Deleted scene from Crashed

So I unexpectedly found a deleted scene from CRASHED that I thought you all might like to read. This scene takes place after Colton makes the 911 call when Rylee is at home alone with Zander and he hears her scream on the other end of the phone. I originally wrote the next chapter in his point of view, but decided to scrap it and write it in Rylee’s perspective. This is the chapter that I scrapped. 

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I know I was excited to revisit Colton, and I hope you guys are too. Here’s 2,000 more words from Colton…

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No.

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Please no.

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Rylee.

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Rylee.

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It’s all I can focus on as my tires squeal around the last turn onto her street. I’m a goddamn mess and the sight of police cars scattered all over the street – doors open, lights on, sirens off – scares the fuck out of me.

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Then relief.

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A rush of breath escapes because if they were injured, ambulances would be here, and if they were still inside, then the police would be running around in a frenzy to try and help them.

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But no one is doing a fucking thing except for all huddling around together, a line of black uniforms, shoulder to shoulder.

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Something to my right catches my attention and I freeze. The ambulance is here, the lights are flashing but the siren is silent.

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Spiderman.

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Why aren’t their sirens on?

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Batman.

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Why is everyone standing around?

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Superman.

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Where the fuck is Rylee and Zander?

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Ironman.

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Not possible.

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I can’t process the thoughts screaming in my own head. The ones lost in the fear clenching every single fucking part of me. No one’s moving. Lights on, sirens off. No Rylee or Zander in sight. The damage must already be done.

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He’s already taken them.

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Or worse.

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Numbness hits and the tang of fear I’ve only ever tasted before back in that dank fucking room of my youth fills my mouth. Owns my soul. Takes over.

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I drive as far as I can into the melee, with fumbling fingers I fling the door open, Rover still running, and sprint as fast as I can down the sidewalk. I try to shout, to call for her so she knows I’m here, but all that comes out is a rasp of sound, her name broken.

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Two policemen rush me, and I can’t hear a word they say because my only focus is on the front door, the caution tape I can now see being pulled tight across the street, the intensity in the faces of the wall of uniforms.

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I shove them off me, push as hard and as far as I can toward the front of the house because that yellow tape says crime scene, says he already has them.

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“Rylee,” I grunt out as they slam me back against the cruiser behind me. I’m strong, but have nowhere near enough strength to break free from two officers at once. Besides, I can’t focus on anything else other than on Rylee, on Zander.

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Where is she?” I yell out. And I struggle so hard, need and adrenaline dominating my body and mind. “Rylee!” After a minute and not getting much farther except to notice other officers putting their hands on the butts of their holstered guns, I relent.

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Try to calm the fuck down but know it’s not going to happen.

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“Okay,” I tell them as I stop fighting. “Please just tell me—I’m the one who called—I know who’s in there!”

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And now I have their attention.

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Within moments I’ve explained everything I can, that I can fucking think of, but they haven’t said a single word to me. Nothing.

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An officer tells me to stay put, another keeps his hand on my shoulder, when all I want to do is shrug it off and run to The House a couple hundred feet away and see what the fuck is going on. But his hand remains firm and authoritative on my shoulder. He’s obviously afraid I’m going to fucking bolt. I do the only thing I can, I put my head in my hands and try to keep my heart from choking over the fear that’s lodged there.

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And I repeat the chant that she’s said for me in my time of need. Over and over.

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Fucking Christ. I need that little freckled face boy that showed up to help me, to appear right now. Vaporize out of thin fucking air again but I fear I won’t get a decision to make this time.

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I fear it’s too late.

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The officer must sense my restlessness, must know that if I don’t move some, I’m going to implode with the pressure in my chest and fear in my heart – the one she brought back to life. So he releases my shoulder and I’m immediately on the move, feet eating up the same six concrete panels of sidewalk, over and over.

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I look up when I hear footsteps, but keep my body moving to abate all of this nervous fucking energy. “Talk to me. Please,” I beg him. “Tell me she’s okay. Zander’s okay. He’s fucking traumatized. Please.” My voice breaks as tears prick the back of my eyes like pins. I welcome the pain, hold onto it because it’s the only way I can cope right now with the fucking unknown.

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“The woman and little boy—”

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“Her name is Rylee!” I shout at him. “She’s not a faceless, nameless fucking woman. She’s my Rylee.” My motherfucking checkered flag. Oh god! “And Zander. Rylee and Zander. Call them their names. Acknowledge that they’re people with families godammit!” I look around for something to punch, something to break into fucking pieces but it doesn’t matter. It’s not going to help Ry right now. Nothing is.

