Tainted Love (Book 1)

by St. James, Ghiselle

  “Hello.” I drop the tone of my voice as I greet him, making it sultry and inviting. He is taken aback by my voice, obviously liking what he’s heard. How quickly I fall into old patterns…

  “Wow, you sound even sexier than I’d previously thought,” he says, eyeing me wickedly. “My name is Dylan.”

  “Sullivan.”

  We stand talking for a while where I discover that Dylan is a frat boy studying business management. Typical. He is very charming, pausing every so often to admire my lips, my figure, even asking me to take my glasses off to see my eyes. Thankfully, my eyes had gone down and they no longer looked red. He gasped when he saw them, calling them alluring. I rolled my eyes. Like I haven’t heard that before.

  “I’d like to invite you to a party. I don’t want you to think that I came over here just to invite you to a frat party. It has been the highlight of my day talking with you,” Dylan mutters.

  “Okay, I’d love to go,” I respond. This is what I need. I have to get my mind off of Ben, and there is no better way to do so than to go partying. If it is a great party then I’ll be too hung-over to think about him the next day.

  “You can bring a friend; hopefully it’s not a guy. And hopefully, you don’t have a boyfriend,” he babbles.

  “No I don’t have one.” I respond with a chuckle. Ah, this will be easy. I will have him underneath me no later than Saturday morning.

  I snarl at myself inwardly. Sigh. I never learn.

  “And the heavens opened up and the angels started singing,” he announces at my answer.

  I laugh, and in that moment, I have forgotten about Ben and all the crap of last night.

  “It’s on Friday night by our frat house. It starts at 9. I look forward to seeing you.” He takes my hand and kisses it before he leaves.

  I call Simone to invite her to the party and she is more than willing to go along with me; excited that we’d finally be hanging out. Soon, I am back in the Phantom and on my way home.

  Rachel and I eat Chinese for dinner. After watching hours of primetime TV comedies, we head off to bed. That night I have another nightmare. The same one. I am being held down by men who are taking turns on me. Just when the room goes dark, I am pulled into the light, rescued by the man in the light. This time I make out his hair; ear length, dark-brown hair, neatly raked. I sleep soundly with that image.

  The next morning I wake up to a note from Rachel attached to the morning paper.

  Wish I could hang with you and Simone tonight, but we’ll soon have a real girls’ night out. You’ll be interested in what’s on Page 10. Use it as motivation to have as much fun as possible tonight. ILY, Lilah.

  I flip to page 10 of the newspaper and my breath is knocked out of me when I see a picture of Ben with a leggy platinum blonde who reporters describe as his ex-girlfriend. He is laughing, open-mouthed, and he has his arm around her waist, while she rests her head languidly on his chest. The picture is from last night at a benefit dinner. The article insinuates that they are back together, but that reports are unconfirmed.

  If he was getting back together with his ex, why didn’t he just say so? I boil with fury at his spinelessness actions. Breaking our arrangement via text? Coward! Asshole! I snarl at the picture and I throw it aside.

  I am going to have as much fun as I can tonight and I am not going to give Ben Hayes another fucking thought. The fucking asshole! Making me feel guilty when he was already moving on. And to think I was liking him! Well, I’m glad all this happened before I made a bigger ass of myself. This is why I stay away from relationships. I don’t want to deal with all the hurt that followed if they failed, especially if I’d invested in them. Look what happened with Jared? Oh, God, let’s not even mention Rick!

  The day drags on slowly and my plan of not thinking about Ben doesn’t work. I listen to my I Can’t Make You Love Me playlist and drink wine coolers, while I blubber like a broken-hearted teen, whose first love left her for the big-breasted head cheerleader.

  Ben moved on quickly, so I have to do the same. Tonight will be the last time I use Simon’s services. Cutting all ties, that’s best.

  And who was this ditzy blonde on his arm? I guess he prefers blonde Barbie dolls to curvy black chicks – not that he knows of my ethnicity. He was looking for arm candy and a girl like me with a fucked up past was not the proper candidate. Ugh! Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

  I’m just getting out of the shower when Simon arrives. Thankfully, I have already chosen my outfit for the night: short, worn jeans skirt, and an off-the-shoulder mini tee. I’d contemplated wearing heels, but decided against it and went with my favorite instead: black Chuck Taylor’s. Throwing my hair in a messy up-do, I head downstairs.

