Page 72 of Broken by my Bully (Lessons in Cruelty Dark Academia #1)

Haven

“Think I can make it out of here without someone spotting me?” I whisper, risking a quick peek around the ficus I’m hiding behind.

Melissa glances down either end of the hall. “Not enough potted plants in the world. Might as well have a bull’s eye on your back. And the dean’s an excellent hunter.”

“You’re not being very supportive,” I hiss, ducking behind the leaves as a couple heads toward us.

“Think I’m going down in that Boeing with you?” She snorts. “Rats know when to abandon a sinking ship.”

But she hasn’t abandoned me, and I wish I had the time to figure out what she’s still doing here. Guess she’s waiting for the fireworks show when Dean Winslow finally figures out where I am.

I wish I could disappear into this trippy ass wallpaper.

“All I need is a big hat, and a pair of glasses. A fake mustache wouldn’t hurt?—“

“Forget it,” Melissa groans, turning to me with her head tilted and a sympathetic purse to her lips. “She’s coming.”

…get out …

…he’s coming for you…

Maybe whoever sent that message was psychic…but not enough to get the gender right.

“Might as well face her like a man,” I mutter, stepping out behind the plant and adjusting my gown. And then having to force my hands to unclench from their fists.

Dean Winslow didn’t seem all that intimidating when she was up on the stage with me. But I guess that’s because she was smiling.

She’s not smiling anymore.

I didn’t know it was possible to stomp in high heels, but that’s what she’s doing. I almost turn tail and run, but fear paralysis kicks in, rooting me to the spot.

Maybe if I play dead, she’ll leave me alone.

“Hi,” I say as soon as she’s in earshot. “Nice to see you aga?—”

Her curt, “Miss Lee,” cuts me off. She checks the hallway, and I guess she’s happy it’s empty, because she can cuss me out right here. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Melissa steps forward, waving a hand at the tall woman. “Uh, Haven, this is Dean Winslow. Dean, this is Haven Lee.”

The dean gives Melissa a considering glance, then turns back to me with her full attention.

I don’t want it. Not one bit of it.

Her piercing eyes make me feel as insignificant as a blob on a microscope slide. An ant crushed under the tiny point of her six-inch heels. A bug splattered on the grill of her?—

“She wasn’t joking about the car thing,” Melissa says, when it’s obvious this has turned into some weird blinking match. “Or the mail thing.”

This seems to make the dean relax, but God knows why. “Yes, I assumed as much. And for that, Miss Lee, I apologize.” She smooths a hand down her elbow-length black gloves. “That kind of administrative mishap shouldn’t be happening at a prestigious institute like Agony Hollow College. ”

I purse my lips, giving her a casual wave. “It’s nothing, really. Water off a duck’s back.”

“That being said…” Her eyes narrow. “There’s a time and a place to air grievances and it’s not in front of hundreds of guests who’ve attended tonight’s fundraiser with the explicit purpose of contributing their hard-earned?—“

“I wouldn’t say explicitly hard-earned,” comes a voice behind the dean.

I’m not the only one who doesn’t appreciate Professor Rooke’s jump scare when he steps out behind the dean.

She turns to him, her eyes low. For a tall lady like her—in heels—I guess she’s used to looking down on people.

Not Rooke.

They’re on eye-level and I can tell it puts her panties in a knot by the suddenly sour twist of her mouth as she has to look straight at him.

“I will be with you momentarily, Mr. Rooke.”

Ouch.

But Bastian ignores her condescending tone, glancing over at me and Melissa. “I see you’ve met my two most promising students.”

The way he says ‘my’ makes something clench low in my belly.

“I was hoping to have a quick word with them.”

“I’m in the middle of—“ Dean Winslow begins, but Bastian steps closer to her, grasping her elbow and turning her away from us.

“As you just said, there is a time and place for everything. Now, seeing as Mr. Callahan is on his way over here with his wife, perhaps you should choose a different time and place to air your grievances with Miss Lee.” He glances at me over his shoulder, giving me the faintest smile.

My heart lifts, hearing him defend me like that. But it sinks again when I remember how we ended things at the taco stand earlier today.

“Callahan?” The dean absently smooths her black gown. “Shit. ”

She turns back to me, the brief panic on her face gone. “We’ll resolve this later, Miss Lee. Good evening.”

