TAINTED: THE COMPLETE DUET

by Jenner, Carmen

  “And leave you at the mercy of Prague all alone? I wouldn’t want you getting lost.” I clap him on the shoulder and climb out of the vehicle. “Then who would Ali snuggle up to?”

  “Because you’re going to be so much help with that.”

  “Hey, my mother is from Europe.”

  “Your mother is a Macedonian biker whore from Western Sydney. I doubt either of you speak Czech.”

  “My mother was from Poland. My dad was from Macedonia. I think. She never really was very clear on the details.” I pull my coat tight and stuff my gloved hands in my pockets. “Either way, I’m not waiting in the fucking car.”

  Exultant in the glare he gives me, I step away from the vehicle. We appear to be in a dank, snow slushed back alley. Several homeless men huddle in doorways, seeking shelter from the icy wind.

  Maybe Ali is getting a hobo for Christmas.

  In the doorway closest to us, a security guard with a flashy silver badge and headpiece steps aside, and a woman with a megawatt smile and tailored black dress welcomes us with a thick Czech accent. She’s hot, and her smile promises either hot cocoa, sex, or booze—I’m sure of it—so I follow her through a long corridor.

  Our sexy Pied Piper punches a code into an electronic keypad. A split second later, the door opens. She steps aside and gestures for us to enter. White walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors while crystal chandeliers glisten from the roof, and soft golden lights glint off case after case of expensive-as-fuck jewellery. I glance at the staff around the room, all pretty young things in prettier dresses, waiting with the demure disguises of sales assistants about to make a hefty commission.

  “Champagne?” asks our friendly neighbourhood sales girl.

  “Bring the whole damn bottle,” I snap, grabbing both glasses that rest on a polished, gleaming silver tray. I knock them back, one after the other, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Cooper fucking Ryan—who apparently didn’t just steal my girl, but plans on marrying her too. That’s the reason he didn’t want me to “run errands” with him. It’s the reason he wanted me to wait in the car. It has to be, because I seriously doubt that he’s closed Tiffany & Co. in Prague specifically to buy his mum or sister an overpriced trinket for Christmas. “You know what? Never mind. I’m going to wait in the car.”

  “I’m afraid the doors are closed with a failsafe,” Hot Sales Girl says. “They cannot be opened for another hour.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

  “Levi—”

  “You knew this is where you were taking me,” I say through my teeth. “And you didn’t wanna give me a heads-up?”

  “I tried to tell you. You’re the one who insisted on coming along.”

  “I didn’t know you were buying a ring for the woman I love,” I shout, and the sound echoes off the high ceilings and ornate pillars. I scrub a hand down over my face. “Jesus, Coop. I’m fucking bleeding here, man, and it’s bad enough that she’s coming for Christmas, but this?”

  He wraps his knuckles on the counter in front of him. “I don’t know what to do here, Levi. I love her, and she loves me. I don’t want to shove that in your face, but if you think for one second I’m going to put our lives on hold because of you, then you’re mistaken. I know what it’s like to lose her. I can’t do that again.”

  “Let’s be perfectly honest here. If she loved me the same as she loves you, I’d probably be buying that ring too, and I wouldn’t give a shit how you felt about it, but that doesn’t mean I want to be here when you pick out the diamond she’ll wear on her finger for the rest of her life.”

  His eyes stray from the cabinet up to mine, and for the first time in a long time, he looks remorseful. “I didn’t know how to break it to you.”

  “Well I can tell you dragging me into fucking Tiffany’s and locking me in here wasn’t the way to go about it.”

  “Probably not.” He nods.

  “Jesus Christ,” I glance at the sales girl, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here witnessing our Young and the Restless moment. “Where’s the fucking liquor?”

  A different woman pops up carrying a tray with two more glasses of champagne. I take them both—again—and guzzle one down. Then I raise the other in a toast. “To the happy couple, may you never know the torment of losing her again.” I toss back the champagne and slam the glass down on the tray. “We’re gonna need more booze, sweetheart.”

