Date of Publication: October 14, 2015
Number of pages:285
Word Count: 80,000
Cover Artist: Syneca Featherstone
If you want to live, you must let go of the past...
Twenty-eight-year-old Psychologist, Alisha Dimarchi, is abducted by an obsessed client and imprisoned in his Pakistani compound for over two years. Forced to change her name and live as his second wife, her life is filled with trauma and heartbreak. Thrust into a world of violence and oppression, Alicia must fight not only to keep herself alive but to protect the lives of the people she now considers family. At night, she retreats into her memories of the only man she has ever loved – a man she believes no longer loves her.
Thirty-two-year-old handsome surgeon, David Dimarchi, has spent the last two years mourning the disappearance of his wife. After a painful and isolated existence, he begins the process of healing. It is then that he is visited by a stranger, who informs him that his wife is very much alive and needs his help. In a desperate attempt to save her, David enlists the help of a Delta Force Operative. Together they find themselves in the center of more than just a rescue mission. Will he be able to reach her in time and if he does, will she still want him?
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From daring escapes by tough women to chivalrous men swooping in to save the day, the creativity switch to Kishan Paul's brain is always in the 'on' position. If daydreaming stories were a college course, Kish would graduate with honors.
Mother of two beautiful children, she has been married to her best friend for over 16 years. With the help of supportive family and friends, she balances her family, a thriving counseling practice, and writing without sinking into insanity.
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The panic attacks had started after Nasif’s first night away, and progressively worsened each day. She wanted to pretend it was because he wasn’t there to distract her. But she knew better.
Sayeed would be here soon.
The gnawing voice in the back of her head wouldn’t stop reminding her of the hell his arrival would bring. As the day grew close, the voice became louder, urging her to do something. But there was only so much she could do locked away in a concrete box.
Unable to shut out the images or find a way to escape, hopelessness would again to choke her, triggering another panic attack. Funny thing was, those episodes she spent struggling for air gave her a little hope. Maybe this one will kill me. Something she knew better than to believe, after all, she’d spent her career teaching clients panic attacks were typically non-life threatening.
While this morning’s episode subsided, she stayed on the floor, slick with perspiration, staring at the ceiling.
He said Sayeed would be here in fourteen days.
Ally crawled beside the bed and dug under the mattress until her fingers wrapped around a thin, wooden pencil. After dragging the frame away from the wall, she slid between the headboard and concrete and sat on the floor. She added another tally mark to the twelve already there. Praying she’d counted wrong, she tapped the back of the eraser against each line and counted again. The end result was the same, Nasif had left thirteen times already. Her pencil slipped out of her shaky fingers and fell to the floor.
One more day.
Images of Sayeed violating her flooded Ally’s thoughts. Her chest tightened and body chilled. Time was running out. Her breathing became labored and a cool sweat beaded across her lip.
“No.” She covered her ears and shook it all away. Whatever happens, I will survive. Rape will not kill me.
The days of crying…fantasizing needed to end. Now. Those dreams of being rescued, of home and her family waiting for her return, none of them would help her escape this hell. She would have to do this on her own.
Ally closed her eyes, remembering what David used to tell her. “There’s nothing you can’t do.” Maybe if she said it enough times, she might trust it?
After repositioning the bed, she hid the pencil under the mattress and snatched the brown bag of clothes Nasif left for her from the corner. She sifted through it, grabbing the brown cotton long sleeve dress he called an abaya and a matching scarf before heading for the shower. This was her last chance at convincing the old man.