Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Excerpt of Sin in Soul's Kitchen


I first read the self-published version of Sin in Soul’s Kitchen several years ago and wrote a review for it on Amazon.com, something that I rarely do. The book is HOT, the writing is poetic, sensual, and stimulating. I hope that you will give this book a chance. You will certainly not regret it.


A sexy, psychological thriller that explores why men and women commit sinister crimes of passion, do the most hateful things in the name of love, and cook up schemes to punish one another when sweet romance turns sour. If you can't stand the heat, stay out of soul's kitchen.
Groomed for "the good life" by his affluent family, rebellious Thaddeus Carmichael has a new MBA and a spicy, new vision for his future. Unfortunately, he is also embroiled in a power struggle with the lady in his life -- the ever-fabulous, ever-ambitious Chelsea Fuller. She wants a perfect marriage. He wants artistic freedom.
Andrew Oyé is a journalist, author, screenwriter and publisher. A graduate of Stanford and Vanderbilt Universities, Oyé currently lives in Hollywood, California, where he works on TV, film, media and marketing projects. Visit the author at www.myspace.com/drewoye Thad insists "happily ever after" is a state of mind, and he questions the state of Chelsea's mind. Over time, their relationship is seasoned with deceit, betrayal, and obsession -- ingredients for a bitter existence. Bad things happen to good people who wrestle with destiny, so Thad's pursuit of his passion over his fate with Chelsea could be a recipe for disaster.
With pulsating dialogue and vivid backdrops, Sin in Soul's Kitchen is a dramatic voyage into sensuality and suspense, vibrating with cultural ambiance, captivating encounters, and riveting twists in a world of intrigue, intimacy and insanity.

As the sky deepened to gunmetal gray, streetlamps flickered on like birthday candles in celebration of the rain's end. Still tense, Thad walked down Seventh Avenue, tucking in a new shirt that had replaced his devoured one. Over the horizon, he saw Nubian Rhythm Kitchen. The golden neon sign rested on a hut-like awning, and a marquee announced "Spoken Word Open Mike Night."
Suddenly, his shoes could fly again. Thad’s pace quickened to a sprint, his boots licking the wet sidewalk in time with his heartbeat. He skillfully dodged random puddles oozing from the cracked sores of the pavement like pus filled with more of Chelsea’s accusations and assaults. Reaching NRK’s entrance out of breath, Thad admired his personal Jerusalem from the outside until the aroma of Jamaican sausage lured him inside.
Stacking glasses and coasters at the bar, Melvin insisted, "Virgil, when are you gonna slip me some of the bread you cats are makin’ with this place? Let me get some of that stash."
"Stash? Fool, we opened the place yesterday," Virgil snapped, fiddling with the cash register. "We’re not even turning a real profit yet. Besides, it’s not just my money, so I’m not giving you a damn thing."
Melvin threw a stack of napkins at the back of Virgil’s head. "You’ve got brass balls now that you’re hangin’ with these pretty college cats?" Melvin snatched Virgil around, pushing his five-foot-seven frame against Virgil’s six-foot-two mass until the register slammed shut. "You betta watch the tone you take with me, sucker!"
"Chill out, Mel," Virgil whispered through frozen lips, his breaths turning to quick heaves. "Look, the guys are right over there. Don’t make a scene."
Melvin looked across the room, where Thad stood talking to Kahlil and Saadiq as they dragged big couches from backstage and arranged them around a microphone and stool in the center of the club. Melvin slowly took the heat off Virgil, backing away and wiping the spit from his lips with his sleeve. "You may be three times bigger than me, but I’m still your big bro, Virgil, and I’ll kick your ass if you keep poppin’ off at the mouth."
Virgil stared into his brother’s beady eyes. "You’re already living with me and Roz. I got you this bartending gig. What else do you want from me, Mel?"
"First off, don’t forget who was feedin’ your ass back home, before you went big-time bourgeois, playin’ that sissy music with the Boys’ Choir of Harlem over there. Yeah, I’m livin’ off of you and your bitch now, but I’ll be gettin’ out of y’all’s place in a minute. As a matter of fact, my boys Cedric and Jojo mentioned comin’ up north to start somethin’ over in Jersey."
"Something like what?"
"Never mind that! All that matters is I’m strapped for cash, baby bro." Melvin’s eyes got tighter as he extended a hand low under the counter and waited with a frown on his face.
