***

CHAPTER 12

Amber Marigold

***

Amber was stone-cold sober. Even so, Blake's words nearly made her stumble like a drunk. Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit.

He was dressed the same as usual, pretentious leather jacket and black jeans. The death glare was new though.

Owen turned back to Amber, mouth parted as he stared. Honestly, these boys had no right to be shocked about her lying to them. The only regret she had was them finding out about it.

"Bowmen, you better get the heck out of here," Owen slurred, turning back to Blake with some effort. The alcohol was working.

Amber made herself look off balance as well, not even sure if the charade was worth it anymore. Her efforts during the night were all but ruined by that damned cyng of the West.

"It's neutral ground, Rhodes. You can fuck right off," Blake shot back, walking over to them with controlled steps.

"You want another fight?" Owen asked, stepping between Amber and him, but that only got the cyng of the West to walk faster.

"Get. Away. From. Her."

"You have no say over Goldie out here."

Amber opened her mouth to yell that nobody had a say over her, regardless of the location, but Owen took two wobbly steps and threw a swing. Blake lunged and closed the gap between them, stopping the wide hook and countering with a straight punch. A crack came from Owen, and he staggered, held onto the wall, then slid to his knees. He held his nose.

"Prick," came his muffled curse.

"You're coming with me, Cariño," Blake said, grabbing Amber and swinging her over his shoulder.

Not this again! She started kicking and swinging.

"LET ME GO!" she yelled, her view limited to his legs and back. She tried and failed at reaching behind to ensure her dress was not flashing her ass to the whole world.

"The made-up boyfriend thing? That was smart," Blake said like he was not manhandling her.

"Helps if the audience got their heads up their asses," she retorted, dropping the slur she was keeping up. "Also, Owen has my phone! I need to get my phone!"

One of Blake's goons, a tattooed guy with bleached hair and a studded choker, whom Amber already forgot the name of, passed them.

"Get the girl her phone," Blake instructed.

'The girl' did not stop struggling. It took a great deal of restraint to not be serious about the matter and break his neck. Murder was not quite justified in the current situation. Not yet. They got downstairs, and Bleached Guy handed her phone back to her.

"Thank you," she smiled and promptly punched him in the face.

Her knuckles stung, and she bit Blake's shoulder. He yelped and let go, dropping her to her feet. Amber dived for the crowd, and as she glanced back, he was already looking for her. Squeezing her way past drunk bodies, she got to the dance floor and tried blending in with the blue-washed crowd, dancing with whoever. Eyes alert. She switched partners left and right, avoiding Blake like a plate of fish. The bastard knew of her fake boyfriend, and her defensive pawn just got taken by a knight.

"That's quite the dance moves you have," a voice whispered in her ear, a flash of red strobe lights swallowing the crowd.

"Thanks," she replied, swapping partners again without a glance.

By some miracle, Tan Cam appeared on the deck, approaching Blake. She clung to his arm and spoke with a seductive smile. Amber sent a mental thanks to the girl for the distraction and rushed back inside. She kept her eyes out for Jessy, but Blake was on her tail before she could find her. Out of time, she sprinted up the stairs, ran down the hallway, and dived into a room.

Amber shut the door and leaned against it with her back, taking a second to regain her breath. These guys are insane, she thought. Owen reckons getting her drunk is swoon-worthy, and Blake thinks kidnapping equals flirting. Childish idiots, she cursed, dragging herself over to the bed and slumping into a seat.

The room was dark, save for a faded blue glow trickling in from the window. Soft silvery curtains swayed in the ghostly light, and the noise from the party seemed distant. On the bedside table stood a picture of a gangly little girl. Probably Plain Jane when she was younger. She was alone, on a beach, with a blank look on her face.

Something about those empty eyes felt relatable.

The door opened and closed.

Great.

Blake slunk over to the bed, his figure soaked in the blue of the room, and sunk beside Amber. Instead of the usual sneer, defeat was pasted on his face. He drew a weighted breath.

"What are you doing?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Taking a break."

"From?"

"Life."

The girl snorted out loud. Give the guy an Oscar.

"You're lucky you're normal. A block," Blake went on. "You get to live a regular life. Grow up at your own time. No need to worry about people you care about getting offed. You just have to be pretty, and everything will work out."

Amber sat perfectly still, her blood heavy, icy.

"Is that what you think?" she asked, her voice unrecognisable.

"What's that mean?" Blake shifted his weight impatiently, and the gesture made Amber see red.

"You think that's all there is to me? A pretty face and a carefree life? You think I don't have my own shit to deal with?" she asked, her icy blood starting to boil. Red. It was all she could see. Feel. Warm, sticky, red. On her hands, her face...

"Yes, I do," Blake said.

She clenched her thumbs so hard she thought they would break.

"You think living with your cousin is hard?" Blake continued. "Yes, I found out about that too. What? Mommy and Daddy too busy for you? Did your credit card max out on a shopping spree? My father is dead. Killed. My brother too. Right in front of me. In case you didn't know, some people have much bigger problems than worrying about what to wear to a party. You're just privileged."

Amber's eyes burned, and her nose stung. She needed to leave. She did not want Blake to know the truth. But another part wanted to hurt him. Wanted to see his face when he realised what he said.

"I would give anything for my parents to be too busy for me," she said as quiet as death. "To take back what happened."

Blake's scowl faded, and his eyes turned the colour of tin foil.