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I put my hands on my neck and pull down, force myself to breathe. I need to calm the fuck down or they’re going to kick me out of here. My chest aches and if I had any doubt before I know for sure now. The woman owns this heart of mine.

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I drop my head down as I wait for the officer to deliver the news I’m fucking petrified to hear.

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Rylee. Hang in there, baby. Be strong. For me. For Zander. Please.

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The police office looks at me again and I’m such a fucking mess—so inside of my own head—that I forgot he was going to give me information.

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“Rylee and Zander,” he says, looking at me to make sure I realized that he used their name, “and the suspect are isolated in the backyard.”

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“Then go in there and get him the fuck out of there! C’mon! Do your goddamn jobs!” I shout at them, hands fisted, teeth gritted. My mind is so overwhelmed that I don’t even have a chance to think about the stupidity of my comment until I notice the officer before me glance to the one beside me.

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And then I know.

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“Has he hurt her?”

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Silence.

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“A gun?”

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Silence.

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“Has he hurt Zander?”

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“No.”

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My chest fucking constricts because the only thing they say no to is my question in regards to Zander.

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My world spirals like the tumbling of the car in the wreck.

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And I only give myself a second to feel before I shut down. Fuck this. Fuck everyone.

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I shove away from them and pace down the sidewalk, pushing my hands out to the side and then bringing them up to lace behind my head as I blow out a huge breath and try to wrap my head around this all. I walk back to them with purpose, knowing the answer but I’m going to fucking demand it anyway.

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“You’ve gotta get me in the house. Right. Fucking. Now!” I demand as a dog starts barking somewhere.

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“Sir, keep your voice down. He doesn’t know we’re here and we’re trying to keep it that way. We’ve got tactical in the kitchen to take a shot if need be. We don’t want to escalate the situation.”

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And all I hear is that he doesn’t know we’re here. So that means Rylee doesn’t fucking know we’re here. She doesn’t know help is here. And that scares the shit out of me more than anything.

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My selfless saint.

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“If need be? He has a fucking gun right? What more do you need to know?” I shout at them in a harsh whisper.

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“We’re doing everything we can,” he says in that placating tone I want to rip from his throat.

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“No you’re not!” I bark at them. “Do you have them safe? NO YOU DON’T!”

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“Sir, if you can’t settle down, we’re going to have to escort you from the premises.”

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Panic rifles through me at the thought of being taken farther away from Ry and Zander than I already am. I look over at the house and think of earlier. My welcome kiss with Rylee, my chat with Shane. How could a perfect morning turn into this? How did I leave her to face this alone?

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I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head for a beat before looking back at the man in front of me. “Officer…” I glance at his name tag, try to make a connection with him so that he understands how important my next words are. “Officer Destin – Please, you have to let her know we’re out here. Zander’s one of her boys. She’ll do anything—anything—to keep him safe.” The thought terrifies me so fuck being calm, I grab the front of the officer’s shirt. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” I grate out through gritted teeth. “She’ll sacrifice herself for one of her boys…so fucking do something now!”

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Hands pull my shoulders back and away from the officer, warnings stated low and formidably from behind me. I take my hands off of him. “We’re doing everything we can to—”

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“Don’t give me the bullshit line. Don’t stand here. Do something!”

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They nod their heads like they get it but they don’t, not even fucking close. They don’t have a freight train of fear derailing inside of them because the people they care about are in a backyard with a murderer.

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Time fucking stretches.

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Seconds.

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Minutes.

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Forever.

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It feels like years are being scraped off my life with a dull fucking knife with each and every passing second. They move me into a tactical van near the front of the house. They say it’s to keep me better apprised of the situation but I know it’s because they can see me about to explode from the unknown and that when I do, they worry I’m going to compromise their operation.

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Fuckin’A.

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My mind races but I can’t focus on a goddamn thing but Rylee and Zander and being stuck inside this tiny truck where I can’t pace, I can’t talk, but I have to sit here with guys in headsets and monitors with white snow a constant on their screens.

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“I’m not letting you take him.”

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And then I hear her voice.

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My body jolts to attention. Adrenaline pumps like blood through my veins at that goddamn defiance in her voice, at knowing she’s all right.

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I immediately lean forward to see the grainy image that springs to life on the bank of monitors in from of me. I have to fight the sob of relief at just seeing her, hearing her voice when all I’ve felt for the past however fucking long it’s been is fear.

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And the wave of reprieve is short lived because when I can finally tear my eyes from her, all I can focus on in the grainy image but that’s clear as day, is the gun he has pointed directly at her.

