Damaged Heart (A San Diegan Novel Book 3)

by S. M. Soto

  Damaged Heart

  S.M. Soto

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Damaged Heart

  Copyright © 2018 SM Soto

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-945910-78-4

  Inkspell Publishing

  5764 Woodbine Ave.

  Pinckney, MI 48169

  Edited By Rie Langdon

  Cover art By Najla Qamber

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  OTHER BOOKS BY S.M. SOTO

  The Darkest Hour: A San Diegan Novel

  Scoring the Quarterback

  DEDICATION

  For Michelle Clay and Annette Brignac. You ladies are amazing. Thank you for loving Samantha and Alex as much as I do.

  PROLOGUE

  August 1995

  “Momma?” I crack open the closet door, hoping she won’t be mad that I’m coming out before she said so. I’m just so hungry. My stomach curls in on itself violently as another pang of hunger wracks my small frame. I hear loud laughter coming from the living room and push my small, trembling body out of the closet. My feet make little to no noise on the hardwood floors because I weigh close to nothing.

  Momma always does this. She has happy time with her friends and tells me to sit in the closet until she’s ready for me to come out. I ran out of crackers yesterday morning and I can’t take it anymore. I need food. My stomach keeps cramping, and all I want to do is cry.

  Where is Momma?

  “Momma?” I croak as I peek my head into the living room. Momma’s head bobs up and down in front of the same man I always see here.

  The bad man.

  His belly hangs out of his white T-shirt that stretches across his huge tummy and his big, meaty hand is fisted in my momma’s hair. I whimper at the sight before me. For the life of me, I can’t understand what’s going on.

  What is he doin’ to my momma?

  His gaze snaps up to my wide eyes and a salacious smile spreads across his face. His nasty beard hides it well, but I know that smile. It’s the same one he gives me every time he sees me. That’s why momma keeps me locked in the closet. The tip of his tongue wets his crusty, bottom lip as his eyes rake up and down my bony body. I instinctively cover my bare legs. Momma only shoved me in the closet with my tank top and undies on. His grip on Momma’s hair tightens and he makes disgusting noises all the while his eyes focus on my thighs. A guttural groan escapes his lips as he rests his head back on the sofa before giving me a wink.

  I recoil and tremble.

  “M-momma?” I stutter. She whips around, still on her knees wiping something off her mouth. I furrow my brows and grimace in pain when my stomach cramps again from the hunger.

  “Samantha!” Momma growls through narrowed slits. “I told you to stay in the closet! You deaf or somethin’?” She spits the words angrily. I flinch at her tone, taking a hesitant step back.

  “I’m sorry, Momma.” I look down at the dirty carpet beneath my feet and take note of the bent spoons and discarded needles scattered around me.

  “I’m just so hungry. My stomach is startin’ to hurt real bad,” I whine, picking up my head.

  My eyes land on the items that are always littered on the coffee table. The white stuff in a neat line. The colorful pipe. More bent spoons and needles. My eyes drift to my momma’s wide eyes and ratty red hair. It sticks up in all directions, reminding me of a bird’s nest. Her tank top hangs haphazardly off her shoulder, exposing her breast, and I cringe in embarrassment for her. She staggers to her feet and licks her lips as she comes to me. She smiles, revealing her yellow teeth, and she pets my hair in what she thinks is a soothing manner.

  “Sammy. My sweet little Sammy. You know the rules. Whenever Mommy is about to go to her happy place, you stay in the closet until I come get you. I promise we’ll get you a nice burger from the McDonald’s once Mommy is feeling better, okay?”

  I look up into my mom’s eyes and nod, ignoring the pain in my stomach. Normally, my eyes are green like hers but the black in the center of her eye is so big you can hardly even see the green most days. I wish her eyes looked normal. I hate it when they’re like this.

  Momma forcefully grips my arm and drags me down the hallway, tossing me into the closet.

  “Now I want you to count to a thousand. By the time you get there, Momma should be ready to get you. Then we can get you a Happy Meal. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

  Tears spring to my eyes at the mention of a Happy Meal. I’m so hungry. And I hate sitting in the dark.

  “But Momma, I don’t know how to count yet,” I whimper, trying to come up with any excuse to stay out of the dark, claustrophobic space.

  Her lips thin into a grim line and she slams the closet door without a response. I hear the distinct click of the lock and curl my legs into my chest, hugging them to me tightly. I rock back and forth, trying to count to one thousand.

  One, two, five…no.

  One, two, six…no wait…one…two…

  CHAPTER ONE

  Damage

  /damij/

  verb

  Past tense: Damaged

  Past participle: Damaged

  1. Inflict physical harm on (something) so as to impair its value, usefulness, or normal function.

  2. Have a detrimental effect on.

  ***

  In one way or another, we are all products of our childhoods. Some children grow up with a silver spoon in their mouths while others are starving, praying for their next meal. Some children have the luxury of a proud environment, while others live in a poverty-riddled one.

