Broken by the Bully (Beauty in the Breaking Book 1) Page 2

  The second the words are out of my mouth the humor vanishes from Asher’s eyes replaced by a dark look.

  A dangerous look.

  A look that has me rethinking the wisdom of my proposition even before he grabs my shoulders and shoves me back against the lockers.

  Chapter 3

  Asher

  Her breath rushes out and her eyes go wide.

  Her lips part with a sexy little gasp, and in my head, I’m already fucking her.

  In my thoughts, I’ve already spun sweet little Emma Carpenter around, lifted up her long skirt and petticoat, yanked her panties down around her ankles, and shoved my rock-hard cock inside her tight, virgin hole.

  I’m already riding her so fucking hard, my hand fisted in her hair, my teeth against her neck as I growl filthy things against her skin.

  Things like, “Take my fat cock, you stuck up little bitch. Take every fucking inch and know that I’m not pulling out. I’m going to shoot my load so fucking deep inside you, Emma. Because the only thing better than ruining daddy’s little Cult Barbie? Getting her knocked up with my kid. Daddy dearest is going to kick you out on your ass so fast you won’t have time to confess how much you enjoyed getting fucked up against the lockers.”

  Things like, “Fuck, you dirty little bitch, I knew you were as messed up as I am. I knew you weren’t coming out of that house as wholesome as you seemed. I knew you wanted me inside you the first time I pinched your ass in the hall, and you made that excited sound low in your throat. It was soft, but I heard it, Emma. I heard it and I knew you wanted someone to put you on your knees and treat you like a whore.”

  And even worse things like, “Thank God you finally said something, baby. Not being close to you has been killing me. I’ve been dying to be inside you, Emma, dying to hear you scream my name as you come so hard on my cock. I need to be your first and your only, Em, because I’m fucking obsessed with you. I’m obsessed, and I’m gonna need to be inside you at least three times a day, every day, for the rest of our lives.”

  ‘Cause yeah…

  I don’t just hate this girl. I love her, too.

  It’s so fucked up, but I can’t think about Emma without feeling sick to my stomach with anger and getting hard at the same time, and that’s the truth.

  I’m hard now.

  So hard it hurts.

  Cock throbbing against my fly, I flatten my hands on either side of her head and lean down to whisper inches from her face, “This is your one and only chance to tell me that was a dumb joke.”

  Her throat works as she swallows. “And if I d-don’t?”

  “Then I’m going to assume you’re serious.” I lean even closer, until I can smell the strawberry lemon scent of her breath.

  The moms on the compound always make homemade strawberry lemonade this time of year. The smell reminds me of happier days. Days when, after homeschooling wrapped up for the day, Emma and I would run down to the creek at the edge of the compound with strawberry lemonade in mason jars and spend the rest of the afternoon playing in the water with her dozens of siblings.

  Back then, Emma was a friend, one of the few real friends I had in Temperance Valley. Our family was always considered “a little strange,” and the other cult kids treated my brother and I accordingly—by holding us at a distance.

  But not Emma. Emma didn’t seem to care that my mom was an outsider who joined the religion as an adult when she fell in love with my dad.

  But my mom cared. I could tell it made her sad that her kids never really fit in, and that she blamed herself for it. She had a lot of modern ideas mixed in with her faith, and Dad never took another wife, even though according to Temperance Valley’s take on Christianity he could have. Most of the men there do. But for my dad, Mom was enough.

  Growing up, I always thought I’d be the same way, that I’d eventually court a compound girl, marry her, and settle down to raise kids in the valley, just the two of us. Then Dad got sick, the prophet started coming around the house to “pray” with Mom—code for putting his hands on her and warning there wouldn’t be a place for our family after Dad died if she didn’t go along with it—and everything changed.

  And then Mom…

  “You really should say you were kidding, Emma, for your own good,” I continue, the memory of what her father stole from my family hardening my resolve.

