Page 11 of Wreckin' Amethyst

“Myles, a word?” Carter asks in a ‘this is not a request’ sort of way. Green eyes narrow on me and I give Carter the middle finger. Myles chuckles, appearing far more relaxed now we’re in his domain.

“Make yourself at home,” he brushes a hand across my lower back and takes his leave. Yeah, right. Owen is still nuzzling Pig, drowning in her traitorous kisses while Sebby attempts to sneak a canape. One of the maids slaps his hand away.

“Not a chance Sebastian,” she giggles, showing her youth. “These are for the gala.” Sliding into one of the stools, I take in the help with keener eyes. I’d put the four of them around their early twenties, tall and stick thin with long flowing ponytails of each color. Blonde, honey brown, red and sleek black. None of them seem to care for me, or Charley who remains at my back, until I reach out and take a canape, pushing it between my lips.

“Holy shit,” I gag around a mouthful of something overpoweringly fishy, tart and laced with sriracha. “That’s disgusting.” Scraping the offensive taste off my tongue, I dump the chewed mess back on the edge of the platter. “Whoever you’re serving, let’s hope they don’t have tastebuds.”

“And let’s hope you don’t make it past the initial interview,” the redhead glares at me. I frown but it’s Charley who speaks up first.

“What interview?” The girls all begin to laugh so I stand, shielding Charley behind me.

“To be one of Hudson’s Elites,” the blonde rolls her eyes, drawling her words. “There’s always five of us. Leslie resigned to go into pageants. Carter has been trying to replace her for months, but not everyone is a perfect fit for Hudson.” The four of them rub shoulders and giggle, as if part of some secret club. You know what, I don’t think it was the canape that made me feel nauseous after all.

“You mean Myles?” I query, and get the reaction as if I just individually slapped each one of them.

“You can’t call him by his first name,” the brunette gasps. It’s all so theatrical. With their tits practically on display, skirts not covering their thongs and piping bags of salmon mousse in hands, I’ve just about reached my limit of wealthy privilege.

“Come on Charley, I need to find a bathroom before we start hitchhiking back to the city.” I’m certain I hear one of the maids mutter ‘good riddance’ and ‘did you see what she’s wearing’ from another, but leave them to their snickering. Surely I’ll find a barbie pink convertible I can key on my way out. Bypassing Owen, I remove Pig from the cradle in his arms.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I mutter into her treacherous ear, exiting into a spacious lounge. Oh, how the other half live. Flat tv mounted on a brick wall above an electric fireplace, plush cream sofas larger than the dressing room Charley and I shared.

When each door on the lower level remains firmly locked by a keypad, we’re forced to head upstairs. This is where the real fun begins – snooping around bedrooms. First, I grab Charley’s hand and tug her left. No one seems to be following as we step into what I can only hope is one of the maid’s rooms. Baby pink, everywhere. The rug is fluffy, the pillows are glittery. I like a pop of color as much as the next girl, but it’s the unicorn theme throughout that makes my head spin. No thank you.

The next one is more my style. Dark reds and black, accents of leather and suede, so I permit myself entry and head directly for the wardrobe. The bitches were right. My Miley Cyrus moment was perfectly acceptable in the hood, but we’re not on the streets of depravity anymore. Taking an outfit from the rail, I pause in front of a mirror. Not the usual kind for a bedroom, more like that of an interrogation room. Spanning the entire wall above a dresser and leather chaise. Red lights blip in each corner of the ceiling, our movements being caught on camera. Oh well.

Dropping the duffle, I place Pig on top to guard it. Charley tries to hide me from view, but I couldn’t give less of a shit. Peeling the crop top off and shedding the waist high panties, I opt to leave the brown ankle boots in place. The outfit I’ve opted for is a form fitting dress. The material is slitted from ribs to knees, giving the right amount of cleavage and heady dose of sensuality. Not my usual style, but as I fluff out my purple hair, even I can’t help but check myself out in the mirror.

“Woah, Ami, look,” Charley breathes from where she’s drifted across the room. Beside an armchair, a magazine has been discarded on a small table only big enough for two wine glasses. An image of Myles stares up at me, all rugged blond hair and enticing chocolate eyes.

“Oh my god, how could I not recognize him?! I know who he is,” Charley quickly flips to the double page spread of Myles. Scanning the article, her eyes fly a mile a minute until she finds what she’s looking for and reads aloud.

