Break Me: Dark High School Reverse Harem Bully Romance (Sapphire Bay High Book 1)

by Naomi Martin

He shakes his head. “No clue. But I’m sure it’ll blow over. It always does.”

  “Yeah, I hope so,” I respond. “I don’t want two people I care about fighting. I don’t like it.”

  I’m well beyond frustrated at this point. It seems like there are too many people who’ve got problems with each other than there are people willing to be grown up enough to talk about – and find solutions – to whatever those problems are.

  He shrugs. “Talk to her. She’s apparently the one who has an issue with me,” he says, turning to me with a serious expression on his face. “Just do me a favor, and when you do go have your girls’ night with her, be careful.”

  I cock my head as I look at him. “Be careful?”

  He nods. “Yeah. You know how she gets sometimes. She can be a raging bitch,” he points out. “Just – be careful.”

  “Ummm… sure. Okay. Way to sound mysteriously ominous.”

  “And I need to ask you for a favor, and you can’t ask me why. Please just trust me.”

  “It’s hard to trust somebody when they’re being so deliberately vague.”

  He sighs. “Please, just trust me, Winter,” he repeats. “Don’t go to Blackjacks with her. Please, just steer clear of the place.”

  “Owen, what’s going on? You’re kind of freaking me out, here.”

  “Please, Winter. I just need you to trust me.” His voice and expression are both earnest. “Just do me that favor. Please.”

  My curiosity is more than piqued and my heart is hammering inside of my chest. To say I’m freaked out by this little scene would be a massive understatement. And it makes it difficult to trust Owen when I know he’s hiding things from me. But still, the tone of his voice and the fear I see in his eyes scare me.

  “Okay, I won’t go to Blackjacks with Olivia,” I finally tell him.

  He lets out a breath of relief. “Good. Thank you.”

  Wishing I had some idea what has him so freaked out, I sigh as I climb into Owen’s car, wondering if I have to break my promise to him to get answers to the questions circling around in my head.

  * * * * *

  “One caramel latte.” I smile my customer as I slide her drink onto the counter in front of her. “Enjoy.”

  She gives me a smile as she takes her drink and walks over to a table in the corner. It’s been an unusually busy night and I’ve been busting my butt – but I’m thankful for the distraction. Anything is preferable to having absolutely nothing to do. That gives me too much time to think about what’s going on, which only leads back to the questions that are still on my mind – questions that have no immediate answers forthcoming from anybody.

  The sun is slipping below the horizon and through the plate glass window that makes up the front wall of the coffeehouse, I can see the world beyond growing ever deepening shades of gray as the veil of night is slowly drawn over us.

  And, on the sidewalk in front of the shop, Bonnie walks by. She pauses as if she’s thinking about coming in, but then our eyes meet and a frown creases her lips. A darkness slips across her face like clouds passing in front of the moon, plunging the world around it into inky pools of shadow.

  I want to go outside and call out to her. I want to force her to talk to me, to hear my apology – and to accept hers. I want us to put the hard words and harder sentiments behind us. And I want us to be friends again. Like we used to be. I want to rebuild our friendship and move forward. Together.

  But how often in life do we get what we want?

  Bonnie turns away from me and walks on alone. Without me. As I suppose it’s going to continue to be between us. I hate it. I hate everything about it. But there’s nothing I can do. I sigh and try to occupy my mind by doing some work behind the counter. I clean the machine and carry a tray of mugs back to the auto-washer. I’m so focused on distracting myself that soon, the entire shop is sparkling clean.

  In the back of the shop, I’m organizing and labeling the drink ingredients when the bell chimes, announcing a new guest. Jumping to my feet, I feel my heart lurch within my breast, the hope that it’s Bonnie surging within me.

  I bound out the swinging doors into the front of the shop and feel immediately deflated when I see a woman that’s not Bonnie standing at the counter. She’s carrying a thick manila envelope and has a sour look on her face.

