๐๐๐ด ๐๐๐๐๐ฆ Bestselling Author Anna Edwards returns to her darker side with ๐๐ผ๐๐ธ!
๐๐ฆ๐๐ณ๐จ๐ง ๐๐
๐๐ฆ๐๐ณ๐จ๐ง ๐๐
๐๐ญ๐ก๐๐ซ ๐ซ๐๐ญ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐๐ซ๐ฌ
โข https://books2read.com/u/bwynzY
๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฑ ๐ ๐ถ๐ป๐ฒ ๐๐ผ ๐๐ผ๐๐ฟ ๐ง๐๐ฅ
Cover created by Dani Renรฉ at Raven Designs
๐ฏ๐น๐๐ฟ๐ฏ
Eaton and Shelby must navigate the sins of their parents and hope one of them survives.
Our parents decided our future before we were even born.
We’ve no say in what happens now.
Well, she doesn’t, because she’s mine
I will make her pay for what was taken from me.
All her dreams of a normal life are about to vanish.
Replaced by a hellish nightmare.
Death might be the better option.
But I won’t let that happen.
I will get my pound of flesh.
I will make her suffer.
I’m the devil she thinks I am.
๐บ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐.
EXCERPT
Chapter One – Shelby
I put the the plate of biscuits and gravy down in front of the customer and canโt help but look up and notice him standing on the sidewalk again. He’s been there, in the exact same spot outside the supermarket, every lunchtime for the last week.
With his crisp suit and tie, he looks out of place among the poverty-stricken, local inhabitants. The area of Pharr where I live has a rundown, small-town vibe; its struggling residents occupy the most mobile homes per capita in all of Texas.
I shrug his presence off. Whatever he wants, itโll have nothing to do with me. A handsome, rich man, rescuing a poor, city girl from a living hell only happens in fairy tales.
This is real life, and I’ve got customers to serve.
โWhat can I get y’all?โ I ask a man and woman who appear to be a couple.
They are obviously tourists; the maps spread over the table and the fanny pack are a dead giveaway. I donโt know why theyโve chosen to eat at the run-down diner I work in. The red leather chairs are tatty and in desperate need of re-covering, and although the white plastic tables are clean, theyโve seen better days.
Why the fuck anyone would want to visit Pharr is beyond me.
โCould you recommend a local delicacy?โ the man responds, his strong British accent sounding cute. โMy wife and I want to try as many new dishes as possible on this holiday.โ
โWow. You’re from England!โ I exclaim. Like it’s the first time I’ve ever met anyone from there.
โWe are. We’re from Kent. Just outside London,โ the man replies with a smile.
I’m glad he added the last bit. I wouldn’t have a clue where Kent is, but I’ve heard of London. Having never left Pharr, I don’t know much about the rest of the world.
โWhat yโall doing after this?โ I question.
โWe’re driving from here to Los Angeles, hoping to take in as much of the country as possible along the way. It’s just so vast, and thereโs so much to see,โ the man replies.
โWell, you’ve just got to have biscuits and gravy,โ I recommend. โItโs a favorite around here.โ
In truth, itโs pretty much the only food on the menu thatโs edible. Weโre not exactly five-star dining here, but in a city where most residents live below the poverty line, we provide food at cheap prices, along with a generous helping of grease. Letโs face it, when youโre hungry, youโll eat anything.
โThat sounds perfect. Bring us two plates, please,โ the woman requests, and I scribble the order down on my pad. โWeโll have two cokes as well.โ
โWhat type?โ I ask. โCoke, to a Texan, is any carbonated beverage.โ
โCoca Cola, please,โ she confirms.
โI’ll get that out for you straight away,โ I say with a nod.
As I walk away, I pass by the diner window and notice the man has disappeared. Heโs probably returned to his wealthy, privileged life.
The rest of my shift passes without any drama. The friendly tourists leave me a big tip, which I’m very grateful for. It means, Mom and I won’t have to rely solely on the scraps from the diner kitchen for the next few days, not that Mom eats very much anyway. I might be able to afford some fruit or maybe some vegetables that haven’t been deep fried. Even a fresh apple would be nice.
โSee you later, Fred.โ I grab the bag of leftovers Iโve collected over the course of the day and wave goodbye to my boss.
It’s past ten pm, and when I step outside, the cool air of the late evening hits me even though Iโm still wearing my diner uniform, which consists of black leggings and a long-sleeved red shirt. Itโs cold for this time of year. I inhale deeply, clearing away the stench of fries and burgers. The polluted town air fills my nose instead, but it’s still smells fresher than the odor of grease Iโve been breathing in for the last eight hours.
Clutching my bag of scraps in one hand, I make my way through the busy streets toward my mobile home that sits on the outskirts of the city. The home I share with my mom is rundown and hasn’t been decorated since the seventies, but with my mom’s issues after my dad died, it’s all we’ve got to live in.
The one-bedroom, mobile home is in darkness when I arrive, which suggests my mom is out. I’m kind of grateful for that as I don’t want to have to handle the shit that comes with her, tonight.
After opening the door, I step inside and flick the switch to turn on the lights.
Nothing happens.
โFuckโs sake.โ I grumble, running my free hand over the top of my head in frustration.
This is just what I need!
I place the bag of food on the kitchen counter and go back outside to check the generator; itโs out of fuel. I drop my head into my hands. There goes my big tip, and with it the happiness I was feeling at the prospect of a meal that didnโt comprise solely of leftovers. Iโll have to use the extra money to buy fuel tomorrow, instead.
