Little Lady (Niall Horan)

For the past three years of her life, Rory Finn has been living a life no one wants to live. Forced into a life of sex and drugs, Rory has completely lost faith. She is convinced that no one will love her, no one will have respect for her. Rory has basically given up.

Niall hasn't though. He meets this sixteen year old girl and refuses to give up on her. He couldn't walk away from her, no matter how much he wanted to.


What happens when Niall just won't give up on a girl who's given up on herself.

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1. Chapter One

Do you guys hate me because I started another chapter? Lol, sorrrry!! Fair warning, very innapropriate and dirty. Don't read if you don't like it. You have been warned.

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

The lights in the room were low. The smell of cheap, stale beer and cigars polluted the air. Fast, deep breathing was the only sound that filled the room, but the bustling city of London never failed to provide the background noise. A man was hovered over a small, fragile frame as he smirked down at her. A small smile managed to make its way onto her lips, but it barely managed to mask her true feelings. Just like every other night after she got the job done; she always felt the same.

 

 

Dirty.

 

 

Many other emotions flooded her; but that ashamed feeling of self-loathing captivated her mind more than any other sorrowful thought. It was like this every single night, sometimes even during broad daylight. Every single time the feeling of an older man violating her and paying her for it made her shudder in disgust. Though it wasn't her first choice, or choice at all, she still had to just grin a bear it; literally.

 

 

"That was the best I've ever hard," the old pervert whispered in her ear, causing a shudder of divide to run through her spine. Fortunately for her, the man mistook it as pleasurable one. A grimy finger was trailed straight down the middle of her chest, and she was forced to act as though it was enjoyable. His eyes followed his finger as it circled her breasts, and made its way down to her abdomen. "How about another go round?"

 

 

Before she could stop herself, she could help but spit out at him, "It'll cost you," and quickly regretted saying it. She remembered the threat she had just recently received on how she was supposed to address her customers. "I mean, you'll have to pay just a bit more, erm, babe."

 

 

The man laughed, his wandering hand sliding under her backside and tightly squeezing her bum. He slowly leaned forward towards her, his face stopping just a few inches away from her face. In this moment, she really couldn't help but notice just how ugly he was. This man must have been at least fifty, his hair was wiry and grey, and his beady black eyes that were surrounded by wrinkles gave her the chills. She imagined that he must have been good looking at some point in his life, maybe thirty years ago. She wasn't even that old. Damn, she wasn't even twenty yet. "It'll be worth it," he mutters before leaning down to plant a kiss just above her breast. Her jaw clenched at the action, but her body remained relaxed as he continued to trail kisses down her middle, going the same trail as his finger. He stopped right on her waist line, glancing up at her hoping to see a physical reaction. When there was none, he moved back up to his original position above her. "Not today, though, another night. For now, you best be on your way. There's going to be a storm tonight," she resisted the urge to snort at him; he was pretending that he actually cared. Maybe he did care, about her body. If she got killed he wouldn't be able to pay for quick pleasure.

 

 

She slid out from underneath him, walking out on the cold wooden floor. His cold stare remained on her backside and she knew it as she slid her black lace panties over it. Continuing to pull on her clothes, a salty tear rolled down her face. Why her? There were people who brought this upon themselves but no, this was thrust on her lap and there's now no way to get away from it. When the tight dress was covering her and her heels were on her feet, she wiped the tear and turned to face the man. "You know the price," she mumbled, trying hard to keep the self-pity out of her voice.

 

 

The man was already dressed; in pants at least. Out of his wallet he pulled the cash and handed it to the girl with a smile. "I want to do this again, what's your name love?"

 

 

"Rory," she replied unwillingly. These men took everything from her, her pride, dignity, self-respect, her purity. The least they could do was let her keep the one thing she wanted, her name. "My name is Rory."

