***

CHAPTER 14

Amber Marigold

***

She was still racing when a gun emerged from the car beside them. A Taurus PT-92 pistol. Streetlights zipped across its stainless-steel surface, and Amber stared down that nine-millimetre barrel. It was a heavy gun, recoil-friendly, and accurate enough to hit them.

"Amber, what are they doing?" Jessy asked.

"Duck!" she yelled and pushed her cousin down.

Between the gun and Jessy, Amber herself did not hunker, arms rigid and hands tight on the steering wheel. A bang blasted beside her ear, and for a second, the girl felt blood splatter on her. Blue Jay spun out, her control swivelling, swerving with a fizz. The tyre. They shot the tyre. She held on tighter, gritting her teeth. Caving, countering, commanding a safe path off the side of the road. Grass. The car lurched and rattled, dirt flying. She yanked the handbrake, and they jerked forward at the stop.

Blue Jay sighed, and Amber sunk in her seat, blinking. Breathing. Her hand was stretched out beside her, holding Jessy down, and her nose stung from burnt rubber and cut grass.

"Are you alright?" Amber asked, out of breath.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. I'm bleeding. I'm going to die," Jessy cried, shooting up in her seat with dishevelled hair.

"Jessy, that's a papercut, and you got it from homework earlier."

"Oh. Yeah."

Amber smiled, but her eyes stayed still. Thank goodness, she thought. Thank goodness Jessy was alright. She checked the rear-view mirror, and other than equally messy hair, she had no new injuries. No blood, either. The car unlocked, doors raised, and she slid out, staying on the wet grass for a breath. Still in her dress, the cold bit at her hands and knees.

"What are we telling my mother?" Jessy asked, walking over.

"We tell her we accidentally drove over a squirrel."

"A squirrel made a hole in the tyre?"

"He wanted to go out with a fight."

Amber got up. There might be a spare in the back, but changing tyres on upturned grass was not ideal. Before starting, another car came over. A hot pink Jeep. The driver offered to hook Blue Jay up and take them back to the docks, and the girls were in no position to decline. They shrugged their jackets on and got in, thanking the men.

"It's no problem. I followed in case this happened. BD tends to race dirty," the brunet said. His large friend stayed quiet.

"Playing dirty in a race with cyngs? He's insane!" Jessy spat.

Amber watched her phone on her lap. No buzz yet.

"Damn," she cried, "I'll have to spend a night with the winner."

Jessy cringed, patting her on the shoulder.

"I did warn you," she said. "Any preference on who?"

"The damned vengeful squirrel, that's who!"

She laughed, and the debate ended there. Amber's shoulders sagged when her phone kept quiet. Her gamble proved futile thus far, but perhaps her bid was not high enough.

Getting back to the docks and having Blue Jay pulled in made the girl hang her head. There was nothing to be ashamed of. The snickering crowd knew nothing, but her pride still got a beating. She rubbed at the spot where her head throbbed.

"Do you think you'll have to spend tonight with the winner or any night?" Jessy asked.

Amber wrapped her jacket around herself tighter, phone in hand.

"Can't say," she admitted, glancing down.

The winning car was heard before it was seen. Amber's eyes stayed fixed on the ground. She kicked a pebble. None of her options was appealing, but if she was honest, she preferred the two guys who brushed their teeth. Finally, looking up at the roaring crowd, her stomach twisted. Not a silver Aston Martin. Not a black Alfa Romeo.

There was no way in hell.

The custom car drove over with blasting music. That fire paint job burned Amber's eyes. Greasy Guy rolled down his window while his friend hung out, cheering.

"I expect to cash in tonight," he said, driving by.

Eww. Eww. Eww.

Amber made it a point to judge people by their actions rather than their appearance, but Greasy Guy was making it difficult. It was like the rot inside was seeping out of him. He was a thirty-something grown man who wanted to spend the night with a high schooler.

"Amber, what are we gonna do?" Jessy asked, her hands shaking.

"He didn't specify what I should do while spending the night with him. My best shot right now is to annoy him to death and hope someone comes to my rescue," she said, phone still in her grip.

Engines cried out, and Blake and Owen came speeding into view.

"We're going," someone said, ushering Amber towards a black van with a forceful push. "The boss asked for you."

"Let go! I can walk on my own!" She shook the man off.

