“Cold,” I gasp.

“I know,” says a boy’s voice. It’s Arnaud Fournier, the French kid. His blonde hair is dark and dripping down his face. He must have shrugged out of his coat before diving in the pond, because when he wraps it around my shoulders it’s dry and warm. I’ve never spoken to Arnaud before. I always thought he was a little weird. Right now I’m in love with him.

Arnaud grabs my hand and presses it between his. He leans close. “Are you okay? You can talk?”

“Y—yes thank you,” I stammer.

Arnaud hauls me up as people start pouring out of the Science building. I see Diego getting yelled at by my Chemistry teacher.

“I’m going to faint,” I tell Arnaud. I guess theater gives you crazy muscles. He doesn’t seem to mind carrying me, wet clothes and all, up the hill to the Health Center. I lean back in his arms, slowly freezing.

“Diego’s a bastard,” he spits. “I can’t believe he did that. Keisha, you’re lucky I was there.”

“I threw his phone over the bridge.”

“ I know he deserved it,” says Arnaud savagely.

At the health center they give me a bed and a fever suppressant.

“I’ll stay with her,” Arnaud says nobly.

“No you won’t,” the nurse snaps. “From what I understand this is a disciplinary matter. No visitors until the Dean says. And you need some rest yourself, Mr. Fournier. You both could catch a vicious cold.”

They make me stay in the health center for hours, even if I feel fine. The Dean of Students comes to see me, presumably to get the whole story. Mrs. Quinn sits on the end of my bed and looks at me sternly.

Mrs. Quinn is young, maybe in her forties. Everyone’s afraid of her.

“I understand you and Diego Santi had a misunderstanding, and you threw his phone over the bridge.”

“I didn’t-”

“Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Quinn, Diego was trying to blackmail my friend,” I protest.

“Diego Santi is a troubled child,” Mrs. Quinn says. “But the phone you destroyed held the only picture of him and his little brother, Alex, who died tragically some years ago. Did you know that?”

“What?” I exclaim. “No, of course not! That’s- that’s terrible.” 

“Miss Preston-Scott! Control your voice. Both of you will face serious consequences as it stands. Luckily Diego is willing to put this all behind him-”

“Pictures aside, Mrs. Quinn, he threw me in a lake. I could have drowned!”

“I said that’s enough!” Mrs. Quinn gets to her feet. “Tomorrow you will sit in study hall with the third formers and write him a letter of apology. He has already written one for you.” She reaches in her pocket and hands me a sealed envelope. “Am I understood?” She demands.

“Yes, Mrs. Quinn,” I mumble.

“Good. Have a good night’s rest, then.”

After she leaves, I stare at the letter, so mad I could burst. Diego’s looping, surprisingly elegant handwriting seems to be mocking me. I tear open the letter.

It’s very short.

Keisha I wanted you so bad. I want you in my bed. I want to  put my tongue on your pussy. I would start so slow, sucking all your breasts until they got hard and tight. Do you taste like warm chocolate, Keisha? I would make love to you with my mouth, stroking every inch of you until you cum. Think about tasting your own cum off my fingers. Sliding my cock between your legs once, twice, until you opened for me and took me deep. I know you would be so tight…

I want you. I want to have angry sex with you. I want to punish you for pissing me off. I want to make love to you.

You’re going to fuck me before Christmas Break. I have a thousand dollars on it. I’m sorry for pushing you into the water. But you look really cute when you’re wet.

-D

***

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