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

by Belladona Cunning

  Tease Me, Baby

  __________

  A Reverse Harem High School Bully Romance

  Silver Creek High, Book 2

  __________

  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

  Tease Me, Baby

  Copyright

  A Note from Belladona

  Table of Contents

  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

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  About the Author

  Blurb

  No is not in their vocabulary.

  I think I might have a problem.

  Walking out on the guys was supposed to be the end of it. Right?

  Turns out it was only the beginning.

  Callum, Quinn, Asher, and Ellis aren’t the kings of Silver Creek High for nothing.

  They’re smart, resourceful, and calculating in getting what they want, and what they want now is me.

  However, that’s where things get a little sticky.

  You know those four handsome assholes?

  Well, they don’t like being ignored.

  What’s even worse?

  Neither do the queen bees they turned their backs on.

  I have a feeling things are about to get ugly.

  Because these queens are out for blood.

  Mine.

  PROLOGUE

  Ominous, thudding footsteps drill my eardrums each time his boots make purchase on the stairs. He’s hunting, searching. But he already knows where I am. He made sure no other room in the house was accessible.

  I can practically feel the need roll off him in waves. It’s thick and disgusting, practically strangling me as it slithers over my body.

  Before tonight, it never scared me being in my house. But now, all I really want is to get out of here. Go somewhere, anywhere. Even if I have to bunker down under the debilitated bridge that leads out of town.

  But I know that’s never going to happen. Not with the threat he texted me last time. See you soon. The only thing he left off is the fact he’d be watching as he drains the life from my eyes.

  There’s nothing I can do, nowhere I can possibly run. I’m trapped, hiding under the bed with slowly cooling blood dripping onto my heated skin.

  “Come out, come out wherever you are, little girl,” his muffled voice slices through the chilled air.

  Silent, panting breaths escape through my mouth. My eyes widen in fear as I watch him kick the door open hard. His mud-caked boots are the first thing I see, then the bottom of his worn black jeans. Leisurely, he steps into the room. A sickening chuckle filters through the stagnant air as he no doubt takes in the scene of his handywork. The person he killed, then deposited here, in his quest to get to me.

  My mind races, palms sweating against the floor, as I try to think of a way out of this. The only exit is past him or the window, and something tells me he’s much faster than I am. He’ll catch me before I can get to safety, and there’s no way I will be able to fight him off.

  My cell phone is in my clutch on top of my bed, probably buzzing with texts from the guys. Damn, I wish they were here. I wish I could get to it and alert them that I need help. Maybe they could scare him off.

  Maybe then I’d survive this.

  CHAPTER 1

  I feel like death. Like a vast void of nothingness surrounds me.

  Ever since leaving Callum’s house on Friday, I’ve been in this mind-numbing fog. It’s dense, and I can’t seem to shake it no matter what I do. It’s like this looming presence nearly strangling me of all oxygen. My body feels so beat down and exhausted, it takes a lot for me to get up and take care of my needs. I feel so hollow, worn—like a knife being thrust into my body, twisted into my soul, and slit me right down the middle.

  I finally got to explain my side of the story, tell them every miniscule detail, no matter how ugly. I thought I would feel a hundred times better after baring myself to them, but instead, I feel worse. I can’t fathom why, either. I did what I set out to do, it’s what I was waiting for.

  How is that possible? If anything, I should feel lighter, free. That night, my wings should have unfurled, flapping me into a new state of happiness. Except now, I feel like the tether around my heart and throat only tightened more. Why do I feel like a part of myself fled the moment I walked through his door for the last time? Remembering the look on his face, as if I truly wounded him will be what haunts me the most.

  The only explanation I can come up with is because of what Callum did to me. During my months of hating him, I didn’t stop to consider why until the opportunity was right in front of me. How he carelessly threw away a potential future between us the moment he came back to Silver Creek by choosing her.

  I know, it sounds insane, right? Fighting within yourself to hate someone you used to hold so much love for. It’s practically blasphemous. But that doesn’t mean my heart is capable of such emotion, not anymore. He stole that away from me, threw it on the ground, then stomped all over it.

  I can take the bullying, the harassment—but I can’t take the thought of Callum choosing Alessandra twice. Twice. He disregarded the pure, unadulterated hatred I have for that bitch, and played on those feelings. He’s a mindfuck. He should have known better; should have known none of this would end well.

