Breaking Bella by Jenna Rose
Bella
How did he know?
That’s the question that’s been bouncing around in my mind like a ping-pong ball since Brax’s men stopped me at the door, and like a prisoner, dragged me to this room and locked me in.
How did he know that’s exactly what I wanted?
What I needed?
Even I didn’t know, and that’s the scary thing. But when he took me, threw me down on the couch, and told me to strip for him, it was like he was awakening something I had buried deep down inside of me for so long I had almost forgotten it had existed.
I would have never had the words to know how to ask him for what he gave me. Never have known how to signal to him. But still have gave it to me. It was like he saw right through me, as though my body were made of rice paper and he was able to gaze straight into my soul.
Now I sit on my bed, my body quivering, my knees hunched to my chest, tears streaming down my face. I’m still shaken, shaken right down to my core. I barely slept a wink last night.
I look around at my room. My prison.
It’s like being held captive in a 7-star hotel, or a celebrity mansion you’d see on television. Most people can only dream of being in a place such as this. The walls are off-white, a calming cream color that complements the incredibly soft comforter I’m huddled up on. There’s a walk-in closet to my left, bigger than my entire apartment, a grand piano in the corner, a full-length couch, two dressers, a wardrobe, a giant television and drapes that blow in the warm Miami breeze like something out of a movie.
It’s a palace. But it’s also a prison.
Like Brax. He’s a prince, but he’s also a devil.
The things he said to me…he couldn’t know, could he?
He isthe Devil of Miami. It’s not out of the question to think he could have done some kind of illegal background check on me. But that would mean he would have had to have been stalking me for some time. And we only just ran into each other tonight at the bar, so that wouldn’t make sense.
No. Somehow Brax just knew—knew what I needed. And he gave it to me without asking. But then again, why would he ask? After all, that would defeat the entire purpose of doing what he did.
I can’t stop the buzzing sensation shooting through every nerve of my body.
I’ve never been so sensitive.
It feels like there’s one big ball of lightning swimming around inside of me—like the hair on my head might stand up at any second from the static electricity coursing through me. That’s the effect Brax has on me.
I’ve never climaxed like that before in my life.
At first, when he commanded me to take off my clothes, I felt shame. Such incredible shame I could barely get my fingers to work. The Devil of Miami wanting to see me naked? I can’t even imagine how many women he’s had in his day. Models, beauty queens. Yet he chose me out of a crowded bar, took me home, and told me to get naked for him.
I’d never felt less worthy in my life.
I tried to stop him. Tell him I wasn’t ready. But he was like a beast possessed. When I felt his hands on me, the rush was incomprehensible. Even if we’d taken things slowly, I never would have been prepared for him.
Or what he did to me.
But why me? Of all the girls in the world, why me?
There’s nothing special about me. I’m no beauty queen. I’ve never been signed to an agency, starred in a movie, or walked down a runway. I don’t have the confidence to be on Brax’s arm, but he kept talking to me like I deserved better than Josh.
But what could he have known about him anyway? About me?
The way he can somehow see into my life has me feeling even more off balance as I struggle to my feet and make my way into the bathroom. The shower is the size of my bedroom back home. I turn the many nobs until five showerheads come on and rain down on me with perfectly warm water.
I find an array of soaps and body washes that I’m sure cost more than my rent. I wash and dry myself with a towel I kind of never want to take off my body and collapse back onto the bed.
Why is he keeping me here?
He had his way with me. Why not send me home now? It’s not like I’m going to call the cops on the Devil of Miami. He probably owns half of them anyway. It would be a death sentence.
Is it possible he actually likes me?
“Don’t be stupid, Bella,” I say out loud. Of course he doesn’t. Whatever he said to me last night, however well he seemed to see into my soul, it was all specifically for one purpose: to get laid. And now that he has, he’s done with me. I’ll go downstairs and there will be a car waiting for me to take me home.
Or an Uber.
Or maybe he’ll just make me walk.
I find my clothes at the bottom of the bed and start to put them on when I hear the latch at the door and turn to see Brax enter.
“What are you doing?” He’s wearing a pair of white linen pants with a white tank top that complements his tan skin. His eyes are fixed on me with the same intensity I felt last night. If I didn’t know better, I could convince myself he was my boyfriend come to check on me.
“Getting ready to go.” I shrug as I slide into my pants. “Get out of your hair, you know?”
Brax smiles and shakes his head at me in a way that makes me want to melt into a puddle and evaporate into a cloud and simply blow away.