  “This is the last time I’ll need your services, Simon,” I say resolutely as we drive to pick up Simone.

  “Sullivan, please. It’s no problem,” he argues. “Mr. Hayes wants you to be safe at all times.”

  “Why?” I shoot angrily at him. I wince a little as it isn’t fair of me to take my anger out on him, but I don’t back down. “He broke up with me. Making you my chauffeur is saying that he feels guilty and I don’t want his guilt. I don’t want to have anything to do with him as a matter of fact.”

  “Sullivan,” Simon groans. “Mr. Hayes can be a very hard man, but he has the best of intentions.”

  “Well, you can tell him that his intentions for me became null and void the moment he broke things off with me via text.”

  We ride the rest of the way to Simone in silence. The car is tense, until Simone comes in and shatters all hopes of a silent car ride.

  She looks stunning in her grey leggings, black and white striped vintage rocker tee and grey Steve Madden flat boots. She goes on and on about some guy she met, but with my mind still on Ben, I can’t offer up anything but an “Oh, my God! That’s great!” I am just not in a talking mood. I want to get wasted…plenty wasted. I deliberately haven’t eaten dinner to facilitate this desire.

  The frat house is brimming with college kids. The first place I go to when we arrive is the bar. I order two shots of tequila and bourbon and down them in succession. My stomach roils as I down the last mixture. I let out a howl and this clears me of my inhibitions.

  Simone and I head out onto the dance floor and we dance like we haven’t a care in the world. Drinking, dancing. Dancing, drinking. The whole night is a constant buzz. We are the life of the party; dancing on tabletops and the bar counter like the drunk party girls we are.

  Soon, I am dancing with Dylan and Simone is dancing with some other frat boy. Dylan is getting a little rough, but I think nothing of it. I actually think it’s a turn on. It shows me that we are on the same page.

  Nipping my earlobe, Dylan whispers, “I have something for you.”

  I turn to him and brush my lips against his cheek. “Me too,” I whisper seductively, placing his hands on my behind.

  Dylan squeezes my ass and groans, “You have a lovely ass.” He rocks into me and I feel him hardening. This boosts my sex drive, compelling me to grab and kiss him wildly.

  “Take a swig of this,” Dylan says, pulling away from me and handing me his bottle of beer. “And then we can go somewhere private and really party.”

  I grab the bottle and chug it down ferociously. He smiles wickedly at me and tugs me to the direction of some stairs. We pass by some of Dylan’s frat brothers and I see him whisper something to them that I don’t quite catch. They eye me with a salacious gleam in their eyes and a chill shudders through me. It’s then that my flight instincts kick in.

  As Dylan tugs my hand to follow him, I dig my heels into the floor. I try to pry my hand from his, but his grip is too tight.

  “Please don’t do this,” I beg, my voice too small with fear. I know what’s about to happen.

  Another of his frat brothers slinks his hand around my waist and whispers, “Shh, baby. Relax,” and gently pushes me forward, while Dylan leads me up the stairs.

  As I make my
way up the stairs, I feel my legs wobble and my vision blur. Oh no.

  I’ve been drugged.

  CHAPTER 15

  I feel like I am floating above my body. It’s like I am in a dream, or someone else has been taking over my body while I watch helplessly as the events unfold. I am hyper-aware of what is going to happen, but I can’t stop it. I try to protest or sound some kind of alarm, but all my words do is slur. I fall back against the other guy and all of a sudden, I am making out with him. This fucking drug works fast!

  I don’t know when we enter a room, but all I know is I’m lying on my back in bra and panties and I’m hearing voices in the room. Three maybe. One is on top of me, with one hand pawing at my breasts as he sucks on my neck. His erection sticks me in the stomach, making me feel sick to my stomach. His pants are down, and his other hand is groping my pussy. Roughly, he shoves two fingers in, opening me up. I feel as though I am draped in darkness with nowhere to find light. I’m doomed.