  Now, the first time, I’ll let slide. When someone is under the influence, you can’t hold them accountable for their actions if it was you pushing them to get that way. I made
Callum drink, forced him to get lost in the party’s ambiance, so that later, we could consummate our relationship without fear, anxiety, or pain. Did that make me a fool to do that? Should I have welcomed the pain, instead? Probably, but it’s not something I can change now.

  No matter how much his presence draws me in, tantalizing me in a state of need, I can’t. It will only get me hurt again. Except this time, I’m not sure I’ll survive the fallout. They can tease me, taunt me, but I can’t give in. I cannot allow my heart to sway toward them. No matter how much my body enjoys the idea of doing just that.

  Beneath it all, I guess that’s what makes it so difficult. My body wants all of them, but my heart and mind know traveling down that path will only lead to demise, pain I won’t be able to overcome again. It made little sense to me until I took the time to think everything over.

  It makes me so upset just thinking about her and him together. The tendrils of fire in my stomach swirl with ideas of revenge. When I think about Callum showing her, the queen bitch, the same softness he tried showing me Friday grates on my nerves, or what little I have left.

  He knows how much I hate that girl. Actually, hate may be too tame of a word—I loathe the very ground she walks on. If she were to get hit by a bus today, I’d happily stand back and watch. Alessandra has done nothing but put me through Hell, and if it makes me heartless to want something like that, then I must be doing my job. Why would any harm that befalls her worry me? You can only act a certain way for so long before it all starts crumbling down around your feet.

  The weird thing is, we used to be friends if you can believe it. Yes, girl, I know. But let me say, Alessandra didn’t always used to be the way she is now. Back in elementary school, we were inseparable. Our parents used to coordinate get-togethers, and her and I would play around in my backyard until dusk settled into the evening sky. We spent our summers with each other, laughing, playing. She was my best friend.

  Now, though, she’s turned into nothing more than a spiteful bitch. She changed, somewhere around fifth or sixth grade, just before we went into middle school. I don’t know the reason, but I know it came around the time her breasts developed, and she lost her braces and glasses. She went from being metal mouth, bottle cap glasses Lennox, to a bombshell asshole with a taste for blood.

  A slight buzz in my pocket alerts me to a text. I haven’t checked my phone all weekend, not sure I want to now, either. I’m scared. Petrified more like it, and I do not understand why. It’s not like I’m trying to hide from anyone, I just can’t bring myself to put up with bullshit.

  I guess, if you strip it down to the bare-bones, I’m licking my proverbial wounds. But I know I won’t be able to hide forever. Just as soon as Monday rolls around, I must face all four of them again. If their reaction to the truth held any merit, something tells me the gloves are off. They will not stop at nothing until they have me right where they want me.

  Please, don’t let it be one of them, I think to myself.

  Sighing, I retrieve my phone. My heart gives a thud of apprehension until relief soars in my chest when I spy who it is.

  Karma.

  Karma: Are you going to answer me? Look, I’m sorry for not telling you about the parties, but I didn’t think you would want to go. Quinn isn’t really your best friend, and neither is Bree.

  When she puts it like that, then I understand where she’s coming from. I wouldn’t put her in that situation, either. But that doesn’t mean she should have withheld information. I’d rather be knowledgeable and not attend than get blindsided. You know, kind of like I was. And I hate more than anything having something hit me out of nowhere.

  Me: I’m not mad at you, Karm. Promise. I’ve just been dealing with a lot and needed some radio silence.

  Not the absolute truth, but not a lie, either. It should be believable.

  Karma: So, you’re not mad?

  Am I mad? No, not really. I’m more upset and humiliated than anything. Upset, because she didn’t think I could handle hearing something like that. Humiliated, because I didn’t know about it. Being the person, I am, I should have known. I’m usually in the middle of all the goings on in Silver Creek.

  Me: No, I’m not mad.

  Flicking out of our messaging thread, my heart leaps into my throat when I spy my home screen. It comes in the form of ten missed calls and a plethora of texts from who I assume are the guys. How they got my number, I don’t know, but they have it, and I know I’ll have no peace within the near future.

  Even though I don’t have their numbers programmed, I can tell it’s from them. Just the snippets I see without opening them leads me to believe that much.

  1-229-205-7509: Little mouse, there’s …

  1-229-205-3450: You should really listen …

  1-229-205-4895: Get it together, girl. There …

  1-229-205-5810: I’m so sorry that happened to …

  As bad as I hate to admit this, I can, with certainty, guess which number belongs to whom. It’s easy to tell between the four of them, because their personalities are so vastly different from one another.

