Page 16 of Wreckin' Amethyst

But with popularity comes those seeking to steal it. A group of golddiggers created a scheme to let him fuck them, be as rough as he likes and leave as many bruises as possible. In the morning, they all cried rape. Provided each other’s alibi’s, corroborated stories. To keep business intact, Myles’ dad paid out huge settlements and committed Myles to a rehabilitation program. It seemed like the only way at the time, and Carter vowed that day to keep Myles safe at all costs.”

I shudder, and not because of the chill creeping along my spine. In contrast, my blood boils, untamed fury leaking from my heavy breaths. The problem? Knowing Myles is as much a victim of wealth as I am puts a real dampener on my distaste for him. Where I was scorned for my poverty, and treated as though I was expendable to the families who killed my mother, Myles was trapped. Targeted for his money and forced into the staged life he leads. His every movement is under a microscope and all decisions are approved by Carter.

Picking up another pebble from the graveled pathway at my feet, my arm is half-raised when a rustle sounds in a nearby bush. Too big to be an animal, too careless to ignore. A shadow side steps out of sight too late, without the need to show themselves in the first place. Someone wants my attention. I can only imagine how long Myles has forced himself to hold off, and now he wants my attention. Alone and as seemingly vulnerable as I am, it was only a matter of time.

“I’m not currently in the mood for games,” I sigh. Either side of the four pathways leading away from the fountain, neatly trimmed hedges stand tall. Every few yards, an archway is formed from the foliage, speared with small white flowers. The full moon casts an ethereal glow over the garden and woodlands beyond, the elevated manor glimmering in the distance. Music from the orchestra can just be heard if I strain my ears, between the hollers and splashes of those dive-bombing into the pool atop hundreds of stone steps. There’s always someone who can’t resist free alcohol and the call of a nightly swim.

More rustling. A soft ‘pssst.’

“Seriously, get back to your party.” I roll my eyes. “There’s loads of other guests who’d prefer your company.” Again, the shadow behind the hedge remains silent and somewhat hidden. Regardless of the revelations I’ve had about Myles, he’s an idiot to think I’d be caught dead chasing him around the gardens. I’m not one of his groupies.

Instead, I spin my skirt and head back the way I came. Gravel crunches beneath my heels, all of my weight leaning on the balls of my feet. The path is long and trailed by a row of white roses on either side. At the far end, a pair of marble statues frame the stone steps surrendering to the shadows. One man and one woman, both captured by unyielding branches which coil around the bottom halves of their bodies. I’m starting to notice a theme here.

The diamonds on my neck weigh heavily, my breasts pushing against the gown with each exasperated rise and fall of my chest. I shouldn’t have left Charley and Pig alone with those vultures. Shouldn’t have let my awareness drift so far, Myles was able to get this close.

For each step I take, a rustle creeps along the bush at my left. Dude is relentless. Swooping mid-step, I yank a metal spoke from between the roses, spotting a break in the hedge coming up. Another talent I forced myself to learn – fencing. Anything that would put me at an advantage should I find myself followed by a six-foot-plus brute who has issues hearing the word ‘no’.

I swing around the hedge, the metal bar hidden behind my back. Raising a hand, I stop the shadow from progressing closer, pushing against his chest. A dress shoe slides backwards through the grass, a slender frame fighting against the force of my palm. Cheap cigarette coils through the air, setting in my nose.

“You’re not Myles,” I suddenly stand taller. Using the extra height of the heels to make myself seem more imposing, but the stale croak of laughter around his cigarette doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“I can be whoever you want me to be.” A hand brushes my cheek, fingers toying with the singular curl framing my face. I remain still, frozen in place. Through my hand, his heart picks up a beat, the excitement of having me so near thrumming through his entire being. He sees my lack of retreat as acceptance. All the while, I’m hunting for weak spots.

“Bold move of Myles’ bloodhound, letting hookers attend his charity gala. Especially considering the guests.” His hand drops to the diamonds at my neck, casting speckles of light across his face. With the moonlight spearing the top of the hedge, casting us in mostly darkness, I strain to pick up on my stalker’s finer details.

Scruffy hair appears around his silhouette, his suit crumpled as if it’s been in a protective bag for too long. Hired, more than likely. The most telling trait is how bunched his shoulders are, uncomfortable with his attire. Curving his spine, his head sunken into the collar suggests he’s particularly used to curling up in a small, padded cell.

“You haven’t completed the rehabilitation program,” I state. The cherry at the end of his cigarette flares, illuminating the tick in his jaw and confirming my suspicions. Gliding my leg forward, my lace skirt separates at the leg split. Rough polyester from his slacks scrape my skin as I nestle myself between his thighs.

“Let me guess – day pass? Perhaps assigned to the care assistant you’ve ditched.” My ankle knocks his, noting the bulky presence of a police tag. “Actually, make that a parole officer.” A dry huff shoots from his nose, plumes of smoke billowing around my face.

“I’m getting the impression that’s even more of a turn-on. Whores always love a bad boy.” A part of me is fairly certain he meant that as a compliment to us both, yet here I am, calculating the ways to escape subtly. Running and screaming never work out, more energy used on fear than regulating key emotions. Power, cunning. I could keep him busy until his parole officer comes looking or lure him back to the house under the pretense of sex. Although, neither of those options are viable when he flicks his hand out of his pocket, the glint of a needle catching the light. “And here I was thinking I’d have to use this.”

