Tainted Deception Read online

  Tainted Deception

  Aleya Michelle

  Copyright 2015 Aleya Michelle

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  WARNING

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This e-book is intended for adults ONLY. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Cover - Berto Designs.

  Formatting – Angel’s Indie Formatting.

  Editing - Gypsy Heart Editing.

  Proofread - Editing 4 Indies

  Cover image Copyright 2015

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  Jimi Hendrix is my idol. He is the ultimate rock legend. This quote of his perfectly sums up my life.

  ‘I can’t express myself in any conversation…

  But when I’m up on stage, it’s all the world. It’s my whole life.’

  This is my ultimate dream…

  Being up on stage and entertaining the crowd with my lyrics and music, right here and right now.

  Being Chaser the rock star and having a sea of faces hanging on my every note, without responsibilities. Just me and my guitar rocking out is the fucking life…

  This is what I would do twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week if it was possible.

  But in the real world, being a rock star is what I do twice a week.

  Only a handful of people know the real me.

  Well, the second side of me, that is.

  The side itching to escape, eager to be free and unconfined.

  ~~~~

  The boisterous and mammoth crowd at the Midnight Rider Tavern is cheering wildly. My band, Hardcore, is rocking out and the stage lights are burning up the already humid air.

  Hardcore is my band. I am the lead singer and guitar player, Slay is our badass drummer, Judas is on the keyboard, Byron is on bass, and Monica sings up front with me on occasion.

  I was born to do this. Rocking out with music and lyrics that will touch your soul is what I was destined to do.

  It’s Friday night, and as usual, the bleach-blond groupies who stalk our gigs are at the front of the crowd wearing their cheap, skimpy outfits that barely cover their tits. They sway their bodies and sing along to my every word. It still shocks me how they can memorize thirty songs. It’s surreal to see people connect with my lyrics and music.

  They always hope for a quick fuck. Throwing themselves at our feet and doing anything, including degrading themselves, just to get our attention.

  Their boldness and slutty ways just piss me off.

  I fucking love being on stage. I’m on top of the world, singing and playing my guitar. My voice is deep and unique. It’s rough and jagged, not like your everyday boy band type. On our Facebook page, fans say my voice reminds them of Eddie Vedder from Pearl Jam. Definitely a voice suited for a rock and roll band.

  This new song is about my alter ego, Chaser. When I’m on stage, I’m Chaser the carefree, tattoo covered rocker, not the suit wearing Chase Hudson.

  I am the chaser of ultimate freedom. The lyrics, the rhythm, and the beat fuel me as I strum my electric guitar as if my life depends on it. Music makes me come alive. It takes away my stress, drama, and all the bullshit in my life.

  When I’m with the band, I’m nothing more than a talented singer and guitarist. I head bang along with the beat, my black wifebeater exposing my tattoos. Every tat I have has a story or special meaning behind it. The eagle in the center of my chest is my favourite. It’s free to fly and soar through the sky, go anywhere and do anything.

  Our band is every much the hardcore experience. We had no trouble coming up with the title, since or motto is play hard or go home.

  My guitar is the very epitome of me chasing my dreams. All the money in the world can’t give me the feeling I get when I am rocking the stage, sweat dripping down my body, the room engulfed in the cheers from our fans, and the euphoria of doing something that I love.

  Trust me, I have all the money in the world and it brings me zero satisfaction and happiness…

  Our fan base is large and we always have a huge crowd at our shows. They know the words to our songs, and they sing along with me. Knowing that my lyrics have touched my fans enough for them to learn my songs is awe-inspiring. That alone makes leading a double life worthwhile.

  These meaningful lyrics sum up my life.

  “Don’t ever give up, don’t ever let go.”

  “Follow your heart, it will guide you through.”

  My music holds my heart.

  I’m still waiting to fall in love with a woman, but so far no woman has gotten close to completely possessing my heart. Maybe there is no yin to my yang in the world. As hard as my exterior may look, I know I am capable of falling in love. I may not be able to give my heart so easily, but I know how to feel deep and how to empathize with others.

  My heart has been broken in the past, and it’s still fragile. At times, like when I think of my mother, it feels like a knife is slicing through it. I was only twelve when the fire took her from me, god rest her soul. No child deserves to grow up without a mother. Part of my soul died with her.

  Losing her made me into the Grinch in some respects. I have learned to show others that façade, and after a while, it just stuck to me like glue. I often wonder if that is why my father is such a royal asshole who hates the world—me especially—or if he was just born that way.

  So, this is me. I’m hardass Chaser on the weekends, and serious and stern Chase Hudson during the week.

  I partied a lot a few years ago, but now I try and keep myself more grounded. I refuse to party too hard anymore, since I always lose control and it’s not professional for a man of my hierarchy. I stand to inherit fifty billion dollars with Hudson Industries, so if I can just persevere until then, I’ll be set.

  Some days it’s easier said than done though.

  I guess I’m kind of like a ticking time bomb. Who knows how much time I have until I detonate and explode? Who knows how long any of us have on this planet, so I’ll just keep on swimming. Kind of like the song ‘Tubthumping,’ “I get knocked down, but I get up ag
ain. You ain’t never gonna keep me down.”

  Covered in sweat, I feel the exhaustion kicking in. We are past the adrenaline of the night’s gig and as we end with the usual song, the crowd roars.

  “Thank you all for coming! Every single one of you are incredible! We’ll see you the same time next week,” I announce to the sold-out crowd, who are buzzing on alcohol and music.