  “Hi,” I greet her. “What can I get you?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she replies. “I was just hoping I could put a few of these fliers out. Maybe hang one in the window?”

  “Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

  I watch as she walks to the front and tapes a flier to one side of the window and then the other. With nothing else for me to do, I walk into the back and continue on with my tedious but mind-consuming chores. It’s only later, after we’re closed and I’m cleaning the tables in the front of the shop, that I pick up one of the fliers the woman left behind.

  In big, bold letters at the top of the flier is the word, “Missing.” When I scan to the picture in the middle of the page, my eyes grow wide and my mouth falls open. Suddenly feeling nerveless and boneless, I drop the tray in my hand. The glasses hit the tile floor with a thunderous crash, sending shards of glass spraying across the shop.

  The picture is of a cute blonde girl with big, bright blue eyes – the very girl I saw with Owen at the club that night. The one he took to Olivia and Donovan. Then I shift my attention to the date posted under the picture and think back in time, my stomach roiling when I realize she was reported missing the day after I’d seen her.

  “No,” I whisper to myself. “It can’t be. It can’t be.”

  My mind races as I search for answers that make sense to me. This has to be some sort of horrible, horrible coincidence. It just has to be. Right? Because if it’s not some random act of chance, then it means Olivia – and Owen – are complicit in the disappearance of this girl. Or, at least, may have been the last ones to see her before she vanished.

  Chapter Twenty

  I spend most of the next day digging up whatever I can about the investigation into the missing girl – Chrissy Melton, as it turns out. She’s eighteen and lives in Blue Rock, which is a small town couple of towns over from Sapphire Bay. She’s a senior at Blue Rock High, is unsurprisingly a cheerleader and, from everything I can gather, leads a pretty charmed life.

  There unfortunately isn’t much to go on, as far as the investigation goes. She was reported to have gone out for dinner and a movie with friends the night before, but there was no mention of Blackjacks. I searched all the articles I was able to pull up online and not a single one of them mentioned the club.

  I saw her at the club the night she went missing, so I know that none of her friends told the truth. They all held to their line. To their lie. Her friends told the police they went out for dinner and a movie and that she disappeared after they all parted. Nobody breathed a whisper of the truth to the police. Nobody mentioned the club – or that she was seen with Owen Maddox before she apparently vanished without a trace.

  It’s like Blackjacks doesn’t even exist. And it’s like Chrissy Melton ceased to exist.

  I lean against the counter at work during a lull in the activity, scrolling through my phone. I’m still trying to find out more about Chrissy but am coming up empty. The flier that was brought in yesterday was taped to the counter by the register at some point today, and I find my eyes are constantly drawn to her photo. Her eyes seem to bore into mine, seem to be pleading with me to find her.

  The thought pops into my head that I should go to the police and tell them everything I know about Blackjacks and about seeing her out there. But the problem with that – aside from getting everybody pissed off at me for blowing the whistle on the place – is that I have no proof of anything. I don’t even have any proof that she was there. And, given the secretive nature of the place to begin with, I’m confident they’ll know how to cover their tracks.

  In fact, I think if the police go storming in there armed with stories about underage
drinking and participation in some sort of a sex club, it will likely turn out to be a dead end for them.

  Something bad happened to that girl out there, and if I want to prove it and hopefully help find her, I’m going to have to get proof by myself. It’s dangerous and reckless, but I think it’s necessary. There is a girl out there, somewhere, and the only leads I have to go on are people I know. My biggest hope is that not only can I find proof of what happened to her, but also find proof that clears Owen and Olivia of any involvement in her disappearance.

  * * * * *

  After work that night, I borrow my mom’s car and drive out to Blackjacks. I pull into an empty spot in the lot and shut the engine off. Then I just sit there with my hands trembling on the wheel, my stomach twisting and churning wildly, fighting the urge to throw up. The parking lot is about three-quarters full – it looks like another busy night at this illicit club, and I can’t help but wonder if the next Chrissy Melton is already inside.