 

 

A dirty smirk made its way onto the man's lips, and Rory nearly cringed at the sight. "Well, I will definitely be seeing you again soon Rory," he winked at her and let his eyes travel more over her frame. Quickly, she grabbed her coat off the chair and wrapped it tightly around her body. Maybe she was just being silly, considering the man had just seen her completely bare, but she no longer wanted his eyes on her. She shoved the large wad of money in her pocket. "Goodbye, love."

 

 

Without another word, Rory stalked out of the room. She couldn't bear to stay there another second, and she knew his eyes were lingering. She took a step out of the apartment, or as they call it in England a flat, and into the cold London air. A shiver ran through her spine as she pulled the coat closer to her trembling form. She wanted nothing more than to get back to her home and curl up in a ball. Unfortunately, she had some more business to attend to. The only bright side was that it was a somewhat different business. For the most part, she was allowed limited clothing.

 

 

Despite the large wad of money in her pocket, she didn't dare get a cab. It he had found out she spent some of the money, there would be hell to pay. Walking wasn't even that bad, in fact, Rory liked walking. If there was friction between her legs then no man could make their way in there, and that comforted her.

 

 

She turned a corner, walking down an ally, opening a door. Very few people knew what it lead to, and much to her displeasure, Rory was one of them. Yanking open the door, she found herself in yet another low-lit room, though this one was much different from the one before. Young woman sat in front of large mirrors with many pink decorations and many make-up smudges. One thing that stood out the most about these woman was what they were dressed in; lingerie. Their heads snapped towards Rory as she walked through the door. Most of them shrugged, choosing to ignore the younger girl’s presence. A very bubbly blonde dressed like a cheap, pink Playboy Bunny, however, trotted up to Rory, her heels clicking against the floor. "Angel, baby, you're not supposed to be here," she said with a fake smile as Rory winced at her stage name. "You're not working until Friday, remember?"

 

 

The short brunette rolled her eyes at the blonde that stood over her, due to her six inch heels. "I don't want to be here Candy, but I came to pick up my paycheck."

 

 

Candy threw her head back in a sugary sweet laugh that made Rory want to vomit. Looking at Candy made her feel gross, and even worse when she realized they were the same. "Angel you don't get a paycheck! You get paid in tips! You should remember, after all those ones you got last week!"

 

 

"Yeah, I remember," though she really didn't want to. "But that's not the point. I worked from six to eight as a bartender every day last week, and I was promised I would get a paycheck. I am not leaving, until I get a paycheck," Rory stood her ground, not willing to back down. They just didn't know how badly she needed this money.

 

 

Resisting the ever growing urge to roll her eyes, Candy nodded curtly. "Well you can go talk to Jeremy; he's in charge, not me."

 

 

Rory didn't even bother to hide it; she rolled her eyes to the ceiling before stalking past Candy, walking towards the back of the room, where Jeremy's office was. Dealing with the manager of the stripe club was probably one of Rory's least favorite things to do. He was a slimy man, around thirty years of age. His black hair was slicked back and his blue eyes were thin to begin with, but the fact that they were always narrowed made them appear much smaller. Being the proud manager of a bunch of "exotic dancers," he was quiet the pervert. Many of the girls allowed him to take advantage of their bodies for free; but not Rory. She didn't wasn't people touching her in the first place, if they were going to do it, it was going to cost them.

 

 

Pushing the door open, smoke flooded out of the room and into the hallway of their little 'backstage' area. Jeremy was sitting on the red couch that occupied the room, smoking a cigar that was most likely not the first of the night and gently caressing the thigh of a busty dancer Rory barley knew. She must have been a new girl, trying to get it in with the boss. "Oi, Jeremy, you owe me money!" Rory called, not caring that he was in the middle of his 'business.'

 

 

A smirk as greasy as his hair slowly made its way onto his chapped lips. "My little American Dream, how nice of you to show up," Rory rolled her eyes the nickname that was given to her on her first day if duty not too long ago. "How may I help you? And I'd make it quick, I was in the middle of something with Sky here," he practically cooed as he ran his hand over the young girls thigh, causing her to giggle. Rory almost threw up in her mouth.

