Rk Lilley Breaking Her Read Online Free

  Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Synopsis

Affiliate Ane

CHAPTER Ii

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER Iv

Chapter FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Vii

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER X

Affiliate ELEVEN

Affiliate TWELVE

Affiliate Thirteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Chapter Xv

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Chapter Xviii

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER TWENTY

Affiliate TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Chapter Twenty-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-Five

Chapter TWENTY-Vi

Chapter TWENTY-7

Chapter TWENTY-Eight

Affiliate TWENTY-Ix

CHAPTER Xxx

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Chapter THIRTY-Two

CHAPTER THIRTY-3

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Affiliate Thirty-FIVE

Affiliate Xxx-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-Seven

Chapter Xxx-EIGHT

Chapter 30-NINE

Chapter 40

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

TEASER FOR CROSSING FIRE

BREAKING HER

R.One thousand. LILLEY

Copyright © 2016 R.K. Lilley

All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 1-62878-044-4

ISBN-13: 978-1-62878-044-4

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. This is a work of fiction. Whatsoever resemblance of events to real life, or of characters to bodily persons, is purely coincidental. The writer acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of diverse products referenced in this work of fiction.

This volume is dedicated to the men out there who aren't afraid to beloved complicated, difficult women. You aren't afraid of strength. You aren't put off by impairment. You aren't intimidated by resilience. You lot don't run into luggage every bit a deterrent. These are the things that make upward a existent man.

Also, you like more than an ounce of diabolical sass with your morning coffee.

Dammit. Aye, okay, I run into what I did there, likewise.

This has turned into notwithstanding another dedication to Mr. Lilley.

But, well, he is pretty cool.

Dear married man, you wanted more a spouse, you wanted an equal partner for life, and you got it.

Ride or die, boo.

DESTRUCTION. Betrayal. RUINATION.

True LOVE.

Breaking Her

Book Two in the Love is War Duet.

This is the determination of Scarlett and Dante'south story.

SCARLETT

He had done information technology again. Ravaged me. Burned me. Bankrupt me.

Given me air, only to leave me gasping, writhing.

But then something changed. Something that terrified and excited me both.

Something that utterly destroyed me.

Something that made me whole again.

DANTE

Our love was cursed from the start. She didn't know information technology, simply I did.

All she knew was that I'd lied to her, betrayed her. Done unforgivable things. Unavoidable things. Yep, I had broken promises every bit surely as I had broken her heart. Merely, but equally every war has casualties, and every lie has consequences–every bastard has his reasons.

CHAPTER One

"The middle was fabricated to exist cleaved."

~Oscar Wilde

PRESENT

SCARLETT

Anton was over at our place, trying to cheer me up again. He'd brought with him a Costco-sized bottle of Patrón.

It was a good effort.

In return for the tequila, I was making him vii-layer brownies. The ii things didn't go well together, merely I didn't care. I was only partaking in the ane.

Demi'south niece, Olivia, was also over for a sleepover. This happened whenever we were domicile for a good stretch. Demi was a devoted aunt and had a natural ease with children.

I was the contrary. They made me uncomfortable. I hadn't been good with kids when I'd been one myself. Growing up had inappreciably improved things.

Olivia was a lovely picayune girl, with Demi'southward coloring, blackness hair, and blueish optics. She was very well groomed. Someone, probable every someone in her life, took adept care of her.

I wondered briefly what that must exist like for a child.

The girls were planning to accept little Olivia to the zoo. They'd invited me, of course, and even Anton, only I was in no mood to be around children, allow alone spend a day with one.

Besides, I had some very important, well thought out plans—to stay home and work on my mean solar day drinking.

I was doing a stand upwards chore at it then far. Noon had barely come up and gone and Anton and I had already progressed to doing shots.

I was in the kitchen, facing Anton across the island.

"Because tequila," we toasted and did some other.

I finished that round get-go, setting my glass downwardly triumphantly in front of him while he was still finishing his.

That was when Olivia skipped upwardly, apparently bored with the cartoons she'd been watching while she waited for everyone to get set.

She leaned against the counter to stare at me. She was a curious, precocious child. Everyone within her sphere adored her and she seemed to know it well. I guessed no 1 had ever slapped her for request the incorrect question, so she asked any thoughts came to her head.

"Hullo, Auntie Scar." She beamed at me. She called all of the roommates auntie. I didn't know where she'd gotten the idea. From Demi, I causeless.

"Hullo, Olivia," I returned solemnly.

As I've said, I'g bad with children.

"Hullo, Mister Anton," she told Anton.

He blinked at her, scratching restlessly at his bearded jaw and looking equally uncomfortable as I felt. Good. This was 1 of the many reasons I liked having him effectually. We were so much alike that he had a tendency to make me feel less alone.

And at a time like this, particularly, I needed to experience less alone.

I was not doing well.

This I knew.

Not sleeping. Not getting dressed unless I had to work.

Loafing around my business firm in my various true cat T-shirts (today's gem was a moving-picture show of Grumpy cat and read #currentmood) drinking too much, thinking too much. Hating myself too much.