Breathing deeply, Virgil waited in a useless standoff for Melvin to drop his hand. The hand stayed. Virgil turned around and punched the register. The drawer shot out. Virgil snatched up two hundreds from the tray, slammed it shut, and slapped the crisp bills into Melvin’s palm.
"That’s right, baby bro. You calls those cats your blood brothers, but we’re real brothers, real blood. We’re family, and blood’s got to look out for blood." Melvin snickered as Virgil stomped away.
Saadiq adjusted the mike stand in the center of the club. "Talk to me, Thad."
"I called my parents and told them everything."
"What? Why the hell did you do that?"
"Because I want Chelsea to have the baby, and don’t give me any lip about it, Saadiq! I got enough of it from them. They think I should marry her."
"I didn’t say a word," Saadiq sang. "But I bet Big Pappy Carmichael lost it."
"My father's convinced I'm officially a crazy, rebellious child. Like I planned this," Thad replied, helping Kahlil set a bamboo bench before the mike.
"Are you going to marry her?" Kahlil asked, roping off the presentation area.
"I can’t do that and be happy. I'll be in my child’s life, not Chelsea’s. It's over."
With a satisfied smile, Saadiq went to the bar to burn incense as the leaders of the dinner crowd dwindled into the supper club. Ignoring the customers as they walked into the entrance, Virgil stood at the front door with his hands in his pockets, cussing like a sailor under his breath.
"Hey, Virgil, what’s up?" Thad asked, easing next to him.
"Nothing!" Virgil’s eyes didn’t leave the front door.
"O-kay." Thad paused. "Oh! This morning, we were looking for you–"
"Why are you guys always trying to trail me? I’m not obligated to check in with anybody. I’m not the one you need to keep tabs on anyway. Your man Rush is in the alley, and guess what he’s doing. That’s right. Puffing on hay. Why don’t you go chase him for a little while, huh?"
Virgil’s defensiveness prompted Thad to back off and approach Saadiq in the club instead. "What’s wrong with Virgil?"
"Don’t know. Why?"
"Never mind. Where’s Rush?"
"He’s out back with Benny partaking in a little ganja action."
"He knows I don’t like that, especially not here."
"Cut him a little slack. He told us not to tell you anyway." Saadiq pulled Thad aside. "Look, forget Rush. Did you make use of what I gave you this morning?"
"Why are you treating me like I’m in need of some kind of fix?" Thad gazed pensively at the entrance of the club. "The answer is yes. She’s supposed to meet me here tonight. I hope she shows. On second thought, I don’t." Thad pulled away from Saadiq. "I don’t know why the heck I called that girl."
"Sure you do." Saadiq patted Thad’s back. "When I met Asha, I knew she was perfect for you, man – sexy, good energy, talented, from worthy roots, right?"
"Most definitely, Asha’s good people. But I feel like I'm skipping the mourning period. I just ended a serious relationship. Saadiq, there’s a lot of emotionally charged stuff left between Chelsea and me."
"Explain that to that pretty little face over there." Saadiq pointed to the front door where Asha stood.
Thad barely moved. His feet took slow, uncertain steps, telling him to stop and think twice; but his leg muscles told his feet to pick up the pace, to walk him over and escort Asha away from the swelling crowd to a table in the corner.
After they ordered drinks, Thad cleared his throat and waited to see who should start. He sighed. "Asha, about last night. . ."
"You don’t owe me any explanations, Thad."
"Yes, I do. Chelsea and I just ended a long relationship, and I just discovered that she’s having my child. She feels she has a right to my time and attention, whereas I’m trying to move on from the idea of us as a couple."
"Well, are you going to support the baby?"
"Of course, by all means. Just clearing up any confusion."
"Oh, thank you." Asha smiled at the waitress who set a jumbo daiquiri in front of her. "I'm actually fresh out of a relationship myself. He was a real easygoing man from Nigeria. We danced together in Atlanta, and he taught me everything I know." Asha crossed her chocolate legs and looked down at her leather sandals. "Turns out, he was giving private lessons to a number of other girls in his class."
"Sorry to hear that. None of my relationships have ended due to the wandering eye. I guess that’s something to be proud of." Thad slid his mug of lager back and forth across the wood grain of the table. "Anyway, we’re both at similar junctions, right? Live and learn." He lifted his glass. "To new beginnings?"
