Table of Contents Copyright Other Books Driven Fueled Crashed About the Author PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF K. BROMBERG "An irresistibly hot romance that stays with you long after you finish the book." - New York Times bestselling author Katy Evans "K. Bromberg is the master of making. K. Bromberg is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Crashed. Driven (Series). Book 3. K. Bromberg Author Sean Crisden Narrator. k-bromberg-driven- k-bromberg-driven-saisoncrashed-pdf-mobi-epubpdf. KB.
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Bromberg What happens when the one person you never expected suddenly eBook deals on Sweet Cheeks by K. Bromberg, free and discounted eBook deals for Sweet Cheeks and other great books. Download it once and read it on your Kindle device, PC, phones or tablets. Use features like bookmarks, note taking and highlighting while reading Crashed The Driven Series Book 3.
Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate but cant help to love. Crashed Driven 3 by K. Read Online 9. Alternate cover edition for B00HG05AZC0 When life crashes down around us, how hard are we willing to fight for the one thing we cant live without, each other?
Life is full of moments.
Big moments. Little moments. The role of the tumorinfiltrating lymphocyte TIL and its relationship to prognosis has been most extensively studied in malignant melanoma Fueled k bromberg epub vk. The purpose of this. And yet I take another step through the fog toward this unexpected ray of light. Be my spark. It's so fucking adorable to see this little kid with such a serious face, nose scattered with freckles scrunched up, looking at me like I'm missing something.
My type of kid.
I stifle a chuckle as he glances back over my shoulder again for the third time. I start to turn to see what he's looking at when his voice stops me.
My fleeting thoughts mixed with the somberness of his tone and the concern etched on his face is starting to unnerve me. Anxiety creeps up my spine until I look down at my race suit to find it intact, my hands patting up and down to calm the feeling.
Nothing's wrong," I say, sighing a quick breath of relief. The little fucker scared me for a second. You're broken. My heart stops. My breath strangles in my chest. My body freezes. I blink my eyes over and over, trying to push away the images before me.
The sights permeate through a viscous haze. The air finally punches from my lungs. I force a swallow down my throat that feels like sandpaper. I know I see it-the chaos right before my eyes-but how is it possible?
How am I here and there?
I try to move. To fucking run! To get their attention to tell them I'm right here-that I'm okay-but my feet won't listen to the ricocheting panic in my brain. I'm not there. Just here.
I know I'm okay-know I'm alive-because I can feel my breath catch in my chest when I take a step forward to get a closer look. Fingertips of dread tickle over my scalp because what I see ,,, that can't be The gentle whir of the saw pulls me from my ready-to-rage state as the medical crew cuts the driver's helmet down the center. The minute they split it apart, my head feels like it explodes.
I drop to my knees, the pain so excruciating all I can do is raise my hands up to hold it. I have to look up. Have to see who was in my car. Whose motherfucking ass is mine, but I can't. It hurts too goddamn much.
What the ,,,? I know I have to look.
I have to see for myself who is in the car even though I ultimately know the truth. Disjointed memories fracture and flicker through my mind just like pieces of the splintered mirror in that fucking dive bar. Humpty fucking Dumpty. Fear snakes up my spine, takes hold, and reverberates through me. I just can't do it. I can't look up. Don't be such a pussy, Donavan. Instead, I look to my right into his eyes, the unexpected calm in this storm.
Am I ,,,? He just looks at me-eyes clear, face serious, lips pursed, freckles dancing-before he squeezes my shoulder. With him here at my side amidst this whirling chaos, I've never felt more at peace and yet at the same time more scared. I force my eyes from his serene face to look back at the scene in front of me. I feel like I'm in a kaleidoscope of jagged images as I take in the face-my fucking face-on the gurney.
My heart crashes. Grey skin. Eyes swollen, bruised, and closed. Lips lax and pale. Devastation surrenders, desperation consumes, life sputters, and yet my soul clings.
No one turns. No one hears me. Every fucking person is unresponsive-my body and the medics. The body on the gurney- my body -jolts as someone climbs on the stretcher and starts compressions on my chest.
Someone fastens the neck brace. Lifts my eyelids and checks my pupils. Wary faces.
Defeated eyes. Routine movements. I'm right here! Right here! I'm okay. Tears fall. Disbelief stutters. Possibilities vanish. Hope implodes.
My life blurs. My eyes focus on my hand hanging limp and lifeless off of the gurney-a single drip of blood slowly making its way down to the tip of my finger before another compression on my chest joggles it to drip on the ground beneath.
I focus on that ribbon of blood, unable to look back at my face. I can't take it anymore. Can't stand watching the life drain from me. Can't stand the fear that creeps into my heart, the unknown that trickles into my subconscious, and the cold that starts to seep into my soul. If I do then I'm accepting what is happening on the gurney before me-what his place beside me signifies.
A single word, but the most important one of my fucking life. I stare at him, consumed by what is in the depths of his eyes-understanding, acceptance, acknowledgment-and as much as I don't want to leave the feeling I have with him, the question he's asking me-to choose life or death-is the easiest decision I've ever had to make. And yet, the decision to live-to go back and prove like fucking hell that I deserve to be given this choice-means that I'll have to leave his angelic little face and the serenity his presence brings to my otherwise troubled soul.
I hold my breath waiting for his answer, wanting both a yes and a no. He tilts his head to the side and smirks.
I want to yell at him.