Shattered Sun

Book 1: Stone Bay Series

by Persephone Autumn

Genres: Police & Law Enforcement Romance; Small-town Romance; Romantic Suspense; Friends to lovers; Love Triangles; Love Triangle; Romantic Suspense; friends to lovers; forced proximity; stalker; small town romance; protective hero; only one bed

Synopsis

When your heart was split in two, how did you choose who to love more?

 

As a young girl, I never imagined a day without Benjamin Wilks by my side. Ben had been more than my best friend. He’d been my person. The ordinary to my quirky. The smart to my foolish. The quiet to my loud. Regardless how opposite we were in personality, together we clicked.

 

Then tragedy struck and changed my life forever. And when Mom could no longer bear the memories our house held, she moved us to Stone Bay. For years, I rebelled. Spilled my hurt in the form of ugly words.

 

In time, I healed and learned to love the lavish small town and the people that called it home. In its borders, I met my soul sisters. I made a life for myself. And I had the attention of the hottest police officer in town.

 

Travis Emerson was more than an attractive man with a badge. Travis was part of the Stone Bay Seven—the town’s founding families—and that title came with responsibility. Though we flirted daily, our relationship never evolved beyond friendship.

 

Then Ben showed up in Stone Bay and swept me off my feet. Literally. In response, Travis growled his displeasure and all but claimed me in front of the town gossip mill.

 

One anonymous, disturbing note later, I learned Ben and Travis weren’t the only ones vying for my attention. Days after that, when the body of a woman was discovered in the woods, the whispers around town regarding my love triangle fizzled out. In its place… townsfolk claimed I resembled the lifeless woman.

 

Determined to protect me, Travis inserted himself more in my life. And my heart. But as I rekindled my relationship with Ben, I learned it was possible to love more than one person.

 

Before it’s too late, I needed to decide which of them I loved more. Because time wasn’t on my side.

Release date: October 17, 2023

Publisher: Between Words Publishing LLC

Print pages: 364

Sample

Prologue

Kirsten

 

Past—Two Years Ago

 

Skylar slides another shot glass in front of me and Delilah, and I groan as I stare down at the clear liquid filled to the rim. A silent promise to make the night fun and the morning hell.

By no means am I a lightweight. I’ve done my fair share of partying before legally allowed. But I tend to stick with beer, the occasional fruity cocktail, and Long Island Iced Tea. Undiluted hard liquor, though… not really my thing. I learned that lesson the hard way at my first high school party and vowed to never do shots again.

Yet here I am, reaching for the saltshaker and contradicting the one drinking rule I carved in stone.

One time, Kirsten. For Skylar.

My best friend owes me after this. Big time. And I’ll be sure to remind her tomorrow, when our heads are clear and the world wobbles less.

Making a loose fist, I lift my hand to my mouth and lick the web near my thumb. Salt in my other hand, I shake it over the damp skin a couple times before passing it down the line. Skylar and Delilah mirror the action with a touch more enthusiasm. Their eagerness to liven the evening further is the ass kick I didn’t know I needed.

Tonight isn’t about me and what I want. Tonight is about Skylar and what she wants.

No way in hell will I ruin her night.

Skylar lays a lime wedge on a napkin and slides it in my direction, then does the same for Delilah. Lifting her shot glass high, she announces loud enough for half of Dalton’s to hear, “Happy twenty-first birthday to the hottest bitch in Stone Bay. Me.”

My eyes widen as the bar patrons hoot and holler. Skylar licks the salt from her hand, shoots back the tequila, then brings the lime to her lips and sucks. Meanwhile, Delilah and I sit shell-shocked on our stools. It’s not until Skylar elbows us that we take our shots.

Skylar isn’t the most outgoing person in public. Hell, the level of peer pressure it took to get her in my favorite little black dress tonight was excruciating. Behind closed doors and in the company of friends and family is where she tends to dominate the room. But her commanding the attention of a bar full of people… she would never do that sober.

And here I thought I was the only drunk one in our group.

Wrong.

“I’m tapping out,” I tell them, slashing a hand across the front of my throat for emphasis.

