Well, maybe not quite as horrified. I’m sure Matthew hasn’t imagined what it would be like to lie naked under an obese fifty-eight-year-old man with chronic bad breath while he puts his penis inside him.
But I have, and the thought is enough to steady my nerves.
I take Mary’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Thanks. I love you, Mary.”
Her features soften with affection. “And I love you, sweetheart.” She glances over her shoulder, ensuring the others aren’t listening before she leans in to add, “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise. I was scared the night before my wedding, too, but God knows what he’s doing. Once you and Walter have children, you’ll see it’s all worth it. The babies make the other stuff not so bad.”
Not so bad…
My stomach twists.
Maybe I’m a selfish jerk, but I want more than “not so bad,” and I don’t want to be pregnant at eighteen—not with Walter’s baby or anyone else’s. I want to go to college and keep learning new things. I want to be free to make more friends and join the kinds of clubs Dad would never let me join and wear normal clothes and dance and swim in a bathing suit and figure out who I am before I get married.
If I ever get married.
I might decide marriage isn’t for me.
That will be an option, I realize, the thought making my head spin with a mixture of wonder, anxiety, and excitement.
So many new pathways are about to open up for me. All I have to do is make it through one more miserable, embarrassing night.
All I have to do is let Asher film me while he takes my virginity.
It’s a mortifying and repellent thought, but not nearly as repellent as saying “I do,” to Walter tomorrow night. It’s the lesser of two evils. That’s my reality right now—a choice between bad and a living nightmare.
But someday I’ll be a grown up with a degree in social work. Someday I’ll have my own money, my own house, my own life, and I’ll be able to help kids like me. I’ll make a difference and maybe even keep another young woman from being forced to make the kind of dark bargain I’m making tonight.
Holding tight to that hope and the dream of freedom, I lean in and give Mary a hug. “Thanks, Mary. Take lots of pictures for Mom. I know she’s sad that she couldn’t come.”
My mother is eight months pregnant with her twelfth child and on bedrest, the way she has been for most of the past three years. Dad refuses to use birth control, even though the doctors said it’s dangerous for Mom to keep having children with her history of high-risk pregnancies.
But Dad doesn’t believe in birth control, even to potentially save his wife’s life.
It’s another reason to run while I can, before I end up trapped in the same inescapable cycle as my mother and all the other wives. If I have a child in Temperance Valley, it will be that much harder to get out—maybe impossible. I would never leave my baby behind, but Dad and Walter both have enough pull with the local judges to make sure I would never get custody.
No, tonight is the night.
I’ve charted the course most likely to grant me the freedom I crave. Now I just need to screw my courage to the sticking point and follow through.
With one last wave to Ezekiel, Jude, Ruth, Abel, and the twins—Sarah and Paul—silently wishing them happiness and their own escape someday if that’s what they choose, I turn and walk toward my assigned seat.
On the way, I pass Asher, who’s sprawled in his chair, his gown open at the front to reveal a tight, sky blue t-shirt and dark wash jeans. It isn’t formal wear like the rest of the boys are wearing, but it doesn’t matter. He’s still the best-looking boy here.
No, the best-looking man.
Asher didn’t start homeschooling until he was seven so he’s a year older than everyone else in our graduating class. But he looks even older. With his broad shoulders, muscled frame, and scruffy jaw, there’s nothing soft or boyish about him. He’s all sharp angles and grown-up glances and knowing smiles.
He shoots one my way now as I pass by.
Our eyes lock, electricity surges in the air between us, and I suddenly know something I didn’t know before.
He can play it as cool as he wants, but a deep, feminine instinct assures me that Asher wants this. That he wants me—badly.
Maybe badly enough to be persuaded to make a few modifications to our agreement…
I smile a secret smile, one that sends curiosity and excitement flickering across Asher’s handsome face, and mouth, “Eight o’clock.”
He winks and mouths back, “Can’t wait.”
And as wicked and wrong and stupid as it is to be looking forward to getting intimate with a boy who hates my guts, I feel the same way. I can’t wait to be alone with Asher, in a place where I can see if my childhood friend is still in there somewhere.
And if maybe he misses me as much as I’ve missed him.
Chapter 5
Asher
Before Emma’s proposal, I was planning to skip graduation.
I already have my diploma. This is just ceremonial bullshit for the kids who still have parents or other people who care to watch them prance across a stage in a cap and gown.
My brother offered to skip his business trip to Austin so he could come and take me out to celebrate after, but I told him not to bother.
This ceremony holds no meaning for me.
Nothing in this town holds meaning for me.
I can’t wait to get out, to join Jackson’s contracting company and build houses with my big brother. I already have tons of construction experience. Even just working summers and after school, I probably make as much money as half the men in this town.
But I have bigger dreams. I’m going to become a contractor, too, like Jackson, except I’ll specialize in houses instead of commercial real estate. Someday I’ll have my own company and build mansions for billionaires and earn such a sweet living I’ll be able to go anywhere I want.
I’ll be able to get the hell out of Texas and never look back.
