Chilling sights and committed sins haunt his dreams, but there is only more to come.
James Turner is not one to shove his emotions in a bottle, but his current circumstances have rendered bottling a necessity. The harrowing memory that looms in his mindâthe crime committed months prior with his chosen family in a desperate act of survivalâis rarely, if ever, spoken of.
True solace evades him, though, and who weighs on his shoulders nearly as heavily is the one he shouldnât want. A close friendâs little sister. The one that he knows should be forbidden. Cassie Cohen. Neatly placed within his friend group and having experienced the same living nightmare, she is more than familiar with all that could chill one to the bone. Bonded in trauma, the pair share a connection that is impossible to ignore.
As life would have it, though, their adversity is yet to end. The small town that they reside in is covertly being shaken to its core. Rumor has it that womenâsome of them dancersâare going missing.
James and Cassieâs past is intertwinedâŠand so is their future.
Chilling sights and committed sins haunt his dreams, but there is only more to come.
James Turner is not one to shove his emotions in a bottle, but his current circumstances have rendered bottling a necessity. The harrowing memory that looms in his mindâthe crime committed months prior with his chosen family in a desperate act of survivalâis rarely, if ever, spoken of.
True solace evades him, though, and who weighs on his shoulders nearly as heavily is the one he shouldnât want. A close friendâs little sister. The one that he knows should be forbidden. Cassie Cohen. Neatly placed within his friend group and having experienced the same living nightmare, she is more than familiar with all that could chill one to the bone. Bonded in trauma, the pair share a connection that is impossible to ignore.
As life would have it, though, their adversity is yet to end. The small town that they reside in is covertly being shaken to its core. Rumor has it that womenâsome of them dancersâare going missing.
James and Cassieâs past is intertwinedâŠand so is their future.
Itâs strange how life can toy with a person. How the simple passing of time can change someone. How experiences can melt someone down as if they were made of metal and reforge them into somethingâŠnew. And that something new could also be improvedâit most certainly couldâhowever, I often wondered if the reforging could render the metal brittle and breakable. If the reforging wasnât a step above but simply a weak attempt to give the metal new life without appearing outwardly damaged. If the reforging was simply a bandage to cover the ugly wounds that were once disgustingly apparent.Â
There was no doubt where I would place my metaphorical smelting. It had occurred months ago during a time that I prayed I could forget, and I was currently stuck in a strange, liquified purgatory that left meâŠlost. Day after day, week after week, Iâve been attempting to go through the motions of sleep, eat, repeat.Â
Iâve been doing so out of necessity becauseâŠthatâs what animals do, right? Sure, thereâs some occasional exercise, depending on the species. Some act playful; some donât. But thatâs the gist of itâŠsleep, eat, repeat. Animals do what they need to do to keep their bodies movingâto liveâto thriveâuntil they die.
Weâre animals. Humans are animals, so I supposed that while I was trapped within the molten stage of my own purgatory, I could do just thatâŠI could sleep, eat, and repeat.Â
But no. Humans need more than that. Our emotionsâŠthey go far beyond allowing us to simply sleep, eat, and repeat. They have the ability to make us run both hot and cold, twisting the monotony of what could be a simple existence into something far more complex. Into something that could bring us a joy so brightâso warm that it heats our body from the feeling alone. Unfortunately, the flip side of the coin of this is darkness. A hellish void thatâs freezing to the point that we could be pushed to end it all. Thereâs love. Hate. Jealousy. Guilt. Repressed Desire.
That last oneâŠfuck, that last one. Iâve felt all of the spectrums of emotion because Iâm human, of course, but repressed desire is one that Iâve been growing increasingly familiar with. And that, in turn, is beginning to drive me mad because Iâm a man that runs hotâI always have. I emote. My feelings are absorbed with the full extent of their power and worn on my sleeves for all to see, so to repress something out of what feels like necessityâŠitâs unnatural to me.Â
And I think itâs starting to affect how I outwardly appear to others. I think itâs starting to make me lookâŠbitter. Grumpy.Â
Even now, I was grumbling to myself as I hunched over my mealâa leftover plate of tikka masala from the night priorâdesperately wishing that I could push my chair backward to ease my aching shoulders. The idea was impossible, of course, because the stool, along with all the other stools that surrounded the so-called dining space, were bolted to the ground. I wasnât sure if Corporate America thought that all of us were inbred criminals who would steal even the chairs in the kitchen space, but the thought of it irked me.