Fuck. That.

The spike clutched behind my back is whipped out before he even senses me move. Bringing the heavy weight down on his wrist, I throw it upwards to catch his chin. Not as hard as I’d like, but enough to shock him. Shoving him away, I roll the shortened pole around my hand, stepping back into the break between the hedges. Here he can see me in the full light of the moon. Here he will recognize a woman who doesn’t flee, calling for a tough man to save her. I’m my own hero.

Scruff dives for me, his arms wide and careless. I twist out of reach, slamming the pole down on his back as he withdraws. The next time he strikes, he’s prepared for my swing. Mimicking my sidestep, his shoulder rams into my middle, quickly succeeded by a punch to the gut. I grunt, elbowing the back of his head. Tugging on my middle, Scruff isn’t prepared for the strength of my willpower, my legs refusing to buckle. The dress doesn’t have such an inclination, shimmying downwards. Once past my breasts, revealing the nude bra cups concealing my nipples, I give a quick twist to free myself of the dress. Scruff tumbles to my feet as I step free, in only my heels, underwear and the diamond necklace.

“Stay down, asshole,” I warn. He’s up on his feet within seconds, all macho pride puffing out his chest as he raises his fists. Okay so we’re doing this. Rolling the metal spoke, I widen my stance. He lunges first, jabbing towards my face. He’s easy enough to dodge, his movements spurred on by bitter fury whereas I’m more skilled in finesse. Spinning this way and that, I enter into my second dance of the evening, landing blows between his sluggish attempts to tackle me. The expensive champagne will do that to someone who has been sober for a long time.

Grabbing his hair, a quick thrust drives his face down towards my knee, his nose crunching on impact. On a strangled roar, he spits a wad of blood across my bare stomach. Raw anger ripples through his hidden muscle, radiating from him in thick waves. I’m chuckling as his fist hits my ribs with surprising force, knocking the air from my lungs. In a moment of surprise, his hand closes around my throat.

“I’m going to have so much fun breaking you,” his rancid breath coats my face. “And you’re going to beg for more.” The hand at my throat twitches, my vision becoming clouded. Through his grip and the tendrils of air my lungs will accept, my confidence takes a temporary sabbatical.

“I can already feel you submitting,” Scruff huffs a laugh. Swallowing thickly, my head slowly leans forward until our foreheads are touching. The eyes peering up at mine are dark and creasing in the corners. This convict, and no doubt rapist, sought me out. Intended to drug me with fuck knows what. And if it wasn’t me – he came to this gala with the intention to attack someone. Anyone. The Elites? Charley? My heart stutters at the thought of her coming to harm.

“In your dreams,” I breathe, tightening my grip on the metal pole before ramming it up between us. Scruff gasps, his hand tightening before he goes slack, stumbling a step into me. I keep hold of the spoke, jamming it harder into his sternum. Heat pools around my hand, his weight lowering onto my arm. I had no idea if the pointed end was facing the right way, but if this was the flip of the coin, I’ve come up heads. My hand slips on the cool metal but with a sharp jerk, I manage to tug it free. Bracing my arms beneath his, I drag Scruff into the shadows once more, dropping him by the hedge.

“I’d like to see a hooker do that,” I mutter. I should be frightened of the steely calmness washing over me. I should be running towards the gala, hunting for the nearest shrink. But I can’t bring myself to move, or care. The sight of his limp body, the knowledge one more asshole has been removed from the world, does nothing but relieve a morsel of the guilt I’ll never fully shake. For all those I wasn’t able to save, this has to be their retribution. It’s the best I can do.

“Amethyst?” a voice calls out from the other side of the hedge. “You out here?” I will myself to move, but I don’t. Or rather, can’t. Knees locked, my arms slouch lower to the ground and just as I drop the spoke, Sebby and Myles run through the partition. They stop, assessing what little they can see until Carter pushes through the center.

“What the fuck are you doing-” he grumbles, switching on a flashlight and coming to a swift halt. The brightness is blinding, yet my finger only manages a twitch as I attempt to cover my eyes. Beyond the light, I can’t see anything. Crimson red catches my peripheral vision, my chest coated in blood. The night air prickles at my skin but I can’t bring myself to feel cold.

“Did you…” I struggle to hold onto the thought. “Did you set this up…Carter…you Cockmunch?” My head lolls to the side, knocking into something between my neck and shoulder. I hadn’t noticed the sharp sting before, but now, it’s as if all of my nerve endings rush to that exact spot. Bitter cold invades my veins, stealing the use of my left side, flooding my system with a harsh chill. The world topples before I do, a pair of arms catching me before I hit the floor.

“Is tha you, Jack Ffffrost?” I slur. An unyielding heartbeat beats against my ear, the chest concealing it firm and smooth. In the glint of the moon, icy blue eyes delve through mine. Into my psyche, prying through every character I’ve layered onto myself to shield the fragile girl underneath it all. Intrusive, yet curious. Intense. My mind wonders, a soppy smile playing about my lips.

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