A Sea of Shattered Glass Read online

  Table of Contents

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  Books by Kyla Stone

  Gabriel

  Willow

  Amelia

  Micah

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  Kyla Stone

  Paper Moon Press

  Contents

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  Books by Kyla Stone

  1. Gabriel

  2. Willow

  3. Amelia

  4. Gabriel

  5. Micah

  6. Willow

  7. Amelia

  8. Micah

  9. Amelia

  10. Willow

  11. Amelia

  12. Micah

  13. Amelia

  14. Gabriel

  15. Willow

  16. Gabriel

  17. Amelia

  18. Gabriel

  19. Amelia

  20. Willow

  21. Micah

  22. Amelia

  23. Willow

  24. Amelia

  25. Micah

  26. Willow

  27. Micah

  28. Gabriel

  29. Micah

  30. Willow

  31. Amelia

  32. Willow

  33. Micah

  34. Willow

  35. Gabriel

  36. Willow

  37. Amelia

  38. Willow

  39. Gabriel

  40. Micah

  41. Amelia

  42. Willow

  43. Amelia

  44. Micah

  45. Willow

  46. Gabriel

  47. Micah

  48. Amelia

  49. Micah

  50. Willow

  51. Micah

  52. Willow

  53. Gabriel

  54. Willow

  55. Amelia

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  By Kyla Stone

  Paper Moon Press

  Atlanta, Georgia

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  Copyright © 2017 by Kyla Stone All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Cover design by Clarissa Yeo

  Book formatting by Frostbite Publishing

  First Printed in 2017

  ISBN 978-1-945410-08-6

  Paper Moon Press

  Atlanta, Georgia

  www.PaperMoonPress.com

  Created with Vellum

  To my Dad, for teaching me to read and write,

  but more importantly, to love reading and writing.

  And for always believing in me.

  Books by Kyla Stone

  A Sea of Shattered Glass

  Beneath The Skin

  Before You Break

  Real Solutions for Adult Acne

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  1

  Gabriel

  It was time.

  Gabriel Ramos Rivera stood next to his mentor at the great ship's railing on the lido deck. They looked out over the gangway and the throngs of people waiting to board the Grand Voyager, a luxurious cruise ship catering exclusively to the elite.

  Seagulls wheeled above them. The air was full of the scent of salt water and diesel fuel, the sounds of people chattering, and the high shrieks of young children. Beyond the Manhattan Terminal, the glittering skyline soared into the clear blue sky.

  “Well-dressed maggots, aren't they?” Simeon Pagnini asked. In his late forties, Simeon gave off the air of a favorite uncle, with his soft cheeks, slightly receding chin, and amiable expression. It was easy to miss the dark gleam in his eyes, the sharp, thin-lipped smile.

  “Yes, they are.” Gabriel raked his hand through his curly, black hair. The twenty-one-year-old Puerto Rican was tall and handsome, his white security officer’s uniform accentuating his broad shoulders. “I wonder what they would think if they knew what was coming.”

  Gabriel watched the passengers stroll up the gangway, pausing at the security checkpoints, flashing their passports and IDs on their SmartFlex cuffs. The men wore expensive chinos and button-down dress shirts; the women were mostly thin and young, their beautiful faces shaded by floppy sunhats, flimsy sundresses swirling around their legs.

  Gabriel’s gaze snagged on a streak of white amidst all the beige and brown: a girl, her long white hair like a scarf swirling in the breeze behind her.

  She stared straight ahead, neither to the left nor right, not at the bay gleaming below her or the sparkling white hull of the ship looming above her. She was uniquely beautiful, even among the elite who bought their beauty like normal people bought toilet paper.

  “Declan Black.” Simeon tilted his head toward a grim-faced man standing next to the girl. He was the CEO and founder of BioGen Technologies, the largest, most powerful bioengineering corporation in the states. “Our primary target.”

  But Gabriel kept his gaze on the girl. She slumped slightly, a rounding to her shoulders. She had an almost defeated air about her, as if that were possible surrounded by all the glamour and sumptuous riches wealth could offer. A beautiful, dark-haired woman grazed her arm. The girl's shoulders snapped straight.

  Gabriel’s hands tightened on the glass railing. Something inside him shifted, a thrum of hatred beating in tandem with his pulse. How could anyone be anything but exhilarated to be as beautiful as she was, on a day as gorgeous as this, about to enter the most luxurious ship sailing any sea? A ship that promised extravagance and the fulfillment of every lavish desire and dream imaginable—including his own.

  “Do not let yourself become distracted.” Simeon followed his gaze. “A pretty façade is their weapon, their disguise. That is all. Remember who these people are. Remember what they've done.”