  Soon, the door is violently kicked open. I hear shouting, but I still don’t know what is being said. The asshole on top of me goes flying across the room in an instant, and someone in a leather jacket is hovering over him, punching the living daylights out of him. It’s all a haze now as my body starts convulsing. I hear my name being called. Garbled really. And then I am slung over guy-in-the-leather-jacket’s shoulder.

  I am rescued…by light.

  Where am I? I wake up in a daze and with a headache so huge I want to be knocked out again. I groan and tears spring to my eyes when I realize my whole body is in pain. What happened?

  I try to stretch but, down to my very eyelashes, I am throbbing. I peruse my surroundings and notice that I am not in my bed, or Rachel’s. I am covered in a fluffy white duvet and in the softest, most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. The bed reminds me of my parents’: Mid-18th century mahogany four poster, with white, lacy veiling surrounding it. The bed smells of fresh linen and lavender and I nuzzle the fluffy golden pillows with appreciation. Holy crap! My parents found me! I’m in New York.

  I bound out of bed, parting the veil wildly even as my body resists. It’s then that I recognize the rest of the room and realize that I’m not in New York. I sag back into bed and blow out a sigh of relief. I rub at the pounding in my temples and wonder, yet again, where am I?

  The room is beautiful with ivory white walls and gold accents. The antique white furniture that inhabits the room, are all lined with gold. Damn, this is some real high society shit. The walls are varnished with the most beautiful paintings, but the one that grabs me is the one I saw at the Garden Oasis Art Studio, Ben’s brother’s place. It was the same one I stood admiring: Her Impassioned Plea.

  I hear a male voice as he clears his throat and my attention is forced behind me. Sitting in a plush gold and white antique chair with his ankle crossed over his knee, his thumb under his chin, index finger caressing his bottom lip and staring at me with intense green eyes, is Ben.

  A frisson of unease bombards me. My heart starts on a palpitating rhythm as though it wants to break through my chest cavity and run for the hills, away from this icy man. Ground, swallow me up…now!

  Ben is wearing brown slacks, short-sleeved white linen shirt, and is barefoot. His hair looks damp and is tousled sexily, a few strands falling to his temples. He looks extremely enticing sitting there while assessing me, but despite the heat warming me below, I know sex is far from his mind. And, damn it! It should be far from mine as well.

  How did I get here? I swallow past the dryness in my throat, but it’s too painful, reminding me of my pounding headache.

  “There is water and orange juice on the bedside table, as well as pain tablets,” Ben says icily. I shudder at his tone. Yeah…he’s mad.

  I part the veil and reach for the water and the two tablets that are laid out for me on an antique gold tray. I drink half the water with the tablets and lean forward to rest the glass back on the tray.

  “All of it,” he growls. I do so quickly. This Ben is scary and not to be fucked with. “Orange juice,” he commands.

  I take the glass up shakily and down the orange juice, which is surprisingly cold and refreshing. I don’t bother turning around, not wanting to face him. I wish the bed would swallow me up, or that the Wizard of fricking Oz, would take me away from here. A cataclysmic event would even be a welcomed occurrence right now. Anything to get me away from here; away from Ben the Irate.

  I stare down at my knotted fingers and it is then that I recognize I’m wearing the black and white silk nightgown Ben had bought me the night we solidified our arrangement. Where’s the rapture when you need it?

  Unfortunately, I don’t need to face him. Ben rises and rounds the bed himself to face me. Shit.

  Pulling out his iPhone, he places a call. He doesn’t take his eyes of me when he says, in the same arctic tone, “She’s awake.”

  Tearing through the tall, white double doors of the bedroom are Simone and Rachel. They leap onto the bed, taking me down with them. Following them is a man also in brown slacks and a tucked white polo shirt. He carries a bag with him, a stethoscope hanging around his neck. A doctor, I presume.

  “Oh, honey!” Rachel cries.

  “My God, Sully. Are you okay?” Simone asks, her voice quavering.

  “Ladies, give me a moment,” the man says, sitting down alongside me while the girls stand back.

