Chapter 2

Two

Amethyst

" M y jewel."

I hear the words and I reach for the man behind the roughened voice but only blurred lines and pain live in the haze of my dreams. Fear twines around my heart. Phantom barbs dig into the pulsing flesh with every thump. Pain grows.

Daddy.

He's gone. I can feel it in my soul. The one man I opened my heart for is gone.

Pain unlike anything I've felt before squeezes me like a vice. Air sticks in my throat and refuses to fill my lungs. I roll to the side, clutching at my blanket, my body numb. Not for the first time in the last two months I wipe at the hot tears streaming down my cheeks as I wake.

It doesn't happen every time I close my eyes anymore. And thank God for that. I would be rocking in the corner like a madwoman if I didn't have some semblance of control over my emotions.

My lashes fall closed. I mentally reach out for the man who stole my heart and left me with heartache, his ring, and…

I spread my open palms over the swell of my abdomen.

"Momma's here, little one. You'll always have me."

I pull to the edge of the bed, casting my gaze to the clock on my side table. I haven't slept well since that night. I rub at the throbbing pain over my heart when his dark eyes linger in my thoughts. He knew what he was doing and waited until I was asleep to do it. I should have known he couldn't keep a promise. Men like him live to break hearts, take lives, and all in the name of wealth and power.

I stab my fingers through my hair and drop my forehead to my knees.

What am I thinking? That's not Oliver. At least I don't think it is. We were only married a few months before he just walked out. Something is wrong. I can feel it like I can still feel the whisper of his touch and the hum of pleasure my body woke to. Only to find his side of the bed cold and empty.

I can't get anyone to talk to me. Since I'm not the one paying them, I'll have to find my answers another way. I'm not detective material but I'm not unresourceful either. My blue crime-loving father taught me a lot about how to survive. I've waited patiently long enough. Tiny red numbers flick over on the clock to show the late hour of the evening. It's about time I stop being so patient. I don't exactly have a lot of time before this baby is born and I refuse to go through all this alone. Or, if that is what fate has in store for me so be it. But I want to know one way or another. Do I have a husband or not?

I reach for the lamp and flick it on. I keep a stack of books beside my lamp, a glass of water, and this.

Gold links slip through my fingers as I gather the chain holding our wedding rings. I hook it around my neck and send up a prayer that wherever my husband is, the mafia bastard feels the same pain eating at his heart as I do.

How long I sit like this, I don't know. My brain wants me to accept that Oliver left me and our baby, but my heart refuses to listen. I wish my head would shut my heart down and erase all the emotions pouring through me so I can get on with my life. So far that hasn't happened.

He's out there. He watches. I can feel his eyes on me and his heart calling to me. When I go shopping, for a walk, or simply spend time at the library he's there with me. I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy. I can't explain the ties I feel tethering us together. Arcane? If you believe in that sort of thing. Definitely not mundane. But I know I am not wrong.

Golden light breaks through the curtains. In the distance dusk is setting in and the stars silently chase the sun toward the opposite horizon. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and sink my toes into the plush carpet.

That is why I have to do this. It's tonight or never. I glance around what was once our sacred space. His energy lingers, but he's gone. Oliver Stone is all but a ghost.

My lashes dip.

My jewel.

Those two whispered words push me into the bathroom and linger in my heart as I numbly turn the water to the hottest setting I can stand and step into the spray. Careful to keep my balance on the tiled flooring, I soap head to toe using my favorite lavender body wash. Remembering the headmistress' instructions, I gather the razor and touch up my bikini line, or what I can see of it, anyway. My legs are just as hard to reach around a six-month baby bump, but I manage.

I step from the warmth of the shower. Not letting my mind wander too far into the night's coming events, I focus on the cool marble beneath my feet instead. It grounds me to the present where it is safer. Steam coats an extended mirror stretching from one side of the large, spacious bathroom to the next. After I ease the dampness from my hair, I spread my makeup out on the vanity table.

Icy fingers dig into my chest. I raise my gaze to catch my reflection. Purple stains the space under my eyes and I look like I could sleep for a month. The color has left my cheeks and let's be real for a second. My breasts are twice their normal size and my back aches. I would rather be curled up in bed right now.

