Page 9 of Wreckin' Amethyst

“What…what fucking time is it?” I nudge her aside and sit upright. I feel worse than if I hadn’t slept at all, my eyes stinging and head throbbing.

“Barely eight in the morning. Come on, we need to leave.” Leave? My brow pinches as I stumble out of bed, finding myself completely naked. Clothes are thrown at me from the wardrobe as Charley pries open the bottom panel. Shit, this is serious.

“Is it Art? Because I broke his nose?” I ask whilst pulling on a white vest that comes to my navel and a pair of white panties. Brown ankle boots are tossed by my feet before Charley stills.

“Wait, you broke Art’s nose?!” We stare at each other as Pig continues to yap, scratching at my calf to pick her up. I obey, hoisting her chubby body into my arms before snapping my fingers for Charley to un-pause. “Oh, um,” she blinks several times, pulling out the sacred duffel. “No, not Art. No one has seen him since you fell last night. This is something else.” At that moment, a pounding sounds a few doors down.

“Get your asses out, ladies, last warning,” a gruff voice sounds. Another comes from the opposite end of the hall, repeating the same. I rush to grab Charley’s huge handbag, nestling Pig inside. Winding my arm into hers, we exhale in time behind the closed door.

“Remember. No matter what–duffel, Pig, Hawaii.” In one swift movement, we barge into the hallway and walk arm in arm, chins held high. Considering her occupation, I would have considered Charley as rather meek six months ago. But now, she understands the lessons I’ve been eager to teach–to tackle life the way you want to be remembered. With confidence and just enough bitchiness for everyone nearby to want to either fuck you or be you.

An outbreak of chaos ensues from the cramped hallway. Whoever is forcing us from the only home we know, is lost in the flurry of fellow dancers who are scrambling around, half-dressed and in a panic. Charley and I carve our path through the center, up the stairs and out the open back door. A commotion sounds from the front of the building.

“Sir, we can’t legally begin knowing there are still people inside,” a nervous voice trembles. I pull Charley to a halt on the corner, listening in before we step into view.

“Five minutes and I’m giving you the green light,” comes the reply. I vaguely recognize the voice and my heart clenches before I’ve fully grasped who it might be.

“But I–”

“Either you do the job I’m paying you for or I’ll strap you to one of the poles on that stage and do it myself.” There’s a scuffle before heels scrape and the bully storms away. Peering around the corner, a man is crumpled on the ground, his back against the brick wall. Yellow hard hat and hi-vis vest on his body, I quickly scan the machinery across the parking lot. All the equipment needed for a shift demolition, and a team of burly men to operate them.

Amongst the huge machines, a suit leans against a Mercedes, the AMG version in a sleek coat of yellow, phone pressed to his ear. Dark hair, that shimmers brown in the rising sun, is cropped short at the sides and left longer on top. His face is the image of frustration, until Sandyman approaches. I watch their exchange, how Mr. Anal visibly relaxes and even cracks a smile for his companion. Speaking of which–holy hell.

No longer crammed into a suit, blond hair puddles over his broad shoulders in a white t-shirt. Dark tattoos leak through, covering every visible inch from his neck to low-hanging jeans. Cracking his knuckles, my eyes are drawn from the width of his bulging biceps to the arrows inked on fingers I could make good use of.

Two more men in casual wear appear from Thirsty Kirsty’s main entrance, completing the four I had the displeasure of meeting in the limo. Equally tattooed, their muscles just as defined, with thick veins trailing the lengths of their arms. Pig wriggles in the bag on my shoulder, reminding me to pick up my jaw and do something.

Sliding the bag from my shoulder to Charley’s, I give Pig a few slobbery kisses before making my way across the parking lot. Remaining out of view, the flat boots I’d usually loathe provide the perfect amount of sneak, all the way up to machine number one. It’s a beast of yellow and green, with a giant claw attached to the front. A similar man to before is sitting in the driver’s seat, hard hat in place and a coffee cup in hand as he reads an oversized newspaper. I use that paper to my advantage, climbing the side of the vehicle to pop up at his side, still shielded from the assholes by the Mercedes.

“Pssst,” I grab his attention. He jerks, almost spilling his coffee. “What’s going on here?” The man raises the paper to hide both of us while I relieve his coffee cup and drink it for him.

“Immediate demolition of this club, as per the new owners instruction. We were called in the early hours of this morning.”

“New owners?” I frown and then scowl. Not just because this coffee tastes like it came from an oil can. It’s no coincidence the very men who tried to kidnap me are now trying to destroy my place of work. For some reason, they have it out for me, and are about to get a dose of what screwing with Amethyst looks like.

