Amy Bensen 04 Unbroken Read Online Free PDF

Liam, my hand over the tattoo that is so a part of him. It makes me feel more a part of him as well. I remember Liam talking to me, telling me a story about his first trip to Asia, the soft, masculine caress of his voice like a lullaby, relaxing and still somehow seductive. I remember asking him questions, my voice sounding as relaxed and groggy as I felt. I was sated, happy in that safe place he creates for me where there is only light and no darkness. I’d fought the way my eyelids had fluttered, willing away the sleep overcoming me. And then the nightmare I tried to shove away but failed . . .
    Smoke chokes me, filling my lungs, fire licking at my heels.
    “Jump!” Chad yells. “Jump!”
    My heart is racing and my belly is burning as badly as my lungs, my feet wobbling on the edge of the windowsill. And somehow, I know that this is good-bye. To Chad. To my mother, who was screaming in agony in the other room but has now gone silent. To life as I know it. I don’t want to let go. I don’t . . . want to let go.
    “Jump!” Chad yells again, and I just do it. I jump, my stomach flipping with the action, my heart racing, the adrenaline surging through me as I brace for the impact, which will steal what little air I have left. And then . . . and then . . . nothing. No pain. No impact. No . . . nothing. Everything goes black. But that’s not how it happened. That’s not what came next, and on some level I know this because I’m asleep, living one of my many nightmares.
    Suddenly, I flash forward several years to when I’d lived in New York, hiding from an unknown enemy. Nervously fidgeting, I stand at my landlord’s door as I prepare to tell him that I’m going to be late on my rent. Again. I’m going to be late again when he told me the last time was it. No more extensions. Inhaling deeply, I steel myself for the grumpy old man’s attitude and knock. And wait. And wait. I knock again, but still there is no answer. Of course not. It’s Christmas Eve. He has family. He has people he loves that he’s spending time with tonight. My gut wrenches as I walk down the hallway and up several flights of stairs to the foyer I share with only one other tenant. I stop dead in my tracks on the final step, staring at the box sitting in front of my door.
    My heart begins to race, roaring in my ears. I know without question that my past is visiting me tonight. Forcing myself to breathe, I step forward and kneel down in front of the package, my long winter coat weighing me down like the dread that sits on my shoulders. On the top there is a symbol, a triangle with hieroglyphic writing inside, that tells me this parcel is from my invisible guardian angel. I don’t know if that means it’s good news or bad.
    A pebble of hope forms in my chest. Could the running be over? Could this be the moment when I hear that I no longer have to hide? Urgency builds inside of me, and I stand, unlocking my door. Shoving it open, I flip on the lights, using my foot to scoot the box over the threshold of my tiny apartment. Stepping inside, I lock the door behind me, and for a moment I absorb the blow of a living area with a simple navy blue sleeper couch and matching chair, a wooden coffee table, and a closet-sized kitchen to the left being all I have in my sanctuary and hiding place.
    My lips curl over my teeth as I fight the burn in my eyes. I’m not sure why, but I don’t want to open the package. I’m afraid to. I’m always afraid, and I hate that this is who I’ve become. But still I take my time and loop my purse on the hook above my head on the door before taking off my coat. Running my hands down my black skirt, I bend down and carry the box to the living room, where I set it on the coffee table. And stare at it. When it doesn’t open itself—imagine that?—my gaze lifts to the four-foot-tall artificial tree that I’d bought two years ago and I stand, crossing the few steps needed to turn it on, staring at the