Shattered (A Bad Boy Romance Novel)

By Natalie Baird

"He was a bad boy for sure, but I knew that he would always be good to me..."

A man with a name like Anderson "The Shatter Man" Cole...he was trouble for sure...

But Kaela's a good girl - she's paying her own way, working a shit job for shit pay, and living the single life in Alphabet City in NYC. When her asshole boss leaves her to close the shop alone late at night, Kaela finds herself in a situation of unimaginable danger.

As she locks up and begins to head home, four burly drunken men surround her, their eyes void of all emotion except lust and violence. Despite her futile pleas the men attack her, intent on using her like a piece of meat...

Just when all hope is lost a mysterious savior comes to her rescue. The unknown man beats her four drunken attackers into submission, breaking bones, cracking skulls and taking absolutely no mercy on her despicable assailants. His lean body glimmers in the street lights, the sinewy ropes of cut muscle on his tattooed arms and back tensing as he incapacitates the attackers with utter finesse.

When the hero finds her in the corner alley, shaken and beyond terrified, he offers her his hand. The fighter's dark brown eyes are filled with steel resolve... these are eyes that know pain and suffering, but as Kaela looks deeper she finds that there's also kindness. His gentle touch immediately calms her nerves...as he swoops her into his arms and carries her home to safety.

Kaela is already a goner, this beautiful man has her in his clutches and she's about to enter his world - one of danger, violence, treachery, and utter secrecy. Will she survive in his cut-throat world of professional violence? Will she be able to handle all of Anderson...the damaged man, the bad boy, the raw fighter?

**This novel contains intense sexual situations and mature language. It is intended for an audience at least 18+ years of age.**

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yuppie Bitch Press
• Release date: May 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301691173

Natalie Baird

Natalie Baird is a visual artist, filmmaker, and community-based researcher based in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Natalie completed a bachelor of environmental science from the University of Manitoba in 2014, where she explored film-making as a tool for environmental action. Her documentary, animation, and video-installation work has been screened and exhibited across Canada. She has an embedded community practice, working as an arts facilitator and artist-in-residence in drop-in art centres and personal care homes. In 2016 Natalie returned to the University of Manitoba for a master of environment, leading arts-based research projects about the social dimensions of climate change in Nunavut.

Book preview

SHATTERED

A Bad Boy Romance Novel

By

Natalie Baird

Smashwords Edition

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PUBLISHED BY:

Yuppie Bitch Press on Smashwords

Shattered: A Bad Boy Romance Novel

Copyright © 2013 by Natalie Baird

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.  The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

The material in this document contains explicit sexual content that is intended for mature audiences only and is inappropriate for readers under 18 years of age.

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SHATTERED:

A Bad Boy Romance Novel

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

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Chapter One

Kaela! my boss called from the kitchen, Stop moping and take out the garbage.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to fly off the handle and say something I’d later regret. You got it, I muttered, turning my back on the nearly empty coffee shop. We were just about to close up for the night, and the only people in sight were a couple of regulars who stuck around the place like bugs on flypaper. Usually, I got to close up on my own, or with one of my co-workers. But tonight, the boss had stayed late to deal with inventory. So instead of meandering through my closing duties as usual, I’d have to play the good soldier until I could finally go home and get some rest.

I shuffled over to the garbage can and hoisted up the bag, heavy as it was with sodden coffee grounds. No one could say with a shred of sincerity that our shop had the best coffee in the city. We served the cheapest coffee the boss could find, but our regulars didn’t seem to mind. Located in Alphabet City in New York, we weren’t exactly on the beaten path, and relied on the locals to keep us open. My boss, Buddy, was an ex-cop who had established a sort of rapport with the neighborhood guys. Our coffee shop was definitely something of a boys club—a fact I’d only become savvy to once I’d already taken the job. Had I known the extent to which machismo reigned supreme there, I may have thought twice about accepting the post. But I’d stumbled into the joint when I was flat broke, straight out of college, and terrified about paying rent—a vulnerable time for even the iron-willed.

Slinging the garbage bag over my shoulder, I tried to remind myself that this was only a temporary situation. Unfortunately, my mantra was getting more and more difficult to buy into. I had arrived in New York City three years earlier as a bright-eyed twenty two year old. I’d just graduated from college and thought, naively, that the world would have some great adventure in store for me. I didn’t have any particular career path in mind when I relocated to the city, but my only other option had been moving back in with my parents in Podunk Ohio, so I decided to take my chances.