  ~~~~

  It’s after two in the morning when the limo drops me home. I’m half tanked, though I never reach the point of losing control—I can’t. I won’t. I can’t wait to shower. I reek of smoke and alcohol, still on a natural high from the awesome gig.

  I shower and climb into my king-size mahogany oak bed. My ears are ringing, and even though I have a kickass stereo system, I put on my headphones.

  The powerful words of my inspirational mentor and successful businessman, Emmett King, soothe me and I slowly drift back into the world of Chase Hudson, Director of Hudson Industries, professional, polished, and sharp as a tack.

  Though the words “spiritless” and “dull” spring to mind…

  My secret identity is something I strive to protect and hide.

  ~~~~

  My buzzing alarm clock flashes and rings at six am. I think I may have gotten three hours of sleep. The first hour in bed is spent meditating to Emmett King before I fall asleep. But the lack of sleep has become normal for me and my body has adjusted.

  “Coffee, sir,” I hear Esme call as I exit the bathroom. My morning coffee arrives right on time. My staff are so punctual and proficient.

  I take the bottle of Advil from my drawer and down two of them with the freshly brewed coffee. The scent is rich and familiar, and I savour the creamy texture and perfectly blended beans.

  The finest decorator in New York designed my large walk-in closet with custom oak shelving, matching palette and dresser, eighteen drawers with antique brass handles, and the hanging space is large and spacious. Full-length mirrors accentuate the design as they line either side.

  Each shirt and tie are color coded and dry cleaned to perfection. Nothing but the best. I choose a light grey shirt with a pale blue tie for today. I definitely have style. I take pride in how I look and people respect me for it. I also know how to dress like a man with power—stylish, sophisticated, and very masculine.

  I am all about the big things in life. Big deals, big dollars, big distinctions. The only way to succeed in life is to grab the bull by the horns and ride it till the sun goes down. Throughout my whole life, my father has taught me that letting go is not an option. If you do it right the first time then you won’t need to deal with any errors or bad judgements later on.

  I am a perfectionist. I was bred this way. I work this way, and I pride myself in excellence and supremacy. I am well organised and follow a strict agenda with strategies in place to enable the smooth running of Hudson Industries. There is no room for error, failure, or lack of professionalism.

  Chaser, on the other hand, couldn’t give a flying fuck. He is spontaneous and impulsive, the complete polar opposite of Chase Hudson.

  I survived another week of my gruelling schedule—training at the gym, dinner with clients midweek—and now I have to miss a gig at The Brew House because of a charity dinner. I really hate it when my two worlds collide. Thank God it’s a rarity, but it does happen on occasion.

  After a work meeting with my father, I’m slightly pissed off. But that’s usual when I spend more than five minutes in a room with him.

  “Chase, you need to bring in more from the western region. They were our best division and now it’s slacking. Do you need me to take over? How I ever put all of my faith in you at such a young age I’ll never know. Didn’t I teach you anything? I was your mentor for a reason, so you can become me and take over,” he yells at me in his usual condescending manner.

  “I’m managing quite fine. Did you not see the semi-annual figures? They have increased. The West Coast is in a fucking drought, and that’s why they aren’t purchasing right now. It has nothing to do with me,” I reply defending myself. I don’t know why I even bother. No matter how hard I try, I have never won a fight with this asshole. But I’m a stubborn asshole too, and I’m not one to back down.

  “There is always more that you can do, Chase. You are running this empire. Hudson Industries is not just another company, not just another business. We are the biggest in New York and you will never accept defeat. Would the Yankees throw down their gloves mid-game?” He grills me with a stupid baseball analogy.

  “If they are in a drought, you sympathize and offer them your condolences as a business associate, and then you talk business. Letting them win is a loss for Hudson Industries, Chase. Are you happy with losing a top client because you gave up so easily?” he questions my position yet again.

  “Dammit, Father you are so over the top. Its thirty thousand dollars—you probably have that in your wallet right now. Why don’t we focus on more important things in the world,” I say to him angrily. His frown and body language show me he is edging closer to completely losing his temper, which no one wants to see. To placate him, I tell him, “But to make you happy, I will contact Jamal again and discuss our contract.”

  “You will not discuss anything. You will tell him that they will purchase another twelve-month contract with us or no business will come their way in the future. And if you can’t pass along this message, then I will do it myself. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to take care of things for you.”

  “I can manage just fine. I will call him first thing, and we will have them back in business,” I announce to him using my fake but professional tone.

  “Good. There just might be a little of me in you after all, son,” he states in his usual demeaning tone. He stands up from his chair and leaves the boardroom without another word.

  He wants me to be more like him and less like me? Well, fuck that, it will never happen… His words don’t affect me as they used to. I’m becoming immune to the insults. I almost asked him if that was all he had? Give me an encore, asshole! But I held back.

  At twenty-eight years old, I have accomplished a hell of a lot more than others my age. His expectations are unrealistic. But who am I to argue or question Mr. Hudson Industries himself? He thinks he knows it all. How could he possibly know me better than I fucking do, but he insists he does. Always trying to bring me down a notch, trying to intimidate me.

  You don’t know a thing about me, old man.

  Not the first fucking thing.

  You only see Chase Hudson, not the real me. That is who you know.

  I’m a good actor. I should have made a career out of it and moved to LA, as far away from this man as possible, but I didn’t.

  Just because he is one of the most successful men in New York, he thinks his shit doesn’t stink.

  What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, Father.

  The charity dinner tonight is a black-tie affair, only tuxedos and formalwear will do. It’s held at the Waldorf Astoria hotel, famous for its large ballroom and the bar, Peacock Alley.

  I hastily shower and pick out my tuxedo from my substantial closet. I dress in my penguin suit, which is yet another disguise. This particular choice is my second favourite tuxedo, very popular by the designer Brioni. It’s by far my most expensive tux at forty-eight thousand. My Ralph Lauren is much more my personal style at only a mere five thousand.

  The paparazzi will love the Brioni tux for their pictures. Trying to keep everyone happy is my main goal of the evening.

  It does get tiresome to always strive to make others happy. I’m by all means not miserable with my life, even if I get the feeling that there is something missing from it. Or rather someone, for that matter.

  Actually, fuck that. Women are hard work. They are all needy, smothering, and materialistic.