Truthfully, it had never bothered me before. The stools, I mean. But the tangent that I had unnecessarily ventured on within my mind regarding my molten state and repressed desire had suddenly made me sullenâŠand I was grinding my teeth together as my friend and colleague Shawn Brooks entered the break room. He strutted his way past me, turned to the left to walk around the peninsula of a white countertop, and beelined to the fridge. I watched as he grabbed an orange-tinged Tupperware that had a yellow sticky note adhered to the red top that read: Brooks.
âTurner,â he greeted me as he popped the lid and threw it into the microwave.
âWhatâs up, Brooks?â I replied, pushing my lunch around with a fork in my own plastic-ware.Â
The button-down shirt he wore had a blue checkered pattern, and it criss-crossed as he folded his arms over his chest, cocking his head at me. Shawnâs light green eyes, which offset the dark tone of his skin in a striking manner, narrowed at me in mock accusation.Â
âYou havenât answered my question from earlier.â
I took a bite of chicken, which had turned cold, chewed, and swallowed. âWhat question?â
âTomorrowâyou goinâ out with us?â
I nearly spat my next bite back in the plastic container. âI thought you were joking?â
His dark eyebrows rose. âAbout spending quality time with a good friend? No. Thanks for that reply, thoughââ
âBrooks,â I scoffed. âCome on, donât do that fuckinâ guilt thing you do.â
âYou look miserable lately, Jay,â Shawn groaned. âIt would do you some good to let off some goddamn steam.â
I sighed, placed the top on my Tupperware, and snapped it shut. âLetting off steam does not equate to going to a strip club, Brooks.â
He threw his short mess of thick curls back as he whined, âYeah, yeah, James Turner doesnât do strip clubs. He doesnât do one-night stands. Heâs a committed man. Oh, please, Jayâyou havenât been with a woman in months.â
âUmâŠI donât share my entire life with you. You have no idea if Iâve been seeing someone lately or not.â
âOh. Have you been seeing someone, then?â
âIâno, whateverâlook, going to a strip club has nothing to do with being committed to someone,â I retorted. âI donât wanna walk into a place with loud-ass music, half-naked women, and dollar bills all over the floorââ
âYeah,â Shawn interrupted me in a sarcastic tone, âthat sounds like a terrible time.â
âShawnââ
He gasped dramatically, his vibrant eyes widened, and the microwave dinged.
âYou did not just first-name me. My first name is reserved for people who are so inclined to scream it out.â His jokingly shocked gaze flashed to me. âUnlessâŠâ
âBrooks, please.â
Shawn grabbed his meal from the microwave, walked over, and sat on the stool beside me. He shot me an uncharacteristically serious glance.
âDonât make me say it,â he murmured.
âSay what?â
He sighed. âFine, Iâll say it. I mean this with all the love in the world, but youâve beenâŠbleh since you finalized the divorce with your wife.â
âDammit, Brooks.â
I didnât think of her muchâswear to God, I didnât, but his mention of my failed marriage did make my thoughts swing back to Allison.
I thought it would hit me like a punch to the gut at the time. Mutually ending a relationship with a woman whom I thought was the love of my life should have hit me like a punch to the gut, but the sparks had fizzled out long before we inevitably called it quits. The main issue was obviousâclichĂ©, almostâwe got married too soon. I mean, so soon that my parents assumed that her father was walking me down the aisle with a shotgun due to an unexpected pregnancy kind of soon.Â
I wasnât.Â
I was just filled with such an infatuation that I couldnât stop myself from diving headfirst into everything Alli. Into her long, blonde hairâher bright blue eyesâher tan legsâthe way sheâd moan my name and bite my ear when I was deep inside of her. It was a toxic high that I had once related to finding God.
I have since realized that that God has quite the morbid sense of humor, but that was beside the point.
Happiness with Alli was so long ago that even thinking of it felt like a fever dream. That was before we came to realize all of our irreconcilable differences. She liked going out to clubs; I hated dancing and loud spaces. She liked the great indoors; I tried to go camping as often as possible. She wanted to immediately start having children; I thought that was a terrible fucking idea considering her penchant for clubbing. The woman loved to shop; I was trying to save for the down payment on a house. She loved attention; I was jealous by nature. She bought a cat on a whim; I was allergic. Okay, that last one wasnât entirely irreconcilable, but I really wanted a dog, and she put her foot downâanyway.Â
We just didnât fit together, and we could only try for so long to force our respective puzzle pieces together. It was two years before the fire that once burned between us no longer had so much as embers, let alone any trace of heat at all, and we respectably went our separate ways.
