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L.J. Shen Biography

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“Ugly or not, I could still kiss you if I wanted to, and you’d let me.” I choked on the rich cocoa in my mouth, my book dropping to the ground and closing without a bookmark. Shoot. “Why would you ever think that?” I’d turned to him, scandalized. He’d leaned close, one flat chest to another. He’d smelled of something foreign and dangerous and wild. Of golden California beaches, maybe. “Because my dad told me good girls like bad boys, and I’m bad. Really bad.”

“He deserved more than a girl who couldn’t tell him how she felt. He was perfect, and I was flawed. “Promise me.” His lips touched my temple, his warm breath sending shivers down my body. Shivers that felt different—like they filled my lower belly with lava. Promise him what? I wondered. I nodded yes anyway, eager to please him, though he hadn’t completed his sentence. My lips moved. “I promise. I promise. I promise.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t trust me. Why he’d sneak into my bedroom that night—and every night, for the next six years—and wrap his arms around me, making sure I was really okay. Sometimes he smelled of alcohol. Sometimes of another girl. Fruity and sweet and different. Oftentimes, he smelled of my heartbreak. But he was always making sure I was safe. And he always left before my dad knocked on my door to wake me up. For the next six years, before jumping through my window, Knight would drop a kiss on my forehead in the exact same spot where shortly thereafter Dad would kiss me good morning, the heat of Knight’s lips still on my skin, making my face radiate.”

“I began shoving pills into his mouth. I didn’t have time for this. I wanted to call my son and see that he was okay, talk to my wife and assure her everything was fine. After his mouth was full of pills, I pushed his head under the water, forcing him to gulp down or choke up. I repeated the action three times, until I was sure he’d swallowed enough drugs to kill a Game of Thrones dragon. His bloodstream would soon be more contaminated than Chernobyl circa 1986.”

“I'd been trying to get high off of bath salts unsuccessfully for twenty minutes when Lucas walked in and shut the door behind him. Yeah, I was using again. Or at least trying. Shit, I wasn't even good at being a drug addict. How embarrassing was that? "Don't even think about it." I sniffed, trying to light up the little rocks of salt. How the fuck could you get high on them? I needed new mates. New, young, loser mates who'd teach me how to get high on pathetic things.”

“Prichard's got too much to lose. He can't touch us.' 'Can anyone?' Penn wonders aloud, just as Trent's door opens from the other side. Dean whistles for him to get outside, swinging my baseball bat and parking it over his shoulder. 'Maybe God,' I answer curtly. 'Even that's debatable.' Dean snickers.”

“The queen is the most powerful piece,' he hissed. 'Don't let the pawns bring you down.' I wanted to ask him if he was my king. Because I knew how to play chess very well. But the answer was crystal clear to me. Roman 'Bane' Protsenko was my knight. The piece of the chess that needed to be moved sooner than the pawns, the bishops, and the queens. The piece that could have saved me.”