Copyright © Chelsea Camaron 2015
~LoraLeigh~
“Once upon a time…” my mom begins reading. The softness in her voice is a lullaby all its own. Sweet memories of a moment in time, these small blips in my existence are a silent torture all their own.
“Lora—” She stops abruptly, most likely pulling her own hair out at the roots. “Fucking twat, where are you?” I listen as she continues to screech. “I know you took them. You took my candy, you little cunt. When I find you, I’m gonna claw your eyes out!”
Did I imagine the bedtime stories? Is my subconscious playing tricks on me? Is this all some game, played in my mind? Where is the mom I had in my little girl dreams?
The woman who once braided my hair and read me stories about castles and princes on white horses now lives to torment me. The last time she thought I hid her stash, she pulled my hair so hard it came out in a big chunk in her hand.
Absently, I run my fingers over the still healing scratches on my face. Two days ago as she was tweaked out on God knows what, she attacked me, saying I was a zombie trying to eat her flesh.
Rigging the string to the attic access door, I settle into my little nest. Today is the twenty-third. Any time after mid-month is when the stress level escalates. The welfare and food stamps have certainly run out by now. As soon as the first of every month comes, she trades the grocery card for cash. That very cash then pays for her stash while I live off my free breakfast and lunch at school each day.
Tears fill my eyes. Summer is coming, and I know I will spend my days hungry and my nights hiding from whatever scumbag hangs out while she lives from one high to the next.
“LoraLeigh, where did you put it?” she cries out desperately. “Please, baby girl, Momma needs her medicine.” The walls bang as she begins hitting them with her arms and head, trying to draw me out of hiding.
“Dear God in heaven above,” I whisper as the tears fall down my face, “my friend at school, Tawnie, told me to believe in you. She says you protect little children. I need to be protected. Send me someone to take it all away. Please take me away.” I look to the darkened ceiling above me, hoping on some miracle there really is a God, and he will save me from my hell on earth.
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Coming May 18th!
Lance (Roughnecks Short, #3)
Value, worth—these are things I don’t have. College degree, great job—none of that matters if you look in the mirror and can’t find anything to love.
Structure, dedication, and determination are the traits that Candace Jones has survived and thrived on. When no one cares at home, it takes her self-drive to push and work her way through college. Life is funny while you’re growing up, and adulthood isn’t any easier than childhood. Little girl dreams are often destroyed before they can even begin.
Lance ‘Rush’ Miller works hard and plays even harder. He lives life from one adrenaline rush to the next, from working as a roughneck to trick riding his street bike. He has it made and knows it.
Two complete opposites are thrown together when Candace finds herself in need of a quick escape that Lance is all too willing to give her.
What happens when firm resolve crashes into wild abandon?
Chelsea Camaron was born and raised in Coastal North Carolina. She currently resides in Southern Louisiana with her husband and two children but her heart is always Carolina day dreaming.
Chelsea always wanted to be a writer, but like most of us, let fear of the unknown grab a hold of her dream. She realized that if she was going to tell her daughter to go for her dreams, that it was time to follow her own advice.
Chelsea grew up turning wrenches alongside her father, and from that grew her love for old muscle cars and Harley Davidson motorcycles, which just so happened to inspire the Love and Repair and Hellions Ride series.
When she is not spending her days writing you can find her playing with her kids, attending car shows, going on motorcycle rides on the back of her husband’s Harley, snuggling down with her new favorite book or watching any movie that Vin Diesel might happen to be in.
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