And then she’s off, running a quick hand over her hair as if to check for stray ends.

Melissa lets out an audible sigh of relief, and I join her a second later. Professor Rooke turns to us, and smiles.

“If you’ll excuse us, Miss Parker.” He holds out his arm, brown eyes fixed on mine. “There’s something I need to speak with Miss Lee about.”

“Actually, I was just—” I hike a finger down the other side of the passage. But I cut off when Melissa jabs her elbow into my ribs. Thankfully, it’s not the side where Kai stabbed me.

She isn’t even subtle about it.

“Ow!”

Neither am I.

“Stay and enjoy the party,” she says, then cuts her eyes to Bastian. “I’m sure Professor Rooke will protect you against all the baddies.”

If she only knew he is the baddie. If she only knew what he did in that dressing room.

If she only knew how much I liked it.

I refuse to crane my head back to look up at him as I take his arm because I don’t want him seeing any of my thoughts written on my face.

“Catch you later,” Melissa says, and I turn to scowl at her over my shoulder. She smiles, making a heart out of her fingers like she’s doing me a favor.

If she only knew.

“Never a dull moment with you, Miss Lee,” he murmurs, nodding his head to a guy in a white tux as we turn the corner into the main ballroom area. “But I really wouldn’t recommend getting on the dean’s bad side.”

“Yeah, I heard.” I try to pull my arm out of his, but he tightens it against his side, trapping me like he did back at the boutique. “Apparently, she hunts people for sport. ”

He laughs, and I throw him a suspicious glare despite promising myself not to get drawn in by his charm.

I assumed he was heading for one of the cocktail tables spaced around the edges of the ballroom where we could stand and talk amidst the bustle of chatting, laughing, dancing guests.

But I got it wrong.

A new song starts up, something with intense violin chords and just a hint of a familiar tune.

“I want to apologize for earlier today,” he says, turning, his hand sliding down my arm until he’s grabbing my wrist. “I was an idiot.”

I open my mouth to confirm, indeed, what an idiot he had been, but then he bows over my hand.

“May I have this dance?”

“Wh—”

My protest is cut off as he tugs my hand, closing the distance between us.

In the same fluid motion, he gets his other arm under mine, using it to guide my hand up to his shoulder.

He grasps my hand in his, tightens his grip, and whirls, spinning us into a loose cluster of dancers in the middle of the ballroom.

What fucking sorcery is this?

I hold on to his shoulder, cling to his hand, and do my best to ignore the way he holds onto my waist, but it’s all too much. My face is hot, my feet are a tangled mess, and I guess this is the right time to tell him?—

“I can’t dance!” I whisper-shout.

“Then we’ll stick to a waltz.”

He turns, and it’s follow or be dragged.

These people waltz like they breathe. Natural. Easy. Graceful. I’m stomping on his feet like a Riversider killing cockroaches.

“I’ve got no idea how this shit works, Bastian!”

He frowns, drawing me a little closer so he can duck his head and whisper in my ear. “Never?”

“Never!”

People are noticing. And I guess Professor Rooke hadn’t thought this through, because we’re almost dead center in the middle of the dance floor, couples surrounding us on all sides.

“Please! Just stop.” My hand grips his. “I’ve already embarrassed myself enough tonight.”

He stops dancing, and we stare at each other for a moment, my neck aching how I crane it back to make eye contact.

His gaze darts left. Right. Then right back at me.

There’s a wicked curl to the side of his mouth as he grabs me around the waist with both hands.

“Fuck ‘em,” he says.

I’m briefly airborne until my ballet slippers land on top of his shiny dress shoes. He slides a hand to the small of my back, keeping me from falling off, and takes up my other hand with his.

His thumb finds that spot. The dimple above my tailbone. The spot that makes me tingle every time he touches it.

“Ready?”

For dancing? No. For Bastian? Never.

I don’t dare breathe, balanced on Bastian’s feet in the middle of the dance floor as I am, but I manage a gritted smile.

“Good. Follow my lead.”

Like I have a choice. Like I’ve ever had a choice with him. His hands position me. His feet move mine. I’m a puppet, and everyone can see the strings.

He flows with the music. We flow.

And fuck, it feels amazing.

