Tease Me, Baby: A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance (Silver Creek High Book 2) Read online

“It’s twenty percent, Derek! No. I refuse!” Twenty percent of what? Who the fuck is Derek? “Easier? You think this makes it easier? He’s cutting me out of the goddamn deal! How does that help us?”

  When she steps further into the kitchen, I find it hard to hear her. Something at the back of my mind screams at me, telling me I need to listen. That all of this could explain so many things I’ve yet to get answers to. But there is another part of my mind saying if I get caught, it will piss Debra off.

  My curiosity piques, though. Shifting forward, I catch just a snippet of her conversation that has my brows slanting inward. “I will die before he gets his way. It’s my right, including that retched thing. Derek! You’re supposed to be on my side, remember? That’s why I did all this.”

  I take another step forward, enthralled. I love seeing Debra upset. Literally, it makes my day when everything around her is going to shit. Sucking in a sharp breath, my eyes widen when a loud crack reverberates off the surrounding walls. Oh, shit.

  CHAPTER 2

  My eyes snap up, catching on activity near the base of the stairs. They connect with Debra’s furious gaze. Her eyes slit, practically spitting venom at me as she mumbles a garbled goodbye.

  “How much did you hear, bitch?” she seethes, shaking with untapped rage.

  For the first time since my father left, I feel a tinge of fear enter my bloodstream. Before now, she’s had reservations about abusing me where people can see. I guess she’s tired of making excuses when I show up out in public with a busted lip or bruises shadowing my jawline. All of them are from her, but she makes damn good excuses.

  According to the people of Silver Creek, I’m so clumsy it’s a miracle I can even play sports. But they don’t know the truth, nor will they ever. They don’t know the evil that hides behind the mask of this perfect little house, and perfect little life—the only thing we’re missing is the white picket fence and golden retriever.

  But here, now, she doesn’t look like she cares. Not one bit. She’s livid. Her petite body trembles in her heels as she stares up at me with so much hatred, so much loathing, it feels like this one look has thrust me into the lake of fire. She’s never been this scornful toward me before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

  “N-Not much,” I stammer, hating myself for showing that small piece of weakness.

  I’m a badass bitch, I don’t cower to anyone. But there’s just something behind that evil glint in her eyes that gives me pause. It leads me to think the worst, and most usually when it pertains to Debra, I’m always right. I didn’t go years living with this woman, having her twist her abuse into a state of perfection, not to realize when I’ve truly fucked up.

  “Not much, huh?” she growls. “That means you heard more than you should have. I think it’s time I remind you how much I dislike eavesdroppers.”

  People wonder why I have such a hard time opening myself up to things. Callum may have helped, but the bitch glaring at me from the bottom of the stairs, solidified my reasoning behind hardening my heart to anyone. She’s the first person who taught me how to hate. I guess, in hindsight, she’s the reason I can do it with such perfect clarity. A person can only see something so much before it captures them within its slimy grasp. I wouldn’t even know how to forgive someone, even if I tried. Not if I’m always subjected to this brand of torture.

  I try to fight it, but alarm freezes on my face. My skin pales of blood. Silently, I watch her walk easily across the landing and pick up a decorative cedar paddle with holes carved into it. The kind you put pictures in and use as décor. Except, that’s not what she’s going to use it for now.

  My heart sinks into my stomach as I watch her pick each picture out, dropping them down on the ground unceremoniously. A lump of dread in my throat grows as her heels smash them into the carpet, like they’re less than significant. She doesn’t care they’re the only memories we have from when I was younger, they’re in her way and she’s going to get rid of them.

  My body freezes in its spot, eyes flickering between her and the pictures she continues to drop. Then, I look down at myself. I spy the sports bra and spandex shorts I put on before hearing her first smash of anger echo through the downstairs. I swallow, hard. I can’t … She can’t get ahold of me when I’m dressed like this. When she has a weapon, I stand no chance in fighting her off without harm. She knows this, which is why she always chooses a weapon before punishing me.

