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Non-Fiction meets Fiction in Last Words by Shari J. Ryan in this NEW RELEASE!

10/8/2017

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Read an excerpt of Last Words, where Non-Fiction meets Fiction,
 
and the lines in between are blurred by forbidden love. 
​NOW LIVE and ONLY $0.99!

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Last words were never spoken because
​love doesn't stop until a heart is no longer beating.

SNEAK PEEK

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Diary Entry One
Day 1 - January 1942

Mama said to close my eyes and take a deep breath when I got scared. It would offer me a moment of distraction from whatever was making me upset. So, I counted as I inhaled, wishing the sounds would go away and leave us to the little freedom we had left. With my eyes closed, I was more aware of my racing pulse and the rhythmic sound of my unsteady breaths.
The clothes covering my body smelled of clean soap—a scent I had always enjoyed after Mama and I brought the dry laundry in from the clothesline outside. I knew at that moment that I wanted to remember the fresh smell because it was home, and that’s what they were there for—our home.
Heavy footsteps on the creaking floors sent shivers through my soul. I heard them moving through the darkness of our small house, then a beam from a flashlight bounced off the walls and worked its way through the makeshift cloth doors I was hiding behind.
“Their plates are half full, and the food is still warm,” one of them said. “They're in here somewhere.” As the voices continued, I heard one of them chewing the food Mama had just prepared for us. It made me sick.
We knew the day was coming, but we didn't know when. I had foolishly suggested we run away and hide, but Mama and Papa said it wasn't a possibility because there was no place to hide.
We were stalling, hoping for a miracle, but there had been no miracles in Prague for quite some time, and the hope we once held onto was fading by the minute.
As I listened, feeling helpless and full of fear, I could hear them in Jakob's room, tossing his books and tearing his drawings down from the walls. Then, a loud crash followed the smaller sounds. A tear skated down my cheek as imagined the noise had come from his bureau or bed.
A groan followed every bang, and wrestling noises ensued. “No, no,” Jakob screamed.
“Who else lives here with you?” a man asked.
“No, one,” Jakob shouted. “I live alone.”
Jakob was a little less than two years older than I, and at nineteen, he was trying to protect our family from what was happening, but even the smartest and bravest couldn't seem to conquer the army of Nazis hunting us down.
“You're a liar.” The man continued yelling at Jakob in a thick German accent that was hardly understandable, but then I clearly heard the man follow with, “I can see the nervous look in your eye.” Our walls were thin, and I heard every one of Jakob’s nervous breaths. He always had trouble breathing in stressful conditions, and that situation was making it so much worse.
The sounds of wrestling continued and I squeezed my eyes shut while trying to imagine being somewhere else, but it was impossible to block out the truth.
Papa stormed through the hallway, interrupting the interrogation in Jakob’s bedroom. I knew it was him by the way his shoes clapped against the wooden floors—it was different from the sound of a boot's thud. “Let go of my son, now!” Papa yelled. “Jakob, run!”
“He was lying,” one of the Nazi's said again—the man’s voice was calm and apathetic about the torment he was causing our family. “How many more of you are in here?”
“There is no one else here,” Papa said. “Take me and leave my son; he is of no use to you.”
“You're a liar too,” the Nazi said, playfully, as if he were enjoying the anguish. I didn’t know how many of those soldiers were in our house, but I was sure I heard at least three different voices.
Boots charged through the hallway, and as the echoes grew louder, I realized they must have known exactly where I was hiding. They were heading straight for me.
The cloth hanging in front of my closet’s opening were torn from the rod as the glow of their flashlights pierced through the fabric that was still draped over me.
I was kicked hard—hard enough that I may have normally squealed or let out a cry, but I held my breath through the pain, trying my best to be brave. “What is under here?” a man questioned. I felt as though I was being teased and toyed with, just as Papa was. It continued to be a game for them as the clothes were peeled away, one article at a time, until I was uncovered and exposed as I cowered in the corner while their light blinded me.
My racing heart felt as though it were free-falling through my body like a lead weight, and I felt numb as I was pulled up to my feet. Fear, unlike anything I had ever known overwhelmed all my senses, making it hard to breathe. A hand cuffed my arm tightly and the soldier yanked me forward, forcing me to trip over my dress as I stumbled to keep up with his pace. “No!” I shrieked. “Leave us alone!”
“Do not fight with us, Jew. Grab a coat and a bag. You’re coming with us.”
“I have a right to be here! This is our home, and you are trespassing.” Papa often told me that my mouth would get me into trouble someday, but if that were the day, I would rather it be because I was trying to protect my family versus giving in without a fight.
“You no longer have any rights. You are a Jew—you're nothing more than an animal.” The Nazi stared down at me, pausing before dragging me out the door. His lip snarled as if he were an angry dog. I couldn’t understand what I did to make anyone hate me that much. He didn’t know me or my family. He didn’t know any of us living in that town, but he hated us because someone told him to feel that way.
“I am a human being, like you.” I spoke so softly, my words were probably inaudible, but I had to say it. He needed to hear how I felt, even if it meant nothing to him. 
Despite my efforts, however, it was obvious my words had no effect on him. All that seemed to matter was that he knew I was weaker than him, and I didn’t have the physical strength to resist his power as he pulled me out of my house. He dragged me by my heels behind him as we followed in the path of Papa and Jakob.
“Please,” I heard Mama cry out. “Please don’t take my family.”
“Mama, go back inside,” I shouted at her.
“Let my children go!” she shouted. “Those are my babies. I put them on this earth, and you cannot take them away from me. They’re mine!”
“They are not children or babies,” one of the Nazis said.
“Let them go, you monsters!” she shouted louder as she tried to jump on the man pulling me. She clawed at his back, pounding her fists against him, but did little, if any, damage. “Run, Amelia. Run!” Mama told me.
The Nazi soldier didn’t loosen his grip on me for a second. I could have pulled as hard as I wanted to, but he had me trapped. “I can’t get away, Mama.”
Another Nazi took hold of Mama and dragged her away. I watched over my shoulder as she was pushed down to her knees while cradling her hands around the back of her head.
I prayed to God, begging him not to let them hurt her.
“Amelia, turn around and go!” she cried out. I had never heard Mama cry before then, not once in my entire life.
I cried softly to myself, begging them not to touch her. I kept saying, “No,” over and over, but none of them heard me. No one cared.
The world froze around me and a cold sweat coated my skin as that Nazi screamed a line of obscenities at Mama before pulling out his gun. I watched as he aimed it at the back of her head, and again, I prayed he was just trying to torture and scare her, but the sound of a loud click changed that thought. “Mama!” I screamed. “I love you, Mama. Please, don’t hurt her!”
“Amelia,” she sobbed, looking up at me. “Fight and be strong. For me.”
“Mama, no,” I whimpered as the blast from the gun thumped against the inside and outside of my chest. I tried to escape the hands pushing me along, but when I saw Mama fall, crumpling to the ground like a rag doll, I froze in place—I felt paralyzed. “Mama, please don't leave me!” It didn’t matter how much I begged. My voice wasn’t heard, and if it was, it was ineffective and too late. 