I square my shoulders and try to keep the frown off my face. "You have two options," I chastise myself. "Give up or fight." Gray-blue eyes stare back at me, and I can not only feel the determination welling inside me, I can see it too. The silvery glitter of the steel slipping into my resolve is hard to miss this close to a massive mirror.

A tiny foot kicks at my middle, and I rest a hand over my belly. "Yeah, mommy isn't a quitter."

I reach for my foundation and my powder. Red lipstick pairs well with smokey eyes and kohl. Done with the first phase, I dry and style my hair in hanging curls that brush down the length of my back and play over the tips of my breasts.

Cold seeps into my bones, but I push the accompanying emptiness aside and focus. Tonight determines the rest of my life. I can't fuck this up.

"As good as it gets," I murmur to the empty space. I take a calming breath and step from the bathroom. Someone has turned on the remaining lamps in either corner and the chandelier hanging from the center of the room. Its massive size throws a warm glow over the large chamber.

Oliver's staff operate like clockwork. He keeps them like he does me. At arm's length with money showing up in an account to pay the monthly expenses. I'm not sure if that makes me the prisoner or him. With any luck, I'll find the answer to that and many more questions where I am going.

Carpet replaces black marble. I drop my towel on a settee and cross my empty bedroom to find a garment bag on my bed with a note resting on top.

This is all you will be required to wear for the night. Take care to place the ribbon correctly. — HM

"HM," I read the two-letter signature aloud. Headmistress.

"Ribbon, huh?" I move a questionable look to the bag and cautiously unzip the leather to find…

My brows draw up high and I admit this is not what I expected when the Headmistress said my apparel would be provided.

"This is a joke. Right? There's an actual dress in the garment bag. Right?" I hold up a ribbon that cannot possibly cover anything remotely the size of my belly.

"There has to be instructions. A magic word I drop and more cloth shows up magically."

I turn back to the bag, take out the large velvet robe and sure enough find a small diagram of how I'm supposed to turn myself into a wrapped gift.

There's a light timbre coming from my bedside table. Two rings and I answer the incoming call to my cell phone.

"I thought there would be clothes in the garment bag."

There's a sweet laugh, and then the line falls quiet for a moment. "Gift wrapping is clothes if you consider the point of view. But really, Amethyst, dear. Don't you like the color? I thought for sure purple velvet would be your thing?"

I get a lot of jokes involving my name, but this is a new one. My eyes fall closed again and I swallow the building knot forming in my throat. "I didn't realize you possessed a sense of humor, Headmistress." I hate she makes me, and the other women call her that, but I guess in the large scheme of things a name doesn't matter. It's what the person can do for you that counts.

"You have no idea, dear," the older lady deadpans over the phone's speaker. "Follow the instructions. Don't take long. My driver will be there in half an hour to collect you. Did you do the self-care as instructed?"

I shake the unease away and chalk it up to nerves. "Yes. Did you send the invitation?"

"Good. The amount of money your buyer will end up paying demands you be the picture of perfection."

I resign myself to the fact that Club Rituals' headmistress doesn't mean to sound as abrasive as she comes off, but her haughty tone leaves me feeling stabby all the same.

"My question, Headmistress."

"Yes, yes. The invitation was sent. Now we wait."

I brush off her irritation with me. She can suck it up. My name is bringing in the high rollers to the club's auction and she knows it. I'm putting the freshly remodeled and revamped club on the underground map. Sure, it could all blow up in my face but focusing on the positive here.

"I don't like my word being questioned. I will never go back on a deal, Mrs. Stone. You would do well to remember that. Or else..."

"Or else nothing. You know as well as I do that you will be earning a nice commission for your help this evening. I think I am allowed a question or two." I match her icy, heartless tone. I don't feel the need to reiterate my stance on a contract that is already signed, but maybe we both need a little reassurance of where the other stands.

Silence and then a calm voice filters through the earpiece. "Amethyst, if he doesn't show up, you are contract bound to see this through, dear. Remember that. I'm helping you just as much as you are helping me."

I don't agree, but I keep my thoughts under a tight lid.

"I understand the conditions. My body for a night in exchange for five hundred million dollars in your coffers to whoever might win the bid."

Her laughter, soft as it is, drives nails into my ears. "Let's see how much that husband of yours wants to keep you. There are many of Chicago's underground elite who would pay double that to fuck a kingpin's wife."

Acid over my freshly-ripped-out heart would hurt less than the truth of the old lady's slicing words.