Page 4 of Wreckin' Amethyst

Weaving through parked cars, receiving a mix of angered horns and wolf whistles, we disappear into the streets of high-end fashion stores, Pig trotting just behind.

“I don’t know about you,” Charley slips her arm into the crook of mine, “but I’m feeling like a splash of Kouture.” My lips slant as I peer at the glass front at the other end of the street. It’s not so hard to remember Charley for the anorexic girl I found eating out of the trash. We’ve both changed for the better.

Approaching the store, mannequins line the window display, fitted with blonde wigs and adorned in black leather. Scooping up Pig along the way, I place the pup in Charley’s gigantic handbag just before we enter the store with a nod to the security guard. That’s when you know shit is too expensive.

Fluorescent lights beam down on a sea of shining leather. Not the PVC stuff like the leggings clinging to my shapely legs, but legit studded pelts. A whole rack of jackets embellished with skulls and buckles, a backwall of boots I’d give my left foot for and hobble around in. More mannequins are dotted throughout the medium-sized store, one in a catsuit drawing me closer. A tear drop in the cleavage is wasted on the plastic humps, a loose belt around the middle sparkling with diamantes.

“Can I help you, ladies?” a shop clerk asks, swiftly rounding to halt us from entering any further. I raise a brow, sizing up the woman in red heels that put her a few inches above me. She’s stick thin and pale, a full lack of nutrition causing her lips to shrivel like a prune. At least, that’s what it had better be because I don’t let anyone look down on me anymore.

“Oh, no,” Charley intervenes when the tension radiating from me thickens. “We’re just browsing.”

“Perhaps,” the clerk lowers her heavily painted lashes down to our tennis shoes, “you would be more comfortable in a store more…attainable for your means. There’s a Target not more than a mile from here.” My lips curve up in a wide smile. Oh, this bitch went there.

“You must be Denise,” I take a stab in the dark. Seems like a typical, stuck-up, try-hard name. The clerk’s eyes rise and narrow as she smooths a hand over her perfectly slicked-back ponytail.

“It’s Debbie, actually.” I take it back – Debbie suits her even better. Side stepping to the rail, I tuck in a price tag and smarten the jackets collar.

“Well, Debbie, it’s with regret that I must inform you–you’re fired.” A half-snort, half-shocked laugh bursts from behind me, until I turn my head. No humor resides on my face, the confidence of my stance causing Debbie to falter. I sigh dramatically and fold my arms.

“Charlotte and I are the leading directors at HR. We’ve been visiting stores to understand customer relations. Here, at Kouture, we pride ourselves on providing quality service toallcustomers, hence the disguises. You have failed on the spot. Please go pack up your belongings and exit via the back. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene now, would we?”

“Wait, please, I–I,” Debbie flounders, holding up her hands. She looks for assistance in a young girl at the counter, who instantly shrinks down behind it. Panic filters through her eyes, fake tears pooling in their murky depths. “I’m so sorry. Kouture is my life. Can we just, I don’t know, start over? Lesson learned, I swear it.” She crosses her heart and hopes to die, causing my smile to resurface.

“Perhaps,” Charley leans her chin on her hand and mimics how the clerk dismissed us a moment ago, “we’ve fired enough people for this morning. IfDebbiewould be so kind as to fetch us the newest arrivals, we could overlook this indiscretion?”

“You’re too soft,” I spare Charley a side glance and swish my hand in the air. “But fine. Debbie, my dear, put together an outfit for each of us from the latest collection, complete with footwear. Think biker chic.” I shimmer my fingers in the air, looking to the ceiling as I quickly scope out the security cameras.

“Is–is this a test?” Debbie appears physically jittery. I nod. “Of course, right away.” She turns to leave.

“One more thing,” I raise my finger. “We will need to inspect the type of wigs you’re using, to check they are indeed humanely synthetic.” Debbie nods her head as if it’s ready to fall off, slinking away with a trail of mumbled ‘thank you’s’, she disappears from view.