  I don’t second guess my actions as I take off toward my room. My feet hit the runner in front of my door, and I slip. I stumble in my quest, looking back over my shoulder as I hear her now running up the stairs after me. She knows if I get in my room, slam the door and lock the door before she can get to me, it is a lost cause. She won’t be able to touch me.

  As I right myself, I race forward. A squeal of shock leaves me when I feel the air off the paddle whizz past the back of my head. My hair lifts off the back of my neck, following the paddle as if it’s a long-lost friend. The entirety of my body shivers as goosebumps sprout, and not the good kind, either.

  She’s fucking lost it. Whatever strings she had in her head keeping her together are long gone. Slamming my door, I flick the lock and brace my back against it. Seconds later, my body heaves forward from her brutal assault. Tears fill my eyes with each jerk as she continues to pummel my door. But I refuse to let them fall, knowing she’s the cause of them. That bitch will never get my tears again—in fear or pain. She doesn’t deserve it.

  However, I would be a fool to say I’m not scared. She’s never been this furious before, not in all our physical altercations. Even when she grabbed that paddle last time, she’s never gone this far. A few slight smacks here or there, but nothing of this magnitude. Especially when she’s this furious.

  This time, I saw the need to kill in her eyes. It’s almost like she blames me for her predicament. Condemns me for overhearing the conversation she had on the phone with that Derek person.

  “Open this door, Jessalyn!” she shrieks.

  I was not supposed to hear whatever was being said, is my only reasoning for such anger. Even though I don’t have the slightest clue what all that was about, it doesn’t seem to matter to her much. It was all in code, and the person she was talking to was a complete stranger. I’ve never heard that name before in my life. Trust me, I’m very good with names and faces. I would know if there was someone loitering around my life, helping Debra with whatever it is she’s doing.

  “You’re deranged, Debra! If you don’t get the fuck out of here, I’ll call Sheriff Rawlins!” I yell back, body jolting forward hard as I hear her screech of outrage release. It’s loud enough to burst my eardrums.

  “This has nothing to do with him! You can either come out here or I will come in there. If I have to come in there … so help me God, little girl.” I cringe at the nickname, a queasy feeling rolling in my stomach.

  It’s times like these, I wish I could stand up for myself. Beat the brakes off her ass and leave her lying on the floor. But my threats only get me so far, and it seems tonight no threat will get me anywhere. If I call the Sheriff, he won’t do anything about it. The only way to stop him from allowing Debra to abuse me is by giving myself to him. And I’m sorry, I threatened her with that before, but honestly, there’s no way I would touch that old coot.

  The more I ponder, the more devastating it all becomes. There’s no one. Not one soul that can help me out of this. My father is MIA. Karma—I’m not dragging her into this. She has enough to worry about with school, college, and life in general.

  My outlook is bleak, and that kind of humbles me a bit. It makes me think about things I’ve done, and people I’ve brushed off and wronged in the past. Would they be here now if I didn’t close myself off? Would they even help? I’d like to say they would, but that’s just wishful thinking. Most people do nothing that doesn’t directly benefit them.

  When she’s this mad, no amount of threats will relent her bullheaded train of thought. She wi
ll get what she wants or lie in wait until she can. To her, this is punishing me for not doing as I’m told. I could fight her off, but then I’d hate to think of what she would do.

  She can’t send me to military school or some center for troubled youth. Going there will only make things inside my head so much worse. I won’t have the outlet I need; the feel of a man’s touch to chase away the demons in my mind. Day in and day out, her punishment would force me to focus on those implicitly.

  Swallowing my pride, I step away from the door. She is the only person who can—for a brief moment—make me feel weak as fuck. Any other time, I would be the first to buck up against someone threatening harm. But with her, I have nothing. Just threats. Threats that don’t always sneak through the haze of anger in her mind.

