Over the Edge 1: The Over the Edge Series, #1

By Erika Rhys

A sheltered young woman fleeing abuse. The tattooed rebel who befriends her. Can their attraction turn to love?

A young woman on the run
When her alcoholic father's abuse escalates, eighteen-year-old Mia flees the only home she's ever known. She needs to run far and fast. She needs to start a new life. After a lifetime riddled with dysfunction, she craves normal--and safe. Love is the last thing on her mind.

Until a sexy stranger enters her world.

A globe-trotting rebel
Tattooed, pierced Damien is everything Mia's mother warned her against. Restless and free-spirited, he’s the rogue son of his wealthy family. As their friendship deepens, Mia’s attraction to Damien intensifies. Still, she never expected that he might return her feelings. 

Until the night he kisses her. 

When attraction flares into passion, will Mia play it safe--or will she follow her heart? 

Complete series available
Over the Edge is a steamy new adult romance series. If you like fast-paced action, witty dialogue, emotional ups and downs, and stories of young romance and new beginnings, then you’ll love this series starter from best-selling author Erika Rhys. Vol. 1 is the first part of this two-volume series and ends on a cliffhanger. 

Read Over the Edge, vol. 1 to reexperience first love today!

What readers and reviewers say about Over the Edge:

“This was a book I could not put down.”
—BooksandBeyondFiftyShades, book review site

“The sex is hot here, but the difference from so many romance books is that it's backed with meaning and love…throughout the series, you really feel Mia and Damien's love for each other.”
—Christopher, author

“If you are looking for something fun and has meaning behind the story I highly recommend this book.”
—Felicia E., reader

“an emotional roller coaster ride”
—Stephanie J., reader

“POWERFUL and thoroughly believable”
—llulusmom, reader

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Rhys
• Release date: Apr 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781513046310

Erika Rhys

International bestselling author Erika Rhys writes contemporary romance novels featuring sexy men, strong women, and dashes of sparkling wit—the kind of books she enjoys reading. Her books include Heir of the Hamptons and the Gentlemen’s Club, Over the Edge, and On the Brink series. Erika’s heroes are driven, determined, and often wealthy, but can also be sensitive and vulnerable. Her heroines come from a range of backgrounds, and are strong, smart, and independent, but also sympathetic and caring. All her books feature laugh-out-loud moments, because humor is sexy! Erika loves dance music, shoes, long walks by herself, long dinners with friends, dark chocolate, strong coffee, and ice-cold martinis. She also loves hearing from readers, so get in touch!  http://erikarhys.com http://facebook.com/ErikaRhys.Author http://twitter.com/erikarhysauthor http://instagram.com/erikarhysauthor http://pinterest.com/erikarhysauthor

Book preview

Over the Edge 1

The Over the Edge Series, Volume 1

Erika Rhys

Published by Erika Rhys, 2015.

For everyone who has summoned the courage to leave an abusive situation and start a new life.

Copyright and Legal Notice:

This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.

Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.

First ebook edition © 2014.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental. Copyright © 2014 Erika Rhys. All rights reserved worldwide.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter One

Pittsboro, TX

Whore! my father screamed in my face. Rage contorted his features into something that was as recognizable as it was horrible. I felt the heat of his breath, and smelled the sour stench of whiskey on it.

Harlot! He struck me across the face. Pain exploded through my head and I saw stars. The force of his blow made me stumble backward and fall to the floor. Blood streamed from my nose and mouth. He was six feet tall and two hundred pounds of ex-Marine muscle, and he towered over me. My heart pounded in my chest. How dare you defile yourself? he bellowed. After everything I’ve done to raise you right?

I recoiled from him and held my arms up to protect my face in case he struck me again. I didn’t do anything, I said. Matthew is just a friend. He gave me a ride home from work, that’s all. Nothing happened. I tried to get up, but he kicked me in the ribs and I fell back to the floor. Pain seared through my body as I curled in on myself.

He crouched over me, his hands on his knees, his face in my face. You’re a liar, he snapped. I know what you were doing with that boy. You’re a dirty little slut, just like your mother. He stood, reared back, and kicked me again, this time in my thigh. Then he pointed to the stairs. Get to your room. And don’t think that you’ll be leaving it anytime soon.

