.99 cent SALE for ONCE PERFECT
Available at all retailers December 13th through January 8th,
2017
Once Perfect
Shattered Past #1
Cecy
Robson
New
Adult, contemporary romance
His life was never easy. Hers wasn’t
supposed to be this hard. They come from different worlds, but fate lures them
together in a way neither expected in Cecy Robson’s raw, steamy New Adult
debut—perfect for fans of Monica Murphy and J. Lynn.
Evelyn Preston’s future once looked
perfect—until her wealthy father was caught in an embezzlement scandal and took
his own life. Alone and struggling to pay her college tuition and bills, Evelyn
finds a job as a waitress at the ultra-hip nightclub Excess, where she used to
have more in common with the privileged private-school clientele than her
fellow staff members. But something attracts her to the sexy six-foot-four
bouncer and underground MMA fighter Mateo Tres Santos. Although they’ve led
different lives, their troubled pasts bonds them in both survival and love.
Mateo is ex-army who wound up in
prison for assaulting the man who harmed his sister. Now he’s feeling the same
protective impulse for this petite blond waitress. When Evelyn experiences a
panic attack at the club, Mateo comes to her rescue. And when Mateo is wounded
shielding her from a brawl, Evelyn returns the favor and comes to his aid.
As their attraction intensifies, Mateo
is determined to find out what nightmares are lurking in Evelyn’s past—even if
that means tackling his own to save her.
Chapter
One
“Malibu Barbie.
We need more cocktail napkins!”
I
stopped wiping the bar booth, torn between throwing my bucket at Sam or at the
cluster of bouncers chuckling at his Barbie dig. I still had two more booths to
clean before the doors to the Main Line’s infamous Club Excess opened and the
real work began. A crowd of spoiled brats―offspring of Philly’s wealthiest
families―with too much money and too much attitude already crowded the doors. I
should know. I used to be one of them. Except they still had the money.
I
had a screaming boss.
“Malibu!”
“Jesus,
Sam, I’m going.” I tossed my towel on the table and stomped across the dance
floor in my black, thigh-high boots. If it weren’t for the crazy tips the drunk
idiots dropped like bowling balls, no way would I work at a place where I had
to accessorize tiny black shorts and a skimpy tank with these hooker boots. The
white dress shirt tied at my belly was Sam’s way of compromising when me and a few of the other
waitresses complained about our new “uniforms.” The more desperate among us
tied it closer to their cleavage. I didn’t. Even if it meant less money, I
wanted to hang on to what little pride I had left.
My steps slowed as I neared the
group of bouncers huddled around Mateo. He was young, younger than at least
half of them, and still they looked up to him. Considering Mateo was an ex-con
who fought in fight clubs, you’d think the staff would avoid him. I sure did.
Hell, I’d barely spoken to him in the six months I’d worked at Excess, using
any excuse to keep my distance. That said, there was something about him that
made people take notice. His burly arms crossed his chest. Power was
inked on one forearm in bold Gothic lettering, Wrath
on the other, and black flames crawled up both, disappearing beneath the
sleeves of his tight black T-shirt.
My
puny shoulders tensed as I drew closer. Mateo had served time for beating some
poor guy so brutally the guy had spent two weeks in the hospital recovering
from the bashes to his face and body. I watched Mateo, a
lot. Every now and then,
I’d catch him glancing my way, too. He’d offer me a brief nod or a small smile,
but I never offered anything in return. His size, the depth of his voice, and
his aptitude for violence scared me, despite his captivating looks. He moved
like a panther staking out his turf, ready for anything, his steely hazel eyes
taking everything in.
He
spoke low and rough as the last of his crew arrived. “Listen up. Keep the drugs
and the dealers out. They come in with that shit, you see anyone selling―send
their asses out the door. Sam doesn’t want another OD in his place. If those
rich pricks want to die, they can do it somewhere else.”
The
others answered Mateo with stiff nods, except for Dale, who whistled as I
walked by. “Nice ass, Evelyn . . .”