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MORE ABOUT LAST WORDS

Amelia - 1942:

The inside of my closet held the last bit of my freedom before I was torn from my home and shoved onto a dark train.

Our destination was even darker. "Women and children to the right. Men to the left," they shouted at us.

Everything was taken from me, leaving only the smoke filled air, piercing screams, and soul-burning cries.

I was slowly starved and weakened to the bone, but there was a man--a Nazi--who brought me extra food. He called himself a prisoner too, but he scared me, and I wondered if he was the enemy I should fear the most.

Emma - Current Day:

My grandmother hid her past in an old diary under her bed. The tattered, brown leather book sat there for years until she asked me to find it and read her unspoken words. Now, her stories and secrets are consuming every moment of my life.

She's dying ... and asking for a man no one in our family has ever heard of.

I never imagined a hand-written book could change my entire life, but it has. It opened my eyes to a new beginning, and I learned that love is not the unsaid word my grandmother has refused to speak. It's an action--it's longevity, taboo and sometimes forbidden. Do we fight for what's wrong, or do we spend our lives searching for what's right?

Last words were never spoken because love doesn't stop until a heart is no longer beating.

NOW ONLY $0.99 & Free on Kindle Unlimited!

I Amazon US I Amazon UK I Amazon CA I Amazon AU I 

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☆☆☆☆☆☆

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International Bestselling Author, Shari J. Ryan, hails from Central Massachusetts where she lives with her husband and two lively little boys. Shari has always had an active imagination and enjoys losing herself in the fictional worlds she creates.
When Shari isn't writing or designing book covers, she can usually be found cleaning toys up off the floor.


​      I Website I Facebook I Amazon Author Page I Instagram I Twitter I ​

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NEW SPORTS ROMANTIC COMEDY:  Manservant by Shari J. Ryan

5/15/2017

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Manservant by Shari J. Ryan is NOW LIVE!   This romantic comedy standalone should not be missing from anyone’s MUST READ list! Read an excerpt & grab your copy at the low introductory price of 99 cents! 

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“Ten days, six hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds.” I turn away from the window, exchanging one beautiful view for . . . Liam.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” I fire back at him. “Or is this the part where you pretend to sound superior, knowledgeable, and like some stupid wise owl?” Liam grins, showing his vibrantly white teeth as he hoists himself up onto the kitchen table. “Do you have a loose screw or something?”
His lips pucker into the form of an “o” as his dark brows cast a shadow over his sharp emerald eyes. “Is that all you got?”
“What’s your problem?” I snap, throwing my hands down by my side. The paper I’ve been holding crinkles in my grip, and I realize how enraged I am when I loosen my fingers and the balled-up note drops to the ground.
“The last nanny made it ten days. The one before, six, and the one before that, eight,” he says.
“Well,” I say, flapping my hand at him. “I’m sure I can understand why, seeing as you were most likely a complete asshole to them too.” My head falls to the side, and I cross my arms over my chest, giving Liam a long, hard look. What could he say now?
“You don’t understand anything,” he snickers and hops down from the table.
“So you hang around all day, clean the house, fold laundry, and cook meals, right?”
He nudges me out of the way as he takes over the counter space I was leaning against and grabs the muffin tin. “That’s all I do. I prance around this house in a maid’s uniform with a feather duster,” he scoffs. “God, you’re all the same.”
I create some space between us, moving over to the kitchen table. “Ohhh, okay, I get it. You were in love with one of the nannies and she left you high and dry, breaking your poor weak heart. Is that it?” The first half of my question came out cynically, but as I came to the end of my assumption, I assured myself I hit a nerve. I’m totally right.
Except, who am I to judge a weak heart? I’ve written off men for the past year because of what Andy did to me. Lousy son of a bitch.
Liam didn’t take another jab at me like I assumed he would, which is worse because now I just feel like a jerk.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, painfully.
“For what?” he rebuts quickly.
“What I just said?” I’m looking at his back as if he has two heads. I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m apologizing for, so I can assume he just wants me to grovel now. Nope.
“Whatever,” he says, turning the sink on high.
“And for your information, I plan to last longer than ten days, so you better get used to me being here.”
“Great, well then, there’s one thing I should make real clear right now.”
He turns the sink off, twists around, and leans back against the counter. “You clean up after yourself. I don’t do your dishes, your laundry, or make your bed. Got it?” It’s not like I asked for this or insinuated it. Why would he assume I’d expect something like that? Unless the previous nannies did. Maybe that’s what has his feathers so ruffled. I almost laugh at my own joke, but he still looks pretty ticked off, so I keep it to myself.
“Fine, got it. So, you’re not my manservant, you’re only Samantha’s. Point made.”
Liam’s eyes widen. Actually, they look like they might pop out of his head. “Excuse me?” I shrug and prance out of the kitchen. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” I don’t plan to stop as I head back up the stairs toward my room. “Did you just call me a manservant?”
He’s standing at the bottom of the stairwell, yelling up to me. As much as I’d like to encourage his anger, I continue walking until I reach my room. “Yes, that is what I called you,” I say as I close my door. Ha! I had the final word. That’s what you get for being a jerk. He is kind of a manservant. I believe it’s the male terminology for maid, and well, men still call women cleaners maids. So, there you go.
As I sit down on the edge of the perfectly made bed, I realize my bags are all in my car, and I’m going to have to lug them up here one by one, past the manservant who is probably trying to find a way to get me fired as I sit here. I’m going to ignore him. I’m a grown woman, and I know how to ignore annoying men, no matter how unpleasant looking they are with their stupid, messy, light caramel hair and piercing eyes. Not to mention that gross tan and those big, ugly muscles that are about to tear through his tight t-shirt the next time he gets mad. God, he’s a mess.
I’m not sure how long I can tap my foot against the side of the bed before I pull up my big girl pants and head back out there. Maybe he’s gone.
I open the door slowly, hoping to avoid any noise. I don’t hear anything downstairs, so maybe I’ve lucked out and he left.
Jogging down the steps, I keep my focus pinned on the front door. Why do I care what he could say to me? It’s not like I know him. He’s the one being an asshole, so where’s my self-confidence? I’m not a fifteen-year-old girl.
I’m four steps from the bottom when his voice booms from the open living room that looks up at the stairwell. “Forget something?” he asks.
Being that I was so focused on the door and retrieving my belongings, he scared the shit out of me, and I stumble down three steps, landing directly on my butt. Shit. I hit the last step so hard; the wind in my lungs feels like it’s been sucked out of my body.
I’m just going to pretend my ankle isn’t throbbing and my ass bone doesn’t feel broken. I grip the railing to pull myself up, but shockingly, Liam grabs my arm and helps me up. He’s laughing, which is a real jackass move considering he doesn’t know if I’m okay, and it was kinda his fault that I fell, but it’s not like I should have expected much else from him. I’m surprised he’s even helping me up. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to get back to whatever dishes he was washing.
“Crap.” A dull pain shoots through my ankle, forcing me to drop back down to the step I was sitting on.
“You okay?”
“Like you care?”
“Fine.” He releases his grip from my arm and leaves the room without another word.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