  The first is from Callum, because he always calls me that horrid nickname. It was cute when we were freshman, before shit turned hazy and discombobulated, but it is not reminiscent of the person I am now. In fact, it’s a contradiction of epic proportions. Mice fear their shadows, I thrive in mine.

  The second, I believe is from Asher. No other way around it. Before the party, he was trying to warn me away, trying to get me to listen to him. With him, it’s all about listening. I’ve noticed during school that he isn’t the type to get into long-winded conversations, so when he has something to say, you should listen.

  The third—ha, yeah, that’s Quinn. He’s more of the no bullshit, everything-has-a-reason type. I guess, that’s one thing you can say I like. I don’t do bullshit, will never do bullshit, and have no reason for bullshit. If you were to put us together, I’m sure we’d make the perfect fucked-up couple.

  The fourth—that’s Ellis. Sweet, sensitive Ellis Malone. If I forgave any of them, or even thought of doing something like that, it would be him, simply because of his genteel nature … No, you can’t forgive. That just creates room for disaster. But it doesn’t stop me from staring longingly at the texts I’ve yet to open.

  Huffing, I click back on mine and Karma’s thread. At least, with her, I know where I stand. She makes no excuses, gives no fucks, and I absolutely adore her for it. She keeps it real, no matter the situation.

  Karma: You want to hit up Deliciously Sweets? I know that place always gets you into a better mood.

  As tempting as that is, I really need to stay away from that place. The guys, knowing my luck will be there, scoping the place out. It’s the only hotspot of Silver Creek besides the theater, and it’s really the only thing we have in this town for fun. With the way Callum looked on Friday night, I have this sneaking suspicion he’ll be there, sitting at the booth we used to share.

  So, I guess I need to think of an excuse. One that Karma won’t second guess just as soon as I send it. She’s a ninja like that, maneuvering her way through bullshit with the grace of air.

  Me: Wish I could. I need to train if I’m going to make the team this year.

  Just as soon as I type out my reply, I feel like the shittiest friend alive. I’m not the person to make excuses. They are far too similar to a lie, which bugs the piss out of me. I can’t stand a liar, a fraud, or any of that shit. But this needed to be done, because I still have to sift through the thoughts muddling up my mind.

  Considering we’re heading into October; I know Karma won’t second guess it. Training has always been a buffer of sorts, and she knows how important Fast-Pitch is to me. Does she like it? No, because that means our hanging out days cut to near nonexistent.

  Karma: You’re better than all of them. No sweat.

  I smile, shaking my head. It’s the same thing she says every year, but this time it’s different. There are girls coming from a
different school to compete for my position. If I’m not in the best shape of my life, that little sour-puss Derricka, will take it for hers.

  Me: You have too much faith in me. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?

  Karma: *eye roll* Okay. See you then, bitch.

  Tossing my phone onto my bed, I sit there for several minutes in pure silence. Chaotic thoughts swirl around inside my head, and I catch myself flicking my gaze back to my phone a few times, wondering. Those text messages are taunting me. Not because of who sent them, but because of what’s inside them. It’s the curiosity rearing its ugly head.

  When I catch myself glancing down at my phone again, frustration ripples through me and sit up in my bed. It will not do me no good to sit around with that kind of temptation. Heck, maybe I should train. At least then it will take my mind off everything except the stretch of mindless miles in front of me.

  Releasing a pent-up breath, I push myself up off my bed and get ready. I slide on my sports bra and spandex shorts. I’m in the process of grabbing some socks out of my dresser when I hear the front door slam below. It’s loud, startling—it even causes the pictures on my wall to shudder back and forth on their hooks. Pressing a hand to my chest, I wait for my erratic heart rate to calm. My gaze swings toward my open doorway. With reluctance, I toss my socks onto the bed and silently walk forward. My hackles rise as I close in, glimpsing Debra’s librarian bun and stiff posture as she huffs her way toward the kitchen.

  She’s usually not home so soon on Sunday, I ponder, worrying my bottom lip. Tilting my head, I wonder what’s gotten her in such a mood. Sunday’s are usually chill around here, but she looks like she’s about to throw down with the devil himself.

  “I told him I wasn’t signing that piece of shit.” Signing what? Divorce papers? She should have known that was coming. I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but even I was expecting it.