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Then turnthe page for a Sneak Peek of The Dark of You, Paul’s Story.
PAUL
Fasten your seatbelts as we set course forTHE DARK OF YOU, the intense narrative of Paul's unique story. This intriguing man isn't just Forest's enigmatic partner and Dom, he's the force holding Forest’s darkness at bay, masterfully balancing the war of light and darkness within the man we’ve come to love.
And then there's Sara. Forest's beacon in the storm, his luminous savior. She’s his loving light, the balance to his darkness.
Together, Paul and Sara will be driven by their unwavering love for Forest to save him. They must unite or risk losing everything.
THE DARK OF YOU— even the title chills you to the bone, doesn't it? This journey isn't for the faint-hearted, for it's destined to take a darker path. There's no alternative route, no escape from the inevitable. But in the depth of that darkness, there's a promise, an oath I give to you.
Our hero, Forest, will NOT perish.
“The Dark of You destroyed me. I THOUGHT I knew where this story was going. I was so completely, utterly mistaken. It absolutely destroyed me. End of discussion. That being said.... OMG.... The angst, the pathos, the PAIN is unimaginable. Yet fragile hope glimmers that somehow, some way... Love will triumph.”
THE DARK OF YOUis a tale you simply cannot afford to miss. Secure your copy of this gripping drama today. Let’s step into the darkness together.
* * *
SNEAK PEEK of THE DARK OF YOU
Several Years Ago
I pushopen the door to the dark and dingy bar. A gust of wind follows me in, swirling into the bar like a lost soul seeking solace.
Or maybe that’s me?
The stale smell of cigarettes, sweat, and spilled alcohol greets me like an old friend. I scan the room, taking in the scarred wooden tables and booths that line the walls, their shadows flickering from the dim yellow lights.
The soft hum of whispered conversations and clinking glasses offers me a temporary reprieve from the torment of my thoughts. The dimly lit room is a sanctuary for those who seek refuge from the world, and if there’s one thing I seek refuge from, it’s the man I’ve become.
A flickering neon sign casts a ghostly glow on the stained walls, and the low hum of hushed conversations fills the air. Shadows cling tenaciously to every corner, hiding secrets, and broken dreams.
My heavy boots make a soft sucking sound against the sticky floor as I make a beeline to the bar. The weight of my past drags behind me, every step a conscious effort to keep moving. I glimpse my reflection in the cracked mirror behind the bar, and the reflection staring back at me is a stranger; hollow cheeks, dark circles, haunted eyes, and a stubbled jaw.
I barely recognize myself.
With a sigh, I pull out a worn barstool, its leather surface cracked and worn like me; fractured beyond repair.
The bartender, a scruffy older man who has surely seen his fair share of troubled souls, regards me with an air of understanding. He knows better than to engage in conversation with a man whose radiates pain.
“Whiskey. Neat.” My gravelly voice is raspy and raw.
The bartender pours amber liquid into a glass with practiced ease. The whiskey sloshes against the sides, creating tiny whirlpools that mirror the storm raging within me and outside this bar.
“Here you go.” The bartender slides the glass across the counter. Our eyes meet briefly and the bartender’s gaze holds a mixture of pity and understanding—a silent exchange that speaks volumes.
I grip the glass tightly, my knuckles whitening under the pressure, and stare into the amber liquid, watching the distorted reflection of the bar’s flickering lights within it.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the smoky scent of the whiskey as it mixes with the musty odor of the bar. The aroma is both comforting and suffocating, much like the memories that cling to me. Tension knots in the pit of my stomach, and I throw back the whiskey in one swift gulp.
The burn of the alcohol as it slides down my throat brings a fleeting moment of relief, the fiery sensation temporarily numbing the pain that’s my constant companion. The warmth of the alcohol offers some solace from the icy grip of my past, but it doesn’t last. It never does.
“Another.” I grunt and push the empty glass across the counter.