Or, that was what I fucking thought was going to happen.Â
The divorceâthe legality of it all was what really smacked me in the face. Her lawyerâthe lawyer that I didnât even realize she had hired until it was too damn late to get a respectable one for myselfâbelieved that, amongst many other valuables, she was entitled to our home. The whole. Goddamn. Thing. Not a dime to me. Now, I didnât give a shit about the money. I had money. I wasnât rolling in it by any means, but I wasnât about to put up a fight for who won the television that we previously had in our living room.Â
She did, by the wayâshe won the rights to that, too.Â
It didnât matter. It was in the pastâtruly in the past. It wasnât the divorce that had put me in such a shitty headspace. I didnât blame Shawn for assuming thatâI also didnât correct him because I didnât care to speak of it.
âI am not bleh,â I argued.
âThen come out and have a beer,â he spoke through bites of spaghetti.
âAt the strip club?â
Shawn swallowed and then nodded. âYeah.â
âWhy do I need to go with you to a strip club? We can go get a beer literally anywhere else.â
âTommy suggested it,â he noted.
âTommy?â I said the name with an upward inflection, attempting to place him.
âHeâs in sales.â
âHowâve I not met Tommy from sales?â I questioned. âThat doesnât sound familiar at all.â
âHeâs new,â Shawn stated. âStarted on Monday.â
My eyebrows unintentionally raised. âAnd heâs so bold to recommend that we all go to a strip club together for an after-hours event? I feel like I should talk to human resources.â
Shawn laughed. âI thought itâd be good for you, so I saidââ
âDonât say it,â I muttered.
âThat youâd tag along,â he finished his sentence with an admission, smiling wide with not a single trace of guilt.
I griped, âBrooks, why?â
ââCause you need to get your mind off of your ex-wife.â
Oh, good God.
âItâs been threeâŠalmost four months since the divorce was finalized.â I assured him, âTrust me, my mind hasnât been anywhere near Alli.â
Shawn set his fork down in his lunch, interlaced his fingers in front of himself pointedly, and made direct eye contact with me for two whole seconds before stating, âProve it.â
I exhaled. âIâll think about it.â
His teeth blinded me, and he smacked me on my left shoulder twice.
âAtta baby, Jay. I knew you had it in youââ
âThis feels like coercion at its finest,â I retorted as I stood and snatched my Tupperware.
Shawn murmured, âUh huh. Thank me later.â
***
The remainder of my work day was as it usually was. My used Tupperware was stowed by my feet once I returned to my cubicle. I clicked the black button with an up arrow on the right-hand side of my desk, lifting it to the appropriate height, which allowed me to stand as I worked. I jiggled the mouse to wake the screen. My glasses, which I typically wore for late-night driving and computer glare, sat waiting for me next to my keyboard. I grabbed the silver, circular-lensed frames, brought them up to my eyes, and went to work.Â
Staring at spreadsheets day after day, analyzing data and various other reports to determine the financial soundness of companies that invested in our services, wasâŠboring. Thereâs no other way to put itâit was never a job that felt glamorous, but I liked it. I was able to put in my eight hours per day and not concern myself with the stress of working overtime. If I had to call in sick, there was no worry over who would cover for me because the work could wait. I had a decent salary. The benefits were good. The commute was only twenty minutes on a heavy traffic day. Like I said, I didnât have much room to complain.