  “I have school tomorrow!” I try for the final time. “You hit me, and I will walk out of this house naked and let every person know what you do to me!”

  She doesn’t have to know I won’t do something like that. For several minutes, there’s nothing but intense silence. My heart nearly beats its way out of my chest as I fight for breath. My body shakes with pure adrenaline, shaking and trembling so much my knees knock together. Then, my savior comes in the form of her cell phone ringing downstairs. A rush of relief flies between my parted lips, as I sink to the floor at the end of my bed.

  All I need in my life is to have to explain bruises to Karma. Again. I don’t know how many excuses I can come up with before she questions me all together. Last time, I used the stairs as my scapegoat. This time? With the holes in that paddle? There would be nothing I could say that would be believable.

  What am I thinking? It’s not believable, anyway.

  “You’re lucky I have to get that,” she says, then I hear her heels click-clacking toward the stairs.

  I was lucky this time, but I know I won’t be for long. Debra will remember this. She will strike when I least expect it, and then, I’ll be nothing but a puddle of bruises and agony on the floor.

  Fuck’s sake, I hate the range of emotions she makes me feel. Anger in one moment, then terror the next. It’s fleeting, that’s what makes it so much worse. Like tonight, her words had me in a state of confusion, and I didn’t have long to gather my wits before her confrontation.

  Next time, though, I don’t think I will be so lucky, and it will only make my hate for her grow that much stronger. My birthday is in a few months. If I can last long enough for that precious date, then she will no longer have any hold over me. I will fight back, and she will pay for what she’s done.

  CHAPTER 3

  Whoever did this will eat my fist. I don’t care who it is or what motive they had in doing it, the second I find them, it’s on.

  Yesterday, I allowed myself to be weak. Permitted what Debra has been doing for me for years to wear me down. I thought about it all night, worrying myself to the point of nausea. Well, that’s no more. I will not allow myself to fall that far from who I am, who I’ve become.

  I will not put up with other people doing this. Hell, no to that. They don’t have any importance in my future, and I’m damned if they have any significance in my present.

  They want a bitch? Well, they will get one. I’ve spent the last two years putting up with all their shit, and I will not do it anymore. Enough is enough, and they went too far this time. This is the last thing my father bought for me before he left. It’s one of the last things he gave me period. It deserves to be cherished, not vandalized.

  As if my inner thoughts conjure it, my phone vibrates inside my back pocket. My hands are shaking with so much rage it’s hard to unlock my phone and check to see who or what it is. But when I do, my mouth falls open in shock.

  It’s a mass text.

  To everyone that matters in our school.

  And it’s about me!

  Elite: Jessalyn Savoy is no longer a target. Stand down.

  Who do they think they’re messing with here? I’m no longer a target? As if I should have been one in the first place. It took them the entire weekend to come up with something like this, and to my calculations and that of the ruined car in front of me, they’re far too late for that. Anger completely engulfs me, tingeing my vision in red.

  Taking a picture, I grunt in annoyance as I attach it to the mass text and press send.

  Me: Hmm, the reins seem to be slipping, Lockridge. [IMAGE ATTACHED]

  There is no reply. Not even a peep. I’m not sure if he meant for me to be part of the group or not, but here we are. At least now, I have the outrageous number he uses to send out his “decrees.” So, the first chance I get, I’m spamming that motherfucker with every dick picture in my arsenal. I don’t care what I get my hands on—pictures of guys wearing unicorn cosplay, women whipping men with bull whips. I’m kind of scared of how far I’ll go now that I have the number to get in touch with everyone.

  Also, their order to stand down leaves me with a few questions that need answering, but I’m fucked if I’ll go to him to get those answers. I’d much rather hear them through the rumor mill at school, even if they are fifty percent lies woven within a seed of truth.

  I take one last look at my car, a hint of sadness encompassing me, before turning the other way and head off to school on foot. I’ll call and get it towed later, but for now, I’m not going out of my way. I have to get to school, because it’s time to set them all straight.

