by Gina Watson
“Here, Daddy.” Standing on her knees in the chair Tate handed the apple over to her father and Bailey’s eyes filled with tears. She could watch them all day, every day for the rest of her life and never tire of the scene.
“Mommy, don’t cry. You can have a lolly.” Tate passed her a purple sucker.
“Thank you, Baby.” Bailey pulled the wrapper off and then popped the candy into her mouth.
She’d kept up with her journaling and now had volumes upon volumes of anecdotes about her life with Parker. Sometimes she’d read it and laugh and cry garnering interesting looks from those around her, but she couldn’t find it in her to care—it was her life and it was precious. She would never again put it on hold because of her health. Instead, she’d live every day like it was her last, soaking up as much of their goodness as possible before the end.
Countdown: 2,308 days post-op
Parker Jr. is very feisty tonight. He’s rolled over three times. Looking at the wonder on his daddy’s face every time he rolls makes me giggle in delight. Tate David is the funniest little girl I’ve ever had the privilege to know and when I look at her I can never believe I created something so beautiful. She favors me in coloring but she is her daddy through and through, even down to her tiny smirk. Thank you, Tate for all of the precious gifts.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Damaged: David Family Saga, Book One. I have to tell you, I really love the characters of Bailey and Parker. Though many readers wrote me asking: “What’s next for Maura and Julian?” Well, stay tuned because the David Family Saga is far from over. Maura and Julian will be back in Book Two. Will Maura find solutions to all her problems? Will Julian put aside his prejudices and come to her aid? Boy, I sure hope it all works out—I really want to see those two together. They both deserve a happy ending.
When I wrote Shameless (St. Martin Family Saga), I got so many letters from fans thanking me for the book. Some had an opinion about Cory and Brook, while others rooted for Parker. As an author, I love feedback. Candidly, you are the reason that I explored Parker’s future and now we have the Davids. So, tell me what you liked, what you loved, even what you didn’t like. I’d love to hear from you. You can write me at [email protected] and visit me on the web at ginawatson.net.
Finally, I need to ask a favor. If you’re so inclined, I’d love a review of Damaged: David Family Saga, Book One. Loved it, didn’t love it, long, short, words of encouragement—I’d just enjoy your feedback.
As you may have gleaned from my books, reviews can be tough to come by these days. You, the reader, have the power now to make or break a book. If you have the time, here’s a link to my author page on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/author/ginawatson. You can also find all of my books at http://ginawatson.net/books/main.php. To make it easier, I’ve only listed this one platform, but you may review it at Barnes & Noble, iBooks, wherever you purchased the ebook. Additionally, if you didn’t purchase the book at Amazon, but do have an Amazon account, you can leave your review there—just click the link above.
Thank you so much for reading Damaged: David Family Saga, Book One and for spending time with me.
In gratitude,
Excerpt has not been edited. Content may change upon final publication.
Chapter 1
Maura entered the Craftsman home she thought would serve her for quite a few years, but she’d been mistaken. Her ex-husband had gone to extraordinary lengths to make her feel uncomfortable in the home she used to love.
Carrying the few empty boxes she’d brought she headed to her room. She turned on the light and set the boxes on the bed trying to decide what she absolutely had to take from the home. She spied her little childhood music box that played Edelweiss and knew that would be item one.
Suddenly, steely hands gripped her upper arms in an unforgiving hold. The smell of stale whiskey assaulted her nostrils and repulsed her. “I knew you couldn’t stay gone forever,” a harsh raspy voice grated in her ear and then bit hard into her lobe.
“Ah. Alan, you’re hurting me.”
Not smart, he delights in hurting me. Maura collected her wits—she’d need to be focused to dissuade his no doubt sinister motive.
“Where have you been?” His fingers closed around her neck and she stood frozen in fear.
“I moved in with Bailey at the Davids.”
“You think they can save you from me?!” His fingers at her throat squeezed. Gasping for breath she turned in his hold and he pushed her roughly down to the bed and stood over her in his wrinkled dress shirt. He wore a day old beard. Very un-Alan like.
“I didn’t expect you to still be here.” Her voice sounded off—he’d hear it too and know she was scared. Weak.
His sinister smile sent a piercing chill down her spine. “I’m sure you didn’t.” His body descended over hers, pressing her into the bed. He inhaled her from ear to neck before dipping between her breasts and biting the skin there. Hard. Bruising. She knew it would. Alan never marked for pleasure, only to bruise.
“So I see you wasted no time in finding a new cock to ride and suck. You always were such a whore.” He slapped her face.
Maura swallowed back the bile in her throat. When Alan was intoxicated he was even more dangerous than normal. She knew he would never willingly let her go. He’d been like this before and she stifled a gasp as she recalled the things he’d done to her. Still, she had to try and plead for him to let her go. “I’d not intended to rent from you Alan. You know that. It’s why your name wasn’t on the rental agreement.” She felt slighted. The name had been Mandola Properties. She’d had no idea he’d owned it. Later she’d discovered it was one of his so-called “new” ventures. The same thing happened with the grant money she’d been awarded that secured her position at the university. The money had come from another of his companies and yet another “new” venture.
