Page 63 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Haven

“This feels like a kidnapping.”

“It is,” Bastian says through a dark chuckle. “But you won’t scream, will you, Haven?”

My breath hitches, because he’s right.

I’m not.

“Good girl.”

We left Agony Hollow behind half an hour ago. Every mile takes me further from help. From witnesses. From anyone who’d care if a scholarship girl disappeared with her professor.

The sky’s only grown darker since, but we pass through a few shafts of angelic light on our way out of town. I like to think it means there’s a possibility I’m not ending up hacked to pieces in a shallow grave somewhere.

I should freak the fuck out, but honestly, I’m hoping Professor Rooke will just keep driving until we hit a coastline.

I’ve never been to the beach.

Me and Kai planned to live there after we got married. But we also said we were going to have thirteen children, and that sure as shit isn’t happening .

He’d have to actually put his dick in me, for one, not just rub up on me like he did last night.

“Tell you one thing, though,” Bastian says, dragging me from my miserable thoughts. “If I’m going to prison, it’ll be for something a hell of a lot more interesting than kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping and torture?”

“Hm. Now we’re talking.”

His musing hum makes my stomach flutter, but I try to ignore it. I’m having to ignore a lot of sensations since I got in this car.

Like the rising dread when I realized he was headed toward Ashwood Crossing, a town almost double the size of Agony Hollow.

I know it well.

It’s where I’ve spent the last three years of my life.

On my back, legs spread, according to Kai.

I thought wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag me back here. All it took was a Tesla.

Thankfully, we’re in the nice part of town. My uncle’s apartment was way on the other side, near the train tracks. Conveniently close to the station and, more importantly, the drug dealers.

There’s a chuckle in Bastian’s voice. “If you think what’s about to happen is torture, I advise you to seek counseling immediately.”

He pulls up outside a row of small businesses alongside the main road, parking so effortlessly, I’m low key convinced the car did it for him. But then he wouldn’t have swung his arm around the back of my chair and given me a wink as he reversed, I guess.

“Only way that’s happening is if you go back to private practice, Professor.”

He chuckles as he gets out of the car, throwing his hands up when I’m already out my side before he can open my door. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“I try.” I sniff, hands on my waist. “You have ten seconds to tell me what we’re doing here, or I’m screaming.”

There’s a moderate amount of traffic flowing past us, and some people out on their own mysterious errands. Maybe that’s why Bastian finally caves and holds up a hand.

“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t guessed by now.”

My gaze follows his arm—his strong, perfectly toned arm—to the sign above the shop a few yards away.

LARAMIE

It could have been anything from a bistro to an antique store. But if I had to take a wild guess, it’s a boutique.

The mannequins in the window are a dead giveaway.

“Bastian, no!”

But Professor Rooke is already heading for the shop. And when I don’t follow, he glances at me over his shoulder, dark eyes narrowed.

“Come.”

I’m not a fucking dog.

But I chase after him like a good girl anyway, because I guess that’s how he’s conditioned me.

I catch hold of his arm to stop him, but he shakes me off and steps inside. An ozone-tainted breeze toys with my clothes, whipping my hair in my face as I turn to look back at the car.

Yeah, I can run.

But where the hell to?

I don’t have any money, so I can’t call a cab. And I left my phone in the Land Rover, so I can’t even phone someone.

Who’d I call anyway? Melissa? Would she drive all the way to Ashwood Crossing to come fetch me, only to find out it’s because I had a hissy fit when Professor Rooke tried to buy me a dress for the gala?

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I hiss, still trailing after him like a lost puppy.

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He raises his hand, and one of the store clerks looks up from a rack of dresses she was busy sorting through .

She beams when she sees us and hurries over. “Afternoon. Something I can help with?”

“Yes, please. We’re attending a black-tie gala tonight.”

We. Like we’re a couple. Like I’m his.

Jennifer’s eyes slide over my granny blouse and broken flip-flops, then his designer everything. She knows exactly what this is.

A sugar daddy and his college girl.

“Fabulous! We just received a stunning selection of gowns. Right this way.”

As soon as Jennifer turns her back, I grab Bastian’s arm. He turns to me, lips curling up. “Is there a problem?”

Lucifer must have taught this man how to smile.

“Yes, there’s a problem!” I whisper-shout. “I’m not going to this stupid fundraiser tonight.”

“Because you don’t have a dress.” He walks after Jennifer, turning to raise his hands to the ceiling. “Problem solved.”

