Winner

By Belle Brooks

Sex, deception, betrayal, and a car crash that changes the course of two lives forever.

Roselette Horton...
Miss Prim and Proper.
Arm candy for one of the richest men in Hoffman.
Fate had her saving my life. Now I'm indebted to repay the favour.
Rose has the biggest stick up her arse. It's surprising she can even put one foot in front of the other. She has no clue what it means to be living, or who she really is. To the outside world Rose has everything, but to those who pay close attention, it's nothing short of a well-constructed facade.

I'm Finlay Crossley and I'm a simple misfit from the wrong side of the tracks.
Until three days ago, I didn't have two cents to rub together.
Rose is my opposite in every way, but as the saying goes—'opposites attract.'

How in the world does a socialite notice a nobody like me?
It all happens when a loser becomes a winner.

WINNER is a modern day rags to riches standalone by author Belle Brooks.

"WOWWWW AMAZING!!!! Truly one of the best books I have EVER read!!I absolutely loved it!!" ~ Jess Rockhold

Belle Brooks has done it again. She pens the story of rags to riches with a twist of fate and a dash of unbridled selflessness which is clearly her expertise. Authentically beautiful, Winner is a must read.~ Author Maggie Schuler

"I won't lie... I normally don't leave reviews because I never pay attention to them. I tend to make up my own mind. But having said that, this book begged for one! I fell in love with the Author within the first 4 chapters and I read this book in one sitting! The book is incredibly well done, the characters are fully "Fleshed Out". You can definitely get a sense of the author's quirky sense of humor and her ability to get under your skin is refreshing! I highly recommend this Author and look forward to future works from her! Go get this one!!" "Author Vee Townsend

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belle Brooks
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9780648126317

Belle Brooks

Born in Australia, Belle Brooks has always had a passion for books and creative writing. She loves exploring the different ways stories can be told through the use of text and in-depth characters. Since she was a child her strong talent and interest in creative writing was evident, explaining that her favourite class in school was English. Despite her love for all things books, she decided the world of advertising and marketing was where she could put her talents to use in the business realm, well that is until now. Belle enjoys creative writing and creating fictional stories that leave a valued message inside the pages.

Book preview

Table of Contents

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Published 2017

ISBN: 9780648126317

Winner

©2017 by Belle Brooks

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Obie Books, Po Box 2302, Yeppoon QLD Australia 4703.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All rights are reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in past in any form. This edition is published in arrangement with Obie Books Q.L.D.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Published by

Obie Books Po Box 2302

Yeppoon Qld 4701

AUSTRALIA

Cover design by Tracey (Soxie) Weston.

Editing and Proofreading by Karen Harper and Lauren McKellar

Formatting by Jaye Cox

For Halle Rogers.

Happy 24th birthday, beautiful lady.

This is the best present ever, right?

I hope you always remember just how much of a winner you are in life.

Love, Belle xx

A note to the reader

This book has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, Australian vernacular.

Prologue

A thick fog rolls like ashen-clouded smoke through alleyways—alleyways nobody in their right mind would step foot in this early in the morning on the west side of Hoffman. To a lost traveller, these streets resemble a well-designed set from a horror movie. To me, it’s the place I’ve always called home. If I had the ability to part the protective veil of thick air coating my current surroundings, I’d see crime being committed by a mob of vile and unforgiving vermin who lurk, armed with a need to destroy the lives of others. They are relentless. They show no mercy, and they didn’t bat an eyelash before they snatched Penny’s life from my fingertips.

I wish I could have held on to her tighter. I wish I wasn’t the loser I am ... then she wouldn’t have even been in this place to die.

There will never be justice for Penny, and I’m surprised if many will remember her here—where she came from, though, is a different story. There will always be a gold shrine with her name engraved in her home town. I should have sent her back home.

I bet her killers are out there, laughing at my expense. After all, the one who plunged the long steel blade into her neck told me to look away. I couldn’t. My love for Penny meant my vision would stay on her until she took her very last breath. From that day three months ago, everything changed. I’ve changed.

Walking this part of town in the dead of the night is a daily occurrence for me. I no longer sleep. I no longer eat. I’m barely existing.

Chilled air laps my cheek, and my nose is numb from the frost, but I keep walking aimlessly in the hope I can remove the images plaguing my memory. They taunt me. They are relentless.

It’s deep laughter at first, hauntingly deep, yet I don’t jolt or stop in my tracks—I’ve no fear, for if death were to greet me, I’d accept it with open arms. I miss Penny.

