Prince of Hearts

WARNING: THIS STORY HAS MINOR SEXUAL CONTENT AND SWEARING. LIKE, A LOT OF SWEARING. IF THIS OFFENDS ANYONE, DON'T READ THIS STORY, I WLL NOT PUT UP WITH HATE OR COMPLAINTS ABOUT THE AMOUNT OF SWEARING. THANKS! READ, COMMENT, ENJOY. ((OR DON'T, I DON'T CARE)) ((Banner to the side made by DoeEyes92))

Carmine Reynolds; Untouchable,  OCD, Grandma's boy, loves his family, life, friends, and music. As his Gram falls even more ill, his parents realize that his dreams of going to USM are far-fetched since money is tight. Wren Paxton and Chance Reynolds; Chance's best friends in the world and the two other Untouchables of Augusta Prep. Chance and Wren had a secret, a ring. A pimp ring. When Carmine realizes that the ring could reel in money, he agrees. With twists in relationships, family, and life in all, Carmine has to keep what he really wants in mind. But which is more important? The girl, his family, or his dream?

~*~*~*~*~ Chap. Excerpt~*~*~*~*~

'74 Norther Ave. She'll be there.'

Sighing, I slip on my leather jacket and put my cell phone in my pocket. Pushing open the basement door, I head out into the blazing sunlight, hoping for a clean escape.

"Carmine?" my mother's voice rings from the garden.

"Damn it," I mutter as she walks towards me. "Yeah, mom?"

"Where are you going?" sge asks, raising an eyebrow as she stops in front of me.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I tell her the first lie to come into my mind. "I'm going to visit Iz, I'll be back by dinner. Five, right?"

"Yes," she nods warily with a sigh, her dark blue eyes searching mine. "Be careful."

"I will," I mumble, shoving my hands back into my pocket after a quick wave.

A guilty feeling spreads through me as I walk away from the house, the lie ringing through my mind. Visiting Iz? Not even close. Walking down the block quickly to get out of my mom's range of view, I change to a jog. Coming to a stop in front of the large house in front of me, I run up the stairs and yank the door open.

A loud moan from upstairs makes me smirk. Apparently they aren't quite done up there. Manuevering past the furniture in the living room, I stop at the bottom of the stairs, craning my neck to hear better.

"Red!" a female voice yells. "Please, stop!"

"Shit," I swear, running up the stairs. The doors in the hallway are all locked, but a strange light comes from the crack of a door down farther.

Grabbing a credit card from my wallet, I pick the lock and push the door open worriedly. BDSM can get dangerous, why the hell is the man not listening to her? Looking first at the room, I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the chains and whips laying around. 

My eyes widen as I take in the leather bound girl on the floor, a man about twice her age holding a whip high above her. Please don't recognize me.

"Carmine?" she gasps.