Ruthless Letters: A Grey Bully Romance (Captive Writings Book 1)

  Ruthless Letters (Captive Writings #1)

  Copyright © 2022 by M.L. Philpitt

  ISBN 13: 978-1-7774731-6-7

  ISBN 10: 1-7774731-6-7

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This book contains mature content. Reader discretion is advised.

  Cover Designer: Cat Imb, TRC Designs

  Editing and Proofreading: Rebecca Barney, Fairest Reviews Editing Services

  Formatting: M.L. Philpitt

  “I Fell In Love With The Devil” by Avril Lavigne

  “Battle Cry” by Beth Crowley

  “Naturally” by Selena Gomez & The Scene

  “Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)” by Marilyn Manson

  “Run-in’” by Adam Lambert

  “Black Sea” by Natasha Blume

  “Still Here” by Digital Daggers

  “Legends Never Die” by League of Legends, Against The Current

  “Love Me Like You Do” by Ellie Goulding

  “Mad Love” by Seal Paul, David Guetta, & Becky G.

  “You Are The Reason” by Calum Scott & Leona Lewis

  “Warrior” by Beth Crowley

  “Everything I Need” by Skylar Grey

  Listen here

  Ruthless Letters is the first book in the Captive Writings series, which must be read in order. Ruthless Letters is a grey bully romance with content some readers may find triggering.

  This series gets dark. Very dark. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. By books 3 and 4 you’ll be questioning how we even managed to get there.

  While Ruthless Letters’ darkness doesn’t go anywhere near that of later books, this still deals with sensitive topics. Unfortunately, some retailers don’t like to see warnings on the purchase page or even within the initial pages of the book’s file, therefore if you are concerned about triggers, please visit my website for a list or contact me.

  For Megan, my PA

  Thank you for being Ruthless Letter’s first fan.

  Thank you for everything you do.

  Thank you for your friendship.

  Thank you for being awesome.

  ELENA

  He ensured I would always be his. Bound to him by two different letters on two different occasions, for reasons I hadn’t known at either of the times.

  It started in high school when Ryker Ames was simply my bully. The boy who teased me relentlessly, chased away potential boyfriends, locked me in a classroom for hours on end, changed the code to my locker… Everything and anything he could think of, he did. It never ended. The creativity of his methods worsened over time.

  Why? Because he was bored. Or maybe it was his way of showing me he liked me. In the end, I didn’t ever learn why he did what he did.

  To anyone else, it would have been an awful time, but to me? I loved his attention. Craved it. Maybe it made me sick in the head, but it was an illness I was more than happy to catch. To let it consume me until I was nothing more than a withered corpse left out for him to play with. With every ploy he carried out, every mocking word he spoke, there was something else in his soulless gaze.

  Desire. He wanted me as much as I did him but wouldn’t change face to show it, refusing to admit what his heart and body clearly knew.

  We remained in the game for four years. He, the cat, who teased the girl and I, the mouse, scared for her life while secretly revelling in the thrill of it all.

  Until the night it all changed. He went away, leaving me with only the memory of him and the letter he left behind.

  ELENA

  “Brent.” My playful whine fills the room and I shove my hand against his bicep. “You know I’m trying to study. Finals are a couple months away.”

  “And?” He nuzzles my neck, his tongue darting out to lick the patch of my skin under my earlobe, casting shivers down my spine. He’s fully aware my neck is my weak spot. “I’m bored, Elena. Play with me.”

  Laughter bubbles up and I glance away from my textbook to regard Brent’s easy-on-the-eyes appearance. Imagine the cliché blond-haired, blue-eyed boy next door, and that’s Brent. A spatter of light freckles lay over his nose and cheeks. He often comments about how much he despises them, but I think they’re adorable. He’s the exact opposite of what I used to go for, and after high school, he became exactly what I needed to move on.

  But his cuteness has no place here, so I discipline my features and flatten my tone. “Brent, I’m serious. Maybe you should, too, to ensure you’re prepared.”

  Although, he is one of those lucky bastards who just “knows” things. Sits through one lecture and has it all memorized while hardly needing to crack open his textbook. Fucker.

  Brent’s arm snakes around my waist and he slides the book off my lap. “Maybe,” his warm breath blows over my cheek, “you need a study break first.” A flirtatious grin lines his mouth and his thumb strokes a small path up the curve of my neck, where his mouth recently vacated.

  Criminal law is no small degree and if I wish to get into law school after this year, I need to guarantee finals go off without a hitch. So, instead, I grant him a small peck on the lips and lean away, shaking my head.

  “Not now. Rain check?”

  On no occasion does his crystal eyes lose their shine beneath those thick eyelashes. Brent’s pretty good at understanding and supporting my goals, and he knows how much work is required to stay afloat in my degree program. Any of his comments suggesting an alternative activity is mostly play, since he has his own ambitions to get into business school and is aware how much effort it takes. Even if he doesn’t need to study nearly as much as I do.