“Accidents happen all the time in the workplace, right?” I ask my friend with a squishy dad bod I could cuddle into next week. I won’t though, because he’s wearing a wedding ring and I don’t do long term ties. A man who’s into commitment sends me running in the opposite direction.

“Um, I suppose so,” he nods and I grin, handing him back his cup of shit. I mean, coffee. Leaning further over, pressing my boobs into his face whilst peering at the sports car, I push the machine’s stick into reverse without him realizing. Call it my good deed for the day. No one likes being called out of a warm, cozy bed at stupid o’clock in the morning just to sit around waiting.

Slinking back to ground level, I pick my timing carefully to move between the machines without being seen. A gaggle of girls stumble from the front doors, glitzy dresses and heels bundled in their hands. They are quickly escorted out by a pair of bodyguards I haven’t seen before, burly guys in suits who barely match Sandyman’s size. Stopping by the nearest machine, I kick up my foot and check my nails until they walk by, passing me off as just another whore. Everyone in the vicinity should know, I’m the Queen of Badass Whore’s.

Once the coast is clear, I roll my neck before climbing up the metal hunk of machinery. Thick rubber tread stretched over the tires, providing me with a level platform to scoot along. Unlike the other machines, the driver’s seat of this one isn’t open for creepy crawlers to gain access. It also means whoever is sitting inside the cab can merely watch through the windscreen as I round the front of his vehicle, use the bumper for a boost and throw myself onto the wrecking ball. One hand grips the chain, my pole dancing experience coming in super ‘handy’ and I drag myself up the rest of the way.

“The fuck?!”

“There she is!” Voices holler, muscled men run. It would seem someone has been looking for me. Hands make a grab for my boots, angry faces surrounding the ball. Before they can reach me, the chain is drawn higher and I catch sight of the person in the cab. Charley beams, Pig sitting on her lap with a long pink tongue hanging over the steering wheel. Lifting me higher, the ball swings and, never one to miss an opportunity, I plant my ass down, legs straightened with the chain practically inserted in my hoo-haa.

“I came in like a wrecking ball!” I sing, totally off tune and loving every minute of it. Other workers receive barked orders to block us in, and my good old dad bod friend is the closest between us and sweet freedom. Unfortunately for him, as he shoves his foot onto the pedal, his vehicle shoots backwards and proceeds to trample the Mercedes directly behind. The gigantic wheels crunch over the yellow metal with more efficiency than I envisioned, my cackle trailing behind as we drive from the parking lot. Sure, this hunk of a machine isn’t fast, but it wasn’t a speedy escape I was going for. It was a dramatic one.

Turning out on the main road, it becomes quickly evident Charley has no idea how to drive this thing. Props to her for trying. The ball jerks, cutting off my singing as I cling on for dear life. The metal slams into the crane holding it suspended, jerking my grip looser. I wrap my arms around the chain, squeezing my eyes tight. The ball gives way beneath me and suddenly I’m freefalling, leaving my stomach several feet above me. Jolting to a sudden halt just before I meet the ground and my maker, I’m fully dislodged this time and none of my flailing for the chain can save me. Hair rushes past my ears, my back slamming into a solid weight.

Arms band around me, squeezing the remaining air from my lungs. Long, sandy blond hair tickles my face and the moment my feet are lowered to the ground, a cool ring of metal is slapped around my wrist. The other end is attached to Charley, securing us together via handcuffs. Pig dives into my free arm, nuzzling into my neck. I soothe her with sweet words, but it doesn’t escape my attention how the firm chest doesn’t shift from my back. Three others close in, circling us like prey. I ignore them however, because it’s clear who is calling the shots. Not the guy avoiding all eye contact, not the one who eases Pig from my arms and definitely not Mr. Anal in his sharp suit, despite the aggression emanating from him.

“Do I at least get to know the name of my captor?” I turn to Sandyman. He raises a brow and scoffs, as if I should instantly recognize his face. Yep, rich and conceited. Called it.

“Myles Hudson. And captor is a strong word. I’ll take ‘your new boyfriend’ instead.” He winds his arm around my back. It’s my turn to scoff.

“Boyfriends are for girls who, should they get hit by a bus tomorrow, need constant reassurance they won’t die alone and unloved. I have neither of those worries, because I prefer to be alone and I love my damn self.” A moment passes before he grins. A wide, easy smile amongst light stubble that would melt my icy walls if those bastards weren’t cemented in iron cladding. The shine of a black limo pulls up from behind, the door popped and Charley is urged inside. I, however, am not so easily pushed around.

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