  “What in the hell am I doing out here?” I mutter to myself.

  I close my eyes tight and try to focus on my purpose for being here: Chrissy Melton. She’s why I’m here. None of her friends seem all that interested in finding out what happened – or in finding her at all. If they were, they would have told the police the truth about where they were and what happened the night she went missing. It seems crazy to me that I don’t even know her but I’m being a better friend to her than the people in her life.

  I grit my teeth and try to clear my mind, doing my best to calm myself. I need to stay sharp and I need to be focused. Not wanting to give myself any more time to think about what I’m doing, I throw open the car door and climb out. After hitting the button on the remote to lock it up, I drop the keys into my purse and walk briskly toward the front door, doing my best to not hyperventilate.

  “Hey, girl.”

  I wave to Big Tony, the doorman. “Hey, Tone,” I greet him.

  “Good to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  He holds the door open for me and I offer him a smile as I step inside. As I walk down the short hallway that leads into the club, I try to tamp down the swarm of butterflies currently running amok and beating a harsh rhythm in my stomach.

  Standing just inside the threshold of the hallway, I quickly scan the interior of the club, making sure I don’t see anybody I know. That would shut down my investigation pretty fast. Not seeing anybody in the immediate vicinity, I stalk into the club and take a seat in a booth on the far side of the club. Not only am I out of the way, I have a good vantage point and can see most of the club’s interior.

  A few moments after taking my seat, I’m approached by Valerie – a waitress who knows me – who flashes me a big smile as she drops a cosmo off at the table.

  “You read my mind,” I tell her gratefully.

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” She laughs. “Liv comin’ in tonight?”

  “Yeah, I think she’ll be here in a bit.”

  She nods. “Well, she’s late then.” She laughs again. “Asher, Owen, and Samuel are all here already.

  “They are? When did they get here?”

  She screws up her face as if she’s thinking. “Couple of hours ago, I guess.”

  The churning in my stomach redoubles and I taste bile in the back of my throat. When I talked to Owen earlier, while I was still at work, he told me he had some family function he had to be at tonight. He never said anything about coming here and, oh yeah, he lied to me about where he was going to be. The more I think about it, the worse this looks for all of them. I just hope I’m wrong in the assumptions my brain is leaping to.

  “It can’t be,” I mutter to myself. “There has to be a logical explanation.”

  I sit back in the booth, nursing my drink and hiding in the thick pool of shadows in the corner. About half an hour later, I see Owen and Asher come out of a room behind the bar through a door I didn’t know was even there. I press myself back against the wall, trying to sink further back into the shadow and be as unobtrusive as possible. Owen and Asher stand to the side of the bar, talking.

  The conversation is animated, punctuated with what looks like some aggressive gestures. I can tell the boys are not happy with one another, for whatever reason. Oh, to be a fly on the wall right now. A couple of minutes later, though, they seem to come to some kind of understanding. They give each other some elaborate handshake and a back-pounding bro hug. Glad to see they worked it all out.

  I watch as they venture further into the club, greeting people and shaking hands like they own the place. It’s the strangest thing to see these two guys I know – high school students, no less – glad-handing people like they’re running the show. And it makes no sense to me at all. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what in the hell is going on.

  But my breath catches in my throat when I see Owen zero in on a tall, leggy brunette in a short skirt and tight sweater. He leans on her table and starts talking to her for a few minutes, flashing her that smile that never fails to make my heart spin. She laughs at something he says and puts her hand on his upper arm, letting it linger there. Watching this flirty little dance between them is making me sick and I’m fighting the urge to storm down there and slap the both of them.

  “That’s not why you’re here,” I remind myself. “You’re here for answers. That’s all that matters right now.”