His
voice trailed off. I turned to shoot him a dirty look over my shoulder only to
catch the death glare Mateo was firing his way. “Leave Evie the fuck
alone and pay attention, Dale,” Mateo told him. Dale immediately dropped his
gaze, allowing Mateo to return his
attention to the rest of the group. “With the first week of classes
over, these fools are looking to party hard, and the dealers are ready to
assist. Don’t go it alone. Call for backup if you need it, when you need it.
I’ll take point near the bar. Ant’s my second. He’ll take point left of the
floor. If I’m mixed up in some other shit, you call him. Got me?”
The
bouncers collectively muttered in agreement. Even Dale.
My
heart was thumping against my sternum and I lost my footing. I reached for my
ponytail and tightened it fast, trying to pretend that was the reason I’d
tripped and not, absolutely not, because
Mateo had stuck up for me and shut Dale up on my behalf. Or because he’d called
me Evie. Again. No one else had ever called me that.
I
slipped behind the bar where Sam was stacking another rack of glasses. “Grab
two boxes and make sure they have the new logo―not the old,” he snapped.
“Numbnuts spelled ‘Excess’ wrong on the last one.”
“I
know, Sam, I know.” I frowned. “You’re bartending again tonight?”
“No.
I just wear the apron to show off my man boobs. Of course I’m bartending. I had
to fire Joe when he helped himself to the register last week!” He brushed back
his crazy hair. I pegged him at roughly fifty, but his snow-white Lion King
mane made him appear at least ten years older. “Hurry up, Malibu, we only have
twenty minutes before those needle dicks bust down the door!”
“I’d
move faster if you didn’t make us wear these boots,” I muttered.
“Quit
complainin’. Those boots earned you at least three hundred the first night you
wore them. I saw you counting the bills.”
My
body slumped as I conceded. Sam had a point. Blistered toes or not, these boots
were paying my mounting tuition and other bills. I opened the door behind the
bar and immediately flicked on the light before letting the door close behind
me. The small set of steps to the left led to the loft where Sam kept an
office. But I didn’t need to go there. I needed to head down the long hallway in front of me and into the
storage room.
Light
washed down the length of the white-tiled floor, brightening everything except
the one room I needed to enter. Don’t be such a
wuss, I told myself, and marched down the hall with my
chin up. Jesus. I hated the storage room. But the rest of the staff was stashed
away cleaning the bathrooms or finishing the rest of the booths. Besides, I
wasn’t exactly popular around here. No one would go on my behalf, even if I
asked.
The
hallway seemed longer this time, even longer than the last twelve times I’d
been sent for some bar must-have. My hand gripped the knob and I let out a long
breath, waiting in the safety of the bright hall as I searched the darkness for
the little string at the center of the room―my lifeline and the only device
that flicked on the overhead lights.
I
could see it from where I stood, but only due to the light from the hall. Like
always, I cursed Sam for not updating this part of the old warehouse when
everything else was remodeled months ago. “Why would I
spend the extra cash on something that houses disco
balls and tampons?” he’d argued.
“Cheap
bastard.” My complaint morphed into more creative swears when I saw that the
box filled with maraschino cherries was down to just a few jars. I’d used it as
a doorstop every time I’d been exiled to the storage room. Now there weren’t
enough to hold the heavy metal door, but maybe they could buy me time to reach
the string. Anything heavier―old bar stools, chairs―was shoved along the far
back wall . . . next to the damn napkins. Note to self: Move a damn bar stool
closer to the door.
I
pulled the box with my foot, not daring to enter just yet, and then I shoved it
against the wide-open door. By some miracle it held. With a deep breath and a
sense of determination, I bolted toward the center like a coward.
My
feet clomped against the smooth floor. But the tile was too slick and my boots
lacked sufficient tread. I slipped just as I reached for the string, falling
hard on my side. The box gave way and the door slammed shut, encasing me in
complete darkness.
My
breath caught as my eyes struggled to focus. Pitch black ruled the windowless
room. I was disoriented and I needed to leave, fast.