“No,” Skylar whines.

“Drinks, Sky. I’m tapping out on drinks.” I pat her thigh beneath the bar top. “Not with the night. It’s too early to go home.”

A lazy smile lifts the corners of her mouth as she leans into me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I love you, K. You’re the bestest.”

“Hey,” Delilah complains, her voice a touch playful.

Skylar bolts up and reaches for Delilah. “You’re the bestest, too. You know I love you, Dee Dee.” She constricts Delilah in a fierce hug. “I can love you and her.” A finger jabs in my direction. “You can both be my bestest friends, forever and ever.”

With a shake of my head, I laugh and take Skylar’s hand, lowering it. “Love you, Sky.” I squeeze her hand, then release it. “We should probably switch to something non-alcoholic for a bit.”

On a huff, she tips her head back and gives a stiff nod. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.

The bartender stops in front of us, takes our empty glasses, and wipes down the bar. “How’s it going, ladies?” Her eyes roam over Skylar, a smirk tipping up one corner of her mouth as she tries and fails to hide her amusement.

“A round of water, please.”

The bartender nods, grabs three large glasses, loads them with ice, and fills them with water.

“And one Coke,” I add as she sets each water glass on a coaster in front of us.

“You got it.” She repeats the process, pressing a different button on the drink gun, filling the glass with Coke. “Anything else?” she asks as she places a new coaster down, then my drink.

I glance at Skylar as she drinks water through way too many cocktail straws and shake my head. “Think we’re good for now.”

Tapping the bar top, she winks, then wanders down the line to refill beer glasses.

Over the next hour, we sip our drinks and move to a high-top near the dance floor. Several patrons stop by the table and wish Skylar happy birthday, offer to buy her a drink or ask her on a date. The more water she drinks, the more sober she becomes, the more I watch her lean away from the attention. Not all of it. A few guys have managed to weasel their way into sitting with us. They seem nice enough. Then again, my common sense meter switched off a couple hours ago.

“Let’s dance,” Skylar suggests as she pushes away from the table and stands.

Two of the guys hop off their stools and sandwich Skylar between them. “We’ll dance with you, birthday girl.”

I wince as I watch them touch her hips and shoulders. This just got ten times more uncomfortable.

Oblivious to their intentions, Skylar pushes out her lips and shakes her head. “No, I want to dance with my friends.” Skylar twists out of their holds and reaches out a hand for me and Delilah. “Please,” she says, dragging out the word like a greedy child.

I love dancing. Love shoving money in the jukebox, choosing enough songs to play for an hour or two, then getting lost in the music. Skylar, on the other hand, isn’t keen on dancing. At least not in huge public crowds.

But it’s her birthday, and she is still very intoxicated.

Who am I to deny her? Especially on her day.

I hop off my stool and take her outstretched hand. Delilah does the same, taking her other hand.

Skylar glances over her shoulder and gives the guys a finger wave. “Thanks for hanging out with us. It was fun.” Then she blows them a kiss.

I groan. “Don’t goad them any further.”

Delilah chuckles. “Makes no difference to me. Their chance remains the same. Nil.”

Weaving between the small crowd on the small dance floor, we find a small opening, throw our arms up, and start dancing to the sultry beat of a song I don’t know. For a moment, I get lost in the song. Forget about everything else except this night with my two closest friends.

The song transitions to a pop number. We continue to dance, but I shift closer to Delilah. “They may have no chance with you”—I glance back at the table, one of the guys no longer there—“but they don’t know that. They don’t know you prefer the glove over the bat.”

Thwack.

“Ow!” I rub my upper arm. “No need to hit.”

“Then don’t be crude.” Delilah imperceptibly shakes her head. “Say I only date women. Call me a lesbian.” Her brows tug together. “But don’t use baseball equipment euphemisms. Or any other weird alternatives. Just don’t.”

“Got it.” My lips curve into an apologetic smile. “Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

When the current song ends, I tap Skylar on the shoulder. She spins around, brows raised in question. I lift my hand and make a tipping motion toward my mouth, then throw a thumb over my shoulder. She nods, then follows me back to the table with Delilah in tow.

