by T. K. Leigh
Thanks to my parents, Don and Linda Martin, for instilling a love of books and reading at such an early age. My sisters, Melissa Morgera and Amy Perras for being the best sisters a girl could ask for.
To my ah-mazing Head of Social Media and all things Team Alex and Team Cam, Lea James, thanks for being my other brain and for being my sounding board whenever I need one. I am so grateful that you picked up A Beautiful Mess one day and loved it. I honestly couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you. You rock my socks off.
To bloggers everywhere… Thank you for doing what you do to help promote all of us authors. Without your help and support, none of this would be possible!
To my incredible street team, words can’t express how much I appreciate all that you do for me. Your pimptastic support and encouragement means so much and I adore each and every one of you angels. Alexis Brodie, Anna Kesy, Brenda Mcleod, Cecilia Ugas, Cheryl Tuggle, Christine Davison, Chrissy Fletcher, Cindy Gibson, Claire Pengelly, Crystal Casquero, Crystal Solis, Crystal Swarmer, Danielle Estes, Donna Montville, Eann Goodwin-Giddings, Ebony McMillan, Erin Thompson, Estella Robinson, Jamie Kimok, Janie Beaton, Jennifer Goncalves, Jennifer Maikis, Jennifer Patton, Jessica Green, Johnnie-Marie Howard, Kathryn Adair, Kathy Arguelles, Kathy Coopmans, Kayla Hines, Karrie Puskas, Keesha Murray, Kim King, Kimberly Kazawic, Kimberly Twedt, Lea James, Lindsey Armstrong, Lori Garside, Lori Moore, Marianna Nichols, Meg Faulkner, Megan Galt, Melissa Crump, Melissa Miller-Mattern, Natasha Rochon, Nicola Horner, Nicole Chronister, Pamela McGuire, Rachel Hill, Shane Zajac, Shannon Baker-Ferguson, Shannon Palmer, Shayna Snyder, Stacy Hahn, Stefani Tabakovska, Stefanie Lewis, Suzie Cairney, Sylvia Chavarin, Tabitha Stokes, Tiffany Tyler, Tracey Williams, Victoria Stolte, Yamara Martinez… Love all of you!
To my beta readers, your insight and suggestions are invaluable to me. Lynne Ayling, Karen Emery, Lea James, Natalie Naranjo, Natasha Rochon, Stacy Stoops… Thank you for taking the time to read this book and give me tips on what worked, what didn’t, and when you needed to restock your tissue supply.
To my absolutely fan-freaking-tastic editor, Kim Young… Honestly, get out of my head! When my brain works a mile a minute and my fingers can’t keep up and something ridiculous ends up in my manuscript, you catch it and know exactly what I meant to say. So thanks for your psychic powers. You are an editing goddess and I am so grateful to have found you! (Psst… Team Cam!)
To my husband… My own Cam. Thanks for supporting me in this venture since day one, even when I was happy to sell ten books a day. I’d do this even if I didn’t sell any, and I know you’d still support and encourage me, no matter what. (And I’m sorry for making you ugly cry when you read this book.) I love you… To the moon and back.
Last, but by no means least, to all of you. I have the most incredible readers a girl can ask for. I love your enthusiasm and support, and I am so glad that I can continue to engage with all of you on a daily basis. I appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for laughing. Thank you for loving.
HEART OF MARLEY
Prologue
Read Cam and Marley’s story in Heart of Marley
MY HEART WAS RACING as I heard Marley’s cries and sobs emanating from our bedroom. I knew what I had to do to protect her and get her away from all of this. I couldn’t let him hurt her anymore.
Our lives used to be the picture of perfection…quaint raised-level home, white picket fence, huge back yard, and two loving parents…until Dad died just after our eighth birthday three years ago. Mama loved us, but the drugs and drinking that she sought comfort in to cope with the heartache of losing her soul mate diminished her ability to act like a parent. I became the only one who would look out for us. I was Marley’s last line of defense…her last hope.
I stood in the corner of the living room in the apartment that we had called home for the past few months. We had spent the last several years jumping from place to place, never staying for too long. Every time we moved, Mama promised that she was going to clean up her act and not tell him where we were. Then the withdrawal symptoms kicked in and she would cave, begging him for drugs, money, or both. She put her own selfish needs ahead of her children’s well-being. I just couldn’t comprehend how any parent could do that. Then again, I didn’t know anything about addiction.
When he came into our sorry excuse for a bedroom ten minutes ago, I knew what he was going to do. He had been doing that very thing nearly every night since New Year’s Eve three years ago. I wanted to fight him, but nothing ever worked. If I tried to get in his way, he would just knock me out and take what he wanted from Marley regardless. Tonight, I had bigger plans. When he ordered me out, I followed his demand.
