BULLY ME: CLASS OF 2020 ANTHOLOGY
Release Date: March 24th
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Loving your tormentor isn’t easy, especially when they collect broken hearts and parade them around like trophies. They’re the bad boys, the alpha a**holes, and the thorns in our sides. They push us past our limits, turn us on, and break us.
They’re our bullies.
They’re the class of 2020.
Eight bestselling authors are teaming up to bring you eight unique stories about the guys we love to hate.
This anthology benefits one of the largest anti-bullying organizations in the world, and all proceeds will go toward helping to support victims of bullying.
ALL PROCEEDS WILL BE DONATED TO DITCH THE LABEL!
Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2pkwz2k
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B081GDNG75
Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/351zdsU
Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2ResJ60
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2NSkKtL
I crashed my shitty yellow VW Beetle into Calix’s Aston Martin.
To be fair, he deserved it.
But Calix and his friends, Barron and Raz, they don’t see it that way.
Not that it matters.
They’ve bullied me for years, and I’ve never known why.
At least today, they have something real to be pissed about.
All of which would be fine, if today was a normal day.
But it’s not. It’s far from normal.
My mantra has always been this too, shall pass.
But not today.
Not the worst day of my life.
Hot bullies, busted cars, and pain.
Somebody kill me now.
There’s blood all over my steering wheel.
The strange thing is, I can’t remember how it got there.
Reaching shaking fingers up to my head, I come away with a smear of ruby red on my hand, the perfect match to the blood on the steering wheel. This is my blood. The thought comes to me along with fits and spurts of memories from this morning. Running late, spilling scalding coffee down my chest, finding my dress for tonight’s party missing from the clothesline out front.
I shake my head, and a wave of dizziness washes over me. Looking up, I see the shiny black surface of Calix Knight’s Aston Martin dented and streaked with yellow paint. My bumper is very firmly planted into his driver’s side door.
Speaking of … my own door flies open, and Calix’s warm hand is on my upper arm, not, unfortunately, to offer assistance of any kind. Instead, he jerks me out of the seat and slams me back against the side of my car.
“Are you fucking insane?!” he snarls, releasing me as several concerned citizens approach us, all of them huddled under the protective awning that covers the gas pumps. Just past its barrier, rain pours in a seemingly endless wave, a cold chill working its way into my skin as I shiver and try to remember how I managed to crash into his absurdly expensive car. Without insurance.
Swallowing a lump in my throat, I glance over to see that his car’s parked perfectly straight in the space, right next to the gas pump. My own car—which I bought off my neighbor for about two hundred bucks—is perpendicular to his, T-boned into the side of Calix’s like I did it on purpose.
Did I? Would I?
After all the years of suffering he and his friends have put me through, it wouldn’t surprise me.
I glance back at his face, too handsome for his own good, with cheekbones carved by the gods, and a mouth that’d be worth millions if it ever smiled. The only expressions I’ve ever seen Calix Knight wear on his face are a cruel frown and a red-hot smirk.
Once, I saw his orgasm face. And even that was vicious, his hands a hot cruelty on my hips, triumph written into every line of his wicked visage. I should never have slept with him. My mistake. I don’t often make the same mistakes twice, but … I’ve just rammed him, apparently. Different sort of ramming, still not a good idea.
ABOUT C.M. STUNICH
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full-time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn’t mind—especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them every day, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she’s not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s the author of over eighty novels—romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There’s a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She’s already looking forward to it.
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