RUINING ANGEL

RUINING

ANGEL

© Copyright 2013 S. Pratt

(Shelly Pratt)

http://facebook.com/authorpratt

http://shellypratt.net

http://twitter.com/authorprattster

A PLEASE AND THANK YOU FROM THE AUTHOR

Ruining Angel is a novella inspired by the novel Ruined. If you have not yet read Ruined, you may wish to do so first, however, this novella aims to give the reader glimpses of Angel throughout his life which do not feature in Ruined. I feel this novella will give the reader more insight into who Angel really is, so some may even like it more if they read this first! If you wish to leave a review on Amazon, might I kindly ask that you state if you are posting spoilers to be fair to your fellow readers. Many thanks, S. Pratt.

RUINING ANGEL is edited (spelling/grammar) in English-American by Emily Dawson of SCTW Editing (Facebook).

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to places or people are entirely coincidental. Places are used fictitiously for entertainment purposes.

The content and characters are creations of the author’s imagination and are no way meant to represent anyone living or deceased.

The written material contained within this novel is subject to the Australian Copyright Act 1968. The Author (Michelle A Pratt) writing under the pseudonym of Shelly Pratt and S. Pratt exercises this right and does not hereby give permission for this work to be copied or reproduced in any way, shape or form for public or personal use. All other applicable international copyright laws are reserved including federal and state.

Quotations may be used for the purpose of book reviews; and marketing if permission is granted by the author prior to use.

WARNING

This novel contains adult content and should only be viewed by persons 18 years +. Taboo situations and strong sex scenes are contained within.

RESPECT

Respect the hard work of this author. If you have obtained a copy of this book without purchasing it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete the file and purchase a copy legally.

This novella is for your enjoyment only and may not be resold or given to other persons. If you would like to share RUINING

ANGEL with others then please purchase additional copies for each individual.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

PROLOGUE - Present Day

CHAPTER ONE - Age Five

CHAPTER TWO - The Michaels

CHAPTER THREE - Just Kids

CHAPTER FOUR – Surrender Yourself

CHAPTER FIVE - Forbidden

CHAPTER SIX - The Lead Up

CHAPTER SEVEN - Savior

CHAPTER EIGHT - Ruined

CHAPTER NINE - Road Trip

CHAPTER TEN - Philly

CHAPTER ELEVEN – On Your Knees, Boy

CHAPTER TWELVE - You Have Got To Be Kidding Me CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Mine Forever

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – Fuck

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – The Good Girl

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Honeymoon

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – Time

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – Happy Ever After?

BONUS CHAPTER - Carron

MORE NOVELS WRITTEN BY S. PRATT

A SAMPLE OF RUINED

Preface

One

A SAMPLE OF BURNING OBSESSION

Preface

Chapter One

Novels coming 2013

Dedication

To all the fans who make my dream possible

‘If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.’ – Michael de Montaigne.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my editor Emily Dawson. Grammar has never been so much fun!

Thank you Kerri Williams. Your love for Angel, your enthusiasm for my new ‘voice’ and your passion for the romantic things in life inspire me to always top myself with each new novel I put out there.

Thank you very much to Kate Mathias and Melissa Brown. These are the kinds of friends you want for life. You ladies are selfless people with a desire to see others succeed and I appreciate you so very much as colleagues.

PROLOGUE - Present Day

Her soul sets me on fire. She doesn’t know I’m watching her, and yet, she’s never looked more beautiful. The sunlight catches her auburn hair as she shakes it loose from the ponytail she’s just taken down. The water laps at her ankles while she bends to collect the shells that litter the floor of the beach. Her white sundress is see-through, hitched up in the sides of her bikini bottoms leaving her milky white flesh exposed to the eye. My eyes trail up the length of her legs and work slowly up her body.

There is an innate need to be closer to her, to touch her. Yet as much as I want to, I restrain myself, enjoying observing the carefree person she has become. The happiness we’ve found since we allowed ourselves to be with each other has let us be comfortable in our bodies. Everything changed this last year. She helped me heal, helped me have faith in us. Now she’s my wife, and I couldn’t be happier.

The anguish in her has gone. Like a teenager, she squeals when the water comes rushing in too fast from the ocean, wetting the hem of her dress. Her laughter trickles up the beach to my ears where I’m occupying a cabana and enjoying a cold beer. She runs, out and then back in, obviously now beyond caring if her clothes get wet.

She suddenly stops her playfulness and stands completely still. I wonder what has ceased her fun, and then realize it’s me. She turns quickly, almost instinctively, eager eyes searching out the row of beach huts that litter the edges of Cancun’s strip of sand. I’m easy to spot. We’re like magnets, drawn to each other. Besides, it’s early in the day, and vacationers are yet to emerge from the confines of their hotel suites.

A large smile dances across her lips when she spots me, waving shyly from where she stands. I don’t wave back. Instead I pick up my beer by the neck of the bottle and down the last of the frothy lager as I stand up out of my chair. I have every intention of going to her, and she knows it. She drops her shells in a pile on the sand and then wades back out so her knees are under the surface of the water.

My heart begins to thud heavily in my chest; each and every step making it sound like an African tribe is beating out a rhythm only we will understand. Everything about her is intoxicating, dulling my senses and drawing me in, yet as I move across the beach to claim what’s mine, I have to wonder if it can really last.

There are still things that disturb me, plague me. I sigh. Only time will tell what our future holds. All I know is, Bailey had better be in it.