Until Emma dropped her bomb in my lap this afternoon, that’s all I could think about—getting out of Appleton and away from all the ghosts that haunt this town.
Now, all I can think about is how glad I am that I’m still here, and that I was the one she picked.
I’m the one who’s going to strip that gown and the pale pink dress beneath off of her tonight. I’m the one who’s going to discover every inch of her skin for the first time. I’m the one who’s going to teach Emma Carpenter what it feels like to have a man inside her, and no matter where she goes from here, she will never forget me.
You never forget your first, especially if you’ve risked as much as Emma is risking to get naked with a guy.
She’s clearly feeling the pressure.
She spends half the ceremony trembling and the other half with her hands clasped into a double fist and pressed to her mouth. After that first sexy-as-hell glance my way, she doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her awareness of what’s about to happen between us in the way she shifts in her seat… In the jog of her heels and the tension in her shoulders and the way she bolts for the opposite side of the football field as soon as we throw our caps into the air.
Taking advantage of the confusion as the rest of the seniors cheer, embrace, and shout directions to the after-party, I risk a glance back at Emma’s family. They’re still sitting quietly in two of the back rows, waiting for Emma to rejoin them.
No one seems to have noticed that she’s made a run for it yet.
If we’re lucky, they won’t start looking for her until it’s too late to see where she’s gone.
Moving slowly, I weave my way through the crowd, circling around the stage just as Emma disappears behind the fieldhouse. I give her time to reach the trail through the woods to my place, hanging back long enough to make sure no one has followed us—and to give her one last chance to change her mind.
If I get to my place and Emma isn’t waiting by the door, I won’t go
looking for her.
I’ll let her go and…wish her well.
Like it or not, the things she said this afternoon got to me. I understand what it’s like to be fresh out of the cult and scared to death. It took me a solid year to feel comfortable picking out my own clothes, hanging with kids who weren’t part of the faith, or skipping prayer before bed.
And the truth is I don’t hate Emma. Not really. I hate Bob. It’s just a cruel twist of fate that hurting Emma is the easiest way to hurt her dad.
Doesn’t mean I won’t do it, though.
If she’s waiting for me, I fully intend to follow through with this and take my revenge. For myself and for Jackson, but mostly for my mom.
Bob as good as murdered my mother. I will have vengeance for that before I leave this town—one way or another.
Still, as I walk through the woods, I feel more fucked up than I’ve felt in years and have a hard time making sense of the emotions swirling in my chest.
It’s cooler in the shade, the air smells like sweet summer grass, and the fireflies are out—dancing in the near darkness beneath the trees—but I can’t enjoy any of it. I’m too torn, a part of me desperate to see Emma and another part equally desperate to be stood up.
But as I emerge from the woods and walk through the freshly cut grass to the last condo in this section of the complex, I spot Emma on our small back porch. She’s sitting in one of the antique metal chairs I painted bright blue last summer, the color I chose because it exactly matches her eyes.
Her slippery black graduation gown is in a puddle by her feet and her dress is unbuttoned far enough that I catch a glimpse of sheer camisole as my gaze skims up to meet hers. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat and her full lips parted, and even without a bit of makeup on, she’s easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You look nice,” I say, even though ‘nice’ doesn’t get close to how stunning she is right now.
She arches a dubious brow. “Heatstroke looks good on me?”
“Yeah. Pink is your color.”
“Thanks,” she says. But she still looks suspicious, as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for me to say something awful or turn the compliment into a joke.
But that makes sense.
That’s who I’ve been to Emma. Her bully. Her tormentor.
Still, I’m the one she came to for help. Just how desperate she must have been to do that, to put herself at the mercy of a person who’s treated her like shit for years, suddenly hits me like a body blow.
I wince and press a hand to my roiling stomach.
“Are you okay?” she asks, proving she’s a better person than I’ll ever be. Even after everything I’ve done to her, she sounds legitimately concerned.
“I don’t know,” I answer, honesty spilling out of me unexpectedly. I rake a hand through my hair, then rip off my robe, tossing it onto the porch beside Emma’s. “It’s so fucking hot.” The words give me an idea, a way to buy some time until I get my head on straight. I glance back to Emma. “Want to go swimming? The complex has a pool.”
Her eyes widen. “I um…I don’t have a suit.”
“That’s okay. My brother’s girlfriend, Daisy, has one that she leaves over here. She won’t mind if you borrow it.” I nod toward the door as I reach into my front pocket for the key. “I’ll get it and you can change in the downstairs bathroom.”
“Oh. O-okay,” she stammers, popping nervously to her feet.
“I’m not going to drown you,” I offer dryly as I turn the key. “Promise.”
Her breath rushes out. “I know. I mean, I didn’t think you would, I just… I don’t know how to swim. I’ve never been in a swimming pool.” She shrugs. “Or in water over a few feet deep.”
At first, my mind rejects her statement—surely, she knows how to swim; we used to spend hours at the creek when we were kids. But then I remember that Emma and the other girls never went to the swimming hole with the boys. For “modesty’s sake,” they weren’t allowed to take off their dresses and the moms were afraid they’d drown if they tried to swim with them on.