"Don't touch her!" Jessy stepped in despite her voice breaking. She pulled at the man and a second goon came over to pry her away.

"I won't be long," Amber promised, following the men.

"Where will I meet you?"

"I'll message you," she said. "Tell Aunt Tessa I'm conducting a funeral for the vengeful squirrel!"

She caught a glimpse of Blake and Owen in the distance before getting shoved into a van. The door slammed shut. Amber's knees felt bruised. The lack of light made her all too aware of the smell of beer and sweat, and for the love of food, that better not have been a rat she heard.

At least when Blake kidnapped her, it was hygienic.

The two goons escorting her got in the front, a window separating them from her. They might have been brothers with their identical burly figures and dim expressions. A scar ran across their throats.

"We're meeting BD at Isabella," Goon One said, driving off.

"Why?" Goon Two asked.

"Apparently, the boss heard about the race, and he's interested."

"I thought BD wanted to fuck the blonde."

"That's if the Devil of the North leaves her in one piece."

"Hah, BD ain't the type to mind."

Amber's throat closed up, and despite her favourite jacket, a shiver ran down her body. Who was Isabella? And this Devil of the North? In her gamble to find answers, she unlocked a trove of questions.

"Hey, I'm right here, y'know!" Amber yelled, banging on the window. "Who's getting fucked? I'll get out of there just fine, and I'll remember your faces! I'll laugh at your graves, you hear me?"

"Yeah-yeah, get off my back. It's already hurt from yesterday," Goon One waved her off.

"Your muscle still torn?" Goon Two asked with upturned brows.

"Yeah. You know how things are at the gym."

Amber rolled her eyes.

"What kinda' meatheads can't even pump iron properly?"

"Hey, you leave him alone!" Goon Two said, turning to point a finger at her. "Zumba class ain't for sissies," he added, dead serious.

Amber paused.

"Zu— Zumba?" she asked. "Like dancing?"

"It's a fast-paced fitness program incorporating interval training to better your cardiovascular ability!" Goon One corrected.

Amber stared. Slowly, her lips pulled back.

"That actually sounds pretty awesome," she grinned.

By the time they arrived, the goons were grossly invested in explaining the endurance of dance fitness while Amber delved deep into the science behind proper warm-up exercises. It took a while to drive this far North, and a spruce forest had long since replaced residential homes.

With a helping hand from the goons, the girl got out of the van and looked up. Isabella was not a person. She was a mansion. And one of the larger ones at that. Tall trees surrounded the estate, and ivy grew about, crawling up the side of the house. Built in an old style with plenty of renovations, an element of sturdiness came with the classic design.

Goon One, whose name she regretfully already forgot, shoved her up the entryway steps. The front door loomed large and grand.

"Sorry, I gotta be rough," he said. "We have an image to keep."

"Ah, it's alright," Amber reassured. "Just make sure not to strain that back of yours. Small injuries can escalate, y'know."

The butler opened the door and welcomed them. Inside, the foyer set the tone for the rest of the house. Redwood flooring, hidden lighting, and dark panelled walls with an intricately painted pattern of a red forest. A modern design with classic features.

"He's upstairs in the entertainment room," Goon Two said.

"Fine then," Goon One sighed, ushering Amber further into the house. They passed the archway leading out of the foyer, and the room opened with high ceilings. Straight ahead and down a couple of steps, a ballroom lay. Twin crescent-shaped staircases cupped its entrance. The three of them headed to the second floor but stopped halfway up.

"I'll take her to him," Greasy Guy said from atop the stairs.

Goon One turned Amber towards him and whispered, "We're supposed to be on warehouse duty now, but we'll stay close by."

"Yell 'Zumba' if you need help," Goon Two added.

Amber tilted her head, trying to hide her smile.

"Don't worry about me. I said I'll get out fine, didn't I?"

Turning, she continued up the stairs without her escorts. Greasy Guy stood waiting for her.

"I hope he leaves me something," he said, rubbing at his jeans.

Amber aimed to pass, ignoring the comment, but he pushed her up against the wall. The smell of alcohol and sour milk was overwhelming. He ran his tongue over his rotting teeth.

"Don't touch me," Amber said, shoving at him, but he was too sturdy to move. Ripping his throat out was going to be a last resort.

"But maybe it's for the best." Greasy Guy leaned in, that foul smell nearly making the girl gag. "I like to eat before I fuck, so I'll go make me a sandwich. Don't worry, I'll still play with ya after the boss is done."