What Dante had done, how he'd messed with my head, nevertheless again . . .

I won't say it hurt more than than the get-go time, or even that it was more shocking. In one case you've been cleaved, every interruption afterward, fifty-fifty when they hurt like hell, tin never outdo the profound damage of the starting time time.

I volition say that I did not bounciness back correct away.

Information technology was that feeling again, an former, familiar ane. It had always been there, just I'd buried it for a while.

Y'all know that moment when you wake up cold, knowing you've kicked your covers off, and realize someone has tenderly tucked them back around your shoulders?

Information technology was the opposite of that. Information technology was knowing you'd never have that once more, that no one would always care enough to effort to keep you warm.

Lately, the feeling was stronger than ever. Consuming. Debilitating.

"Just Anton," Anton finally corrected Demi's niece, bringing me out of my musings and back to the nowadays.

Anton'due south day drunkard was starting to show in the form of delayed reactions.

"My mommy and Aunt Demi told me it'due south rude to address an adult by simply their first name."

Anton and I exchanged a glance. How strange it must be to

be a child with so many adults effectually that cared virtually every little nuance of your life.

"How about Uncle Anton?" she tried. "That counts."

He'd been taking a drinkable of water when she said that, and he started to choke at her words.

Information technology made me smile, probably the first time I'd done so in days.

Finally he managed to go out a scratchy, "Mister Anton is just fine."

She nodded and bestowed a very mannerly grinning on him.

"What's that?" she asked me, pointing to the giant bottle of Patrón.

"Grownup stuff," I told her, bold that would settle it.

"Can I try some?"

I fabricated a face at her that made her giggle. "Are you a grownup?"

"Yep," she said quickly.

"Grownups are at to the lowest degree twenty-one years old. Are yous twenty-1?" I asked pointedly.

"Yes," she quipped dorsum, the brazen piffling liar.

"Uh uh," I said.

She nodded at the oven. "Tin I take some of those when they're done?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

"Auntie Farrah said yous don't like kids. Why don't you like kids?"

"Because they ask too many questions."

"Like what?"

"Exactly."

"Why else don't you like kids?"

"Because they're selfish and hateful," only sort of slipped out.

Her eyes widened, watered a fleck, and I saw that I'd taken the teasing too far.

"Y'all think I'1000 selfish and hateful?" she asked, vocalization tremulous, like the very idea might make her cry.

Dammit. "No." I really meant it. "Not you. I tin only call back . . . other kids . . . that were," I finished lamely.

"If y'all don't similar kids, how come you bake me something nummy every time I come over?"

I mulled that i over. I did. I literally baked every fourth dimension she came over, no exceptions. What the hell was upwards with that?

"It's a coincidence," I told her. "I bake all the time." That was a prevarication, only she was eight.

If you couldn't prevarication to an 8-year-old, who could y'all lie to?

She beamed at me. "You like me. I knew it."

I curled my lip at her and she giggled. "Yous're alright," I immune.

"I like you," she offered. "You're actually pretty, and you lot smell nice."

Dammit. Damn Demi and her incorrigible, likable niece. "Y'all're actually pretty, too," I begrudgingly returned.

She acted like I'd made her solar day with that, doing an enthusiastic happy trip the light fantastic that involved a lot of twirling and paw waving.

Was she trying to win me over, or was she really this freaking ambrosial?

I didn't know, but in spite of myself, I was charmed.

Still, I'd never let her shut, never permit myself get attached to a child like that. Even the thought of information technology spun my heed into dark, fathomless places that I knew well to steer clear of.

Luckily, they all left for a 24-hour interval at the zoo soon after that, and I was spared much more of Olivia's infectious charm.

And dammit, she almost convinced me to come with them. If I had been about ii shots more sober or three more drunk, she'd take had me.

Nearly as bad, I packed them a cute piddling intendance package total of brownies like I was Betty fucking Crocker.

Of course Anton gave me shit for it. I couldn't blame him.

I shut his teasing upward with another shot. It was a sore spot, but in all fairness, lately every damn spot on me was sore.

It was some time subsequently that my phone rang. I was at functioning, non-slurring levels, my twenty-four hours drink game strong. Anton was putting up a good fight, the but signs of how messed upward he was, was that he was over-enunciating, and his comeback time was slowing from whip-fast to slightly below boilerplate.

I glanced at my lit telephone face up and grinned wickedly.

It was bloodthirsty, so much then, Anton, even slowed Anton, caught on fast.

"It's him, isn't it?"

I chewed my lip and nodded.

He meant Dante. Of course. Since the funeral and the disaster that followed, he called often, and sometimes I'd answer. It was a toss-up with me whether I'd chew him out or just hang up.

Sometimes he called to discuss what Gram had left me in her will, but I'd have none of it. "I told you, give it to one of her charities. I don't want annihilation. I won't take anything." I'd never in one case let him finish his sentence when he brought this up. I'd been called a Durant charity instance my whole life, only I'd be damned before I'd become 1.

Sometimes he merely asked me how I was. Like he just wanted to talk, to check up on me. Every bit if he had that correct. The bastard.

