Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  I stopped from flushing the toilet, Dante’s name capturing my full attention.

  Helen continued, “The one with the white hair called him a cutie pie and practically launched herself at him.”

  “But they looked in their thirties, while he’s only fifteen. You sure it wasn’t his older brother you saw? Those two boys look a lot alike.”

  “No, it was definitely Dante. Ash has a neck tattoo.”

  “The women could’ve been relatives.”

  “He put his hands on her arse. And you do know what they say about Dante.”

  “Oh, come on,” her friend replied, “you don’t seriously believe that rubbish, do you?”

  “After seeing him get into that car, most definitely. Not to mention, the kids call him a whore behind his back. Happy Meal even says it to his face, and do you want to know why?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “Because Happy Meal’s girlfriend paid Dante to have sex with her. The kids in my Year Thirteen class were all talking about it.”

  My eyebrows shot up, what she was saying shocking me.

  The other woman made a derisive sound. “Kids talk rubbish all the time.”

  “No, it makes sense. Dante’s far too good-looking to even consider going with a girl like Phelia Lamar.”

  Her friend made another derisive sound. “Phelia is gorgeous.”

  “Maybe, but she’s still not in his league. He’s like supermodel hot, the type that women trip over themselves for.”

  “Christ, Helen, he’s only fifteen.”

  “How many times do you have to say that? I know he’s fifteen, so stop acting like I want sex with him. He’s underage, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You still ogle him.”

  “I do not! He just looks like his brother and you know I have a thing for Ash. Mmmh, what I wouldn’t do for a piece of that hunk. If he was a whore, I’d definitely pay for him.”

  Her friend said something I couldn’t discern. I leaned my ear against the door, trying to hear it, but pushed too hard. The door flung open, sending me stumbling out. Both women spun around as I righted my footing.

  “The door’s faulty,” I mumbled, embarrassed I’d been caught eavesdropping.

  Wishing I could disappear, I quickly headed for the washbasin. Helen watched me as I turned on the tap. Despite having a large nose, she was very attractive, with stunning emerald eyes and a figure to die for, her red dress practically painted on. Her friend in comparison was ordinary looking, her face completely forgettable, like her name, which I still couldn’t remember.

  “Hi, Clara,” Helen said, not appearing ashamed over what she’d said about Dante’s brother. “How are things going?”

  “Good, thanks,” I replied, noticing she didn’t have her glasses on. I wondered whether she was wearing contacts, because her eyes looked considerably brighter tonight. Or maybe the restroom’s fluorescent lights were bringing out the colour.

  “You teach the juvie class, don’t you?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Which means you teach Dante Rata. What do you think about him?”

  I shrugged, shaking the water off my hands. “He’s just a kid.”

  “That boy is not just a kid. He’s a total hornbag.”

  Helen’s friend smacked her arm. “You can’t say that about a student!”

  “Well, it’s true, he even hit on me.”

  The other woman snorted. “I wouldn’t equate him blowing you a kiss as hitting on you. I’ve even seen him blow one to Paul to annoy the prick.”

  “No, he was definitely hitting on me.” Helen’s attention returned to me. “I bet he hits on you too. Has he given you much trouble? He’s the reason the last English teacher quit.”

  “He was a nuisance the first day, but he’s been off sick since then.”

  “With what?”

  “Apparently, food poisoning,” I said, now wondering whether it was true.

  “I told you it wasn’t him!” the other woman said, sounding triumphant.

  Helen grunted. “Well, I still reckon he’s a prostitute.”

  Her friend scowled at her. “While I think you need to stop listening to gossip and stop spreading it.”

  They continued arguing, forgetting about me in an instant. I slipped out of the restroom, finding Beverly still sitting on Paul’s lap, just with her head snuggled against his chest, fast asleep.

  He looked up at me as I neared them. “Ye took yer bloody time.”

  I shrugged. “Do you need help getting her to the car?”

  “No, I’ll carry her, but ye’ll have to drive since I’ve been drinking,” he said, handing over Beverly’s keys.