You’re a loser. A short cackle follows.

I can’t see him, but I sense him everywhere. He’s dancing in circles around me.

What shall I do to you?

It’s deathly quiet as I turn on my heels. I’m unable to see an inch in front of my nose, but I hold my hands up in protection of my face.

It’s a sudden loud cracking of my spine as I’m hit hard from behind in the arch of my back. The noise echoes, invading the silent night, and I lumber until I fall flat on my face. The pain wraps around my sides and meets at my belly button, causing me to hold my breath to ease the agony.

Take his shoes. Check his pockets. Look for jewellery. There’s more than one voice, and there are more than two hands yanking at my body. I should get up and fight, but I’ve no fight left in me. It’s laughable really when you take my size into consideration. They don’t call me Tank for any other reason than that I’m built to protect.

Two hard kicks land into my rib cage, and I gasp as my eyeballs fill with pressure to the point where they feel as if they’ll pop out of each socket. There’s tension around my ankles, and when my legs begin to lift I close my eyes and see Penny for the first time, not as she was when she was dying, but how she was when living. Cerulean eyes as deep as the Pacific Ocean are welcoming, and when her full lips stretch wide into a smile, I feel as if I’m where I belong—home with her.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sound rings out like fireworks before it’s replaced with fast-paced footsteps growing nearer with every millisecond.

Fuck off. I’ll put a cap in your arses. I’ll fucking kill you. It’s a familiar angered voice, one I heard for the very first time when I was eight years old and I was laid down against my will on a pavement like the one my cheek is resting on now. Tank. Shit, Tank. You’re all right, mate. We’re here. Come on.

Blocker, I groan.

You’re lucky I heard you leave the house and woke the boys up ... Are you trying to get yourself killed?

I grunt.

Boys! Come on, help me lug his big arse home.

The four lads surrounding me have had my back since the first day they saved me from my virgin mugging. It seems befitting they are here doing the same for me now.

You’re a dickhead walking these streets, mate. Rance is not wrong. I am.

Can you stand? The first face I focus on is the one belonging to Tardo, his narrowed lips and eyes to match express his obvious disappointment.

I’m used to being a disappointment. Hell, we all are.

They take turns holding me upright and helping me stumble home to the place we’ve shared since we graduated from high school together.

Falling into one of the tattered mismatched chairs at the kitchen table, I’m relieved to have these four faces in front of me.

Penny wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself, Tank. Sailor presses an icepack against my swollen cheek.

I tried to save her. I tried to stem the flow of blood. She was so limp. It didn’t work. Nothing worked. My throat tenses as I relive the final moments of Penny’s life for what will be the hundredth time today. Her arms, restrained behind her back at the hands of another. A silvery knife pressed to her throat. Penny’s eyes screamed her fear. I couldn’t do anything but watch the blade draw back and then plunge deep beyond her skin.

You did everything you could. Sailor’s dark brown eyes look into mine. You need to stop blaming yourself.

She was shaking uncontrollably, and no matter what I do I can’t forget the fear in her eyes. Why didn’t we make her go home? I pause, awaiting a response from Sailor. I’m not offered one. It was selfish of me to think I could … I stop, clenching my jaw shut from my anger. I didn’t help Penny—I destroyed her.

You keep believing this, Tank, and you’re going to end up in the mad house. Pen was where she wanted to be, free from the controlled life she was born to lead. You know she’d want you to be out there making a difference in the world, not in here replaying what happened, Tardo says, pulling my shirt up at my side.

How are we meant to make any difference? We’re nobodies. We’re nothing. We’re losers. Nobody would piss on us if we were on fire. Dirt poor with not two cents to rub together. I grimace from Tardo’s fingers prodding my rib cage.

It’s time, Tank. You need to pack up and leave. You aren’t going to survive and see your twentieth birthday if you stay here. Blocker’s steel grey-blue eyes search deep within me. You need to find your strength again and go where you’ll get back on the right path. You know where that is, don’t you?

Yes, I breathe, and I hate that he’s right. Deep down, I know that in order to do Penny’s memory proud, I need to leave. It’s just taken this mugging for me to see clearly.

I’ll go.

I’ll go back to the only place I’ve ever felt safe, even though it scares me like nothing else ever could. I must be accountable for my future. I must find my way.

This will be my only chance.

Chapter One

She whimpers. It’s a pathetic sound, one informing me we’ll have to leave shortly. I try to focus my attention to the monitor and ignore this subtle plea. Who on this God green earth thought making computers mandatory was a good idea? I much preferred the old paper system Mr Horton allowed me to use during the last three years.

