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

by Naomi Martin

  My smile is rueful. It’s not as easy as just forgetting. Not for me.

  “I need you to know how sorry I am, Bon. You need to know how much I love you,” I tell her. “And you need to hear me say that you were right. About everything. I was so busy enjoying the perks of popularity, I lost sight of what was important.”

  She reaches across the table and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And I didn’t make things any easier on you. You were right, I was jealous, and I took it out on you,” she says. “I pushed you away instead of being mature about it. Instead of acting like a friend. So, I’m sorry, too.”

  As if we have the same thought at the same time, we both get up from the table and pull each other into a tight embrace. I hold onto her and feel something fall into place in my heart. It’s a piece that’s been missing for a little while now and with it back in place, I feel whole again. Complete in a way none of the trappings of popularity ever made me feel. Right here, with my best friend, feels like home. I feel like I’m right where I belong.

  “I love you, Bon.”

  “And I love you, too, Winter.”

  “Okay,” I announce as we re-take our seats. “So where do we start?”

  Bonnie fires up her computer and taps a pen against her lips, looking out the window into the dense and darkened interior of the forest beyond. Finally, as if inspiration has struck, she turns to me.

  “The first thing we need to do is find the scope of this,” she says assertively. “Let’s run a search on missing persons in and around Sapphire Bay. Pull up a map to get the names of all the towns that surround us and search for anything online from any of them.”

  “How far should we go back?” I ask.

  “For now, start at two years,” she suggests. “We can go back further, if needed, but two years should be manageable.”

  “Right. Let’s get to it, then.”

  For the next couple of hours, we barely speak as we scour the Internet for any mention of missing girls in any of the dozen surrounding towns, as well as follow-up articles about whether they’d been found or not to cross-reference. It’s tedious, and I feel like we’re searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But it’s important work. Necessary. After what I saw at the club last night, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that lives are hanging in the balance.

  “Okay, I’ve come up with twelve over the last two years,” Bonnie looks up and announces.

  “I’ve got thirteen names.”

  We exchange lists and cross off any duplicates. When we’re finished, we stare down at the sheet of paper in front of us in absolute horror. Nineteen names, including Chrissy Melton and Melanie Torres, remain. Nineteen girls who just fell off the face of the world over the past year and a half. Vanished, without a trace.

  “Just to play devil’s advocate, before we let ourselves get too freaked out, we don’t know any of these girls were ever at Blackjacks,” Bonnie points out.

  “We don’t,” I murmur. “But I can feel it in my bones, Bon. I know exactly where they disappeared from.”

  She tries to project an air of calm reason, but I can hear the edge in her voice. She’s as sure of it as I am. These nineteen girls were taken. And Asher, Owen, and Samuel all had a part to play in their disappearances.

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “I guess I do, too.”

  “I can’t believe these weren’t connected before.”

  She shakes her head. “They’re across city and, in some cases, county boundaries,” she explains. “Police departments in different towns are notorious for not sharing information or playing well with each other.”

  “So, while these cops are all having pissing contests over turf, girls continue to be taken.”

  She nods. “Yeah. That’s about it.”

  “What are we going to do about it, though?” I ask. “We don’t have proof that any of the boys, Donovan, or even Blackjacks is involved. If we take what we have to the cops now, they’ll laugh us out the door.”

  She shrugs. “I admit, having hard proof would be preferable. Something that doesn’t make us sound like conspiracy theorists,” she clarifies. “And because Blackjacks sits on tribal land, it makes it that much more complicated – and makes the cops less likely to go storming in there on nothing more than our word.”

  “Great.”

  “Yeah.” She pauses, I assume, to mentally review our options. “Okay, let’s take a minute to figure it out,” she says. “We’ll find a way to get some hard evidence that the cops can’t deny. I don’t know how, but we will.”

  The names of the girls – and the faces of Chrissy and Melanie – float through my mind. I find myself wondering what’s happened to them. Imagining the terror they must be feeling, and doing my best to not think about the pain they’re suffering or what sort of violations and degradations they’re enduring.

  Turning to Bonnie, I pull her into another hug, suddenly needing the reassurance, I guess.

  “These monsters need to be held accountable,” I say with a nod, steeling my resolve. “We need to make them pay.”

  “And we will,” Bonnie agrees with a quiet strength in her voice. “We will make them pay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  I’ve been so consumed with everything going on, trying to sort it all out in my head and figure out a way to force the police to do something, I don’t even notice Asher until he falls into step beside me. I didn’t want to be here today, but Bonnie thought it best if we act like everything is normal. Like there is nothing amiss.

  She argued that since Asher, Owen, and Samuel are all mixed up in this, if they suspect I know anything, I could be in danger. She said they might be watching me closely for any sign that I know, so I need to make them believe I’m still ignorant to what’s going on. And missing school unexpectedly might raise some red flags.

  So, here I am, walking down the hall with Asher by my side, pretending like everything’s fine and I don’t know he’s kidnapping and selling girls – and that I’m not busy trying to collect evidence that will put him in prison for the rest of his life.

  “How’s it going?” he asks.