The three guys from earlier are nowhere to be seen. Probably found new prospects for the evening. Can’t say I blame them. I drain the last of my Coke, then switch to water. As Skylar drinks the last of her water, she sways in place.

“Doing okay, birthday girl?” I ask. This is the first time our trio has been publicly intoxicated. The initial excitement is long gone. The thrill of ordering drink after drink and being allowed to do so has faded. At least, tonight it has.

“Think I need to lie down. Or maybe curl into the corner of the couch and watch a documentary.”

Delilah and I chuckle. Skylar and her damn documentaries. Not sure how she stomachs watching those things. Serial killers and creepy as hell people doing fucked up shit to strangers. She watches them as if they soothe her like nature documentaries do most other people. Sometimes I question whether or not I should be concerned. So long as she doesn’t go psycho on us, it’s all good.

I step into her space, toy with her fiery curls, then wrap her in my arms. “Go home. Watch your shows. Drink more water.”

When I step out of the embrace, her eyes lazily trail up to mine. A ridge forms between her brows. “Are you staying?”

I glance past Skylar to Delilah, and she mouths, “I got her. You stay.”

With a subtle nod, I meet Skylar’s gaze again. “For a couple more songs. I’ll be right behind you.”

Delilah opens the rideshare app on her phone and requests a ride. Skylar rises from her stool, her hand quickly gripping the table to steady herself.

“Whoa!” Delilah wraps an arm around Skylar’s shoulders. “Easy now.” With measured steps, they head toward the door. “The car should be here in a few minutes.” Delilah glances over her shoulder, her eyes more sober than I feel. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Probably leave in twenty.”

“See you at home,” she says, then disappears in the thickening crowd.

Dalton’s is always the place to be in Stone Bay, especially on Friday and Saturday nights. Though it’s busy once the sun sets, the real crowd doesn’t show until after ten. Between ten and two, Dalton’s is packed with townies and tourists alike and definitely hits max capacity.

I down the last of my water and return to the dance floor. Closing my eyes, I move to the music and get lost in the sea of bodies. As the current song fades out and the next starts, I open my eyes and feel momentarily unsteady. Heat blankets me as someone presses against my backside. Sweat slicks my skin and trails down my neck to my cleavage and shirt. My breaths come in short, shaky bursts.

Winding through the crowd, goose bumps erupt on my skin when I hit cooler air. The momentary reprieve alleviates some of the dizziness, but not all. I scan the pub in search of a familiar face, someone I trust. Half the town is here, but no one I know well enough to ask for help.

Slow and steady, I walk to the nearest abandoned table. Dragging out the stool, I slide onto the seat, rest my hands on the cool wood, and take a deep breath. As I pull my phone from my pocket, a man sits on the stool next to me.

“Your friends abandon you already?” His gravelly voice isn’t familiar as his words fuse together in an underwater bubble.

My face tightens, my brows and eyes and lips squashing together. “No,” I say as I look up at him.

Why does my head feel so heavy?

I study his somewhat blurry face. Roam over his messy, dirty blond hair. Stare into his dark eyes for a beat. Squint and search for familiar features to tell me who this man is, but come up empty.

“Who are you?” The question comes out in a garble.

He lays a hand on mine and chuckles. “Just a guy trying to enjoy a night out.”

I yank my hand back, but it barely moves. Every muscle in my body slows, grows heavier with each new breath. “What the hell?” I mutter.

“Come on.” The man stands and reaches for my elbow. “Let me get you a ride home. Looks like you’re done for the night.” His voice is softer, gentler, a lullaby to my ears.

Gripping the edge of the table, I slowly rise to my feet. “Okay.” I stow my phone in my pocket. “Thank you.”

The closer we get to the front door, the heavier my eyes feel, the more the room starts to spin. And when the damp bay air sweeps across my face as we step outside, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. Everything muddles together as I become weightless.

I try, and fail, to open my eyes. My legs dangle in the air, nausea crawling up my throat as we move much quicker. Metal creaks a moment before I’m seated and strapped in. I beg my mouth to open. Implore my voice to form words and ask what is happening.

