I published my first title close to 3 years ago, can’t can’t believe how things have just continued to progress from that point. However, I’m taking time to revisit my original work. Available on AMAZON!
~Damaged Girls I~
Be warned… Romance is not at the heart of Damaged Girls. This series revolves around contemporary issues in families and relationships.
Steven Briggs is thirty-five, gorgeous and partially successful as an auto shop owner-wannabe. He loves women – young women to be exact. Moreover, he is not above manipulating any situation to have the women he wants. Independent twenty year old Jillian McConnell was once lucky to be a part of his world. Since Stevie was the only man to ever shatter her rough exterior, he knows that she would always keep coming back for more. But Jillian is only good enough some of the time. When the sensual Jessica Rodney comes of age, Stevie is enthralled. He shuns the older part time model, for the time being. But is Jessica’s liveliness enough to sustain Stevie? Or will he keep turning back to the sensible relationship of his past, since he can always make Jillian believe that she should readily be a willing participant in this triangle. Damaged Girls is a complicated novel about the choices and outcomes, associated with the mistakes we make over time.
Only The Beginning
The hour was nearing 1:00 a.m. A new day, different home, and different circumstances; the past could be dashed aside in the matter of seconds as the impending threat reappeared. With the phone silenced, he was okay. But the door was a different tale, for soon all would be revealed.
Quickly, he approached the door and swung it inward. On the verge of another explosion, Jessica halted. On the lower steps to the home, one foot was firmly in the air. The thrashing was not by hand, rather by the slithery sandals. She immediately placed the weapon to the ground. He looked down upon battling eyes, his expression churned with sympathy. Their eyes locked.
“It’s time to come home, Stevie.” Rage was no longer her driving force. There emerged gentleness in the words, yet disaster-twitched lips and wet eyes refused to liberate the floods.
His answer was simple. “Jessica, you do what you want. I’m not going anywhere.” He wagged his head from side to side, mockingly twirling the glass of deep-brown liquor.
“It’s not my fault, baby.” She paused for a further reply. “Let’s go home and discuss this. Please, Stevie?”
“No. You need to go home. When I’m ready we’ll discuss what needs to be done with my home and your business. You’re not going to hold that over my head forever.” Perhaps the effects of the wine helped to reinforce his strength. He openly smirked, nodded his head, and clicked his tongue. When he stepped back to shut the door, she plunged forward with a fierce force. The glass of wine was unwillingly thrown from his hand. Otherwise he remained unaffected by her paltry attempts at brutality.
From behind him, at the top of the inside stairs, Jillian approached as a witness to the unsavory scene. “Stevie, what’s going on here?” Fear overrode uncertainty as she rushed down the stairs. “Get out of my house before I call the police!” Jillian’s feet barely pounded on carpeted stairs.
“Go back to bed, Jillie. I can handle this.”
“No, Stevie, enough is enough. I don’t want her here.”
“Shut up, bitch! You can’t have him.” Jessica turned all hatred in the direction of the descending foe.
Barely paying attention to her manner of travel, Jillian slipped midway up the steps. Her head twisted and her sides lashed against the wooden staircase handle, yet in her scramble to rebalance herself the back of her head collapsed against the steps causing her entire body to crumble under the force.
Stevie rushed over to assist.
Jessica glared in horror.
“Baby, are you okay?”
Stevie was no longer concerned for Jessica’s feelings. He only focused on what was right at the moment; and at this moment his emotions circled the woman who was now in his arms. Jillian was dressed in one of his loose red and gray boxers and a white tank. Her chest heaved in full force as curling lashes fluttered open and shut.
“Baby, talk to me.” His words plucked with mounts of fear. He finally turned to Jessica and commanded, “Call 9-1-1.” When she refused to respond right away, he barked the orders again, “Call 9-1-1, now! The phone’s over there.” He motioned with the tip of his chin.
A flood of moisture caught his attention. As he lowered his head in examination, he noticed a drop of red on the carpet directly below them.
“No, Jillian . . . No, Jillian!”