  “Sounds good, Elena.” Brent lifts himself off my bed and smooths the wrinkles in his shirt. His eyes briefly go to his phone sitting on the foot of the bed. “The guys invited me to catch the game with them, so I’ll do that.”

  “Go, go.” I wave him off. “Be free. Simply because I suck at school, doesn’t mean those who don’t should be punished.”

  “Thanks, babe.” He leans down and pecks my cheek. “I’ll message later?”

  “I’m planning on studying till late tonight, so… I don’t know—no earlier than eleven?” Knowing my ability to be highly distracted by the little things, I keep my phone off and tucked away to avoid the dangerous temptation of the dark hole social media drags me down into.

  “You got it. Good luck, Elena.” With that, he walks off, out of my bedroom and down the hall. I wait for his footsteps to disappear from my house before returning my attention to my laptop, the endless notes scattered on my blanket, and the many textbooks that could form a mountain when stacked on one another.

  A relieved sigh breaks from my lips. I should want him around more, but I can’t afford the distraction. Not at this point. I’m so close to finishing this damn degree, which, up to now, feels like it’s taking forever, so I can’t fuck this up.

  For longer than I mean to, I zone out, staring at the doorway, recalling when Brent came into my life. It was my sophomore year of university, and I was aiming to make the rest of my time here that experience people are constantly talking about—fun, life-changing, and memory-making. After the first yea
r breezed by in a monotone colour of apprehension, where I remained quiet and filled with the unease I would stumble upon someone who would make my time in university like that of my high school days, I decided I couldn’t be scared any longer and had to put forth an effort.

  But when Brent and I took the same philosophy class, my life changed. Brent chose the class as an “easy A” elective, but for me, it was a mandatory course for my program. One conversation on the first day shifted into a coffee date, and before I realized it, we were full-blown dating. Now he’s trying to convince me to move into his apartment with him. It’s step one in Brent’s long-term, post-grad plan for us, but I don’t want to move in together. Living together means when I need to study, he’ll still be here and that’s way too distracting.

  I haven’t admitted to him that he’s my first boyfriend, and as first boyfriends go, he’s pretty damn good. He’s kind, sweet, and knows how to pick me up—all qualities that make it possible to ignore the glaring one. That no matter how many times Brent reminds me he loves me, there’s still a small fragment of my heart owned by someone else.

  Selfish, I know. And stupid, considering the outcome of that pointless crush.

  I shake my head, clearing my mind of any such musings. Brent left so I can focus, so concentrating is what I need to be doing right now. Ensuring a strong GPA to combine with the exceptionally high LSAT score I plan on achieving will guarantee me getting into law school.

  Nothing can disrupt this plan. I won’t allow anything to get in my way.

  The chilly March morning breeze slashes at my face as I shut and lock the front door of my townhouse. A house I still personally feel to be a bit too grand for only me, but Mom insisted it would be better than an apartment, so when she offered to pay half my rent, I didn’t want to argue, even if it made my IOU to her even larger. Given her successful career as a lawyer, she didn’t want me to take out student loans and insisted she pay for it all, interest free, and I’d pay her back once I’m eventually settled into a career.

  Due to the wind, I burrow my chin deeper into my scarf. My bag weighs heavily on my shoulder; it’s packed full of the textbooks I’ll need for the day. Thursdays are my busiest day, but also serve as my Friday. After my lineup of classes, I’m free to start my three-day weekend at Brent’s house.

  My phone chimes as I’m shoving my keys into my pocket. It’s Dad and his weekly check-in message. I’ve long lost track of where he is presently; all I know is it’s not here in Canada. As a physician for Doctors Without Borders, he’s doing noble work, but for years, our relationship has been summed up in text messages, the odd phone call, and even rarer visits home.

  It is what it is though, and I’ll respond when I get to class.

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket in time for my shoe to kick at something. I glance down, spotting a rock on my landing. It’s no larger than a fist and wasn’t there yesterday.

  Nor is the white envelope sticking out from beneath it. I glance around, searching for anyone nearby who could have left it. Nothing seems out of place. It’s an average Thursday for this Bridgetown road—people walk by, fixating on their phones or on the path in front of them.

  I bend and lift the envelope, but only after another brief search of the street, do I open it. My pulse increases with the bit of excitement combining with the curiosity. My fingers flex, working heat into their joints before removing the paper from inside and unfolding it.

  It’s a letter.

  My attention falls to the first word, my stomach bottoming out as I read. Impossible. Like, next-level impossible. The name catapults me to another time, and I have to steel my nerves to read past the beautifully dreadful initial word.

  Dolly,

  Remember me? I know I still haunt your dreams. When you’re with him, you think of me—imagine it’s my hands touching you and not his. Don’t fret, because soon, your pleasure will come only from me. You’ll moan when I allow you to. Come when I allow you to. I’ve lent you out these last few years to be played with, but you’ve always been mine. And now, I’m back and coming for you.

