Ruthless
Black Mountain Academy
Mila Crawford Aria Cole
Copyright © 2020 by Mila Crawford & Aria Cole
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.
Created with Vellum
For Leslee,
Thank you for always being there.
Contents
Ruthless
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue 1
Epilogue 2
Also by Mila Crawford
About The Authors
Ruthless (Black Mountain Academy)
Rumors spread like wildfire between the walls of Black Mountain Academy. It’s a world where secrets are draped in trust funds, and lies cloaked in family legacy.
The boys that came out of the academy were notoriously bad news. And boarding school dropout Kyler Sinclair was the worst, a good-for-nothing bully with a broken moral compass. He was beautiful, he was dark, he was ruthless.
Madison Evans prided herself on her immaculate school record. A dedicated bookworm with a love for fiction over reality, she’d always been a do-gooder rather than a good-time girl.
Transferring to Black Mountain from the wrong side of the tracks was torture when you're a born loner. But then bad boy Kyler entered her quiet life.
He’s wrapped in ink and covered in chaos, and she never expected to become the center of his attention... or the target of his scorn.
His vicious insults left fresh wounds—but neither expected the past to catch up with them and change their lives forever.
1
“Angry people are not always wise.”
- Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Madison
I was seventeen when we moved to Black Mountain, a neighborhood brimming with affluence in such a coveted zip code that the idea of knowing someone without massive wealth was like knowing a Martian.
In this case, me.
I took in my clothes, all purchased on a frugal budget at Target, and then my eyes drifted to the massive stone and brick mansion with the large, rounded wooden door, adorned with a large lion knocker.
This mansion was the size of our entire block back home.
With slow movements, I edged open the door of the car and stood. I stretched my legs, eyes taking in the property and looking for any nearby neighbors. But the main house, two small guesthouses, and acres upon acres of forest dominated my view. The land around us was absolutely breathtaking, a country hamlet in the midst of the city chaos, but the house was the most surprising of all--Gothic spires and cold, hard angles, in complete contrast with the lush green of the trees.
“Debbbbbie! Oh my gosh, you’re finally here! How long has it been? Almost twenty years?” A tall, elegant blonde approached my mother, embracing her warmly.
“Nineteen to be exact. It’s so good to see you, Monica. I’ve missed you,” my mother said, smiling. “This is my daughter, Madison. Maddy, come here and say hello to Mrs. Sinclair.”
I walked around the front of the car, offering my hand to the woman. Her hands were long and elegant; I couldn’t help but wonder if she played the piano.
“Oh, come here,” Monica said after shaking my hand, pulling me to her for a hug. I liked her instinctively; she was warm, and her eyes looked kind.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sinclair. You have a beautiful home,” I said, both my hands in hers.
“Oh, hon--you’re Debbie’s baby girl, please call me Monica. No need for all that Mrs. Sinclair business.” She smiled at me, and I noticed how her eyes seemed to light up when she did.
She looked genuinely happy to see my mother and me; her kindness made me feel a little better about being there.
“You two must be starving, I have lunch waiting.”
My mother put her arm around me, and as we walked into the house, I looked up to the intricate detail of the widow’s peak, shocked to see a figure in the window peering at us.
A man dressed in what looked like all black clothing.
As soon as my eyes connected with his, he dropped the drapes and disappeared from sight.
Monica ushered us in through the front door, and I was overtaken by the magnitude of the house. It felt like I was just plucked out of an ordinary life and plopped into the house of a celebrity. Luxury dripped from every corner of the opulent home. The floors of the grand entrance were a cream marble, leading all the way to and around a large mahogany staircase in the middle of the space. Solid gold mirrors and trim highlighted the crimson and wood-hued details.
Art covered nearly every wall, and sparkling drops of crystal hung from the grand chandelier.
“Wow, Monica. Your home is breathtaking,” my mother said, her voice laced with awe. I couldn’t help but feel the sting of pain and shame. For as long as I could remember, my mother had worked her fingers to the bone--until she was tired and deflated, with little time or energy left over for chaperoning school dances or volunteering for field trips.
When my father died, life wasn’t easy. Bills piled up, debt suffocated us, and my mother, being the woman she was, refused to let life ruin her. After a few weeks, she was in the workforce, making the most of it for us.
For me.
I never felt slighted or that we wanted for anything, and it was because she wouldn’t allow that to happen. I was her everything, and there wasn’t a day that she didn’t show it.
She even moved us here--to Black Mountain--one of the wealthiest areas in the country, and took a job working for her private-school best friend, so we could afford the tuition for my own private education. She wanted me to have