  “Hello, Sullivan. My name is Dr. Robertson. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I want to disappear,” I answer meekly, sheepishly glancing at Ben whose face still wears that icy mask.

  Dr. Robertson smiles and taps my shoulder, regaining my attention. “I’m talking about physically, Sullivan. How do you feel physically?”

  “My head hurts and my body aches. What happened?”

  “That’s normal,” he says. “Let me see those eyes.” He directs me to look into a light that he shines to assess each of my eyes. The light makes me wince, making my head ache just that much more.

  “Please, follow my finger,” he instructs, swaying his finger from left to right. I follow his finger, wondering what the hell is really going on. Why do I need a doctor?

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Well, Sullivan, you’re doing much better it seems. I have given Mr. Hayes a prescription that he has already filled. My advice: Lay off the hard drinking.” Dr. Robertson rises from where he sat and rests a comforting hand on my shoulder as he smiles warmly at me. Ah, alcohol poisoning. I knew that would happen to me one day.

  “Thank you,” I say, not sure of what exactly I am thanking him for.

  “You have some worried friends here. You gave them all quite a scare. I’ll leave you to it,” Dr. Robertson says. He then turns to Ben and gives him a cursory nod before leaving the room.

  I look at Ben who regards me sternly, still. Rachel and Simone stare at me with utmost concern. Sitting on either side of me, they run their fingers through my hair. Ben doesn’t take his icy gaze off of me. Did I do something? Why is he so mad at me? Did Simon tell him what I said yesterday before the party? Why would he be mad about that? It’s not like we have an arrangement anymore.

  The party. Dread builds up inside me and I start shaking. What happened at the party?

  “Sullivan, are you okay?” Rachel asks.

  No, I’m not okay. I’m having a panic attack. The last thing I remember from last night was chugging down Dylan’s beer. I start wheezing, not able to breathe. Before either woman can do anything, Ben hauls me to him.

  “Shh,” he coos in my ear. His chest lifts and falls repeatedly, gradually evening out my panicked breathing. Ben strokes my back as he lulls and sways me gently. “Hush, my sweet girl.” His voice is mellifluous in my ear.

  I close my eyes as he rocks me gently down from my panic and soon I’m in tears. He scoops me in his arms and, opening the large glass doors, takes me onto a large balcony and lays me on a plush white chaise and just…holds me.

  I clutch his arm
s that are swung over my waist and I sob, but my tears aren’t just for last night – or my lack of recollection thereof. It is also for the fact that I am once again in his arms, somewhere that I never thought I would ever be again. For a moment, all seems right with the world.

  I don’t know when, or how I fell asleep, or how long I had been asleep for; but I wake up wrapped in Ben on the chaise out on the balcony. I ease gently out of his hold and am successful at not waking him. In the bedroom, I find Simone and Rachel asleep on the bed and I wake them.

  “What happened?” I finally ask.

  “You were almost raped at the party,” Simone answers, with a puzzled look. “Don’t you remember?”

  I go pale. Raped? So…not alcohol poisoning then.

  “Dylan,” I whisper in an “ah-ha” tone. I may not remember the details of what happened, but I remember leaving with him after drinking the beer he offered and nothing after that. It is safe to deduce, then, that Dylan drugged me and tried to rape me. That bastard!

  Simone goes on to tell me how Ben came in and saved me. “How he knew where you were is beyond me. He wasn’t even supposed to get back until Saturday afternoon,” Simone recollects.

  But I know how he knew. Good old Simon, always looking out for me.

  “He was livid, Sullivan. He almost fired me on the spot. I think he’s still mulling it over in his mind.” I sense despair in Simone’s voice and catch fear in her eyes. Something else happened.

  “What else happened that you’re not telling me, Simone?” I probe, wanting to know every detail.

  She shudders before answering, “Mr. Hayes beat the living crap out of them.”

  “Th-them?” I stutter. What the heck?

  “Three of them, Sullivan.” She grasps my hands as they shake, while Rachel caresses my back. “One of them has a broken jaw – the Dylan guy. Mr. Hayes dragged you out of that frat house in bra and panties. You were unconscious.”