  He slipped his arms under Beverly and rose to his feet with her, not looking at all bothered by her weight. We headed out into the night, Paul gently laying Beverly down on the back seat of her Mini, which I thought was sweet, a complete one-eighty to how he’d acted earlier. I jumped behind the wheel and started the engine, while he climbed into the back with Beverly, laying her head on his lap. He looked incredibly cramped, but remained acting as Beverly’s cushion.

  He peered through the seats at me. “Bev keeps plastic bags in the glove compartment. I need one just in case she wakes up and pukes.”

  I opened the glove compartment and grabbed one, passing it back to him.

  He took it and looked down at Beverly. “And she calls me a lush.”

  “She started drinking heavily after that horrible woman insulted her.”

  “Aye, I saw that,” he said, sounding mad. “I should’ve given that bitch a piece of ma mind, but thought Bev was handling her well.”

  “It still hurt her.”

  “It shouldn’t, because I’d take Bev over that snobby bitch any day,” he said, brushing Beverly’s hair back. “She’s one of the sweetest people I know.”

  I nodded, agreeing with him. “Where do I drive to?” I asked, backing out of the car space.

  “Claydon Beach. It’s where she lives. Ye can drop the both of us off there. I live one road away from her.” He gave me the directions.

  I headed past Rainbow’s End’s theme park, continuing down Great South Road. On my left, the Southern Motorway looked busy, the car lights resembling hundreds of dancing fireflies. I wondered whether Dante was in one of the cars, stuck in traffic. My mind went to what Helen had said about the boy, deliberating whether it was really him she’d seen.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror at Paul, who was staring out the window at the night-filled landscape. “Was it you who gave Dante Rata a week’s worth of detention?” I asked, wanting to strike up a conversation about Dante.

  He turned his head to look at me. “Aye, he was being a complete shite in class.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “I was doing an improv exercise, where the kids were supposed to be acting oot what they did during the holidays, and he acted oot a blowjob.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “And with all the sounds thrown in.” He shook his head. “I really wish I didn’t have him in my class, but I don’t like the idea of him being in Beverly’s. He’s a savage. He’d torment her worse than what that blonde bitch did.”

  A small smile pulled at my lips, thinking it was sweet of him to protect Beverly. “I heard he drove the last English teacher away.”

  “He certainly did. He reduced the poor woman to tears. He’s an evil sonofabitch. My guess is, he’ll either end up in jail or die before he reaches twenty.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said, finding his words upsetting.

  “Why? It’s the truth.”

  “I just think it’s wrong to talk about a kid like that.”

  He sneered. “Ye’re not one of those liberals, are ye?”

  “No.”

  “I hope not, because the kids at Wera will eat ye up and spit ye oot if ye are. See them for what they are, and maybe ye’ll still be working there next year.”

  I didn’t reply, not liking hi
s harsh attitude. Regardless of what he said, they were still kids, not little criminals biding their time until they got locked away.

  We continued in silence, Paul only breaking it every so often to tell me directions to Beverly’s house, which was a small cottage across the road from Claydon Beach, the place just as quirky as its owner. Paul carried her to the door, unlocking it, the I LOVE SCOTLAND tag on the keyring obviously belonging to him.

  “You have keys to her house?” I asked.

  “Aye, we’re close friends.” He nudged the door open and carried her inside, disappearing into a room. He returned a moment later. “I’ll see ye on Monday,” he said, ushering me to the door, not staring at me like he usually did, his expression totally uninterested.

  “What about Beverly’s car and mine?” I asked, wishing I hadn’t left it at the school.

  “Take hers home, then return here around one. She’ll be awake by then. We can drop ye off to get yer car.”

  I nodded and left the house, a little perplexed by his conflicting personality. Maybe the man wasn’t as bad as I’d originally thought. I jumped back into the Mini and turned on the radio, what was playing wrenching my thoughts away from Paul. California Love—the song from Dante’s boom-box. My thoughts returned to Dante, what Helen had said about him being a prostitute making me think... I shook my head and started up the car engine, dismissing the ridiculous notion instantly.

