Tormented: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Elginvale High Book 1)

by Esme Devlin

  He releases his grip on me only to tilt my chin up, forcing me to look at him. He looks straight into my eyes but says nothing. Both of us say nothing.

  And then he kisses me.

  The first time he kissed me like he hated me.

  The second time he kissed me like he was playing with me.

  The third time he kissed me like he wanted me.

  This time… this time he kisses me like he’s sorry.

  And all I feel is sorrow. I close my eyes because they’re stinging. I kiss him back, even as tears start spilling over and running down my cheeks. I’m sad because I don’t believe him. I’m sad because I want to believe him. I’m sad because even if I did believe him, forgiving him would mean betraying myself. I’m sad because I know that if I tell him this, he’ll either walk away and go back to hating me, or he won’t listen, he won’t leave me alone, and I honestly don’t know which one would be worse.

  Is there anything more bittersweet than the taste of a kiss with a tear?

  My sorrow isn’t enough to make him stop though. Not when he’s pulling my nightdress up over my hips. Not when he’s pulling his top up over his head. Not when he’s loosening his belt and kicking his jeans off.

  I only think about stopping when we tumble onto the bed and I feel his heart beating against my chest, his warm skin pressed against me. I told myself the first time that I didn’t care, that it would only be once and if he walked away, then so be it, I wouldn’t let him hurt me. But this time? This feels different. This feels too raw, too emotional. This time I’m so fucking scared that I’m going to get hurt no matter what happens.

  “Stop,” I tell him, while his mouth dominates mine. I push his shoulders back, trying to make him listen but it’s impossible. He’s too heavy.

  He takes my head and his hands and looks at me. “Why would I do that?”

  “This is wrong,” I tell him, looking away. I can’t turn my head but I find a spot on the wall behind him and I focus on that instead of his beautiful face.

  “It’s only wrong if I’m lying, would you agree?” He plants a kiss on my wet cheek and then rubs his own cheek over it, breathing me in.

  I nod my head.

  “Then you can tell me to stop if you want to, but I won’t do that. You need this. You need me. We need each other, and it’s only wrong if I’m lying. I’m not lying.” he whispers.

  And then he does what he said he would do only a few minutes ago. He does what he thinks I need. And maybe he’s right. Maybe him removing the choice is a blessing in disguise, because at least this way I won’t wake up tomorrow and feel like I’ve betrayed myself.

  And the truth of the matter is, what he’s doing feels good. My body wants him. My heart wants to believe him. If the promises he made are true, then this isn’t wrong. This is two people, with some crazy, insane connection doing what feels good. And the way he’s inching himself inside me feels good. The way he’s got my wrists stretched high above my head in a one-handed grip, that feels fucking good. The way every move he makes screams how much he wants me, no matter what I say or do, that feels good. Like he owns me. Like I’m the most important thing in the world to him.

  I need him to fuck the sorrow right out of me. I need him to replace it with lust and desire and anger and pain. I need him to fuck me like we’d die if we don’t, like we’d ignite and burn up.

  And he knows it. He knows exactly what I need before I know it myself.

  He pushes all the way in, and this time he doesn’t give me a second of recovery. This time he fucks me brutally. This time I’m struggling to free my wrists because I want to claw the fuck out of his back, I want to inflict on him what he’s doing to me. But if anything, my struggle seems only to spur him on, to make him more determined. Harder. Faster. He fucks me until I’m screaming at him, and when he finally lets go of my wrists, my nails dig into his shoulders and he slaps me. Not full force. Not enough to really hurt me. But enough to make my insides clench around his cock and a wave of fucking pleasure to wash over me.

  Through gritted teeth he groans like he’s in agony, and I run my nails down the back of his spine while he slams into me. His hands are everywhere, rubbing, squeezing, pinching, and scratching at my skin until I feel like I’m being consumed by him. I’m on the edge. I’m so close I can hardly stand it. And when he pulls out I feel the loss of him like he’s just taken the breath from my lungs.