  “Ummm… fine?” I force a laugh. “And how’s it going with you?”

  “Good. Great.”

  “That’s… great.”

  The air between us is thick with tension. My stomach is churning and my heart is beating the inside of my chest like a drum, and when Asher smiles at me, an overwhelming sensation of fear grips me. It’s like iron bounds around my heart that are slowly squeezing me tighter. And all I can think is that he knows. He knows that I know what he, Owen, and Samuel have been doing.

  I clear my throat and try to stifle the fear while putting my game face back on. The last thing I can afford to do is tip my hand to Asher and confirm what I know he’s already thinking. I don’t know how he knows it, but I can feel it down to my bones.

  “So, listen, I was thinking–”

  “That would be a first for you,” I choke out a laugh I hope sounds natural enough.

  “Oh, you got jokes. That’s awesome,” he says. “What I was thinking was that you and I should go out. We can maybe have a couple of drinks, then have a repeat performance. I haven’t had a good slapping around in a while, and–”

  “Oh my God. Are you fucking kidding me?” I counter, not even having to fake the outrage. “You think I’m going to sleep with you again?”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t think it hurt to ask.”

  “Unbelievable. Contrary to what you obviously think, I’m not some slut who’s going to drop my panties for you on command–”

  “Technically, it was more a request than a command.”

  The anger inside of me is flaring and it’s all I can do to keep from lashing out and slapping that smug smile off his face – mostly because I think he’d like it.

  “Shut up,” I hiss. “You know I’m with Owen.”

  Just saying those words, now that I know what
I do, sends a wave of revulsion through me and I have to physically stop myself from shuddering in Asher’s presence. I have to play my part and keep up the illusion until we figure out what to do. My very life may depend on it.

  A strange, inscrutable expression crosses Asher’s face and he arches an eyebrow at me. It’s a really weird look, and it sends a cold chill down my spine.

  “Are you, though?” he asks. “I mean, really?”

  “What?”

  “With Owen?”

  “Yes,” I spit. “I am. So what you’re asking is very inappropriate.”

  He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay. Never hurts to ask.” He grins. “Like some wise old dude said, you miss all the shots you don’t take.”

  “Yeah, well, you missed this one.”

  “Fair enough.” He starts to turn away then looks back at me as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. “Hey, you weren’t at Blackjacks the other night, were you?”

  A sudden rush of adrenaline makes my heart surge and feel like it’s about to burst. My hands start to tremble, and I have to fight the urge to turn and run away. I have to play my part. For the sake of those nineteen girls.

  “No, why?” The tremor in my voice is barely noticeable.

  “Oh, Samuel said he ran into you there the other night,” he tells me. “Said you looked pretty upset.”

  Shit. I’d forgotten all about running into Samuel. How could I have been so stupid? Now Asher’s caught me in a lie. Thinking quickly, I snap my fingers and nod.

  “Oh, right. I did,” I tell him. “I wasn’t there long. Liv and I got our wires crossed or something and I thought I was meeting her there. I ran into him as I was leaving.”

  He looks at me closer and I see the suspicion in his eyes. “Interesting,” he says. “Liv told me you two haven’t made plans to go out there in forever.”

  I shrug. “Like I said, we got our wires crossed,” I repeat. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Why are you giving me the third degree?”

  Asher’s eyes probe deep into mine, as if he’s determined to suss out the truth. I cringe backward, uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny. I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t quite know what I know. Doesn’t know what I’ve seen. And he’s trying to get me to say something that will tip him off.

  But then the dark cloud hovering over us dissipates faster than it arrived. The heaviness that had been saturating the air lifts, and Asher is smiling at me like the smug, arrogant prick who’s always trying to get into my panties.

  “No reason. I was just curious,” he says. “Anyway, if you change your mind about–”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  He grins wide. “Again. You mean, it’s not gonna happen again,” he teases. “And never say never.”

  He turns and walks away, acting like everything is fine and right in the world. But he leaves me standing there with the absolute certainty that he doesn’t just suspect I know what they’ve been up to.

  No. He knows I do.

  * * * * *

  The final bell rings, ending yet another day of classes, and I’m hustling for the doors. I need to get out of here. Quickly. I’m planning on meeting Bonnie at Grinders and we’re going to go over anything new we’ve thought of and try to come up with some sort of game plan. All I know is that we need to figure this out quickly, because I can already feel the noose around my throat – and it’s tightening.

  I’m cutting through the quad, making my way to the side doors that will lead me out to the parking lot. I figure taking routes I normally don’t take and aren’t heavily traveled will keep unwanted eyes off me. But as I pass a thick row of bushes, I realize just how wrong I was when I’m grabbed from behind.

  I thrash and kick but am held fast by a pair of hands that feel like steel vices around my arms. I open my mouth to scream but find that one of the hands is suddenly clamped down over my mouth as the other snakes around my waist and pulls me to a very familiar body. I would recognize the feel of that taut and toned torso anywhere.

  “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, but you have to promise not to scream,” Owen says. “I just need to talk to you, Winter. Please.”