“No, I guess you hadn’t, but you are my tenant. That’s not all Maura, you belong to me. You’re mine. At least for right now.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Oh, I think you know why.” His fingertips caressed the stinging skin where his palm had struck.
“Because of that day?” Bullshit. He always used that beastly day as an excuse to abuse her. There was only one problem with his reasoning—he’d abused her before the events of that day had ever occurred. “You pushed me and you know it.”
“Yes, but you made me angry. If you’d just been an obedient wife nothing would have happened.”
“You’d had sex with another woman. Two other women.”
“It’s what men do.” His thumb and index finger closed over the tip of one breast and squeezed hard until pain faded to numbness. She refused to give him any sort of reaction.
“Let me up. I need to get back to packing.”
“Not a chance. I believe you know what I’ve been waiting here all day for.”
“So you’re going to rape me then.” Maura inhaled deeply.
“Oh, not rape. We know each other. Besides, are you going to try and pretend that you never took enjoyment from our marital bed?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not so long ago, my dear. If you try really hard I bet you’ll find that you actually enjoy a thorough fucking. I still remember when not so long ago you’d beg me for it. And don’t forget, we’ve got witnesses.
“Witnesses?”
“The David family. Julian alone will make a solid and convincing testimony, don’t you think? He was so gone on you before I intervened. Can’t say I blame him. You’re breathtaking. From the moment I saw you I knew I had to have you.” His hands seized around her neck.
“If memory serves me right, the table had been set for an intimate dinner of four. Couples night. Fried soft shell crab.” His fingers rubbed against the skin of her delicate neck. “Very cozy. And then I entered the home with my overnight bags, asked you to take them to our room, and then made myself at home at the table. Have to say the crabs w
ere divine.” He pulled hard at a lock of hair that he’d twirled between his fingers.”
“Ouch.”
“You should have seen the look on Julian’s face when I uncovered you for the whore that you are. In his mind, you’re just a lying slutty bitch.”
“That’s not true.” The words had to be spoken aloud so she could begin to believe them—an audible admission of denial at his harsh words.
“Isn’t it? You weren’t surprised to see me when I showed up. And then you didn’t kick me out. Bailey put up more of a struggle than you did. It seems you were expecting me all along. Not a very convincing argument for rape. Don’t forget I own the rental house you live in and I am paying for Bailey’s medical expenses and wasn’t there something else … oh yes, I’m providing the one-hundred-twenty-thousand-dollar grant to the English department for your research. Not so much rape as quid pro quo, my dear.”
He inhaled long and deep, his nose pressed to her neck. “Do you know what happens during a rape investigation?”
Maura closed her eyes and focused on taking even breaths.
“Look at me, Maura.” He held her wrists at her sides, his weight still on top of her, pinning her down with his knees at her hips. “You would have to go to the emergency room after”—his eyes scanned her body from head to toe—“an examination would be conducted and a sperm sample collected. Then a local cop, probably a man, or a couple of men, would need to jot down your detailed report of what exactly happened, word-for-word. Even after all that you still probably wouldn’t get the judgment you seek.”
His maniacal laughed chilled her to the bone. “And those cops I told you about—the men—would also need to collect evidence of a struggle so you would have to bare yourself to show the bruises and bite marks for photographs.”
She swallowed thickly. “What bruises and bite marks?”
“The ones I’m going to give you.” His head went down and his teeth sank into the nipple he’d bruised earlier. The bite burned and her body seized so hard she thought he must have torn the flesh.”
Tears leaked from her eyes and down her temples into her hair. “Alan, please. Don’t do this. I’ll move back to New York where we can be husband and wife again.”
He pulled up and looked down into her face with flaring nostrils and eyes much too wide. “I don’t want to be your husband. I like our new situation much better.”
In that moment Maura knew there was nothing she could do to get free from her situation so she let her mind wander. One of her favorite memories took place when she was eighteen and had been given a most precious gift by her grandmamma. For graduation she’d given her a trip to England. Maura had loved the classics even then, and the first thing she did was make her way to the hometown of the Brontë sisters in Haworth, England.
Alan roughly pulled her clothes from her body, ripping her shirt in the process. He bit down on the fleshy part of her left breast and again broke the skin. He flipped her onto her belly and pulled her arms together behind her. Her shoulder screamed in protest from an old injury and the pain of having her arms pinned up to her back. He tightly held her wrists together with one of his large strong hands.
Alan’s grunting and heavy breathing was beginning to nauseate her so Maura let her thoughts take her away. She’d toured the Brontë home and parsonage museum. Most fascinating, yet disturbing, was the cemetery that existed behind the church. Green moss had colored the gravestones in green-jeweled tones and the misty English air kept the palate moist. It was estimated that forty thousand bodies were laid to rest in the small enclosure. One source indicated the bodies were stacked ten deep. Since the cemetery was in the direct path of the town’s water source, fresh water trickled through the graveyard and became contaminated before it reached its destination, slowly poisoning the town’s inhabitants. A surreal kind of beauty existed even in the midst of all that pain.
