Adam

That whore set my guesthouse on fire trying to kill Amethyst. She’s going to regret the day she dug her gold-digging claws into me.

The tires spray snow behind the car when Grant peels out of the driveway. I glance out the back window and watch thick black smoke billow into the sky behind my house.

The smell of smoke sticks to our clothes and hair. I need to get Ame somewhere safe, but where?

If this fire was all Cherry’s doing, we have nothing to worry about. She’ll run far and wide to avoid my wrath. She can’t hide forever though and when she shows her face again, I’m going to choke the life out of her scrawny, drug-addicted body.

Belongings can be replaced. I have money, and I’m not worried about that. But lives can’t, and no one is going to keep me from Amethyst or Harper again.

I need to find out where she stashed Harper. She probably dumped her off with one of her trashy friends. How the hell did I get drunk enough to fuck her anyway? I love Harper, but her mother is a piece of work.

“Adam, I know you’re upset, really upset, and I get it, but you’re scaring me.”

My hearing is muffled by a buzzing in the background of my thoughts that is distracting me. I can’t concentrate but when I look over at her frightened face, I work hard to focus.

“I’ll be okay,” I say, because I can’t think of anything better. I can’t say, “no worries, we’re just going to find a heroin whore so I can snap her neck.” I don’t think she’d take that well.

I’m boiling over with anger from the inside out. Yeah, women get jealous, it happens all the time, but burning down a house with someone in it? Cherry’s cold-hearted and calculating, but this seems a little much even for her.

Maybe it’s Vinnie. He doesn’t fit the description of the person outside the house last night, but he could have easily hired someone to do his dirty work. I haven’t paid him this month and I don’t intend to ever again. I said the blackmailing has to stop, and I mean it.

Wrapped in my thoughts, I’m surprised when I feel Ame’s warm hand slip into mine, and she gives it a reassuring squeeze. I look down when it registers that she’s reaching out to me on her own with no flirty innuendoes or accidental falls into my lap. She took my hand.

I look at her, really look at her now. She’s scared to death.

I turn and stare out the window, lifting her hand to my lips to kiss her soft knuckles.

“Where are we going?”

“I need to talk to Cherry and find out if she did this.”

“And if she did?”

“If she did, then she’s going to pay for it.”

“Pay for it how?”

I don’t answer this question because I’m not sure I know the answer. I really want to strangle her, but then I’d be no good to Harper. One parent dead and another in prison would fuck her up more than living with Cherry.

“Grant, where are we going?”

Grant takes a left turn where he should take a right if we were going to Cherry’s neighborhood, so I ask him too. “Yeah, Grant, where the hell are we going?”

Grant pulls over to the shoulder and stretches out his arm out to the passenger headrest to help him turn in his seat.

“You hired me to keep her safe, didn’t you?”

“I did, and my guesthouse recently burned to the ground.”

“Wait, safe from what?” Ame asks.

“I have a sort of safe house a couple of miles away. We can drop her off and go try to find Cherry.”

Grant conveniently slides right over my sarcastic remark because he suggested the safe house idea from the beginning, but I refused. I wanted her close enough that I could keep tabs on her but far enough to give her some independence, hence the guesthouse.

“Hold on, a safe house? What the hell, is this Chicago PD or something?”

She’s looking back and forth between Grant and I expectantly.

“Well? Either of you want to explain what is really going on?”

“I do, I really do, but we need to find Cherry before she skips town, if she hasn’t already. If you’ll go with Grant, I promise to come back and explain all of this.”

“Absolutely not. Explain this to me now or I’m getting out.”

The click of every lock in the car echoes throughout the car and Ame’s eyes widen. Grant has locked her in, and this Rover has no lock controls in the rear seats. I thought that was odd the first time I rode with him. Now I know well it comes in handy when you’re detaining someone.

“You did not just lock me in.”

“Yes, I did, it’s for your own safety.”

“You keep talking about my safety. Who exactly are you keeping me safe from? Cherry?”

“Maybe,” Grant says with raised brows, daring her to go on. Ame isn’t the kind of girl to back down, and she loves a dare.