It hadn’t taken long for the brutal reality of my situation to knock me on my ass. Two months after moving to the city, I had made no progress with the job hunt. I sent out resumes like a madwoman, reaching out to any place that might have me. But it turned out that no one was itching to hire a green little lady with a liberal arts degree. Who knew? I had nearly blown through my savings and needed a job, any job. That was when I stumbled into Joe’s.

Joe was my boss, and the fact that he named the shop after himself should have been a good indicator of his narcissism and loathsome attitude. But in my desperation for a job, any job, I overlooked his grimy qualities and essentially begged for a barista post. I lived just up the street, was willing to work any hours, and boasted a pretty nice set of curves—Joe had hired me on the spot. Before I knew it, I was slinging coffee to dirty old men and degenerates of all walks of life. So much for living the dream.

I was the only woman on staff at Joe’s, and it didn’t take me long to figure out why. The coffee shop was a hotbed of sexual harassment and other detestable nonsense. I had been initiated during my first shift when Joe asked me point blank whether I’d be interested in heading back to his place to snort some coke off his cock. I was completely blindsided that first day, but quickly learned how to deal with my coworkers’ bullshit. I had a zero tolerance policy for any kind of touching, and would spit back at any cat call that got tossed my way.

As sad as it is to say, I got used to the sexist attitudes in the coffee shop pretty quickly. It wasn’t hard to do in a city like New York. Everywhere I went, no matter the neighborhood, hoots and whistles followed me. Men called out their love for my plump ass, my 34-C’s, my head of dirty blonde curls. This blunt street harassment had taken me by surprise at first. I'm from a tiny, conservative town in central Ohio and I went to a college with a secluded campus. I knew to expect sexist shenanigans from frat boys, but adult men? That had thrown me for a loop.

I expected to meet a very different sort of man in New York City. The type I fantasized about, when I let myself fantasize at all, wouldn’t have to prove his manliness with catcalls and game of grab ass behind the coffee shop counter. His very existence would be testament enough to his manliness. The kind of man I wanted wouldn’t waste any words, and certainly wouldn’t waste time chasing down random women on the street. He wouldn’t have to. I wanted a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. These fools with their passive aggressive, cowardly antics only repulsed me.

But that didn’t mean that I repulsed them, unfortunately. As I slogged through the kitchen to deposit the trash in the dumpster, Joe and the line cook, Ace, let their conversation drop so they could better eye my tits through the modest cotton tee shirt I was wearing. There was no stopping them, and by then I’d tried everything—ratty clothes, greasy hair, no makeup...Nothing could deter their persistent harassment, their lingering, raking, hungry eyes. They were like dogs with a particularly curvy bone.

Slow down, Joe sneered, We want to take a nice long look at that ass.

You’ll get a nice long look at the back of my hand if you keep it up, I shot back.

Temper, temper, Ace said, condescendingly, I thought you were supposed to be a lady?

Only among gentlemen, I said, And god knows, there aren’t any to be found around this dump.

 Watch it, Joe said, This dump has been paying your rent for the last three years. How quickly they forget...

I bit my tongue; swallowing the venomous words I so longed to throw my boss’s way. The worst part of his ribbing was that he was right; I had been living off my wages from the coffee shop for years. I had to work such long hours to make ends meet that almost every other aspect of my life had ground to a halt. I hadn’t had time to send out more resumes—searching for a job was practically a full-time job in and of itself, after all. I hadn’t made many friends in New York, except for Aimee, the roommate I had taken on to help pay the bills. And even she wasn’t so much a friend as someone who had just simply answered my Craigslist ad. My love life had been abysmal since leaving college. I’d put a few notches in my bedpost since becoming a city girl, but there had been no relationships to speak of. As much as I hated to admit it, Joe’s was pretty much all I had going for me. And Joe himself knew it.

With my features arranged into an adamant scowl, I pushed past my coworkers, trying my best to ignore their snickering. I kicked open the back door and stormed out into the night. It was a warm spring evening, the kind I might like to spend in the park, watching the sunset with a good book. But instead, I was making my way through a gross alleyway with a bag full of garbage. The fact that I had once thought of New York as a fashionable, glamorous place to live was laughable. As a tiny rebellion against Joe and all his cronies, I decided to take a little smoke break before heading back inside. Leaning against the brick wall of the alley, I pulled a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of my low-rise jeans and helped myself. I lit the smoke and took a long pull, savoring that lovely first drag. After a long shift of pretending to care about people’s precious latte preferences, a well-earned cigarette is like a gift from the gods.

