Page 34 of Wreckin' Amethyst

The next few hours are a whirlwind of connections and influence. Gripping the armrests either side of a leather seat, Myles’ private jet soars into the sky in the quickest take-off I’ve ever experienced. It was merely minutes ago we were welcomed aboard and handed bags of clothing and necessities for us both. As soon as we level out, I pop my belt, taking the bag and head for the bathroom. Except it’s not a bathroom – but a full bedroom with a dresser and TV mounted over a double bed. Oh, how the other half live.

Dropping the bag on the bed and opening it wide, boxes of sanitary towels, tampons, a fresh menstrual cup and a pack of Panadol sit on top. A smile bites into my cheeks. At least I’m fully set for when my period does come, and I’ll have to explain to Myles why I’m supposedly having two a month. Or rather – why am I explaining anything to Myles? When did I feel the need to justify myself? Movement shuffles behind, a tentative yet gorgeous man lingering.

“Should we talk about last night?” he offers, leaning his shoulder on the door jam.

“Other than the fact it was hot as fuck?” I shrug off, hunting through the clothes. The exact outfit Jenni would have approved of comes to hand. Camouflage cargo pants, olive green tank top, military style jacket and heavy black boots. All brand new with tags and in my size. Opening the door which I’m now certain really is a bathroom, my mouth drops open. There’s a freaking shower in here and everything!

“Does it change anything between us?” Myles continues to follow me. I catch sight of myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the excited twinge to my cheeks. My eyebrows are smudged, in desperate need of re-drawing and the fact Myles didn’t say anything makes me swoon a little harder. Fuck’s sake Amethyst, pull yourself together.

“Well Myles, there isn’t really anything between us,” I withhold adding a ‘yet’ to not give him false hope. In that same mirror, I watch him glance at me with the look of a wounded puppy on the verge of whining. “But if you’re asking if it could happen again, that’d be a hell yes from me.” I nod to myself. I wasn’t even involved and I was turned on to a fever pitch. Satisfied with my answer, I begin to strip from Sebby’s cut clothing and shove them in a trash can. Something tells me he won’t want them back. Hands grip my waist, spinning me against the cool glass of the shower door.

“That’s not what I was asking.” Myles groans at the sight of my breasts and seizes my mouth. I surrender, lacking the willpower to resist anymore. Myles has wormed into my psyche with the same casual effort as his tongue pushes into my mouth. Taking, claiming.

Arching my body inside the hard planes of his chest, I’m at a loss to fight. Hands smooth over my back, holding me close yet tenderly. Everywhere our skin connects, every brush of his lips and swirl of his tongue, sends shockwaves through my being. He awakens me from within, toying with pretty fantasies and a longing I didn’t know I was concealing.

Fingers find my hair, trace the line of my jaw, cup my face. He’s everywhere, consuming me as I drown in the intoxicating sensations he provides. Breathlessly, Myles pulls himself back enough for our eyes to lock in a silent connection. Tension radiates through the air, the unknown spurring me to dive off this cliff with him and see where I end up.

“I want you so much, it fucking pains me. Like a knife in my chest only you can remove. My every waking thought is of how I can win you over, because fuck knows in my dreams I have you trapped in my arms and refuse to let go.” Stealing another rushed kiss from my swollen lips, his forehead rests on mine. “What will it take for you to make me yours?”

“I don’t have the answers for you,” I whisper back, only now hearing how hollow my words are. How broken my soul must be if I can’t trust the one man offering me anything my heart desires. “But if anyone has a chance, I reckon it might be you.” Myles’ chest suddenly swells at my declaration, that hope I was trying to save him from swirling between us. Well, I’ve started something now – I might as well see it through.

“I don’t want to keep pushing you away, Myles. But my revenge must come first. It’s all I’ve been working towards for years. Maybe afterwards when I’m looking for a new purpose, you might be there to help me find it?” A responding smile is the only answer I receive as the shower door is opened inward and Myles crowds me inside, jeans and all.

I stop tracking how long Myles attends to my body. Kissing me with the passion of a lover, washing me with the care of something more. Every inch of my skin is tenderly stroked with a layer of foam and washed away by him maneuvering the shower head. Special attention is taken between my legs, his fingers lingering on the edge of foreplay but never crossing the precipice. At some point, his clothing is removed, allowing us to slip against one another. Continuously caressing, touching, stroking. Scents of jasmine fill the cubicle, my nerve endings alive with energy.

Replacing the shower head, Myles’ skilled hands move to my hair, massaging and lathering. By the time I stumble into the bedroom and drop onto the bed, I can’t resist the call of a nap. I’m too relaxed, too content with my surroundings, and as Myles snuggles in behind, no amount of whispered warnings in my head could keep me from falling asleep.

***

“This revenge plan of yours,” Myles pipes up from across the room as he dresses, “how far is it going to go? What will be enough to sate you?” Sitting upright against the headboard, I catch a note of something in his tone, possibly just curiosity but enough to give me pause. Catching my side-eye, Myles turns away. “I just…can’t bear the thought of you in dangerous situations.” I suppose it’s an innocent enough question, but he won’t like the answer.