Before Grant or I can blink, she’s catapulted herself into the front seat and has her hand on the door handle. Grant easily wraps his arm around her waist and holds her in place between the front seats. Not aware that Amethyst has a brown belt in Krav Maga, he isn’t ready for her lightning-fast elbow jab followed by a backward knuckle punch to his nose.

Ame’s out of the passenger door and running down the street at top speed before he realizes his ex-FBI ass has been handed to him by a girl.

He glances at me, and I can’t help but smile. That’s my girl. I don’t want her running away of course, but watching her handle herself is a major turn on.

Grant throws the Rover into drive and catches up to her in seconds. I roll down my window and grimace when the icy air hits my face going five miles an hour alongside her.

“Ame, stop! I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just stop and get back into the car.”

She slows to a jog, never looking in my direction.

“Right now, you’ll tell me when I get into the car? No tricks, Adam, or I swear I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Right now, swear.” She stops to lean forward with her hands on her knees, gulping in the cold air, and I pat the side of the car so Grant will stop.

“Get in, you’re freezing.”

I watch as she takes her time catching her breath before getting into the car, never making eye contact.

Grant is pinching his nose to keep it from bleeding, but he pulls away from the curb as soon as the door closes.

“Hey, you said you’d tell me right now. Let me out.”

“No, we need to keep moving, but I’ll talk while we drive.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and blows out an impatient breath.

“Start talking.”

I take a deep breath and blow it out, unsure of where to start. It’s not a quick or easy story to tell, but I can probably come up with an abridged version.

“I’m going to condense this to save time, okay? We need to talk about it in length later.” She nods and I continue.

“Ame, I lied to you about why I left you with no goodbye. I mean the league did want me to break all ties with home and focus on the job, but they never forced me and they never insisted I become a playboy.” Her head snaps toward me, and her eyes flash with anger and fill with tears.

Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea. I wanted to have time to explain it gently, in a way so that she wouldn’t hurt like she is right now.

Her lips press together in a straight line but she says nothing, so I go on.

“I never told you about my dad’s gambling problem growing up. It was embarrassing and mom didn’t think it was anybody else’s business. I know you wondered where my paychecks always went. You were a saint for never prying; most girlfriends would have pitched a fit about all the homemade gifts and cheap dates.

“Anyway, it was bad when I was in high school, but it got much worse when I left for college. There was no one around to chastise him for losing money. By the time I graduated, he owed millions to a loan shark who was associated with the Mafia.”

“Oh my God,” Ame says.

“Yeah, so the day I graduated, after the get-together we had in the restaurant, four guys grabbed me in the parking lot and held me in a van. They informed me in no uncertain terms that I was going to pay back my dad’s debt or everyone I knew was going to die a slow and painful death, especially you.”

“You didn’t notify the police?”

“No, they were following you. They had pictures of where you’d been and who you were with for weeks. They told me one word to the cops and you were dead.”

Ame looks at Grant and back to me. “Isn’t he a cop?”

“Ex-FBI actually, now he works privately.”

“So you left for Virginia because they blackmailed you?”

“Yes.”

“And they were going to kill me and your family?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Why didn’t you give me a signal or something? Told me you were in trouble. Maybe I could have helped or told someone or I don’t know, done something?”

“They made me call whoever was closest to signing me and tell them I was accepting their offer. Then they took me straight to the airport. I was in Virginia meeting with Coach the next morning. They knew I was the only way they would get paid back the money Dad owed them.”

“So you paid them?”

“Yes, I finished settling his debt in two years, but they kept threatening to kill you and frame me for illegal drug use and rape. I’ve been paying them a fortune for six years.”

“What’s different now? Why did you send for me if they’re still blackmailing you?”

This is the part I really didn’t want to tell her, not that all of it isn’t horrible, but realizing you’ve invited a murder into your life and your home is going to be traumatizing at best.

“I hired Grant to help me get me out of this mess, and they found out. The guy you’ve been seeing for the past month, Vinnie? He’s the blackmailer. He’s been sending me pictures and videos of the two of you together.”