  I walk over to a nearby display, wondering what the damage in bail would be if I attempted to smash my fist through the cabinet. Too much. Likely. I’m gonna need a lot more than booze to get through this night.

  AN HOUR LATER, I’VE downed three bottles of champagne, chatted up the sales assistants, joined Snapchat for shits and giggles, and failed to figure it out. I’m bored, and heartsick, and fucking drunk, so I decide taking to IG with a bunch of bling on my fingers, messy hair, and the hashtags #keepingitrealfuckers #praguetiffanyandco #feelingblue is the best idea I’ve had in a long time. Until my notifications go crazy. Bored of sitting by myself, I get up, and finally decide to grow a pair. I can’t avoid seeing the big hunk of rock Ryan is preparing to blow a load of cash on forever, and it’s bound to hurt a hell of a lot less seeing it on the sales girl’s gloved finger, than on Red’s.

  There are two rings in the centre of a Tiffany suede blue mat. The first is a big bauble; it’s just a shiny rock with a bunch of other rocks around it. Ali would fucking hate it. The second looks vintage. It’s a huge square-shaped black diamond surrounded by smaller black and white stones.

  Cooper picks up the white diamond again and I screw up my nose. “Seriously? Does Ali look like the kind of girl who wants a white, sparkly diamond?”

  “No.” He sighs and tugs his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what she wants.”

  “Yes, you do.” I scoff. “We wouldn’t be wasting hours in a fucking overpriced jewellery store if you didn’t. No offense,” I say to the sales girl. She smiles as if she too wants to punch me. Hell, I might even welcome it to distract me from the current ache in my chest, as long as we’re both naked.

  “You’re right.” Coop exhales. “What if it’s too soon?”

  “Of course it’s too fucking soon. You’ve known her a damn year, and part of that you were in a relationship with someone else, or she was.”

  He frowns and glances down at my phone, which is still pinging like crazy with notifications. “Dude, what the fuck? You posted to Instagram that we were in Tiffany’s?”

  “Relax, it’s too fucking cold to come out. The fangirls are probably all tucked in their bed’s waiting for Santa to come spank them.”

  “Did you do this deliberately? Are you trying to ruin the surprise for Ali?”

  “Oh, fuck off, Ryan. You know she doesn’t do social media. It’s not hipster enough for her.”

  “My future wife is not a fucking hipster.”

  Ouch. That stung like a bitch. “How do you know she’ll say yes,” I bite out.

  He sighs. “I don’t. I’m kinda hoping the element of surprise will blindside her into agreeing to marry me.”

  I must grimace, because he flinches and for once, his pretty boy face doesn’t look so fucking constipated.

  A thump against the front glass doors draws my attention away from Coop.

  “Oh shit.” I straighten and turn to face the cabinets, away from the glass and the fangirl who just threw herself against it like a hungry zombie from The Walking Dead. Another thump, and my name is being called. Coop turns to see what the commotion is. He glares at me, but there’s a hint of sheer terror emanating from his steely blue gaze, because when I face the front doors, I find the zombie fangirls have multiplied—are multiplying—and now they’re not just screaming our names, but banging on the glass with gloved fists. The entrance is surrounded. Three security guards station themselves at the front door, but another plants himself right at the back entrance.

  I glance at Ryan. Beads of sweat break out across his forehead,
his eyes dart all around the room, and his chest rises and falls at an unnaturally rapid rate. He heads for the exit, driven by his need to escape the suddenly confined space, and I can tell we’re seconds away from one of his toddler tantrums. The store is huge, but Cooper Ryan turns into a little bitch the second he’s in a confined space. That’s why no lifts. He takes the stairs. The security guard shakes his head, his behemoth arms folded across his chest. Cooper backs away and flops down in a nearby chair, yelling at a sales girl to bring him the champagne. She scurries away, and I tell her to open several bottles because we’re likely going to need it.

  Maybe I’ll get lucky and Cooper will keel over before he can buy the ring. Yeah, and maybe my giant cock and shining personality will win me back the girl of my dreams. With any luck, I’ll drink myself into a stupor and die of a broken heart right here on the floor of Tiffany’s surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of ice.

