Page 51 of Wreckin' Amethyst

“That’s awful.” Ami breathes. Perhaps it’s refreshing to know we weren’t all raised with platinum spoons in our mouths or why my connection to Sebby is so special. Moving her fingers to the centaur, Ami continues her exploration. “What about S.C?”

“Silas Carter,” I fill in. I know Ami’s follow-up question before she whirls her disbelief on me. “Yeah, Carter is his last name and no, I won’t tell you his first. It’s a sore subject.”

“All the more reason for you to give it to me! I could goad him to no end!” Ami tries to plead with her big, beautiful eyes. I smirk and shake my head.

“I’ll give you the world, but this is one aspect you’ll have to let go. I’m sworn to secrecy.” Pretending to lock my lips, she pouts hers. The urge to swoop her into my arms and kiss it away raises, but I refrain.

“You don’t owe him the loyalty you give, you know. He committed you back to rehab, cut you out of your own life.”

“I know it’s difficult to understand, but all Carter does is for my benefit. Believe me, he thinks he’s doing the right thing. We’ll just have to show him you are what’s right for me.” This time I pull her into my arms, dragging her back to my front, my chin resting on her shoulder. We both stare at the last remaining set of initials, a dozen unanswered questions floating around in the air. “I don’t know who S.M is,” I twist my lips.

“Myles?” my father’s voice calls from the pool room. Kissing Amethyst on the head, I mutter into her ear that I won’t be leaving until I have that information she needs, when a bellow spills through the hallway. I jerk upright. The sound comes again, a continuous gurgled shout by the rasped voice I know too well. My feet are moving, arms pumping as I skid into the pool room just as my father’s body hits the water. Red blossoms from this chest, tainting the water around the two arrows speared into his chest. I hesitate, rendered still by shock as a flash of purple hits the back of my head on the way passed.

“Myles! Save him!” Ami shouts, her voice filling the domed ceiling. She doesn’t falter, running out of the open door after the assailant and tearing my heart out to take with her. Diving into the pool, I numbly drag my father’s body to the edge, heaving him onto the tiled side. The sweatpants try to drag me down, my arms shaking with the weight of dread as I pull myself free of the crimson water.

I already know before my wet fingers slide against his neck there’s no pulse, but I uselessly wipe my hands on my pants to try again anyway. The arrow heads are so far in his sternum, all that protrudes are the carbon shafts with circular detailing. The same ones which killed Oliver Reynell. I should scream, holler, cry, dosomething. But as I stare upon the face I’ve come to resent, nothing comes. The state of shock envelopes me, distant memories fleeting by, unspoken sentiments causing my jaw to ache. Hollowness burns within my chest, my hands laying uselessly by my side.

Eventually, I look around for something. Anything which might help, despite knowing it’s pointless. It’s too late. Further along the tiled floor, a note lies in the place my father fell. I scramble closer, peering at the words without disturbing the scene.

I warned you.

Chapter 33

Two days.

Two days since the archer asshole got away. I chased her all the way to the wall, where she vaulted herself over the top and caught her black bodysuit on the barbed wire. The police are yet to make a match to the patch left behind.

Two days since Carter and Owen dragged their best friend from the floor beside the swimming pool, long after the body of his father had been removed. Sebby waited in the limo, cradling Myles’ head when he numbly toppled into his lap. It took all three of them to convince him to get out at the other end, their hands all over Myles’ back as they climbed the stairs to his room.

Two days since I’ve seen him. I only know this due to the amount of trays stacking up, filled with barely picked at food Charley insists on bringing, and by the rise and fall of daylight beyond the balcony to the BDSM room. The one I’ve claimed for myself, where I await the inevitable. Storm Carter is due any minute, tearing through the door to rip me from the life I’ve started to become comfortable in. It’s my own stupid fault - I know better than to get attached. And now, thanks to my lack of judgment, I’ve made Myles an orphan too.