  If this girl wants to offer herself up as a sacrifice for some reason, that’s her choice. But I want to be damned sure she understands what she’ll be getting if I agree to “ruin” her.

  “I won’t be gentle,” I continue softly. “I won’t be sweet. And I’m absolutely going to take pictures to send to your father after. I want him to see what his baby girl looks like on her knees with my come all over her face.”

  Emma makes a soft, choking sound. But then, to my absolute shock, she whispers, “Okay, if that’s what you want. If that’s the only way you’ll agree to help me, then…fine. But if you think that’s the kind of thing that will upset Dad the most, you don’t know him very well.”

  “Help you,” I echo, frowning. “How exactly will taking your virginity help you, Emma? I assume you’re a virgin, right? Or do you have a habit of asking guys to ruin you?”

  I’m nearly one hundred percent certain she hasn’t so much as spoken to any of the other boys at school—I’ve followed her around enough to know she’s shy around almost everyone except her friend, Laura.

  But the thought of another boy touching her still makes my stomach fill with acid until she shakes her head. “No, of course I haven’t. I’ve never asked anyone anything like this. And I wouldn’t be asking now if…” She sucks in a breath and blurts out, “Walter Quinn. My dad told me last night. God sent him a revelation that I should marry Walter. We’re going to be sealed tomorrow, the day after graduation. Tonight’s my last night in the girls’ dorm.”

  A low, ugly laugh escapes my lips.

  I can’t help it. It’s just so Bob, the fucking pervert.

  Of course, he’s promised his eighteen-year-old daughter to a man forty years her senior. Walter’s even older than Bob and so fond of the pig skins he makes at his snack factory that I doubt he’s seen his own dick in decades.

  “Well, on the upside, you’ll be a widow sooner than later.” My grin widens as Emma’s eyes bore angrily into mine. “As much fried pork as that man eats, his heart has to be in awful shape. With any luck, the first time he gets his cock in you, he’ll have a heart attack and—”

  “He’s not going to get anything in me,” she snaps, lifting her stubborn little chin. “Because I’m not going to marry him. I’ll kill myself first.”

  My smile falls from my face so fast it makes my jaw ache. “Don’t,” I choke out. “Don’t you dare joke about that.”

  “I’m not joking,” she says, her eyes beginning to shine. “I refuse to spend my life married to a man I don’t love. Or a man old enough to be my grandfather, who sees me as a piece of meat. You should see the way he looks at me, Asher. It’s like he’s deciding which cut to devour first.” She shudders and I can’t help it…a tiny flicker of compassion sparks in my chest.

  I smother it with a firm reminder of how quickly Emma turned her back on me when I was cast out.

  She was like all the other Temperance Valley kids. She wouldn’t even look at me at school. It was like I was invisible.

  And that hurt so fucking much.

  I’d already lost my parents and the only home I’d ever known. Having my childhood friend ice me out on top it was the last straw.

  I started tormenting Emma the next Monday and have kept it up every day of high school. I’ve watched her grow from a sheltered sheep into a girl who’s sharp, clever, and so fucking beautiful I dream about her sky-blue eyes and sun-streaked blond hair almost every night.

  But in spite of my stupid crush, I still made it my business to make her life as miserable as I possibly could. It’s what she deserved, or so I told myself…

  “I would just ru
n away,” she continues, “but Dad would send someone to find me and bring me back. As long as I’m valuable to him, he won’t let me leave. But I’m only valuable if I’m…intact.” Her cheeks flush pink as she lifts her gaze to the ceiling. “Walter is old-fashioned. He believes all the stuff Dad teaches about virgin wives saving lives.”

  I snort. “Of course, he does. Because anything that rhymes and sounds as dumb as virgins extending their husband’s life force with their hymen magic must be true.”

  Emma sighs. “I know. I don’t believe it either, but Walter does. He wants me because I’m pure and our marriage would give him a direct family connection to the prophet. And Dad wants control of Walter’s company when he dies. They have the paperwork all drawn up and everything. One daughter in exchange for one chip and snack cake company.” Her lips twist. “I’m just another commodity to be exchanged.”