Over the years, I began to hate myself for not being able to stand up to him and protect Marley. I never knew what hate was until he walked into our lives. Now I welcomed hate. I tasted hate. I breathed hate. All because I loved Marley.
I hadn’t seen my mother in days. I had no idea when or if she would ever return, but that was okay. For what I needed to do, she shouldn’t be here.
Tiptoeing past the couch and toward the front door, I opened the drawer of the entryway table. I saw a flash of light from the reflection of the street lamp on the metal of the gun barrel. Can I really do this? I asked myself. Will I go to jail for the rest of my life? Would they send an eleven-year-old to jail? I no longer cared about the potential repercussions. This had to happen. He had to be stopped. I would gladly spend the rest of my life behind bars to save Marley from her current prison.
Grabbing the gun as quietly as possible, I felt the weight in my hands. It was as if it weighed fifty pounds instead of less than two. I checked the safety and released it, secretly thanking my mother for thinking that it was a good idea to show me how to use a gun during one of her drug-induced hazes. She said that I was the man of the house now and I needed to learn to use a weapon to protect our home. Little did she know that the only thing I needed to protect us from resided within these four walls.
I retreated from the entryway and began making my way down the hallway toward the bedroom that I shared with Marley. Each sound seemed to be amplified ten-fold, nervous energy flowing through every inch of me. My breathing increased and my entire body trembled…not with fear, but with pure rage at the thought of what my other half had been enduring nearly every night since Dad died.
Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned it. I pushed the door open and surveyed the scene in front of me, my tongue caught in my throat.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a booming voice slurred, not moving from his position.
“Get off of Marley,” I quivered, my shaky voice betraying my demand.
“Leave! Now!” he ordered.
“I’m not going anywhere until you promise to leave my sister alone.”
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath before he raised his imposing frame and stalked toward me.
Looking around his rotund belly, his white tank top stained, I gave Marley a reassuring nod as she grabbed the thin sheet off the bed we both shared and wrapped it around herself. Her quiet cries shattered my heart and erased the last bit of faith I had in the human race. Lifting the gun, I aimed it at him, cringing at the sight of his unbuttoned pants and the belt held firmly in his hand.
Just pull the trigger, I said to myself. Pull it and free Marley. Free Marley… Marley… Marley…
My nostrils flared and my vindication returned. All I saw was red. I had heard people speak of out-of-body experiences before, but I never knew what they were talking about…until that moment. I seethed with fury. Before I knew what was happening, I pulled the trigger. Again. And again. And again.
I watched his disgusting body fall to the ground, his mouth agape and eyes wide as he clutched his stomach and leg.
Looking down at the gun in my hand, I immediately snapped back to reality.
“Cam…” Marley exhaled through her sobs. “You just shot him.”
&n
bsp; I ran to the bed, her frail body illuminated by the full moon, bringing attention to the scars and bruises on her legs. Wrapping my arms around her, I tried to comfort her the only way I knew how. “To the moon and back,” I whispered. It was our code. Her way of knowing that no harm would come to her.
“From the stars to the ocean, Cam,” her sweet voice squeaked out in response.
“He’s never going to hurt you or anyone else again.” I rubbed her back, mindful of the scratches and welts from where he had used his belt on her. “I’ll never let anything bad happen to you ever again, Mar.”
I held her all night long, comforting her sobs and soothing her fears when she woke up screaming. I kept the gun clutched in my hand as I watched over her, keeping one eye trained on the body that had lost blood throughout the night, making sure that he didn’t move. I would hear him moan out and beg me to call for help, but I refused. I wanted him to suffer and feel pain that was worse than what Marley had endured the past three years. I wanted his death to be slow and agonizing.
Once the sun rose, bathing everything in light, the reality of what I had done set in. I knew that I had to tell someone. The only person I could think of was my Grams. Rummaging through my mother’s things, I finally found her address book and made the phone call that would be the start of our new lives.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T.K. Leigh, otherwise known as Tracy Leigh Kellam, is the USA Today Best Selling author of the Beautiful Mess series. Originally from New England, she now resides in sunny Southern California with her husband, dog and three cats, all of which she has rescued (including the husband). She always had a knack for writing, but mostly in the legal field. It wasn’t until recently that she decided to try her hand at creative writing and is now addicted to creating different characters and new and unique story lines in the Contemporary Romantic Suspense genre.
When she’s not planted in front of her computer, writing away, she can be found running and training for her next marathon (of which she has run over fifteen fulls and far too many halfs to recall). Unlike Olivia, the main character in her Beautiful Mess series, she has yet to qualify for the Boston Marathon.