  Gabriel remembered.

  The air was brisk for early October. But it would soon grow warm and languid as they approached Caribbean waters. This fourteen-day cruise promised an unforgettable trip, the voyage of a lifetime.

  He was there to ensure it would be.

  2

  Willow

  The Grand Voyager atrium was the most magnificent thing seventeen-year-old Willow Bahaghari ever seen. Everything was gleaming marble, sparkling crystal, and glass—glass everywhere. A curved grand staircase made completely of glass swept up to the second and third balconies. Glass elevators soared through the light-filled, six-story atrium. Willow tucked her black hair behind her ears and stared straight up at the transparent, domed ceiling, her neck already aching.

  “Just wow!” her sister said. At thirteen, Zia was easily impressed. But who wouldn't be? Even Willow had to remind herself to close her mouth to keep from gaping.

  Her eight-year-old brother, Benjie, leaned over the columned fountain in the center of the atrium. He and Zia pushed their fingers into the flumes of water spraying out of the mouths of gold-plated mermaids. Beside them, a small crowd gathered around a glass dais, where a woman with gold beads in her
hair strummed a harp taller than she was.

  “Can we do that? Pretty please?” Benjie pointed at the holoscreen above the Excursions Center. It advertised all the in-port activities: hover skiing, snorkeling, personal submarine adventures, and swimming with dolphins. On the projection, a boy Benjie's age gripped a dolphin's fin and sprayed through turquoise water, laughing gleefully.

  Willow’s mom clucked her tongue. She was short, like Willow, like most of the Filipino titas, or aunties, in her family. Her mom’s dark hair was cut in a crisp, angled bob. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her tired eyes. “I'm sorry, son. The prize only includes the ship itself. We won't be able to do the activities this time.”

  This time. Like there would ever be another time. Willow's stomach clenched. Her family was only on this cruise because her mother had won the lottery—once a year, all the employee-of-the-month candidates got their names thrown into a hat. The one that came up this year was Marisol Bahaghari.

  Willow’s mom worked her butt off for Voyager Enterprises as Associate Director of Housekeeping. For the last five years, Willow, Zia, and Benjie only got to see her two months out of the year. They lived with their lola, their strict but big-hearted grandma, in a cramped two-bedroom apartment. Even though her titos and titas, uncles and aunties, and all her cousins were always around, it wasn’t the same.

  Willow’s mom worked long, back-breaking hours on the ship and sent home everything she earned. For a while, that was enough—until inflation kicked up another notch and the cost of Benjie’s allergy and asthma medications skyrocketed. Now nothing seemed like enough.

  “What should we do first?” Zia's exuberant voice broke into Willow's thoughts. Zia was exuberant about everything. Her turquoise-tipped pixie haircut accentuated her heart-shaped face, her already large eyes huge with excitement.

  Zia stared at the tiny hologram she'd brought up by clicking her wristband twice. It was a 3D map of the ship. “A jazz piano concert at the Galaxy Lounge? Cave climbing on Deck Fifteen? Cryotherapy in the snow room? The infinity pool? The revolving, glass-floor restaurant? Floating sleep pods at the Gilded Coral Spa?”

  “We'll do as much as we can, I promise.” Her mom laughed, patting her pockets. “I'm going to check in with Housekeeping and make sure everything's okay.”

  Willow rolled her eyes. “Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?”

  “It'll just be a minute. Why don't you guys start at the pool? I'll meet you on the lido deck. Do you have Benjie's inhaler?”

  “It's in his backpack, like always.”

  Her mom rummaged around her purse, frowning. She stuck her hand in her pocket and pulled out her red senior staff member wristband. “Ah, there it is. Just in case. See you soon!”

  Her mom headed through the discreet ‘Crew and Authorized Personnel Only’ door. Zia and Benjie turned to Willow, their eager faces beaming. Benjie grabbed her fingers with his free hand. With his other, he held the slim backpack he always wore everywhere, the ratty Star Wars one that held his favorite sets of playing cards. “Let's go swimming!”

  A white-gloved waiter balancing a silver tray swept up to them. He held out a flute of champagne. He was Latino, with dark hair and boyishly handsome features. His brown eyes were friendly behind his black-framed glasses. “For you, Miss . . .?”

  For a second, she stared at him, speechless. “Um, Willow. Willow Bahaghari.”

  “Welcome, Miss Bahaghari. Please, take one. Don’t worry, it’s non-alcoholic.”

  She accepted the glass and took a gulp, the bubbly liquid fizzing all the way down. It tasted like paradise. “Can I have another one?”

