by Genna Rulon
Retrieving the partially full bucket, I dumped its contents over her skin again. Shit, this process was too fucking slow. During each refill, I whispered words of love and encouragement, promising her anything her heart desired if she fought through the pain and survived.
There was no way to tell if her injuries were life-threatening or what else she had endured, so I chose to believe that, despite her unfathomable pain, she would live. I heard her grunt what appeared to be a request for me to come closer. As I leaned in, she whispered, “My name is Aurora,” and then immediately passed out.
Seconds after she lost consciousness, a commotion down the hall caught my attention. Unsure if it was friend or foe, I held the knife at the ready, prepared to protect my gir—Aurora, with my life.
Hunter charged into the room, followed by a squad of the FBI’s finest, armed to the hilt and ready for battle. He took one look at my gi—Aurora and shuddered. I knew she would despise being seen by so many in her current state, but I didn’t dare move her. Instead, I stepped in front of her naked, abused body to preserve a small measure of privacy.
“I need a paramedic and ambulance for Aurora—now!” I snapped impatiently. “Send a few men to the kitchen to find containers to fill with water. We need to keep her wet. I’m not sure why, but it seems to be helping her.”
Like the highly trained agents they were—or more likely because my tone brooked no debate—my requests for aid were answered instantaneously. An agent radioed for medical assistance while another group headed to the kitchen, and still others began inspecting the room.
I nodded to the corner where The Alpha was still unconscious.
“There’s your guy. If you could get that bastard out of here…oh, and don’t feel the need to be careful, but he was stabbed in the back before I knocked him out.”
Hunter immediately commanded two agents to secure the ‘suspect’ and have him assessed by the second medical team. The paramedic entered the room moments later, followed by the water-toting agents.
Everything happened at lightning speed from that point on. The agents investigating the room advised the paramedic that Aurora had likely been tortured with a mixture of glycolic and lactic acid. The medic immediately ordered the agents to continue flushing her skin with copious amounts of water.
“Will she be okay?” I asked urgently.
“Her vitals are good—she will live, but the pain will be intense for several weeks. We can manage her suffering at the hospital. It’s too soon to tell about scarring. Given what I see, I’d anticipate some degree of permanent damage, but that is only an educated guess.”
I nodded to convey my understanding, relieved and infuriated in equal measure. The torture she had been subjected to was unimaginable—and worse, avoidable. I didn’t dare dwell on either of these right now or I’d go mad.
As I watched the medic lather Aurora’s skin with ointment, someone approached me from behind and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, man. So fucking sorry,” Hunter apologized quietly, his voice full of sorrow and regret.
I shrugged his hand from my shoulder.
“I will never forgive you for this,” I stated definitely.
“Neither will I,” he replied, his voice breaking under the weight of his anguish.
"The harder the struggle, the more glorious the triumph. Self-realization demands very great struggle." -Swami Sivananda
Aurora
“Wes, love, we’re going to be late!” I shouted from the front door of his house.
“I told you I’m not going,” he called back from his hide-from-Aurora room, also known as his home office.
“That’s your prerogative, but it really is a shame,” I said, laying the trap. “Sam worked so hard dolling me up for dinner. She even made me wear these ridiculously high heels.”
In a flash, he was at the top of the stairs, ogling me with masculine appreciation. Men, so predictable!
“Damn, you look amazing. You are always beautiful—you know that—but…damn. I can’t wait to take you out of that dress later,” he declared while surveying me again from head to toe, “but the heels stay on.”
“As long as I don’t have to remain standing in them, you have a deal.”
“No standing for you—I want to feel those heels digging into my ass while you scream my name.”
That was an offer I couldn’t refuse.
He continued to stare hungrily, clearly weighing his options—although whether he was considering accompanying me or attempting to persuade me to stay, I wasn’t sure.
“If you really don’t want to come with me, it’s fine, babe,” I continued baiting him. “I’m sure Ev can find a nice FBI agent to join us at the table for dinner—the banquet hall should be jam-packed with law enforcement personnel.”
“I know what you’re doing,” he deadpanned. “Unfortunately for me, it’s working. Give me five minutes and I’ll be ready.”
“Love you,” I cooed sweetly as he headed to the bedroom to change.
It was like taking candy from a baby—waaaay too easy.
Heading to the kitchen, I snatched a piece of chocolate before settling on the couch. Four months had passed since my rescue from To Ieró. It was a long, painful recovery—both physically and emotionally—but I was finally feeling better.
Working with Thia each week, I built upon the self-realizations I’d gained while at the compound, developing new thought patterns and emotional responses to break the oppressive and unhealthy conditioning I’d suffered at the hands of The Sacred. Guilt and shame were no longer my constant companions, only occasional visitors.
