Page 8 of Wreckin' Amethyst

Another dancer is introduced, her name lost to the roars of cheering. A clear favorite, which is fine by me. They can keep their eyes off the one I’ve decided to claim. The strobe light shifts in time with the music blending into a new song, and for one split second, Amethyst’s eyes catch mine. Dazzling violet orbs, which have been imprinted inside my mind since the moment we met. My hand clenches around my shaft, lighting the fuse to blow. Her hand slips on the pole. She falls. My heart lurches. Shooting up from my seat, several hands grab for my t-shirt, yanking me back from climbing the stage.

“At least put your cock away first,” Carter shoves me back into my seat. My friends purposely get in the way of my view, only allowing me small glimpses of Amethyst picking herself up and hobbling off stage. I grumble, slapping Sebby’s hands away when he offers to assist, shoving my dick behind my zipper, doing up my pants once and for all. After that, there’s no stopping me from jumping onto the stage without the use of my hands and entering the backstage area. Amethyst has her back to me, walking away as some short guy in a white suit grabs her arm. I step behind a dusty curtain, molding myself into the shadows to watch their argument.

I listen to him insult her. I watch as his hand slaps her breast in the most degrading show of authority I’ve ever seen. Clenching my fists, I’m about to step out of my hiding place when Amethyst punches him directly in the face. And just like that, my dick is throbbing once more. I’m left with a full view of the most incredible sight. Fierce violet eyes assess her prey, then the back of her hand before smearing the blood between her breasts. I’m certain she doesn’t even know when she did it – but I do.

Amethyst, or whoever the tenacious woman hiding behind her stage name is, is a survivor. She’s seen death. She knows the bitter taste of violence. Possibly walked the tightrope of depression more times than she can count. But she’s here. Alive, and more resilient than ever. I watch her retreat, all fine legs and swishing purple hair. That’s when I see my chance.

Lurching forward, my hand closes around the short man’s mouth. I take great satisfaction in knowing this same palm was so recently on my dick, and probably a little salty from my precum. I smear it back and forth, just in case, as I drag him out of view, knocking his cowboy hat onto the ground. He bucks, making a useless attempt to be freed which I permit, once Amethyst is fully out of sight.

“Who the fuck,” the short, red-faced man starts. Until I step into the light. Until the three men I consider kin enter the backstage area from all sides, caging him in.

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark here,” I choose my words carefully, “and presume you own this club?” The man trembles, his eyes darting to the hat he doesn’t dare reach for. I imagine it provides him with a sense of authority, which I’m happy to strip back and expose the coward underneath. After a shaky nod, I step into his personal space. “Then it’s only polite to show us to your office, don’t you think? I have a business proposal for you.”

None of us budge, forcing him to barge through Owen and Sebby in an effort to scurry away. Carter holds me back as the others follow, leaning into my ear with the words I already know he’s going to say.

“Lead with your brains, Myles. Not your balls.” Patting my chest, he remains by my side as we navigate the backstage hallways to a small stack of stairs, ‘Art’s Office’ hand painted on the door above in black, swirling lettering. Carter is a particular kind of personality, one most would find tricky to understand. He lives by his self-made rules like it’s fucking law, and we’re all damned if caught committing treason in his eyes. But once you scrape away at his untrusting, almost impenetrable exterior, once he’s accepted you in, his loyalty is unlike any other.

Entering the tiny office, Art makes his way around the desk while we file in and fill the space. Shoulder to shoulder, there isn’t an inch to move between exposed wooden paneling and a desk in the center about to give way to termites. It’s all good, since I didn’t plan on remaining on this side of the room anyway. Carter closes the door and positions himself in front of it, Owen and Sebby taking my lead to stand either side of the desk. Rounding the back of Art’s leather chair, I slam my hands down on his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking for a certain purple-haired performer for a few days now,” I tense my fingers into his collar bone.

“Amethyst?” the slimy little weasel chokes out. I want to rid him of his tongue just for uttering her name, but I need to hear what he has to say first. “What’s she done this time? That girl is nothing but trouble, I swear.” My grip tightens.

“Hmmm. Surprisingly, I couldn’t find a slither of information on her, but I found out quite a bit about you. Or rather, the financial strains you’ve put your club under.” Oh yes, once Carter had scratched the surface, the extent of Art’s debts started spewing all over the computer screen. A few calls later and I’d managed to uncover a rather aggravated crime family who Art had paid a visit to, the exact same day Amethyst found herself in my limo. It’s what he offered in return for writing off his debts that made me sick to my stomach. I’m supposed to be the deprived addict here, but sex trafficking has never been my forte.