  “Certainly.” He smiled politely and handed her a second flute. “If there’s anything you desire, just ask. On the Grand Voyager, we're here to make your dreams come true.”

  She tilted her glass. “All of them? Is there some kind of guarantee with that?”

  “Of course. But we guarantee that you don't need a guarantee.” His tone was completely unironic, but he raised his eyebrows slightly, the corners of his mouth crinkling. “May I escort you to your stateroom?”

  “We're going swimming!” Benjie tugged down the waistband of his pants to reveal his swim trunks underneath.

  “Benjie! Manners!” She handed Zia a flute of champagne. “You want some, Benjie?”

  He made a face. “Ewww, no.”

  “We have virgin raspberry daiquiris at the pool. Served in a champagne glass with a frosted stem. Just our little secret? You can have as many as you want.” The waiter winked at Benjie before drifting away to serve the other passengers.

  Benjie's eyes widened. “Can we go? Right now? Please, Ate?” He only used the reference to her role as eldest sister when he really wanted something.

  “Oh, all right. Let's make at least one of our dreams come true.”

  Willow let her siblings drag her through the cavernous atrium and the royal promenade, up several stairways carpeted with gold and white geometric designs and through expansive marble corridors already bustling with beautiful, finely-dressed people.

  Light flooded through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows lined with white leather lounge chairs and backless love seats. Bars, restaurants, cafes, and designer boutiques lined the other side. Every surface gleamed. The floors were polished to a high gloss, the ceilings decorated with filigreed bronze tiles and modern crystal chandeliers.

  She caught sight of her harried reflection in the mirrored sconces between the windows. Dark circles rimmed her eyes. She looked as exhausted as her mom. Relax. She was supposed to be having fun. Not just fun: the time of her life.

  Zia knew exactly where to go. She led them through glass double doors that opened and closed with a quiet hiss. The sun was bright in the sky, but the air was cool. It was actually refreshing after the latest heat wave.

  Zia spread her arms. “Welcome to lido deck! Our new home away from home.”

  The teak deck seemed to go on forever, with rows and rows of cushioned lounge chairs arranged around a massive, lagoon-shaped hot tub large enough to fit a hundred people and an even larger pool. On the upper deck, cabanas with filmy curtains fluttering in the breeze offered shade and private masseuses.

  Two men strode toward her with their heads bent, walking so quickly she had to grab Benjie's hand and jerk him out of the way.

  “Watch where you're going,” one of the men said, meeting her gaze. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark and furious.

  Instinctively, she stepped back, a sudden unease jolting through her. “Um, sorry?”

  The man scowled and kept walking. The other man didn't glance at her at all. That first guy had looked almost . . . hateful. She shivered, a chill raising goosebumps on her arms.

  Benjie coughed, the dry sound rattling in his chest.

  She turned her attention back to her brother, pushing the two men out of her mind. Some people were just rude, no matter how rich and sophisticated they were. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine!” He pretended he was fine when he wasn't. The poor kid missed almost a month of school last year with bronchitis. This year, he'd already had pneumonia twice. He was sickly, always wheezing and coughing, tiring easily, and catching colds and rashes. He was allergic to pollen, dander, soy, peanuts—it seemed like everything, sometimes. Her mom thought it was all the pollution in the city, but they couldn't afford to live anywhere else.

  Look!” Benjie pointed at the enormous blue and orange slides winding over the lido deck in serpentine shapes, the largest a transparent tube arcing in a wide circle over the edge of the ship. “I'm gonna slaughter that thing!”

  “Life vest first.” She pointed to a bin filled with orange vests.

  Benjie sniffed and rubbed his nose. “No way. None of the other kids are wearing them.”

  She lowered her voice. “These kids aren't like you. They're members of country clubs, summer at Martha's Vineyard, and join swim teams when they're four.”

  “So?” His brown eyes sparked
with outrage.

  Zia ruffled his hair, which always seemed to stick up all over his head. “You can't swim yet, Bunsô.”

  Benjie glowered at them. He always hated being left out. Because of his allergies and asthma, that happened a lot. And money. Everything was always about money.

  “It's no biggie. Neither can I.” Zia met Willow’s gaze over Benjie's head. “But I bet we can learn on this trip. In fact, I happen to know someone who can swim just fine.”

  Willow was the only one who could remember visits to the shore, a tita who lived near Lake Michigan, a gaggle of cousins dragging her into freezing water, the sand gunky between her toes. Back before her dad died. Back before the Second Depression of '32, when everything went to hell.

  She knelt in front of her brother and rested her forehead against his. “I'll teach you, but only if you promise to be good. Until then, if you want to conquer that beast—” she pointed at the massive slide circling above them, “—you've got to wear the vest.”