Publication Date: December 1, 2014
Genres: Contemporary, Erotica, Novella, Romance, Serial
Synopsis
The final volume of Shutter,
a three-part series from bestselling author, S.E. Dosher.
My entire world changed when dark secrets surrounding me were revealed. Through the hurt
and loss an unlikely savior has emerged to shield and protect me. However, my true desires
haunt me day and night with thoughts of forgiveness and trust - yet knowing where to place
them is unclear.
Having finally found my way back behind the camera, I’m not willing to let anyone deter my
dreams again. Trusting my instincts has never been an easy task. But in order to determine if
the sins from our past can be forgiven, I must listen to my heart and decide if an undeniable
connection is worth the gamble.
Volume One (FREE!)
Volume Two (99c)
*** PLEASE do NOT read this is you have not read Volume One. ***
Volume One (FREE!)
Volume Two (99c)
EXCERPT
Chapter 1
“And how does the defendant plead?”
I hear the question echo in my ears, but its meaning doesn’t register. Everything
is muddled together like I’m living at the bottom of an overflowing well, but no one
notices. Mentally, I’m too far away and surrounded by an impenetrable barrier—or more
accurately, one no one wants to penetrate. Every movement I make is labored, my feet
feel glued to the floor with self-made super glue, and my arms feel lashed to my sides
with invisible cord. Even opening my mouth is more effort than I can commit to with this
black cloud weighing me down.
“Ms. Beckham?” the judge’s voice again, irritation evident. “Are you listening?”
“My client pleads not guilty,” a deep voice resonates through the room, a rush of
air swirls around me as a tall man effortlessly appears by my side.
“And who are you?” The judge’s tone is even more annoyed than before.
“Forgive me, Your Honor, I am Ronald Peck. I have been hired to represent Ms.
Beckham in these proceedings.”
“Hired?” I try to ask, but my mouth only opens to a small slit as a smothered
grunt reverberates in my throat.
He turns to me, and a sad smile stretches across his cracked lips. His rough
hand lightly pats my forearm resting on the table. He looks important; prematurely aged
by stress, but still like a man of class and prominence. I have no idea who would have
hired him. Certainly not my brother, who hasn’t spoken to me since I was hauled away
in the middle of the night, and I don’t know anyone else wealthy enough to afford the
likes of Ronald Peck.
“It’s okay, Brook,” he reassures me. I look up into his dull eyes and imagine
mine look similar – their sparkle choked off by the lies and struggle of life. I immediately
decide I like Ronald Peck. I don’t care who hired him; he’s my new best friend. Paul is
going to be angry.
The judge continues to grill him, and my eyes wander from his well-manicured
hand still resting on my arm, to his shiny gold Rolex then across the room to the
adjacent wooden table. The lawyer seated at that table looks as equally impressive as
mine, but he has yet to lose the luster in his eyes. His leg twitches with anticipation, as if
he can’t wait to jump to his feet and object to something – anything that might allow him
to speak. I wouldn’t be surprised if smoke started billowing out his ears from how fast
the gears in his head are turning, the labored thoughts crease his face. His lips turn up
slightly, and he jolts to his feet. His lips move rapidly and his finger points toward me.
I don’t bother to listen to what he’s saying, watching him is distraction enough. He has
something left to lose, where as it would appear, Ronald and I do not.
Next to the lawyer with something left to lose is where the victim of my crimes
should be sitting, but of course he isn’t there. No one of his status could be expected to
attend such a proceeding. I knew he wouldn’t be here, but the knowing didn’t stop the
I haven’t seen his face, or even allowed myself to think his name, since the
night my secret was revealed. The aching tone in his voice as he begged me for an
explanation still rings in my ears.
He’d said my name over and over, pleading with one simple word for some
explanation. No other words broke the barrier of his mouth after he saw the picture of
me perched high in the tree outside his house – only my name, spoken on the wings
of hope. I didn’t answer him, though; I had no explanation. The reasons had long since
been confused by my actions, and I couldn’t make sense of them to myself, much less
string them together to form a coherent rationalization. What I’d been doing to him for
the past few years was wrong; I knew that then, and now everyone else knew it as well.
The police quickly led me away in handcuffs while he stood in the middle of my
home, alone. The sound of my bare feet slapping against the concrete path covered the
sounds of the tears streaming down my face.
When I arrived at the police station it was already teeming with paparazzi. A
barrage of blinding flashes immediately engulfed me. Shouts of anger and intrigue
assaulted my ears as the police pulled me from the cruiser. I closed my eyes and
allowed my body to be led wherever they pleased. The jail cell was stark, cold, and filled
with women from all walks of life. I found an empty corner and waited. I had no idea
what would come next; that’s when the numbness set in and brought the realization that
my current course in life would never be the same. I couldn’t see any options the future
might hold for me; everything was cut off and bleak.
