Tainted Love

By: Amo Jones

Sinful Souls MC Book Three

I attempt to open my eyes, but they refuse to open. All I feel is the pounding in my head.

Boom, boom. Where is that sound coming from? Where am I?

I try to open my eyes again, this time succeeding. Everything is black.

“What the fuck,” I mumble.

I think over my jumbled thoughts, trying to think of the last thing I remember.

“Vicky’s wedding,” I whisper.

“Kal? Kal, is that you?”

“Alaina?” I gasp in shock.

“It’s me, babe,” she quietly replies, her voice hoarse and dry.

I attempt to move off the bed, but I feel like an anchor is weighing me down. Using all my strength, I push myself up and stand off the bed, only to fall to the ground when my legs give way.

“Fuck!” I scream out in frustration.

“Shhh Kal, if they hear you they’ll come back.”

I begin crawling across the cold hard concrete floor.

“Alaina? How long have we been here?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been out for a few days. I lost count. I’d say a week, maybe more.”

I pause my shuffling. “How have I been asleep for a week?”

“They’ve been drugging us with something. More you than I. They found me fascinating, being Zane’s old lady.”

Continuing my shuffling, I keep my hands feeling around in front of me. Feeling cold chains, I follow them up until they lead me to one of Alaina’s hands. They are cold and stiff, she feels like death. I keep feeling around her until she winces.

“What did they do to you, Lain? Who are they?”

She pulls her arm out of my grasp. “It’s going to be okay, we just have to be strong until the boys arrive.”

The metal door swings open and a dark shadow looms. I swallow down and look at Alaina. Now there’s light shining through the doorway, I can see her.

I wish I didn’t.

I wish I never looked her way.

My stomach coils over, as little more than bile spews out of my mouth.

I have always loved my job, being a professional dancer has its benefits. I’m not the type of dancer you may be thinking, though. I’m the type who keeps her clothes on—well, for the most part anyway. The only downside is never being able to set down roots because I’m constantly either in Hollywood or in Coronado. I’ve just finished shooting a music video for some drop kick wannabe player who thinks his dancers are his personal escorts. They’re not always like that, just the new younger artists. They seem worse than the ones who have been around long enough to earn their respect.

I’m heading back to my apartment in The Hills where I live with my best friend, Carter. It’s only around the corner from the studio so I walk most nights taking in the sights and sounds around me. Carter is amazing and so easy to live with. We’ve been friends going on ten years now. I do hate his obsessive OCD disorder, and his need to bring home different men every day of the week.

Yep, you guessed it—Carter is gay.

Walking into my apartment and pulling my headphones out of my ears with R-Kelly’s song ‘Cookie’ beating through them, I throw my jacket on the counter.

“Carter?” I yell out while checking the fridge for food.

Walking through to the living room with last night’s cold Chinese food in my hand—cold food always tastes nicer than hot food—I see Carter coming down the hallway.

“How’s it going, baby girl?” Pulling me in for a hug, he unlatches himself from me when I hear shuffling come from his bedroom. I look to him with my eyes narrowed.

“Again? God Carter. It’s going to fall off soon you use it that much.”

He laughs at my comment, stealing some of my food.

“Mm-hmm baby girl. Not all of us are able to have sex only the once.”

Licking my lips and smiling at his comment, not because he’s funny, because he’s not, but because it reminds me of Ade. Ade was my random one night of first-time sex. One night two years ago, and he ruined me. I haven’t been able to go anywhere near sex since. I date, yes, but they all eventually leave when they discover that I’m not the slightest bit interested in sex with them. It’s not from the lack of trying, believe me I’ve tried, but those piercing blue eyes, strong square jaw and his intense, possessive stare has haunted my dreams more times than I can count. Which has resulted in other men just simply, not meeting his standards. To say he set the bar high is an understatement.

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