  There are some of us in the world who were never destined to make it. We were doomed from the start. Whether it was a result of our upbringing, or lack thereof, we were never meant to become anything more than the bottom-feeders—the kind of people others frown upon and pity. But the fucked-up part? We didn’t want this shit life. We were born into it. It was branded onto our skin. Embedded in our souls. We’re the tainted ones in this society, or at the very least, that’s what we’re all taught to believe.

  My actions are a direct result of my childhood. The toxicity running through my veins is a byproduct of what I had to endure as a child.

  I’m reckless.

  I’m toxic.

  I’m careless.

  I’m so fucking damaged.

  This isn’t a story about love and happily-ever-afters. This isn’t a story for the faint of heart. This isn’t even a story at all.

  My name is Samantha Paisley, and this is my life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Fuck. You feel so good, beautiful. Do you like that? Is that good, baby?” The guy above me pants out as he makes the most ridiculous face down at me in his throes of passion. His hips thrust into me jaggedly with no momentum or pace. The slobber from his open-mouthed kisses still coat my lips. His mewling after each of his thrusts is starting to irritate me beyond belief. And I have to physically r
estrain myself from yawing and falling asleep at his performance. It’s all just so very unsatisfactory.

  The guy fucking sucks.

  Plain and simple.

  I’ve had some shitty lays before, but this guy hovering over me? He takes the damn cake for the worst lay of my life. And that’s really saying something.

  “You.” Thrust. “Like.” Thrust. “That.” Thrust. “Don’t.” Thrust. “You.”

  Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

  I roll my eyes and lift my wrist, checking for the time on my watch. I squint my eyes for a better read and get a quarter to eleven. Which is still fairly early. I might still be able to pick someone else up for the night and salvage this horrible, horrible experience.

  I mentally start creating my game plan when fuck-face starts jerking above me, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “I’m gonna come. Oh yeah baby, I’m coming!” His hips jerk wildly, and he throws his head back looking like a wild fish out of water.

  It’s comical—this whole performance, it really is.

  His sweaty body crashes on top of me, completely knocking the air out of me. His sticky skin is like a dead weight on top of me, so I wiggle beneath him until his now limp dick slides out of me.

  Thank God.

  “All right, buddy.” I pat his shoulder. “Time for you to get dressed and take a hike,” I pronounce as I slide his body off mine. I hop out of my bed and slip on a discarded tank top and a pair of underwear. When I don’t hear any rustling from the bed or of clothes, I turn around with narrowed eyes.

  Motherfucker.

  He fell asleep. In my bed. Butt-ass naked. After the worst sex, ever.

  No. Absolutely fucking not.

  I stomp over to my bed and shove his shoulder until he lifts his head sleepily.

  “Round two already, babe? I need to recoup after that one.” He chuckles, snuggling back into my pillows. My eyes narrow into thin slits.

  “Up, up, up, up!” I shout as I use all my strength to tug him off my queen-sized bed. His body lands with a thump on the carpet and he shoots to his feet, looking around in confusion.

  “Oh great, look who’s up? And now it’s time for you to skedaddle. C’mon, chop-chop. Hurry it up.” I clap my hands, motivating him to move quicker. He frowns at me while he tugs his jeans on, all the while grumbling to himself. I smile in victory and throw open my bedroom door for his much-needed departure. I skip down the hall and encase myself in the bathroom for a shower to wash this horrid experience off. I slip out of my tank top and bra. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoes throughout the apartment and I smile, feeling a wave of relief.

  I take a quick shower, throwing my hair up into a sloppy bun and applying minimal makeup. I wear the skimpiest dress I can find in my closet—one that screams “fuck me”. Lord knows I need it after that disaster. My hips sashay down the hallway and I can’t fight my grin when I see my best friend snuggled up on the couch with a textbook.

  Sweet, little Natalia. Gotta love her.

  She must feel the weight of my stare because she momentarily looks up from the textbook and does a double take.

  “Wow, hot stuff. Where you headed now?” she asks with a playful smirk.

  “Trolling for some good dick.” I wink, and she tilts her head to the side with her brows furrowed.

  “But didn’t you just…?” She can’t even finish her sentence and I smirk

  I love my best friend to death, but she really needs to let her V-card go and really understand, on an intimate level, why I love dick so much.

  “Oh, I did, but I didn’t get off. He was horrible. With a capital H. You should’ve seen it, Nat. It was like watching a horrible car accident in slow motion.”

  She scrunches her face up in disgust. “Glad I wasn’t around to witness that,” she mumbles.

  “He came like a fish out of water.” I lean my head back and jerk my body in an over-exaggerated demonstration of how he looked. Natalia throws her head back and laughs hysterically. After she’s able to breathe, she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes and smirks.

  “You are the definition of a man-eater, Samantha.”

  I wink at her and hook the chain of my purse over my shoulder. “You know it, babe. Don’t wait up, sweet cheeks.”

