Break Me Read Online Chelsea Camaron

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Break Me

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Chelsea Camaron

Book Information:

In a powerful, smoldering novel from the bestselling authors of the Caldwell Brothers series (“Bad boy heroes to die for!”—Tracy Wolff), two tortured souls team up to overcome the past, finding the courage to heal . . . and to love.

Jason “Cobra” Stanley was born to fight. With a father like his, he had to toughen up just to survive. Now Cobra tries to take out all of his frustration, all of his anger, and all of his pain in the MMA cage. But after he receives one too many hits to the head during a match with Jagger Caldwell, the cycle of violence comes to a screeching halt. Cobra wakes up in the hospital, under the care of a nurse whose blond hair shines like a halo—and whose pure heart touches him on the deepest level.

Lorraine Bosch is a fighter too. Having escaped from her own controlling father, she prides herself on remaining professional, despite the chaos in the ER. But Cobra is the ultimate distraction. Lorraine knows she should run away screaming from his rippling muscles and shattered psyche. And yet how can she deny this broken man a second chance—especially since she knows exactly what he’s been through? Lorraine’s used to playing guardian angel. Now it’s her turn to find heaven in Cobra’s arms.
Books by Author:

Chelsea Camaron

To break the chains that bind me, I must first acknowledge I am damaged. To change the patterns started long before me, I must first find the power from within to hold back. To be the man I want to be, I must break down the man I am today.

- Jason “Cobra” Stanley


Fifteen years earlier

“How dare you shame me!” The backhand comes before I can brace for it.

The burn, the sting, the copper taste of my own blood fills my mouth as the next blow comes crashing down. By now, I should expect this. By now, I should know better. By now, I should give him back what he gives and give it harder. But I don’t.

There is some warped, twisted part of me that feels like I have earned his punishment even when I can’t explain what I did or even what he thinks I did. Some days, I could be given the blows simply because it rained and his designer suit got wet.

“How can people believe I’m able to run a city when I don’t have control of my own house?” His voice booms, making each word thunder in my aching head. “Everything we do is under scrutiny.”

I should say something. I should fight back. I should do anything to get away, to find a reprieve. I don’t. Instead, I numb my mind and let him hit me.

My face is swelling, and I think I may have a chipped tooth, but I don’t cry. I don’t make one sound. I learned as a young boy that the less I say, the less I move, the quicker it ends.

I can’t remember a time in my life when everything I did wasn’t under a microscope. I can’t remember a time in my life when I did not make him angry to the point of rage. The more he reacts, the more he loves me. My mom has told me that more times than I can count.

At first, I told myself it was me. If I were a better boy, smarter, stronger, he wouldn’t have to punish me. Later, I told myself it was him, and I simply needed to get by until I could get out. I dreaded summer vacation from school. It meant more time home and more time to fuck up. The only thing that kept me going was telling myself I would break the cycle.

At fifteen, I found my outlet in the gym. When the rage inside would build so deep I could feel it pulse through my very veins, I needed somewhere to get it all out. The heavy bag takes every punch and kick I give, and then it waits for more. The octagon of the underground fights has been my escape since I was nineteen. I take the hits I need to and lay out the motherfuckers when the time is right. Finally, I found a place I don’t have to hold back.

By day, I’m Jason Stanley, son to Mayor Stanley. I grew up behind the gates of an upper-class suburb of Detroit. Politics and presentation are everything. By day, I work in the voter registration office of the city. By day, I am a college-educated, entitled prick. By day, I walk with my head held high and know I’m untouchable . . . except by him.

The man who made me, the man who molded me, the man who I disappoint at every turn, James Jason Stanley, my father, accepts nothing less than perfection, and I fail every day. He rules the city with laws and police officers at his back. He rules his home with an iron fist.

I’m out of his reign of terror now. Missy, my girlfriend, and I have our own place. She is a twelve on a scale of one to ten. With tits, ass, and so much sass, she pushes my buttons and keeps my dick hard. She needed a deeper commitment than just fucking, so we moved into this condo together. It’s not large, but it’s far from small. I give her freedom with my bank account to decorate it however she likes. Thank fuck, she doesn’t put up a bunch of dust collectors and frilly stuff. I could give a shit about décor; I just need a place to fuck her when I want, how I want, and without anyone to answer to.

“I saw you today.” The brunette in my life walks in. That’s Missy: no regular greeting, just balls to the wall, in my face.

“Well, hello to you, too.” I give back her attitude.

“I saw you with her,” she adds as she steps out of her sky-high heels and walks into the kitchen.

I raise an eyebrow in question. “Inform me; who exactly did you see me with?”

Pulling out a bottle of her favorite red wine, she sets a wineglass in front of her and pops the cork.