Shattered Hope

Shattered Hope SHATTERED BOOK ONE KARIN WINTER Copyright © 2022 by Karin Winter All rights reserved. Contact the author: https://linktr.ee/karinwinter Editor: Killing It Write Cover Design: Inbal Ohana - Une Studio ISBN: 978-965-93045-0-9 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things, locations, or events is entirely coincidental. Progress, Not Perfection Contents Foreword 1. Ayala 2. Ethan 3. Ayala 4. Ethan 5. Ayala 6. Ethan 7. Ayala 8. Ayala 9. Ethan 10. Ayala 11. Ethan 12. Ayala 13. Ayala 14. Ayala 15. Ethan 16. Ethan 17. Ayala 18. Ethan 19. Ayala 20. Ethan 21. Ayala 22. Ethan 23. Ayala 24. Ethan 25. Ayala 26. Ethan 27. Ayala 28. Ethan 29. Ethan 30. Ayala 31. Ethan 32. Ethan 33. Ayala 34. Ayala 35. Ethan 36. Ayala Ethan and Ayala Story Continues Dear Readers, Also by Karin Winter Foreword The shattered duet is a steamy romance containing mature content. It touches on subjects that some readers may find triggering or hard. Those include kidnapping, hospital trauma, graphic violence, and non-consensual situations. This story is about overcoming tragedy, violent relationships, and finding your true self. CHAPTER 1 Ayala Manhattan is a good place to disappear. Or at least, so I hope when I get off the train at Grand Central Station. I had already run away once, but I didn’t get far, and he brought me back easily. This time I improved my plan. Without a passport and with little money, I believe New York is my best option. Over eight million people live here. No one will notice me. I step out into the busy street and tilt my head up. The tip of the famous Chrysler building is visible from where I stand, shimmering in the sun, grabbing my attention. I’ve never been to Manhattan before, but I already feel like I know the city from what I’ve seen on television. “Ouch!” I blurt as someone in a hurry bumps into me, and a wave of pain strikes my body, causing me to fold in two. Gosh, he didn’t even say sorry. I glare at him, overwhelmed, as he continues on his way. It’s too much. I don’t think I can make it here by myself. I shake my head. There’s no point in self-pity. I need to keep my emotions in check, or I’ll fall apart. I accidentally glance at my reflection in a shop window as I pass, seeing myself for the first time in several days, and I’m shocked. My heart aches. I’ve tried not to look in mirrors since my escape, knowing that the face I will see will be unrecognizable to me. I don’t know this freak looking back at me. My face is so swollen—one eye is purple and essentially closed. Blue-purplish marks and swelling cover most of my face. A red and painful cut crosses my lower lip, barely allowing me to speak. My ribs still ache when I move. I wonder if I will ever go back to feeling normal. It’s a miracle I’m alive. I lower the cap on my head even further. Maybe it’s for the better. My beauty has only brought me trouble. I raise a hand to the long wild blonde hair that I’ve been using to cover my face. “It needs to go,” I mumble. I must assimilate and disappear into the surroundings. That’s my only chance. I don’t need to check my wallet to know I don’t have much money left. The little money I had almost ran out after I used it to buy the bus and train tickets to get here from California. I should have saved more, but the plan I had in place crumbled when he beat me to near death. I had to expedite my escape to survive. The first thing I need to do is find a job and make some money. Buy food, rebuild my life. I can start from scratch here. But who will hire me when I look like this? I have to wait for the marks and bruises to heal first. I sit down on the bench, rub my neck, and open the map I took from the station, trying to find a place to go. A shelter, perhaps? Surely there are places in New York that accept homeless people or distribute food. Gosh, I’m so hungry. And homeless. I. Am. Homeless. I can’t even say it out loud. But this is better than going back to him. I would rather take my chances and live on the streets for the rest of my life than go back. After studying the map, I realize homeless shelters are not marked. I don’t know why I even bothered to check. But since I left my phone behind, I can’t think of any other way. I guess I will have to walk around and search for myself. My stomach rumbles louder, reminding me I must eat soon. I already feel pretty weak after a day without food. “Do you need help?” The low, smoky voice surprises me, and I jump in panic and peek over the map. I glance at the polished black shoes and the hem of expensive-looking pants. I dare not raise my head. He hasn’t seen my face yet, and for my sake, he’d better not. Perhaps if I ignore him, he will go away. But he remains, waiting for my response. “Everything okay, miss? Do you need help?” he asks again. I brace myself and tilt my head up, showing him my grotesque face. I hold my breath as I peek at this man. Even in my hunched state, it is impossible not to be impressed by him. He has this rough look, like a cowboy fresh out of a western, though he’s