And though today was a typical day, I found my mind wandering more than it usually did. Perhaps it was because Shawn had mentioned Allison and assumed that I was discontent over the lack of her presence in my life, but I was drifting off to memories that I seldom tried to visit while I drove back to my apartmentâthe apartment that I had taken from Claire Branson and Zoey Sheffield.Â
It was the day that I was told that the house I had bought with Alli was no longer mineâthat was the day that I had moved into apartment 2A. I knew Claire and Zoey wellâŠbetter than well. They were both part of the friend circle that we had built for ourselves here in Salem, Virginia.Â
Claire was my brother Lukeâs girlfriend. It had been approximately one year since I had teamed up with her, Luke, Zoey, andâfor what seemed an inexplicable reason at the timeâtheir across-the-hall neighbor, Liam Cohen. The skeletons in Claireâs closet had come to roost, and save for a few wounds that were far from superficial, we had all come out safe on the other side. Traumatized and forever bonded by what we had gone through together, but safe nonetheless.Â
And Zoeyâwell, sheâs Claireâs best friend. Her old roommate. And I had a bit of a fling with her a few months back. It all went sideways when she fell in love with LiamâŠthat wasnât something that I dwelled on, for there are no hard feelings there. Not only was it months ago that Zoey had been officially seeing Liam, but it was impossible to hold a grudge when we had all been put through hell for a second time.Â
Just after Zoey had stepped aside from our casual fling, she and Claire had moved out of their apartment due to a break-in from Zoeyâs stalker. A horrifying event that was perfectly timed due to my recent homelessness, I shacked up in their apartment all by my lonesome because they were concerned about the threat and justâŠnever left, I guess. In a long story very short, we all attempted to find the man after I had moved inâto detain him and call the police, of courseâand donât even ask me how she did it, but when he began to threaten us all, Zoey ended him.Â
And I really do mean ended him. I saw the corpse. I helped toss him in the river. I watched him float awayâwe all did, along with Liamâs sister, Cassie.
It was a moment that was pinpointed in my life. One that forever solidified my memories to be filed in folders labeled as before or after its existence. It was my metaphorical smeltingâŠand the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I really was liquid. If I really was waiting for a mold of some sort that I could be poured into so I could begin anew. Perhaps, instead, I had already been reforged. Perhaps I had been melted and left to solidify in a horrifically warped version of myself. Perhaps this was it, and I was just fucking damaged.
I shook my head to clear it, the reminder of the things that I had witnessed and the impact that it had on me an unwelcome one that I hadnât revisited in quite some time, and a glass of whiskey slid across the countertop to sit pretty in front of me.
After arriving home, I found myself wandering to Henryâs, the bar just down the street from the apartment complex, as I regularly do. The space was small and the lighting dim. Music often played so quietly that one would have to strain their ears to hear it, and regulars would frequently wander in and out. It was a watering hole that I had grown to love, and it just so happened that Luke and Claire were two of the employees who manned the bar.
Luke stood before me, his grey eyesâmy grey eyesâsquinting at me. I knew the look. He didnât have to say anything to go along with it, but he did anyway.
âWhatâs under your skin, Jay?â
I shrugged, reached for the glass, and brought it to my lips. The liquid went down smooth, and the taste lingered on my tongue, wetting the facial hair around my lips just enough to keep the scent fresh in my nostrils with every sip.
âWeird day,â I told him bluntly.
âYeah?âÂ
âYeah.â
Claire emerged from a door to the back room on the opposite end of the bar. She held an unopened bottle of clear liquor that I couldnât discern, and she appeared wholeheartedly unbothered until her gaze quickly found mine. Her red hair was up in a messy bun, and the yellow light from the shelves of alcohol to the left of her shined through the strands, making them glow as she cocked her head to the side.Â
âWhatâs up with you?â she asked, setting the bottle down in its appropriate spot on the lower-most shelf and walking over to us.
âSaid he had a weird day,â Luke answered for me, crossing his arms.
âHmm.â Claire mimicked his motions.
I glanced at Luke. âI can talk for myself, you know.â
âUh huh,â he mumbled. âSo, whatâs up?â
I chose the least prominent thought in my mind. âMy friend from work wants me to go to a strip club with him.â
âHas your friend met you?â Luke asked, his eyebrows high and his expression amused.
The bell from the entrance chimed overhead, and I ignored it.
âDonât get me started,â I returned, holding up a hand. âTold him it wasnât my sceneâhe does not care.â
Claire chuckled. âTell him youâre not goingâhe canât force you.â
I groaned. âHe made this whole fuss about thinking Iâm hung up on Alli.â
âOoo,â Luke voiced with a cringe as he ran a hand through his typically well-coiffed brown hair. âYeah, no.â
âPlus,â I added, âhe already told the guy who suggested the place that Iâd tag along.â
A high-pitched voice trilled from behind me, âOop, catch us up,â and I didnât even turn to view her, for I knew where she was intending to go.
Her usual seat was to my right, and Liam normally sat beside her, on her right. The blonde duo did as such, and Zoeyâs tiny frame slid onto the barstool beside me.Â
Before I could answer, Claire spoke for me, âJayâs work friend invited him out to a strip club.â
Liam let out a loud, âHA!â while Claire turned to grab his and Zoeyâs usual drinks. His mop of hair was thrown back, an arm wrapped around his upper stomach as he laughed, and he beamed as he stated, âThatâs funny.â
I watched as Zoey pressed her lips together to hold back her laugh, her green eyes shining at his amusement.