  ~~~~

  “Good evening, Mr. Hudson,” Derek, my driver, welcomes me with a wide grin as I stride out of my apartment building. The scent of New York rus
h-hour traffic hits my senses, mixed with smoke and a deep array of pollution.

  “Hello, Derek, another boring dinner to attend. I see the smog is at high levels again this evening,” I reply choking at the stench and horrid stale air.

  “New York City at its finest, sir,” he jokes casually back to me. Derek has been an employee of mine for the past three years, and he has never let me down in any aspect. I have learned in my years as a successful businessman just how hard it is to find reliable employees.

  After some small talk, he delivers me to the Waldorf at six forty-five. I’m a little early but being punctual is important. I know I will be held up to talk business with a few clients, and of course, field personal questions about my love life before I have to pose for endless pictures. It’s all part of the image I have to project.

  I barely make it a few feet from my car before they descend. Cue the vultures.

  “Mr. Hudson, you look stunning tonight. Who are you wearing?” the first reporter asks as her microphone is shoved towards me.

  “This amazing tuxedo is a Brioni, and it is an exclusive Hudson design. It will be for retail sale next month,” I answer her delivering the spiel I practiced earlier.

  Of course, I received the suit at half price to promote it since they know my little plug will have them selling like hotcakes. It’s a win-win situation really.

  “Well, there you go folks, you have heard exclusively from Chase Hudson himself, this designer suit called ‘The Hudson’ by Brioni will be able for purchase in stores next month,” she reveals with enthusiasm into the camera. I smile and continue the path to the foyer entrance.

  But not before I am stopped by Felicity, a reporter that I may have had casual sex with on occasion, before putting an end to things when she wanted more. Of course, it ended disastrously when she turned into more of a stalker than John Hinckley, Jr.

  “Mr. Hudson, you look elegant as always. You’re alone, though. Where is your latest conquest? Surely Chase Hudson isn’t flying solo to such a prestigious event?” Felicity questions me with anger still burning in her eyes. She obviously still hasn’t gotten over my rejection.