My
breathing resumed in short, rapid puffs, predicting my approaching breakdown. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
“Stop
it, Evelyn,” I said aloud, putting some push behind my words. “It’s just a
room. It’s not going to hurt you.” I tried not to think about how alone I
sounded in the darkness, and reminded myself that the string had been just
within my reach. My body ignored my reasoning and reacted to my mounting fear,
turning my muscles to jelly and making my heart pound with dull strikes against
my chest.
I
stood on wobbly legs and batted the air in the direction where I imagined the
string dangled. It wasn’t there. My feet scooted me a little to the right and I
tried again. Nothing. “Okay, Evelyn, go left. You just should have gone left,
goofy.”
So
I moved left and swatted at the air. Still nothing. The silly little piece of
thread wasn’t there. I tried to slow my breathing, but my thundering heart
wasn’t having it.
Go back. Just go
back to the door.
Fear
made me clumsy. I hurried forward only to crash into the wall, knocking over an
overstuffed box when my arm whipped back. The contents spilled, bang,
bang, crash, fueling my confusion and making the room
spin. My legs lurched forward as my desperation heightened into hysterics. I
knocked into something smooth and heavy. It might have been the fridge, but
which one? The one against the far wall? Or the one nearest the door? I fought
to find the handle to give me some light―any light―but my dizzying state moved
me away from it.
“Shit!”
Air
shoved its way through my lungs like thickening cement, tightening my chest and
constricting my throat. I forced myself forward, stumbling back when someone
grabbed my arm. I jerked away, hitting him in the face. “Don’t touch me!” I
screamed.
But
there was no one there.
Only
desolate silence waited with me in the blackness.
Fleeting
images flashed through my mind, confusing me and fueling my mounting hysteria.
Someone else grabbed my arm. I bounded backward, yanking something heavy with
me. Objects fell in all directions as my mind worked to sort between what was
true and what my terror had created.
I
clutched my head, digging my short nails into my scalp. “There’s nothing here.
Stop. Stop it!”
My
feet hurried forward, barely managing a few steps before my knees buckled and I
collapsed, sprawled against the cold floor and crying. Nausea burned like acid,
boiling through my stomach and into my narrowing throat. I panted even faster,
willing my throat to open so I could breathe. I needed to breathe. Why couldn’t
I breathe?
Every
painful gasp closed my throat tighter. I was going to die. “No. No. No!”
Light
spilled into the room and heavy footsteps stormed across the length. The
fluorescent bulbs overhead blinked to life before the door slammed shut like an
explosion. I curled inward, sobbing.
A
deep, rough voice called to me. “Evie. Evie.
It’s okay.”
No. It’s not. My choked sobs
grew louder, sounding more like pained retching.
“Evie
. . . It’s okay. You’re all right now . . . I won’t let anyone hurt you. . . .”
My
brain latched onto the strong reassurance of the husky baritone as it echoed
along the expanse of the room. Mateo. Of all people, he
had come looking for me.
“Breathe.
Don’t think, baby. Just breathe for me.”
I
did as he asked, working to slow my breaths and knowing I needed to get the
hell out of there. Mateo was dangerous. I’d seen him “escort” clubbers out. It
wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t pretty. It was a display of dominance.
And
I refused to succumb.
In
and out, in and out, I struggled through my pathetic cries. Fucking
panic attack. I knew what it was. Knew
my body was out of control. But no matter how hard I tried to rationalize my
way through the terror, it didn’t make it any less real.
“That’s
it. Good girl. You’re safe now.”
It
took a while for me to break from the fetal position I’d collapsed into. My
rigid muscles gradually unwound. With great effort I sat, and pushed my blond
hair from where it lay plastered against my face.
Mateo
crouched just a few feet away, meeting me with soft, hazel eyes that didn’t
belong on someone so fierce. I released a shuddering gasp. “You’re safe,” he
said again. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. I promise.” He took in my state and
looked around. “I’m going to stand now, okay?”
He
didn’t move until I nodded, and even then it was with care, taking two steps
back before moving toward the shelf with the disco balls and cocktail napkins.
He dug through the closest box.
“Th-those
aren’t the right ones,” I managed, my voice cracking.
