Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Acknowledgments
Other Books
About A.M. Hargrove
Playlist
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
A.M. Hargrove
Other Books
Acknowledgments
Playlist
Dedication
Prologue
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
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Other Books
About The Author
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
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 21
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
About the Author
Other Books
Acknowledgments
Freeing Her
Copyright © 2014 A.M. Hargrove
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Cover by Shanoff Formats
Acknowledgements
The idea for this book was born from one of my other novels, Dirty Nights. When I was writing it, as soon as I created Gabriella Martinelli, M.D., I knew there was a story within her. She had serious issues buried inside of her that would take another book to uncover. Enter a Facebook conversation between Kristie Wittenberg, Krista Tangora, and me and well, Freeing Her was born in my brain. Kolson’s story evolved rapidly from a taxi driver into a man with a freaky father and the rest is history. It’s amazing what happens on Facebook. So thank you Kristie and Krista for the inspiration for Kolson—at least with the beginning. Oh, and to Lesley, too, for her visual inspiration!
This road I’m travelling wouldn’t be what it is without the phenomenal friendships I’ve made so I’d like to thank my writerly friends for all their help, advice, and support. They always know what to say when I need it the most. Michele Leighton, Lila Felix, Rebecca Ethington, Mary Smith, Quinn Loftis, just to name a few. I could go on but this would take too long to read!
And now for my incredible beta readers. There aren’t enough words I can write here that can adequately express my profound gratitude I have for these wonderful ladies. So, I’d like to thank Terri Thomas, Kathryn Grimes, Megan Bagley, Heather Carver, Hetty Rasmussen, and Kristie Wittenberg. I couldn’t do this without you lovelies. You ROCK it to the max!
This book would never have gotten published without the mad editing skills of Jennifer Sommersby Young. Boy does she ever keep me in line and I honestly don’t know how she does it! Thanks Jenn!
Finally, I’d like to thank my family, just because they’re so awesome. Thanks Hargrove Family!
“From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.”
Socrates
Chapter 1
Gabby’s breath wheezed in and out as his words sent needles of fear racing down her spine. “You’ll never be free of me. You think you can hide behind your fancy title and a big city? Think again, sweet thing. I can find you. I’ll always find you. It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than New York City to keep you from me.” Then he laughed.
Eidetic images slammed into her as she stumbled backward, smashing into the wall. It had been years since she’d seen him or heard his voice, yet the odors, textures, and visions that surged from old memories made it feel like he was standing right in front of her. Bile choked her as she fought to regain control.
“What? Did I shock you, Gabs? Isn’t that what your friends like to call you?”
Her hand clutched her neck as she processed what he was saying. How could he know that? Unless …
“Aren’t you going to answer me, sweet Gabs? Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty of time for you to do that. I’m here to stay so I’ll be seeing you around. And Gabs, remember how much you loved it when I fucked you? There’ll be more of that to come in the future.” His disgusting taunt made her tremble. “See you around, sweets.”
He ended the call, but she was gl
ued to the wall by some invisible force. No, it was no force. It was sheer terror.
“No!” A primal scream ripped through her, followed by a series of full body tremors. She wanted to throw her phone across the room, but the grip that held it was unyielding. Shit! Oh God, he found me! What am I going to do? The real question she should’ve asked herself was how long was she going to put up with that prick. He’d already stolen sixteen years of her life. How much more of it did he want? But Gabby wasn’t courageous enough to fight him. She’d run from him all these years and thought he’d lost interest in her. But now she knew she’d been wrong.
She blinked rapidly for several moments and looked around her tiny apartment. She had to get away from there. At least for a little while. Maybe grab a drink somewhere to get her mind off the call. Why in the hell had she answered? She knew damn well why. Her patients. She had an open-door policy as far as they were concerned. Maybe she would get that answering service after all.
Shoving her shaking arms through her trench coat, she grabbed her handbag and hurried out. The elevator took its sweet time, but when it finally arrived, she rode it down to the lobby. That phone call had confirmed she was correct in choosing an apartment in a building with a doorman. There was no way she’d risk living anywhere without one. Not with Danny stalking her. She didn’t care if she had to eat once a day in order to afford it. Her peace of mind was worth the sacrifice.
Though, in reality, Danny could find her if he put his mind to it. That thought made her shudder. She extended her arm and peeked at the scars on one of her wrists … her little reminder of how Danny had fucked up her head.
“Hello again, Doctor,” the doorman said as she exited the building. She jerked her head in response and walked briskly out the door. Thoughts of Danny had her head swimming. Her heels clicked along the sidewalk. She had no particular destination in mind, as long as it was somewhere that sold strong liquor.
Spying the martini glass in the window, she ducked inside and took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Double martini, dirty, extra olives.”
“Coming right up.”
Gabby’s nerves were raw as she took in her surroundings. The place was fairly empty. Only one other man sat at the bar and there were a few other people scattered about. Once satisfied that Danny wasn’t anywhere around, the only thing she cared about was soothing the tension from her body. Alcohol was the fastest method to do so.
