Bruised (Hunt Brothers Saga) Read online

  Bruised

  Hunt Brothers Saga, Volume 2

  Timothy S. Allen

  Published by Timothy Allen, 2019.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BRUISED

  First edition. January 24, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Timothy S. Allen.

  ISBN: 978-1386333173

  Written by Timothy S. Allen.

  Also by Timothy S. Allen

  Hunt Brothers Saga

  Flawed

  Bruised

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Timothy S. Allen

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

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  Also By Timothy S. Allen

  To my father. Thank you for showing me how much I could achieve. This one's for you.

  Prologue

  I gotta lay off the booze. Fuck.

  My eyes slowly fluttered open as the feeling of having drunk too much the night before hit me hard. Not even 24 hours had passed since I’d walked out of Burnson Investments for good, and Morgan had needed no prodding to join me.

  But just as I had the week before, my invulnerability against blackouts had ended, as I couldn’t remember much after taking a shot at the bar with Morgan and two random brunette girls he had invited over.

  I looked to my right and saw one of the girls in a state of undress, asleep, an unfinished beer on the desk next to her. Well, at least I had a good night somehow, I thought as I rolled over to the other side.

  There, in what can only be described as completely unexpected, was a stack of a few thousand dollars. It was too well placed to have been accidental, and there was no way I could have put it here myself.

  I sat up, confused. I looked to the corner of the hotel room.

  There, in the corner, sat Morgan, his hand resting on his chin, staring at me. I could not pin his expression for the life of me—it was a little unnerving, but by the same token, Morgan knew what kind of a state I was in. He wasn’t about to do anything to hurt me.

  “How are you feeling, Chance?” he said, more curious than leading.

  I groaned as I let my head hit the pillow.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  Chance let out a soft laugh, as if worried about waking up the girl to my left.

  “Oh, that’s quite the story. And it’s just getting started, Chance Hunt. It’s just getting started.”

  “Well, let’s not waste anytime, shall we?” I said, putting my hand to my head to fight off the pain.

  Morgan gave a short chuckle, one that suggested he enjoyed my impatience if not wishing to indulge in it. Then I heard someone in the bathroom running the sink.

  “This is a conversation best had for when we are alone,” he said with a smile.

  The girl to my right slowly rose, stretching out, leaning over, and kissing me on the cheek.

  “Well, hello, you handsome devil, you,” she said.

  At least I did well for myself. At least I moved on from Layla quite well, if I may say so. I’d like to say Chance Hunt is back.

  Except... I’m not Chance Hunt, not anymore. I’m Chance Givens now. Hunt means nothing to me anymore. Hunt betrayed me, hurt me, and laughed in my face. Hunt started my career and then ruined me for the hell of it. Hunt gave me women and then took them away when the name was shown to be given, not born into.

  Fuck Chance Hunt. Chance Givens is more like it.

  “Hey baby,” I said, having not the slightest of clues what this girl’s real name was. “Did you have fun last night?”

  “Oh, did I?” she said, her eyes narrowing and her lips kissing my cheek and my neck, as if she wanted to go for round two. “We all did.”

  I looked at Chance, slightly terrified as to what the hell had transpired in this hotel room. He looked entirely too comfortable and at ease for the prospect of... well, putting it bluntly, having an orgy in the same room with his adopted brother.

  Or, maybe this was by his design, the better to get me at a moment of sheer confusion and weakness. Hell, given the sorry state I found myself in this morning, it wasn’t the worst decision ever. He knew that waking me up in a foreign room... with some random girl... after a week in which I had lost everything meant that I was desperate to cling to anything stable and sane.

  Right now, that was my birth surname. But if I had to pick something second, admittedly, it was my relationship with my brother, if only because I believed him when he said he had no idea my father would fuck me over.

  “Woooh, you’re awake, Stephanie,” the girl in the bathroom said.

  Stephanie. Stephanie. Do I remember anything about you last night, Stephanie?

  I remember Morgan introducing me to you. I remember that you took an immediate liking to me. Almost too immediate...

  “Yeah, girl, I slept like a baby because someone knocked me out!”

  Did Morgan fucking set me up with a hooker?

  “Hey gals, Chance and I need to talk for a bit,” Morgan said with ease. I was beginning to suspect more and more strongly that Morgan had, in fact, gotten me some hookers.

  Which... I hadn’t paid for them myself so I didn’t feel that bad, but still. I didn’t need hookers to do this, and even as someone who felt like a poor sheep in a rich wolf’s clothing, it felt a little beneath me to do something so... easy.

  “Can you ladies come back in half an hour?”

  “Of course,” Stephanie said, shamelessly walking around topless as she went to get her clothing.

