Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  DARKNESS MADE THESE HEROINE HEARTS

  Copyright © 2016 Kirsty-Anne Still

  Cover design – PRETTY LITTLE CREATIONS

  ISBN-13: 978-1523953370

  ISBN-10: 1523953373

  All rights reserved. Please keep this book in its complete original form with the exception of quotes used in reviews. No alteration of the contents is allowed. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means – electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying) recording, or otherwise – without prior permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This is a DARK ROMANCE novel recommended for readers over the age of 18 due to sexual themes, swearing and violence. Due to the theme of extreme drug abuse and physical/sexual abuse, it is in the readers discretion to read this book. You have been warned it is for an older audience.

  Books from Kirsty-Anne Still

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A Fire That Burns.

  Watch What Burns – SEQUEL to ‘A Fire That Burns’.

  Saturdays At The Viper Series – Book one in The Viper Series.

  The Runaway Viper – Book Two in The Viper Series.

  Your Little Secret – Co-written with Bethan Cooper.

  Femme Fatale – Book one in The Pericolo Series.

  Femme Fatale Reloaded – Book two in The Pericolo Series.

  Trigger – standalone dark romance in The Pericolo Series.

  Coming soon:

  Femme Fatale Loved – Book three in The Pericolo Series.

  Femme Fatale Finale – Book four in The Pericolo Series.

  The Viper’s Bite – Book three in The Viper Series.

  The only advice I can offer you: leave your heart at the door.

  “... and things in this life don’t last forever.”

  "Get on ya knees, ya little bitch..."

  The voice does little to drag me from my thoughts.

  I stay here, cloistered in the fact this isn’t how life was meant to be.

  It’s one of those moments where time stops and I look back and wonder how it came to be.

  After all, everyone will have that one moment – that one soul-defining moment – where we wonder how our life came to be what it is. Where we realize our life isn’t quite how you expected it would be.

  I know I do.

  All too often actually.

  And this is one of them.

  One of those very moments where you wonder why you continue trying to survive. Where you wonder why you're crazy enough to keep on trying when everyone in this god-forsaken world is hell-bent on showing you what a pawn you are, how expendable you've become, how trapped you will always be.

  But there's one part of me that will always win because I don't give up.

  It's not in my nature and I've become so accustomed to this world, to the tasks I have to do, to the people who suffer beside me that I no longer look for a way out. Instead, I look for a way to lessen their pain in this place.

  Some call me Isla, most call me Eighteen, I'd call me crazy.

  "C'mon, sniff it up," he pushes my face further into the table, twisting it roughly so my nose is forced into the mountain of cocaine. "Taste the goods you girls got for us."

  I brace myself against the table, attempting to push myself away from the offending substance, but it’s no good, I’m too weak against his hold. As my breathing escalates, I can feel the cocaine beginning to infiltrate my body with each new inhalation I can’t avoid taking. I know I’ll enjoy it once it hits my system, know it’ll calm me, but it doesn’t mean I have to want it. I want to be stronger than the shell I’ve become, but I never will be.

  That’s the sorry fact of life.

  "Lick that fucking shit up!" With that threat comes the press of steel from the barrel of a gun against the back of my head. As if it’s the first time, my eyes close as tears build and I remind myself it’ll all be over soon – I’ll be on a high, leaving this reality for just long enough. “I said lick it up!”

  With my eyes still closed, I part my lips, allowing my tongue to come and stroke at the cocaine. In slow licks, I coat my tongue before allowing my mouth to close around it and the cocaine to become absorbed completely before I go back for more. I swallow what is gathered in my mouth. I hate myself for doing this again but loathe myself more for knowing how I need this, how it will silence the constant whisper in the back of my mind and how it’ll help me through this.

  Before I can finish what’s there, I get pulled away from the substance and thrown on the bed of the hotel room with brute force. Immediately, I can already feel the rush of euphoria beginning to overtake my system, and all of the woes I had are beginning to melt away. I’m well aware that the sweats will creep back in by tonight, so will my unsettled behavior, but for now, I let myself get lost.

  “Cut the girl some lines while she strips for us.”

  The asshole who forced me to try the drugs grabs my hand and I’m pulled to my feet. He holds me close and I grin at him, looking up into his eyes. I feel the cocaine dancing with every cell in my bloodstream. It tantalizes everything it comes into contact with. At first, I thought it was a slow thrum of delicious surrealism, but it’s a sense of hyper-reality. I enjoy that initial escape, but it transcends into something far darker - and they know it because they’ll enjoy it most.

  As my body temperature begins to creep to a new high, I feel my bravado become alive like wild-fire. This spike in my confidence has me feeling empowered, I look at the door, just a few measly steps away. I could make it while they least expect it. If I just take a run, I could make it to the door and into the hallway to freedom.

  And I do – I take that run.

  I take the dangerous chance because I know it’s now or never.

