Broken by the Bully (Beauty in the Breaking Book 1) Read online

  Broken by the Bully

  A Beauty in the Breaking Novella

  Felicity Raine

  Contents

  Also by Felicity Raine

  Broken by the Bully

  About the Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Author’s Note

  Also by Felicity Raine

  About the Author

  Also by Felicity Raine

  The Mountain Man’s Temptation

  (Available Now)

  The Loner’s Obsession

  (Available Now)

  The Billionaire’s Nanny

  (Available Now)

  The Professor’s Pet

  (Available Now)

  Broken by the Bully

  (Available Now)

  Bargain with the Bully

  (Coming in July)

  Join my newsletter

  https://www.subscribepage.com/q3s5f2

  to get an email alert on my new books!

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright Broken by the Bully © 2021 Felicity Raine

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This erotic romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you enjoy hot, sexy, emotional novels featuring Dominant alpha males. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover design by Evergreen Books

  Edited by Sandra Shipman

  Broken by the Bully

  About the Book

  Asher Hansen began tormenting me our freshman year, not long after my father kicked him and his older brother off the compound with nothing but the clothes on their back.

  They blamed Dad for their mother taking her own life. To be honest, I think I did, too.

  Maybe that’s why I took it whenever Asher called me Cult Barbie and teased me mercilessly, saying the filthiest, most outrageous things.

  But that doesn't explain why his words always made me feel…fizzy inside.

  To say I’ve been waiting for this moment is an understatement. It’s graduation day, a big deal for every eighteen-year-old and an even bigger deal for someone who grew up the way I did.

  But for me today is about more than the end of high school. It's about taking control of my life. Today, I’m actually going to do it. The one thing I can do to shock him. My ruthless nemesis.

  I guarantee he won’t see it coming.

  Chapter 1

  Emma

  It’s high school graduation day, a major milestone, no matter who you are, but for me…

  Well, this day is going to change my life.

  Forever.

  From now on, there will be a Before and an After, divided by this day, this choice, this…mistake?

  Pulling in a bracing breath, I slip my secret cell phone from my dress pocket and type out a quick message to my best friend, Laura—Everything is going to be fine. Right? I’m freaking out for no reason.

  Almost immediately, Laura texts back—Absolutely. You’re eighteen, girlfriend. And about to graduate high school with honors. Your parents don’t get to tell you what to do anymore. Everything is going to be better than fine. It’s going to be FABULOUS!

  Some of the anxiety eases from my chest and my thumbs are steadier as I type—You’re right. It will be fabulous *smiley face emoji*. See you tomorrow afternoon!

  Bubbles fill the screen and Laura asks—Are you sure you’re cool with waiting until then? Because seriously, my dads don’t care if you go over to our place and let yourself in tonight after the ceremony. You know where we hide the key. We would come home now, but my team had so many injuries yesterday that we won’t qualify to play tonight if I don’t stay.

  Stay!—I insist, knowing how much the junior roller derby championships mean to Laura. That’s why she’s skipping graduation to be there.—Don’t you dare come home for me. I’m fine, I promise.

  She sends a crying face emoji and a hugging emoji. Your parents are the worst, Emma. I’m sure you’re not fine. But that’s okay. And it’s okay to be scared, too. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing the wrong thing. You are doing the RIGHT thing, and we’re all so excited to help you with your fresh start. And bonus—now we can have sleepovers every night!

  Smiling even though I’m still shaking in my loafers, I reply—Can’t wait. See you tomorrow.

  Tomorrow! The first day of your new life!—she texts back—Try not to stress. Everything really will be fine.

  “Don’t stress, don’t stress. Do. Not. Stress,” I mutter beneath my breath as I hurry to finish cleaning out my locker.

  I returned all of my books last week, after finals. The only things left inside are a few battered spiral notebooks and folders, a box of colored pencils sharpened to nubs, and a picture of my father surrounded by all forty-seven of his children and a golden glow the photographer added in Photoshop.

  The picture is all the reminder I need that I’m not making a mistake.

  I didn’t want to tape a picture of my dad in the back of my locker—what eighteen-year-old girl would?—but I had no choice. His spies are everywhere, even at school, and it’s standard practice to keep a picture of the prophet in any “meditative or peaceful space.”

  I don’t consider a locker in the middle of a busy hallway either of those things, but that doesn’t matter. My opinion doesn’t matter. I’m a child and a girl, to boot. I should do what I’m told and not ask too many questions.

