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CHAPTER 4

Amber Marigold

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Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Amber was dead. Blake's car raced out of view a while ago, but now the immediate danger to the girl's life was her own cousin. Jessy was going to kill her.

"But what the hell? He was so annoying!" Amber whined, hunching down into a squat and grabbing her hair.

She stared at the pavement in front of her. A puddle held her murky reflection, washed in a monotone of dirt and dust. Sitting on her heels, her hair was a veil around her, and she had that stupid look on her face. The same one she had last week.

She was smiling.

Amber pulled at her hair and glared at her reflection.

"I hate you," she said. "You put your family in danger. Again. Why can't you keep your mouth shut? What the hell are you smiling for? You told yourself, didn't you? You said you'd stay out of all this. You said you'd keep your family safe this time..."

Why was she so good at making trouble for those she loved?

The girl was not smiling anymore, and with her reflection stripped of any colour in the dirtied puddle, she did not look so gold either.

Pathetic, she would have titled the painting.

A drop plummeted from the sky and landed in the water, rippling and distorting her reflection until she could not recognise herself. She stood up, glancing at the sky. A gentle drizzle fell, but it would be pouring soon. She needed to find her way home.

Amber took a moment to establish her surroundings. The docks were still visible at the end of the road, dark grey slabs built onto pale blue water. She was somewhat familiar with the area from her weekend around town with Jessy. She knew Tygerwel High was West of the bay, and with the way the land sloped down to meet the sea, West was uphill. The problem was, she was unsure if going to school was even worth it. Heading home was the practical option, but her geographical skills were non-existent.

Amber felt her pockets for her phone, but besides her chess piece, she had nothing with her. Her bag was still in English class, where Blake so rudely dragged her away.

"Cocky perv," she grumbled to herself.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, and in answer, another raindrop came plunging down. This time on her nose.

"Please, no," she whimpered.

The rest of the rain came down hard.

"You have got to be kidding me!" she shouted at the clouds, rain showering down upon her face as she cursed the heavens.

Amber ran further up the road, towards an alleyway with an extended roof. She took cover, already soaking wet, and caught her breath next to industrial dumpsters. A pit formed in the girl's stomach at how shady her surroundings were.

That, or she was hungry.

"I can get the money next week!" someone pleaded close by.

Oh shit, Amber thought. No way did she stumble upon a mugging scene. Her luck could not be that bad. Could it?

It could.

Amber peeked past the green dumpster she used as cover, and sure enough, the scene was as cliché as it got. Two large thugs held a scrawny man up by his collar. His face was swollen and blue, his buttoned-up shirt covered in a violently vibrant red.

"Next week ain't good. You know how the devil runs things," one of the thugs said, tossing the bruised man to the floor and kicking him.

"Please! I have a wife and kids!" the man begged, spitting out bright red blood as he lay curled on the wet floor.

The second thug grabbed the man by his hair and lifted his head. He had a distinct tattoo on his neck, a knife plunging into a butterfly.

"You're just a junkie that got in too deep with the West, and now you've been hanging around Palm Street. What kind of married man goes around and fucks whores from the East?" the thug asked, slamming the man's head down on the ground.

Blinking the colours away, Amber felt for her phone and cursed when she remembered she did not have it on her.

"Oh, dear God, please," the man cried, barely able to speak. "Give me one last chance."

One of the thugs pulled out a gun from his jacket.

Goosebumps shuddered across her skin, and the hairs on her nape raised at the sight of the gleaming black pistol. She could spot all the way from where she hid that it was a Smith and Wesson M&P, nine millimetre. Fifteen rounds. And by the looks, an extended stainless-steel chassis and a low barrel bore axis. Fast aim recovery, she thought. The knowledge came effortlessly.

"Sorry, but you're all out of chances. You don't have to worry about that family of yours. The Devil of the North sends his regards," the thug said, pistol pointed at the bleeding man.

"Please," he continued to cry. "Please, have mercy!"

He was helpless.

An urge like no other flooded Amber. Muscles tensed. Blood rushed. And because the girl was, in fact, an idiot and made herself a promise, she jumped out from her hiding spot. Out of breath and with some hair caught in her mouth, she faced the thugs off.

"Leave him alone!"

It would have been a great moment to have superpowers.