  9

  DANTE

  I opened my eyes and glanced around the room, wondering where I was. I was lying on a massive bed that felt like heaven and smelt like sex. The previous night came back to me in a glorious rush, making me smile wider than the Joker. I’d fucked Sierra and her ‘BFF’ all night long, the two of them giving me the wildest sex I’d ever had.

  Wondering where they were, I pushed up onto my hands and scanned the room, looking for opportunities rather than the women. The bedroom was even bigger than my lounge and considerably cleaner. No stale smoke permeated the air, just a fresh-smelling room with a whole lot of expensive shit that made my fingers twitch. My gaze landed on the dresser with a massive fold-out mirror, the surface reflecting half the room. I glanced at the door, listening out for any noises. When I didn’t hear anything, I jumped out of bed and padded into the ensuite, checking that the women weren’t in the bathroom. Not finding anyone, I headed back into the bedroom, aiming for the dresser. The surface was lined with pots of makeup and other products, everything colour coordinated and labelled. I swapped a couple of the colours around, making sure the labels faced the front, wondering whether Sierra’s OCD arse would notice what I’d done.

  Amused, I opened the top drawer, finding knickers and G-strings inside. Like with the makeup, everything was arranged by colour as well as folded perfectly. The bedroom door creaked open, making me spin around. Sierra was leaning against the doorframe, with her arms crossed over her chest.

  She shook her head at me. “You weren’t going to steal from me were you, Dante?”

  “Only a lacy memento.” I pulled out a red G-string and put the waistband between my teeth, making a growling sound.

  She laughed and walked over to me. Her snow-white hair was piled high on her head in a perfect bun that was just asking to be messed up. My gaze lowered down her curvy body, having enjoyed every inch of it last night. She was wearing a white dress with gold trim, her fake tits as usual trying to burst free.

  She pulled the G-string out of my mouth and refolded it, placing it back into the drawer. “Get your clothes on; Camie’s made a delicious meal for us.”

  I looked down at my dick with a grin. “How ’bout you snack on this?”

  Her perfectly painted red lips pulled up into a wicked grin. “Only if you don’t mind me biting it off.” She snapped her perfect teeth together. “’Cause I’m starving.”

  I covered my woody. “Hey! Be nice to baby Rata.”

  Looking amused, she walked over to the door. “Just get dressed, cutie pie. Camie and I have to pick her husband up at the airport.”

  My eyebrows shot up, disappearing into the mess called my hair. “She’s married?”

  “Yes.” Sierra indicated to the shower. “So, clean up and be out within five minutes.”

  “Can’t I just stay ’ere until you get back?”

  “Not if I want half my house stripped down and sold off.” She pointed at me. “I locked everything valuable away before coming out to get you, nimble fingers.”

  I poked my tongue out at her, not really insulted, because it was the truth.

  She leered at me. “You’ve got quite the tongue on you. From now on, I’m going to be calling on you for more than drugs.” She turned and disappeared out the door, yelling, “Hurry up, cutie pie!”

  I padded over to the bathroom again and took a quick shower, then grabbed my clothes, surprised to find them washed and ironed. I glanced at the clock, doing a double-take. It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon. But then again, we had fucked all night long, plus I did have a habit of sleeping in on Saturdays.

  I slipped my clothes on, then headed back to the dresser, stealing the G-string I’d pulled out earlier. I stuffed it into my backpack for my collection, wishing I could’ve gotten one from Camie too. Jasper was going to freak when I told him I had a threesome.

  I left the room, smelling fried heaven. My nose pulled me to the dining room, crispy bacon serenading me. I walked through the doorway, spotting Sierra sitting at a massive table with a candelabra in the middle. On her left was a plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon, mushrooms, and tomatoes, hopefully waiting for moi. In front of it was a carafe of juice, as well as a plate of toast and a pot of coffee.

  I placed a hand on my crotch and groaned loudly. “I think I just came in my pants.”

  Sierra picked up a bread roll and threw it at me, which I caught. “Sit your cute butt down and eat before Camie starts panicking,” she said.