  He lets go of my waist but clutches my wrist, his other hand still pressed firmly to my mouth. But I’m able to round on him, my eyes burning with rage. When I see his face, though, terror is etched plainly in his features, and my heart stutters. Pity for him wells up within me – along with the abundance of the other emotions I feel for him.

  But then the face of Melanie Torres surfaces in my mind. I see the stark fear in her wide brown eyes. I see the way Owen held her as Asher plunged the needle into her neck, and I’m able to quash those feelings I still carry for him. I stomp the life out of them as ruthlessly as I can.

  We’re sheltered in the space between the thick screen of bushes and the blank wall of the science building, where we can’t be seen unless somebody physically walks around the bushes. It’s the perfect spot for an ambush, and one I’m kicking myself for not noticing before.

  “Okay, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth,” he whispers. “I just need you to promise to hear me out and to not scream. Please, Winter.”

  I glare at him for a moment, then reluctantly nod. There’s a small piece of me that’s curious to hear what he has to say. Perhaps he’ll be able to provide me with the proof Bonnie and I need to take to the police. Slowly, as if he’s not sure I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, he removes his hand. When I don’t immediately yell for help, he lets out a sigh of relief.

  “Your life is in danger, Winter.”

  “I know,” I spit. “The question I have is, are you here to stick a needle in my neck? Or will you wait for Asher to do it – after Donovan slaps me senseless, that is.”

  Owen lowers his gaze to the ground, fear and shame crossing his face in unison. But all I can think is that this is some ploy of his – something to garner some sympathy from me. Well, it’s not going to work.

  “Yeah, I know what you guys are doing out at Blackjacks,” I continue. “You’re kidnapping girls and selling them. What in the hell are you thinking, Owen? Why?”

  He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that at first,” he admits, sounding miserable. “It was drugs. We were selling drugs. But then Donovan roped us into this shit. I don’t know how it happened. We were just slinging dope around the club, and then…”

  His voice trails off and he can’t meet my eyes. It makes me think maybe, just maybe, there is some scrap of decency left inside of Owen. That, maybe, he can be redeemed. For that redemption to happen, though, he’s going to have to help end this.

  “Tell me about it, Owen,” I encourage him. “Why is Donovan using you to traffic girls?”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “He knows that Asher, Samuel, and I have a way with girls,” he says. “He knows we can get them to act… out of character. And he uses that.”

  “You mean, you use that,” I point out. “Don’t think you’re not responsible here.”

  He nods. “I know. And it makes me sick.”

  “Sure didn’t look that way in the warehouse. You and Asher seemed downright giddy about shipping Melanie Torres out.”

  His eyes suddenly flash with anger. “I have to go along with it, Winter. If I don’t, they’ll kill me,” he says, his voice filled with heat. “I’m trapped. I think Asher and Samuel get off on this, but it’s killing me inside.”

  “So why haven’t you gone to the cops?”

  “They will kill me, Winter,” he repeats emphatically. “And I don’t want to die.”

  I pull on the ends of my hair viciously, my mind spinning harder than my stomach right now. I’m equal parts furious and terrified. I know Owen’s not going to hurt me; he came to warn me. But I need to get information out of him, and he can hopefully fill in some of the blanks Bonnie and I currently have.

  “How does it work?” I ask. “How does this all work?”

  “I
don’t want to tell you too much, Winter,” he replies. “I don’t want to put you in danger–”

  “I’m already in danger. You said so yourself,” I remind him. “So tell me. I need to know, Owen.”

  He sighs and seems to be weighing the decision in his mind. Finally, he nods.

  “Me and the guys, we’re what Donovan calls ‘groomers.’ We groom the girls he picks out. Cultivate a bond with them,” he explains. “And when we think they’re ready – when they’re into us and trust us enough, we take them to the back rooms. And… well, you saw the rest.”

  “Where do they go?” I press. “The girls – where are they taken?”

  He shakes his head. “I have no idea. Donovan has buyers,” he confesses. “I assume there’s a pretty healthy, lucrative market for hot eighteen-year-old girls.”

  I taste the bile in the back of my throat and try to ignore the nausea building within me. To know that Owen is a part of this is as disgusting as it is heartbreaking for me. I’ve always thought he was a good, kind, and decent person. And it feels like a kick to the gut to know just how wrong I was.

  “Why, Owen?” I ask. “Why are you doing this?”

  When he looks at me, I see the misery in his face. The pity I feel for him rises up again and I have to work to stuff it all back down again, reminding myself that Owen is a monster. That he’s done unspeakable things, and that he has to pay the price. Same as the rest of them.

  “We were in Blackjacks one night. All three of us. We were partying in the back rooms with a few girls,” he recounts. “One of them overdosed and died in the room with us. Just – dropped dead. Donovan had it all on film and said unless we started working for him, he’d turn it over to the cops. I found out later it was all a set up. Donovan gave the girl a hotshot of heroin. But on tape, it looks like we killed her. Like I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”

  The full horror of it all dawns on me and I want to cry as badly as I want to be sick. I don’t have time for either right now, though. Right now, I need to figure out how to best use this information. Owen grabs hold of my hands, looking deep into my eyes, his expression as earnest as I’ve ever seen.