Break Me, Baby: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 1) Read online

  Break Me, Baby

  __________

  A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance

  Silver Creek High, Book 1

  __________

  USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Belladona Cunning

  Copyright © 2019 by Belladona Cunning

  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 prior written consent from the author, except for quotations in a book review.

  All places, people, and instances are merely coincidental and are in no way a direct reflections of persons living or deceased.

  A Note from Belladona

  I do need to place a warning on this book. While it does not go into too much detail, there is

  a triggering subject in this novel. I just want to let everyone know—you’re

  not alone. There are many people that know what you are going through and would

  be happy to help you if you find yourself in a similar situation.

  Please, let them.

  Don’t try to be strong, because it will always catch up with you.

  With that, here is a hotline you can call if you ever, and I do mean, ever need to talk to someone about a potential sensitive subject such as sexual abuse.

  RAINN Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

  Much love and take care of yourself.

  B.

  Table of Contents

  Break Me, Baby

  Copyright

  A Note from Belladona

  Blurb

  Prologue

  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

  About the Author

  Blurb

  This time, he’s not alone.

  He was my first crush, first kiss, and first heartbreak.

  The guy I haven’t seen in two years when he left me on the bathroom floor in tears.

  Now he’s back with a vengeance, and he’s brought some company.

  They are my tormentors. My bullies.

  But they have it all twisted.

  If they expect me to roll over, they have another thing coming.

  I’m no longer the girl their leader tormented into submission.

  I refuse to break like last time.

  Instead, I’ll break them.

  Prologue

  “A temptation as sweet as candy, but as deadly as a viper. It’s no wonder they wanted to use you to break him out of this spell. I now see the appeal.”

  I didn’t understand him then, but now … it’s all I can think about.

  CHAPTER 1

  Temptation is a sin.

  One that swallows you whole.

  At least, here in the small town of Silver Creek, it is. It’s forbidden to want anything not considers “normal,” and if you do, your parent freaks like you’re the anti-Christ and drives you to the nearest preacher to repent your sins.

  Not saying there’s anything wrong with religion and asking for forgiveness. I just don’t think they should shove it down someone’s throat. It’s called freedom of speech, press, and religion for a reason—hello!

  This town is like a noose around your neck. The rope tightening to a point of constriction, making you feel as if you’re gasping for air.

  Being a seventeen-year-old in this town is hard, man. It’s downright freaking impossible. You can’t go anywhere without being interrogated. If you’re five minutes late for curfew, they’re right there in your face, screaming about where you were, who you were with, and what you’ve been doing—even if you know they’re full of shit and trying to save face.

  Okay. Maybe I should explain a little better.

  Yeah. I’m actually sure I need to so you can get the full story.

  Maybe it’s just my beast of a “mother” that does that. So, I’ll own up to my actions and say she has the merit for questioning me. It’s the “adult” thing to do.

  However, with that aside, it doesn’t mean she’s earned the right to think she can parent me. She’s never tried before, so she shouldn’t pretend as if she cares now.

  In all honesty, she should really be filled to the gills with terror at this point. Simply for the fact that I’m turning out to be the complete opposite of her. I give no shits about what people think of me. I go where I please, when I please. There are no rules—no anything.

  I don’t even respect her and literally loathe the ground she walks on. I wish it would swallow her whole.

  You can’t beat respect into someone, you must earn it. At least, that is my way of thinking.

  And has she earned it? No. Not even close.

  Nor will she ever.

  You see, I may act a certain way when I’m with her, but it’s not who I am. When I’m by myself, I’m not the most innocent, little flower she portrays me to be. That ship sailed away a long ago. I don’t even think there is an innocent bone in my body.

  According to the people that see me out without my mother, I’m a hellraiser. A troublemaker.

  I’ll tell you now—I’m no troublemaker. I am so far from being a hellraiser it’s not even funny. I’m just tired of the bullshit. Exhausted from being treated like a child heading straight to hell because I had a few shots of vodka and smoked some J’s at parties.

  I’m tired of living a lie set forth by my parents, or I should say, Debra Savoy—the beast that likes to pretend she’s my mother.

  I mean, seriously? Weed is from the Earth, people. Come on; join the twenty-first Century, already.

  There are worse things out there, though, but Debra perceives differently. The only thing she sees is what she wants to. Like the supposed “tantrum” I threw when I decided to cut my thick, gorgeous hair off.

  All she perceives is rebellion. Mostly, when I head out of the house in skin-tight clothing with absolutely no fucks to give. Now that really, really burns her up.

  Well, fuck her. I am who I am, and I’m not about to change that for anyone.

  Especially her.

  Maybe, I just like to show off what my mother gave me. Maybe, just maybe, even though I had no choice, I like the lecherous looks guys shoot my way.