âYou wanna sort him out?â I asked her in a grumble.Â
Zoey argued, âHey, heâs not wrong. You in a strip club is hilarious. What are ya gonna do? Ask a stripper to go on a date before she gives you a dance?â
âIâm not going to ask for a dance,â I clarified, grabbing my glass and taking a quick sip. âIâll get in, get out, get back home. Itâs a visit of obligation.â
âUh huh, sure,â Zoey countered as Claire slid her a bottle of cider and Liam a beer. âWhich one you going to? Red Light? Gas Lamp? PTâs? Rifle Ralphâs?â
Liam lifted his beer, smiling widely at her until he took a drink.
âAre those real places?â I questioned. âThe fuck is Rifle Ralphâs?â
âAll very real,â Zoey noted. âRifle Ralphâs is full nudeâyou should go to Rifle Ralphâs.â
I glanced at Liam. âAre you not concerned about how she knows this?â
âNah,â he replied in a snicker. âWe already had the talk. If she wants to apply for a job at a strip club, I told her Iâd do the sameââ
âAnd I do not want the housewives or housemen of this town or the ones surrounding it scraping their nails down his body, so that dream died about a millisecond after it was born,â Zoey quipped.
âDirty Danâs wouldâve paid well,â Liam remarked quietly, and Zoey elbowed him hard enough in the ribcage for her dainty force to cause him to cough and giggle simultaneously.
Luke and Claire laughed at their exchange, the entrance dinged overhead once more, and I peeked toward it with a smile on my face. My smile fell away quickly, and I took a large sip of whiskey because Cassie had just walked in.
She was tall. For a woman, I supposeâfive foot nine, maybe five foot ten. Her brown hair was straightâlike a curtain of rain that fell from her head down to her waist and fuckinâ shimmered. Swear to God, it shimmered.Â
I mean, fuck, did she put glitter in it? I didnât fuckinâ knowâdoesnât matter.Â
Her smile wasâŠlarge. Blinding. It would scrunch up her slim nose and warp her freckles, pinch the corners of her brown eyes, and turn them into tiny slits. Due to it being early November, it was freezing as shit outsideâŠand for whatever reason, she was wearing a crop top. It had long sleeves, but, yâknowâstill. The white fabric stopped just above her waist, showing off her stomach and a very tiny belly button ring. Her legs were long. Tan. I couldnât see that they were tan right now, considering that she was wearing jeans.Â
Thank God she was wearing jeans.
No, I just knew that they were tan because we had met over the summer, and every day that I saw her, she wore shorts. Short shorts. Denim shorts. Black, white, blue, every goddamn color imaginableâyou bet your ass she had them. Wearing that along with a pair of black high-top kicks, sheâd stroll into Henryâs, say hello to her brother, andâŠI donât knowâŠexist.
Whatever.
I sound bitter, I know. I canât fuckinâ help it.
She waved a white-tip manicured hand at us all, held up an index finger to signify that she would be right back, and strolled directly to the womenâs room.
âDo you have to do that every time she comes in here?â Claire muttered.
âDo what?â I returned.
âHave a look on your face that screams that youâd rather her be literally anywhere else.â
I sighed. âThat obvious?â
Claire snorted. âYouâre not exactly a master of disguise, Jay.â
I couldnât help but laugh at that.
Luke interjected, âDrop it, babyâheâs just not a fan. Itâs all good.â
âCas can be a lot,â Liam interjected in an understanding tone. âI get it.â
Oh, Liam, you are far from getting it.
âSheâs nice,â Claire whined back.
âClaireâs right,â Zoey nearly sang, her pixie cut tilting to the side as she argued alongside the rest. âCassieâs nice.â
âYeah, sheâs plenty nice,â I retorted. âNo qualms.â
âIf you had no qualms, you wouldnât glare at her so much,â Claire argued. âWhatâs your deal?â
âSoânot dropping it,â Luke murmured.
âSheâsâŠâ
I considered my words, and nothing came out. Instead, I buried my face in my whiskey and shrugged. Claire grumbled something about me needing to play nice, and she wandered off to check on the few customers who were sitting at the tables to the right of the bar.Â
What could I say? That sheâd gotten under my skin? That she sends my mind somewhere I didnât want it to be? That I was wholly tired of seeing her?