The bartender slid her the martini. She guzzled it like water and picked up the tiny plastic sword of olives, plucking them off one by one.
“Care for another?” the bartender asked.
“You bet.”
Gabby didn’t pay attention to the man sitting two seats over from her. He observed her suck down her drinks like a siphon. If she didn’t go easy, she was going to end up face planting on the bar. But that was her problem and he had enough of his own to contend with.
When the bartender handed Gabby another martini, she held it up to him. “Bottoms up.”
The bartender eyed her with concern. He’d never seen her before and he’d worked at the place long enough to know most of the regulars. Her pristine appearance set her apart from most of his customers. His intuition made him believe this wasn’t her usual thing, either. Especially the way she was knocking down those loaded martinis. She was breathing heavily and a fine sheen of perspiration covered her upper lip. Her jerky movements made him question what was going on. He looked at the guy sitting close to her and they both shrugged. It was her business if she wanted to get wasted. As long as she had the money to cover her tab, he didn’t care.
She tossed back the contents of her second double. “Ahh,” she said when her glass was empty. Then she rubbed her hands together.
“How about an ice water?” the bartender asked.
“Nah, not yet.” Gabby shook her head. “Not potent enough.”
“You must’ve had some kind of rotten day.”
“No, the day was pretty good. It was the last twenty minutes that sucked.”
The bartender eyed her as she started rubbing her arms.
“Well, don’t let it ruin your night. What’s twenty minutes?”
She raised her head and a pained look settled over her. Brow creased, she suddenly looked thirty years older.
“Please, mister, don’t ever say that to anyone again. Twenty minutes can take your life from joy to pure hell. It happened to me and here I am, sixteen years later, still living the nightmare.”
The bartender clamped his mouth shut as he stared back at her. Must’ve been some ordeal to elicit such a response. He nodded and asked her if she wanted another martini. “Make this one a single. And more olives too,” she said.
The other man at the bar overheard her. He normally didn’t give a shit about others, but the tone of her voice clawed at him. He recognized something in it that he was all too familiar with.
Turning to her, he lifted his glass. “Here’s to better days ahead.” Caramel brown eyes fringed in thick black lashes locked onto him. He noticed she had dark brown, almost black hair. It was twisted up in a messy bun that she wore at the nape of her neck. Her nose would have been perfect had it not been for the slight bump on the bridge. It looked as though it may have been broken in the past. A mouth a tad too wide drew him in, and he couldn’t stop staring at her full pink lips. It was they way they moved when she spoke, and how lovely they were shaped that made him want to take them in his mouth and suck on them. He had to force himself to listen to what she said and stop ogling her mouth.
“Well, I’ll certainly drink to that.” She lifted her glass and clinked it against his. Her words were already slurred, as well they should be. She was on her third martini. If she didn’t stop soon, she’d be in serious trouble.
He watched as she wrapped her lips around another olive and slid it off the tiny plastic sword. That’s when his dick got hard. He decided he needed to stop looking at her because there was no way he would let himself fuck a messed-up piece of work like she was. And a shitfaced one no less.
“So, what’s your story?” Gabby asked him.
He never should’ve opened up that conversation line.
“I don’t have a story. I have a fucking saga.”
She grinned. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence. So do I.”
“Listen, precious, you couldn’t come close to what I have.”
“Ha! That’s what you think, Skippy.”
“Skippy?” Who the fuck is Skippy?
“Yeah. Skippy. You look like a Skippy to me.”
“You think I resemble a jar of peanut butter?”
She leaned into him and sniffed. “Nope. And you don’t smell like peanut butter either.”
He couldn’t stop the rumble of laughter that escaped his lips. “Well, that’s good, because I wouldn’t want a troop of rabid squirrels chasing me.”
“Do you have a name? Unless you want me to call you Skippy.”
“You first.”
“Gabby.” She stuck her hand out and he shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Gabby.”
Her head listed to the side as she tried to focus her eyes. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Ah, I get it. I guess it’s just gonna have to be Skippy, then, isn’t it?”
The bartender interrupted and asked if they needed another round.
“You betcha,” Gabby answered.
Skippy raised his brows. “Don’t you think you’d better slow it down a bit?”
She’d picked up another olive and brandished her little plastic sword at him. “No, I do not think I’d better slow down a bit. I’m feeling rather mahhvelous at the moment.”
“But wait until tomorrow. Then the regrets will knock you right in the kisser.”
“You know what, Skippy? I think I’d rather you plant your mouth right here on this kisser.” She puckered and closed her eyes.
It took everythin
g Skippy had not to laugh at her. But the more he looked at her, that urge to laugh was quickly drowned out by a different urge. She wore a white blouse that was unbuttoned, exposing the V of her creamy chest. The way she was leaning toward him gave him a sweet view of her lovely cleavage. If Skippy weren’t careful, his dick was going to have a party in his pants and that wouldn’t do at all.
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