Saving A Good Girl 2: A Detroit Love Story

By Abiegail Rose

Can this good girl truly be saved? 
 George, the ex from hell, did a number on Amaya when he attempted to rape her and sully her name; however, he paid the price by going overboard and sinking into a well-deserved abyss. 
 Unfortunately, his shenanigans have left Amaya in a coma that has everyone around her appreciating how precious life is and truly considering their feelings, especially her best male friend, Liam, who now realizes that he feels much more for Amaya than just simple friendship. 
 Everyone is learning the hard way that Detroit is a tangled web of lies and deceit, where no sin stays buried. Then one secret is unearthed that causes a ripple effect, which may shatter friendships and demolish the new love that Amaya and Lucas have forever. 
 But no matter the cost, Lucas is not prepared to give Amaya up without a fight, and he fights dirty while trying to save his good girl.


• Language: English
• Publisher: Royalty Publishing House
• Release date: Sep 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781648404726

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Contents

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SYNOPSIS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS & DEDICATIONS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

To Be Continued…

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© 2018 Royalty Publishing House

Published by Royalty Publishing House

www.royaltypublishinghouse.com

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage without express permission by the author or publisher. This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contains explicit language & adult themes suitable for ages 16+ only.

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WHAT MAY PLACE YOU ABOVE THE REST:

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Heroes who are the ultimate book bae: strong-willed, maybe a little rough around the edges but willing to risk it all for the woman he loves.

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Heroines who are the ultimate match: the girl next door type, not perfect - has her faults but is still a decent person. One who is willing to risk it all for the man she loves.

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The rest is up to you! Just be creative, think out of the box, keep it sexy and intriguing!

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SYNOPSIS

Can this good girl truly be saved?

George, the ex from hell, did a number on Amaya when he attempted to rape her and sully her name; however, he paid the price by going overboard and sinking into a well-deserved abyss.

Unfortunately, his shenanigans have left Amaya in a coma that has everyone around her appreciating how precious life is and truly considering their feelings, especially her best male friend, Liam, who now realizes that he feels much more for Amaya than just simple friendship.

Everyone is learning the hard way that Detroit is a tangled web of lies and deceit, where no sin stays buried. Then one secret is unearthed that causes a ripple effect, which may shatter friendships and demolish the new love that Amaya and Lucas have forever.

But no matter the cost, Lucas is not prepared to give Amaya up without a fight, and he fights dirty while trying to save his good girl.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS & DEDICATIONS

To my mother, once again, just for being her. To my son, Solomon, for making me sit through hours and hours of action movies. To each person who showed up to support me in my first book signing. To every person who read Saving A Good Girl Part 1, this is for you!

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

Lao Tzu

Chapter 1

Present

Amaya

Whether or not it was all clear to all of our guests, this was the summer we were saying goodbye to the past. The summer before everything we had once considered important to now be discarded for new priorities.

This was also a perfect day to get married, and our new home made the perfect backdrop for it all; our wedding would be one for the books. The house my fiancé had bought me as a wedding gift looked like someone had opened the pages of Home and Garden, plucked my dream house from its pages, and plopped it down on a plot of land that was immaculately landscaped and strategically placed between my family and friends.

We had a two-story farm house, and its exterior was the color of seafoam, trimmed in ivory, with a roof the color of sand. It was the perfect reminder of the islands. The interior had an open-concept, featuring white walls that made it feel huge and airy, with dark wooden floors that looked as if each plank had been pulled from the same giant oak tree then nailed down and covered in molten milk chocolate.

The sheen of the floorboards had become dusty throughout the day, as suavely dressed groomsmen, elegant bridesmaids, and uniformed workers scattered around the house in preparation for our wedding. The floors in the bathroom were no different. Unfortunately, I had been taking note of them all that day, as my unborn child had been doing a number on me. All morning, I had found myself looking at them from my peripherals as I stared down the abyss of the toilet. I was thankful that my best friend, Lexi, with her off beat sense of humor, had thought to buy me an apron as a dig to my aversion to household duties. Today, it had been used as a shield of protection from the turmoil raging within my body.

As I flushed the toilet yet again, my long, lavender-tipped fingers wiped my lips, and I was happy to feel my stomach finally settle from its constant Samba, and I turned on my heels to make my way to the sink and brush my teeth. I needed to replace the sour taste of bile with the fresh spearmint flavor of my toothpaste and mouthwash. Leaving from the bathroom, I made my way back to the in-law suite, which had been transformed into our bridal room.