I could still smell him all around me, and feel his rough whiskers on my flesh. My
lips were swollen and raw, as was the rest of me. I’d had one night of pleasure, of sheer
enjoyment, and now I’d pay for it. I’d pay for what I’d done, and what I had so greedily
taken would haunt me for eternity.
Luckily word spread fast of my arrest, and I wasn’t left waiting long. My case
was pushed through because it dealt with a high profile subject, and Paul helped me put
up bail so I could go home.
That was two weeks ago.
Nothing much has changed since; I stay locked in my house, day after day,
not able to leave without being followed by hordes of cameras. The karma of my
imprisonment by way of cameras is not lost on me.
“Ms. Beckham,” the judge says, “these are serious charges against you; I
suggest the next time you grace this courtroom, you do so better prepared.”
My eyes connect with hers, but I do nothing else to acknowledge her words. I
don’t know how to be better prepared—I am guilty of what I’m accused of, and I deserve
to pay whatever price is handed to me. She stands, her eyes never leaving mine, and
shakes her head disapprovingly then turns to exit the courtroom. It doesn’t bother me; I
have nothing left to lose.
“Ms. Beckham?” Ronald asks, pulling my attention to him. “We’re done for
the day. May I walk you out? There’s a car waiting for you.” Even his voice oozes
sophistication with a hint of damage.
“A car?” The question drifts from my mouth.
“Yes, it will take you home...or anywhere else you’d like to go.”
I nod.
“Please,” he says, holding out his arm out for me to take.
I stand and my world slowly spins from the rush of blood to my head. I can’t
remember the last time food passed my lips. A hunger strike isn’t really my style, but my
stomach refuses any sustenance I try to give it.
Even empty, my stomach continuously churns from the excess bile produced by
the thoughts swirling in my head. Thoughts I can’t stop, no matter what I try to replace
them with.
Ronald’s grip tightens on my arm when my body sways, but he doesn’t speak
a word. We pass through the large, ornate doors of the courtroom and walk cautiously
down the marble lined hallways. Ronald’s head eagerly turns to each side, monitoring
our surroundings. He’s looking for the entourage of paparazzi we both know is awaiting
“We’re going to use the side door; the car is waiting there,” he informs me.
I stop walking, ripping my arm from his grasp. “Who hired you?” I feel my head
tilt to the side, and his follows suit. I can only imagine how we look—like a pair of birds
mimicking each other.
He smiles, “That information isn’t important right now. What we need to do is get
you to the car.”
I don’t fight him. I don’t have the strength or desire; instead, I follow closely
behind as he leads me down a darkened, narrow hall. The clang of a door opening
is followed closely by blinding sunlight my eyes have only seen in small doses over
the last couple weeks. I stop just outside the door and search in my purse for my
sunglasses and oversized hat, hoping to disguise myself.
“The car isn’t here yet; they hit a traffic jam just around the corner,” a familiar
voice drifts toward me. Tears well in my eyes the instant my brain recognizes the sound.
I’m almost afraid to look up; afraid he isn’t real, that my mind is playing tricks on
“Are you okay?” he asks as my brain absorbs the sound of his voice, slowly
gaining confidence it’s actually him. “I’m so sorry I waited until today to see you.”
The hat I’ve been holding slips from my grasp, and I watch as it falls slowly to
the dirt-laden ground. A tiny thread of hope winds through me, and begins to slowly
mend the broken pieces of my heart.
“Brook?” He whispers my name, the concern heavy in his voice, but I still cannot
lift my gaze to his face.
“Ms. Beckham, I will leave you now,” Ronald offers when I don’t speak. “Here is
my card, please call me if you need anything. I will be in touch.”
The tears spill over and slowly trail down my cheeks. His body appears
as he kneels to retrieve my hat. His eyes turn to mine, and in them I see love, not
disappointment at all the lies that have marred me. The trickle erupts into a flood,
streaming from my eyes with the feeling of pure relief.
“Brook. Are you okay?” His hands lightly brush across my cheeks in an attempt
to clear the salty tears. “I should have come sooner; I knew it, but I didn’t.”
As he stands, my arms desperately wrap around his strong body, and he pulls
me in tight. His hands cradle my head and smooth my hair while my tears continue to
flow, soaking the front of his suit. A child-like glee washes over me.
“I didn’t realize how alone you felt. Please forgive me,” he says as he kisses the
top of my head.
I pull back and look up into his emerald eyes. His hair is long and unruly with
blond curls encircling the bottom of his ears.
“Stephen,” I breathe out his name. “How I’ve been doesn’t matter...anymore.
Right now, I’m much better.”
About S.E. Dosher
S.E Dosher was born and raised in rural Oklahoma where she currently resides with her
cowboy husband and twins (one cowboy and one cowgirl). She spends her day slaving away in
healthcare and her nights pouring her heart out to her keyboard. She is addicted to books and
The Golden Girls. Her love for reading inspired her to start her writing journey.
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