  “No leaving,” he states, catching me with ease. I find his tone of voice alluring, a stark difference to what it was before. He’s calmer than he was, strangely he’s friendlier than ever. "Dance with me, chica... let it do its job."

  I have no chance to deny him as his greedy hands cover my waist, moving onto my ass pulling me close and swaying me to a silent melody. My head swirls as we move and all I can make sense of is the smile that shines between inaudible comments.

  It’s as we sway, I feel the zipper of my dress begin to open, the material falling away from itself and my mind rationalizes on one thought entirely – this is it. The moment they get to have free reign over me. It’s with the thought of them defiling me that I try to fight, but I am weak – regardless of my current high – and his hold is too firm. I’m high and he’s sober, it’s in no way a fair fight. I continue to flail, believing my strength is far fiercer than it is, throwing blind hits in the hope one will grant me freedom, but I know it’s too late as my dress falls away and I’m left in my panties.

  “Don’t need these,” he
tells me, wrapping long fingers around my panties. “They’re just gonna get in the way.”

  “Please,” I beg slurred and pathetic.

  He continues to dance with me, using the gentle swaying to push my panties away from my hips. There’s no heavy handiness, no roughness, he just uses my drugged state as an aid and it’s working. I’m at a disadvantage as the drug begins to peak in my system and I know soon the beautiful high will end.

  Reality will slap back with such a brute force.

  “Perfect,” he says about the same time my panties hit the floor, pooling at my feet.

  Standing before both these men naked, I feel their predatory gazes leave their marks. My heart begins to gallop, both an effect of cocaine and waiting on their next move. My skin begins to prickle as anticipation becomes rife, stealing all viable air from around me.

  “Get back down there,” one orders pointing at the table. I shake my head. “Now,” he growls, taking a sharp step toward me.

  My disobedience quickly angers him and I’m struck by the back of his hand. My entire body flies, dazed and drugged to the floor. I know better, I really do, but I know what comes after this and I still fear the idea of losing just a little bit more of myself.

  “I said get back down there,” he says, his words bitten out with venom as, once again, he grabs me by the back of my head, tightening his fist around my hair. “Now, sniff it, so we can get the fucking party started.”

  He releases me but has faith that I’ll listen. Which I do. I lift my hand up to my nose, pushing on one side so I can successfully do as I'm asked - test drive the cocaine I've helped bring them. This time, however, I welcome the new high to take over from the one that will soon end.

  Some won’t understand, but I find a sense of hope while high, one that never arrives, but always wraps itself around me. While high I believe I can. When I’m sober, I know I can’t. Sobriety shows my defeat every single time.

  That’s the sorry state of this lifestyle.

  It's no new experience, but most are never so violent or hands on when asking us girls to obey. So I listen, I sniff at the white powder, feeling it fly up my nostril and into my body, burning the back of my nose. I go to lift up, thinking I've done enough, but his hand comes back to grip my hair.

  “Bit more,” he orders, pushing my head back down again. “I want it all gone!”

  “You're fucking crazy,” I hear the other voice say.

  There are four more lines to go; I know it’s not enough to do anything but knock me for six, but that’s what worries me most. It’s enough to make me vulnerable when I think otherwise.

  “Nah, it won't do no harm. We know how to get a bitch to the brink and drag her back,” with that I feel the grip on my hair tighten. "All of it..."

  I obey, as he brandishes his gun he used to threaten me with earlier. I do the remaining three, and steady myself as I reach the fourth and final one. My eyes begin to spin as everything in my peripheral vision slowly starts to blend to blurriness and I rock on my knees, struggling for a moment.

  “Do it, bitch.”

  I lower my head, mentally preparing myself and finalize this moment. I hate that I’ve been dealt with this card in life, but acceptance was a plea I took a long time ago when I knew there was no going back.

  “Good girl!” the main man jeers, grabbing onto my head to force me back.

  He throws me across the room and I feel disconnected from myself. I giggle, the force of the impact not what I was expecting, clearly the drugs have numbed me to the extent of his brutality.

  It’s not always a bad thing.

  He picks me up. This time, I start to feel even more alive from the drugs as my heart begins to pump maniacally, causing hyperactive blood cells to pulsate throughout my body. Cradled in his arms, he whispers to me, playing to my drugged haze, luring me into a sense of comfort I haven’t felt since arriving here yesterday. It’s as he tends to me, showing me a softer side to get what he wants that I react. My hand comes up to his face, doing as I’m told, I begin to kiss his jaw. Slowly, I work my way to his lips, but in that instance of doing what I’m told, it all ends as I’m thrown onto the bed and the other man grabs my hands holding them above my head.

  “Hey Darlin’,” he leers at me, even winking. “Now, the fun begins.”

  “No,” I say, feeling the icy reality thrusting back into me, the cocaine messing with my head. My panic rises as the drugs swing into full effect and the men prepare for their ultimate plan. Again, my false belief in my strength fails me. “No!” I whisper terrified, thrashing, trying to get free.

