Page 9 of Taint My Soul

All I see is.

Van. Bullet. Pictures.

Three of them. Playing a loop in my head until the sun rises and pours into the apartment through the transparent windows.

Vincent’s wretchedly haunting voice.

My uncle’s demeaning stare.

When a knock comes at my door, I drag myself from the living room couch to the door, looking through the peephole. On the other side of the frame, a woman in an all-leather outfit stands beside a man wearing white scrubs.

It’s the people who’d collect my blood.

I unlock the door and stand aside, and they walk into the apartment. The woman doesn’t even look my way, but the doctor attempts a smile, fingers firmly wrapped around a first aid kit.

“I’m sure you’re already aware of why we are here.” The woman says and settles down on the couch.

“I am.” I shut the door and join them in the living room.

The doctor kneels in front of me, snapping on gloves. He looks through his kit and sets everything he needs on the side table. I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm, making a fist, then he secures a tourniquet snugly around my upper arm, just tight enough to bring my veins into clearer relief beneath my skin.

He cleans the area with antiseptic, then the pain comes in as he inserts the needle into me and pulls steadily into the syringe. With enough blood samples collected, he releases the tourniquet, withdraws the needle, and applies gauze with firm pressure to prevent bleeding.

“That will be all.” He says and secures the sample in his box.

“Put in your phone number.” The woman sits up and approaches me.

I tap into her screen, then save my name as Rose. She makes an odd sound when she looks at her screen, then fakes a smile at me. “Once the test results are out. I’ll call you, send you the location of the club, and you’ll check in for work.”

“Alright, ma’am.” I answer.

They gather their stuff and leave me once again in the haunting silence of the apartment. A cold realization churns up my throat. I’m getting closer and closer to being thrown into a war I don’t want to be a part of.

And I can’t save myself. I have always tried to save myself. Tried to run, but running won’t save me from the Godfather.

CHAPTER THREE

MASON

My phone buzzes with a phone call, and I sit up from the couch and look at the bright screen. It’s a text message from the woman who had been in my apartment hours ago. I let out a sigh when I stare at the file she sent me. My result came back negative, which means I’m closer to drowning in this chaos more than I was yesterday.

Then my phone vibrates with another message, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Where are you? You are supposed to check in for work today. If you don’t come in, you’re getting fired.

It’s my boss at the office I worked at until yesterday. There’s no point in texting him back, so I just block his number.

Another message shows up on my notification bar. It’s from Madame, and she’s requesting me to check in at the Red Horn Club tonight. I thought I had the time to settle into this new life, but apparently, Godfather wants everything to move as quickly as possible.

I book a ride through the app on my phone and get off the couch to head straight to the bathroom. As I step into the space, I strip naked and put my clothes on the wooden vanity, then step into the shower enclosure. Gripping the knob in my hand, I twist, and warm water spills through the shower head, caressing over the solid plane of my back.

I place my hand over the misty glass, head bowed, shoulders easing from the crippling tension as my body trembles from fear.

I inhale deeply to calm myself. To tell myself that this would be over pretty soon, and I’d move on with my life.

But a quiet horror makes my stomach tighten.

What if this never ends?