My five-inch heels click-clacked along the planks of the hardwood as I navigated my way through the wedding-day chaos. I was ready to sit down and allow the over-the-top makeup artist we had hired to finally beat my face. My stomach felt tender yet calm as the sea, so it seemed the worst of it was over.

I slid my body into the midnight-colored chair the makeup artist, D’Angela, had perched like a throne in front of a glamorous six-foot-tall freestanding mirror and waited. D’Angela and her assistants were almost done with primping and priming my bridesmaids, who were all alluring. Each one of my girls were draped in a fitted, one-shoulder, lavender, sequin mermaid dress, each personally designed and sewn by me. As a fashion designer, I had to make sure my ladies looked good and that the only names on their bodies that day would be mine.

Ever since my clothing line hit Macy’s four years ago, my business had been booming nonstop, and I now designed for local and national celebrities. So I knew that my wedding photos were going to be in every magazine and blog come the next day. Stepping back from the chair that Lexi occupied, one of the assistants snapped her French-manicured fingers and said, Yass! Honey, y’all are looking fierce!

I agreed 100 percent with her sassy observation. My ladies were looking fierce; each had makeup that complemented their individuality and their dresses. Mentally, I chuckled as I looked at them, while my inner Shaniqua was clapping her hands and rolling her neck in agreement with the assistant.

Face beat… Yass, Honey!

Eyebrows on Fleek… You know it, boo!

Body banging… You ain’t said nothing but a word!

Get it, girls! Get it, girls!

I was excited internally but outwardly indifferent, glad they had finished all of my bridesmaid’s hair and makeup and saved me for last. I couldn’t lie though; I was happy I went last because between my stomach and D’Anglea’s, my makeup and hair artist, over-the-top entrance, I wasn’t sure about thrusting myself into her hands in the beginning.

When she walked into the house earlier that afternoon, I had damn near spat my orange juice across the floor when I caught sight of her. However, always a lady, I reeled myself in and instead had to endure the pain of my orange juice burning its way down the wrong windpipe.

D’Angela, one of the top makeup artists in Metro-Detroit, was fierce with a capital F. She came in with her assistants, who were both wearing boyfriend jeans and white logo T-shirts with wedge gym shoes. D’Angela, on the other hand, was a complete one-eighty from her entourage. She waltzed in like a multi-colored peacock on speed.

Hey, babe. She was talking nonstop as soon as she hit the door, and as I choked silently on my orange juice, she kissed both of my cheeks. Damn, Amaya, this place is fire!

She was shorter than me by about three inches, but she made up for it with her platformed heels, which matched the short-sleeved romper she was wearing. The romper was so tight I didn’t even know how she managed to walk in it. Apparently, she was an extrovert because after I greeted her, D’Angela smiled at me big and showed all of her teeth; then her Twix-colored arms pulled me into a tight embrace as she jumped up and down while she squealed. OMG! I love weddings. Me and my boo getting married next summer, and I hope our spot gonna be as dope as this place right here!

Letting me go, she did a 360-degree turn, taking the view of the house in, and her wig, with its rainbow-tinted tresses and platinum roots, which were laid to the gawds, fluttered around her shoulders and back like a cloud of cotton candy. Turning back to me, she popped her gum and smiled again before asking, Alright, so where you want me set up at?

Even though homegirl was over the top, her energy was good, and her attitude was sweet as apple pie. Most importantly, baby girl knew how to slay when it came to hair and makeup.

Stepping back from me, D’Angela tapped one of her platformed shoes against the floorboards as she shook her head. Finally finished with my hair and makeup, she stepped away and grabbed a bright-purple bottle of setting spray from the layout of products she had trailed along the table behind her. She held the bottle in front of her and instructed me to close my eyes as she sprayed my face first in the shape of an X and then a T, making sure that I wouldn’t smudge any of the handwork she had just performed.

When I opened my eyes, she looked jittery. Like a kid on their first day of school, and I was eager to see her work. Since all of my bridesmaids were beautiful, I knew she could help me get my glow back. Calling behind her, D’Angela asked the ladies in the dressing area, What do you girls think?

She stepped to the side, allowing me to fall within their sights, and my mom gasped. Her fingers balled into her hands, making fists as she pressed them against her lips. Her eyes started to glisten like stars in the night sky, and then she sniffled to confirm my suspicions.

Aww, Mom! Don’t cry! It’s just some makeup! I said, exasperated.

Oh no, baby girl, you look amazing. You were already glowing, but this… She smacked her lips, unable to find the words that she was looking for. Giving up on the search, she shrugged her purple-covered shoulders and walked over to me so that she could pull me into a tight embrace. I’m so happy for you, baby. You both deserve this. This happiness is well earned!

Chapter 2

Four Years