"I can still hear the crack of the front door break," Amber continued. "The deafening gunshots that followed. No matter how hard I try, I can't forget the sight of my bloodied reflection in my mother's unmoving eyes. I was... After all that horror, what frightens me most is myself. I try to laugh and pretend everything's alright for my family's sake, but... Sometimes my mind feels so dark, I could drown in it." She pulled her eyes from straight ahead and met Blake's stare. "So, don't you tell me I have it easy. You're in a bloodline. You signed up for this shit. Me? Not so much. My parents were good people. They helped keep this country safe. And what did they get for it? Where's their justice?"

Blake opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came.

"Don't you dare try to win this game by using your trauma. You'll find yourself losing if I decide to do the same."

Amber got up and left, slamming the door.

Idiot, she cursed herself. Damned idiot. How could she let him get to her? How could she reveal her wounds? And yet... Sacrificing this pawn to him was a smart move. Back downstairs, in that noise, Amber looked around for her cousin. She found her walking around in the lounge, her ponytail now loose.

"There you are!" Jessy called. "Wait, what happened?"

"Let's go," Amber said, pulling her along.

"Weren't we getting Owen wasted?"

"Blake ruined it."

She itched for an extended rant but held her tongue.

"Oh... Should we leave? Are you fine to drive?" Jessy asked.

"Yeah, I made sure to throw my drinks up as often as possible."

"You didn't drink brandy, did you?"

Amber scoffed.

"You'd know if I had brandy."

The girls made their way to the back of the yacht to leave, but there was a commotion on the aft deck. A man spoke up, trying to gain the drunk crowd's attention.

"Hey, does anyone here drive a dark blue Illion?" he shouted.

Amber stood unphased for a second before rushing over.

"That's mine," she said.

The guy turned to her, his expression not entirely sober.

"There's people outside asking for the owner."

"They're what?"

Amber charged past the man, Jessy right behind, and she got off the yacht, taking hurried steps to the parking lot. Just like he said, a crowd formed around Blue Jay. The girl shoved her way to the front.

"What's the meaning of this?" she asked.

One of the men turned to her. He was large and bald, with tattoos running along his temple and a straight scar across his throat.

"You own this car, Lil' Lady?" he asked with a greasy look.

"Yes."

"Fancy ride. Do ya know how to drive it? Need blinker fluid? I'll give ya a good deal for her," he said, leaning against Blue Jay.

"Get your greasy-ass hands away from her. I can drive just fine," she said, pulling at the man's tattered tank top. He stood unmoved.

The crowd 'oohed' at her, and the man laughed loudly. The sound made a sticky feeling run down her spine.

"Willing to bet on it?" he asked, taking a step closer to her.

A buzz came, and she already knew what the text would say.

Mr President
I've got my money on you, Marigold.
22:50

Amber pocketed her phone, drawing out a breath.

"I've got twenty K that says I'll kick your ass," she challenged.

"Whoa, this one's feisty, boys!" Greasy Guy said with a whistle, his equally scruffy friends joining in. "But money don't mean much here, Lil' Lady. How about ya bet a night with Big Daddy?"

Amber closed her eyes to refrain from gagging at the name.

"That's not going to happen," she said, eyes open again.

"Well, if you're so sure about winning, what's the problem?" he asked, revealing a row of perfectly vile teeth.

As much as her stomach turned, Amber's mind was already made up. It was a gamble, but the reward was worth the risk.

"Dea—"

"Sounds like a bet I'd want to join," a voice interrupted.

Amber turned, and of course Owen stood there, his friends too. At least he's on his feet again, she thought. Nose looks fine.

"Don't count me out," another chipped in. Blake. Great.

It was no coincidence that Mr President told her to take the Illion. Not to mention their comment that she was designated driver. Clearly, they wanted her to win this. She hid her smirk.

"No problem here," Greasy Guy said. "We can all race, and winner gets to keep Lil' Lady for a night."

"That one's too drunk." Amber pointed at Owen.

"I'll have my driver represent me," he replied, his dark-haired friend stepping forward with the enthusiasm of a wake.

"Fair enough," the girl shrugged, her cousin squirming behind.

"Then it's settled," came Blake.

"It's a deal," Greasy Guy confirmed.

"Drivers, get in yer cars!" a pretty redhead called out. Dressed in breezy clothing, she pulled out a maroon handkerchief from her cleavage and strutted to where the parking lot was cleared. A red line was sprayed where she stood, and the crowd grew while the racers got to their cars.

"We're doing this?" Jessy asked. "Amber, let's go home. How even could you agree? We have nothing to gain here."

"We do," Amber said while they got in Blue Jay.

She started the car and followed the others, lining up behind the red line. The crowd threw cash around, betting on who would win. The silver Aston Martin with its signature green stripes. The expensive Illion. The matte black Alfa Romeo showing off a blue underglow. Or the custom car with its ridiculous flame paint job.

"Do you know the route?" Amber asked.

Jessy exterminated her nails again.

"Uh, yes. I'm familiar."

"Good, because you know me and directions."

The crowd surrounding them nearly deafened the rev of engines.

"You don't have to appease your pride," Jessy tried again.

"You don't trust me?"

"Of course, I think you're the better driver, but these races don't always let the most skilled guy win. They play dirty, Amber."

"Do they..." she said, thinking.

This could be interesting.

***

Ey,

So we merged the house party scene with the drag race scene from the original. I wonder if y'all remember who we are meeting after this race hehe...

~ Holly Shmit