  I see Valerie winding her way through the crowd, heading straight for me, and feel a spike of fear pierce my heart. She could totally blow my cover if I don’t play this right. Grabbing my phone out of my bag like it’s ringing, I press it to my ear and hold an imaginary conversation with myself. I’m not much of an actress and I’m sure I look like an idiot. But I’m going with it, and I hope she buys it.

  “Well, you better get your butt up here soon,” I tell my phone as Valerie walks up. “Yeah, we’re waiting. Hurry up. Chop chop, Liv.”

  I pretend to hang up and let out an exasperated sigh. Valerie laughs and shakes her head as she sets a fresh cosmo down on the table in front of me.

  “That girl is going to be late to her own funeral,” she remarks.

  “Right?” I reply with a laugh. “I swear to God.”

  “Hey, Owen and Asher–”

  “Hey, can you do me a favor and not tell them I’m here?” I cut her off. “I kinda just want to hang out with Liv when she gets here. Girls’ night out, you know.”

  She mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key. “Gotta have those girls’ nights, sometimes,” she agrees. “Just to detox from all the testosterone.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Don’t worry, they won’t know you’re here from me.”

  “You’re the best.”

  She grins. “Yeah, I know,” she chirps. “Just give me a wave when you need a fresh one.”

  “Thanks, Val.”

  She tips me a wink and bustles off to see to her other guests. I never questioned it when Olivia first brought me here, but I’ve never ordered drinks – they’ve always just showed up. And I have yet to pay so much as a nickel for my tab.

  If I’m being conspiracy-minded – and at this point, I’ve seen enough red flags to justify such thinking – it would seem to me that the free-flowing drinks to high school girls is a bit ominous. It almost seems like the house wants the young girls good and tipsy for the older men who prowl around the club.

  I don’t know why the thought never crossed my mind before. It seems so obvious to me, now that I’m thinking about it. But maybe that’s the point. They don’t want us to come in here and think about it. They want to pull us in with free drinks and sophisticated, good-looking, rich men. They want us to just party the night away without thought or concern to the consequences.

  But, again, that’s all just conjecture. I have no proof of anything, other than that the people who run Blackjack’s encourage underage drinking, public drug use, and sex acts with men twice their age. But those are all easily erasable and hid
den away. I can’t raise an alarm for those reasons alone. I need more.

  I turn my eyes back to Owen and see that he’s got his arm wrapped around the brunette’s shoulders. He’s leaning close to her ear, whispering something to her as she giggles. As I watch, she slides her hand down and squeezes his ass, and I feel my temper flare white hot. I have to physically force myself to stay put and not put a stop to that.

  If there’s one thing that’s clear to me right now, it’s that even if Owen isn’t doing anything illegal, I’m done with him. He obviously cannot be trusted to keep his dick in his pants around beautiful girls.

  Strangely enough, this time I’m not heartbroken in the least. Sure, I’m a little hurt. And seeing him pull her closer, grinding himself against her as he stares into her eyes, stings like hell. But it’s almost like I expected this. On some level, it feels like I put up barriers and protections to keep myself from falling to pieces when this happened again. I didn’t realize it at the time but somewhere, deep down, I realize I knew it was when and not if.

  I sit up straighter as Owen leads the brunette across the club, heading toward the rooms in the back. Asher, who’d been lingering against the wall across from me chatting up some curvy redhead, turns and follows them. As they stop to talk to the bouncer, I quickly stand up and weave my way through the crowd, keeping my eyes on Asher’s back. Whatever’s about to happen, he is certainly a part of it.

  I make it over to the bouncer and give him a sweet smile. He looks at me knowingly, grinning and shaking his head.

  “You late to the party or something?” he asks.

  I shrug, trying to look as vapid as humanly possible. “I had to pee,” I explain. “And I’d rather get it out now rather than when–”

  His laughter booms like thunder and he holds a hand up. “Keep it to yourself,” he interjects. “There’s things I don’t need to know about you. Go ahead.”

  “Thank you. You are the sweetest.”

  “You mind calling my wife and telling her that?”