  I nod, humming in faux compassion. “Right. That’s a sad story, for sure, but my question is—how did you ever imagine you were anything but a commodity? What kind of mental gymnastics did that take, Emma? How could you grow up in that world, watching the way Bob treats women, and ever imagine you were anything to him but a sub-human baby-making machine?”

  Hurt flashes in her eyes. “There was a time when he had you fooled, too. You liked him when we were kids.”

  “I was stupid,” I say flatly. “And as brainwashed as you are.”

  “I’m not brainwashed anymore,” she says, with an intensity that almost makes me believe her. “I’m going to go to college to become a social worker and help kids like us, kids who want to leave abusive religions and families. I know I can do good things in the world. I just have to get out and away from Dad first.” She tips her head back, bringing her lips closer to mine. “Will you help me or not? All you have to do is have sex with me and make sure everyone in town knows about it. That shouldn’t be too hard. Right?”

  “Not hard at all.” My calm voice belies the fact that my heart is pounding, and my dick is even harder than it was before.

  If Emma weren’t so damned innocent, she would have noticed it by now. I’ve pitched a tent in my jeans and if I shift even the slightest bit closer to her, my hard-on will brush against her skirt.

  I want that contact, even that small connection, so much it’s sick.

  Instead, I hold still and ask, “But what’s in it for me?”

  What’s in it for me is popping Emma’s cherry—something I’ve fantasized about so often I’m probably going to hit my sexual peak tonight, at barely nineteen—but she doesn’t need to know that.

  Because there’s something I want from this girl, something more than her body under me, wet and wiggling and begging for me to fuck her…

  “A hundred dollars,” she says, her lips thinning. “I know it’s not a lot, but it’s all I can spare. Laura’s dads are going to let me live at their house for free this summer, but I want to help buy groceries to show my appreciation for their generosity.”

  “That’s so great. I’m so glad you have a safe place to land,” I sneer. “My brother and I slept under an overpass the first few nights after we were kicked out. It was raining and barely forty degrees. By the time his friend’s parents offered to give us a place to crash for the rest of Jackson’s senior year we both had hypothermia.”

  “I’m sorry, okay?” she says, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry that I ever thought my dad had the right to treat you the way he did. I’m sorry I didn’t realize he was a liar until last year. I’m sorry that I didn’t leave the second I started to see all the ugly things he tries to hide.” She sucks in a wobbly breath. “But I was scared, okay? I’ve never lived on my own. I’ve never worn clothing that someone else didn’t pick out for me. I’ve never been able to decide how to fix my hair or whether to learn to ride a bike or what courses I was going to study. Dad made all of those decisions for me.” She reaches out, slowly fisting her fingers in the front of my t-shirt, sending another wave of heaviness dragging at my balls. “But tonight, I’m going to start calling the shots. As soon as the graduation ceremony is over, I’m going to run. And I would like to run…to you.”

  It’s all I can do not to crush my lips to hers and kiss her senseless, but I have a feeling once I start kissing Emma, I won’t be able to stop.

  “Please,” she continues in a softer voice, “do this one thing for me, Asher, and I’ll owe you one. Whatever you want.”

  It’s the perfect window of opportunity and I don’t hesitate to jump through it. “All right. Then let me film it. The whole thing. I don’t want your money. I want blackmail material I can use to force Bob to give Jackson and I what he owes us from selling our house and all our family’s things after he kicked us out.”

  She swallows hard. “Okay. But promise you won’t show it to anyone else. Just my dad, and only if he refuses to pay.”

  “That’s not how blackmail works, buttercup.” I brush a wisp of hair that’s escaped her bun behind her ear. “If Bob refuses to play ball, then I upload it for sale. There’s a market for that sort of thing. A sweet little cult girl losing it to the big bad bully who made her life a living hell in high school will do well on the porn sites. And we’re both legal so…” I trail off with a predatory arch of my brow.