  “Your boss said we could have what we wanted,” the initial guy speaks, this time as he covers my body, I realize he’s unbuckled his pants, losing them around his ankles. He slowly begins to crawl up my body, leaving me trapped beneath his. “He didn’t rule any of you girls out.”

  Every part of my environment seems to burn with vehement realism. Everything I’m usually used to seems to buzz with far more sharpness, defined and imposing. He parts my legs and I struggle to fight with him, but he has the upper hand. His friend tightens his grip on me, pulling hard on my arms as if to distract me with that pain to not realize what is about to happen to me.

  I lose the battle and he successfully makes it between my legs and before I can stop him, he thrusts straight into me. It’s at that moment my eyes squeeze shut and I accept that I can’t stop this. I can’t even stop the sting of tears in the back of my eyes.

  I don’t usually cry. I always turn my mind off, drift away, but the cocaine has heightened every one of my senses and I’m finding it hard to close myself off. I’m thankful when everything comes to a collision, I open my eyes and suddenly the room doesn’t seem to be in focus. I know this sensation, it’s my favorite part of being forced to take drugs.

  I allow the drugs to overtake me and do the only good thing they’re useful for – killing off reality for now.

  “Isla!” my name is called in an alarmed whisper. “Please, Isla! Wake up!”

  I force my eyes to open, struggling to do so as I’m greeted with blinding lights and a pounding headache. I cringe, shutting my eyes again, but this time, I’m met with shaking. As my body moves, I feel the incredible darkened mood I’m in. The aftermath of cocaine is never one I enjoy, always one I despise myself for and one I’ll know I’ll feel time and time again.

  “What?” I growl, unfriendly.

  I know I shouldn’t be so harsh, but sometimes I cannot be the leader. Sometimes I cannot be the strong one. Sometimes I want someone to carry me through the day.

  “Please, something’s wrong!”

  It’s now I take note of the scared note to the voice. I sit up, not caring for my headache and look straight at Lydia. Her eyes are bloodshot and she looks pale – a common after effect of these trips.

  “What’s happened?”

  Taking my hand, she yanks on it. “It’s Jenny, something’s wrong.”

  “Let me get dressed,” I mutter, getting up. I hunt for my clothes, finding them scattered around the room. I ignore the ache of my body, the bruising on the inner parts of my thighs and that empty, sinking feeling within. My concern now is for the girls. “What’s wrong with her?” I ask, as I dress. “What’s going on?”

  It’s now I watch Lydia’s face transform, her bottom lip begins to pout and her eyes water. It causes me to hasten my speed, getting dressed as quickly as I can while fighting against the nauseous feeling in my stomach. The moment I work my zipper closed, she’s pulling me from the hotel room I collapsed in last night and down the corridor to a room two doors down.

  “What’s going on in here?” I ask, watching all of the girls huddle around Jenny, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Jen?”

  “They’re not all there, Isla,” she says, her face ghostly white. “I counted them, but something’s wrong! Joaquín said the mixture would help, but they’re not all here. I took them all, he saw me take them. You were there, I ate all of the balloons,
but they’re not all here now!”

  “They must be,” I say, disbelieving her. “You must’ve miscounted or something.”

  “Isla, they’re not,” she states again; this time, her tone become dire. “I’ve counted them three times.”

  Laughter penetrates the stiff air in the room, making us all jump.

  “For drug mules, you’re making a shit job outta it,” the bastard from last night comments as he comes into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Thought that bastard Joaquín woulda chosen ya better.”

  I glower at him, in no way enamored with him for his mistreatment of us.

  “You think this is a fucking easy thing?” I ask, taking a stand. “You give her time and you’ll have everything you need.”

  “Doesn’t work like that,” he says as two more of his men come into the room. “See, this side of the border, you’re my responsibility, so I’ll do whatever the fuck I like with any and all of ya.” He looks over his shoulder at one of his thugs, before looking at the other. “Get her.”

  I refuse to move myself, trying to act like the girls protector, but I know I’m no match for men double my size and twice my stamina. I stood no chance and they prove that as one pushes me out of the way. We work by not using names, but the main man of the group laughs as I fall down onto the bed, leaving them time to grab Jenny and drag her away from the other three girls who came with me. I stand up, giving Jenny the most apologetic look I can, but I know there’s nothing I can do.

  “You’ll be going back one girl less,” he says, brandishing the knife he pulls from the back of his waistband.

  “No!” I beg, stepping closer. “Just give her another hour or two. I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

  “You’ve been with us over thirty-six hours,” he tells me, grabbing Jenny yet pointing the knife at me. “And I’m yet to see her pass all the goods. You four are safe, but this one hasn’t got a chance.”

  “She does,” I argue, unwilling to back away and abandon her. “She’s not a lost cause!”