Her eyes close and she shakes her head back and forth. She’s probably trying to absorb the concept that someone she trusted and allowed into her world could have killed her.

“Vinnie? No, you must be mistaken. He’s a nice guy, he’s never been inappropriate or violent, and I’m sure we haven’t taken any videos.”

The first stage of emotional shock is denial.

“He was on his best behavior. He wants me to pay. And I’m sure he has a recording device hidden somewhere on him. It’s him, we’re sure of it.”

“I hardly ever date, he was so patient and understanding. I thought, I thought … Well, what the hell does it matter what I thought, obviously I’m a terrible judge of character!” she yells, throwing up her hands.

“You couldn’t have known. He’s good at what he does. But I couldn’t let him get any closer to you.”

“So you got yourself injured on purpose?” Her tone rises with every word and by the time she ends her sentence, she’s near hysteria.

“No, of course not.”

Coach has been complaining for weeks that I’m not focused. I’ll get to the line and the plays would vanish from my mind. Maybe I was subconsciously sabotaging myself to get her to Virginia.

“So what the hell did happen?”

“Adam had plans to sneak you out of St. Louis within days of his injury. We were setting it all up but then,” Grant gestures to my leg, “then this happened and it was like fate.”

“I refused surgery until I knew you were coming.”

“So you let me date a killer while you figured out a plan to extradite me from St. Louis?”

“We had somebody watching you all the time and like Grant said, we were coming, but we had to be sure Vinnie wasn’t suspicious.”

Her hands fly to cover her ears, “Stop, enough, don’t tell me any more. Take me wherever I’m safe from your psycho criminals.”

I glance at Grant, and he’s already turning around and putting the Rover into gear. It’s a risk, but I pull her against my side and kiss the top of her head. Respecting her request not to say any more, I hold her quietly until Grant turns off the road onto a long driveway. This is his house. He told me he has a ‘safe room’ when I met him, but it’s more like a safe apartment in the basement of his house.

“This is Grant’s house,” I say with my mouth against her hair. “He has secure living quarters in his basement, and you’ll be safe here.”

She tilts her face up to mine. “You mean we will be safe here. You’re not leaving me here alone. If you go after Cherry, you’re going to hurt her and from what you’ve told me, it sounds like this is Vinnie, not Cherry.”

“She’s right, Adam, this smells like him. Have you tried to call Cherry again?” Grant asks.

“No, she always answers her phone when I call. In three years, she’s never let it go to voicemail. That makes her suspect #1 to me.”

“Try once more before we go looking for her,” Grant says.

Amethyst moves away, and I ache for the warmth and security of her body. It’s been a long time since she allowed me to comfort her. I’ve thought about this more times than I can count.

She points at the phone in my hand and I press Cherry’s name at the top of the recently called list. It rings, and rings, and finally it goes to voicemail. That’s it, a big red neon guilty sign flashes in my mind. Grant glances at me through the rearview mirror right before he pulls into a three-car garage attached to his house.

It’s not a house any normal FBI agent would own for sure. Grant has done well for himself since leaving law enforcement. The sprawling three-story brick colonial-style house is proof of that. It’s so impressive that Amethyst is momentarily distracted by it.

“This is your house?” she says as the garage door closes behind us.

“Mmmhmm.”

She shrugs her shoulder and puts her hand on the door, only to find it still locked.

“You think maybe you could open the door now that I’m trapped in your garage, Mr. FBI?” she says with the smart-ass sass that I haven’t seen much of since she arrived.

He rolls his eyes and the locks click simultaneously. Ame exits the car and looks back at me.

“You coming with us or are you going to let this guy lock me up alone?” Her hand is on her round hip, and I would love nothing more than to be locked in a room alone with her right now. But I have things to do, and she won’t be going anywhere.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t bother if you’re coming back a killer.”

“Nobody’s killing anybody, we just want to talk to her,” Grant says, rounding the rear of the Rover.

“I don’t get what talking to her is going to do. If she’s jealous enough to try to kill me, then call the damn police.”