“Wh-what is it you want?” Art begins to panic and I realize my hands have traveled upward to clamp around his neck. “Amethyst? Take her, it’ll be one less bitch to deal with in my eyes. I’ll provide the alibi, whatever you need. Nothing will be traced back to you, I swear.” Owen chuckles first, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.

“See, the thing is,” I release Art’s neck and take his wrist in my hand instead. Pinning it to the desk, Sebby copies without needing to be told, tightening his grip on Art’s arm. Owen takes over from me, freeing my hands up. “That ‘bitch’ has caught my attention, and once such an occurrence happens, I don’t let anyone else touch what is mine,” I catch Owen’s hitched eyebrow, “without permission.” His smirk is mirrored by Sebby, the impending bloodlust affecting the three of us. Once upon a time, I could have encouraged Carter to join too, but he’s long since lost his sense of fun. It’s all meetings and security reviews now.

“Okay, fine, I see what this is about. You want me to apologize to her, is that it?” Art really begins to stammer now. I round the desk once more, stroking a path between Sebby’s shoulders as I pass. He shudders, responding to me the way a submissive would. Forever loyal, easily pleased.

“We’re a little past apologies,” I sigh, finding a nutcracker on the table amongst discarded walnut shells. “Your fingers have not only touched, but assaulted the one I’ve decided to claim for myself. And for such a crime, there simply are no words.” Guiding the nutcracker down the length of Art’s index finger, he suddenly realizes just how deep in shit he really is. Bucking against Sebby’s hold, his finger shakes and I decide to do him the courtesy of not being kept in suspense.

Crunch.

“This little piggy touched what isn’t yours, this little piggy decided to roam. This little piggy will resemble chopped beef, and this little piggy should have stayed home.”

Each bone crimps at an unnatural angle. High-pitched screams become muffled and I look up from my trance of blood splatter to see Carter has appeared at Art’s back. Having loosened the tie at Art’s neck, Carter raises and slots the fabric into Art’s mouth, wrapping it around his hand to hold the asshole’s head still. See–undying loyalty. With Carter joining the fold, now the beating of my heart slots into place. I feel whole. Complete. My men at my side, our victim screaming between us.

At some point between his ring finger and pinkie, Art passed out. It gave ample time to raid his office, access his cell via thumbprint recognition and similarly retrieve his laptop password. His inkjet printer whirring causes him to stir, just in time.

“Ahh, there you are,” I smirk as Carter removes the tie from between Art’s lips. Pulling up a stool, my men gather at my back, acting the role of security rather than best buds. “Now, for that business proposal.”

“Wha…what?” Art blubbers, tears streaming down his cheeks. Owen passes me the page from the printer and I slam it down on the desk, now cleared of blood. “I’m offering you a one-time deal. Sign this club over to me, and I’ll pay off your debts.” If the situation wasn’t dire before, Art’s eyes widen and his face pales impossibly more.

“I can’t–not my club. This is my legacy,” he sniffles. Checking my watch, I note the second hand ticking down on my patience.

“And what a sad legacy it is. Sign.” I tap the dotted line. I may be impulsive, reckless and all the other things the tabloids call me on a daily basis, but I’m also smart. My father ingrained the use of a binding contract into me since I could read. I can pay off the judge in reference to Art’s broken fingers, but no one can dispute the agreement currently sitting on the table. “The terms are clear and absolute, printed with your own header and prefilled with details of both parties. All you need to do is sign the damn thing.”

“But…but, my hands,” Art holds up the horror show that are his digits. Crimson coated, mangled and crooked in all different directions. I smirk. Even if he manages to call an ambulance, they’ll never be set in time for the chance at full movement again. Instant karma for slapping and humiliating Amethyst the way he did. Leaning across the desk, I remove a pen from a holder and shove it between Art’s teeth.

“Trust me, we’re doing the world a favor,” I pat him on the head as he ducks low to add the scrawilest mess of a signature to the contract. Once done and has spat the pen away, I grab a fistful of Art’s thinning hair, dragging his head up to meet mine. “And if you even think about laying your hands on a woman again, I will hunt you down. You will beg for mercy and find none. Do I make myself clear?”

He nods rapidly and against my better judgment, I shove him back in his seat, take the contract and stalk away. Carter wouldn’t let me go through with murder under such sloppy, unplanned circumstances, but Art has been warned. I’ll have him followed, waiting for him to slip up. It won’t take long, then he’ll know what it truly means to disobey Myles Hudson. For now though, I have a club to claim and a walking heartbreaker to win over. Let the games begin.

Chapter 6

“Ami,wakeup!Something’shappening!” hands shake me and I startle. Pig yaps, her best attempt at defending me lost as she topples from the mattress. Luckily, it’s close to the ground and I’m fairly certain she’s made of pure marshmallow. Charley’s dark eyes are wide, her hair spilling around my face to block out the artificial light.

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