The sound of sniffing takes my attention. There’s no doubting she’s needy.

In a minute, I scoff.

My cheek is lapped wet from her tongue.

I said, in a minute.

Logging in the last job for the day is interrupted when I turn my eyes downward, to find my lap no longer bare. Why must you be this way? My eyes connect with two small brown buttons. She’s cute. There’s no denying it. Come on then. Home time.

Her tongue laps my mouth.

We have to do something about your breath, Roxie. It’s rotten.

She licks me once more.

Taking her under my arm, I rub my hand crazed throughout her hair. Maybe a dog wasn’t such a good idea.

Roxie nuzzles her head into the crook of my neck.

A Poodle is not a good look for a big tank like me either, you know. I couldn’t leave Roxie abandoned out in the street. Only a heartless jerk would do such a thing in our neighbourhood. Righto, I get it, you want attention. Keep your tongue in your mouth, will you?

I switch off the light and lock the door.

Tank.

The calling of my name has me scanning the property.

Tank, he calls again.

Alan, is that you? I stare out into the empty yard. A dull light in the distance has me cocking my eyebrows.

Yeah, it’s me. Alan steps into my line of sight.

What are you still doing here?

I stayed behind to do a good clean-up of the workshop. I had nowhere to be tonight. His hands are in the pockets of his navy coveralls as he rocks on his heels.

I’m impressed. For a fifteen-year-old, he’s showing glimpses of dedication. I like it.

I saw you locking up and I wanted you to know I was still here. I’ll make sure to switch off the light back there and lock up … You can trust me.

Would you like me to give you a hand?

He shakes his head.

Okay, kid. You did a good job today. Maybe I should give you a chance to work the piping moulds by yourself tomorrow.

I can do it. I know I can. I won’t let you down.

I believe you.

Goodnight, Tank. He smiles.

Night, kid.

I wave Alan off and begin the mundane task of dragging my feet over the pavement. Another long shift. You’ll get used to them, Rox.

Roxie nuzzles into my neck further, causing my skin to itch more intensely. Layers of dirt and dust particles clog my every pore. How I hate this itch. No amount of scrubbing relieves the irritation it brings. Scratching my skin raw is a daily occurrence … bloody steel mills.

The pavement soon turns to dirt and before long, my keys rattle against my palm as the stubborn lock turns over and the door swings wide. My shitty one-bedroom apartment in a part of town where crime is an hourly incidence is as black as soot. It’s a reminder of my solitary existence. After six years, I thought I would’ve found a more settled and comfortable existence. Turns out I was kidding myself.

Flashing red and blue lights cast shadows against inadequate furniture before sirens ring loudly.

Bang!

Another gunshot—another likely death. This is a normal part of life here in the west end of Hoffman. I don’t even jump at the sound. Instead, I laugh hard. Sick? Yes. Frightening? Not anymore. I assume some drug dealer got screwed over and some punk blew his brains out over grimy flooring.

Three police cars and an ambulance pass by with sirens blazing before stopping two doors down at the usual rundown shithole, screaming trouble. I stare in wait as weapons are drawn and words are exchanged.

We have you surrounded. Lower your weapons and come out with your hands up, a copper shouts, with an agitated tone.

Like that’s going to happen, I mutter under my breath, amused.

Fuck off, pig, a loud bellowing voice calls back.

This has been going on for the last thirty minutes. At least they came, I guess. Tessa’s voice alerts me to her presence.

I take one step back before turning my eyes upwards to her window located above where I stand.

Arseholes, I hiss.

This neighbourhood is getting worse by the day, Fin. We’re definitely going to end up dead living here.

I don’t reply.

How was work? The same line is delivered every night. It’s casual in passing, but always caring.

I study her aged face by dull lamplight, something I do often to record any major changes in her complexion, before shifting my attention to the messy grey hair framing her face and her rounded eyes, which often seemingly seek the companionship of another.

Ms Simon, you’ve been living here far too long, you crazy old bird. Maybe it’s time for a change of scenery?

No money means no choice, Finlay … You know this. Nothing’s changed.

I suppose not.

It’s better than living on the street, she continues. These little shits don’t scare me. You know I’m not easily rattled. I might be seventy-nine, but I can still fire a weapon like a well-aimed teenager. Plus, a bullet to my head would be a quick way to die. I’ll take it over the cancer any day. Tessa delivers her message succinctly. She looks innocent and sweet, but I believe her balls are much bigger than mine.