  Just as I’m almost out the door she shouts, “Don’t forget to use condoms!”

  I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Grandma.”

  Antsy to find a skilled candidate to get me off after this shit-fest of a night, I lock up behind me and skip down the steps of our apartment to my car.

  I love coming to the Aero Club to find guys to hook up with because generally, they’re looking for the same thing as me—a one-night stand. No strings. No expectations. Just good, spontaneous sex that won’t ever result in any unnecessary drama.

  Just as I’m sashaying toward the bar, I hear that deep, throaty laugh that I know all too well. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I shift my gaze to the end of the bar where I see him. Alexander Clark.

  He’s the only man in my life that has lasted as long as he has—nine years, to be exact. Alex Clark was just all-around bad news for a troubled girl like me. He was the kind of guy that made you want things you knew you’d never be able to have. He was trouble where I was concerned. Even when I first moved to San Diego as an adolescent teen, I knew he was trouble. I knew I needed to stay away from him, but that never stopped me. It still doesn’t.

  I hone in on the busty brunette, who is just as scantily dressed as I am, running her hands all over Alex. Bitch is in my stomping ground, running her hands all over my potential men? Fuck no.

  Hot, rage-ful jealousy roars through my veins. My hands curl into fists and my nostrils flare. I wasn’t your average, normal jealous woman. I took jealousy to a whole other level. The actual definition of jealousy? Yeah, you’d find my picture and name right there in the dictionary. Seeing Alex with another woman always made me unreasonable and crazy, for lack of a better word. Over the years, I’d gotten good at hiding it, but deep down, I was green with envy, ready to rip off the head of any chick within a two mile radius.

  I narrow my gaze on the two of them, and I let my hair drop to my shoulders. Then I run my hands through my auburn locks, mussing up the tresses, giving them a wild, sexy look. That’s Alex’s favorite.

  With determination, I strut toward their position at the bar, and sleekly slide into the empty bar stool next to Alex. I’m able to catch the tail end of the brunette’s sentence.

  “I’m sure I can show you a few things with my mouth that you haven’t experienced before,” she purrs.

  “Is that right? You want to show me what that mouth can do?” Alex says back in a husky voice, and I roll my eyes. Barf. I loudly clear my throat, effectively gaining their attention and ruining the heated moment. Alex swings his gaze to mine, and his eyes widen in surprise only briefly before clearing of all emotion. The brunette narrows her eyes at me and I give her a smarmy smile with a condescending wave. I reach over Alex and pluck the cherry out of her girly drink, and proceed to toss it in my mouth. After eating the cherry, I use my tongue to tie a knot on the stem, and open my mouth, showing them both.

  “Why bother waiting for her to show you, when you already know what this mouth can do?” I raise my brows in challenge.

  Alex’s gaze drops to the tied stem, then drifts back up to mine with heat that warms me right to my core.

  “True, but that doesn’t mean Marie here doesn’t have a great offer on the table for me,” he says with an air of indifference.

  I clench my hands into fists and I narrow my eyes at him.

  So this is how we’re playing it, huh?

  I fix Alex with a glare before turning my attention to Marie, the slutty brunette with the oversized tits.

  “Does it make you uncomfortable that I’ve fucked Alex more times than either of us can count, Marie?”

  Marie runs her hand across Alex’s chest and slides onto his lap, showcasing he’s her territory as
of right now.

  In your fucking dreams, sweetheart.

  “Of course not.” She licks the shell of his ear, and whispers something to him, all the while never breaking our stare-off.

  Game on, bitch.

  When Alex cups her plump backside in both of his hands, kneading the flesh, and his mouth dips to her neck making her groan in approval, I lose my composure. Within seconds, my hands are on Marie, and I’m tossing her off Alex with more force than necessary.

  “All right, twat-lip, it’s time for you to get the hell out of here.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she growls angrily as she stumbles on her heels.

  I meet Alex’s stare. He’s smiling at me like the Cheshire cat, and I raise a brow at him, waiting for him to say something.

  “Another time, Marie. You have my number.”

  Marie glowers at me with a look of pure hated before she shoulders past me, calling me a bitch.

  I laugh after her retreating form, and yell out, “Sticks and stones, honey!”

  When Marie’s finally out of sight, I turn back toward Alex, who’s still grinning like the infuriating asshole he is.

  “What the hell are you smiling about?”

  “You.” He leans back in his chair, and I watch in pure, feminine appreciation as his shirt pulls tightly across the firm muscles of his chest. His black T-shirt hugs his bicep muscles perfectly and I get a glimpse of his delicious tribal tattoo hidden beneath the cotton material of his sleeve. “Your little show was quite amusing. Do I sense a bit of jealousy?”

  I scoff, and roll my eyes at him “Don’t flatter yourself. I just need to get laid, and we all know you’re the only one who can ever satisfy my needs.”