CHAPTER ONE - Age Five

I’m hiding. I don’t want them to see me. Half the time they forget about me anyway, but something doesn’t feel right today. Mom had left with him early this morning. She had sat me on the couch with a packet of potato chips and left me watching re-runs of the Partridge Family. As usual, the television is my babysitter. She promised to come back soon, but by lunch time there is still no sight of her.

My tummy growls, I’m hungry and thirsty. I get up off the sticky couch and go into the kitchen, which is in the front of the house.

I’m too little to reach the faucet, so I scramble up, sitting on the kitchen counter while I drink straight from it. There is no way I would use any of the dishes or cups here, they’ve been sitting in the sink for weeks with food caked on them. My eyes can’t help but notice that some of the plates have started to grow mold on them.

I’m startled by the sound of a car’s engine as it swings into the driveway. I peek out of the dirty lace curtains that cover the window above the sink and see that is my mom is back with her friend Carlos. He looks nasty and scary. Tattoos cover both arms and his jet black hair is slicked with some kind of gel. He looks mad as he gets out of the car.

My mom is dragged from the passenger seat by her hair. She squeals a little, but shuts up when Carlos punches her in the ribs. I want to help her, protect her, but I know I’m not strong enough. I feel anger too. Angry that she’s never protected me, or looked after me the way the parents do in the television shows I watch.

Wobbling on the sink, I notice suddenly that there is another man with them. He’s old and fat, with a balding grey head of hair. I can see the skin under the few strands of hair he has left. He’s so fat he nearly can’t get out of the car and when he does he’s swaying, barely standing on his fat sausage legs. I don’t like him at all.

Quickly, I scramble down, running back into the living room.

There isn’t much time and I know I need to hide.

The best hiding spot seems to be the storage closet next to the hallway. I scurry in amongst the unused household items and sit on the lower shelf. The doors are made of wooden slats and I slide my tiny fingers between them to pull the doors closed. My little heart is hammering away in my chest, making me feel like I can’t breathe, even though plenty of air can get through the slats to the shelf where I’m hiding.

The front door bangs open, bouncing back off the drywall behind it.

I just about jump out of my skin and clamp my hand over my mouth so I won’t let out a scream. The shuffle of feet can be heard on the lino and I can hear my mom whimpering. She suddenly comes into view when she’s thrown onto the sofa I was just sitting on before.

Her nose is bloody. It trickles down to her swollen lip. Dark, greasy hair clings to her face and I can see through the slats in the closet door that she’s ‘funny’ again. She gets like this most days, usually after she takes her happy pills. At least that’s what she calls them.

She never looks happy after she takes them. She looks sleepy. The man I don’t know speaks.

‘Are you sure she’s gonna be up for this, son?’

‘Don’t fuck with me man, we already agreed on a price!’

‘Don’t get excited, I just want her a little responsive, if you know what I mean.’

‘She’ll be fine. I’ll give her a little something. Go wait in the bedroom.’

The fat man shuffles off. I can see him sit heavily on the mattress in the room across the hallway. He starts to take his shoes and belt buckle off. My mother’s crying drags my attention back to the sofa, and I can’t tear my eyes off her arm. Carlos has a ripped cloth around it, squeezing her flesh tightly. There’s a big, scary needle in his hand, which he reaches towards a vein that has popped up from the pressure.

She’s sobbing now, pleading that she doesn’t want it. Coal black mascara runs down her cheeks. He pays her no mind and slides the syringe into her skin, where there are dots from needles before. The sobbing stops and her eyes roll into the back of her head. A fake smile dances across her lips. It’s not the smile she used to give me when she said I was her special boy.

In that moment I feel like I’m losing her. Silent tears trickle down my grubby face as I continue to peek through the door. Carlos drags my mom into a sitting position and throws her over his shoulder.

She hangs like a rag doll, her skirt riding up her ass and showing her lack of underwear. I cringe and hope that she’s going to be okay.

Carlos dumps her on the bed, and even from where I’m hiding I can see the grin of the old man waiting in the room.

Carlos slams the door on them and comes back into the living room. He takes a seat on the ripped brown sofa with stains.

Lighting a cigarette, he takes a deep puff and blows the harsh smoke into the air. It wafts towards me and I see it swirl through the sunlight that’s trying to break through the dirty windows. He starts counting money out of his pocket.

From the closed bedroom door, I can start to hear grunts and moans. Angrily, I brush tears from my eyes so that I can see the bedroom door more clearly. I watch it with my breath held in my chest, wondering what the hell that nasty man is doing to my mother.

All of a sudden loud shouts come from the room. I can’t stay in my hiding spot anymore. My mom must need me and I need to go to her.

Everything happens at once. As I leap out from my spot in the closet, the bedroom door flings open. The old man has his pants around his ankles and his underwear looks hurriedly pulled up.

Carlos springs from the couch, which surprises me because I have always seen him move at the pace of a turtle.

‘What the fuck?’ Carlos is surprised as hell at seeing me jump out of the closet, but more so at the old geezer that has just burst from the bedroom.

‘We’ve gotta get outta here. Bitch is starting to convulse in there!’

His voice is raspy and panicked, but it does nothing to keep me back.

“ Fuck! I better call the paramedics,” Carlos’ hands shake as he starts pressing buttons on his cell.

‘What have you done to her! What have you done to her!’ I scream at both of them as I tear past them, charging into the room.

My mom is sprawled out on her back, her skirt shoved up over her hips to reveal her womanly parts. I hate that the man left her in this state and scramble to grab the sheets, pulling them over her body.

Feeling sick in my belly, I climb up on the mattress next to her head and begin to stroke the hair from her cheeks.

I’m scared, really scared. Her eyes are open, wide and glassy. Vomit has started to dribble down the side of her face and neck.