 

 

"I already told you, you owe me money. I worked as a bartender last week," the girl snapped, not really caring how she treated Jeremy. No matter what he did, he couldn't fire her; she made him too much money. Men paid money to get into his club, to watch the young American Dream.

 

 

Jeremy laughed, rising to his feet as he chose to ignore the now pouting girl on the couch. "Is every girl in America like this? Feisty?"

 

 

"No."

 

 

Eying her body up down, Jeremy slowly inched closer to her until he was close enough to rest his hand on her thigh. She took a step back in disgust, slapping his hand away. He chuckled at her, shaking his head. "It's funny how you're so disgusted by me, but I bet you I know where you just came from."

 

 

Rory could help but glance back at the girl on the couch. Without a doubt, Rory was the youngest girl who ever stepped foot in that club, but this girl only looked a bit older. For a moment, Rory pitted the girl before realizing that she looked perfectly content sitting on that couch with minimal clothing. It was beyond upsetting to Rory that someone would be willing to throw their life away to do this. Rory would give anything to escape this lifestyle, and to think someone was purposely getting into it almost made Rory throw up in her mouth. "You know I don't want this lifestyle, and if someone wants what I unwilling offer, they are going to have to pay for it."

 

 

Jeremy just laughed at the young girl's fiery spirit. He'd love to see that spirit in bed, but unfortunately that spirit was a hundred pounds an hour, and he was too frugal for that. He unwillingly reached into his back pocket, pulling out a white envelope and holding it out if Rory to take. She snatched the envelope out of his hand a quickly counted the money. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred; it was all there. Rory stuck it in her coat pocket and turned on her heel, not saying another word.

 

 

The brunette could feel the hard stares on her back as she strutted through the backstage area. Some girls whispered about her, talking about her different occupation and how they would never stoop that low. Rory pushed the door open with excessive force, stepping back into the cool winter air. She started to make her way back home.

 

 

It wasn't long ago when Rory herself thought she would never stoop so low for money, but when one is put in certain circumstances, they'll find themselves doing anything they can, even if it is entirely unwilling.

 

 

Rory's father was from Ireland, while her mother was a resident of Boston, in America. They lived there together, giving birth to her brother Camden and sixteen years later, Rory herself. When Rory was six, her parents split and her father moved back to Ireland. Only two years later, her mother died in a car crash, leaving her only daughter in the hands of Camden.

 

 

Camden was fresh out if college, barely making any money. He did what he thought was best for Rory and sent her across the pond to live with their uncle, who was originally from Ireland but moved to London to expand his business. No one in the family really knew what his business was, but Rory had the misfortune of finding out the hard way when she moved in with him. Her uncle forced her into the business of prostitution, and made her into a stripper once she was older enough for Jeremy to take.

 

 

They called her, "Angel, the American Dream," when she first started to work at the club. That's how they announced her. It was because of her big brown eyes and dimples; she looked so innocent and angelic. Since then, the 'Angel' has been somewhat of an ironic name, because soon enough people looked passed her childish features and more at her body, and more of who she really was. To most people, Angel was just the name for a dirty whore. And because of her uncle, that's what she was and nothing else. Rory Kathleen Finn would be nothing to anyone but a hooker who knows exactly what she's doing.

 

 

Heaving a heavy sigh, Rory approached her uncle's flat, ready to pay her dues. She placed a shaky hand on the doorknob, breathing heavily before slowly turning it. When she entered the dull room, smoke filled her lungs and she had to hold her breath to avoid coughing. A cold, ruthless voice that she had come to hate rang out through the empty halls, causing a shudder to run down the center of her spine.

 

 

"Where you been bitch?"

 

 

Rory took another deep breath and went on to face her uncle.

 

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