Page 62 of Broken by my Bully
He’s like a dog with a fucking bone.
I’d forgotten about my bruises. Forgottenbrieflyabout Kai.
Why is it so easy to live a lie when I’m around this man?
I stay seated on the carpet, holding my hands out to the flames as they flicker along the large gray pebbles placed just-so on the hearth. What the hell is burning in there? Gas?
Bastian is so quiet that I peek at him over my shoulder. He has his head down, staring into the pot on the stove.
I can’t help it. I’m curious as hell about this guy, and he’s basically set me loose in his little fiefdom. Who wouldn’t spy?
Standing, I wait to see if Bastian will notice before ambling innocently to the bookshelf beside one of the enormous wall-to-ceiling windows. I don’t know if I want to stare at the view or browse his collection of leather-bound books, but I tell myself the forest will always be there, and doesn’t require a key and an invitation to view.
A minute later, I feel seventy-five times more inferior than I did when I first walked into Bastian’s house. The books on these dark shelves are dense. If Bastian’s gas ever got cut off, he could easily burn a handful of these babies for heat.
My eyes wander lower. The titles down there hint at philosophy, psychology, science. A lot of “Human” this and “Mind” that.
Then there’s this row of slim, almost invisible books right at the bottom. Dark spines. A collection of some kind. Fifty, maybe more.
I tug one out.
ACTIVI—
“Shouldn’t you wait until I’m in the other room before you start snooping?”
I shove the notebook back in its place. His voice is right behind me. Close enough that I feel his breath on my neck.
How did he move so quietly?
I spin around, giving my lips a quick lick. “I wasn’t?—“
His eyes drop to my mouth. “Liar.” The word is soft, almost affectionate. “Anything ofinterest?”
“No.” My voice comes out breathless.
Bastian hands me a scorching mug, his gaze switching to the bookshelf before settling back to me. I hurry over to the coffee table to set it down. A slab of glass over a polished wooden log that almost looks like a petrified wave.
Bastian sits on the two-seater sofa, swinging an arm around the back as he turns to lean into the corner. “You’re more than welcome to join me. Or you could sit in the kitchen, if you think I’m going to tie you to the radiator.”
“You can stop with the whole serial killer thing, all right?” I shake my head, smiling ruefully as I cradle my mug and take the seat next to him.
“Whoa, that escalated quickly.” He chuckles. “First I’m kidnapping you, now I’m making tacky lampshades with your skin? You kids watch too many crime shows.”
“Boomer.” I roll my eyes at him, blowing on my cocoa to cool it down. The clouds are growing darker outside, and I don’t want to miss another class.
Of course, I’d rather stay here all afternoon.
Because of the fireplace, of course. It’s started warming up the room. And I love the flicker of the flames, even while longing for the crackle of wood.
He widens his eyes. “You take that back, dearie. I’m barely thirty-four.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I murmur into my cocoa before taking a tentative sip.
Bastian crooks an eyebrow when I splutter as the liquid hits my throat.
“Is there alcohol in this?” I wheeze.
“Not going to rat me out, are you? I thought Riversiders were notorious for not snitching.”