No, I couldnât say any of those things because the insinuation would be damning. It wasnât that I didnât like Cassie. She was fine, really. More than fine. Nice girl. Good sense of humor. Attractive as all hell, obviously, and there was no doubt that some sort of chemistry lingered between us. I felt it constantlyâit was a low simmering that had started off in the base of my gut and warped its way up into my chest over the past few months.Â
I wasnât an idiot. I knew what the feeling insinuated, and I wasnât averse to romanceâquite the contrary. I had considered exploring thisâŠthis crush with Cassie. I had given it significant thought, as I typically do with all things in my life. However, she wasâŠyoungâŠnearly a decade my junior. And she was Liamâs little sisterâso it could cause some sort of a rift within our tight-knit group.Â
Therefore, she was off limitsâŠand that was fine. The crush that felt rather inappropriate at times would dissipate eventually. There were certain times that were more difficult than others to repress the desire that I held for Cassie Cohen, thoughâŠand for whatever reason, tonight was one of those times.
I felt rather than saw her slink into the stool on my left. It was where she usually satâdirectly next to me, so close that I could feel the heat of her through my clothing.Â
Cassie reached for my glass, brought it to her lips, and took a large sip. The act was one that she repeated every time we were both at Henryâsâshe would steal my whiskey, drink the remainder of it, and buy me my next round. She did it with a teasing smile. A playful attitude that dared me to, I donât know, chastise her for it.Â
She did so just now, and even though I knew it was coming, the gesture twisted something up inside of me. It was the typical yearning that I experienced around her and, as usual, I had to stifle the urge to grab her by the back of her neck, yank her lips to mine to taste the whiskey on her tongue that she had stolen from me, and remind her that the next round is on her.
I closed my eyes for a beat, took a cleansing breath through my nostrils, and let it outâbecause that just couldnât happen. Normally, I would shoot Luke a glance and he would get me my next drink, but for whatever reason, I was feeling especially weak tonight. So weak that I justâŠneeded to go home.
âYou have such good taste,â Cassie joked as she set my glass down in front of herself, taking it as her own.
âCas,â Liam admonished her. âStop bothering him.â
I sighed. âUh huh. Good taste. Right. Iâm, ahâIâm outta here tonight, actually.â
âOh, come on, Jay,â Cassie complained. âStay. Have fun. Please.â
The last word came out as a playful beg, and she pouted out her lower lip in a way that made me want to bite it. I considered her last word for only a moment until my brain damn near screamed at me.
âEarly morning at work,â I lied, needlessly telling her, âGo ahead and drink my whiskeyâI wonât.â
Luke and Claire griped from behind the counter, stating that the night was still plenty young. Zoey loudly agreed with them, and Liam mirrored similar thoughts aloud from the right of her.
I didnât listen to them, though. I paid my tab, began walking toward the front door, and caught Cassie frowning as I chanced a peek back at her. She waved goodbye, I waved back, and I returned home to sleep, eat, and repeat.Â
The nightmares are relentless and a constant haunting. But after everything James and his friends had been through, what else can you expect? It broke him and he canât escape the trauma, or the constant feeling of foreboding. But the events that haunt him are what connects him to Cassie. Theyâre bonded through unspeakable circumstances, and their connection shifts into something they can no longer deny as they navigate through the latest horrors inflicted upon their small town.Â
Eliza has done it again. Shattered Veil is the third book in the series, and with each book I fall more and more in love with Elizaâs writing and ability to keep readers on the edge of their seats, while also laughing out loud, and falling in love with the characters.Â
While this is part of a series, it can be read as a standalone because there are brief and succinct recaps of the events that unfolded in the other books. However, I highly recommend reading them all, and in order, because it honestly makes Shattered Veil that much more thrilling and enjoyable.Â
James and Cassie might be my favorite couple yet (although itâs hard to choose). James is a tortured soul, shattered from the trauma he and his friends have endured. Cassie puts on a tough face, but she has a soft spot for James, and the two of them together just make sense. Thereâs some steamy scenes in which their chemistry is evident, and I wonât lie - I blushed quite a few times while reading them.Â
Behind the romance, thereâs obviously a dark and thrilling plot taking place. Once crap hit the face, I could not tear my eyes away from the pages. It seems each book gets more and more sinister, and I am absolutely here for it. And in the midst of all of it, there is still plenty of laugh out loud moments - particularly from one character who makes an unexpected return.Â
Overall, Shattered Veil did not disappoint. Darkness, humor, and romance all packed into one book - I am one happy romantic suspense reader!Â