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Maybe I should look and see what else I can find on this computer of mine…

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(To all of the grammar-gurus who already have their emails open to tell me the errors, please note this has never been professionally edited so I know it is not perfect)

Driven Trilogy Translations

Lots of questions about if Driven, Fueled and Crashed are going to be translated into different languages, so I thought I’d post the languages here instead of answer all the different questions.

The languages that it is currently (or already has) been translated into are:

Hungarian

Italian

German

Thai

Czech

Turkish

Polish

Portuguese (Portugal)

French

Portuguese (Brazil)

Lots of questions about Spanish…we are trying to get right sold for Spanish but the Spanish market is kind of on a freeze right now due to economical reasons…but we are trying.

Hope that helps to answer your questions.

❤️ Kristy

Driven Trilogy Trailer Contest

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RULES:

* Trailer must be submitted by August 31, 2014

* Trailer must be submitted via dropbox, vimeo link, etc. to KBrombergwrites@gmail.com

* Create (2) versions of your trailer. One for posting that does not denote who the trailer was made by so that voting can be anonymous and one that gives you credit so I can post them after voting.

* Trailers must say *fan-made trailer”

* Trailers can be for the entire Driven series or just for Crashed

WINNERS:

* Winners will be selected by reader vote with each trailer posted with the trailer maker unnamed (to make voting fair)

* Winners will be selected, one for each of the two categories.

* Winner of entire Driven Trilogy book trailer receives:  Signed set of trilogy paperbacks, Driven Dooodle by Christina, $100 Amazon Gift Card, Driven T-shirt by Blingin’ Teez, Complete set of Driven Trilogy Audio books on CD, Driven Trilogy Swag Pack

* Winner of the Crashed Book Trailer receives: Signed copy of Crashed paperback, Driven Dooodle by Christina, $50 Amazon Gift Card, Complete set of Driven Trilogy Audio books on CD, Driven Trilogy Swag Pack

Good luck to everyone and please let me know if you have any questions.

Kristy 

*Please note that if there is only one entry in a category, that entry will be combined in voting with the other category.

CRASH DASH Colton POV Complete

Well CRASH Dash has come and gone, but I promised to post the entire Colton POV and here it is from Crashed. Thank you for participating in the scavenger hunt…and I hope you had fun.

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CHAPTER 12

Colton

The turbulence jars me awake. Scares the fuck out of me really seeing as I was having that damn dream again about the crash—the dream where I can’t remember shit except for the dizzying, sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach and the out of control feeling in my head. Add to that the jolt of the plane, and my mile high wake up is a hell of a lot more stressful that the one I’d really like to have with Ry.

God how badly do I want to take that for a ride. I’m fucking hard as a rock as I’ve been for the past three days when I wake up but one, doctor’s fucking orders. Two, we’re constantly surrounded by other people, and three, after overhearing her conversation with Haddie the other night when she thought I was asleep, how can I touch her when all I’m going to do is end up hurting her.

I don’t want to do that to her. Don’t want her to live life always waiting for the worst to happen. I don’t mind the car, don’t mind what a crash could possibly do to me because the shit I lived through was much more painful than what a hitting a concrete barrier could ever do.

Impact can kill your body. 

What my mom did to me killed me soul.

I shake the shit from my head and lift it up from the chair Ry insisted I adjust to recline. I look around to see Nurse Ratchet, the hospital approved nurse sent to monitor my flight home, sit up at attention when she notices that I’m awake.

Leave me the fuck alone.

I’ve had enough prodding fingers and concerned eyes looking at me to last a fucking lifetime. Oh and then there were the fucking ludicrous sponge baths. Grown men sure as fuck are not supposed to have someone wash their nuts unless it’s to be followed by a blowjob in the shower. On a bed with a sponge? Fucking ridiculous.

Good riddance to the hospital and it’s torturous type of solitary confinement.

Nurse Ratchet starts to unbuckle her seatbelt, and I just shake my head to tell her that I’m fine. I lie back down, angling my head to the right so I can stare at the sight across the aisle from me. Rylee’s sound asleep, curled up on her side so that she’s facing me, no doubt so that she can watch me and make sure that I’m okay.

The fucking self-sacrificing saint.

And I know she’s exhausted. She misses the boys desperately despite being on the phone with them every chance she gets. Add to that the nightmares she’s been having every single night that wake me, allowing me to be the silent witness to the fucking agony I’m inflicting upon her. She shouts out Max’s name. My name. Begs for us to live. Begs to take our place so that she can die instead. Begs for me not to race again. Screams for a car to stop and let me out. And I know this because I lie awake every night holding her while she trembles in her sleep. Holding her—holding on to her as I breathe in every thing I can—so that I can live with the ghost of her when I finally bring myself to do what I need to do.

