Book: Surviving You
Series: Shameless Series #2 (Can be read as a standalone)
Author: Dawn A Keane
Genre: Dark Suspenseful Thriller
Hosted By:Francessca’s Romance Reviews
"Thou shalt take the boy out of Manchester, but you cannot take Manchester out of the boy." Lee – I’m a killer, a hardened criminal born into the underbelly of an unlawful world that my father crafted, and I am to be crowned the next King. I used to covet the dark; it has forever been my friend and forgives me my sins. A slither of light has dared me to hope, it has my house of cards tumbling all around me. From the moment I saw her I knew she would be my downfall, for how can something that shines so bright not burn? Yet, she is my salvation and I gladly walk the path that I have chosen…. Rose – I cringe at my own shadow; dark corners of my mind forever torment me. I have yet to escape from my demons; they beseech me with every turn of my head. Yet lurking is a promise, a promise of things to come. It has my heart in a vice; squeezing the last dregs of a love I never thought I could feel again. From the moment I saw him I knew he would be my downfall, for how can something that smolders so dark not singe? Yet, he is my redemption and I gladly walk the path that I have chosen…. “Thou shalt always protect the family.”
Loyalty doesn’t come much richer than family so when Lee Young decides to hang up his gun and head north he sets in motion a chain of events that cause murder and mayhem with every step closer he takes to walking. When two worlds collide, it forces Rose to meet her demons head on and has Lee frantically trying to keep both Rose and her daughter safe. The road they travel together will be their greatest challenge and their most dangerous yet. With so much to lose but everything to gain, Lee and Rose become embroiled in a game of cat and mouse as they try to confront the threats surrounding them. Running to keep one step ahead of everyone else, can these lovers climb out of the dark that they find themselves in and bathe in the light their love promises before the fire burns to embers and their world is snuffed to smoke?
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Twelve years earlier
drain the cold liquid from my glass and tip the remaining ice cubes into the wastebasket. Placing the glass against my bedroom wall, I listen closely to the loud noises coming from the next door neighbour’s bedroom. My lungs begin to fill with much needed air, the muffled ringing in my ears beginning to dull. Closing my eyes as tight as they can go, I gasp, trying to control my breathing, not wanting to make a single sound. My heartbeat thunders a hundred miles per hour inside my chest, and I attempt to slow it with deep, calming breaths. I cover my other ear with my free hand in hopes that the sounds will come through the glass pressed against the door a little clearer.
It sounds like people are shouting; a woman and a man. They’re arguing about something, screaming at the top of their lungs. She’s crying now, hiccupping with each sob. I can’t hear anyone else in the room with them, just those two unfamiliar voices.
Standing here on the chair in my pink nightgown in the dark, I see him: a boy standing against his window. I jump with fear, startled. What is he doing? I move my head closer, squinting my eyes together. He’s crying. I think he is hurt in some way. I can see his hands; his palms are flat against the window pane. The tears are streaming down his face, soaking his cheeks like the heavens have just opened and poured down around him.
I step off the chair slowly, not taking my eyes off this boy whose skin is stained with blood and tears. Placing my glass on the nightstand, I move slowly over to the window to get a closer look. I want to go to him, ask him why he is in so much pain, but I don’t want to scare him. A dull ache settles in my chest—my heart hurts for him.
As I lean against the cold glass, my heart breaks a little bit more. I watch hopelessly as his pain unfolds in front of my eyes. Each tear falling from his beautiful, dark eyes pierces my heart, sending a wave of pain through me. I press my palms and cheek against the glass, my breath steaming up the window.
I want to help him.
He might be hurt.
Someone else might be hurt.
But I can’t do anything but reach out to him. I push from the window with my hands—my back hitting the wall to the side of me—and slide slowly down the wall to the floor while my eyes remain glued to the figure before me. Tears roll down my cheeks, my own fear matching the beautiful boy.
I was brought up in Manchester and I am now living in the beautiful Scottish borders with my three children.
I have enjoyed writing my story as I had a pretty hard upbringing and have suffered like everyone does over the years in different situations, but everyone has a story to tell.
I just hope my story can help someone out there who is, or has been through the same sorts of situations as myself.