Right on time, the door swings open. I’m physically prepared, my limbs far beyond restless. Too used to packing up and moving on without warning. But it’s different now. There’s not enough time in the world which would prepare me to walk away from Myles. From Sebby, or the small alcove of happiness we’ve carved into an unforgiving world. What lies ahead is anyone’s guess, but there won’t be light. No laughter, no relief in conning the rich. Through the guilt eating me alive, it became all too apparent the only person I’ve ever truly conned is myself. Conned out of a life, out of love.

A heavy weight drops onto the bed. A deep sigh reverberates throughout the spacious room.

“Go to him.” The voice startles me, because it’s the last one I’d expected. Owen leans his elbows on his knees, the arch of his back against the window bearing an untold amount of weight. I slowly rise to a sitting position.

“He-” my voice croaks, raw and unused. “He won’t want me around. I…caused the death of his father.” And in that one statement, the truth of my choices threatens to swallow me whole. It’s selfish to stay, to remind Myles of what I caused everytime he looks at me. But to leave of my own accord…that seems unfathomable in itself. Owen spares me a side glance, his blue eyes, which rival my own, peering out from beneath the sweep of his chestnut hair.

“Then why is he waiting for you? Why does he call for you each time glimpses of sleep find him in the dark. He’s suffering, and you lazing about in here is only making it worse.”

“Lazing about?” My brows clash together, nostrils flaring. “Does this look like I’ve beenlazing about?!” I throw the covers aside to switch on a bedside lamp, revealing the tear-stricken marks caked down my face. The sunken proof to my blue eyes that I am also suffering. It may be Myles’ father who died, but these past few days are the first I’ve ever taken to stop. To grieve, cry, burn andfeel.

Owen doesn’t react. Instead, he casts a glance to the windows where the sun is setting on another day in a fantastic wash of oranges and pinks.

“A few tears aren’t enough,” he shakes his head slowly. Rage bubbles within me, the urge to slap him up the side of his shaggy hair is fierce. But I clench my fist, clinging to the emotion, if only to suppress the others churning inside. “Anyone can cry. You need to do something no other woman has. Prove to Myles you’re here for more than the money, the fame, or whatever your angle is. Fight for him, mournwithhim.”

I shudder. Owen knows. He understands I haven’t been solely hiding from Myles, but distancing myself from a world which has hurt me too. Robbed me of the chance to say goodbye to my mother. To repair the lasting damage, to let my soul heal. Yet Owen has come to plead on his friend’s behalf. Myles’ pain is new, the surface barely scratched - and I’m the most experienced to aid his recovery.

“I didn’t think you cared whether I stayed,” I mutter, not bringing myself to spring out of the bed just yet. Another minute, another way to stall.

“I don’t,” Owen shrugs, bringing his gaze back my way. “But I care about Myles - enough that I can’t stand staying in this house to see how Carter treats him. To witness how constricted he has allowed himself to become. He’s a sliver of the man he could be, and only when you threw yourself in to our limo did he have something worth fighting for. I’ve seen glimpses, but as usual, life gets in the way. It’s time to prove if you’re up to the challenge.” I snort.

“The challenge of boosting Myles’ self esteem or knocking Carter off his pedestal?” I swear the hint of a smirk hitches in the shadowed corner of Owen’s mouth.

“Both. You’ve already done wonders with Sebby.” My own smile grows. Nudging forward, I bump Owen’s shoulder, settling into a comfortable silence in his presence. This is the longest we’ve spoken, or been in each other’s company without Pig nuzzling into the middle.

Slender shoulders shift with the deepened breathing rocking through his chest. Ink coats Owen’s arms, masking the biceps I hadn’t taken the time to notice before. Raising his head to the two-way mirror, his eyes drift from one thought to the next, unfocused and stoic. His jaw is strong, the perfect accent for a large adam’s apple which bobs as he swallows. A fine specimen of a man, a genuine example of a friend. Yet there’s something I just can’t ignore.

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