“Oh no, Bella. That’s not happening. You’re staying with me today. And I’m going to spoil you rotten.”
Before I can react to what he’s just said, Brax steps aside, and three men pushing wheeled racks of clothing enter the room and head for the walk-in closet. I scramble to get my top on as he comes over to me, and still smiling, takes me by the arm and walks me into the closet behind the men as they begin filling the shelves with the most elaborate array of designer clothes I’ve ever seen.
“Brax, this is—”
“All for you, Bella.” He looks…proud of himself. One of the men sets down a box of honey-colored wood and opens it. The sight takes my breath away. Necklaces and earrings, silver and gold, all set with diamonds. A collection fit for a queen.
“Brax, this is too much,” I say as my heart rate skyrockets. “I can’t accept this.”
“See?” He smiles, winking at the man beside him. “I told you she would say that, didn’t I?”
For some reason, this comment gets me like a needle being twisted in my guts. Has he been talking to his men about me?Telling them what he thinks about me?
My cheeks are tingling too.
Am I blushing?
I step backwards, away from him, and feel the soreness between my legs. I still can’t believe what we did last night. At first, I wanted to kick him off of me. But then, I wanted him to devour me. Consume me. I was lost beneath his dominance, the way he simply dripped masculinity all over me, while at the same time seeing right into my soul.
But why does he want me now?
What further use does the Devil of Miami have for a girl like me?
Does he just delight in watching me squirm? Because that’s what I’m doing right now as he stares down at me with those eyes—eyes that I can hide absolutely nothing from.
“All this is yours, Bella,” he tells me, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He doesn’t seem to be toying with me. He sounds sincere. Almost like he actually cares about me. “For as long as you stay here with me.”
“And how long will that be?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“As long as it takes,” he replies.
I’m almost afraid to ask, but I have to. “As long as it takes…for what?”
“For you to see,” he smiles.
“For me to see what?”
“That you are worth more than you think, Bella.” His words rock me more than a punch would. Thankfully, he doesn’t stick around for my response. He leans in and kisses me delicately on the cheek just below the ear, the way a lover might, and whispers, “Get dressed. I’ll have breakfast waiting for you downstairs.”
And just like that, he leaves me. So do his men. And I find myself alone, standing in a walk-in closet that’s big enough to be a small boutique, staring at clothes that cost more than all the money I’ve made in my life, feeling like the world might stop spinning at any second. And if it did, I’d probably just shrug and say, “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Breakfast waiting for me?
Seriously, what is this?
I’ve never even had a guy offer to pick up the check for me, let alone buy me anything. My friends say it’s because I have terrible taste in men, but I’m pretty sure the opposite sex has just been sending me a message for a while now.
I’m damaged goods, and I’ve come to accept it. Which is why what Brax is doing right now is so impossible to understand. The only explanation that makes any sense in my mind is that he’s just playing some kind of cruel joke on me.
Either that or this is some kind of sick social experiment, and this whole house is wired with cameras. The big reveal will come later once he’s convinced me to open up to him. Then a camera crew will pop out and tell me I’ve just been part of some show called Love Experiment or Broken Women and the Men Who Pretend to Love Them or something.
Either way, I’m not playing along.
“Right, breakfast.” I nod to myself as I slowly creep out of the closet and back into the bedroom. There’s a window by the bed. I open it. It’s only about a ten foot drop to the bushes below. I might twist an ankle, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to make it off the property before they realize I’m not upstairs getting changed.
I boot the screen out of the window, swing my legs out, and do the biggest yolo of my life.
The bush is a lot harder than it looks. Branches stab into my back and sides, and I fight back the urge to scream out in pain as I roll out of the shrub and onto the lawn. Thankfully, I manage not to break anything in the process, but as I sprint across the lawn, I hear the sound of men shouting behind me.
“Hey, there she goes!”
“Get her!”
“Boss’ll kill us if she gets away!”
Shit. I underestimated him.
I run like my life depends on it. Because at this stage in the game, it just might. I don’t even glance back over my shoulder as I hear the sound of boots catching up to me.
I manage to reach the wall, and like Jackie Chan, leap at it and try to sort of kick-jump my way up the stone.
I fail miserably.
My feet slip and give out from underneath me. I fall backwards like a deer trying to run on the ice, and my head slaps hard back on the ground. The last thing I see before the world goes black is a collective of male faces looking down at me, panting, shaking their heads.
“Boss isn’t gonna like this,” one of them says.
“Nah, he ain’t.”
“Well, at least she didn’t escape.”
Yeah,I think before I pass out. At least.
