Wench With Wings

Wench With Wings

Rose D. Cassidy

Published by

Rose D. Cassidy;

Cassie R. Daguillo

at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition

Visit me at:

HTTP://rosedcassidy.blogsp
ot.com

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Wench With Wings

Copyright © 2013

Rose D. Cassidy

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This eBook is licens
ed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it, and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All character and events in this novel are fictitious any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

***

Table of Contents

Prol
ogue

Ch
apter One: And The Story Begins

Chapter Two:
Interruption Of One's Life

Chapt
er Three: Stay Away From Me

Cha
pter Four: The Days Go On

C
hapter Five: His Anger Ridden Epiphany

Cha
pter Six: Her Anger Ridden Epiphany

Chapter
Seven: Nightly Tats, Nightly Runs

Chapter Eight: Fights And More Fig
hts

Chapter Nine: Hitch In Their Pla
ns

Chapter Ten: What's The Real Pr
oblem?

Chapter Eleven: The Issue Lies With
in

Chapter Twelve: Possibilities And Givi
ng In

Chapter Thirteen: A Whole Lot Happe
ns

Chapter Fourteen: All Of It; Scre
wed

Chapter Fifteen: Success Is A Me
ss

Chapter Sixteen: What's Truly The R
eality?

Chapter Seventeen: His Fight, Her
Fight

Epilogue: And The Story E
nds

***

Prologue

She went far away for college to try and forget about her daddy issues and the fact that she went to every willing man to get attention all throughout high school. Yea okay, ‘slut’, ‘whore’, ‘s
kank’, she'd been called them all, she couldn’t agree more with all the smack talk thrown her way. It was her. Definitely, her and even if she didn't have sex with them all it's what people thought. She didn’t want to be acknowledge as such any longer. Starting college, it was all going to change.

Shit, she felt it, felt the heart break all her life, why not make every man feel the existence she always felt. Fuck it and fuck them was her motto. Why the hell should she care what the heartless fucks felt. Every man that ever crossed her path was all of the same, never showed her the decency. They
only wanted to beat her or use her. Her father only wanted to kick her ass to remind her of her worth. Why should she care after she figured out just how to control them. She disrespected them and threw them away just like she had been by her father. She was the one in control now and it would always stay that way. Goddess forgive her because she will sin if it ever was to change.

He stayed close to home to bust ass at two jobs for money that he never had the luxury of having not even to feed himself growing up. Yea, ‘
dirt bag,’ ‘scumbag,’ ‘sleazebag,’ he’d been called them all, he even called himself those things. He knew he was and he knew he couldn’t change
yet,
but he would soon enough. It pissed him off and motivated him. He would change it no matter the cost. He would have to put college off just to work to save money to change it all. Determination to prove himself wrong took over. He believed the words said, he was not blind to them, but he also knew that he was more than that. By the time he made it to college those words would not follow him. More importantly his mother’s words would become meaningless to him. He would not be a loser that didn’t amount to shit. He was in control of his life and his outcome and bull shit words would only push him to become what he knows is the true him and not what everyone sees him as.

Her name fits her well. Treasach Sirona. No last name, none she cares to remember. When she was old enough she had it removed. Treasach pronounced TREH-sek, meaning war-like or fighter and her middle name; Sirona was for the Celtic Goddess, a healing deity believed by Celtic Pagans
. Her grandmother named her and was the only one that never called her Trey. Her grandmother knew that she needed a strong name, knew that Treasach’s mother would die soon after she was born and that her father was a bad man. She spent as much time with Treasach as she could telling her stories of her heritage and letting her know that she had a long struggle up ahead and that she would have to fight and heal in order to survive. She told her that her dad was a better man when her mother was still alive but Trey could never see it. Instead the only thing she saw in the man was the depths of his evil and the pain he caused her. She never felt loved by him and he never respected her. The only thing she got from the man was his fist to her and the reminder to never let a man control her again.

‘Always remember the meaning of your name and always look into the eyes of each soul.’ Her grandmother would tell her. She even gave her an engraved bracelet that repeated her words. Trey took it literally; the day after her grandmother died when she was nine; it was the first day she swung, her first strike, her first fight. Just not her first beating.

She fought and she lost.

She lost to the man that started it all, the man that ripped her heart from her chest and tore it apart letting her watch in complete horror. Her father. He beat her bloody and left her on the kitchen floor to go get drunk, high and piss away their money gambling. It was like that every Friday since as long as she could remember and after, but after her first attempt of fighting for her life; after she lost she let him beat her just the same and watched his every move than laid bloody thinking about what she could have done to prevent his blows, how she could fight back
; avoid a fist. She became more and more heartless and more in need of control with every punch and kick he dealt her.