  He flips me over on the bed and pulls at my hips until I’m on my knees. Within an instant he’s stretching me again, and my breath catches in my throat when I feel how much deeper he can go now. It’s too much. He’s going to break me. I scramble forward on the bed but he catches me, dragging me back and slamming into me, without mercy. I cry out from the shock of him hitting my cervix, from the sensations being too much but it doesn’t stop him.

  It’s only when I stop fighting him, when I collapse on the bed in a mess of heat and sheer exhaustion does he slow down. He lies flat on my back, one arm around my neck beneath me and one reaching down between my legs to rub my clit. He fucks me deep, but slowly. His arm tightens around my neck until my muscles clench and I grind down on his hand, and waves of fucking ecstasy rip right through me.

  He comes a few moments later, and when he makes no move to get off me, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep with him still inside me.

  ❖

  “So, how are you enjoying the new school then?”

  I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my dad’s car, and this is his idea of father-daughter bonding. A half-hour car journey on the way to meet his business buddies for dinner. I’ve always hated these, but it’s not like it’s a weekly occurrence. Maybe twice a year or something there will be a ceremony or a cocktail party, or a ball, and I’ll go along as his plus one. I reckon he thinks it makes me feel special or something. Like I’m still twelve and tagging along to work events will make me feel all grown up. I think it just highlights the fact that he works too much to find himself a wife, but what do I know?

  Either way, I don’t enjoy them. They’re always far too people-y. Which means eye contact, and smiles that make your cheeks ache, and small talk, and polite laughter, and telling the twentieth person who asks that you still don’t know what you want to be when you grow up.

  But on the plus side, at least it takes my mind off Shaun for a night.

  Just as I suspected, I woke up feeling more confused than I did last night, so I’ve been trying to shut down all thoughts of him. He left at dawn again this morning, with a promise that he’d see me at school on Monday and a kiss on the forehead. I didn’t say too much, because I didn’t know what I wanted to say.

  My plan now is just to see how things go. Nothing needs to be decided right now. I could cut all ties with him, but then I’d run the risk that if he IS lying, and he’s just being nice to break my heart, he’ll return to Plan A… and I’m quite enjoying having a locker door. If I let him think things are okay between us, then he’ll play nice. Whether he’s really playing nice, or if it’s all just an act like Rosheen claims, I don’t know. But he can’t break my heart unless I give it to him. And I won’t do that, because that would mean forgiving him for everything he did to me.

  I never had myself down as an over-thinker, but I feel like that’s all I’ve done this week. It’s draining me. I’m mentally exhausted from second guessing everything and analyzing his every move. I’ve decided just to stop and take everything as it comes.

  “It’s fine. Same stuff, different location,” I tell my dad, looking out the window. An answer that could not be further from the truth.

  “Glad to hear it. I was hoping we hadn’t made a mistake putting you in mainstream school for your final year, but it sounds like it’s going okay,” he says. I’d actually forgotten about that. When he accepted the job, the plan was for me to board Monday through Friday at an academy in the capital. He’d convinced himself that now I was old enough to be home alone, it would be nice to have me closer to him. He failed to
mention the fact that he travelled for business a good 98% of the time.

  Oh well.

  I smile at him in reply and he doesn’t say much else for the duration of the journey. We arrive at a grand country house, all red brick and short cropped lawns and more windows than I could count. Warm white lights are planted amongst the shrubbery, which casts dramatic shadows on the walls and makes the arches glow, giving the whole place an aura of grandeur.

  “Where are we?” I ask him, as he puts the car into park on the gravel forecourt and unbuckles his seat belt.

  “You’ll find out,” he says, winking at me and getting out of the car.

  Confused, I hop out of the car too and follow behind him, my heels crunching all the way to the front door. Dad gives the ornate knocker a few blasts, and moments later the doors open to reveal Liam McGuiness, dressed in a full tuxedo smiling down at us.

  “Mr Tyler, I’m Liam McGuiness. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Liam says, nodding towards my dad. “And the lovely Miss Tyler. You look absolutely exquisite tonight.” He smiles warmly at me and gives me a nod too, while ushering us in the door.