MORE ABOUT MANSERVANT

​I just wanted an easy summer job…

That didn’t happen. Now, I’m in a living nightmare as I work alongside this monster of a man with mesmerizing emerald eyes that look at me inappropriately every time I see him. To add insult to injury, he has a tan I just want to lick, and a butt worth drooling over every time he purposefully walks by me. But, he's an asshat, and looks are everything. I mean, aren't. LOOKS. ARE. NOT. EVERYTHING. Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this?

His job is to clean, cook, and tend to the house we work in. That's why I call him the manservant. Oh, and because it drives him nuts. That's what he gets for torturing me. 

This is a story of little restraint, too much desire, questionable actions, no strength whatsoever, and the best sex I've ever had.

The question is: Do I fall for this crude manservant whose idea of a fun time is to tie people up and do obscene things, or do I give him a taste of his own medicine?

All I'm going to say is . . . Things get weird, then hot, then weird again, and—you get my drift.

Go ahead and laugh. It might not be so funny if it happened to you.

☆☆☆☆☆☆


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☆☆☆☆☆☆

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Shari J. Ryan is an Amazon Top 100 Bestselling author, a Barnes & Noble Top 10 Bestselling author, and an iBookstore #1 Bestselling author. She hails from Central Massachusetts where she lives with her husband and two lively little boys. Shari has always had an active imagination and enjoys losing herself in the fictional worlds she creates.

When Shari isn’t writing, she can usually be found cleaning toys up off the floor.

To learn more, visit her at, www.sharijryan.com.

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New Release & Sneak Peek: Raine's Haven By Shari J. Ryan

2/23/2017

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Raine’s Haven  by Shari J. Ryan is FINALLY LIVE!  
​This forbidden romance is a #MustClick for ONLY 99 cents and is currently FREE on Kindle Unlimited. 
Read a sneak peek and grab your copy of Raine & Haven's powerful love story today! 

