Chapter 4
Jeans. She was wearing jeans. And a shirt.
The image of Amelia sitting at Philipp’s grave, lonely and broken, flashes through my mind again, and the feelings come rushing back.
Her grief was almost tangible, seeping from every pore, and I felt it like it was my own.
I wanted to hold her, to pull her close.
She looked so small, so fragile. Yet I don’t trust her.
I know it doesn’t make sense, and rationally, there’s no reason for it, but something about her gets under my skin like nothing else.
At the same time, she draws me in with an intensity that unnerves me.
And I hate her for it. I hate her for stirring up these conflicting emotions in me, for stabbing me in the heart every time I see her, because she reminds me of my brother.
And today, I made the mistake of touching her.
Feeling her body against mine sent jolts of electricity racing over my skin. For that moment, I wanted her, so much that it hurt. Her eyes, her body. She’s a little siren, and that makes her dangerous. Very dangerous, because she is absolutely off-limits.
And yet, you almost pounced on her, you idiot, mocks my subconscious, to which I mentally flip the middle finger.
Yes, and that only made me angrier. I don’t want to want her. She belonged to my brother, fucked him, worshipped him—and she hates me.
“Earth to Nic! Dude, what’s up with you today? Chill out and have some fun,” slurs my best friend as he stumbles, clearly more than tipsy, toward the lounge. He collapses next to me on the couch.
After the scene with Amelia, I went back to my apartment briefly, then headed straight to Purge.
Ced raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. Eric, the fourth member of our group, who rarely joins our wild nights but decided to come along tonight, shoots Damien an irritated look.
“Shut the hell up, D. No idea if you’ve finally drunk away your last brain cell, but I’m not in the mood for fun, you ass,” I snap, my irritation squarely aimed at Damien as he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Whoa, relax. I’m just trying to help. Be like me…” He gestures sloppily at himself with a drunken grin. “I’m doing great. Having fun, enjoying life. Who cares about the rest? You didn’t before Phil died, did you?”
Before he can blink, I grab him by the collar and yank him close. Fury. All-consuming fury. It boils in my veins, burning.
“If I were you, I’d shut the hell up unless you want to be eating pureed food for the next few weeks. Got it?” My voice is quiet, but the cold, threatening edge makes my best friend’s eyes widen briefly with fear before raw sorrow fills them again. The sight of it nearly guts me.
“He… I… Fuck.” Damien wrenches himself free, and from the corner of my eye, I see Ced move closer, ready to intervene. But there’s no need.
I watch as Damien stands, looking at me like a cornered animal.
“You don’t get it. None of you do… It’s… Damn it, I can’t do this.” He turns, knocking over a standing table behind him, grabs the vodka bottle sitting on it, and storms off.
Shit.
Pain stabs through my chest, and I want—no, I need to go after him. But Eric is already on his feet, waving me off.
“Let me. He’ll just insult you if you follow him now. I’ve got this,” Eric says, not giving me time to respond before hurrying after Damien.
“Something’s not right.” Ced’s voice comes from beside me, and I nod, still staring at the spot where my friends just disappeared.
“Definitely not. I’ve never seen him like this. Sure, Phil’s death hit him hard, like it did all of us, but for him to spiral like this, to lose control—NO.” I turn my head to look at Ced, my expression serious.
“Why is everything turning into one giant pile of shit? Isn’t it enough already?” The question is directed more to myself than anyone else, but Ced answers anyway.
“I’ll handle it. You focus on sorting things out with Amelia. You’ve got your hands full with that.”
I let out a snide snort and lean back against the couch as Ced gets up and moves to the railing overlooking the club.
The Purge isn’t some high-end club where the elite flaunt their wealth and guzzle champagne by the liter.
This place is for former street kids from my support program.
Yes, even Prince Selfish has a social side sometimes.
They come here to have fun, to celebrate, to escape.
This is where the everyday people gather, and I enjoy every second of it.
The club is better guarded and cleaner than any other in the area, thanks to the former shelter residents who built it.
The old warehouse was reimagined by our foundation as a sleek, modern club, preserving part of the original brick facade for character.
A long bar with a large mirror and neon lights stretches along one wall, while a sprawling dance floor with central platforms dominates the space.
The club’s design features two distinct color schemes, divided by a dramatic rift across the hall.
