Broken Angel: Savage Cinderella Novella Series, #4

By PJ Sharon

Turning twenty should be cause for celebration, but for Brinn Hathaway—kidnap survivor turned rookie cop—all she wants is to be alone. At least that's the plan when she hikes into the North Georgia High Country, desperately in need of respite from the complexities of relationships in the so called "civilized" world. With two guys taking up so much space in her head—and her heart—Brinn finds the call of the wild and the company of her trusty canine partner, Eliot, a balm to her soul. But going back to the cabin she spent eight long winters in may not be exactly the restful haven she hoped for.

When Brinn stumbles upon a young woman trapped in a desperate situation, she can't help but get involved. Leaving the girl in the hands of two drug dealing brothers isn't what a good cop would do—no matter the risk.  With no time to call for back-up, Brinn is forced to take on the ruthless duo alone. But after a failed rescue attempt, she soon finds herself in way over her head with no help in sight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: PJ Sharon
• Release date: Dec 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386557531

PJ Sharon

In addition to her day job as a Massage Therapist, Personal Trainer, and Yoga Instructor, PJ Sharon is an award-winning author of young adult books, including PIECES of LOVE, HEAVEN is for HEROES, ON THIN ICE, and Holt Medallion winner SAVAGE CINDERELLA. Follow the Savage Cinderella Novella Series with FINDING HOPE, LOST BOYS, and SACRED GROUND. HEALING WATERS completes her YA dystopian trilogy, The Chronicles of Lily Carmichael, which RT Book Reviews calls “An action-packed read with a strong female lead.” Her debut non-fiction title Overcome Your Sedentary Lifestyle (A Practical Guide to Improving Health, Fitness, and Well-being for Desk Dwellers and Couch Potatoes) is a holistic living, self-help guide packed with easy to implement tips sure to motivate today’s sedentary masses toward a more balanced and active lifestyle. For more info on PJ’s books and updates on new releases, sign up for her newsletter or visit her website.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In all the time I lived in the wild, I never saw myself as broken—someone who needed fixing. I lived moment to moment, taking care of whatever need was most immediate. Hunger, shelter, fire, water—safety. Always safety. In the two years I’d been back in the so called civilized world—all my needs met with an ease I had longed for and never imagined possible—I still felt distant and hollow more times than not, as if a piece of me was missing, left on the mountain, lost to a past I was trying to reclaim.

As for safety, my anchor had quickly become Justin, the nature photographer who’d found me. Savior, friend, lover—everything I’d dreamed of during my self-imposed years of isolation. Justin was all I thought I could want or need. Someone who made me feel loved, accepted…protected.

Why then, did I still feel alone and so often afraid? And why couldn’t I shake this restlessness and uncertainty?

Maybe because I continued to have constant misunderstandings with people, I considered with regret. My communication skills lacked the nuances of humor, sarcasm, and references to popular culture—most of which I’d missed entirely while living in the High Country with limited human interaction. Even the simplest of tasks, like using a washer and dryer, a cell phone, or an ATM still felt foreign, as if I’d somehow dropped into a TV character’s life and taken it over. Computers alone were enough to make me feel like a time traveler transported to the future. When would I ever feel as if I were truly home?

I sighed, frustrated with myself and determined to put distance between me and the pressure of unanswerable questions. I’d been warned by my counselor—running away from your problems is never a solution. But old habits and a lifetime of living in survival mode told me different.

Finally, we’re here. I glanced at Eliot, who could read me like he was sniffing out a suspect and who was currently eyeing me with grave concern from the seat next to me, his tongue dangling like a trout from the side of his mouth. I have to start somewhere, I added, my stomach squeezing a tad tighter. The pulse in my temple batted at my brain. Why…why did I have to face any of it? Maybe I would have been better off if I’d never come down from the hills.

Deep inside, in the place that ached for connection, I knew that wasn’t true.

I turned into the driveway as instructed by an Australian voice named Sheila on my GPS and breathed an extra-long sigh of relief. I hadn’t been to Abby’s house in some time, and without the gadget telling me where to turn, I’d have never found the place again. A shiver of remembrance crawled across my skin as I came to a stop and stared at the old farmhouse, its blue paint flaking off at the eves. I know. I don’t want to be here either, I said as my furry companion sat to attention and whined.

Less than two years before, Roy Stockman, my kidnapper and escaped serial killer, had stalked me, cornered me inside that house, and then chased me for miles into the hills. He’d shot me and nearly killed Justin—the man I’d grown to love. Thoughts of Justin and another deep breath quieted the awful memory, and a familiar mix of emotions stirred. Trust, love, loyalty, friendship…and yes, an unexpected passion.