  We will be playing the game again, only this time, I’m playing to win.

  Ready?

  Set…

  Go!

  The paper slips from my hand, right alongside the shred of safety I’ve been wrapped up in for four years.

  Ryker Ames.

  ELENA

  Four Years Ago

  Bang, bang!

  Ugh. With my head buried in the fleece blanket I have draped over my form, I glance behind me toward the front door, wishing whoever is knocking and interrupting my one night home alone, to the darkest parts of hell. I’m warm, comfortable, and since Mom and Dad are out for the evening, I’m also enjoying a binge of my favourite show to rid my mind of how disappointing today was.

  Ryker didn’t show up to school at all. Given the hell he brings to my life, if I was another girl, today would have been the best day ever. Instead, it felt empty and wrong. His absence was as noticeable as a kick to the stomach, and dammit, I missed his cocky, snide, handsome face.

  Rumours were he and his friends ditched to help some of the other guys prepare for the huge party Alex Miller is throwing tonight. Given we’re a week out from finals, the party’s supposed to be the final blow-out before graduation and the real world waiting beyond.

  Teagan insisted we attend, and I agreed, but at the last minute, bowed out. I don’t need a final party to celebrate the ending of school. It would only result in having to watch Ryker hang over other girls. While it’s not a sight foreign to me, for some reason, it feels like a larger defeat than usual. School is coming to an end soon, and we’ll both move on—forget about each other and the childish pastime we’ve been consumed in and begin adulting. I’ll be leaving Newton, the only home I’ve ever known, and going a few hours away to university in Bridgetown.

  Whoever is at the door bangs again, informing me they’re not going away and will remain insistent on interrupting my show.

  “This better be good,” I grumble to myself, shoving the blanket aside and standing. The house’s temperature is a bit chilly after being tucked inside the blanket for so long, and it stings my bare legs and arms.

  I open my front door, half-expecting Teagan, who’ll no doubt bitch me out for cancelling on her. Not—

  Ryker. Ryker with bloodied knuckles and a shadow cast across his otherwise handsome face. His unusually straight nose is speckled with red splatter. His dark bangs fall into his disturbed, deep gaze—so deep, normally I’m happy to tumble down their hole, but shock has me studying the rest of him, noting the blood drops on his shirt. My mouth falls open, my hands slack by my side, unable to be useful in any capacity.

  “Dolly,” he greets in his typical way, accompanied by a messy grin. As if showing up, covered in blood, is completely fine and normal even.

  His nickname for me isn’t because I look anything remotely close to the singer. In fact, my small-sized chest and lack of curves are the exact opposite of her. Instead, Ryker views me as his toy, a doll for him to occupy himself with.

  “Ryker?”

  His jade eyes blink in response and before I have a chance to say more, he steps inside my doorway. My feet, still frozen to the floor, don’t move, even as he gets close to me, his delicious scent clouding my senses while his eyes lock on mine. His large frame towers over me, and finally I step back, stupidly allowing my tormentor inside my home—inside my safe haven. After a quick glance out the door, he shuts it before stepping deeper into the house.

  To prevent him coming too close again, I walk backward, keeping to the pace he sets. My heart begins to hammer and my palms go damp as I stop in the middle of the foyer. Under no circumstances has Ryker Ames ever come to my house, let alone inside it.

  “What are you doing here?” I rub at my forehead, wishing my confusion allowed me to say something more creative. He probably thinks I’m a moron.

  “Are your parents home?” he asks instead.

/>   His question should freak me out. Being alone with Ryker could be dangerous—especially with his appearance right now. But it doesn’t. Instead, I find my protective instincts lowering because his tone is softer than I’ve ever heard before. Anxiety coats it, making the air sticky, and me in a conflicted wonder rather than an uneasy concern.

  “N-no,” I manage to push out. “It’s only me here.” Strands from my messy bun have come undone, and I hook them around my ear, clearing my view, so I can better see when Ryker unleashes whatever he’s come here to do.

  He tracks my movements, his green globes flicking even softer for the faintest second. “I’m not here to hurt you. Don’t be doing that shit.” His hand shoots out and grasps mine, slowly tugging it away from my face.

  Instead of releasing me, his hold remains firm, and my mind stops working in favour of numb confusion. But then my attention falls on his chest again—on the blood and I can’t believe I allowed the staggering surprise of his visit to distract me from that.

  “Ryker, what happened? Who did you kill?” It’s supposed to be sarcasm, but his eyes flash and I still. Oh, God, did he actually kill someone? I sway, dizzy with dread.

  He shifts his feet side to side, while his gaze falls to where he’s still grasping my hand. His breath comes out in short puffs, like he’s attempting to chuckle but is failing. And after the longest moment of my life, Ryker finally meets my eyes again. This time, there’s nothing but the darkening swirls of agony as far as I can see.

  “Tell me you didn’t.” I can’t manage anything more than a whisper and the words push out through a tight throat. I gulp, forcing the movement to allow my demand to reach him.