“We don’t only need to talk to her, there’s something I have to get from her, something important. I swear we can talk about this for days when I get back. We’re probably going to have to anyway.”

She frowns and chews on her bottom lip before pointing at me with her pretty French-manicured finger. “No murdering,” she says like a mother saying no biting to a three year old.

“Promise. I’ll get what’s mine and I’ll be back.”

She approaches the open door and purses her lips for a moment.

“You really didn’t want to leave me?” she asks quietly so Grant doesn’t hear. I reach out my hand, and she slides hers across the seat, lacing her fingers with mine.

“No baby, I didn’t want to leave you, not for one single second. I swear to God.”

She lowers her eyes, and two big tears splash on the leather seat in front of her. I hold up a finger to Grant and pull her back into the car. Grant closes the door to give us a moment of privacy.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and she covers her eyes with her free hand and a heart-wrenching sob rips from her throat. She never did like anyone to watch her cry other than me. But I’ve become someone else to her, a repulsive, womanizing cliché athlete without a heart.

I know she had to have seen all the press coverage on my wild lifestyle and multiple girlfriends, and every bit of it was true. All except for the key reason I was even there playing for the Redkings at all–coercion, extortion and blackmail. If not for my father, Amethyst Amero would now be Amethyst Silver and we would be on our way to having baby number two according to our life plan.

I draw her into my chest and cradle her in my arms while I try to console her, but she’s just had the rug yanked out from under her life and it’s a lot to take. I know. It happened to me too.

“Okay, shush, I’ll stay here with you. Come on, let’s go inside.”

“What about your thing?” she says with a sniffle and gasp between each word.

“Grant can do it for me, it’s okay.”

I rap on the window and Grant opens the door.

“I’m staying here, can you handle it alone?”

“Of course, wait here and I’ll get a wheelchair.”

I hadn’t thought about how I was going to get out of the car. He’d put me in from my wheelchair at home. It’s sort of unsettling that he has one just sitting around.

When he returns, he helps Ame out and they both work at getting me transferred into the chair. I can’t help but ask, “So why do you have a wheelchair around anyway?”

He clears his throat before saying, “It’s for my grandfather.”

Grant doesn’t have any family, and he knows I’m aware of that, so the chair must be for someone else. The kind of someone who can walk into his house but not out.

Ame pushes me across the threshold between the garage and the house. The sound of a dog barking dominates the space. It’s not a happy welcoming bark or even a warning bark like Lady uses when a stranger enters the house. No, this bark is more like a wild rabid dog banging itself against the bars of a cage.

“What’s with Cujo?” I ask.

“He’s a Doberman, and he’s pissed because I won’t let him attack you.”

“Oh, well uh, thanks dude.”

“You’re welcome.”

The house is decorated in masculine navy blues, grey, and silvers, very Grant. The entire back wall of the open concept living room and dining room is floor-to-ceiling glass. The windows have a view of dense woods with bare, snow-covered trees. It seems like a security breach to be so exposed to the outside, but Grant has assured me they are one way and bulletproof.

I visited him once when I met him to discuss the details of my problem. We toured the house, and he suggested the safe room/apartment for Amethyst. I’m glad he’s not gloating about being right on that one, not yet at least.

An elevator right outside the kitchen takes us down to the secure apartment below where he leaves us alone to go and find Cherry and Harper. He doesn’t bother to show me around. I’ve been here before.

The space is decorated simply, no frills or extras, probably because no one usually occupies it. It has one bedroom, a living room, one bathroom, and a kitchenette, all the essentials for a short stay.

“This is, I don’t know … weird,” Ame says, parking me next to the couch and sitting down on the edge with her arms between her knees.

“Yeah, not much to write home about, but it’ll do for now.”

“How long is for now going to be?” she asks, piercing me with her green/blue stare.

“Until Grant comes back. I need to talk to you about that.”

She lowers her head into her hands, facing the floor.

“Can it wait a few minutes? I’m still trying to process the whole gambling and blackmailing thing. I can’t believe you didn’t do something about this sooner, like right away. Why did you let them control you like this, and for so long?”