Be selfless for the first time in my life.

And the time has come.

Way too soon—forever would be too fucking soon—but it has come.

And the thought has every single fucking part of me protesting over the gut-wrenching hurt that’s to come. That I’ll be inflicting on myself. Pain I’m sure that will be a thousand times worse than these ear-splitting headaches that come and go on a fucking whim because this kind will be from tearing myself apart, not from trying to put myself back together.

Humpty fuckin’ Dumpty.

She sighs softly shifting in her sleep, and a curl falls over her cheek. I give into the need—the one that is so inherent now that I’m fucking scared to death of how I’ll be able to lessen it in the coming days—reach out and move it off of her face. I curse my fucking fingers as they tremble from the after effects of what we still hope is just swelling. They stop shaking and so I let them linger, enjoying the feel of her skin against my fingertips.

What the fuck is going on with me? How is it I fought my whole life to not need, to not feel…and now that I do, I’ll gladly take the pain so that she doesn’t have to?

 But the thought I can’t shake keeps tumbling through my obviously screwed up head. If she’s my fucking pleasure, how in the hell am I going to bury the pain when I push her away? From pushing her away? I shake my head unsure and welcome the stab of pain from the action because it’s got nothing on what’s going to happen to my heart.

But there’s no other option. Especially after overhearing her on the phone with Haddie last night when she thought I was asleep. Hysterical hiccupping sobs. Denials of how she’s ever going to watch me get in a car again. Hearing the brutal reality of what she went through killed me, fucking ripped me to shreds as I lay with my back to her, remorse hardening my heart, tears burning my eyes, and guilt submerging my soul. Hearing how her abrupt trips out of my hospital room are to her throw up because she’s so sick with worry over it. How she’s eating Tums like candy to lessen the constant acid eating through her stomach from my need to return to the track. How she’ll support me, urge me, help me get back in the car, but will have to sneak out before the pace car is off the lead lap. How she won’t be able to hear the sounds and see the sights without replaying the images that are etched in her mind. Won’t be able to look me in the eyes and wish me luck without thinking she’s sending me to my death.

A shiver of recourse revolts through my body.

And then there’s the other hint that I’m getting from her—that I can see in her eyes when she shifts them away—that tells me she knows something I don’t. She has one of my memories and is holding it hostage. But which fucking one? 

The hints swirl of what I’ve lost in the black abyss of my mind. Ghosts of memories converge, overlapping and all shouting for attention at once. They scream at me like fans asking for autographs—all begging for attention—faceless, nameless people all wanting something—yelling at their tops of their lungs—and yet all I hear is white noise.

All I see is a blur of mixed color.

Why is it I can still remember the shit that stains my soul but I can’t seem to remember the bleach I’ve found that washes it away? And I have a feeling that whatever Rylee is guarding is that important. That monumental. She wouldn’t be keeping it from me unless she was trying to protect me. Or her.

But from what?

In my dreams I hear her saying she can’t do this anymore. Is that it? Is she going to end this? Is she going to walk away and never look back? Break me into a million fucking pieces?

What the fuck Donavan? You’re going to do it to her. Walk away to save her from yourself. And you think it’s going to be any easier just because you’re doing it? Think that the acid laced knife that’s going to barb through your heart is going to hurt any less because it’s by your own hand?

Fucking crash.

Fucking prescriptions that I swear are messing up my head.

Fucking voodoo pussy.

My fucking Rylee.

I watch her. Can’t move my eyes away from those thick lashes on cream colored skin. Over her all-consuming lips and down over the swell of her tits. She’s arms length away but I still know how she smells. How she tastes and sounds and feels. It will forever be embedded in my mind.

Irremovable.

Irreplaceable.

Yeah, my dick stirs to life—it’s Rylee isn’t it? But so much more stirs and swells and hopes that I don’t even fight the tears that well in my eyes. For the second time in more years than I can count, I let the tears fall. Silent tracks of impending devastation staining my face.

Who knew that doing what was right for someone else could feel so incredibly wrong? Could break the strongest man by weakening his heart?

Will reduce me to nothing?

I know she can give me what I need—quiet the demons in my head that torment my soul and parasitic heart—like the adrenaline of losing myself in the blur at the track, but I can’t do that to her. I can’t in good conscience hold on to her so tight in order to lose my demons when it’s causing hers to invade her sleep. I can’t take the pleasure when it’s causing her all of the pain.