Asha raised her daiquiri with both hands and clanked Thad’s mug. "Definitely. To new beginnings."
Thad sipped his drink, staring at Asha’s silver jewelry glinting in the mood lighting of the club. He bit his sore lip, trying to fight the feeling below his belt. "Tonight is open mike for poets. You do the spoken word thing?"
"Oh, no, no, no. I’m strictly dance. I express myself best through my body." Asha raised her arms in a swan-like motion, while Thad’s eyes agreed with her. "I don’t do words. That’s Nenna’s thing. She’s doing a couple of pieces tonight."
"Rush is reading, too. The man's a lyrical genius, a real poetic soldier. It’s such a cool talent to flow like that. His next project is an urban poet's society of spoken word artists called Vocal Cords that’ll teach kids the value of poetry. Kahlil will be drumming between sets and accompanying the poets’ performances."
"That should be a nice touch, the drumming and the words dancing together. We held readings like that at Spelman. The brothers from Morehouse College would come over, and we’d gather in the student union and just vibe. It was deep, seeing those men open up like that and share. The flavor was so real, you know?"
“I love your connection to the basics. I mean, conversations were never like this with Chelsea. Asha, you don’t understand. Debating the nutritional value in soul food versus the Primrose Café menu, or the spring selection at Barney’s versus Saks, or vacationing in the Hamptons versus Colorado Springs, gets old." Thad paused. "Asha, listen to me, ranting about the ex already. I’m sorry. So, you attended Spelman? What’s it like going to school with all those other women?"
"Of course, there were instances of major drama, but I found a place for myself and met some cool sisters. Morehouse is right next door, so we weren’t sheltered, but it was a big change from living under my parents’ roof and going to a performing arts high school. I learned a lot. I just graduated, early actually."
"Early?" His voice changed. "How ol– um, what did you study?"
"Philosophy. Took summer classes to finish in three years. All I want to do is dance. Came to New York to see how the big kids do it before I conquer a dance academy in Paris that I dream about attending. My dad didn’t want me to leave. He’s scared for his little girl. You know, bright lights, big city? I’m getting all of my adventure-seeking out of my system while I’m still young. I’ll be twenty next Saturday."
Twenty. He swallowed the number. "Oh. . .cool. Well, I went to Howard undergrad. I studied business, and just got my MBA from Columbia."
"I know. Saadiq told me. Columbia, that’s impressive."
"Thanks. I’ll be twenty-six next month. Fortunately, I've already created my dream business, so I’m feeling pretty good about this accomplishment."
"This place is totally righteous, Thad. Gosh, sometimes I wish the whole world was just like this place. You know what I mean? Like, I wish people didn’t have to travel to discover – what do you call it, African Heaven?"
"A Nubian Eden with an Urban Edge." Thad smiled.
"Ah, yes, a Nubian Eden. I dig that! But I wish we just lived in this, like, in a Nubian Rhythm World, you know?"
"Exactly! Me, too! I can’t believe you’re reading my mind like that. On second thought, I hope you’re not reading my mind; otherwise, you’d leave this table quicker than you sat down." Thad laughed with Asha while his eyes traveled up and down her legs. Then a chill suddenly breezed along the nape of his neck. Thad lost his smile as he looked toward a table a few feet away where Chelsea and Kayla waved mockingly at him. "Would you excuse me for a moment, Asha?" Thad charged over to Chelsea’s table. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Is that the little skank from last night?" Kayla asked.
"Chelsea, why are you here? Didn’t you beat me up enough already?"
"It’s a public place." Chelsea’s stare was hard and glazed. She sipped her red rum leisurely, leaving red lipstick traces on the rim of the glass. "Just couldn’t wait, could you, Thaddeus? Dropped a real woman, carrying your unborn child, no less, and ran straight into the arms of an actual child. Just look at that young, tender thing."
"What's her curfew, or is it already past her bedtime?" Kayla snickered.
"Tell me, Thaddeus. Does that mystical creature have special powers? No, let me guess. Does she have a ring or a bone piercing her nose? It’s always one of the two. And can’t you lose your license for serving alcohol to minors? But I guess she moves pretty fast for her age. What is it they say, Kay? Earthy girls are easy?"