  I looked at Morgan, but with the two women in the room, he betrayed nothing. His facial expression looked the same as it would at an office meeting on a Monday—which, given the piles of cash in the room, maybe wasn’t the wildest possibility in the world. I just wish I had remembered something from the night before to ground the wild thoughts running through my head.

  The two girls laughed about something that I didn’t hear because I laid back into the pillow, trying to process everything that had happened over the prior couple of months.

  I’d had my dream business opportunity, utilizing the negotiation techniques I had learned from the man who was a brutally effective businessman but a terrible father figure, Edwin Hunt. I’d gotten the girl of my dreams, Layla Taylor, with curves that made every man go hard and fantasize on the spot. I’d told her...

  God, I really did, didn’t I? I told her that I loved her even though I’d only known her for a few weeks—we’d never even talked about being exclusive. Granted, we’d done some fucking filthy things underneath the table—quite literally—but...

  I knew when I fucked up, and I knew I might have been fucking up at the time, but I have no idea why I so willingly went into that relationship, if I could even call it that, looking to rush it.

  If I’d just gone a little slower, I would have realized she was literally a girl of my dream because she was not real. She was nothing more than a pawn of Craig Taylor, her father or uncle or pimp or something, to use sex to get some cruel details out of me. She used that in the art of the deal, got the Taylor’s business i
nvested by none other than Edwin Hunt, and then pretended to be sad about it.

  Well...

  Pretended is harsh for someone who cried as freely as she did. Even as disgusted and sickened as I was by it all, Layla did seem genuine in her apologies, if also in her belief that she did what she had to do. That part was sickening, the fact that she hated what she did but not enough to stop what she was doing.

  It proved what I had learned ten years before but apparently forgotten—girls sucked, and money sucked.

  She’d emailed me once since then, two days before, but I had deleted the email as soon as I saw it was from her. I didn’t even bother to read the subject line—it could have been an apology, a court summons, or a joke of an email and I wouldn’t have known. Just thinking of the name “Layla” made my stress levels rise, even in this morning state where all I wanted to do was pass the fuck back out and sleep until I had shaken off my hangover.

  The door shut. I waited a couple of seconds to make sure all was clear, and turned to Morgan.

  “Did you fucking get me some hookers?”

  Morgan just laughed when I said that, his voice in clear disbelief.

  “Do you ever think any Hunt would ever get caught dead with a hooker?” he asked.

  I knew he asked it as a ridiculous hypothetical, but given what I knew about the Hunts’ marriage, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

  “No, they were two sorority gals from Columbia that I knew. I slept with Hannah and Stephanie was her bisexual friend. Seemed like an easy way to help you get your mind off of everything.”

  “OK then,” I said, still not entirely convinced, but at least the story Morgan had given me was plausible. “Then... what the hell is all of this?”

  I pointed to the cash.

  “Bribe money? If we’re not going to call it hooker money?”

  “I see the booze has not eliminated your sense of humor, Chance,” Morgan said with a snort.

  “Nothing can do that for Chance Givens.”

  I emphatically stated my last name, as if to make a point. For the first time all morning, Morgan recoiled. I was surprised to see the hurt register on his face. It wasn’t like I had never expressed to him how much I felt he had the true last name of Morgan and I only had it because of the kindness of Mrs. Hunt.

  Did... did it really mean that much to him?

  “No, that money is for something else, something much more personal,” Morgan said. “See, here’s a dirty little secret that’s probably not so much of a secret.”

  He coughed and paused, as if he needed to vary his speaking speed for fear of being spied on. If it sounds laughable, you didn’t know Edwin Hunt.

  “I’ve been taught since birth that I am going to take over Hunt Industries someday. My father has done everything he can to mold me into Edwin Jr. I’m pretty convinced the only reason I have the name Morgan is because Mom had the foresight to realize being a junior might be too much pressure on top of everything else. In any case, though, I fucking hate it.”

  That wasn’t a surprise that he hated it, at least psychologically. I was surprised, though, by the force with which he spoke, the manner in which he seemed repulsed by the prospect.

  “I’ve complained to you before about never having any options, and for the first two decades of our lives, that was true, because what were we gonna do, go fend for ourselves and get jobs? No place was going to hire us at 12, at least no place that could ever approach the level of income my father had.”

  “No place will do that now,” I said with a gruff laugh.

  Morgan let me laugh before continuing.

  “No place will hire us, but that’s not what I’m going for,” he said. “See, now, things are a little bit different. No longer am I just relying on the silver spoon of my father. I’m actually drawing a paycheck.”

  From your father’s company. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing Morgan wasn’t doing this for theatrics. He had a point, I knew him too well when it came to me and him being my only real ally in this world.

  “Not only that, I have a reputation, for better or for worse, because now, well, I’m eligible to have one as a business professional. So my freedom is a little bit more open, even though my hours are not. I know right now, Chance Hunt.”