“Humanely synthetic?” Charley whispers in a laugh. I half shrug, taking her arm in mine. Pig pops her head up from the bag to lick my elbow and I nudge her back down. We maintain our authoritative act, roaming the rails and scoffing every so often.

A group of teenagers flood the store, the blonde in the center accompanied by a bodyguard, daddy’s credit card in hand. She barely looks at the garments, throwing hangers over her bodyguard’s arm as they steam roll inside. He catches my eye, then checks out my tits in the corset and for one moment, doesn’t look like he’s considering jumping off the nearest building.

“Ugh, I hate rich people,” I moan, holding a sequin dress up to my body in a mirror. Charley winds her arms around my sides to pull it tighter, showing off my curves. The cleavage dips scandalously low, a slit from the floor to hip meaning I couldn’t wear underwear. I love it.

“You have enough stashed away by now to be considered ‘rich’ yourself,” Charley gives me a lingering look in the reflection. I scowl right back.

“Okay, firstly, don’t try to offend me with that word again. And secondly, once my scores are settled, I will only keep what I need.” To prove a point, I roll up the dress, step into a blind spot from the security guard and cameras and dump it into Charley’s bag.

“Is that so, Robin Hood of the hood?” she laughs, rearranging the dress so it’s not covering Pig. “Tell me then, what’s the next charity case you’re going to take sympathy on?” I roll my eyes, strolling back into full view of the store. The shoes along the back wall are to die for. All black and steel, studded or buckled, dangerously high heels or chunky soled. Charley steps into my way, pursing her lips to wait for an answer.

“When’s the last time you got a call from your stepdad?” I hit her back with another question. Her face falls into shock.

“Wait…seriously?” Her gasp is lost to the teens squealing and taking selfies. Charley grabs my arms and shakes vigorously. “You’ve paid him off?” Keeping the simple smile on my face, I quirk a brow and give Charley the answer she needs. Or the one she prefers, because the truth is that asshole is dead. I hired a hit on him after I caught a PI sniffing around our dressing room last month. Charley’s stepfather received custody of her after her mom went off the rails, and took it upon himself to be fully invested in how her body was developing.

“Why didn’t you say something?!” Charley is still shaking me with giddiness. Sweet, mostly innocent Charley. She balances me out and reminds me I’m at least doing something right in the world by keeping her safe. “We need to celebrate! Dinner at Al Fresco’s?”

“You know it,” I wink. Al Fresco’s is a new joint across town, fully booked months in advance with a high-list clientele. All the more reason for us to find an ‘in’, and once I set my sights on something, nothing stops me from seeing it through.

“Here you are ladies,” Debbie appears at our backs, a pair of gigantic white bags clutched in her hands. The Kouture logo glints on the side in gold, matching the rope handles she passes to us. “I believe you’ll find everything to your sizes and tastes. I pride myself on my observation skills,.” Debbie juts her chin and I retain my laugh. Yes, herobservationskills are second to none. Smiling sweetly, I give a slight bow. A performance well done, on my part.

“I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you, Debbie. With a talent like yours, you’ll be regional manager in no time.” I lay it on thick, her face lighting up with joy. It’s all about knowing your mark’s desires and playing into them. “Ring this through as a company expense, and have yourself a lovely day.”

Walking past the security guard on the way out, a slither of the rush of adrenaline I live for pulses through my veins. Pulling off a con is like riding life’s dick; the bigger the risk, the more fulfilling that veiny shaft is. Right now, my core is clenched and I’m chuckling inside. But it’s nothing compared to when my limbs are languid with after-climactic bliss from punishing those who don’t deserve what they have. That’s my personal mission. The stealing, the clothes, the stripping – they’re all just a bonus.

We duck into an alleyway to change, quickly stripping from my leggings and pulling the glittery dress over my corset. Jazzing it up with a leather jacket like the one Debbie saw me fondling and a pair of studded boots, Charley and I take turns fitting the wigs. Once she’s also dressed like we’re about to party into tomorrow, we leave the alleyway arm in arm, our discarded clothes left behind.

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