“I didn’t have the money they wanted, for starters.”

“You could have called the police.”

“And risk them slitting your throat in your sleep? No fucking way.” I shouldn’t have used that graphic of a description, but that’s exactly what they said they would do.

“Do you remember a few years ago when Nathan came close to dying?”

“Yes, drugs or something.”

“Or something. He had been clean for at least a year, and those bastards tempted him until he fell off the wagon and OD’d. I couldn’t even come home and check on him, and if he had died, I wouldn’t have been able to attend his funeral. They did that to prove a point to me that they were powerful and not afraid to kill.”

“They didn’t kill him though,” she says, making a good point.

“They meant to. It was an act of God that Nathan got home to Mom before he blacked out. If she hadn’t been there, he would be dead.”

She lifts her head, pulling her hair on both sides of her head in frustration. This shit is so fucked up I’m not sure she’ll ever fully understand the danger she was in.

“How much money did your dad lose, for God’s sake?”

“Millions. He had acquaintances all over the country that he gambled with online and met at casinos. They would set him up because he’s a charismatic guy but when he lost it all, he didn’t know how to pay them back. Enter Vinnie.”

“Wow,” she says on an exhalation.

“I get it now, kind of. It all seems so unreal. I didn’t know things like this really happened. I mean I watch 20/20, but this is our life. This happened to us, not some strangers.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, I should have kept better tabs on my dad when I was at school, but it was such a relief to be out of that house. I was sick of being responsible for the whole family. I was selfish when I got to college. I wanted to have a normal life for a while, you know?”

“I’m not blaming you, it’s just so bizarre.”

I sit quietly next to her as she wraps her head around all of this. I need to tell her I still love her, I need to tell her I have a daughter too. It’s like my life was set on pause six years ago and someone recently pressed Play. I want to talk about everything: my family, her last two years of college, her job, her family, home, all of it. I want to pick up right where we left off, but I know it’s not possible. Too much damage has been done. She could decide to walk away after we catch Vinnie and never look back.

The thought of never having her back in my life permanently kick starts a bundle of anxiety that lays dormant in my chest, waiting for moments like this. Usually when I get this feeling, I run, or lift weights, anything physical to eradicate the pressure in my body. But I can’t do much from this stupid fucking wheelchair. I’m an invalid dependent on others for everything, and that makes the anxiety all the more powerful.

“Amethyst?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you care if we lay down? This day is kicking my ass.”

“Oh no, of course I’ll help you. Are you ready for pain meds? I threw all your stuff in my purse when we left.”

“No, I’m good.” I’m not, my knee hurts like a motherfucker, but I want to be alert in case anything else happens today.

“I don’t know why I even ask. I know it hurts. Are you a masochist now or something? Your friend Cherry says you’re into kinky stuff now, is that why you won’t take pain meds, because you enjoy the pain?”

Damn Cherry, what the hell has she been feeding Ame? I am most certainly not a masochist, and she knows it. We did a few kinky things, so what?

“God no, Ame. I thought you and Cherry didn’t talk about anything.”

“We didn’t really, she mentioned you were good in bed and I agreed. Then she mentioned you were into kinky shit.”

“You think I’m good in bed?” Funny how that’s the only part of that sentence I actually heard. I can’t help it, I’m a man and having my ego stroked, or anything else she wants to stroke, is pretty damn awesome.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that, your track record sort of speaks for itself,” she says, standing up.

And just like that, the ego stroking is reversed. She’s never going to let me live my promiscuous lifestyle down.

“Would it help to know I never gave a damn about any of them?”

She bends at the waist, aligning her face with mine, and says deliberately, “No, it would not.” She straightens up to shrug her coat off and pushes me into the open door of the only bedroom in the apartment.

I’m not tired, I just wanted to get her into bed, but now I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.

She pulls to a stop next to the bed with a jolt and ‘helps’ me out of my coat. I watch as she goes about plumping the pillows and moving the foot pedal from under my good foot so I can stand and pivot. Every task is carried out with a little extra tude and every movement is a tiny bit rougher than usual.