“I
know.” He withdrew a stack of the misspelled napkins and returned, keeping his
distance so he had to stretch his muscular arm to hand them to me. “Here. Wipe
your face. We’ll go when you’re ready.”
Sam
and Dale barreled into the room. “What the hell happened?” Sam hollered. “All
you had to do was get napkins!”
Old
plastic shot glasses and Halloween decorations littered the floor. I sat among
broken cups and black and orange garlands, still working to catch my breath.
The garlands had hung from the shelving posts. I must have tangled myself in
them somehow. Now the torn strands strewed the area in bunches. I thought
someone had grabbed me. I thought . . . I wasn’t sure what I thought.
Sam
and Dale loomed over me. Mateo remained crouched.
“The
door shut before I could get to the light,” I managed.
“And?”
Sam asked when I said nothing more.
I
didn’t want to tell them about my fear of the dark. People found me weird
enough. But I needed to say something. I opened my mouth, sure I’d manage a
decent response. Except nothing came to mind, so I pressed my lips tight and
reached for the fastener barely holding the rest of my hair.
“She’s
claustrophobic,” Mateo answered for me.
It
wasn’t true, but I think he knew that.
Dale
took in the large open area and huffed. “You can’t be serious. I can park three
cars in here.” He waved an arm across the mess. “The room doesn’t even have a
lock. You’re a real head case, you know that, Evelyn?”
Mateo
stood, his hulking figure appearing to swallow the room and his stare freezing
Dale where he stood. “And you’re a fat fuck who still lives with his mother and
doesn’t know his earhole from his asshole.” He shrugged. “No one’s perfect. Get
to your post.”
There
was an underlying threat to his order. I heard it. So did Dale. He scowled at
the floor and hurried out, letting the door slam hard behind him.
Mateo
offered me his hand. I don’t think he would have if Sam wasn’t still in the
room, but I couldn’t tell for sure. I’d worked at Excess for six months and
still didn’t really know anyone there. Not really. Except maybe Sam.
I
shook my head. Mateo may have helped me, but I didn’t fear him any less.
He
withdrew his hand and stepped back once more, watching me as I slowly rose.
Sam
retreated the moment I straightened. “Come on. The little pukes are pounding on
the door.”
“You
ready for them?” Mateo asked. At Sam’s nod, he spoke into his earpiece. “Ant.
Tell Jace to start the music and give the signal to open the doors.”
Music
detonated against the cinder-block walls, followed by Jace’s muffled “Are you
readyyyyyyyyyyy?” The faint excited screams were barely audible over the blast
of sound, but I heard them. Enough of a crowd had gathered, ready to drink,
dance, and hook up.
Mateo
grabbed two boxes of the napkins I’d been sent for. “Go. I got it.” As he
walked, his heavy black boots kicked one of the plastic decorative pumpkins. I
bent to retrieve it, more out of instinct than my desire to remain in this
hellhole with him. “Leave it,” he said. “I’ll take care of the mess after
closing. Get cleaned up and then come out when you’re ready. The girls will
cover for you until then.”
I
walked swiftly across the room as Sam held the door open, passing him in my
rush to reach the locker room situated on the other side of the club, beside
the women’s bathroom. In my mind, that tiny bright space meant safety and an
opportunity to wrangle in my nerves. I charged out the door like a woman in
danger. But then, maybe I was.
Pitbull’s
latest burst through the speakers as the first of the co-eds rolled in. The
blaring bass cuffed my ears; so did the hoots of the patrons.
But
I didn’t care.
The
music and rowdy calls intermixed with the spiraling club lights cut through the
darkness, helping me settle.
Just
like the thrum of Mateo’s deep voice.
CECY
(pronounced Sessy) ROBSON is the new adult and contemporary romance author of
the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels and upcoming Carolina
Beach novels, as well as the award-winning author of the Weird Girls urban
fantasy romance series. A 2016 double nominated RITA® finalist for Once Pure
and Once Kissed, Cecy is a recovering Jersey girl living in the South who
enjoys carbs way too much, and exercise way too little. Gifted and cursed with
an overactive imagination, you can typically find her on her laptop silencing
the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories.
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