by Kyla Stone
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.”