Those calls ended nearly as apace as the first kind.

The worst shame of all this was the angry v minutes I spent getting myself off afterwards.

I wasn't sure if it was a comfort or a curse that I was absolutely certain the bounder was doing exactly the same.

Sometimes he didn't even speak. Sometimes he just listened on the other end. This call started as 1 of those.

"If it isn't my heavy breather over again," I said lightly into the phone. "Is at that place some particular discussion yous're looking for, to go off faster?"

It was a joke, at his expense, but he seemed to take it seriously.

"Say Dante," he told me gruffly.

"Dante," I said gamely. Because tequila. "Y'all're the blight of my existence. End calling me."

There was cypher just his disturbed breath on the other end.

"Even that did it for yous, huh?" I took the dig at him with relish. "You muddy, onetime pervert."

"You're in a mood," he finally noted. He sounded rough. Rough every bit in terrible. I wasn't the only one drowning my sorrows with a bottle.

Only he was right. I was in a mood. And information technology didn't bode well for him. "Why are you doing this?" I asked him, keeping my tone level. Mellow, even.

At that place was a long pause on the other end, but he surprised me by finally answering, "You keep answering. If at that place'south a chance you'll answer, I'll never stop calling."

He was right. I'd stopped taking his calls years before our concluding disastrous reunion. Why couldn't I seem to do that at present?

My cocky-destructive meter was running at full, and I hadn't found a mode to bring information technology down since the funeral.

Maybe a bit of revenge would assistance.

One thing was for certain. It couldn't injure.

I didn't actually need to, we'd plotted it out several times prior, simply just to be safe, I mouthed at Anton, "You ready?"

Anton grinned and gave me a thumbs up.

I held my hand toward him to allow him know that he should wait.

"Okay, fine," I finally responded to Dante, my phonation hardening, going from light to nighttime. "I'll stop answering, and then you lot end calling. This is pointless. Finish wasting my time. I've moved the hell on."

My nostrils flared as I pointed at Anton.

"Come back to bed, baby," his perfect actor'due south vocalization rumbled loudly at the telephone, right on cue. God, he was good. He sounded sleepy, horny, only fucked, and set up to fuck once again. The human being deserved an Oscar for that ane little judgement.

On the other end Dante made a noise, something indecipherable but unmistakably, unpleasantly, unbearably filled with pain.

Agony. Torture.

I think I had the phone to my ear, staring into zero for at least five minutes after he hung up. I wasn't sure what I was feeling. Which was the trouble. That lilliputian stunt had been designed to torment him, but, above all, to improve my mood.

Why had it done the opposite? Why did hurting him ever injure me?

"You know, we could just do information technology," Anton said sometime afterward.

I stared at him. "What? Sleep together?"

He shrugged. "Why non? What would be the harm? We're so much alike, it might actually turn into something, and if information technology did, information technology might be something proficient. And if not, no harm, no foul. Nosotros'd stay friends and forget near it, terminate of story."

I mulled that over, only I knew myself too well to fall into that trap. I decided to permit him have the total, brutal truth of information technology, the fatal flaw in his harmless program. "Hither'due south how that would play out

: the sex activity might be practiced for me, would be great for yous, but the merely way it'southward great for me is if I'm picturing you as someone else . . . Someone I hate. So, in the morning, you'd be hopelessly in love with me, and it'd get weird, considering I fucking detest it when guys autumn in love with me, and and so I wouldn't enjoy hanging out with you anymore. How distressing would that be for both of us?"

"Is he actually that adept?"

"He's the best I ever had. And the worst matter that e'er happened to me."

True love is a bitch.

"And it's really that . . . hopeless? You can't even become off without him getting in the way?"

I was well enlightened of how pathetic, how epically fucked up it was, and hearing it aloud hardly helped.

"It'south hard to explain," I warned him. "But, basically, yes. I can't even consume a fucking apple because of him."

"What?" he asked, sounding baffled, which was understandable.

"He even ruined apples for me," I explained.

"What?" he repeated.

"I have a memory, a very articulate 1, of biting into an apple—nosotros grew upwardly surrounded by orchards—and so we got the best apples. And I just have a memory of eating one fresh off the tree, sharing it with him really, and thinking information technology was the all-time affair I'd ever tasted."

"Okaaay . . . And?" he prompted.

"It was a . . . special day, and every fourth dimension I ate an apple subsequently that it all came fresh to my mind.

So when it ended between united states of america, horribly, I could never . . ." There was nothing quite so demoralizing as recalling your sweetest memories and feeling utterly biting.

"That blows." His voice was succinct. He poured united states some other shot.

"They were my favorite fruit," I lamented. "Love sucks."

"And now your favorite fruit is the lime that chases our next tequila shot."

Equally far every bit pep talks went, it wasn't the worst one I'd ever had, so I toasted information technology. "Bottoms up."

CHAPTER TWO

"She burned too bright for this globe."

~Emily Brontë

By

DANTE

I'd always had a soft spot for her. Since I could remember her flashing eyes and stubborn face were dear to me.

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