Without the weight of blame on my shoulders, I felt like I could fly. The range and freedom of emotions I was able to experience—without my focus directed toward old thought processes—was remarkable. The broken little girl inside me rejoiced having finally found a family who wanted her, and although there was still work to be done, I was light years away from where I began. The support and love Wes and our friends showered me with was the fuel to keep my progress train in motion. I felt good—no, spectacular—for the first time ever.
The physical recovery was a painfully slow process that I still struggled with. After two weeks in the hospital with hefty pain management narcotics, I was able to fly back to New York. Chemical burns were a bitch.
Wes never left my side, taking a leave of absence from work to care for me for the first month, much to his firm’s chagrin. Although the circumstances were not ideal, the time together was a gift we both cherished after my ordeal. Countless hours were spent talking and learning the minute details of one another’s lives, and we learned to communicate as a couple. Unable to have sex, our need to connect was fulfilled with words and emotion versus physical expressions of love. As much as I missed our lovemaking, the foundation of our relationship was infinitely stronger having been forged in the mind and heart instead of the body. Now when we made love, our experience was deeper and more profound.
It took two months for my open sores and scabbing to heal, leaving newly exposed skin that was extremely delicate. Thankfully, make-up had never been a priority as it was strictly prohibited during the first two months. Now, four months after the incident, I was nearly pain-free. I still was not permitted to expose my skin to the sun, which sucked since late spring was quickly turning into summer, but there was nothing to be done for it.
Luckily, I had very few permanent effects from the torture. My new skin was a few shades lighter than before, however it didn’t appear ‘weird’ since the acid coated my entire body, producing a fairly uniform alteration. There were a few irreparable scars where selected patches of tissue healed slower than the rest, but the marks weren’t dramatic and would fade with time. The only physical alteration that gave me pause were the streaks down my face, originating at my eyes. The tears I’d cried in pain neutralized the acid, which left the skin in the tracks of my tears less damaged. The difference was minimal, nevertheless, with the right
lighting and no make-up, the naked eye could perceive the slightly darker streak on each cheek. At first, I despised the evidence of my ordeal, until Wes reminded me that they were badges of courage—proof I’d fought and won. For as much as I disliked the lines, Wes loved them because he claimed they reminded him of how blessed he was that I was alive.
Wes spoke with Dr. Mesina on my behalf and she rearranged my semester so I only had one online course—of which she was the professor—to accommodate my temporary disability. The remainder of the semester was dedicated to completing my thesis and working on the proposals and constructs that would one day be presented to the FBI and CIA for their use. The paradigm I’d hypothesized would allow law enforcement to identify and target potentially dangerous cults before activities escalated. It was profiling for cult enclaves that provided clear qualifiers and quantifiable risk factors that had never before been outlined and explored.
Wes’ footsteps captured my attention and I met him by the front door, where he was waiting with my coat, scarf, shawl, and gloves.
“Thanks, babe,” I said gratefully once I was fully covered.
“Anything for you, beautiful.”
As we walked to the car, I knew it was time to bring up the big-ass elephant that followed wherever we went.
“I know I promised not to bring it up again—I lied, by the way—but you need to forgive Hunter. You are holding him responsible for my decision, which isn’t fair,” I gently nudged.
“When you can sleep through the night without nightmares or go outside without reapplying SPF 100 every hour, in addition to covering every inch of skin, then—and only then—I’ll consider forgiving the prick,” was his predictably grumpy response.
I sighed at the familiar conversation, not wanting to ruin our night by pushing further, so I dropped the subject—for now. However, my love was in for a rude awakening if he didn’t come around soon. The girls and I had been hatching a plan for months to lock the men in a room together until they all sorted out their issues and moved on.
A smile spread across my face at the prospect. It was going to be so much fun teaching these alpha males a lesson.
“What are you smiling at, my beautiful girl?”
“Nothing…I’m just happy,” I replied innocently.
“Are you—happy?” he asked, suddenly serious.
“Westly Black, you make me happier than I ever dreamed possible. Because of you, my life is filled with love and joy,” I paused to kiss him gently on his plush lips. “There is no other man I want to spend my life with.”
“That is good news. Since I’m never letting you go, I’d say you’re stuck with me. I love you, Aurora White.”
Dear Reader,
When I began the For You series, I intended it to be three novels: Only For You, Pieces For You, and Temper For You. Even as I began writing Temper For You, my plan remained the same. But as I continued to write, I met another character in need of a family, and we all know how much Sam, Ev, and the gang like to adopt.
I tried to ignore my new imaginary friends, but they were relentless. Therefore, I’m happy to share that the For You series will continue.
Book #4 will feature Special Agent Delilah Welch, and damn does she have a story to tell! Of course, we will also hang out with all our old friends to make sure they are staying out of trouble.