But I don’t get the chance.

 

***

 

The scent of bacon grease and pancakes stirs me from sleep. I roll over and groan as pain radiates from every inch of my body.

“Never again,” I croak out, my voice scratchy and almost inaudible.

Cracking one eye open, I squint at the faint rays of sunlight slipping through the blinds. Ugh, I forgot to close the curtains. I pat the nightstand in search of my phone, locating it after a moment. Bringing it close to my face, I note it’s just after eleven and my phone is minutes from dying.

“What the hell?” I never sleep in this late. Ever. Let alone forget to charge my phone.

Throwing back the covers, I hiss as I sit up. I stare down at my body and narrow my eyes in confusion. Scan the cotton covering almost every inch of my skin. I don’t sleep fully clothed. No matter how much I drink, I never go to bed in full pajamas. I only have those for company.

I strip off the pants and gasp when my eyes hit the inside of my thighs.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Spreading my legs wider, I wince as pain radiates from my thighs. The source? Massive purple bruises and a plethora of small, surface-level cuts crusted in dry blood.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as my vision blurs. I reach out a tentative finger and graze the bruised skin. Inch by slow inch, I trail my finger toward one of the cuts, flinching when I reach the edge.

Grabbing the blanket at the foot of the bed, I wrap it around myself and close my eyes. I think over last night and try to remember how the hell this happened. What exactly happened.

Drinks. Lots of drinks. Too many drinks. The guys we brushed off. Dancing. Skylar and Delilah calling it a night. More dancing.

But then things start to get fuzzy.

Images and sounds and people blurring together. And then… nothing. Not until minutes ago, when I woke up in this cloud of confusion.

Was it the alcohol? I may not be a shots kind of girl, but I’ve been sloshed before last night. I never felt like this the next day. Never forgot hours of time. Never woke up amnesiac and marred. No way all this happened from shots.

Maybe I was drugged. But when? How?

I replay what I remember, then mentally slap myself. “Dumb. Ass.”

When we left the table to dance, we abandoned our drinks. And like a total fucking idiot, I picked it up and downed the entire thing minutes later. We may live in a small town, and I may know most of the townies, but it doesn’t mean I know them.

Pissed at myself, I rise from the bed. I roll my shoulders and move my legs to stretch my limbs. Hesitantly, I reach down and slip my hand between my legs. Gently trace the junction of my thighs for other signs of abuse, and note nothing feels tender or painful or different. Thank God.

Another hiss slips from my lips as I amble toward the attached bathroom. I crank the hot water in the shower and spin around to face the mirror as it heats. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I drop the blanket and pull off my tank top. As I stare at my reflection. As I take in the bruises on my breasts, thighs, and arms. As I survey the minor cuts. Slowly, I spin to look at my back and cringe. Dark purple colors both cheeks of my butt. Finger marks on my shoulders.

Nausea claws its way up my throat, but I swallow it down and step into the shower. Under the hot spray, I close my eyes and imagine the water washing away the demons I see but don’t really know. And when the water runs cold, I shut off the shower. I decide whatever happened ends here and now. Mentally, I bury the hurt and confusion clouding my thoughts.

Drying off in a daze, I slip on a pair of leggings and a long-sleeve hooded shirt. Pull my hair up in a messy top knot and plaster on a smile as I open my bedroom door. Mask the pain as my skin chafes the fabric. Inhale one more deep breath and extinguish any assumptions about what happened last night during my blackout.

You can’t live in a constant state of what-ifs and maybes. Let it go, Kirsten. Move on.

“There she is,” Skylar greets as I emerge from the hallway and into the open living area. “Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and fruit are ready.”

I step up to her at the kitchen counter, wrap her in my arms, bite the inside of my cheek as my body screams, then kiss her hair. “Thanks, birthday girl.” Grabbing a plate, I load it up. “You have a good night?”

“Best birthday yet.”

My brows twitch for the briefest of seconds before I turn to face her. “Good. Glad it was memorable.”

I sure as hell will never forget it.