One side, in white and silver, represents light, while the other, in black and gold, embodies darkness, mirroring the contrasts in the lives of the boys and girls who gather here.
Everything is high-tech and polished, nothing feels shabby or rundown.
The Purge is an ultra-modern club where sharp riffs blend seamlessly with pounding beats. The kids regularly hold dance battles here, and I’m proud of them—at least they’re spending their time on something meaningful.
A staircase leads up to the lounge area, something similar to a balcony overlooking the action below.
Separated from the rest of the club by a glass wall, it’s a space where you can talk more easily.
Or drink. Or, for those who want to, hook up.
Security doesn’t let just anyone up here; only select guests are allowed, especially when we’re around.
“What’s there to figure out? That little, prudish bore will be moving into the castle with me in two days and will quickly learn how things work. What am I supposed to do with her?” My tone is sharper than I intended, but the mere thought of Amelia makes my stomach do strange things, and I hate it.
Cedric gazes intently at the dance floor before turning to me with a grin so wicked that my eyebrows shoot up.
“Prudish? Are you sure about that?” he asks innocently, and every alarm bell in my head starts ringing.
Why is he grinning like that?
“Have you even looked at her?” I ask, confused by what he’s getting at. His eyes drift back to the dance floor.
“Oh, I’m looking at her right now. And what I see is anything but prudish, my friend. And I’m clearly not the only one who thinks so.” He turns back to me, his devilish grin still in place, and I freeze.
What? WHAT?
He nods toward the dance floor, and as I follow his gaze, rising slowly to my feet, I catch sight of what he’s talking about.
“From where I’m standing, she and your sister seem to be having quite a bit of fun,” he remarks.
Fun?
The word echoes in my head like a taunt.
He’s got to be kidding me.
But as I scan the crowd, I instantly see what he means. My breath falters, a rush of adrenaline floods my body, and I freeze in place. I can’t move, can’t speak; I can only stare.
Down there, a dance battle is unfolding, and Amelia is in the middle of it, moving like she was born to do it.
Her slender yet curvy figure is wrapped in tight, ripped jeans that cling to her perfect ass. When she spins, a toned, taut stomach comes into view, adorned with a glinting navel piercing.
A piercing. Amelia has a piercing.
Fuck.
Her off-shoulder shirt barely reaches her navel, and underneath, she’s wearing a halter bikini top, essentially nothing. Her full breasts, though partially covered, are impossible to miss.
Damn it, this woman has a killer body.
But what shocks me the most is her hair.
Her long, wild curls cascade down her back, free and untamed. Not twisted into one of her tight buns. LOOSE.
Double fuck.
My hands grip the railing so tightly that my knuckles turn white, and my jaw clenches hard. I don’t blink as I watch this woman move, utterly transfixed.
Adam, one of my former street kids, spins her into a twirl, her hips swaying perfectly to the rhythm. She laughs, her entire face lighting up with pure joy. They’re recreating the final dance from a movie, and damn, she’s incredible.
I soak in every movement, desperately searching for the dull, plain woman I’ve always seen her as. But she’s nowhere to be found. There’s nothing plain about this golden-haired siren. My brain can’t process it.
“Seems like the little lady’s been keeping a few secrets,” Ced comments, clearly amused. “Judging by how our boys are acting, they know her. And since Lizzy’s involved, I’d bet Amelia’s the second trainer we’ve never met.”
Amusement radiates from Cedric as he observes me. I see his smug grin from the corner of my eye and flip him off without looking away. I won’t take my eyes off her for even a second, though. I CAN’T.
The idiot beside me laughs out loud.
“Oh, it’s going to be fun, watching you free-fall, my friend. I can’t wait to see Amelia bring you to your knees, piece by piece. Because believe me, she will.”
He pats me on the shoulder with fake sympathy, and I grit my teeth, slowly turning my head to face him. A strange mix of disgust, anger, and desire churns in my stomach, and my dick is already craving Goldilocks. Not exactly helping my situation.
“SHE WON’T DO ANYTHING. SHE’S NOBODY! And anyone who means nothing to me can’t bring me to my knees.
She was Phil’s dream girl, not mine. And if you want to keep that smug grin, you better shut up now.
Otherwise, your dentist’s office is going to get a hefty bill soon,” I growl, and the asshole laughs even harder.