Additionally, my new series Broken Roads will launch in 2015. This series will focus on the Mesina family. If that name is ringing a bell you get an A+. Yep, the next series will include several characters you were introduced to in Temper For You, including Ry, Paris, and Dr. Mesina. I’m incredibly excited to share the stories of this dynamic, entertaining, meddlesome family with you all.
I’ll keep you posted on Facebook, Twitter, my website, and whatever other newfangled social media site pops up.
Thank you so much for reading my book babies!
Love,
Genna
Adrienne, you know you’ve earned a special shout-out! Damn girl, Temper For You, would not be what it is without your thoughtful and constructive (ß a euphemism for kickass) feedback. But what’s more, you have been a true friend and shoulder to lean on over the past year. It is “as if” (lol, gotcha) the hand of fate stepped in and shoved my review request under your nose while shouting, “Read this book, biatch!” Can you imagine if you had ignored my email? I can’t. I love you, girl! Thank you a million times for all your love, support, and honesty!
To My Roadies, you know who you are! When I began writing Only For You, I had a lot of goals and hopes, many of which have been realized. What I hadn’t anticipated was that through writing I would meet so many amazing people that have grown to be my friends! You ladies have been my loudest cheerleaders, biggest pimps, most staunch supporters, as well as an infinite well of love, acceptance, support, and laughter. You make me want to get up and write every morning! Thank you for being you and for becoming my go-to girls, a safe place for me to be me. <3
I am blessed with the best beta readers in the world—truly—the best!!! Yes, those exclamation points were necessary to convey how spectacular they are. Many of you may not know this but an author’s greatest asset—alongside a phenomenal editor--is a strong, passionate, opinionated, HONEST beta reader. Betas read a manuscript and share with the author their constructive critiques line by line, word by word. They are encouraging when warranted, and hard a$$es when necessary! They make you laugh and sometimes want to cry, but at the end of the day, they make an author stretch and grow until their story is the best it can be. Betas are the unsung heroes of any book, so now I sing your praises loud (and perhaps off-key). I love each of you and thank you from the bottom of my heart!
FYI, this is the EXACT same acknowledgment I put in Pieces For You, but every word is just as true now as it was then. I can’t say it any better than last time, so I’ll just repeat myself. There have been a number of cheerleaders who have encouraged me since I released Only For You, all of whom I adore. But there is one special chica who has been there to encourage, empathize, and make me laugh when I was having moments of self-doubt and self-pity. Jennifer, you can’t take a compliment for shit, but you give them beautifully. You ask for nothing, but ‘pimp’ my work like a pro. I trust your book whispering, spidey-sense implicitly. Time and time again you’ve proven yourself to be a true friend, and I am so grateful for you. Besides, who else will laugh about HGSxM with me?
There are millions of editors in the world. Some are good, some are great, and a handful are God’s gift to an author. Sheri, you fall into the last category. You are not only my editor but also my friend. I don’t think anyone loves my book babies as much as you do. You treat each one like it’s your own! You are my story soul-sister (that alliteration was just for you, Sher). Furthermore, you are one of the most interesting people I know…if I was kidnapped by terrorists, I think I would want you on the squad to come save me. I adore you for your mind-blowing editing skills, but more so for the sensational woman you are! Thank you…just, thank you! PS-I’m laughing that you have to edit this.
Last but not least, I must thank my family, specifically my husband and two boys, whose patience and support make it possible for me to chase my dream and give voice to the stories in my head. Thank you all for being my own personal heroes and cheerleading squad! Honey, without your help (and willingness to ignore the laundry that I never seem to find time to fold), none of these book babies would ever be possible.
Genna Rulon is a contemporary romance author with a passion for blending comedy, tragedy, suspense, and hope to create her “book babies.”
During her 15 years in the corporate world, Genna—inspired by her love of reading—fantasized about penning her own stories. Encouraged by her favorite authors, many of whom are indie writers and self-published, she committed to pursue her aspirations of writing her own novels.
Genna was born in California and raised on Long Island in New York, where she still resides, surrounded by the most amazing family and
friends. She’s married to a wonderful man who patiently tolerates her ramblings about whichever book she is currently working on—even feigning interest relatively convincingly! Genna is blessed with two little boys who do their best to thwart mommy's writing time with their hilarious antics and charming extrapolations.
All of Genna’s books are brought to you courtesy of coffee and Disney Junior.
You can find Genna online at: www.gennarulon.com
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Only For You
For You Series - Book #1
published: September 17, 2013
“In its purest form love is self-sacrificing, eternal, selfless, enduring, truthful, forgiving, and indulgent. It also feels an awful lot like a kick to the stomach when you try to fight it!”
All Everleigh Carsen wanted to do was complete her final semester at Hensley University and begin the life she planned.