Chuckling briefly, I point towards the surrounded house where several of our neighbours have their heads out the window, staring in the same direction as Tessa and me. You going to watch the show then?

Don’t I always? She cackles. It’s a deep and husky smoker’s sound, which quickly turns into a coughing fit.

I’ll leave you to it then. Night, Tess.

The door closes behind me before I switch on the light that flickers every minute. I should replace it, but what’s the point? It will blow again in a few days. This place is a shithole. Hell, I’m not even sure if it’s regarded as a safe structure for a human to squat in, yet it has a roof and four walls, so it’s better than sleeping in a ditch.

A dirty brown two-seater lounge sits at the back of a small narrow room. Turning sideways, I place Roxie on its top and then squeeze through the narrow opening the couch allows, to pass through an arched opening leading into the kitchenette. Roxie yaps at my heels as I move to flick on another light switch.

Hungry, girl? Me too. Her distressed circling between my feet has me clamping the bench tightly to prevent a fall. Settle down or you’ll give me a concussion.

Roxie doesn’t stop. She commences her usual jump up my jean leg as I bend over and remove a meal for one out of the freezer.

A dog was not a good idea, Rox. Not a good idea at all, I mumble, pulling back the plastic covering on the meal as per the instructions, before throwing it into the microwave. Five minutes. It’s five minutes away. Settle down.

The smell of burning plastic has me snarling as I rip open the microwave door and wave away smoke. Juggling the melted plastic, I groan outwardly before throwing the pre-packaged dinner for one into the sink. Fuck you! I growl, twisting on the rusty tap, allowing lukewarm water to splatter from its nozzle over the overheated skin on my hand. I need a microwave that’s not a hundred years old. I need a fucking decent feed and a cold tap with running cold water. Normally it’s the hot tap that causes grief in a household. Not in mine. It’s this fucking cold one. No matter what I do it will not work. I need to get out of this dump. Kicking the splintered cabinetry below the bench top, I shout, Roxie, will you back off with the yapping? You’re giving me a headache. Scat. Go, get out!

Roxie bolts, her feet barely touching the dinted unpolished flooring in retreat.

Testosterone can travel through the blood of a man, down-on-his-luck, at rapid speed, and as I draw my hand back I don’t hesitate to slam it hard into the fibro wall. A fist-sized hole becomes the result.

Fuck my life, I whisper with an ache so gut-wrenching it has air whistling between my grinding teeth. I glance toward the cracked glass pane of the window above the sink, whilst running my hands over the top of my grimy brown hair that has grown longer than the spiked length I normally prefer.

Good evening and welcome to Tuesday night’s lotto … I startle at the voice blasting from the television.

What? Roxie, are you lying on the remote again? Squeezing back through the gap, I spy Roxie cowering in the corner of the lounge. I don’t know what it is about you and this remote, but your tiny butt manages to sit on it without fail. Come here. Scooping Roxie’s trembling body into my arms, I roll my eyes at her lack of guard-dog material and locate the remote swiftly, pushing the volume down. Is there any point listening to the numbers, girl? Every week is the same shit. Maybe if I stopped buying lotto tickets we’d have a microwave that is not trying to explode in our faces every time we use it.

Slade Banter, a man of complete power and great wealth flashes onto the screen. I growl at the sight of him. Every fucker wants to either date him or be him. I personally can’t stand the arse. Wide million-dollar smile. Perfectly groomed light locks. Suit you know costs more than everything I fucking own.

He places a finger under the chin of the chick who holds the balls up in presentation and says, It’s a good evening to bring on the money.

She flutters her eyelashes and I fake dry reach. He’s a mystical beast here in the slums. I like to think of him more as a pretentious arsehole … one I’d like to knock down a few pegs.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Here, you watch the numbers and report back then. I’m going to take this call, I say as I drop Roxie back onto the couch.

Leaning against the doorframe, I take the outdated beige handset from the wall and twist my finger into the long, coiled cord. Tank speaking.

How’s it hanging, Tank?

Little to the left, mate.

Left. Oh, left’s not good.

I chuckle lowly.

Bad luck when it’s hanging left—

Blocker, you’re not kidding …isn’t that how every day plays out in the slums?

Blocker, also known as Maverick Holden, laughs loudly before hacking up a lung.

You really need to lay off the fags. You sound like Tessa upstairs. Emphysema’s going to get you too.

Righto, Doctor Crossley.

What do you want? I’m sure you weren’t just calling to find out the positioning of my junk.