Unfortunately, those feelings were constantly at war with doubt, unrelenting fear, and a heaviness in my chest I couldn’t explain. The idea of putting safety over freedom always left me feeling boxed in, making me want to run that much faster in the opposite direction to avoid imminent capture. Not that Justin was trying to cage me. In fact, he was totally supportive of me in every way—at least on the surface. I knew him well enough to know he was having his own difficulties with me putting the brakes on our relationship and even more so with me risking my life at every turn.

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and parked behind Abby’s VW Beetle, which she fondly referred to as a Punch Buggy, the meaning of which completely escaped me. I held onto the steering wheel for a long minute after turning off the engine, breathing through my nose and focusing on my hands…hands that had taken more than one life, I reminded myself, unable to keep my mind in the present.

The image of Stockman’s cold dead eyes staring from inches away was never far from me, but today, it loomed larger. I kept insisting to myself he couldn’t hurt me anymore, yet his image rose like a ghost telling me I would never truly be free of him. A second image crept in and the face of Matt Donnelly—a man I’d recently shot and watched fall to his death—flashed before me. I pushed it away, unable to fully face what I’d done. It had been a so called good shoot, but the only thing good about it was I’d done it to save Justin’s brother, Steve.

Whether Stockman and Donnelly deserved to have their lives snuffed out for their crimes was up for debate, but I’d done the only thing I could in each circumstance—the consequences of which I would have to live with.

I growled, released the steering wheel, and gripped Eliot’s scruff instead, giving him a heavy pat. No sense in putting this off. I need to face the past if I’m going to have a future, right? This month’s mantra from my therapy group rolled off my tongue as if it were gospel. Therapy, as hard as it was, was helping. Maybe if I kept working at it, I might eventually put all those missing pieces back together, I thought, rubbing my temples and taking one more deep breath.

I stepped out of the vehicle, Eliot hopping down beside me and lifting his leg on the nearest shrub. Abby ran down the walkway, arms around me before I could close my door.

Brinn! I thought you’d never get here! An overpowering scent of jasmine hit my nose, and I pushed her back. Oh, sorry, she said. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I remember how you didn’t like people touching you. Realizing her error too late, her face fell. Sorry, she said again, pink tinging her fair skin.

Abby hadn’t changed. Well, she’d changed in that her blonde hair was cut boyishly short and she’d slimmed down considerably living in the city—the city in question being Charleston, South Carolina, where she attended college. But she said whatever came to mind before thinking of the consequences. I reminded myself her directness was one of the reasons I liked her.

It’s fine. I’ve gotten past that for the most part, I said. It was true. Despite the years I’d lived in fear of capture, whether it was from Stockman, social services, or the police, I’d found a way to exist in the world. To adapt just as I’d done so long ago, staying hidden in the hills for eight long summers and winters before I’d met Justin and decided to come out of hiding. He’d taught me to trust again. He reunited me with my family and made me feel as if I belonged. The thought of him brought a bittersweet tenderness to my heart.

There’s a smile, said Abby. Not completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, she wrapped an arm gently around my shoulder and steered me toward the house. Now, tell me everything you’ve been up to.

Eliot followed along, his tail wagging and perfectly happy to be included in this reunion. I’d only seen Abby a few times over the past two years, either when she’d come to visit me in Atlanta, or when I made the drive to Charleston. But I told myself it was because I was busy…which in truth, I was.

First, there was daily therapy and months of reintegration after I’d emerged from seclusion in the North Georgia High Country, healthy and sane for the most part, if not slightly malnourished and completely unaccustomed to the bustle of daily life in the civilized world. I lived with my parents then but quickly decided their smothering me wasn’t good for any of us. I moved in with Justin and tried a year of school after that but found it frustrating and futile, although I’d managed to pass a high school equivalency test. College was another matter. I’d missed too much formal education. Despite my excellent reading skills, my exposure to more than basic math, science, and history was as limited as my world experience.

I had nothing to draw from but the lonely existence I’d endured for nearly half my life, living alone in a dilapidated cabin, coming down from the mountains only to work on occasion for Mr. Hoffman, an old widowed storekeeper who traded food and books for my cleaning and shelf-stocking services. Or to see Abby, who would supply me with treasures like warm socks, coats and mittens in the winter, and fresh vegetables, cheeses and breads in the summer. We’d played together in the low meadow and she kept my secret, knowing if she told anyone, I would run away again and disappear forever. My heart gave a squeeze when I thought of my lost