I stand as she supports my bad leg and turn; we’ve gotten into a routine already so no words need to be exchanged. I continue to stare at her as she elevates my leg and moves the wheelchair away from the bed.

“You pissed at me?”

“No.”

“You’re pissed at me.”

“If you knew, why’d you ask?”

“I guess I just wanted to verify.”

“What would I have to be pissed about? That the only man I’ve ever loved has slept with thousands of women? That the world thinks he’s a male whore? Or maybe that your father’s addiction ruined our future? I suppose I could be a little irritated that we have been separated for six damn years because some fucker thinks it’s cool to threaten women and families. We should be married, you should be playing for a team you chose, not one forced on you, we should have kids …” She turns away, shielding her eyes again. I take her hand and pull her gently toward the edge of the bed.

“You’re right. You deserve better than me now, you should have had that fairytale life that we always talked about. Look at me, please. Come on, I know you don’t want me to see you cry, but I swear to God, Amethyst, it’s still me in here,” I say, placing my had over my heart.

“I still love you, I never stopped. I messed around with women and drinking because it numbed the pain of not being with you. I knew you were suffering alone and confused, and it killed me to think about it. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth and I want there to be nothing but truth between us again.”

She lowers her hand and looks down at me. I nod encouragingly and pray she can find it in her heart to forgive me. I’m not sure if she does or not, right now I’m not sure of much, but when she crawls into bed and curls up against me, a glimmer of hope is born.

“I hated you for so long it’s hard to just flip a switch, you know?”

“I get it. I would have hated me too.”

“We still have chemistry though, wouldn’t you say? I mean the other day was, wow. It brought back so many good memories. I know you don’t want to know about other women, but no one ever made me feel like you. You were my first and only before they took me away, and no one has ever compared to you since.”

“Same. I didn’t date many guys, probably could count them on one hand. I think that’s why I quit trying. You ruined me and other men were a waste of time.”

“What about Vinnie?” I ask, and she stiffens in my arms.

“He was taking things so slow I thought he just got me. It was like he knew exactly what to say and do all the time. I guess it’s because he did, huh?”

“Yeah, the Mafia probably has some pretty good fact checkers.”

“Fact checkers, that’s putting it mildly I’ll bet.”

“Thankfully I never had to find out. Knowing Nathan suffered at their hands was bad enough.”

“I can’t believe I let that guy get so close to me. I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t. He’s a professional and he knew everything there is to know about you, how to make you comfortable, how fast to move, what not to say and do. Anybody would have fallen for that.”

“I always thought something was off. I even told Brea. She said I was crazy, and I was starting to think I was.”

I move her hair off of her shoulder, exposing her neck with my hand that’s wrapped around her, and kiss her shoulder.

“You are crazy, the good kind though.”

“What’s the good kind?” she says, tilting her face up to mine.

“It’s the kind of crazy that forgives someone for breaking their heart.”

“There isn’t really anything to forgive, you couldn’t help what was happening. I should thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t actually thank you yet. I said I should thank you.”

I lift one corner of my lips in a smirk and kiss her soft plump lips. It’s a tender kiss full of apologies and thank yous, I miss yous, and most of all, I love yous. No kiss could make up for all we’ve lost, but this one tries.

I want to go further, take what was supposed to be mine, but there’s still one thing we have to talk about that could be a future wrecker.

I have a daughter with a whore.

I slide my lips across her jaw and nip at her ear. Yep, there’s no doubt the physical attraction is still perfectly intact, but we have some serious work to do with our hearts.

“We still have things to talk about,” I murmur in her ear.

She groans. “I’m tired of talking.”

“It’s important.”

“So is this.”

Amethyst swings her leg over my body in a quick fluid movement, straddling my hips. I need to tell her again that we have to talk before going any further, but my common sense has flipped the sign on the door to closed.

I should be thinking “this is really bad.” She needs to know everything before going any further, but I’m not. Instead, my cock has taken over the self-control shop repeating a favorite mantra of his. This is going to be so good.

And you know what they say about men, they’re always thinking with their dick instead of their brain.