A nine year old girl against her drunken father was no battle she could win, knowing but still trying is what made her keep fighting just not him but every other boy that looked at her wrong, she sure did. Each one made her that much more in control and that much more heartless toward the opposite gender because they always swung back so she just swung harder and avoided every blow with precision.

His name might fit him slightly in a screwed up way, but the purpose of it was pure meaningless. ‘It has a good ring to it’ was the true reason for it. Ayden James. And yeah, ya gotta admit it does ring nicely. Ayden is a variant of Aiden which is Gaelic, meaning; ‘fire.’ James on the other hand means ‘he who supplants’ which means; to take the place of as threw force, scheming, or strategy, or to replace by something else. The true screwed up part is just the fact that they are both a common name given really without thought or care. That is what fits him more than anything of it. His parents, family never cared. His father never in the picture and his mother was simply too busy with her own life to give a shit. She did the least possible a parent could do and when he could care for himself he was forced to than thrown away by fourteen when his mom up and left. But it wasn’t that that sucked so badly for him, it only made him independent. What sucked was the mental abuse his mother threw at him while his two older brothers kicked his ass or when he needed help with homework or even the simplicity of eating. ‘Find your own self something to eat. 'What? Can’t find your mouth, dumb ass.’ 'You’re a stupid idiot. Why bother with homework. You’ll never amount to shit, looser. 'Stop being a pussy. Take the punch like a man, don’t run scared like your father.’ Those where only the regular comments he had to endure.

He tried to have girlfriends from school, tried to get them to love him but none would. They told him he was a dirt bag, something he could barely help. He was trying to make money to eat because his brothers never gave a shit to help with it and he certainly didn’t have enough for cloths, barely even to clean them. So yea, he looked like a dirt bag but really could he help it? Nope. When he got older it got easier with the more work he could get but it was never enough to get the girls in his school to notice how much he tried to leave the dirt bag behind. None of them could stomach the gifts of his past. He was in fist fights a lot with every guy that voiced his lack.
He knew no matter what he could not hit a women; he only wanted them to love him. So the guys got it worse.

He managed to work, support himself and still graduate high school because that is what he had to do to prove to himself he wasn’t a loser dirt bag and that he would make something of himself despite all the jerks that told him otherwise.

Freshman orientation she had one thing in mind; find an assistant that she could call her best friend. She would have to search the eyes of everyone she could find than label them to use as her minions for her un-controlled feeling to be demised. She would take this college life and control its use. She had to fight and it had to be organized and monopolized. She had to have friends; women that she could surround herself with that were strong minded towards men.

She shook the hands of many women just to look deep into their eyes, she saw a lot with the strength but none that caught her eye. Just when she was about to give up and head off campus she came across Jocelyn Montgomery. A beautiful, strong willed, believer of women in power. Trey could see the trustworthiness and friendship in her depths. They hit it off right away than exchanged numbers and a time to meet for lunch when classes began. It was the start of what she wanted to accomplish.

Within two weeks of classes fights were conjured. By the second semester she had enough money from the fights to get off campus housing for her second purpose; the guys she could bring home for more needed control. To touch and watch the ass she just kick fall in love with her for the night. She sees it in their eyes the more she caresses. It’s the only love she wants; one that ends at the end of the night. They feel it, they want it but she knows it’s just a
want to love.
When they see the real her they’ll run, they’ll look at her with hate for not being the real true one for them. Just like they all have. She feels it for a night then throws it away. Her decision, her control. 

Her artist talent turned into the same meaning as fighting did the second she heard a gun buzz and saw a man squirm. It was like hitting two birds with one stone. She could express herself in the arts which she enjoyed and to cause a man pain; wondrous. Giving tattoos wasn’t better than fighting but it still did the trick when a fight wasn’t happening. She started a tattoo shop in the front sitting room of her place.

Summer break was for her to make her name and what she represented stronger. She would not fight chics, but she sure would teach them. She started the first semester, but concentrated more so on it when she had the time on break. Spending more time with the women altered her mind. She not only taught them how to fight, she taught them how to be well respected ladies. The next year she changed her major from art to a major in psychology and a minor in art. She was going to let every little girl with daddy issues know just what to do.

She's the h
ead of the underground fight circuit and the winning champion against the guys. After she beat them she’d take them back to her apartment, fix um up then she'd throw them away telling them that if they breathed a word of what they just did she would make the first beating look weak compared to what she would do to them if they did speak of her. She was in control of every man she brought home. She was also in control of every man that sat in her tattoo chair. She also loved motors and replaced her beat up Camaro with a sweet Corvette and splurge on a Harley. She loved to ride, she loved the freedom she felt when she did but she never had enough money to have something nice. She was in her glory, a halo of control beamed over her; making her stand taller than she ever had been before. A movement she started was in full swing, convincing other women to control their lives and demand the respect from men that they deserved.