Muffy Wilson: Healing Hearts by @SexyMuffyWilson ~ Thursday Tasters Excerpt #ASMSG #flashfiction #ThursdayTasters

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Healing Hearts by @SexyMuffyWilson ~ Thursday Tasters Excerpt #ASMSG #flashfiction #ThursdayTasters

Today is Thursday Tasters is just a little slice of Heaven in the form of a tidbit from each of our work-in-progress projects. Today I thought I would give you a little excerpt from my Healing Hearts. You can read the excerpts from the other participating authors here or they are listed below like beautiful jewels.

Enjoy ~ ☼ღஜ ﾚo√乇 ¸.☆¨¯`*.✿.*˜"*° ♥

Blurb:

Brianna Denton walked the night and crawled the pubs searching for her sister’s murderer. Drugs and alcohol drove her twin to prostitution in the shadows and rat holes of the underbelly of North Beach society. Brianna lived her sister’s life on the tight edge of the raw reality until she pushed someone too hard, too fast.

Tatianna’s life drew Brianna into the bowels of the dark underground society, but to who’s destiny—her own or Tatianna’s?

Someone wanted her dead too.

He’d seen her on the streets, in the flea bag bars and pool halls the midnight scum frequented. She fascinated him with her Mediterranean beauty and her disdain. She was fast, unapologetic, but her curves were slow and yielding. He ached for her until one night slithered into the wee hours of the early morning at Blu’s Balls. The smoke in the pool hall hung in the air like a noose from the ceiling.

She wanted a bath but she wanted the blond-haired, blue-eyed man with the heart-shaped face and the gentle mouth more, first.

Dr Ben James recognized Brianna immediately when the EMT’s brought her into his ER. He hadn’t seen her since that night—the night she picked him.

Can he save her life? If he can’t, can he forget her?

Excerpt:

Everyone gets what they deserve. Everybody knows that.

Hell, it didn’t matter anyway.

It was the wee hours of the morning and Brianna was all alone on the barren, black, wet streets. Curiously, she was unafraid to walk the night between the underbelly of society that lives in the darkness.

It was probably just like the night her sister was murdered. She was probably troubled by the same things—haunted by the depths of her own depravity. The clack-clack-clack of her heels on the sidewalk announced her approach as she headed…where? Home? That was a laugh. It made her think of the first time—her first time, maybe her sister’s first time—on the streets and in the black flesh pits of San Francisco that served up watered down whiskey, easy women and the finest drug connections money could buy, steal or cheat. Shrouded in the black lies hidden by the night, she did whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted and with whomever she wanted. The rain always had that effect, kept the good ones home while the creeps washed out of every skank black hole.

It was like that her first night…and he was a creep. But she did him anyway, holding her breath as he huffed, thrust, and panted into her young pink mouth. She thought of her kid sister. Was he the one?

The police didn’t know and had no more leads. What was she to do? She had to find

out; she had to help. At least, she had to try.

But, she got swept away in the trying.

If she had any doubt about what she had become, it vanished with that blow-job stuffed into her sweet Mona Lisa smile. Every night since, her skirts got shorter and the nights longer and the creeps, well, the creeps were all still creeps.

It was getting harder to remember what her kid sister looked like and why she was here. It was getting harder and harder…and easier, too. There were nights she didn’t care who killed her sister and there were nights she could think of little else.

The line between purpose and obsession became obscure.

She could question how she wound up on the streets, but she already knew. It was a matter of choice—her choice—and the men, the trail of men in her life, were a matter of choice too—her choice and hers alone. She picked them; they didn’t pick her. Still…It was just a matter of time before she would call one of those black rat holes home to curl up with the viper that lived within.

There was a wild thought afloat that nothing positive ever happens until you hit the very bottom of the abyss. Nothing positive had even begun to happen in her life. Guess she had further to fall, since she clearly had not hit rock bottom. Could be. Until then, she entertained herself with the fine parade of men. The steady stream of eager lovers had only one thing wrong—there was no love involved. No names, no “what do you do for a living”, no talk about wives, lovers, divorces or kids. Those were her rules and if you wanted to fuck her, you did it on her terms. Clear, simple, no muss no fuss…and no kissing. She didn’t want to kiss the underbelly of society. They were all scumbags and she liked it that way—on the edge, the tight, unforgiving edge.