"The boss? Who is he? What's he want with me?"

"Ya even know what the North's business is, Lil' Lady?"

"This is the Northern Bloodline?"

"We deal in money. Pay-ups and screw-ups. He's killed more people than West and East have combined. And just for fun," Greasy Guy continued. "My money is on ya getting killed."

He leaned in, tongue aimed to lick her cheek, but Amber slapped his face before he could touch her.

"Ha! I like your spunk, Lil' Lady," he moaned. "Let's hope ya still got that spirit later. The boss likes breaking his toys."

Greasy Guy grabbed her arm and pulled her after him. She shook the grip before quietly following him deeper into the house. He had his back to her, and Amber grabbed her phone from her pocket, her hand brushing against the chess piece she kept.

Still no messages. She had enough.

Amber
You heard all that didnt you? Im about to be raped and killed. Is this what you wanted???
23:31

Her hands went cold at the delay, but then—

Mr President
I did not expect BD to win.
23:32

The girl released the breath she held.

Amber
Well it happened. Im on my way to meet this dumb northern boss guy everyones going on about and it looks like he wants me dead
23:32

Mr President
Don't worry. Help will arrive soon.
23:32

Amber
Will you be here?
23:33

Mr President
I'm always close, Marigold.
23:33

"Whatever," Amber grumbled when they neared the end of the hallway. She pocketed her phone and held her head high. "I don't know if I can trust you."

The two stopped in front of grand double doors, a pair of armed guards flanking each side. They gave her a look, pity maybe, before stepping aside. Greasy Guy pushed her ahead and blew a kiss goodbye as the doors closed again with a hard thud.

Amber's blood stirred, her heart hammering against her chest so hard she thought the guards outside would hear. Get a grip.

The entertainment room was themed with a palate of blood and soot. Hidden lighting cast a darkened atmosphere. A pool table with a crimson felt stood close by. A dartboard glutted with knives too. One of the walls was entirely reserved for liquor of all kinds of fiery colours, glowing in the low light. Wine-coloured couches gathered in a corner, surrounding a chess table with gleaming red and black pieces. And straight ahead, spanning nearly the entire length of a wall, was a massive marble hearth housing a raging fire. There stood a man in front of the flames, his back a dark contrast, and he held a glass of amber liquid.

When he turned around, Amber lost the breath in her lungs.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you?" he asked, one hand in his pocket. "Amber Marigold."

He was, without a doubt, the boss around here.

Amber gulped. The man appeared in his late twenties and, in his exquisitely tailored suit, was by far the most attractive person she had ever seen. But also the scariest. His broad million-dollar smile belonged to a wolf, not a man. Dark auburn hair was slicked back to perfection. And with the fire blazing behind him, the girl understood why he was called the Devil of the North.

"Well, you couldn't have waited that long," Amber said, strolling over to the pool table. "I just got here."

The man chuckled, low and smooth. He took his time in approaching the girl, sipping his drink. Amber was close enough to grab a pool cue if needed.

"Oh, I've been waiting quite a while for an opportunity such as yourself. The North finally has its leverage over West and East."

"I didn't even know there was a Northern Bloodline."

"You did not think that an East and West would have a North and South? I'll admit, the South keeps its head in the grass for now, but the North is stronger than ever. We simply don't flaunt everything like those two boys."

"This house looks pretty flaunting," Amber said, arms crossed.

"Touché," the man replied.

She glared.

He grinned.

"Apologies, I should introduce myself," he said, one hand behind his back and the other reaching for her hand. She pulled back, but he was too quick. He clasped her, gold and jewelled rings gleaming.

"I'm Xavier Jilten, cyng of the Northern Bloodline," he introduced, kissing those scarred knuckles of hers. She pulled away.

"The Devil of the North?"

"Among other titles."

She stayed quiet.

"And from what I gather, you're Amber Marigold?" Xavier asked, strolling around. He knew her last name. Sipping his drink, he circled and stopped between her and the door. The only door.

"I'd like to leave, please," she said, regretting her gamble. Being in the same room as this man was intoxicating.

"So soon?" he asked, his smile growing as he took a step closer.

Amber grabbed the pool cue.

"You better keep your grimy hands away from me."

"Grimy? My cufflinks cost more than your school fees."

