Page 113 of Broken by my Bully

Now there are tears in my eyes, and God, that pisses meoff. Not sure what I expected, showing him the marks, but I sure as hell don’t need his protection.

Or do I?

My face goes slack. I blink away my tears.

Professor Rooke eyes me, a faint sneer on his mouth. “Go on. Leave. You’re obviously eager to get back to your car.”

My startled blink has nothing to do with keeping back tears. “Excuse me?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Where you sleep?”

The room flickers through my suddenly trembling lashes. My face is hot from the shower, from the anger, but a wave of cold soaks through me like I just came in from the rain.

“Kaitoldyou?” I whisper furiously.

Bastian frowns. “I haven’t spoken to Kai today.” His eyes go to my neck. “We were both busy.”

Fuck.

He fucking knows it was Kai who strangled me. Guess someone as smart as him could easily come to the right conclusion. But I’ll be damned if I admit it. Screw Riversider code.

I refuse to make anything easy for this man.

“Then how the fuck did you know?” I whisper.

“Became obvious when I visited your address in Ashwood Crossing, and you weren’t there,” he says dryly.

The blood drains from my face, and it leaves behind a rush of icy prickles.

“You did what?” I mumble.

He carefully reaches for me, and I’m so fucked in the head, I let him hold on to my wrist. As cautious as if he’s handling a newborn lamb, he backs up, tugging at my arm until I follow.

“Did you really think I’d award someone a grant without doing a background check on them first?”

The words ring in my ears like a slap.

Background check.

“The lovely Korean family who live at the address you suppliedon your application claim they don’t know any Lees. Haven, or otherwise.”

He’s leading me into his bedroom.

I don’t resist.

“I should have flagged your application. But your essay showed more promise than those candidates with stable housing situations.”

Ever so gently, he turns my back to the bed, and then slowly pushes down on my shoulders.

And I let him.

I fucking let him.

My head is spinning too much. No air in my lungs. As if I really did jump off that cliff at Lookout Point and only now—after falling for hours—have I hit the ground.

“My thesis advisor picked up a discrepancy in my application, too. Instead of reporting me, he gave me a chance to prove myself. So I broke the rules and decided to pay it forward, hoping to God I’d made the right choice.”

He curls a finger under my chin, lifting it so I’m forced to look up at him.