"Shut the hell up! This is childish. You two are the real immature ones. Why the hell are you dressed like hookers?" Thad surveyed their short, low-cut outfits, attire thoroughly out of place among the largely collegiate crowd that had gathered among local poets and rappers at the supper club that evening. "I don’t want this kind of lasciviousness here! Have some respect, at least for yourselves."
"Lasciviousness? Oh, now you want to be my daddy. Oooh, scold me," Chelsea cooed. Her eyes were like deep freezers, and her batting eyelashes fanned an icy air that cooled the entire club.
"Cut the filthy little vamp routine and get the hell out of here now!"
"I want to be bad, Daddy. We came here to get a little action just like you."
"Go to hell, Chelsea!"
Chelsea grabbed the tail of Thad's shirt before he could get away, pulling him back toward her. She uncrossed her legs in slow motion, spreading her caramel thighs. While Chelsea firmly clutched Thad’s tightening buttocks in her right hand, a long, red fingernail on her left lifted her short skirt, just high enough to reveal that she wore nothing underneath. Chelsea’s feminine power pulsated while she made small circles at her waist. Thad felt the freezer burn. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Chelsea’s crotch as the excruciating moment turned lethal. She dug her nails deeper into his tense cheeks until he flinched from the pain.
Meanwhile, Asha turned in her chair to look for her date. From the corner of her eye, Asha watched Chelsea lick her lips at Thad with a lingering tongue roll.
Then Thad heard Saadiq on the house microphone, calling for poets to sign his clipboard. Thad snapped out of his lusty daze. He looked at Chelsea’s heavily made-up face. "Damn, how can I still get worked up by the same woman who tried to rip my eyeballs out earlier today?" Thad’s question was a heavy breath. "You’re pulling out all the stops tonight, aren’t you?"
"Just forget you ever saw that tonight, because there’s no way to relieve yourself now." Chelsea closed her legs, depriving Thad’s undeserving eyes of a glorious view. She mouthed silently, "Sinner."
"I wish to God I never said what I said to you. It was a simple saying. Now you’re gonna haunt me with my own words? You’re deranged." Thad yanked away from his tormentor. He took his seat across from Asha, shaking the image of Chelsea’s pretty privates from his mind. "I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Asha," Thad apologized, rubbing the awakening excitement in his slacks under the table.
Suddenly, confusion wrinkled Thad’s forehead, as soft toes under the table reached from Asha’s direction, crept up the hem of his pants and gently caressed his calf muscle. Asha leaned back in her chair with a new ease that had hid under a mask of shyness minutes before. She removed the straw from her goblet and placed it in her mouth. Slowly, she pulled the straw through her glistening lips and licked its tip. Warm toes, phallic gestures, come-hither eyes that told him to go thither – these mixed-messages made Thad’s condition worse.
"I want to show you something," Asha purred, fanning herself lazily so her bangles rattled an ethereal mating call. She looked over her shoulder and waited until Chelsea and Kayla glanced in her direction. Then, grabbing Thad’s hand, Asha led him like a mindless animal right past their table –close enough to cut her competitor with switch-knife eyes and a quick whiff of cocoa butter and apples.
"Oh no, she didn’t," Chelsea and Kayla chimed together in pure disbelief.
In the dimly lit, unfamiliar supper club, Asha invented the expedition as it unfolded. She searched for a secluded place. Heading for the only bright lights in sight, Asha dragged Thad through the double doors of the kitchen and past Saadiq’s aunts frying meat pies and catfish fritters on the grill. An unlit storeroom in the kitchen's far reaches presented itself as the perfect destination. Still clasping hands, Asha lured Thad through the deep black rectangle on the stark white wall and drew the curtains over the entrance closed.
As a dash of blue moonlight through a high window barely shared its shine, Thad looked into what he could see of Asha’s eyes. "You wanted to show me something?"
"Thad, you’re an intelligent man." Asha took his shoulders and rested him against a stainless steel counter. "I’m sure you’ve figured out what it is by now."
"Well, I have an idea, but, I mean, I just met you."
"That’s okay, sweetheart." Asha stepped closer to him, pressing her cheek to his and rubbing her pelvis on his hardness in a thick, deliberate grind. She whispered, "I feel like I’ve known you all my life. We think a lot alike. I feel a real connection, don’t you?"