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For some senseless reason, I feel compelled to save this stupid chick from getting gang-banged tonight. Walking right up to her, I don’t hesitate before speaking my mind.“You know, you shouldn't be in here." As the words come out of my mouth, I realize I know her. "Dammit. What the hell are you doing here, Haven?" 
In response, a snarl tugs at her lips, and it’s obvious my comment offends her. "Raine?" she questions. “I—I didn’t know you’d—you were going to be here.” She straightens her posture, standing taller as if she were trying to grow more confident by the second.
“Well, there's only one bar between our two towns, and there's not much else to do. So, I guess it’s not hard to find people in this area, as I’m sure you already know.”
“Right. That’s exactly why I’m here.” It’s obvious she’s trying to seem unfazed by what I’m saying as she presses up on her toes and glances over my shoulder like she’s looking for someone. Her friends are all lined up behind her at the bar, and I’m not sure who else she’d know in here. “I guess there’s nothing to do in this place either.” I think she’s trying to sound bored, which again, makes me wonder what would make Haven and her high-class friends think this place is a good idea? It definitely isn’t the spray-painted brick walls on the outside of this place. I also think it’s safe to assume that the thirty Harleys parked out front didn’t have a blinking sign that advertised some kind of expensive shoe sale. They had to know that they were walking into a trashy bar full of bikers.
“Don’t you have a tea party or a masquerade ball to attend tonight?” I can’t help my cunning smile that follows the question. It’s just too easy.  
“Don't be an ass.” She smirks, then looks back at her friends, and I can only hope she’s rolling her eyes. 
I should let this chick learn a thing or two tonight. After all, there is a life lesson to be learned about walking into a bar like this, looking the way she does. She’s asking for trouble and I think she knows it. "You know you're too young to be in here." As if it isn’t obvious. 
Haven’s friend shoves a plastic cup filled with some fruity, chick drink into her face and her fingers tighten around the plastic as she spills some of the liquid over the side. "Who cares, Raine,” she shouts at me. “It's my eighteenth birthday, and we’re at a dirty bar. What other way is there to celebrate?" 
"Yeah, maybe no one informed you, but eighteen isn't the legal drinking age in this town or the rest of the country." Regardless of how dumb she’s being, I hold my beer up and tap it against her cup. "Happy Birthday, though."
A frail smile presses across her red-tinted lips as she swallows most of her drink within a few gulps. Even though she's only eighteen, it is her birthday, and God knows I was drinking at that age. "Can I buy you another?" I’m sure I’ll regret asking this.
She looks like she's thinking about it, pondering the bad idea of getting plastered before heading home to her parents. Her father is the mayor of the shitty town next door, but it doesn’t come as a surprise when she bites the bait. "Sure, yeah, another Malibu with pineapple would be good." There's a slur stringing her words together, and she's moving in closer to me as we wait for Crow to bring over the next round.
"You're kinda hot," she says, loud enough to be heard over the roaring music—loud enough that several people around us turn to see who the hell would be talking like that in this bar.
"Oh yeah?" I grin, finding humor in watching the pinkness of her freckled cheeks turn red. "And you’re cute as a button." I press my finger to her nose, hoping to get more of a rise out of her. 
"Why do you say that?" She hands me her empty cup and unclasps the top two buttons of her shirt, enhancing her perky breasts. "Is this better? Does this make me a little less cute?" With the rising volume of slurs and hooting laughter, I have an urge to cover her back up and drag her out of here. She doesn’t realize the type of attention she’s attracting, other than my own. 
Instead, I dip my free hand into my pocket, holding down my out-of-control cock. "Look, if you were walking around this place naked, you'd still be too cute to be in here. It's not an insult." 