The thugs whipped their heads her way, and the man on the ground was even more panic-stricken than before, eyes bulging.

"What are you doing?" he cried.

Well, that's never a good sign, Amber thought.

"I called the cops! They're almost here!" she lied.

Instead of running away like she gambled, the two thugs bolted towards her without a second of hesitation.

"Fuck my life," she muttered before sprinting away.

Back in the street, Amber's hair clung to her in dark blonde tendrils as she ran. Clouds painted the scene with strokes of rain and peril. Her body burned while her lungs stung from the cold air. At least she had her boots on, protecting her from puddles and potholes. Of course, Amber thought. Of course, she thought of wet socks in a life-or-death scenario. An idiot to the end.

Needing to lose the heavy pounding of pursuers behind her, she rounded a building, hand grabbing at the coarse brick to keep her momentum going. She shot down a new street, but as luck would have it, nobody was out during the downpour.

Through it all, the girl still somehow managed a smile between desperate gulps of air. That damned nervous tick.

At least the other guy didn't get shot, she reassured herself. It was a slight salve to her cramping heart, and keeping her promise felt good. The last time she helplessly hid away...

Amber was dressed in a white sundress for her birthday. She sat in the living room with her parents, passing time while they waited for an important guest to arrive. It was a spacious, cream-palate area with tall windows. Sunlight streamed inside, brushing the silver chess set with golden hues.

The girl was in the endgame against her dad. She took her silver king, ready to charge forward in an attack, but before she could place the piece back down...

It all changed.

A thunderous crack boomed through the house and the front door flew off its hinges. Robert sprang up, yelling at the women to hide. He ran to stop the intruders while Amber got dragged up the stairs by her mom. Gunshots echoed before they made it to the master bedroom. Inside, they barricaded the door with the dressing table and anything they could get their hands on. Sounds of intruders rushed up the stairs, followed by the shrieks of maids and more gunshots. Eyes round, Amber's mom turned to her.

"Amber, I love you, but you have to hide!" Melissa urged, directing her towards the gold embroidered bed.

"No way, we need to save Dad," she resisted.

Melissa's brows snapped together, but her eyes turned teary.

"Listen to me! Forget about the... I need you to do that. Can you do that? Amber, you have to forget."

"Huh?" Amber could not hear what her mom said.

"Now get under the bed!"

Her mom had never been so serious before. Thinking she would be followed, the girl crawled under. It was a tight space, and she lay with her stomach down and arms on either side of her head. The silver king was still in her grip. Knuckles white.

When she looked over, her mom was not coming. Before she could call out, the door burst open, and intruders flooded in. All she could see were their shoes. At least a dozen of them.

"Traitors," her mom spat at them.

"What's the password?" a familiar voice asked.

"Over my dead body."

"I knew you'd say that, Mel."

A loud shot tore through the room. Her mom fell to the floor. It was good the girl could not make a sound or even breathe because a cold pain clamped onto her heart so hard, she thought it would burst. Her blood rushed. Her head was dizzy. All she could do was stare at the collapsed figure, little more than a reach away.

Her mom's head turned, and the girl saw herself in those glossy blue eyes. Her reflected expression would stay with her forever.

I love you, her mom mouthed, blood dripping from her lips. Forget, she added as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Amber opened her mouth to say the words back, but another shot rang. Rang through the room. Rang in her ear. Her mom... Blood splattered onto the girl as well as the chess piece she clenched. The red was such a drastic, violent contrast to the silver king, she passed out from the sight.

Amber had stopped running.

Still helplessly frozen like that day, she slowly turned, and one of the thugs barrelled towards her. He was on top of her before she could react, throwing her off her feet. With a hard thud, she landed on her back. Her jacket lifted and skin scraped on the coarse pavement. The thug straddling her started squeezing her neck. She tried clawing him away. Scratching. Pinching. Eyes wide but blind.

"What did you hear?" the heavy thug demanded.

Rain streamed down his reddened face, pouring onto her bloating cheeks. Black spots splashed her vision like a Jackson Pollock painting. She could not so much as gulp a breath of air.

"Answer him!" the second thug yelled from somewhere.

She was going to die.

Amber wanted to laugh. Her consciousness started to slip, and the idea of dying in a random street at the hands of no-name thugs made her want to keel over with laughter. No way, she thought. No way did she live through hell, only to die in some dirty street.