  So, really, she should blame herself. I did get my traits from her. It’s not like I received some catalogue with physicality traits on the first day of my period, which would have been awesome.

  Trust me, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be sitting here with size D breasts. I wouldn’t have an hourglass figure with a little too much curve. An ass I can bounce a quarter off of. Hell, no. Instead, I’d have a lithe surfer’s body with barely there C cups. I’d have a butt and thighs that don’t force me to go up a pants size to accommodate it.

  We don’t always get what we want, darling. So, why should I give anyone what they want?

  But I can’t get Debra to see that. All she wants to see are the tiny tanks that show just a smidge—maybe more like four or five inches—of skin, scuffed converse sneakers, and tight, ripped baby doll jeans that conform to every curve I hav
e.

  It’s also the exact outfit I have on right now and I’m loving it. Is it so bad to love the body you are in? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

  When I put the finishing touches on my face, I dance away from my mirror. My reflection makes me smile, even through the hollowness inside my chest. It’s the last bonfire of summer and I need to turn it up before I’m forced into facing Satan’s ass crack (aka Silver Creek High) the day after tomorrow for my first day of senior year.

  Grabbing some cash, and my keys, I flick the light off in my room. I make my way downstairs, my nerves jittery and in need of some Mary Jane relaxation. But just as I get to the door, finally seeing my escape in sight, her words halt me in my tracks.

  Ugh, I wish I had been faster.

  “When are you going to be home, Jess?!”

  It’s the same thing every time I go out. Doesn’t matter where I go or what I do, those words always leave her mouth. She also already knows the answer to this question, but I know she’s just asking again to annoy me.

  It’s exhausting, and to be honest, it’s like, beating a dead horse or something. It’s not like she cares anyway, she just wants everyone to think she does.

  “Tonight, tomorrow, next Friday—haven’t really made my mind up yet,” I call out.

  The only sound I hear is the rhythmic click of her heels against the hardwood floor. Sighing under my breath, I grab my phone to let Karma, my best friend, know I’m going to be late. Only, I realize I forgot my phone upstairs. In my quest of getting out of here, I must have forgotten it.

  Racing back up the stairs, I quickly grab it from my desk and retreat. A thought stops me before I get to the first step. Jumping onto the banister, a smile graces my face as I slide all the way down until my feet clap the hardwood floor at the bottom. She hates when I do that, which is exactly why I do it when I can remember.

  Pissing her off is my one goal in life, so I may as well stick to the script.

  “You will be back in this house before midnight, or so help me, I’ll call Sheriff Rawlins myself.” Her tone of voice has my hand pausing on the doorknob. My head cranes to the side, eyes narrowing. Heat and anger simmer in my bloodstream as I replay her words, repeatedly.

  “Do what?” I ask.

  Okay, maybe I should back up. It seems we went from zero to bitch really quickly, and I’m not about that life unless I have to be.

  You see, Debra—the parental figure trying to enforce the law right now?—she’s one of those … hmmm, how can I say this without appearing ungrateful?

  Damn, guys, it’s hard.

  Anyway, I may as well just say it. I have no filter anyway.

  She’s a deadbeat with a barely-there office gig just to pay our meager bills.

  She’s lazy, entitled, incompetent, and all about her appearance—as in scarily so. Kind of hypocritical if you ask me.

  Ha, that’s if the rumors are true. In which case, I take all of her and them with a grain of salt.

  She has not tried to form a bond with me. Like, at all. The only time she even comes remotely close to it, it’s telling me how I’m such a Jezebel for running the streets. That I should be lucky she wants to be my parent at all.

  That’s it.

  That is the highlight of our familial ties.

  As if you can pick and choose that shit. It’s all or nothing, and she gives nothing.

  Still, what she doesn’t want people to know is that she’s a drunk, a phony. A “social media” mom. Debra is different behind doors than she is out in public. She doesn’t care about me other than how it will make her look if I do something wrong.

  I mean, my father got fed up with her bullshit at the beginning of the summer and beat feet. Little shit forgot all about me, which I plan to remind him of whenever he calls or answers one of the plethora amount of texts I sent over summer break. I’d rather be with him any day of the week. At least, he’s not fake. He actually, or used to, seem to care about me.

  He is nothing like the woman standing behind me.

  “Jessalyn Savoy, you heard every word I just said,” she fumes, and I can just imagine her crossing her arms and tapping the pointy toe of those heels she’s always donning, against the floor.

  Shifting my weight, I turn toward her, and sure enough, she has her arms crossed over her ample chest with a scowl, like she smells dead roadkill that’s been fermenting in the sun for a week.