“When all those responsible - or failing that, all those connected to those responsible - have met the same fate my mother suffered,” I nod to myself, reaching for my clothes. “Then I will be able to walk away with my head held high. Her life has to be worth something because currently, it’s like she never even existed at all.” Busying himself in the cabin, Myles exhales, resting his hands on the dresser.

“Ami, there’s something I need to tell you-”

“This is your captain speaking. Due to approaching marshland, we will be forced to land early and acquire more suitable transportation. Please take your seats for our descent.”

Pressing his lips together tightly, Myles pushes his sandy blond hair back from his face. “I’ll give you some privacy to get dressed,” he forces a smile and leaves the room. The weight on his shoulders seems to remain though. Tugging on the clothes, the plane begins to incline before I’ve managed to shove my feet in the boots. Rushing to the leather seat opposite Myles, he ties my laces while I buckle myself in. There isn’t much to be done with my hair since I fell asleep with it still wet, so I toss the crinkled strands up in a high, messy bun.

The jet bounces and slows to a halt, the humming engine grumbling its final protest before surrendering to silence—no airport in sight, but a single tarmac in the middle of nowhere. I press my face against the window and try as I might, all I can see is an untouched, wild, landscape of varying colors from the surrounding marshlands. Tall grass covers the entire area, growing wilder along the water, swaying gently, turning from green at the base to that burnt orange at the tips, as if lightly toasted by the sun.

Peering closer at the water, which seems to sparkle as the midday sun dances over the surface, I notice the bent, gnarled trees that line the edge. Their branches hang low, decked with trailing moss which brush over the shining bodies of something I don’t want to name as they slither into the water.

The cabin crew who have kept out of sight appear, releasing the door to guide us down the stairs. I blink away the invasive glare of sun, a wave of cloying heat and humidity making my tank top stick to my skin almost immediately. As the plane settles, silence bleeds into a symphony of buzzing insects and birds, calling out to each other across the bayou. I struggle to take a deep breath in the heavy air, my nose wrinkling from the overwhelming scents of damp earth, salt water and hints of sweetness from the surrounding flora fight for dominance. Blocking out the pervasive sun, I step into the slightly springy ground as Myles reaches for my hand, taking charge as if he knows exactly where to go.

An airboat is waiting, a bearded man in the driver’s seat. Dark glasses cover his eyes, a fisherman style hat upon his head. Saluting to us, Myles eases me into the front bench as if I might crumple otherwise. How quickly he’s forgotten I used to throw myself around a pole at the Thirsty Kirsty and land full splits. The huge propeller at the back of the watercraft whirls and we’re thrust forward, navigating the bayou by the driver’s memorized map. Deciding he must have been briefed prior to our arrival, I scoot to the edge of the boat, feeling the spray of water misting over my cheeks.

Suddenly, it hits me. I’m on my way to talk to a lead. An actual lead to avenge my mother. Over the years, being stonewalled became second nature. I knew the PI’s I hired would come back with nothing, if they came back to me at all. Their disappearances wouldn’t deter me, but I’ve grown complacent over the years. Until Myles presented me with the opportunity for real answers.

Braving a look over my shoulder, I find him watching me. Amber eyes, rigid jaw. I smile. God help me, I smile – coming to rely on his presence. As we slow by a dock, the hint of a roof can be seen through overgrown grass akin to a jungle. My sigh of relief, as a light breeze soothes my heated skin, turns into a wheeze as bubbles come from the surface surrounding the boat, and the previously serene waters, dotted with water lilies, ripple from the huge body of an alligator splashing nearby. I jump upright, chasing after Myles and instinctively hearing the grass crunch beneath my boots as we breach the land.

“Whatever you do,” Myles wraps an arm around my middle, “stay close.” The driver hangs back, tying his boat to a wooden post by the dock. Syncing our footsteps, we near the house, spying planks of wood nailed over the windows. A pathway presents itself from the foliage, crushed rocks amongst large slabs. The trees hanging around the edge of the house sway in the breeze, rustling a warning I can’t decipher. The hair on the back of my neck gets the memo though, standing tall. What the fuck would Reynell, a housing officer from Chicago, be doing hiding all the way out here?

Breaching the porch steps, the aged wood groans in protest. I swallow past the dryness of my throat, squeezing Myles’ hand. Reassurance, that’s all I need. A moment of reassurance as I lift my closed fist, about to rasp on the rickety old door. A gurgled scream pierces the air from around the back of the house, sending birds in a rushed flurry to freedom. Dropping Myles’ hand, I race to the edge of the porch, jumping over the railing.

“Amethyst! Wait!” Myles calls but my feet won’t be stopped. Bushes rustle against my legs, my arms pumping as I follow the screams, skidding to a halt in a patch of flattened grass. There, at my feet, is Oliver Reynell. I’ve seen his picture enough to recognize his face, even contorted with horror and sprayed with blood. Protruding from his neck, a feathered arrow shifts with the ragged pants he struggles to take, a note wrapped around its intricate stem. A series of interlinking circles have been etched into the carbon shaft, like bubbles fleeing the point of contact. Myles rushes to my side as I unravel the paper, its typed message spilling ice-cold dread into my veins.

Stop digging, Amethyst. Or you’ll be next.

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