She clasps her buttons back together just as Crow places the new drinks down on top of the bar. Without delay, Haven reaches her arm out past me and grabs one of the drinks. She wraps her lips around the straw and takes a long sip while glancing back up at me with her pretty doe-like eyes. I’d love to know what’s going through her mind right now.
A long minute passes before she takes a breather and pulls the straw from her mouth. "After this drink, would you take me home?" I knew that was coming. Her only plan is to torture me until I cave, and I can't cave. Not with the mayor's daughter of all people.
"What about your friends?" I ask her before twisting around to see them flirting with Crow.
"They won't notice I'm gone," she says without uncertainty. 
"Sounds like you have some good friends." By the looks of the other girls, I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s probably safe to assume they’re conceited, stuck up, and most likely have trouble telling the difference between an ass and an elbow. 
"I can hardly consider them friends." My curiosity has been piqued, wondering more about her now, because there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she has one hell of a story to tell. Though, by the way she’s been sucking these drinks down, I’m confident I won’t be getting much of anything out of her tonight.
"Well then, I'll make sure you get home safely," I tell her, convincing myself I have control. I'm in control.
She finishes the drink in less time than it took me to finish mine, and I can't imagine how someone her size is handling Crow's concoctions and still standing. They aren't for the weak, that’s for damn sure. After Haven slaps her empty cup down on the bar, she pushes by me and grips her hand around one of her friend's shoulders. I can't hear what she's saying, but her friends look over at me, biting down on their lips with seductive smiles. Obviously, they think this is as good of an idea as she does. It's not.
Haven unsteadily makes her way back over to me, wraps her dainty hand around my bicep and pulls me out the door. "Put all that on my tab, Crow!" I yell over to him. 
Almost the moment the door closes us out of the bar, Haven's hands fist around the collar of my shirt. "Kiss me. Right now," she demands. 
Well, that escalated quickly. "Hey now, take it easy. We hardly know each other." Her lips are so fucking pouty and plump. The red gloss she has on is making them look wet…and shit, it's hot. I already live in a cruel world, but this shit is just adding to it. 
I finger the end of one of her loose curls, tugging gently. I shouldn’t be touching her. "That lipstick you got on…damn, girl, you're making this hard." 
"So, why fight it?" she asks. The confidence she’s been carrying around all night has diminished and I see insecurity in her eyes, allowing me to see right through her and this game she’s playing. Any other girl would have hit me up with a smart-ass comment about them wanting to make me hard. Not her, though. While wondering what about me and my life seems so attractive to her, I dying to know if she knows anything about my history. Is that what this is all about? Empathy … 
With as much resistance as I can manage, I curl my fingers around her ear and lean forward a little. "I don't kiss women I pick up at a bar, and I don't kiss on the first date." 
She releases a sigh, looking crushed and pained—pretty much the same way the lower half of my body is feeling at the moment. Regardless, I kind of love how disappointed she looks.
"What do you do on a first date, Raine Carson?" Her brow arches with question, waiting for an answer she thinks I’m going to give her.
"This isn't a date," I tell her.
"And we didn't meet at the bar. So, you can fucking kiss me." Holy hell. She is a determined little thing.
I step in a little closer to her, leaving little space between us. "You want me to kiss you?" I run the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip and narrow my focus in on her mouth. "Where do you want me to kiss you?" Purposely trying to cause more discomfort, I drop my gaze down the length of her body while taking notice of the quickening rise and fall of her chest. She doesn't know what she's asking for. I may have saved her from getting mauled by some of those other assholes in there tonight, but she needs to learn not to ask for things she isn't prepared to handle.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