As I nursed my smoke, a strange feeling started to settle in my bones. I was uncomfortable, anxious—the exact opposite way I usually felt during a cigarette break. I found myself glancing around, wary of my surroundings. My eyes scanned the street and fell upon a group of men across the way. They were congregated around the dive bar opposite the coffee shop, yelling and shoving each other. They weren’t wasted by any means, but it definitely seemed like they’d had a few.

My heart skipped a beat when I spotted one of them starting back at me unabashedly, with a twisted grin spread across his hideous mug. They were big guys, burly types whose muscles seemed the result of hard labor rather than time spent in an expensive gym. Not wanting to attract any attention to myself, I crushed the cigarette beneath my heel and hurried back inside. I tried to shake off the apprehension that had taken up residence in my body, but it wasn’t going anywhere.

I hurried back to the front counter of the coffee shop, eager to close up and head home. It was nearly midnight, and I was opening the following morning at six. It was no small wonder that the past three years had flown by—I never got a break from the damned coffee shop. In a flash, I had gone from twenty-two to twenty-five, and what did I have to show for it? Better latte art skills and blisters on my feet, that’s what. I had had such grand ambitions for my twenties, too. More than anything else in the world, I longed to travel. Growing up, I never felt any real attachment to my home town. My parents raised me the best they could, but they were so content to resign themselves to nine-to-five jobs and meatloaf for dinner. I grew up constantly reading, especially fantasy novels. I wanted to see the far-off places that I imagined as a little girl, wanted to taste exotic foods and breathe in the winds of distant lands. Moving to New York had been a stab at that dream, but it hadn’t gotten me very far.

The tip jar on the counter was far from full, but I tipped it out regardless. As the only barista on the night shift, I was entitled to whatever tips were thrown my way. Unfortunately, most of our customers were not the tipping type. I folded the two one dollar bills and tucked them into my pocket, and then counted out the coins. As I added up pennies, I almost wanted to laugh. I was actually paying my rent with pocket change. What a woman of the world I was.

As the clock struck midnight, I started to sweep and mop under the feet of the couple customers who were still lingering in the shop. They left, grumbling all the way about my bad attitude. As I tossed out the stale muffins and pastries, Joe headed for the door ahead of me.

Goodnight sweetheart, he smiled.

Bye, I said curtly.

Hey, if you need an escort home, I’d be happy to be your man, he went on.

No thanks, I said, I’m pretty sure I’ll be safer walking a whole three blocks without you.

Suit yourself, he sniffed, and let the door slam closed behind him.

I drew in a deep breath as the lock clicked shut. I was finally alone, after eight grueling hours in the company of jerks and lowlifes. I hurried to complete my closing tasks, looking forward to falling into bed as soon as possible. I gathered my things and hurried to the front door, bemoaning the fact that in a few short hours, I would be right back here to open the shop to the neighbors once again. Against everything I was feeling I willed my mind to dwell on happy thoughts. After all, things couldn’t possibly get worse than they already were. Surely I could find some comfort in that.

As I made my way out the door, the sound of raucous laughter bombarded my ears. I felt my stomach twist with dread as I spotted the group of men across the street. The herd had thinned a bit—there were only four men standing outside when there had been closer to ten before. But I could tell from the way they were swaying and shouting that they’d gone past the point of merely tipsy. They were clearly drunk, and not exactly shy about their inebriated states.

I felt my pulse quicken as I locked the front door and hurried away from the coffee shop, praying that the men wouldn’t bother me with their boozy cat calls. For a brief, shining moment I thought that I’d escaped without attracting their attention. But then the volley of bullshit fell down around my ears.

Hey, mama! a slurring voice called out from across the street. Come here! I have a question for you!

I quickened my pace, eager to put as much distance between myself and those men as possible. Wait, baby! came the next voice, Where are you going?

Don’t go, sexy, said another, We need some company. Why don’t you come over here and—

The pounding in my ears drowned out their insistent calls, and I sped up even more. I was practically running down the sidewalk when I came to a terrible realization—their voices were getting closer. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the pack was moving toward me, laughing at my attempt to outpace them. The men lumbered my way, charging