Maura lost her focus on the peaceful memories when Alan pushed her face into the mattress and she felt the stinging and burning pain from his exertions and the pull and slap of her skin. She closed her eyes and was whisked back to England.
She’d adored Wuthering Heights as a teen and still read the book after the first cold snap of the season. The Brontë father’s convictions led the family to Haworth where his forward philosophies on the subject of sanitation were much needed in a town where the average lifespan was twenty-four years. His teachings educated and ultimately prolonged life. The Brontë family gave much to England and even the world. Their writing openly tore through topics of religious hypocrisy, social class inequality, and oppression of women.
“Did you hear me?” Alan’s voice pierced through her alter ego.
“What?” He pulled her so that she lay flat on her back on the bed. She was naked. He was fully clothed and adjusting the hardware on his slacks and belt. He lay next to her on top of the duvet.
“I asked how the research project was coming along.”
The funny thing about Alan was, after his horrendous actions and mistreatment of her, he’d always enter a period of remorse where he would shower her with gifts and attention to try and reestablish their balance.
“It’s great. I enjoy it.”
“I want you to talk about it.”
She didn’t want to talk to him and she definitely didn’t want him touching her the way he was doing now. His nails lightly traced from her shoulder down to the swell of her hip and drew designs on her skin. His ministrations resulted in zero sensation from her—good or bad. She was completely numb as she was displayed naked before him.
She spoke of the influence of the weather patterns on the writings of Emily Brontë and of the detailed computer program Bailey had created to keep track of all the data and different weather terminology and patterns that exist in the writing.
In these moments she didn’t understand Alan. She could understand the lying, cheating, angry, and abusive Alan. But she did not understand his tender moments after such brutality.
“Alan, why do you do this?”
His fingers slid from her skin and internally she sighed with relief. He laced his hands together behind his head and stared at the ceiling. “You’re the only connection I have to her.”
He was speaking of their child that she’d carried to eight months. An early labor due to his pushing her and her taking a nasty tumble that resulted in a stillborn child. They’d had a funeral with a child-sized casket.
“Do you think she’s happy with the way you treat me?”
He sat up, facing away from her. “Maura, I blame you for everything that happened. You deliberately provoked me. What’s done is done. He stood. “Her spirit doesn’t live on anywhere. You know I don’t believe in that shit.”
“She does, she absolutely does.”
“Does that help you, Maura? I don’t see how. She’s still dead.”
Alan gathered his things and then he was gone. She lay on the bed with her wretched thoughts until the room turned dark. The therapy she’d sought had brought her incredible peace and closure. She felt sad at times, but she knew she wasn’t to blame for the events of that day. Alan was projecting his guilt onto her because he knew it was his ultimate action that dreaded day that had killed their child. As much as she hated him, if he came to her wanting to seek the same closure she had, she’d help him find it. She wouldn’t wish what he was going through on her worst enemy.
Gathering her composure, Maura sat up and stretched deeply, put on her robe, and then padded to the bathroom. She poured gardenia oil beneath the flowing water and inhaled. Tying the sash tighter around her robe as she walked through the house, she searched for her purse. Her hands shook as she poured one little white anxiety pill into her hand. She soaked in the tub with her morose thoughts. There were no tears to be had because she’d learned tears didn’t bring solutions. Maura was a planner. Her immediate plan would be to stay with the Davids until she found a rental home. That was all she’d be able to focus on at the moment.
**
*
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Gina Watson is author of contemporary series romances. She lives in Texas where she leads a double life: university instructor by day, romance writer by night. She loves to be contacted by readers to discuss all things romance.
Connect with Gina Watson online:
https://twitter.com/ginawatsongina
https://www.facebook.com/ginawatsonauthor
http://www.pinterest.com/gwatson/
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/6713553-gina
https://plus.google.com/+GinaWatsonauthor/
http://ginawatson.net/
Reviews: Please help spread the word. Review the book at Amazon, twitter, facebook, goodreads, or via email. Tag Gina so she can read your reviews and give her thanks.
Keep in touch: Join Gina Watson's email list at [email protected] to receive alerts regarding sweepstakes, contests, giveaways, and upcoming book releases.
Other books by Gina Watson:
St. Martin Family Saga
Whiskey Cove
(Novellas)
SCORE
SHAMELESS
SHATTER
SUITED
SMOLDER
ST. MARTIN FAMILY SAGA: WHISKEY COVE BOX SET
St. Martin Family Saga
Emergency Responders
(Novels)
SIZZLE
SEIZE
SURGE
ST. MARTIN FAMILY SAGA: EMERGENCY RESPONDERS BOX SET
Coming soon by Gina Watson:
David Family Saga
Bayou Rogues
(Novels)
DAMAGED
DECEPTION
DERAILED
DIRTY
DARE
Fall 2014
David Family Saga
Bayou Billionaires
(Novellas)
ASHTON
CAMERON
GABRIEL
MAXIMILIAN
ZACHARY
Winter 2014