  We’re at Liam McGuiness’s house?

  Awkward.

  I let Liam take my coat, and then he leads us through the grand entrance hall and into the even grander dining room. People fill the edges of the room, dressed in finery and chatting in small groups. The red walls are adorned with paintings framed in gold, but the art that lines the walls dulls in comparison to the ceiling, which is a work of art itself. Ornate floral cornices run around the room, framing the painted vaults where cherubs sit on clouds, and divine saints draped in fabric cling on to each other around a glittering chandelier.

  “It’s breathtaking,” I say. He takes two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and hands me one.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? My great-grandfather had an artist brought over from Italy to do it. I’m told it’s one of the finest examples in Scotland,” he says, his head pointed up at the ceiling.

  I feel like I could study it for hours and still discover some new detail I’d missed.

  “I can believe that,” I agree. “So your family has lived here for years then?”

  He looks down at me and nods. “Yes. The estate’s belonged to my family for centuries.”

  Hmm... I hadn’t expected that. The day Stevie explained about the rivalry, with the ‘locals’ taking a dislike, I just assumed that Liam’s father was some kind of ‘new money’ who had moved in on the turf and that’s what sparked the feud. But maybe there is more to it than that. Whatever the story, I’d like to find out. But I don’t get the chance to pry any further.

  “I didn’t invite you and your father here to talk frescos and estates, though,” he continues with a chuckle. “Come, sit with me. We have an important announcement to make.” He motions me over to the dining table. It’s U shaped, and I follow him around it until we reach the seats at the head. He pulls out a chair in the very center, where the bride would sit if this was a wedding, and I raise my eyebrow at him. I’m not an honored guest. I’m not even a part of the company. But he just smiles and nods his head for me to sit.

  A few moments later a bell rings and the rest of the guests take to their seats. My father sits on my right, and Liam’s father takes the seat on his left. I don’t see anyone that could be his mother. He introduces me to his father and I smile politely, just like my father has always expected of me. But inside I’m confused. A business dinner, he said? So why are Liam and I so important?

  Liam’s father stands and dings his cutlery against his glass, clearing his throat. The noise in the room tails off while everyone pauses their conversations to watch him.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen. I want to thank everyone for attending tonight, truly. As you’re all aware, my family has an announcement to make. But you must forgive me for deceiving you all, for the announcement was not the sole purpose of this dinner. It’s also a celebration! Tonight, we celebrate the joining of two families. Tonight, marks the start of a long and glorious alliance that begins with the union of my dear son, Liam, and my new partners beautiful daughter, Lacey.” He looks between the both of us as he says our names and grins at me. “I’d like to ask you all to stand and join me in a toast.”

  I hear the sound of at least thirty chairs sliding back against the hardwood floor. I hear the sound of glasses chiming against plates whilst their owners pick them up. I hear the sound of my own heart hammering in my ears. I hear the sound of Liam calling my name, urging me to stand up with him.

  I look at Liam, whilst trying to find the balance to stand. My knees are weak. He’s smiling. I turn to my father and he smiles too. Should I be smiling?

  What the fuck is happening?

  “To Liam and Lacey. May they have a long, happy, and fruitful marriage, and may they produce many L-named, blonde haired babies!”

  The volume in the room heightens with the sound of polite laughter, and they repeat “to Liam and Lacey” before the chinks of glass against glass float towards my ears.

  I look down and see that I’m holding my glass up, and I don’t even remember how it came to be in my hand.

  I feel like I’m dreaming. This can’t be real?

  Can it?

  I want to pull my father out of the room and demand to know what the fuck is going on. As much as our surroundings may look the part, we’re not in the 18th century. You don’t just sell your daughter’s hand in marriage as part of a business deal. I want to ask him what gives him the right? What planet is he on?

  But people are looking at us, and the servers are trailing in, one after another in a long line, and the years of conditioning I’ve had are hard to ignore. Smile politely, don’t be rude. Don’t cause a scene.