I make my way into the kitchen area and grab a couple of candles and the bag of scraps before heading back outside. Tonight, thereโll be a candlelit dinner for one.
I’ve got a little seating area out front with a log of wood I use for a seat and a small planter containing a few herbs I’ve cultivated from stolen cuttings. I place both candles on the ground and light them. It’s all very peaceful out here and a little bit zen.
Opening the food package, I see it looks quite appetizing for once. One of the customers left their salad untouched. The leaves are a little wilted, but as I shovel them into my mouth, I savor every bite. Thereโs also some chicken wrapped in cheese and bacon and a few fries. I hadnโt realized how hungry I was after my shift, until now, so I gulp everything down quickly.
โMeow.โ Betty, my little cat friend appears by my side, obviously attracted to the smell of food.
โEvening, Betty,โ I greet her as I break off a small piece of chicken and throw it toward her.
Betty’s not my cat. She’s a stray that I look after and feed. I throw her another piece of chicken, and she rolls over onto her back for me to stroke her stomach and purrs when I tickle her tummy.
โHave you had a busy day sleeping, Betty?โ I ask.
โMeow,โ she answers, as though she understands everything I’m saying.
I guess you could say Betty is my only friend in the world. I didn’t make any friends at school. In my last few years of high school, I wasnโt there a lot. I grew up early; I had to with a mother addicted to heroin and a father who died far too young. I wish I could say I remember him. But I was only two when he was shot and killed.
My mom doesn’t talk about his death. I think it broke her, and thatโs the reason she lost herself to her addiction. I canโt count how many times Iโve tried to help her quit. Now, I guess, I’m just waiting for the day I wake up and she’s overdosed. Itโs a tragic waste of a life.
Headlights flash as a car pulls up in front of me. My heart deflates. I know instantly who it is. My momโs home, and my worst fears are realized when she stumbles out of the passenger side of the car.
Betty, as if sensing trouble has arrived, scampers away in a hurry, growling as she goes because she wasnโt able to finish the chicken.
โShelby.โ My mom waves at me.
The driver of the car gets out. He’s one of Momโs regulars. He makes my skin crawl.
โHi, Shelby.โ He nods my way. โIs tonight going to be the night you join us? You know you want a piece of me.โ
My stomach turns, and I hope I’m not about to bring up the contents of my second-hand salad and chicken.
โLeave her alone,โ my mom quips and pats at her clientโs fat stomach playfully. โI’m woman enough for you.โ
โAnd I’m man enough to handle both of you. One day, you’ll be desperate enough to spread your legs for me, Shelby. Like mother, like daughter. Your mom is a whore for her heroin, and no doubt, youโll follow her down that path eventually. After all, you’ve known nothing different.โ
The manโs smirk is cruel and twisted, just like his words. He’s right, though. I may still be a virgin and determined to stay that way for as long as possible, but prostitution is one way to make money. And itโs the destiny of many women, and even some men, in this city[st1] .
I turn my back to the two of them and respond, โBut today won’t be that day. By the way, we’ve got no power indoors, so you might want to go elsewhere. With or without my mom.โ
He laughs. โI only need your momโs pussy to get my dick wet. I never want to see her drugged up face while fucking her. I won’t have to do her from behind if itโs dark. Itโll be a welcome change.โ
His words sting. This is my mother he’s talking about. I’ve tried to do everything to help her, but her addiction is too far gone.
A lone tear tumbles down my cheek as I watch them go into my home, and not long after, the rhythmic sound of fucking starts. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want this life. But it was the one that was chosen for me. So, I guess I must suffer through it. Iโm only nineteen, and I keep hoping I can save enough money to escape. Who am I kidding? My lifeโs a mess. And itโs always going to be this way.
โHe’s got it all wrong.โ A deep masculine voice comes from behind me.
Startled, I spin around on the log before getting to my feet, and I’m stunned at what I see. The man in the designer suit stands before me, the one whoโs been lurking outside the diner every day this week.
โWhoโs got what wrong?โ I mumble.
Illuminated by the candlelight, he looks even more handsome up close. His jawline is square, his eyes a bright blue, and his dark hair is neatly combed back from his face.
What is he doing here?
โThat man with your mother. You don’t just start banging a pussy straightaway. You must warm it up first. It makes the experience so much more pleasurable for both participants,โ he answers and then winks at me.
I open my mouth to say something but can’t find the words. Heโs shocked me into silence. That wasnโt the response I was expecting to hear from him. Then again, I wasn’t expecting him to be here in the first place.
โWho are you? What are you doing here?โ I finally manage to ask.
โMy name is Eaton Armstrong. And I’ve come to collect whatโs mine.โ
Anna Edwards is a British author from the depths of the rural countryside near London. When she has some spare time, she can also be found writing poetry, baking cakes (and eating them), or behind a camera snapping like a mad paparazzo. Sheโs an avid reader who turned to writing to combat her depression and anxiety. She has a love of traveling and likes to bring this to her stories to give them the air of reality. She likes her heroes hot and hunky with a dirty mouth, her heroines demure but with spunk, and her books full of dramatic suspense.
CONNECT WITH ANNA EDWARDS
Newsletter: http://bit.ly/NewsletterAnnaEdwards
Facebook Page http://www.facebook.com/AnnaEdwardsWriter
Facebook Profile https://www.facebook.com/TheAuthorAnnaEdwards
Twitter https://twitter.com/Anna__Edwards
Instagram http://www.instagram.com/authorannaedwards
Bookbub http://www.bookbub.com/authors/Anna-Edwards
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/anna__edwards
ginreads 