  I dumped my backpack on the marble floor and slipped into the chair, my stomach growling at the glorious sight before me. Not needing to be asked twice, I tucked into the banquet, stuffing as much into my mouth as I could get in.

  “Good God, Dante!” Sierra said. “Slow down or you’ll choke, we’re not in that much of a hurry.”

  “I’m starving,” I said through a mouthful.

  She screwed up her nose. “Don’t talk while you have half the plate in your mouth.”

  Not caring, I continued eating, only stopping to gulp some coffee down. I almost spat it out, the taste making my eyes screw up. I grabbed the tablecloth and wiped my tongue on it.

  Sierra leaned over and smacked my arm. “Stop that!”

  I grimaced. “Not my fault you ruined heaven with hell.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That coffee has mint in it. Who puts mint in coffee? Gross.”

  She smiled. “I love mint.”

  “In gum and toothpaste, not coffee.” I grabbed the carafe of juice and started chugging it down to get rid of the taste.

  “You’re an oaf,” she said.

  Ignoring her, I put the carafe down and resumed eating my food, while Sierra ate her chicken salad. Camie appeared through the doorway on my right. She was wearing different clothes from the night before, a soft floral dress and sandals, their leather straps wrapping around her calves. She looked freshly showered and hot as hell, even more than Sierra. I knew it was because she reminded me of my English teacher, so much so that at one point during the night I’d pretended she was Mrs. Hatton, coming quicker than I’d wanted to. But it didn’t matter, because the two women had gotten me hard again within no time.

  I smiled at Camie, causing her face to flush, the woman changing from the tiger in bed back to the pussy cat I’d met outside the pub. My gaze dropped to her hand, remembering Sierra had said her friend was married. There was a ring on her wedding finger that hadn’t been there the night before. I lifted my gaze back up, the realisation of what I’d been looking at clear on her face.

  W
ith a guilty as sin expression, she grabbed a purse off a side cabinet. “We have to go now, Sierra.” She took off out the door, yelling, “Meet me at the car.”

  “Can’t she just pick her husband up by herself?” I asked.

  “He’s expecting the both of us.”

  “I’ll make it worth your time if you don’t go.” I ran my tongue over my upper lip. Her eyes zeroed in on my mouth, looking like she was contemplating it, but instead she shook her head, regret thinning out her red lips.

  “I wish I could, but he’s my father, so I have to be there.”

  My eyebrows skyrocketed up. “Your best friend is married to your dad? Why would she wanna marry an old wrinkly?”

  Sierra threw more bread at me, the roll bouncing off my chest. “Hey! I’m not that old.”

  “You’re ’bout my dad’s age, which would make your father at least in his late-forties, but since you’re not a South Aucklander, I’d say he’ll either be in his fifties or sixties.”

  She frowned at me. “I’m thirty-two, which would mean your dad would’ve been thirteen or fourteen when he conceived you.”

  “I said about his age. He’s in his mid-thirties. He had me when he wuz sixteen.” A lie. “And why are you helping your friend to cheat on your dad?”

  “It’s not cheating. They have an open-marriage, which means they can fuck whoever they want as long as it doesn’t interfere with their relationship. Though, you’re the first guy Camie has done apart from my father. She’s quite shy.”

  “Not in bed,” I sniggered.

  Sierra chuckled. “I have to agree with that, she’s quite a firecracker. It rather surprised me.” She pointed her fork at me. “And you were focusing on her too much. I had to fight for your attention. Do you think she’s prettier than me?”

  “No.” Another lie. “She just reminds me of a chick I’m dying to fuck.” Not a lie.

  “Good answer,” she said. “Because you’re mine, not hers.”

  My mouth twitched with amusement. “I’m yours?”

  “You bet you are, cutie pie.”

  A car horn beeped loudly.

  “Sounds like my dearest stepmother is getting annoyed with us for taking so long.” Sierra pushed out of her chair and headed for an antique cabinet, removing an envelope from a drawer. “I popped in a little extra for last night,” she said, handing it to me. She walked off, telling me to finish my food quick.