"Yes. Sure," he whispered back, feeling her breath on his ear, its warmth melting the wax, his brain, and everything else inside of it. He laughed nervously. "Look, uh, I'm totally lost. I don’t know what to make of this night or this entire day. Asha, you’re a very attractive girl, but don’t you think it’s too soon for this? I think maybe we should wait or–"
"Shhh." Asha placed her finger over his lips. She stepped back into the blue box of light that the high window dropped to the floor. "It’s never too early between two souls like ours. Two minds, two bodies, dancing to the melody of heartbeats. Like the drums and the poetry."
Thad gripped the counter and shook his head like the son of a preacher man on the ledge of devilish peer pressure.
"You mean to tell me you don’t want to see this, Thad?" Asha slithered out of her jungle-print skirt and removed her black halter. The light re-dressed her body in nothing but a metallic purple glow. Each perfect breast beckoned him, and her quiescent, feathery cove begged to be invaded.
"I don’t have any protection," Thad whispered.
"Don’t worry, baby. I know what to do."
Thad waited, full of steam, full of a familiar hunger, starving for a spot to pile drive his storage of anger for Chelsea. He squeezed his throbbing arousal. About to explode with agitation, he grabbed Asha, groping her, kissing her, licking her. She squirmed out of his hungry grip and shoved him away. She kept him at arm’s length.
"Naughty boy," Asha scolded, pushing him back against the counter. "I don’t work that way."
"Oh my God. I’m sorry." Thad chuckled, bashfully, crossing his arms, turning his body to hide his stiff shame. "This didn’t feel right, Asha, but, it’s just that you offered, and what you’re offering looks scrumptious as hell." He laughed again, scratching his head and backing away. "I guess I should’ve checked myself. Every woman isn’t into aggressive sex."
"Sex? Is that Chelsea’s thing, rough sex? I’m not into sex at all, Thad," Asha replied, drawing him back toward her by the collar. "I’m into love-making. There’s a big difference." She kissed his forehead. "Now, let’s try this again."
Asha slowly stripped Thad of his clothing, his desire building with each layer removed. She laid him flat on the counter, and the cold steel sent a shockwave through his naked body. She dotted him with tender kisses from head to other head to toe, while he savored the sensation of her soft lips against his skin. She climbed onto the counter and crawled over him. She traced a wet trail around his neck and chest with her tongue. The electricity in her mouth sent a current to his hands, which impulsively hugged her waist. He gripped the small of her back, as she mounted him and allowed him to gently glide inside.
Their lips locked. Their bodies rocked in symbiotic undulations.
The sizzling grill, kitchen crew's voices, and clanking dishes barely masked her wailing or his moaning, making the sensuous act all the more exciting – the turn-on heightened, knowing that, at any moment, they could be caught, pleasuring each other’s bodies.
Thad shifted on top of Asha and kissed her heaving bosom. He caressed her hips as he played in her naval with his tongue, before easing lower, pushing the muscle in his mouth past tangled vines until it reached sweet wetness and stayed awhile.
Thad rose again, plunging his vessel into her sea, and, as Asha swallowed him in her waves, a solitary drop of passion trailed back up her system, spilling as a single tear from her eye. At the same time, Thad closed his eyes to fight back what came naturally – the urge to dig her out with force. Instead, he worked her terrain with keen concentration, thrusting rhythmically, in sync with the tribal drumming that drifted in from the club.
Good for the body. Swaying. Swimming. Swishing.
Bad for the mind. Drifting. Drowning. Draining.
At the almighty point of human connection, an invisible foot, heavy with hidden motives, pressed the gas pedal of eroticism’s dingy side, until Asha and Thad smacked into one another’s unspoken places. Outside of the storeroom’s high window a cannon of thunder exploded. Streaks of lightning crackled. The sky started its war of monstrous rain again. Simultaneously, inside the secluded room, lust’s momentum sent pots and pans from the shelf below crashing to the floor. The tumultuous clangor sounded just as Asha’s and Thad’s mounting urges climaxed like the surge of gigantic geysers. Thad signaled Asha. She quickly released him from her grip, digging her nails into his thighs, as he sprayed shame onto her abdomen in an orgasmic frenzy.
Feeling like a filthy, empty basement, Asha cradled Thad as he fell on top of her.
In the meantime, Chelsea had fought her way past the horde of college men that had swarmed around her table in the club to flirt with her and Kayla. She had found her way to the back of the kitchen. She had watched.