  A man can dream.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IF THE HEADBOARD’S A ROCKIN’

  LEVI

  The knocking cuts through my alcohol-induced coma on the couch. It’s 11:00 p.m. and all four members of Taint, and Coop’s sister—our sometimes assistant when she actually feels like working—Deb are settled into the hotel suite watching some shitty romcom in badly dubbed Czech. We all look at Coop, who’s been bouncing his knee all night as he sits beside me as if he has the DTs.

  “Oh, thank fuck for another female in the apartment,” Deb says, tossing her magazine on the coffee table. “If I have to spend one more minute alone with you arseholes, I might have to throw myself off the balcony.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” I mumble, but my heart really isn’t in it.

  “Eat me, Levi.” Deb flips me the bird. The knock sounds again.

  “You gonna get that?” Zed asks. Coop stares at his best friend for a beat, as if he hasn’t comprehended those words. “Ginger’s at the door.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he snaps, climbing to his feet. Dude’s probably freaking out about the ring in his pocket. That makes two of us. She could always say no. God, do I hope she says no. But she won’t, because even though Red doesn’t seem like the kind of girl hell-bent on walking down the aisle, when she gives her heart to someone, she gives them all of it. That’s how I knew she didn’t love me. No matter what I did, Cooper Ryan would own every inch of mental, physical, and spiritual real estate Ali had to offer.

  He throws open the door, and I try not to watch their reunion, but I can’t help it. I can’t see her on account of him blocking her from my view, but I hear her. I hear the sounds she makes as their lips smack together. I hear the muffled squeal as he lifts her up, and the rough slide of her jeans against his as she wraps her legs around him.

  God, I hate that fucker. I can’t sit here and listen to this. Zed grabs the remote and turns the TV all the way up to drown out the noise, but it’s in Czech and isn’t doing much in the way of distracting me. I get up and head for my room.

  Coop had tried to get a suite for the two of them so they could be alone, but everywhere in this damn city was booked solid, and since Red coming for the holidays was a new thing, there really was nowhere else for them to go. I don’t blame him though. If she were here to see me, I wouldn’t go anywhere else just to make it easier for him. Maybe I’m not as selfless as Cooper fucking Ryan after all, but then he wasn’t willing to give her up for me, so there’s that.

  “Levi?” I stop in my tracks, but I don’t turn to face her. I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet. “You’re not going to say hello?” Her words are heavy with sadness, and fuck me for caring what this woman feels. Fuck me for wanting to ease her guilt. Fuck me for falling in love with her in the first place.

  “Wasn’t planning on it just yet, but then you always knew how to make me do exactly what you wanted.” I face her, my eyes drinking her in as if I’m dying of dehydration and she is the cure for thirst. She looks good. Her hair is different, shorter with heavy bangs, and is now coloured a bright Ariel red. She wears glasses and a knit cap, a flannel, and jeans, and of course, her lucky red Converse. My heart feels as if it just imploded inside my chest. It hurts to look at her. It’s been six months, and it still fucking hurts just as much as the day she left.

  She takes a few steps towards me, cautiously, as if she’s afraid I’ll run in the opposite direction. I think about it. Ali reaches up and throws her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest. I don’t hold her back. I can’t, but then I hear her sniffle and all my resolve to treat her like a stranger just dissolves. I squeeze her tightly. Too tight. As if she isn’t real, and then I lean in and bury my face in her neck.

  “I missed you,” she whispers.

  “I missed you too. You look good, babe,” I say. “Fucking hot, actually.”

  She pulls away to study my face. “You look like shit.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean it.” Her brows form a scowl. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

  “Do you know me at all?”

  She sighs. “Right, stupid question. Tell me you’re laying off the hard drugs though.”

  “Haven’t snorted a line since Vegas. You remember that night, right?”

  She slaps my chest. “I remember, arsehole.”