  That’s how I was raised—to be obedient and modest, humble and kind, and prepare myself to live a holy life and help expand my father’s church.

  I’ve known my religion is considered “a cult” by outsiders since I was a little girl—you hear the whispers at the grocery store in a town this small—but it wasn’t until I went to public high school that I realized what being one of “the cult kids” really meant.

  It meant stares and whispers and muffled laughter—or not so muffled laughter—at my long, loose-fitting dresses and the giant bun coiled at the base of my neck. It meant mockery and taunts from my meaner peers and disdain cloaked in concern from the nicer ones. It meant teachers either acting like I was invisible or singling me out, seeming to relish underlining my ignorance in front of their other students.

  But that only lasted two semesters.

  By sophomore year, I’d caught up to the rest of my class.

  I’m not stupid, I’d simply been homeschooled
by disinterested teenagers, while our moms took care of babies or things my dad needed for the church. And our curriculum was certainly nothing to brag about, even if the teenagers had been interested. We spent just under half our school day on math and English. The rest was devoted to studying the prophet’s—my dad’s—illuminated manuscripts or in silent prayer.

  I walked into Appleton High School knowing nothing about science, world history, or secular literature. Not to mention Sex Ed, which my father insisted I be excused from for religious reasons.

  Once I realized how lacking my education had been, I spent my lunch hour studying in the library, googling everything about the world that I didn’t understand. I wasn’t supposed to use the computer and would have been in big trouble if one of Dad’s spies had seen me. But the computer bank is at the back of the library, and Laura, the librarian’s assistant, always hurried over to warn me if any Temperance Valley kids came in.

  Laura isn’t just my best friend; she’s an ally to all the black sheep of the world. If you don’t quite “fit in” for any reason, you can count on Laura to have your back. She grew up watching people in our small Texas town be horrible to her two dads, just because they’re gay. It instilled in her a deep-seated need to stick up for the underdog, even though she’s so gorgeous and smart and cool she could have been one of the popular kids if she wanted to be.

  Instead, she spent every lunch period giggling with me in the library. Or helping me secretly apply to college, even though I knew getting permission from my dad to go would be an uphill battle.

  And that was before yesterday’s big announcement.

  The thought of it sends bile rushing up my throat. I brace my hand on the cool metal of the locker beside mine, close my eyes, and take a deep breath, willing myself not to be sick.

  I can’t afford to be sick.

  I need to conserve my energy and the food in my belly. Friday nights are fasting nights in Temperance Valley, which means I won’t see another meal until…

  Until it’s over…

  Until I’m ruined.

  And not just ruined—ruined by the one boy my father hates so much he’ll never forgive me for breaking the rules with a person like him.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, a deep voice rumbles from behind me, “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Cult Barbie. They actually let you off the compound long enough to clean out your locker? I thought you’d be married off with a couple of kids hanging from your tits by now.”

  Chapter 2

  Emma

  I clench my jaw and curl my fingers into a fist against the metal door.

  Asher Hansen.

  He’s been my bully and tormentor since my father kicked him and his older brother, Jackson, off the compound right before the start of freshman year.

  Asher’s father had just died, and Dad had a vision that he should marry Asher’s mom and take her and her children into our home. Secretly, I’d been excited by the thought. Asher and I had been good friends when we were little. I’d hoped we might be able to rekindle the friendship when he became my stepbrother.

  But Asher’s mother was so sick with grief that she couldn’t accept the revelation. She begged Dad to release her from their engagement. When he refused, she took her own life.

  After, at her funeral, Asher and Jackson accused Dad of murdering her and refused to quiet down and pray with the rest of the congregation.

  They were removed from their home two hours later, dropped off in downtown Appleton with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a copy of Dad’s translation of the New Testament for contemplation of their trespasses.

  When it first happened, I was sad, but not shocked—we all knew expulsion was the price for turning your back on God or the prophet.

  They’d sinned and were simply paying the price for it…or so my brain-washed mind had assumed.

  By the time I completed my first year of high school, I’d started to sympathize with Asher, even though he called me Cult Barbie, teased me mercilessly, and said dirty things to me at my locker for the thrill of watching me blush and knowing I’d have to share that I’d heard “tainted words” at pre-dinner confession every night.

  And at first, I did confess.

  But eventually I started keeping Asher’s words between the two of us. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to upset my father before dinner.