I surrender, my body completely under his control.

I’ve never felt this safe before. This enraptured. This…free.

Now I get what all the fuss is about. I don’t want the song to end. I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life twirling around in Bastian’s arms, his strong hand wrapped around mine, the scent of his body wash and cologne hitting my nose.

“Shall we take a spin?”

My eyes snap open, and he’s staring at me so intently my mouth goes dry. “What? ”

He grasps my waist, slipping me off his feet, and steps back until both our arms are outstretched. Then he tugs me back, spinning me along his arm until my back thumps into the front of his body.

The shock does something to my nervous system.

I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

His arm wraps around my chest, our hands still clasped. And I’m frozen in place as a frantic violin sequence plays out around us. All the other dancers are lost in their steps, none of them looking at us.

Bastian slides his hand over my stomach, urging me closer, until our bodies are flush.

I can feel every part of him.

Every inch of him.

Because he’s hard under his tux. Rock hard. In front of everyone. And knowing it is making my hands sweaty and my core ache. My nipples are hard under the silk, clearly visible if anyone were to look.

My body doesn’t care that this is wrong.

My body just wants .

And then he dips me, his other hand cradling the back of my head as he bends with me.

“Now that you’re not working for minimum wage anymore, you’ll have time to go for dance lessons,” he whispers, his eyes searching mine, a tiny smile playing on his lips.

A flash of fury makes it easy to snap out of the serotonin-induced haze he put me in.

“Are you kidding me?”

His smile says he’s not.

His smile says this is just the beginning of the things he’ll teach me.

I grab the front of his tux, hauling myself to my feet. I glance around, but now that the song’s over, the dancers are in a state of flux, either getting ready for the next song or leaving for refreshments.

His smile fades. “Miss Lee?—”

I slap his arm when he reaches for me and then charge off the dance floor in case someone pays too much attention. The last thing I need is anyone remembering that I basically told them to go fuck themselves.

Bastian catches up with me on the way to the restroom, snatching my arm.

I spin, jerking out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

“Can we please just talk?” he says, glancing past me at the row of ladies waiting in line for the bathroom, giving them a wan smile as he readjusts the urgency on his face. “Please, Haven.”

Screw it. I’ll go pee in the bushes like the trailer trash I am.

I storm past them, heading for a smaller doorway down the hall. When I realize Bastian’s right behind me, I turn and glare at him.

“Stop following me!”

He takes another two steps, and then halts.

I should feel relief, maybe even a hint of triumph. I just told Professor Rooke to stand down, and he listened to me.

But then he rakes his nails through his hair, and almost absently pushes up one sleeve of his tux before turning on his heel and stalking away.

Something about the way he leaves feels…violent. Is he going to find someone else to hurt? Or just planning how to hurt me better?

Either way, he’s going to make me pay for this rejection.

The door opens into another hallway with “staff only” plaques on the doors, but at the end, thank God, there’s a door with a glowing EXIT sign above it, and it’s not locked.

The smell of distant rain hits my nose seconds before the stronger fog of some flowering plant nearby. Sickly sweet, it tickles my nose.

I’m at the side of the building, a few yards away from a small shed. I frown when I spot the donation boxes I’d seen at the entrance earlier. What are they doing out here?

But I’m more interested in the row of bushes between this part of the building and the lawn, especially because they’re not right up against the wall.

Leaving more than enough space for me to sidle in, squat, and pee .

Fuck, that feels good.

I’m just about to stand up when I hear footsteps.

No, no, no!

Don’t tell me that fucking snake charmer followed me out here? I hurriedly press a hand against the wall behind me so I don’t fall over, and beg my thighs not to give out.

The footsteps come closer, closer, and then stop a few feet away.

Soft rustles. A few clinks and clanks. Then the footsteps walk away.

I quickly risk a peek over the top of the bush.

Is that…?

Straightening, I step out behind the hedge, dusting off my hands as I watch Kai’s brother, Ezra, heading for the woods. He’s carrying something, but I can’t make out what it is. Just the faint clink, clink, clink of metal against metal.

Every cell in my body is telling me to follow him, but I laugh off the thought and go back inside the country club.

Nope.

Nothing good could ever come from following someone into the woods at night.

Especially a Jordan.