Before, I could. I would have. But this is Rylee here. The selfless soul who means too fucking much to me. So, no I can’t.

Not now. 

Not ever to Rylee.

It feels so good to let it all out—the confusion, the loss of hope, the dying of my redemption—yet hurts so bad as the tears fight their way out and scorch my face. Singe my soul. Crumble possibilities.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to shut out the memories that I do have. The ones flickering like a strobe light through the haze of my time with Rylee. The tears turn to silent sobs and eventually even those dissipate into hitching breaths.

When I open my eyes, violet pools of concern are staring at me. Watching me with a mix of confusion and sympathy. “Colton?”

Fuck. I don’t want her to see me like this. Remember me like this. Some pussified man bawling his eyes out for reasons she can’t fathom.

I can hear the worry in her voice but all her face shows is compassion, understanding, acceptance. And that makes what I have to say so much harder. The words are there on the tip of my tongue and I fool myself into believing that I’m about to say them.

Acid on my taste buds.

Bile in my throat.

The fracturing of my heart.

She reaches out and cups her hand to the side of my face, her thumb wiping away the stains—just like her heart has brushed away vile memories—and a soft smile ghosts her mouth.

I race you Rylee.

The words feather through my mind and another tear slips over.

And I’ve never felt more exposed in my life.

Guard down.

Heart open.

Soul needing.

Accepting.

Wanting.

I’m so fucking lost right now. Lost even though I’ve been found. Even though she’s found me.

And I get it now. Get why she can’t watch me get in the car again. Get why she’d be so selfless—encourage, push, help—even when it’s killing her. Break inside while pretending on the outside that she’s whole.

But I’m nowhere near okay.

Not going to be for a long time.

If ever again.

I open my mouth but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to tell her this isn’t what she deserves. That I’m not what she deserves. That I could do so much worse—have done so much worse—and she can do so much better. That I understand she can’t go through this again. I’m not sure how to. I try to force the words off my tongue but they die, self-preservation at it’s finest. Silence is my only option. The only way to quell the guilt that eats at me every time she looks in my eyes and gives me the same soft smile she’s giving me now.

She has to be wondering why I’m crying. Why I’m being such a chick, but she doesn’t ask. Instead, she sits up slowly and looks around the private jet before rising and closing the distance between us. She gives me a look as if she’s asking if it’s okay and before I can even answer she’s settling in my lap, nuzzling her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around me as best she can.

The soothing balm to my aching soul.

She doesn’t say a word, but just holds on, easing whatever she thinks is wrong with me by her mere presence. And of course now the tears well again like a fucking broken faucet and I hate it. Hate myself right now.

And I am so wrong.

I thought I could live with the pain—manage—but holy shit I feel as if my body is broken—fucking shattered into a million pieces, and I haven’t even told her yet. Haven’t even taken a step away but holy mother of God, I’m already knocked to my knees.

Already struggling to breathe when the air is cocooning me.

It’s time to hit the concrete barrier head on without a seatbelt, without my lifeline.

How in the fuck am I going to do this?

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As always, thanks for reading!!!!!

Kristy

Missing Colton? I do too, so I’ll share some…deleted scene from Crashed

It has come to my attention that some of you – just a few – might be missing Colton right about now…it’s been almost a month and withdrawals are in full effect (or so I’m being told). Don’t worry, I miss him too!

When you write a book, you write a scene and sometimes it’s just not right. Sometimes your beta readers tell you that it’s a good scene but it adds nothing to the story…that hearing Colton’s POV in that scene offers nothing beneficial to the story line.  You, as the author may love it, but if it doesn’t work, you can’t force it. You put the scene aside and rewrite it.

So here is one such scene from Crashed…a particular scene between Colton and Rylee…you’ve read it from her perspective…here’s a bit of Colton’s. (Please note changes were made to the Rylee one after the fact that weren’t made here. So don’t compare them side by side, they are not exact).

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Partial Chapter 14 – Colton POV  

She owns me right now.

Fucking owns every single part of me and doesn’t have a damn clue. Sitting astride me, fingers atop the little piece of Heaven that I’d die to claim right now, and the sarcastic dare falling from her mouth. My mind wanders to what exactly those fingers would look like nestled between those folds of flesh, and I have to stifle the groan at how fucking hot that would be. And I think that’s exactly what she’s trying to do—tease me with what she won’t give me. With what I can’t claim yet.

She wants to play huh? Oh, I am so fucking game right now. Ready to knock it out of the goddamn park.

