Beautifully Damaged

I have no choice but to trust a complete stranger. And he wants me for his own.

Holden Alistair is full of dark secrets.

When he saves me, my world is turned inside out with sex, money, and power.

He shouldn’t want me. I’m from the wrong side of the tracks. Poor. Trash.

Yet Holden won’t let me out of his sight. He’ll do anything to keep me safe.

Every touch and look between us proves how he craves me.

Holden introduces me to the illicit club he owns, opening my mind to every fantasy I’ve dared to dream about.

Love and trust don’t come easy, but nothing could prepare me for the twisted games I’m about to play.

My lungs burned and fire licked up my chest as I held my breath, struggling not to open my mouth to gasp for air that was just out of my reach. Every crazy moment of my nineteen years played before me as I clawed at the powerful hands that held me under the murky water. Fear ripped through me as I stared into savage eyes.

The tip of my nose broke through the surface, and I attempted to push my head upward. If I could only suck in a lifesaving ... Before I was able to complete the thought, I was shoved under again. How had I gotten here, suddenly fighting for my life?

Holden’s beautiful smile flashed across my mind and fueled a flicker of optimism that I could survive. I had to. Holden had to know the truth.

With an extra boost of adrenaline, I wedged my thumb between the two ligaments of my attacker’s wrist, then pushed into the soft flesh as hard as I could. This had to work. My energy was dwindling, and fast.

Suddenly, my head popped up, and I gulped in much-needed air as I gazed into the twisted and depraved face of the monster that wanted me dead.

Whack. A scream tore from my throat as the impact against my skull rendered me helpless. Stars danced in front of my eyes as I slipped from reality. If this was it, I had one thing to say to my captor before I left this screwed-up world.

“Fuck ... you ...” The darkness beckoned to me, urging me to give in as she welcomed me into her arms.

Five months earlier

The voices in my head whispered that I should end it all. There was no other choice.

My heart and mind were in a constant push and pull, like the moon and ocean—a consistent dance between life and death. Once again, I’d struggled to claw my way out of hell, clinging to a tiny thread of hope that one day I would finally succeed.

I flopped over in my bed, pulling the thin sheet under my chin and shuddering against the frigid air seeping through the cracks of my bedroom walls. The stupid mobile home was on its last leg, threatening to fall over on its disgruntled and weather-beaten side at any given moment. If a wind gusted through the trailer park and knocked my house over, I wondered if I’d survive, or if I would be trapped beneath it. If Dan, my sorry excuse for a guardian, died, I wouldn’t shed one single tear.

Gently, I massaged my right bicep and peered at the blue-and-purple bruises that were forming. Yesterday, Dan had jerked my arm so hard it had nearly popped out of the socket. The piece of shit had staggered in through the front door, drunk and smelling like a skunk. It was bad enough when he drank, but when he lost himself in a fifth of whiskey and smoked weed, it was a recipe for disaster. Unfortunately, I was the one that caught the raw end of that deal.