He laughs dryly.

Well?

Poker Friday night. You in?

Who’ll be there?

Just Sailor, me, Tardo, and Rance.

Sure. Count me in. Where?

Where do you want to play?

Your place? We all live in shitholes, so yours is as good as mine.

True dat. Sounds good. Hey, the missus just got home. I’m going to go see if I can get me a bit of lovin’. Friday, my place it is.

Missus? I wonder who the lucky lass is sharing his bed this week.

More flavour-of-the-week.

I thought as much.

There’s plenty of tail to get in this place. You should try it sometime. Come on, mate—two women in eight years … Your balls must be as blue as—

Shut up, will you?

Poker Friday, then?

Sure. Friday it is.

Seven p.m. Don’t be late.

The line goes dead.

I drop onto the lounge, and it takes Roxie two seconds flat to curl up on my lap. Mangy dog. How’d we go, girl? Glancing towards the television, my heart momentarily stops. My eyes widen so far, my eyeballs dry. No way.

Seven. Twenty-one. Thirty. Forty-Two. Four. Eighteen and twelve.

Get the fu—

Roxie barks.

Ssshhhh.

She barks once more.

"Get off. I need to check the ticket." Seven. Twenty-one. Thirty. Forty-Two. Four. Eighteen. Twelve. These have been the same six numbers I’ve played for the last two years, yet something tells me my recollection is wrong or maybe I’m desperate beyond measure.

It’s a struggle to remove my ratty wallet from my jean pocket. I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve lost my nerve, or if it’s the usual issue of the pocket being too compact a size for a big wallet. Flipping it into two halves, I exhale, and for just a moment, I think to pray. I’ve never prayed a day in my life, but maybe today is a day for an exception.

Dear God. Please let me win.

Chapter Two

The all-too-familiar itch returns promptly at the beginning of my 6:00 a.m. shift. The sensation of bugs crawling beneath every layer of my skin until they scatter over defenceless flesh has me squirming once more. Why did I even bother showing up to work today? Removing a set of industrial gloves and tossing them onto a far table, I head towards the pouring rooms where I previously left Alan to distribute the last batch of heated liquid into piping moulds. This kid can be a procrastinator at times, but he’s a kid, only just turned fifteen. As my hand catches the door handle, I wonder if Alan’s parents have even a clue where he is right now or where he’s been going for the last six months. My guess is probably not an iota. Someone had to help this kid out, and I’m not sure why I felt responsible to do so, but by putting him on Mr Horton’s payroll, I figured I might just keep him out of trouble and away from the gangs in Hoffman. Hopefully, if things keep going as well as they are, and if Alan continues to take my lead, he will earn his trade ticket and steer clear from a life dealing drugs.

Hoffman is a place of two classes: rich and poor. It’s a matter of black and white—no grey area.

Tank, I’m … please—

Alan, what’s the problem? I say, looking at the job list hung by the door.

Tank.

I turn in his direction. His hand quivers. My Adam’s apple reaches the back of my tongue. Shit, mate, are you okay? It’s now I shift my eyes to his paled cheeks and dehydrated lips. Alan!

The liquid. I lost my … He stops talking mid-sentence, and as I grasp his hand, he begins to dry-retch.

Where are you hurt? My stomach knots before it flips, causing me to become nauseous from the sounds he’s making.

My leg. Tank. His body goes limp, and I’m quick to catch him in free fall before his head hits the concreted ground.

Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ, kid. I shouldn’t have left him alone so soon with this task. He wasn’t ready to do this job unsupervised yet. Why do I keep pushing him? This is my fault. I glance at his leg, but turn my eyes away when I first see his exposed bone, and then some of the material of his pants stuck to his charred flesh. I swallow franticly to prevent my need to vomit from the sight.

Alan is all limbs and lacking meat to his bones—malnourishment will do this. Thankfully, his slender physique makes it easier for me to throw him over my shoulder to carry him out. The stench of burning flesh causes my stomach to roll in a furious manner, and within a second, the need to regurgitate the oats I ate for breakfast becomes strong. Hang in there, kid, I mumble through pinched tight lips before smashing my free hand to the red emergency button located by the door. An alarm sounds immediately, and by the time I clear the doorway there are silhouettes of many workers running in my direction. Call triple zero now and someone get the hose on—we have a liquid burn. I’m following procedure to a T.

Flashing red and blue lights appear in the distance and with their impending arrival, I shout, "Someone find Roxie and keep her out of trouble until I get back. I’m