“Baby, if you’re trying to get me to stop, then you shouldn’t throw around comments like that.” I shift in the bed and accidentally roll my hips again, feeding into the pleasurable pain as my aching cock rubs against her tempting heat yet again. And this time I know I’ve hit her right where it counts because she throws her head back and the soft sigh that falls from her mouth is a dead giveaway no matter how unaffected she’s trying to play it.

I can’t take my eyes off of her. The sight of her tits, weighted globes of perfection, right in front of my face. I force my eyes to move upwards and meet the challenge in hers. “If you think I fuck like I drive, you should see me drop the hammer and race you to the finish line.”

I see her breath catch and her body stutter in it’s motion momentarily before she quickly recovers and regains her composure. My mind starts to try and figure what I just missed but my thoughts are pulled out from underneath me when she spreads her legs apart further, evidence of her obvious arousal on the damp patch of her panties. My fingers rub together, itching to touch.

“I thought racing wasn’t a team sport,” she says coyly. “You know, more of an every man for himself kind of thing.” Her eyes hold mine as her fingers slip beneath the band of her red, silken panties and still, my eyes darting between the two, waiting for her to move them. Begging her to move them. The visual consuming my thoughts.

I force myself to look away, to work a swallow in my throat that’s suddenly become dry. “Every man, yes,” I finally am able to get out. “It can be very dangerous too, you know?”

“Oh really?” She asks, eyes locked on mine, the moan of pleasure that falls from her lips has my breath laboring as I look down to watch the movement of her fingers beneath the fabric in front of me. Sweet fucking Christ. I can’t handle the unknown, needing to see for myself the show on display, and the fragile fabric of her panties is snapped and dropped in an instant without a second thought.

And Rylee doesn’t even skip a beat.

Oh fucking my. The white French tips of her nails are a mind-dizzying contrast to the darkened pink flesh they dance across. Perfection. Addiction. Absolution. I glance up knowing she’s going to have that taunting smile on her lips and for the second time in as many seconds I’m knocked breathless.

Fucking kryptonite.

Rylee’s head is thrown back, curls tumbling all over the place, lips parted, tits pushed out and the sexiest moan coming from her lips as she doesn’t just revel in the moment but becomes the fucking moment. Fuck me. The woman who used to tighten the sheet around her months ago in modesty now sits astride me in all of her glory, owning her body and sexuality with such a confidence that I’ve never thought her to be more sexy, more sensual, more everything than right now.

She lifts her head back forward, her hand sliding out from between her legs, moisture glistening off of her fingers for me to see. “Well it looks as if I know how to handle the chute with perfection when it’s slick with moisture.” She smirks that smug smile I want to fuck off her face right now just before she slips her arousal coated fingers into her mouth and sucks on them, eyes taunting me all the while.

Is she trying to kill me right now? Fucking voodoo pussy is back with a vengeance and fuck if I’m not ready to be the first and only victim. The woman has me strung tighter than a hair string trigger—volatile and ready to blow. My balls tighten, my body tenses wanting her so desperately right now but my stubborn streak tells me I have to hold out, take the reins when the time is right. My body screams that time was ten fucking minutes ago while my head loves when Ry gets feisty and defiant. When she makes me work for it like no one else ever has.

“Fuck yeah, you do,” I tell her, my eyes watching as she pulls her fingers from between her very fuckable lips and follows the descent back down south. She adds torment to her tantalization by parting her folds with one hand so that I can more than handily see her other fingers add the friction her sighs say is more than pleasurable.

Fuck me this is brutal to watch and not partake in when all I want is to do is urge her hips closer to my face and have her sweet taste on my tongue again. For that alone, it’s time for me to mess with her a little more and knock her out of the pleasure inducing coma that’s darkening the violet in her eyes.

“You know, sometimes in racing in order to reach the finish line, rookies like you have to tag team to get the result you want.”

Her head snaps up, lips parting, and eyes flashing with shock momentarily until she regains her composure. Perfect. Threw you there didn’t I sweetheart?

“Sorry Ace, but this engine seems to be doing just fine running solo.” She smirks at me, so arrogant that she thinks she dodged the proverbial bullet.

“It can get pretty dirty out there too,” I reply, fingers trailing up her thighs leaving visible goose bumps in their wake, her body angling toward me the higher I go. Fuckin’ A straight. She can play the aloof card all she wants but she can’t deny that her body readily submits to me when I want it to. And fuck, how I want it to is right now.

“Oh, I most definitely can handle dirty,” she taunts as she trails a finger up my chest and rubs some of her moisture across my lips. My tongue darts out, unable to resist the temptation to taste what I’m craving and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to flip her over, cuff her hands over her head, and fuck the defiance out of her until she’s screaming my name and owning my heart more than she already does.