The unfairness of it makes my already twisting stomach cramp even harder.
“Well, that changes tonight,” I assure her. “I’ll teach you.”
Her eyes widen even further, until she looks like a startled baby owl, and I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m not all bad, C.B.,” I say. “And I remember how fast you used to run when we were kids. Under all that scratchy cotton, I’m betting there’s a natural athlete waiting to break free. Maybe swimming will be your sport.”
Her lips twitch a little at the edges, but she clearly still doesn’t trust me with a real smile.
But maybe by the end of the night…
Fuck that. This isn’t about making friends or making amends, this is about punishing the man who killed Mom.
Wake the fuck up, asshole, and get your head in the game.
You won’t get another chance like this, and if you fuck it up, you’ll never forgive yourself.
The inner voice is probably right, but it’s also at odds with my gut.
I’ve always listened to my gut. It’s the one thing that’s never steered me wrong. Anger, ego, and fear have their own messed up agendas. The gut just wants to keep you alive.
And right now, my gut is screaming that I can’t hurt this girl. I can’t harm a single hair on her perfect head. My gut insists that Emma isn’t mine to punish, but that if I play my cards right…and get very lucky…she might become mine to protect.
The thought eases the cramp in my stomach.
“Come on.” I open the door, nodding for her to go ahead. “I’ll get you the suit, then change into mine upstairs. If we hurry, we can be in the water in ten minutes.”
“That sounds good,” she says.
It does.
It sounds so good that I know I’m in trouble. And then I come downstairs in my trunks to see Emma standing by the door in Daisy’s black bikini and see-through black net cover-up, and my heart stops.
It just…stops.
Because she is…
“Wow,” I whisper, swallowing hard as I force my gaze away from her killer curves and back to her face. “You um… You look…”
She rocks back on her bare heels with a little laugh. “Um…yeah. You, too.” She flutters a hand toward my chest. “You look different with your shirt off than when we were kids.”
I bite my lip, willing my cock to calm the hell down. “Good different, I hope.”
She nods and her cheeks flush pink again. “Yep.”
I grin. “Yep? Just…yep? That’s all I get?”
She rolls her eyes. “I think your ego is big enough already, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. Before the night’s over, I’m going to need to hear you say nice things about my chest, buttercup. Or you can just drool on it a little. Drooling is good.”
Emma holds my gaze for a long moment that has me losing the battle against my erection even before she says, “All right. I think some drooling can be arranged. But first, we swim?”
“First, we swim,” I agree in a husky voice.
Then, even though all I want to do is swoop her up in my arms, carry her to my bedroom, and taste every inch of her, I follow her out the door and start for the pool, hoping the cool water will take the edge off.
Chapter 6
Emma
I’m dreaming.
That’s the only explanation for all of this.
I’m at home in my bunk bed above Ruth’s, dreaming my last dreams as a girl before I’m forced to become some strange man’s wife. My subconscious is gifting me this delicious fantasy to make the horror to come a little more bearable.
But Asher’s hands feel so real as he supports me beneath the water, helping me learn to float.
So real and strong and…electric.
“Good,” he says, his voice muffled by the water in my ears. “You’re doing great.”
I
try to smile, but I’m not sure I pull it off. I’m too distracted by the prickly, tingling sensations coursing from his hands to every inch of my skin. And to places deeper than my skin.
Between my hips, an unfamiliar, but delicious, tension has begun to gather, and between my legs…
I bite my lip, stifling a moan as Asher’s hand shifts from the small of my back to cradle my bottom beneath the water and the ache between my legs becomes a hungry heartbeat. I’ve felt stirrings down there before—usually when Asher was whispering something awful into my ear while I was supposed to be focused on classwork—but nothing like this. He’s awakened something in me, something I’m guessing is the “wicked temptation of lust” Dad is always warning us about.
But it doesn’t feel wicked.
It feels exciting. Like every Christmas morning in my life thus far all rolled into one. But also…urgent. Like the need for a drink of water after hours in the sun.
I need something from Asher.
I’m not sure what just yet, but my body has a few ideas.
It’s my body calling the shots as Asher guides me back onto my feet in the shallow end, saying, “I think you’re ready to try it on your own.”
I brace myself with a hand on his arm and step closer to his heat. It’s cool beneath the water, but the air is warm, and Asher’s skin is like a live coal, so hot I have the strange urge to lick his pec muscle, just to see if it will make my tongue sizzle. Instead, I tip my head back and lean into him until my breasts brush, ever so lightly, against his chest.
My lips part as my nipples tighten and more tingles dance through my electrified body.
Asher’s eyes darken and his breath starts to come faster, too, almost as if he knows what I’m feeling.
Or as if he feels it, too…
“Emma,” he whispers, my name a warning I don’t understand.
“What?” I whisper back, pressing closer as the heaviness between my legs grows even more intense.
“You’re…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “It does things to me. When you’re this close.”
Broken by the Bully (Beauty in the Breaking Book 1) Page 3