MORE About Raine's Haven

​Haven

I felt like I was living in a prison while watching Raine Carson from my window, studying his sexy, tanned, and muscular physique for six long months. From inside of my house, he was perfect. 

Then I found out everything looked different from afar. Raine, a blunt and hot tempered man was living a life he wasn't proud of, and I found myself oddly attracted to the sickening reality he opened my eyes to.


Raine

She thought I'd fall for her seductive ploy and scarlet-glossed lips. She was right. Every person in this small town had something negative to say about Haven Leigh's life—the girl who had been handed everything on a silver platter. I ignored the rumors, and instead, searched for her truths.

While struggling with disabling side-effects left behind by my coke-addict mother, Haven became the hope I needed. She was the good I wanted to be.

But, as it turns out, she was the trouble I should have stayed away from.

NOW AVAILABLE & FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMTED
**only 99 cents**

Amazon US
Amazon UK

☆☆☆☆☆☆

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☆☆☆☆☆☆

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International Bestselling Author, Shari J. Ryan, hails from Central Massachusetts where she lives with her husband and two lively little boys. Shari has always had an active imagination and enjoys losing herself in the fictional worlds she creates.
When Shari isn't writing or designing book covers, she can usually be found cleaning toys up off the floor.


​      I Website I Facebook I Amazon Author Page I Instagram I Twitter I 

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