  I know she remembers. How could she forget? That was the night everything went to hell in a motherfucking handbasket. I fucked her. I got her high and I fucked her; in turn, I fucked myself because she chose him, and no matter what I did, no matter how I bent over backwards to please her, to make her fall in love with me, she chose Cooper fucking Ryan. It didn’t matter how I tried, she’d always choose him.

  What I’d said about the drugs wasn’t exactly true. I’d been fucked up all through Paris and Italy. In fact, there hadn’t been a single night where I hadn’t imbibed in some sort of escapism with drugs or alcohol. It was the only way I knew how to deal with losing her. And now she was here, and I was about to lose her all over again.

  “I better let you get back to Ryan,” I say, letting her go “You know how he gets with sharing.” The joke falls flat. Neither of us laugh.

  I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I missed you, Red.”

  I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, relish the way she holds her breath, and then I pull back and walk away. I slam my door and for a long time, I do nothing but lean against it. Then I walk out onto my private balcony and let the freezing Prague air assault me. It’s snowing, and I’m wearing only a T-shirt and jeans. No jacket. No shoes. But I don’t give a rat’s arse because the bitter cold surrounding me provides a pretty good distraction from the ache in my chest.

  I pull a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and light up, shielding my smoke from the winter chill. The snow bites at my feet, but it’s a welcome relief. I know this hell all too well. I’m on fire, burning from the inside out, and seeing her tonight has doused the flames in kerosene. When I’m comfortably numb, and my nose feels like it may have fallen off from the cold, I head back into the warmth of my room.

  I shut out the cold, but inside, the sounds of my bandmates aren’t muffled by the street, or the traffic, or the soft thud of my feet against the snow drifts. In fact, it’s abundantly clear that I have the room next to Ali and Coop, and the two of them are going at it like rabbits. I fall onto the bed and watch the wall as if it were a window into their suite. I don’t need a window to know what they’re doing though. Right now, he’s buried balls deep inside her. I know because while she may be trying to keep quiet, the headboard slamming against the wall is making enough noise for the both of them.

  I bury my head in my hands. My heart is being pulled from my chest, slowly, one long strand of muscle at a time until there’s nothing left. A sharp rap on my door startles me, and Ash peeks his head in.

  “Hey,” he says uneasily and stares at the wall, where the hanging picture starts to bounce in time with their movements. “You wanna hit the gym with me?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of waiting till
it’s my turn,” I deadpan. Ash blanches, because he never was great at seeing the funny side of things. “I’m kidding, fuckface, of course I want to get out of here. I’m not doing the gym. You and I are finding a bar and pickling our livers until they cry uncle, like old times.”

  “Okay.” He nods, and I’m surprised convincing him to ditch his health kick was so easy.

  “Where’s Zed?”

  “He took off with Deb. She said she had some last-minute shopping to do.”

  I raise a brow. “On Christmas Eve?”

  “I think she’s just as happy about the Coop and Ali sleepover as you are.”

  “Can’t blame her, I guess. It’s one thing to hear your ex-lover fucking her new fiancé, but it’s an entirely different thing hearing your brother and your friend go at it like rabbits.”

  “Fiancé?” Ash asks.

  “Long story.” I climb off the bed and grab my wallet from the nightstand. “Lead me to the booze, and I shall regale you with my worst fucking nightmare.”

  “Jesus, I can’t wait,” Ash says as he tosses my jacket at me. I put it on, slip into my boots and grab a scarf. Then I follow him out of my room, through the apartment and into the hall, where our front door slams with the finality of my heart breaking in two.

  CHAPTER THREE

  NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOUR PENIS

  LEVI

  “I’m out.” Ash coughs and beats at his chest as if he’s a decrepit old dude with pneumonia. He hands me the bottle of tequila.

  “What happened to you, man?” I side-eye him and take another swig. “All those ’roids you’re pumping through your system turn you into a pussy?”

  “Fuck you, I don’t do ’roids.”

  “You’re doing somethin’.”

  “Yeah, it’s called working out.” He stands and stretches, but he begins shivering almost immediately now that he’s no longer under the duvet he pulled from his bed. “Jesus, fuck it’s cold out here.”

  I pull my own cover closer around my neck. “Pussy.”