Page 10 of Wreckin' Amethyst

“You’re the new owners of the Thirsty Kirsty, right?” I stare into the orbs of iridescent amber drinking me in like a refreshing sex on the beach. He inclines his strong jaw. “A little overkill to get my attention, don’t you think?” My head signals towards the bulldozers.

“If you’d stayed in the limo long enough to give me your phone number, it wouldn’t have been necessary.”

“I don’t use cell phones. They’re too easy to track,” I half-shrug. Looking around at the parking lot turned demolition project, a bunch of the girls have huddled to watch on in horror, not a possession left to their name. Typical – I would have one of those arrogant douches with more money than sense latch on to me. Reassessing the situation, I hunt for the power I still hold and decide to utilize that. “I want your word you won’t bulldoze the club. There are young women here who rely on the money and have nowhere else to go.” Strong brows pinch in confusion.

“This establishment is a shithole. We’ll be doing them a service by scrapping it and starting fresh,” Myles nods sharply, trying to nudge me into the limo again by my waist. I restrain, not letting his confidence overpower me.

“No.”

“No?” he halts in surprise, as if that word is unusual to him. Maybe he’s hard of hearing.

“No.” I repeat back, just in case. “You can’t steamroll in and decide what is and isn’t worthy of fixing. Either you agree to redecorate while the girls are still able to dance, or I’m not stepping foot in your limo. Again.” By his side, Mr. Anal tries to argue that I’m already handcuffed with no chance of escape, until I produce my freed wrist from behind my back. I’ve already passed Charley the pin I kept stored in Pig’s collar to work on her own inside the limo while keeping the guys busy out here. Mr. Anal’s green eyes narrow, his throat bobbing to shift the tie at the base of his neck. Another steps into Myles’ back, his unusual gray eyes finally finding mine beneath a sweep of black hair.

“Surely it makes more sense–” he tries but Myles cuts him off with a swish of his hand.

“It’s fine, Sebby. If that’s what Amethyst wants, then so be it. We will renovate the club as it stands and see these women are properly cared for.” The four of us enter a standoff, a silent fight for dominance taking place. Myles breaks first, brushing down his crease-free t-shirt and clearing his throat. “Now will you accompany us to our manor?”

“Oh, a formal invitation?” I act shocked, placing a hand on my chest. All eyes drop to my nipples through the white crop top. “Apparently stubborn dogs can grow new dicks.”

“That’s really not–”

“Keep up, Sebby,” I refer to the nickname Myles used earlier and similarly swish my hand in the air before descending into the limo. “I dance to the beat of my own drum.” And ain’t that the truth.

Chapter 7

Ourmanor is what he said. As in, the four men crammed into the limo all jointly own and live in the approaching building. Permitted entry by a set of sturdy gates, the property is contained by a stone wall well over fourteen feet high. And yes, I am already looking for escape routes for when my welcome quickly wears out.

Rolling my neck, the prickle of awareness begins to rise again. My legs have long since cramped, cross-legged on the leather seat since my duffle is in the foot space, but at least Mr. Anal had the good sense to detour via a Starbucks drive-thru. His cup labels him as Carter, but I’m not convinced it suits him any better. At the end of the lengthy driveway, the limo stops and a shudder rolls through my shoulders.

The entire structure beams pale gray in the sunlight. Either side of an upper level balcony, huge slabs of stone create twin extensions pulled forward from the main house, creating a U shape in perfect symmetry. Large windows framed in thick, black archways match the main entrance, concealed within a fully glass front. Four columns shoulder the porch before a set of stone steps. Manicured gardens spread as far as the eye can see, but I’m busy counting the chimneys. No less than five, and my gut flips with each one. How, of all places, have I ended up in the epitome of my burning hatred. A pit of wealth, concealed hours away from the nearest amenities.

“What are we doing here?” Charley whispers for the first time since ordering a double mocha Frappuccino, twisting her head into my ear. I unhook the chocolate waves from behind Charley’s ear, allowing it to drape forward like a curtain and shielding us from the rest of the cab.

“Enjoying the ride. Trust me, it’ll be fun.” Moving back just enough, I catch her panicked expression and give a reassuring nod. Pig agrees, licking at both of our jaws until I scratch her hind leg and she collapses onto Charley’s lap.

“And when it isn’t?” Charley worries her lip. Pulling it free with my thumb, I cup her cheek, searching her brown eyes for the ballsy chick who was so recently shoplifting with me.

“As much as I’m enjoying this exchange,” a voice I haven’t heard from comments, “can we get the fuck out already?” A mass of floppy brown hair drops over piercing blue eyes, thick arms covered in colored ink resting on his knees. Straightening, I run my tongue along my top lip, testing how long it takes for his quirked brow to drop. Too easily, that’s how.

“Manners, Owen. They’re our guests,” Myles kicks Owen’s sneaker with his own custom painted Air Jordan. Sebby remains close to Myles’ side, touching him wherever possible. An interesting exchange all around.

“For now,” Carter huffs beneath his breath and leans across to pop the door. Owen shoots out first, stretching his long legs and cracking his back. Not one to sit around for long, I take his lead. Owen pauses, turns and leans halfway back inside to lift Pig from Charley’s lap. She yaps, nipping at his jaw but is quickly subdued by a belly rub. Fickle bitch.

“Jesus, you girls pack heavy,” Myles comments, taking the duffle and exiting next. Charley’s eyes snap wide with worry again, while I keep a cool exterior and slide out before she starts hyperventilating.

“Perhaps if you earned your muscles through hard work as opposed to steroids, it wouldn’t prove so challenging.” I tug the duffle’s strap from his shoulder, bearing the weight of a million dollars in cash, jewelry and drugs. Never know when and where I might need a quick getaway, and this stash ensures I’m covering all bases.

“Steroids?!” Myles chokes, scooping me up in his arms, bag and all. “Does this feel like a steroid-hype to you?” Hoisting me higher, my bare stomach is grazed by his blond stubble, scratching my skin with all the deliciousness I will refuse myself until death. He can go full necrophilia on me, no sweat. The front doors are opened from within, permitting smooth entry into a lavish entrance as I prepare to go full-Rambo and kick his ass. Unfortunately, Myles has the good sense to lower me onto the marbled flooring so I threaten him with my fist instead. I’ll get him next time.

If outside was disgustingly impressive, inside is even worse. A chandelier glimmers overhead, a full penguin-suited butler at the door. I don’t even look his way, staring directly into the amber eyes that are responsible for bringing me into my worst nightmare.

“Okay, you wanted me here. Now what?” Myles runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair, suddenly unsure of himself.

“We could start with a tour?” he offers and I roll my eyes.

“Hard pass. We can start with food and cocktails. Whatever you want me for, I intend to be shitfaced for it.” Myles’ small smile shows he knows I’m mostly full of shit. Yes, I know exactly why he was intent on bringing me here, and I do need to be drunk in order to calm the ball of anxiety batting around my chest. He wants me. Practically starving for me, of that I have no doubt. But there’s also no version of this world where I’m giving some rich boy another amenity from his never-ending wish list. In fact, withholding it from him might just give me the most amount of satisfaction I’ve ever felt.

With Charley at my heels, we enter a large, open kitchen at the back of the manor. Black speckled marble lines the counters and middle island breakfast bar. The same one with a dozen chrome and black leather stools, hosting a spread of platters. Canapes and all the fancy shit I wholly expected, with four girls in tiny French maid outfits working on them. The rest of the guys enter from the opposite side of the room, apparently taking a longer route.

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