She grinds her hips down, that smarmy smile still teasing the corners of her mouth, as she rocks back and forth over me and leans forward, her breath a whisper against my ear. “Rubbing’s racing, right?”

And I can’t take it anymore. Hair trigger pulled and control shot. Within a beat, I’ve pushed her back up to sitting, pulled her feet flat on the bed beside my ribs and knees spread wide because if I’m watching the feature presentation, I better have a goddamn front row seat.

“I’m shifting gears because it’s my car to drive sweetheart.” My hands slide up her thighs again until they reach the juncture of her thighs. My thumbs brush over her tight strip of curls before I readjust and tuck my fingers into her. She cries out, the velvet of her walls flexing around me and milking against my fingers as they stroke the nerves within. Her wet fucking heat on my fingers and the memories of her gripping my dick has me pre-cumming like a fucking adolescent school boy but fuck me, I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can from her because Rylee? She’s fucking everything.

She doesn’t take long to climb because she’s so addled with pent up need—and the fact that it’s only for me is not lost in the frenzied moment. Her fingernails score my shoulders, body tenses, and pussy convulses as the broken cry of my name fills the room around us.

My name moaning from her lips. God-fucking-damn is that not the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

I give her a moment to gain her breath, the senses I’ve just finger fucked out of her, and when I think she’s coherent enough, I let her know that even though she’s just come, I’m the one who just won the race.

“Hey rookie?”

She lifts her head forward and looks at me from beneath eyelids weighted heavy with desire. “Hmm?” is all she can manage and I fucking love that drowsy just-been-fucked-right look on her face. The one that only I can put there.

“I’m the only one that’s allowed to drive you to the motherfucking checkered flag.”

She just throws her head back and laughs, cheeks flushed, tits jiggling.

Fucking gorgeous.

Like I said, she’s everything.

The holy motherfucking grail.

———————————–

I won’t ask if that’s enough, because I know the answer will be NO….but I could have kept this all to myself and not shared…hope you enjoyed it!

Kristy

Doctor’s Note for Monday 3/3

I keep being asked to write a doctor’s note to all of you who would like to stay home/call in sick on Monday to catch up with Colton and Rylee…here it is…(you can screen shot it ;-) )

____________________________

Dear ____________,

My patient, (your name here), has a serious condition known as O.C.D. and is in desperate need of therapy today, March 3rd and possibly 4th. (or any time thereafter she deems to re-read her prescribed course of medicine). This O.C.D. is different than the usual diagnosis in which I am sure you are familiar with. The O.C.D. your employee has is called Obsessive Colton Disorder and can be very harmful if not treated right away. The treatment is an intense regimen of a new drug combo called Driven/Fueled/Crashed and must be taken in large doses or the full effect does not have a big enough impact to help with the symptoms.  The side effects of this drug combo are continually talking about M.F. Checkered Flags, Calling random people Ace, Eating Cotton Candy, and all around euphoria. If said drug combo is not adhered to as I prescribe, your employee may suffer from a cob-web covered crotch, intense twitching, sexual frustration, and random finger swiping across devices as if in withdrawal of her e-reader. It’s not pretty.

Please heed my advice and allow your employee the prescribed course of action, for both your safety and those that work with her. I’ve seen the fallout of withholding this drug combo and I don’t want to see it on the 10 o’clock news again.

Best Regards,

Dr. K. Bromberg

___________________

Do you think that will work?

Let’s talk about Colton…

It’s been a while since I’ve posted so I thought you might want to talk about Colton

My damaged alpha…little boy inside the damaged man.

“F*cking Rylee” – That term of endearment if you will…gets a lot of criticism. My thoughts on it? When I first wrote it for Colton, I used it as a show of frustration…this defying woman was ‘f*cking Rylee’ but as the books progress, as his feelings progress, the term goes from one of frustration to a type of endearment. His alpha way to express his growing sentiment for this woman who has knocked his emotional world on its ass. Sometimes I write it and don’t even realize I have because that is just him to me.

Voodoo P*ssy” – yes…that term. It was a total fluke. It was never in Fueled…until I wrote that POV for The Sub Club from the Merit Rum party…and I was just writing and somehow, someway, it popped into my head and I thought it was perfect – for him, for the scene, the meaning – everything. And the Sub Club said the feedback on the term was unbelievable so I decided it fit perfectly when I decided to add Colton POV’s into Fueled.

Barebacking” – I don’t even remember where I heard it the first time but my immediate thought was it would be perfect for the ‘bromance’ between him and Becks.