A sense of calm washed over the girl. Her body was convulsing, desperate for air, but her mind became clear.

Remember your training, a slumbering part of her whispered, cracking open an eye. You know how to take care of these pawns.

It was true. Growing up, she had countless instructors to ensure she could defend herself. She would be damned if all those years went to waste.

Amber took hold of her body once more and heaved her arms up. With all her might, she cupped her hands and crashed them back down. They struck the sensitive muscle in the thug's forearms so hard that his elbows caved in. He hunched forward, losing hold of her throat, and her hand speared ahead, grabbing behind his neck. She smashed his face into the road. Crack. The momentum allowed her to roll with him, getting on top of the thug. He looked up, blood spurting from his nose, and she jabbed him in the throat. Once. Hard. He squealed like a pig. Knowing the man's friend was nearby, she jumped to her feet, stumbling into a fighting stance.

It was good she had most of her training engraved into muscle memory because the girl could barely tell up from down and though she made sure to stand firm on her feet she was swaying side to side and stars obscured her vision even if she tried to blink them away her head was underwater and it was getting harder and harder to breathe but she needed to figure out where the second attacker was.

The hilt of a gun came as a flash.

Amber deflected the attack fast enough to avoid a black eye, but not fast enough to escape a blow to the side of her already woozy head. The street spun violently; she had an urge to throw up. Perhaps spewing her breakfast all over the thug would be a good tactic.

Before she could convince herself that vomit was an excellent battle stratagem, she heard the click of a gun. Out of time, Amber sucked in a breath to clear her vision as much as possible. She stared down a barrel. Move. The girl lurched forward at an angle to avoid firing range and leapt into a scissor kick, one boot aimed at the gun, the other at the thug's brutish face. The weapon flew off, sliding across the slick pavement and in the same breath, the man's head whipped back.

Amber barely landed on her feet, wobbling until she regained balance and stepped back into her fighting stance.

"Fuck!" the thug yelled, spitting out a tooth.

Amber tensed her muscles, ready to finish the fight but—

Pavement.

Her unstable feet were pulled out from behind, and she fell headfirst onto the ground. The world cracked and tilted; everything went blurry as she reached for her head. She felt warm, sticky blood. It was not a lot, but the blow would cost her.

"You're dead!" the first thug yelled, the very same bastard that pulled her off her feet when she was not looking.

He slithered his way back on top of Amber and started choking her again, but this time she did not have the strength to resist. He was a concrete slab on her chest; no matter how hard she tried, she was utterly helpless.

Now she really was fucked. She could have won if she remembered her training off the bat, but the girl had never expected any of her defence classes to be used one day. Head limp, Amber stared at the soaked pavement next to her. Rain continued to crash down, each drop a blow on its own. Was that her chess piece? It was. The silver king was next to her, slick with rain and blood. She blinked, and the blood was gone. Blinked again, and she was under a bed. Unsure what to believe, she shut her eyes. The sound of rain was replaced by gunshots and her mother's voice.

She would not be helpless.

She would not be helpless.

She would not be helpless.

Amber was about to give in to the tempting darkness her mind slipped towards, but just as its claws dug in, she was released.

Out of nowhere, the weight on top of her got flung away. She snapped her eyes open and heaved in air, gripping her throat and wincing at the touch. When she looked up, there were three guys in heavy coats attacking the thugs.

Was she hallucinating? Amber glanced down to her side; the chess piece was still on the soaked floor. No blood this time. She picked it up. It was cold and real. Someone crouched down and scooped her up, a green scarf all she saw. The girl was too limp to refuse and was carried to a large grey vehicle. The scarf's owner opened the door and laid her in the backseat. He climbed in next to her before shutting the door, deafening the loud pour of rain.

"Well, I knew it wouldn't be long until that mouth of yours got you killed, Goldie," the guy said.

Amber turned her head with some effort and peered at the smug guy in his fancy cream coat.

Owen William Rhodes was grinning like an idiot.

Well, that's just lovely, Amber thought. She had a feeling she would have preferred getting strangled to death.

***

Yo, 

I still remember writing this chapter 5 years ago. Back then I didn't have a plan for the plot and I just asked myself 'what can go wrong?' and wrote about that XD

~ Holly Shmit