  “Let’s get something straight, Debra,” I growl low in my throat, “the day you popped me out of that loose cannon of yours, is the last day you gave a shit about me. So, please, don’t pretend, otherwise.”

  “Jessalyn, I will not allow you to talk to me like that!” she screams, her face reddening in anger.

  Walk away, Jess.

  The need to twist that doorknob, walk out of this piece of shit house, and go to the party to drink and get high is overwhelming. I need to chill out and not worry about what the harpy is saying behind me.

  Yup, that idea sounds better and better the longer I think about it.

  So, I scoff at her backhanded parenting, then twist that doorknob and prepare to lose myself in booze and bud. But before I can make it two steps out the door, I feel thin, skeletal fingers weave through my silky locks. A cry lodges in my throat. Tears of anger dance in my eyes when she yanks me back into the house by the hair of my head.

  Oh, she shouldn’t have done that.

  She really shouldn’t have done that.

  Not that I’m surprised. It’s not like this is the first time she’s put hands on me before.

  It won’t be the last, either. I’m sure of it. The only difference between before and now is—I fight back where it hurts. I don’t do physical damage because I’m not ignorant. All it would take is one time and she’d send me off to juvie or some shit.

  Instead, I threaten her precious image. With that, I can do some serious mutilation.

  Oh, trust me, there have been many nights I think about it. Many nights I sit and ponder, rolling over what I can do to her for maximum pain. Yet, I know just as soon as I retaliate, Debra will do something just as drastic in return.

  “If you don’t take your bony fucking hand out of my hair, I’ll break the goddamn thing,” I seethe, the lie slipping through my lips easily.

  “I told you to be in this house before midnight. So, come hell or high water, you will be here.”

  Narrowing my eyes, they flick up to the clock above the door, spying it’s going on nine at night. “You expect me to drive all the way to Twifer’s point, party, then come back and be here by midnight—are you fucking insane or just plain stupid?”

  “Don’t test me on this, Jess. I will call the Sheriff.”

  Ha. The Sheriff? He’s had a hard on for me since I turned fourteen. Let her try.

  “Call him. I dare you. Because the moment he picks me up, I’ll fuck him in his backseat,” I taunt, knowing I’m full of shit, but that doesn’t mean she has to. “Which do you think he will choose, dear mother? Pussy or anger? I’m thinking pussy.”

  Her fingers momentarily loosen, her resolve weakening. It causes smirk to appear, and delightful victory to shine in my eyes.

  It doesn’t matter if it is wrong. So wrong on so many levels there’s no way it can ever possibly be right. But just to piss her off, I’ll say pretty much anything to get a swing in at her.

  You know, there have been many times I wish Debra and I could have a regular mother/daughter relationship. They’re few in number, but still, they’re there, regardless. In the past, I’ve wished we could spend our time painting each other’s toenails, primping up to go out on the town. I’m not even going to play the hard ass card here and say I’ve never wanted that, because that would be a lie.

  However, what I want and what I get are two very different things.

  It doesn’t matter how old a woman gets; she will always wish she had her “mother” by her side. Even me; the hardass of Silver Creek. The only difference between me and the other chicks around here is
that I let that dream die a long time ago.

  I will not beg for anyone’s attention.

  I will not fight my way through the muck bullshit and be someone I’m not.

  It still doesn’t stop me from wondering about it, though.

  But right this second, I don’t want a damn thing to do with this woman. She’s nothing but a disease. An infection that feasts on rich flesh. She will do anything and everything behind closed doors to get what she wants, no matter how debasing or pathetic it makes her look. Which is exactly how she managed to trap my father in a loveless marriage for so many years.

  Yes, Debra is one of those women.

  The kind you love to hate.

  I used to catch her on the phone when I was younger, bragging and celebrating about the fact she got the richest bachelor around to her friends. She’d laugh out in glee at it being so easy to snag him. I was only three at the time it first happened, but I remember it vividly.

  Even though I was so young, it didn’t take too long to figure out what she was talking about. Since that day, my hatred for her has grown tenfold.

  My mother, willingly, screwed with my pop’s condoms just so she could get pregnant. I don’t know the exact way she did it—poked holes in them or something—but they gave her the desired result. In the middle of spring, she fell pregnant with me.

  In a small town like this, when a woman falls pregnant out of wedlock, the guy either marries her or … ha, damn, there is no other way. You either marry the broad or risk being shunned by the entire community.

  Since my father is a Savoy—yes, one of those Savoy’s—a member from one of the most influential families in this town, there was nothing he could do except put a ring on it. Even if he loathed the very thought of anything revolving Debra.

  So, that’s what he did. He married her. Sucked up his pride and was the best father any girl could ask for. His deep-seated hatred for Debra is always why I don’t have siblings. My father couldn’t stand the thought of touching her.