“Myles Hudson, son of billionaire Charlton Hudson, has spoken about his sex addiction for the first time. In his teenage years, the business tycoon in his own right was charged and sentenced on two counts of sexual activity without consent. Hudson spent a total of seven years frequenting rehabs, until moving to a quiet residence in the country with his three best friends. Upon speaking with our interviewer, Hudson assures he is well, coping with his compulsions in a healthy manner and no longer a danger to society.”

“A danger to society?” I scoff. Sure he’s eccentric, but this is the reason I avoid the media at all costs. Everyone has a story to be taken out of context, even me. Especially me. But still, with two felonies, there must be some truth to the article. Studying the image of four young boys, all gangly limbs and baggy trousers, in front of a mansion, a snort erupts from my nose that over-excites Pig.

“Dude, check out Carter with those highlighted curtains,” I laugh, tossing the magazine onto the armchair. “Could these guys be any more…asshole-ish?” Clicking my tongue, I make a move towards the exit when I realize Charley isn’t behind me. Looking back, my easygoing smile slips. Only Charley can access the true me underneath all the bullshit, and her expression shows I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.

“Um, Ami? I was thinking…I might interview, or audition, or whatever this bullshit thing is,” Charley looks away, fiddling with a loose hem on her t-shirt.

“You want to be a fake drone, used for chores and sex at someone else’s command? What about all these years we’ve laughed at women who fall over themselves to please a man? Especially after your stepfather.” My tone drops, a thinly veiled warning hidden within. Charley winds her arms around herself, uncertainty in her gaze. Pig whines as if I should apologize, but we’ve come too far, learnt and seen too much to become puppets on someone else’s string now.

“It might not be so bad,” Charley argues. “Look around. There are worse places to shack up, carefree.” I shudder. Shack up? As in, forget about everything I’ve been working so hard to achieve, all the rights I still need to wrong, and Charley chooses now to go cold on me. Shaking my head, I pace in a circle and sigh.

“The cons may be an adrenaline rush for you, but they’re necessary to me.” Sure, it started off small. A little robbery here and there, tricking semi-rich men and women alike of their undeserved fortunes. And don’t get me wrong – I did my homework. Only taking from those who deserved it. But the bolder I grew, the more daring the heists became. The more privileged my targets were. Once I saw a renowned pedophile parading around on TV, wasting money quicker than his pitiful existence should allow, I knew I had to step up and take more. More they use to fuel their bad habits. More revenge to remind them they’re not untouchable. I’m doing karma’s dirty work here.

“And you still won’t tell me why?” Charley implores. I stop, staring into her brown eyes. We’ve been here before, had this argument multiple times, but my past is my burden to bear. It’s the one part of myself I keep under tight lock and key, and for good reason.

“Ami, I’ve followed you around for the past nine years, staying wherever you chose and living whatever life you decided is best. It’s my turn to make a choice, and I want to stay here a while. If I’m chosen, at least. And then I’ll demand you and Pig must remain here as my sturdy companions, although Myles doesn’t seem to need much convincing.” She smiles and winks, forcing me to rethink my entire strategy.

“Maybe for once, we don’t need to survive. We can just…be,” Charley continues, oblivious to the small voice in my mind telling me to jump out of the nearest window. I sigh, lick my lips and give a hollow nod.

“If you really want to be one of those stuck-up, snobby bitches, I will support you.” I force a smile and stroke the lengths of her brown curls. Charley truly is a hidden beauty. Some of us are too comfortable hiding behind a smear of muck and resentful attitude, and I hadn’t considered until now that Charley may want more.

“I promised to always keep you safe. Besides, I’m sensing there’s still much havoc to be caused around here,” I wink, dropping back onto the mattress. Charley dives on top of me a moment later, a mess of tickling, giggling and a round of slobbery licks from Pig ensues. Hugging my two girls into me, I sigh as that ball of anxiety starts to ebb.

I’ve always chosen rundown shitholes to lay low in. Using their cash-in-hand policies and codes to look the other way to our advantage. Perhaps mingling with the rich for a change will work in my favor. My skin will crawl every second of it, but that’s a small price to pay to finally avenge my mother’s death. She was stolen from me. Robbed of life in the same way my innocence was taken from me. Someone has to pay in order for me to move on. And who knows, once Charley is an Elite and I’m fulfilled, Pig and I could hang up our vendettas for an easy life on our stolen riches.

A pretty fantasy, to be sure. I only wish I could indulge in it.

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