  But the truth was, I didn’t want to admit that the things Asher said to me made me feel…fizzy. That sometimes, when he braced his hands on either side of my head from behind and leaned down to whisper, “Looking hot today, Cult Barbie. Are those new bobby pins in your granny bun?” that my nipples tightened and a weak part of me relished the feel of his breath on my bare neck.

  “One thing a bun’s good for,” I mutter softly, my heart pounding as the words leave my mouth and I realize that I’m actually going to do this.

  I’m really going to proposition my nemesis.

  Right now.

  “What’s that, buttercup?” he asks, mocking laughter in his voice. “Are you actually going to fight back for once? This should be fun.”

  I take a bracing breath and turn to face him. But the breath just rushes back out again.

  That’s what he does to me, this bitter, mean-spirited, obscenely beautiful bully.

  It really is obscene, how pretty he is, with dark eyelashes that make his green eyes pop and black-as-sin hair so silky looking my fingers used to itch to touch it in English—the only period where I sat behind him, instead of in front.

  On the first day of class, I got there early enough to score a seat in the very back. So, in order to stay close enough to make every moment of my life at school miserable, Asher—my teasing, tormenting shadow—had been forced to take the seat in front of mine.

  What he didn’t know?

  I didn’t find it miserable at all to spend fifty minutes staring at his silky hair and broad, powerful shoulders. Even when he turned around to sneer at me, I didn’t mind too much.

  Even his sneer is gorgeous, the jerk.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he asks, stepping out of the doorway to the classroom across the hall and stalking toward me.

  When he moves like that, I feel like prey, and I’m nearly one hundred percent sure that’s his intention. Asher is the best player on the baseball team and rumor has it he turned down a full scholarship to play for the Longhorns at UT. He is in complete control of his body and well aware of the things it can do.

  Rumor has it he’s also “amazing” in bed.

  I hope so.

  I’m determined to go through with this no matter what, but I wouldn’t mind it if being “ruined” turned out to be…enjoyable.

  “No,” I reply, gathering my courage. “The cat doesn’t have my tongue. And no, I’m not going to fight back. In fact, I don’t want to fight at all.” I step closer, meeting his gaze head on. “I was just thinking that I didn’t mind it, when you used to trap me against my locker.” I swallow, ignoring the hammering of my heart as I add, “I actually liked the way your breath felt…on my neck.”

  His face goes blank.

  Just…blank, like he has no clue how to respond, and for the first time I understand why he did it. Why he said all those outrageous things to me.

  Because affecting someone like this with my words?

  It’s one heck of a rush.

  “I like the things you said, too,” I add, emboldened by his shock. “Not all of them, obviously. Not the stuff about my clothes or how ugly I looked in them. But the other stuff. The stuff about having impure thoughts in my bed and how guilty I felt for touching myself in my ‘dirty places’…” I shrug, hoping I look calm and collected, and that he can’t tell I’m about to have a stroke.

  I’ve thought things like this before, but I’ve never said anything like it out loud, not even when I was alone.

  But seeing Asher speechless for the first time in my life is worth the scandalized sweat breaking out beneath my clothes.


  “I liked that part,” I continue, “It was…interesting. It made you interesting. I assume you’re interested in me, too? Since you spent the past four years following me around like a lovesick puppy?”

  His eyes go wide, and the blank look vanishes, replaced by a mixture of anger and something I can’t quite place. “Oh, please, Cult Barbie. I have a lot of feelings about you and your fucked up family, but none of them resemble love.”

  I cock my head, my lips twitching up at the edges as I peg the other emotion in his eyes. It’s amusement. He’s annoyed, but he’s also amused and maybe a tiny bit…impressed?

  Gambling that I’ve found a tactic that works and should run with it, I say, “That’s understandable. My father was awful to you. But I’m not my father, Asher. And I’m not a fan of his right now. That’s why I was hoping to run into you today. I prayed about it this morning, in fact.”

  He crosses his arms over his thick chest, grinning as he says, “Okay, you got me, C.B. I’m intrigued. This new, psychotic side of you is interesting to me. Still weird as hell, but interesting.” He taps a finger to his chin. “Now, why would you be praying to run into me? Why on earth would you think I’d give two shits that you’re on the outs with your daddy?”

  “I don’t expect you to give… I don’t expect you to care,” I say, curling my hands into fists at my sides. “I expect you to jump on the chance to get revenge. Real revenge this time, not just bullying my dad’s favorite daughter in the halls, but really wrecking her. Breaking her.” My tongue slips out to dampen my lips as I add in a softer voice, “Ruining her.”