  He said the last name with equal emphasis. I found it curious that he wanted me to feel included, and it did stir some unexpected emotions, but I decided I would analyze those later. Now was not the time.

  “You are in a spot without a job, without a future, and without much hope. But not everyone is going to see what you did in leaving Burnson Investments as the defining mark. Some of us will see and know what you did before you let love get in the way. A mistake, yes, but at 22, how can we know any better?”

  The way Morgan spoke suggested to me there was a hint of “been there, done that” to him, although he had never said such a thing and now definitely wasn’t the time to broach it.

  “I know what you did. I know if not for that bitch Layla you would be in a position to take a job anywhere or run yourself up near the very top of Burnson Investments. You’ve learned a thing or two from Dad.”

  “Unfortunately,” I said, drawing a knowing nod from Morgan.

  “Long and short, Chance,” he said, looking like he wanted to say the last name but stopping himself short. “I want to open an acquisitions business with you. This cash here represents our initial investment—well, part of it, I’m not stupid enough to put all of it out here for you.”

  A closer look showed only five dollar bills, which meant this was still a decent chunk of cash but far from the disaster of carrying around five figures worth of bills.

  “I know what kind of talent you have, and in some ways, it’s actually more than what I have, because you’ve been able to learn from Dad without being both emotionally attached and watched like a hawk. You have the chance to step back, realize what he might do wrong, and decide for yourself. Meanwhile, I get called weak if I do anything even the slightest off-kilter from my father’s plan, which, as you can guess, makes things tricky.”

  He sighed, taking a moment to collect himself. I had always felt Morgan probably didn’t like his father, but I didn’t realize it was to this extent.

  “Here’s where you come in. I want to get the hell out of Hunt Industries, but I can’t just jump ship. I need to prove to my father that I have something else that will make me just as wealthy. So the reality is, while I can create this with you and fund it, I just can’t commit the time and appearances to it necessary to get it off the ground. You, on the other hand, can.”

  There was just one problem.

  “You realize that any company we approach is going to know my story and laugh me away, right?”

  “Any finance company, perhaps,” Morgan clarified. “But even then, I have my doubts. The world of finance is full of hotheads and temperamental people—what you did is nothing compared to some of the war stories my dad tells me. And in any case, we’re not going for finance companies or banks. I was thinking more tech companies, startups, small-to-medium size data companies—the future.”

  “And what was the name?”

  “Simple,” he said. “Morgan and Chance Holdings.”

  “MCH,” I said, abbreviating it as finance people did almost anything. “I can dig it. There’s just one problem. I have no job and your father will know what I did, so—”

  “So I use my mother to support you.”

  Cold, but it’s effective.

  “Look, I’m not going to lie to you, Chance, I’m making you do all the hard work upfront,” he said. “You’ll need to do all of the meet and greets, all of the due diligence, all of the representation for a while. I’ll obviously help where I can, but I just can’t escape my father’s grasp so easily. You will also have to give the appearance of trying to get a job and being careful with your money. I can persuade Mom to give you money, and she in turn can charm Dad to give some, but you know my father. He may be a billionaire, but he
fights over every bill.”

  All too true. The richest among us are the most miserly.

  “I can only keep it up for so long. But I don’t think ‘so long’ is measured in weeks, but in months. This will be your chance to build something great with me. And as we grow it, we won’t need my father. We won’t need Hunt Industries. We’ll just need each other.”

  Finally, he smiled.

  “What do you say?”

  I took a second to collect my thoughts. Here was an opportunity to move past the disaster of the last week and, by extension, the last couple of months. Here was a business that did not have the name “Hunt” in it. Here was my chance to do what I wanted and make myself rich.

  The only caveat was that, as usual, it came because of a Hunt, in this case Morgan.

  But damnit, if ever there was a Hunt...

  “Goddamnit, Morgan, why are you so good?”

  Chapter One

  I looked down at my email, reading the latest business proposal from Morgan as I stood in line at the local sandwich shop, grabbing the sandwich that provided the most calories for the best price.

  Hey, a deal was a deal. If I was going to make this work, I couldn’t be eating steak every night. I couldn’t be eating at fancy restaurants. I couldn’t be ordering delivery and paying the extra fees.

  I had to look like I was fighting for every scrap and every penny, even as Morgan ensured that I had a $10,000 deposit in my account at the beginning of every month.

  The funny thing was, while Morgan had made it sound like some sort of impossible, difficult task, it was relatively easy for me. It felt far more natural to be poor—or at least eat poor—than it had to live the wealthy lifestyle the Hunts so enjoyed. I had come from poverty, even if I could barely remember it, and those memories were imprinted hard on me.

  In some ways... well, I wasn’t going to say it was easier than being rich, that would be disingenuous. I certainly didn’t have to think about it as much.