  But Emma doesn’t so much as flinch. She stands her ground, holding my gaze as she says, “Fine. Where should we meet?”

  “My condo at eight, right after the ceremony. My brother’s out of town for work so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves. It’s three blocks from school, over by—”

  “I know where it is,” she cuts in, surprising me. “I’ll meet you there.”

  “All right. See you then, C.B. Looking forward to it.” My tone is sarcastic, but the truth is I am looking forward to it. I’m looking forward to it more than maybe anything else in my entire life.

  With one last cruel grin, I turn and swagger down the hall. I’m nearly to the door leading outside when Emma calls after me, “And Asher?”

  I glance back, my stomach dropping.

  I fully expect her to tell me that she’s changed her mind, but instead she says, “You didn’t make my life a living hell. If you had, I would have found a way to make it stop. I’m not as helpless as I look.”

  I nod, relief and surprise rushing through my chest. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for tonight.”

  “Do that,” she says, gathering her backpack from the ground by her feet. “See you later.” Then she turns and sashays in the opposite direction.

  The sight of her hips swaying beneath her modest skirt is so weirdly hot that I stay where I am for several long seconds, watching her walk away.

  But she won’t be gone for long. In just a few hours, she’ll be in my arms, and I’ll have an entire night to get Emma Carpenter out of my system.

  Too bad I already know that’s never going to be enough.

  Chapter 4

  Emma

  It’s hot in our part of Texas in May. Very hot.

  And when your religion requires you to wear heavy cotton covering every inch of your skin aside from your hands and face?

  Well, that’s a recipe for an especially miserable summer.

  Since I turned thirteen—the age girls become women in our faith and are required to start wearing prophet-approved modesty garments and undergarments—I’ve spent most of May through September inside in the air conditioning. As a kid, I loved playing outside. Climbing trees and playing in the creek were the highlights of my summer. Asher, my brothers, Matthew and Ezekiel, and I would spend hours catching fish in homemade traps, cobbling together rafts out of old logs, and digging for crawdads in the mud.

  All that fun ended the summer after sixth grade, however. Since then, I associate summer with fabric sticking to my skin and trying not to pass out from heatstroke at mandatory Sunday afternoon fellowship barbeques by the pond.

  But I can honestly say I’ve never sweated this much in my life.

  As Mary, my dad’s third wife, lea
ds the way across the grass to the two rows of spectator seats reserved for my family, beads of perspiration roll down the hollow of my spine. My lip is damp, too. So are my armpits, despite a liberal application of deodorant.

  I’m going to be the least sexy thing Asher has ever seen.

  No doubt about that.

  The thought only makes the sweating—and the racing of my heart—that much worse. I’m so nervous I’ve been fighting a case of the shakes all the way into town. Thankfully, the van was so full of kids that Mary didn’t notice I was trembling out of my skin in the back seat.

  But as she guides the little ones deemed civilized enough to come watch my brother, Matthew, and I graduate into the first row, her sharp gaze locks in on me and concern furrows her brow.

  “Nervous?” she asks softly.

  I press my lips together and nod.

  She rests a hand on my back. “It’s okay. You’ll do great. And Matthew will be right behind you.” She smiles. “He’ll catch you if you trip on the steps.”

  I nod again, guilt clutching at my throat. Matthew is Greta, Dad’s second wife’s son, but he’s practically my twin. We’re only three months apart in age and shared a crib when we were little. We’ve grown apart the past few years, as our paths within the community diverged, but he’s still my best friend in the world. I’m going to miss him like a piece of me that’s been carved away.

  He won’t be allowed to speak to me once I’m cast out.

  I might very well never see him—or Mary or my biological mother or any of my other siblings—ever again.

  The thought is heartbreaking, but I cling to the knowledge that I know Matthew, at least, will understand why I’m making this difficult decision. He was as horrified to hear of my betrothal to Walter as I was.