There was no doubt in his claim. His cufflinks were pure gold. Though he lacked a pocket square, his suit likely had the same price tag as most people's cars, and his maroon tie looked designer.

"Expensive doesn't mean safe," she said.

"That, my dear, is the truest thing you've said yet."

He took three long strides towards the girl and ripped the pool cue from her grasp, tossing it to the floor. Amber backed away, but another step and she would walk into the hearth behind her. She craned her neck up. With Xavier's face so close, the flames dancing in his expression, his eyes became clear. They were green. The colour of poison.

"You're only alive right now because of my plans with West and East. You're not alive because you're particularly pretty or clever. Making that deal with BD and then letting him win was very, very foolish," he said. "Now you have worse to deal with."

She swallowed the knot in her throat.

"What are you planning?"

Xavier reached over, and the girl could do nothing as he pulled at her choker, undoing the tie.

"Nothing too unthinkable," he said. "I just want it all. East, West. The South. All seven bloodlines under one cyng. And you, Amber Marigold, will be the first step. You'll be the end of West and East."

He pulled at the red string between them until it unravelled. The choker dropped to the floor, exposing her bruises.

"Why destroy them?"

He leaned in, and Amber thought he would push her into the fire.

"If it's illegal, it has to pass through here first, making Tygerwel the gateway to the rest of the country. And if you have the gates, you rule the kingdom. This here is where I start my plans."

Amber could not help the intake of breath. He was not only going to kill Owen and Blake. He was going to kill anyone that stood in his way. This was not the same as a childish bet between boys. This guy was the real deal.

"You're evil," she said without thinking.

"That's how you get shit done," he winked.

Amber gaped, and Xavier took a step back, restraining a laugh.

"How do you plan on using me?" she asked.

"Oh, you just keep doing what you do for now," Xavier said. "All I ask is that you keep our little conversation private."

"Not for free, I won't," she said, and when Xavier raised a brow, she continued, "I'm not agreeing to be a part of your plans or whatever, but I can keep my mouth shut for a price."

"Name it."

"Information."

Xavier laughed out loud, finishing his drink and tossing the glass into the fire. The flames flared up.

"You know what has value around here," he mused. "Ask away."

Amber bit her cheek. She only intended to learn more about Mr President, but her current opportunity was too tempting.

"The scars," she said. "What do they mean?"

Xavier looked like he knew a joke. He drew a line across his left palm. "Here, a scar means you're loyal to the East," he said, drawing a second line across his right. "Here, you're loyal to the West. Your belly, the South. And here," he said, tracing his finger across Amber's neck, tingling her bruise. "You belong to the North."

Her throat bobbed against his finger.

"Lest you forget what happens to traitors," he added like a punchline.

She held his stare, unmoving. And when Xavier did not say more, she took the opportunity to pry further. If Jessy would not tell her...

"The Seven Laws. What are they? I already know the first two."

"Greedy," he tsked. "You don't sound like you hate all this."

Amber looked away, the heat of the hearth burning her cheeks.

"I don't like being kept in the dark."

"On the contrary, I think that's exactly where you thrive."

She returned his gaze. Held it. He conceded a sigh.

"Your kin are your closest brethren," Xavier revealed. "A cyng will share a single drop of blood with each member."

"That's the third law?" she asked. "What's it mean?"

Xavier stepped closer, trailing a finger over the hearth as though to check for dust. He had a musky scent of spruce and cologne.

"It means that your kin, being your most talented and trusted friends, are all gifted with your blood. They carry the bloodline if a cyng is to die without an heir. Usually, they're only a handful, but any amount will do."

The explanation sounded familiar, but its implication was chilling. When Xavier said he wanted to get rid of West and East, he did not mean just killing Blake and Owen. He would kill their kin as well. The East's goofy group... Lynch, who was too wholesome for the West...

Could Amber really turn a blind eye?

"After that, the fourth law is for elders," Xavier went on. "At the ascendance—"

The air rattled with gunfire.

Already shaken, Amber stumbled backwards. Xavier grabbed her waist, stopping her from nearly falling into the flames. The deafening crackle from downstairs... The suffocating hold of this nefarious man... The heat... She needed to get out of there.

Amber kneed up.

"Good Lord!" Xavier doubled over, holding his groin.

She bolted out of there, ripping the door open. The guards were gone, but at the end of the hallway, a figure waited, the glint of steel in his hand.