Chelsea stood paralyzed by disbelief, staring at Asha and Thad locked in a shadowy maze of sweaty arms and legs. Chelsea shook herself out of the shock. She snatched the curtain closed and staggered back into the club. Suddenly, disgust pinched her innards, burning the back of her throat. She dashed to the ladies’ room, fumbled into the last stall, hoisted up the toilet seat and dropped to her knees. One convulsion, then two, a heave and a half, and the water in the bowl splattered with the salmon tint of vomit, as Chelsea revisited her lunch –and images of Thad’s emotionless skin-play with Asha –in violent gags.
Kayla, meanwhile, had wandered over to the poets lounge and eased her way to the end of a bamboo bench. "Hi."
"Hi." Saadiq looked up from the clipboard in his lap. "Kayla, right?"
"Yep." Kayla looked at the stage, then down at her hands.
"Are you interested in sharing a piece tonight, or. . ."
"No. I’m no Maya Angelou." Kayla chuckled, her eyes straying. "Besides, I’m more into music than poetry, which I guess is the same thing, except that what’s recited becomes resonated and complemented by the rhythm of instruments.” She finally glanced up at Saadiq. “Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Uh, no reason." Saadiq returned his bottom lip to its upright position.
"Surprised that I can actually hold a conversation?" Kayla smiled.
"Sorry. Was that obvious?" Saadiq covered his face, groaning apologies. "I didn’t mean to be rude. All I know about you is what Thad tells me and, I guess, what I see in your friend Chelsea."
"Well, I’m not Chelsea." Kayla scooted closer to him. "Besides, that’s not a fair way to judge someone. What if I said all I knew about you was what Chelsea tells me and what I see in Thad, and then held that against you?"
"Touché, mademoiselle."
"Oh. Tu parle francaise?"
"Just a little. I mean, I’m no regular on the French Riviera." Saadiq ran his fingers through his dreadlocks. "So, you dig music?"
A chocoholic wickedly tempted by fields of milky brown kingdom come, Kayla watched Saadiq’s locks snake through his fingers and fall back against his broad shoulders –his supernatural cool, a walk on the wild side of her usual candy cravings. "Heavily. I’m a music video junkie." She tugged at her gold drop earring. "Actually, after news media, I think music is the world’s greatest communicator."
"Right on, sister. Now that I know we’re eating from the same sum-and-substance, I’d love to share one of my many cultural theories with you."
"Please." Kayla casually draped an arm over the part of the bench behind his back.
"Okay." Saadiq’s face brightened as he shifted toward Kayla to explain his mind’s work. "I’ve conceptualized theories that I want Arianna to help me compile in a written volume once she publishes her own book. The most prominent is my belief that black music will eventually bring unity to humanity. Hear me out. See, it’s evident in the universal appeal of black music –hip-hop, rhythm and blues, jazz, reggae, gospel, rock, funk, soul –as the musical choice of our generation."
"Wow, you know, I read a recent article about this phenomenon."
"Yes. Cultural studies circles are buzzing with this. Anyway, I’m predicting that the new millennium will witness the flourishing of a new society at the hands of the Neo-Soul and Hip Hop Nations, due, in part, to a unification under the shared values of Generation X –the most multiculturally open-minded in our nation’s history. These values are influenced, in part, by music, and the music that happens to be created by black people speaks to the generation of this ‘new world order.’ You dig it?"
Kayla pretended to absorb Saadiq's theorems, watching with intense intrigue the prophet's lips under his nappy goatee as he spoke. She was lost in the sway of Saadiq’s locks, each seeming to contain fibers of rich intellect, cultural prowess and historical pride, sealed into the kinky rope sprouting from his fertile crown. Up at the mike reciting theorems of her own, Nenna watched Kayla poke her perky chest out and cross her long, bare leg toward Saadiq, tossing it seductively to the funky rhythm of Kahlil’s drumbeats.
Just as Saadiq noticed Kayla’s bullet bra peeking from under her super-tight top, Chelsea appeared, grabbed Kayla and dragged her out of the club.

If you enjoyed this excerpt, please purchase Sin in Soul’s Kitchen by Andrew Oye at your local bookstore or online at: http://www.amazon.com/Sin-Souls-Kitchen-Novel-Presents/dp/1593092555/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1247600263&sr=1-1


Erica Bonnee said...

Amazing! Just that portion makes me want to go out and purchase this book. It keeps you wanting more. Excellent.

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