I crawled to the stairs, grabbed the banister, and pulled myself to my feet. With my father’s footsteps close behind me, I stumbled up the stairs and down the hallway toward my bedroom. When I reached the threshold of my room, he grabbed my long, dark hair and gave it a vicious jerk that twisted my head so that I was facing him. His mad, bloodshot eyes glared at me. "Don’t you dare think that you can bring your filth into my house." He shoved me to the floor, and then leaned over me, breathing heavily.

A sickening miasma of booze surrounded him. I shrank away from him, and my body shook with fear. What would he do next? I clung to the hope that he was done hurting me for tonight. Maybe he’d lock me in my room for a day or two. I could deal with that.

I’d certainly dealt with worse from this man.

He pointed a meaty finger at my face. You’ll stay in this room until you confess your sin and repent. The daughter who profanes herself by whoring also profanes her father. It’s written in the Bible. Have you learned nothing from the Bible? He turned, stomped out of the room, and yanked the door shut behind him. I heard the welcome sound of bolts slamming into place, locking me inside.

It’s written in the Bible. How I hated those words. For as long as I could remember, my father had used the Bible to justify his physical assaults on my mother and me. After a lifetime of church and Christian school, I knew that Jesus also talked about love. But my father wasn’t into those parts of the Bible. He was more of the fire-and-brimstone type.

The sound of his heavy steps receded as he walked down the hall, and took the stairs down to the living room. A momentary sense of relief washed over me as I cradled my aching ribs. I remembered my father’s final words. He’d said that he wasn’t going to let me out of my room until I confessed and repented. What could I possibly confess, let alone repent? I hadn’t done anything but accept a ride home from my after-school job. The driver happened to be male. I usually got a ride home from my best friend Andrea, who lived just half a mile from my house, but she had left work early tonight. Another kid with whom I worked—Matthew—had offered to give me a ride home, and, unfortunately for me, I’d been stupid enough to accept.

I brought my hand to my face and felt my nose. Sticky with blood, it throbbed with pain but didn’t seem to be broken. I ran my finger over my lower lip and traced the bloody wound inside it. I turned my head and glimpsed my distorted reflection in the cracked full-length mirror that hung on the outside of my closet door. I went to it and evaluated the damage.

My face—swollen and streaked with blood and tears—was almost unrecognizable. The swelling around my nose and mouth would go down once I had a chance to put ice to it, but I’d have the bruises for days. There was no way I could go to school—or to my after-school job—looking like this.

Over the past year, my father’s rages had become more frequent and increasingly violent. Sometimes, I was his target. Sometimes, my mother was. If this continued, one or both of us could end up seriously injured—or dead.

My only comfort was the knowledge that I’d be out of this hell in six months. Once I graduated from high school and started college, I’d leave this nightmare of a life behind. I’d never come back to Pittsboro, Texas. Why would I? My insane, Bible-quoting father beat me whenever he felt like it, and my equally religious mother refused to even consider stopping it or leaving him. If I wanted a better life, I’d have to make it happen on my own.

I went to my bed and slid beneath the sheet, taking care to avoid jarring my bruised ribs. I rolled onto my back, pulled a Kleenex from the box on the bedside table, spit on it, and gingerly dabbed away the blood from my nose and mouth. Then, I tugged the sheet and the quilt up to my ears and tried to find sleep, which, at that point, seemed as elusive as escaping from this situation.

*****

Hours later, the metallic screech of the bolts on my bedroom door sliding open woke me.

Is it him?

For a moment, I froze in terror of what might come next for me. Then, in an effort at self-defense, I pulled the quilt higher and pretended to be asleep.

As the door creaked open, I squinted at the shaft of light that entered through the doorway, and recognized my mother’s petite silhouette.

Thank goodness.

She walked to the bed, sat next to me, gripped my shoulder, and shook me.

Wake up, Mia, she said. We need to talk. Don’t worry. Your father is out cold, and should stay that way for hours. I put a double dose of sleeping pills in his whiskey.

You did what?

You heard me.

But Mom—

I need you to listen to me. We don’t have much time.

I sat up, reached over to the bedside table, and turned on the lamp. As the light hit my eyes, I blinked and rubbed them with both fists. I looked at my bedside clock—it was nearly 3 a.m.

What is she talking about? Why is she here?

I looked at her. What is it, Mom? Although my mother was only thirty-seven, she’d been put through enough hell that she looked ten years older. Her once-beautiful face was tired and worn. The half-light from the bedside lamp emphasized the lines around her dark eyes and delicate features.

She handed me a bag of frozen peas. Here. Hold this against your face.

I did as she said, and the coldness soothed. "Why