"Scream for me," Greasy Guy said, licking his knife.

"AHHH!" Amber charged at him.

He shifted back, hesitated, and swung his knife. Too late. She was close enough to deflect the attack and grabbed his wrist. Too sturdy to twist, a kick to the shin loosened him up enough. Pop. He buckled, hand limp. The knife dropped, and she cracked her knee across his temple so hard he slumped to the floor.

Knocked out.

"How's that for screaming?" she asked the unconscious body, hoping the line was cool enough. She aimed to run away, but paused, turned around, and kicked his ass for good measure.

Amber dashed down the hallway, nearly slipping on the polished wood with her heels. She narrowly avoided tumbling down the stairs. Peeking over the railing, a handful of men took cover below. Their guns were aimed at the crackle of automatics from the right-wing entrance. The bright flash of gunfire sputtered across the floor.

Blake and Owen were nearby. She could all but smell their egos.

On her toes, Amber slowly snuck down the stairs, keeping low behind the railing. When the hunkering men ran to the room with the gunfire, she rushed the last steps down. The front door was a sprint away, barely holding onto its hinges. Pale light peeked past splintered holes, glinting on the bed of broken glass from the foyer. She took a step, but a familiar metallic smell made her legs leaden. Slowly, she turned around. There, under the crescent stairs, lay a dozen bodies. Two of them were familiar.

Trudging over, her legs buckled in front of a wall. Goon One and Two had their eyes open. On her knees, she reached for a hand. Their blood was still warm. Why could she not remember their names?

"You guys still had to show me your Zumba classes," she said.

They kept quiet, and Amber's blood grew heavy. Why was her heart straining? They were in a bloodline. They were bad guys. But... they were nice to her when they had no reason to be. She closed their eyes with a gentle touch.

That violent colour was all she could see. Splattered on the floor, the panelled wall. That painted pattern of a red forest suddenly became much more sinister. There were all kinds of creatures lurking behind the spruce. Foxes chasing rabbits, wolves hunting deer, bears catching fish in a crimson river. And across it all, blood came dripping down.

Footsteps rushed and surrounded Amber. She had some blood on her hands, and stuffed her fists into her pockets. Her grip tightened on the silver she still had. She stood up and her heart steadied. Stopped.

"Hey, get her!" someone said, followed by approaching steps.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, and Amber spun around, the back of her fist connecting with a guy's ear. Before he could react, she kicked his knee at an angle that sent him crashing to the floor. A second kick to his head, and he went for a nap. Two men remained.

The second guy raised his assault rifle, and Amber dived with her heel aimed at his ankle. His legs split at the force, and he collapsed to his knees. The girl grabbed his gun, aimed it away. Click. Empty. She pulled at his thumb until a crack came, and his scream pierced the room.

The third guy charged, fist swinging. Amber ripped the rifle from the second man to defend against the punch and knuckles shattered against that hard steel. She rammed his nose next, and he dropped without getting back up. With the second man still conscious, she swung the gun back at him. His arm blocked with a nasty thwack. Dammit. Her elbow shot out to cave his throat and he choked violently. Using the distraction, she cracked the rifle over his head.

With the men dealt with, Amber dropped the gun and checked for weapons from the unconscious bodies. Getting out the front door would be easy enough, but there were still guards at the estate gates to get past. She cursed. They all had the same assault rifles. Howa Type 89, a Japanese gun. But none had any bullets left. She searched the other dozen bodies under the stairs. Same story. Only the goons left to check, she finally found a pistol with four rounds, a SIG Sauer P220. She grasped the gun, and it sat perfectly in her hand, the calluses on her fingers lining up with its trigger.

Footsteps sounded as a fourth guy ran into the room. She barely aimed before her shot brought him down. Leg. Non-fatal.

Three bullets left.

She left the writhing man, running to the foyer and out the front door before anyone could hear. Bodies piled on the steps outside, and she leapt over them, pebbled driveway crunching beneath her. That sound repeated on her right, and she fired two rapid shots at the approaching men. Legs again. Exact same spots.

She turned to run down the road, but the front door creaked, and Amber spun around, gun aimed up to—

"Whoa! It's me!" the boy shouted, hands raised.

***

Hey

Man I really loved writing this chapter. I wrote this book with a very clear visual in mind. I can just picture it as a series of some sort XD

~ Holly Shmit