  I bide my time. I don’t say a word that’s not small talk. I nibble at my dinner and sip on my wine, barely tasting it. When the dessert dishes are cleared away, I’m about to ask my dad if he’ll take a walk outside with me but Liam beats me to it.

  I want to have the conversation with my dad, but I also want to understand what the fuck is the role that Liam’s playing in all of this. Does he want this? Who’s idea was this?

  We walk out of dining room and I take his arm. I remain calm and dignified. The second we’re outside and the cool night air surrounds us I drop his arm like it’s burning me and round on him.

  “What the fuck was that?” I say to him. “Did you know about this? Tell me you didn’t know about this!” All thoughts of trying to stay calm fly out of my head and I feel the anger boiling up inside of me.

  “I’m sorry. It’s for the best,” he says. I have a feeling he was going to say more but I can’t help myself. I’m absolutely fucking boiling.

  “It’s for the best? Are you for real? Tell me you’re joking. This is insanity!” I push him as I say the words because it feels good.

  “It was the only way to ensure you are kept safe. I saw you at the lunch table with them, with him. And I knew I had to act quickly,” he explains.

  “With him? Shaun? This is about Shaun? Jesus fucking Christ!” I shake my head in disbelief.

  “You don’t understand, Lacey. There is so much you don’t understand.” He looks at me like he pities me. Like I’m a six-year-old who isn’t mature enough to be let in on the secret.

  “Then tell me. Explain it to me, please!” I let the sarcastic plea slide off my tongue like a poisoned arrow.

  “I knew I had to save you and I knew you wouldn’t let me. This was the only thing I could think of. If you’re married to me, they won’t touch you. They can’t touch me and they can’t touch you,” he says the words quickly, desperately.

  “Why can’t they touch you? They hate you! If anything, I think marrying you would make me top fucking target. Look at what he did to me for… for kissing you,” I say, trying not to think of that night.

  “There’s a gentleman’s agreement in place regarding my kin. They won’t touch you, but only if you
’re my kin,” he explains.

  “You’re doing all this to save me from some spray-paint and a broken locker? Listen, I know what Shaun did to me that night was fucking criminal. But I’m dealing with it in my own way, on my own. I don’t need you to save me!” I tell him. I’m so sick of other people trying to dictate what I should and shouldn’t be doing.

  “If I hadn’t done this, Lacey, then you would have gotten more involved with them, so involved that you couldn’t walk away. They don’t ever let people walk away. He would have let you in, and you would have followed him blindly, not even realizing that the door had been bolted shut behind you.”

  “What are you talking about?” My eyes narrow on him, searching for an explanation.

  “You need to trust me.”

  “No. No, I won’t trust you. Tell me what you mean.”

  He looks up at the sky and lets out a breath of air before placing his hands on my shoulders and looking me in the eye. “They’re a cult, Lacey.”

  A cult? What kind of cult? I don’t believe it. I didn’t believe it when Stevie told me her theory and I don’t believe it now. I know what cults are, and I know how the people in them behaved. They’re brainwashed. I think back to Friday night at the restaurant… him and Calvin didn’t act like they were brainwashed. Lorenzo, who claimed to know his dad for years, didn’t act like he was brainwashed. It’s too far-fetched.

  “They don’t seem religious to me,” I say nonchalantly.

  “That’s because they’re not. They’re a different type. The type with handshakes and meetings and a set of rules that are probably punishable by death. Listen, I don’t know the ins and outs. The only people who do are the ones who are in it. But I can’t sit here and watch you take that risk. By the time you know what you’re getting into, it will already be too late. Nobody walks away, Lacey. I can’t stress that enough.” He looks at me and his eyes are filled with a heated panic that has me wondering if what he’s telling me might be true.

  I don’t think he’s lying. I mean, I don’t necessarily believe that what he’s saying is definitely true, but he says it with such conviction that I think, at the very least he believes his own words. He believes that what he’s telling me is true.