My sweet, rough, hard, soft, Colton…As I sit here going through my final edits before beginning the proofing stage on Crashed…I am overwhelmed with the love you guys have for him. He’s not always nice, doesn’t always know the right way to express himself, and in his own terms he’s more f*cked up than not…but there’s that vulnerability that’s underneath…that side that comes through that melts your heart. Yes he’ll always be alive in the pages of the book…but you all have made him come to life more than I ever could have imagined.

It’s weird…and maybe it’s because I’m new at this author thing but I’ve been sitting and trying to write my outlines for the next 3 books – spinoff characters from this series – and I worry that I won’t be able to leave Colton’s voice behind. I worry that every time I go to write another male lead, a little bit of Colton will be there too….and then I worry if other male leads I write will ever compare to him. Can you tell I’m a tad bit sentimental over letting him go?

As Colton says in Crashed…baby steps. Especially for this author that’s learning to say goodbye.

So the first baby step will be ARC’s going out next weekend-ish. Over 320 blogs applied and 20 were chosen at random…I’m sorry I couldn’t give them to all of you…And when those go out, I’ll be sad…because he won’t just be mine anymore…the proverbial cord will begin to be cut.

And then hopefully the bloggers will think it’s good. Hopefully they’ll think I’ve given Rylee and Colton the ending they deserve. And then you’ll start seeing teaser quotes pop up here and there while days dwindle down…and then it will be March 3rd…and it’s silly really to think what an emotional mess I’ll be that day. I’ve pushed publish twice before but this time it’s going to mean so much more…it’s going to be an ending to the characters that gave me a ‘beginning’. I’ll have written almost a half a million words about these characters. I’ll have dreamt and thought and plotted about them for a little over a year. I’ll have cursed them and loved them and been frustrated with them right along side you guys.  I’ll have pushed myself in more ways then I ever thought possible to make Crashed as best as it possibly can be….for you, for Rylee and Colton…and in all honesty, for me….because these two have tested me, have healed parts of me I never even knew were broken, have given me a sense of self that has always been just beyond my reach…so these two…whew!  These two will forever stay in my heart as I hope when I finally turn them over to you, they will yours…

So wow!  that was a little off course…going from Colton to my verbal diatribe above…but as you all know, that’s me *shrugs*, no apologies. I have an excuse now for being all over the place…I can say I’m an artist…lol.

And when it’s over…when you read ‘The End’, I’m thinking up a little something to keep the spirit alive a little longer…something that will allow readers all over the world a chance to participate…but I’m still ironing out those details and will have them for you on release day…

Until then, stay tuned for a couple more surprise posts from Colton this month for Valentine’s day…you know how much he loves his Roses are Red poems for his F*cking Rylee.

Thanks for taking this ride with me…some of you have been here since day one…I know your names and smile when you comment on a post…and that means the world to me….because this whole journey is about people…making them feel in extremes, transporting them to another world for a while, giving Mom’s an excuse to pretend their stomach’s are upset so they can hide in the bathroom a little longer–get another moment of peace–just so they can finish the next chapter (oh c’mon, you all know you do it!)…letting some living with their own demons watch Colton confront and overcome his and hopefully give them a bit of hope…it’s 100% about people to me…readers, their reactions, making them fall in love with Colton and Rylee through each and every heart-stopping high and soul shattering low…because that’s life…nothing’s perfect…me, my characters, nothing…let’s just hope you love the imperfections–for the good and the bad–in Crashed this time around because they make for one hell of a story

Thanks again…til next time.

Kristy

Crashed Status

142,267 words written.

About 2,000 words left to go.

486 pages in the bag.

Epilogue writing in process.

Finding it hard to say good-bye.

Can’t believe my voices turned to characters and now feel real.

Tears starting to well.

Can’t believe this story is almost complete.

Chills on skin.

Rylee and Colton. Colton and Rylee.

My damaged alpha and heartbroken heroine.

Tears sliding down cheeks.

Hoping you’ll love it as much as I do.

Bouncing in chair like a kid who’s eaten too much cotton candy.

Excitement overwhelming.

Shaking my head.

Has it really only been 7 months since publishing Driven?

Taking a deep sigh.

Stalling so I don’t type the words “The End”

Is this really happening?

Unbelievably bittersweet.

Completely Surreal.

Get to writing Bromberg!

Thank you for falling in love with them.

Tears don’t stop.

Can’t type if I can’t see.

Thank you for making them real.

Done but not the last of them.

But their chapter is still complete.

Deep breath.

Logging off.

Ugly Tears.

Going to say good-bye.

(Let the editing begin…lol)