“That’s not why—“ I cut off because he’s already out of earshot. Unless I shout. And the cashier is staring over at me like she’s wondering if I’m going to pocket one of the shiny clutch bags I’m standing beside.

Fuck you, bitch.

I hurry after Bastian, trying to get his attention without looking like a spoiled brat in need of a timeout. It doesn’t help that he’s having a full-on conversation in fashionese.

I mean, I know what a silhouette is. I can guess at jewel tones.

But what the hell is an elliesaab? Is it some fancy fabric? A designer? A type of shoe?

“Bastian!” I grab his arm at the same time he turns to me, and my hand slides into his now crooked elbow. He pulls his arm against his side, trapping me in place. Smiling. Dark eyes sparkling in the low light of the pretty chandelier above us.

Now’s when I’m supposed to be telling him I have a shift at the diner. That I don’t want to go to this gala because I’ll make an idiot of myself. That I can think of a hundred better ways to spend my time…but his eyes are too mesmerizing.

“And for you, sir?”

He turns back to Jennifer. “Let’s start with her.”

Let’s fucking not.

But then I’m being pulled along as Bastian follows the shop assistant to a fitting room near the back of the store. I feel like I’m in some Disney princess movie, because he walks me straight into a huge fitting room, the store clerk following with three gowns draped in her arms.

Had she just been plucking them randomly from the racks as we walked? Or had a flock of bluebirds brought them to her?

“Here we go, love.” She smiles and twirls away, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

I plop down on the velvet stool and take a big breath. Then I kick off my flip-flops so I can enjoy the feel of the plush carpet between my toes.

Why do I keep letting this happen?

…are you just not used to getting nice things?…

Shit. Maybe he’s right.

I don’t know what generosity feels like. I’ve had to fight and claw for every scrap I ever got. Even Kai’s generosity felt reluctant most of the time. But that’s because he had to carve his own way out in his house, too. Everything was given to Ezra, the wonder child, and Kai’s father, the genius.

Kai never told me how they’d ended up in the same trailer park as me and my dad, but he’d said it was temporary.

I didn’t believe him until he was gone.

Now I’m sitting here in the fitting room of a designer boutique, and I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.

I don’t belong here. And this has nothing to do with imposter syndrome.

I am an imposter. A fucking fraud.

And any minute now, someone’s going to figure it out.

The curtain parts with a loud whoosh that has me jumping to my feet and gasping like an idiot, hand on my chest.

Bastian steps inside, and the fitting room shrinks to nothing.

“What are you?—”

“Strip.”

“What?” I splutter. “No! What if someone?—”

“They know not to disturb us.” His eyes are black in the low light of the fitting room. He suddenly looks twice as intimidating—taller, stronger, oozing so much authority I have to stop my knees buckling.

Disturb us?

“Oh, no!” I whisper-shout, wagging my finger at him as I back up as much as the room allows. “There’s no way I’m—that we’re—this isn’t?—“

He tilts his head, eyes hooded like his patience is evaporating with every hitched breath of mine.

“If I wanted to fuck you, Haven, I’d already be pinning you against the wall.” He steps closer as if he’s going to go through with his threat right now. Then his eyes cut to the gowns on their hangers.

“You weren’t going to try them on. You were going to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Neither of us has time for that.”

Warmth creeps up my neck. “I wasn’t?—“

I’m against the wall. His scent is in my nose, in every panicked, heated breath I drag in.

His hand is on my throat.

On. My. Throat.

Jesus, this is too real. Fantasizing about my much older professor is one thing, but?—

“What about my generosity is so hard to stomach, sweet girl?”

“I…I don’t need your hand outs,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I don’t even want to go to this stupid?—“

“Oh yes, you do,” he breathes through a chuckle. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m getting sick of the way you think you don’t deserve to have beautiful things. Expensive things.” He brushes a strand of hair from my face, then tucks it behind my ear. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like?”

For a second, I don’t know what he’s referring to. Probably because I feel his cock pressing against my hip.

It’s very hard.

It’s very big.

I clamp down on a whimper as my pussy clenches in self-defense.

“Hair done up all pretty.” He curls a section of my hair around his finger, the grip on my throat twitching the same time that his cock does.

The pathetic sound I make is somewhere between a mewl and a moan. He ignores it and strokes his knuckles along my jaw.

“Face painted all nice.”

His hand coasts down my side, barely touching, but still managing to set my nerve endings on fire.