  Pasting a smile on my face, when I’m inwardly killing the queen bees, I settle into an easy pace. The early morning sun shines down, just as warm as it is during early spring. I’m actually surprised it’s not colder than it is, considering it’s already October. Most usually, we’re already wearing pants, light jackets, and boots. But for some reason, the warmer temperatures are fighting to stay around longer this year. Not that I’m complaining, I love the warm weather.

  I sigh, readjusting the bag on my shoulder. With each house I pass, the more anger bubbles in my guts. The only thing a person can do while walking to school is think, because there are no distractions, and I’m pissed. Strike that—pissed is the understatement of the century. I’m murderous, salivating at the thought of beating the shit out of every one of those queen bitches and their posse.

  You’re probably wondering how I know it was them, right? Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Callum practically shunned Alessandra in front of the entire junior and senior class on Friday night. If what he said to me is true, then not only did he throw down the gauntlet between them, but he pulled me in the middle of it. Even if I wasn’t the reason, he ended things with her, Alessandra will blame me. She’s had this vendetta against me since middle school, and this shit is getting old as fuck.

  However, his disregard of her didn’t work out to his advantage. I believe he sincerely thought I would willingly come running back into his outstretched arms, as if nothing was wrong. Nope. That’s not how I roll. It will take a lot more than that before I even think about forgiving him—if I even still know how.

  So, in the method of my madness, that’s what I will do to them. I will shun all four of them. I can’t get hurt any more than I already have if I don’t acknowledge them. I need to hold on to my anger and stew in silence.

  I know in my mind others won’t see their breakup as anything close to mutual, if they even acknowledge the king and queen called it quits. They will still blame me, because I know it’s already gotten around school, he stood up for me. People will talk, and their conclusion will be that I stole Callum away from her.

  It’s bullshit. All of it. I don’t have to steal anyone from anybody. I can get a man myself.

  Well, I could if the guys would stop interrupting me.

  So, no doubt there will still be the bullying, name calling—but now they’ll get it back just as much as they give it. I’m through being their pin cushion. Through tearing myself up inside to stay out of their way and just do my own thing.

  Now, they should really think twice before stepping up to me.

  Th
e queen bees, not the guys. I highly doubt after the spectacle Friday the guys will pay me any attention anymore. The only reason they did previously is because of that mix-up from two years ago. Callum thought I cheated on him, but in reality, it was rape, and it was a setup.

  Now that it’s out in the open between all five of us, there’s no reason to be around one another. And, in a small way, I’m relieved. I don’t want their attention; I want silence. It’s taken me two years to come to terms that it was the only thing my subconscious was holding on. I wanted—no, needed—to get my side of the story out. Now that I have, I’m free. Or as free as I can be, considering I’m trapped in school with them all for the next eight months.

  Just the mere thought of putting up with them every day is depressing. Having to watch the guys do their own thing, seeing the girls rub themselves all over them, because we all know that shit will happen, I’m just waiting for it. They’re too hot not to have attention, and I’d be a fool to think they don’t have needs. I mean, fuck, I have them, too.

  What makes it much worse, if that’s possible, is the inevitable pull Callum and Alessandra have between the two of them. I know he said it was over, but is it, really? That seems like something a person would say to get out of the shit creek their actions got them into. They messed around when we were dating freshman year. They got back together when he came back. How many times can I have it shoved in my face before I make sense of it?

  He could have beaten me down on his own, using those resources to hit me where it really hurts, but he didn’t. Instead, he put another nail in my coffin by snuggling up to her to make me jealous. He looked happy while doing it, too. Now that, upsets me the most. I’m not jealous. Not at all. Just, I guess, betrayed.

  Like I said Friday, I can forgive him for their previous hookup. We were both drunk, and he more so than I. People make mistakes all the time, and if we base decisions off the faults of others, there would be no safe zone. It doesn’t matter how much someone pleads and begs for it to be different, it will always end up being the same.