My heart pounds and adrenaline fills my veins. I haven’t been away from home all that long, but I miss the rush of doing runs with Smalls or my brother. Pulling out onto the street, I check the mirrors until I’m in the clear. The sweat from my palms has started to dry by the time I pull into an old side street close to my destination. I’m not about to risk driving into the pub’s car park.
The adrenaline has worn off and paranoia sets in. I chastise myself; what’s the worst that can happen? I get expelled and sent home? Good. Isn’t that kind of the point? I expect that I could have avoided all of this by just stealing the car and deliberately getting caught. But if I’m being honest, I want to hurt my mother, and part of me is pissed that she can be a mother to those boys, but not to me. It’s fucked up. So yeah, if I actually manage to seduce this Sawyer guy, bonus. I want to fucking hurt her and tear her perfect little world apart.
I might be tough on the outside but deep down every girl should have their mother. Chelsea, for the past seven years, has been a mother to me. Her and my father got hitched last year. Their being together is another reason why Smalls and I could never be more than friends; Chelsea took him in when his parents got involved with drugs and couldn’t take care of him. Smalls loves her so much that he would never do anything to jeopardise that, and I get it. She even accepted Aadi and I as her own, so I’m not prepared to mess with our family dynamic. I sigh, realising how much I miss home. I can’t believe I have to go to stupid ‘family’ meals once a week just for the privilege of being able to contact my actual family. The irony that my own mother is doing for the Knox boys what Chelsea did for me and Aadi isn’t lost on me, but those boys don’t need a mother. They have one. Admittedly, she’s a shitty, stuck up, bitchy one. But a mother nonetheless. They don’t need mine. I need her. Needed. I’m just fine without her now.
I shake my head and clear my thoughts. Focus, Amelie. I need to go inside and get this party started. I’m going to get myself sent home; I just hope that tonight is enough. How many of my step-brothers will I be forced to fuck before Mummy and Step-daddy dearest see fit to send me away? Only time will tell.
Chapter Four
Sawyer
I grind my teeth as I wait impatiently for Jessica Hart to show up. I didn’t want to meet with her, but she’s persistent as fuck, and she caught me at a weak moment after grinding me down for weeks. I’m just not interested in dating a fellow teacher. I’m not interested in dating anyone. Especially not a woman who’s only after one thing: my money.
I don’t know how she figured out that I’m rich, but I swear she sniffed it out like a bloodhound. There shouldn’t have been any clues to give it away: I was adopted by the Knox family; I work as a teacher on a pittance of a salary; and I drive a beat-up old rust-bucket. So how the fuck did she figure it out? I don’t think for a second that she’s actually interested in me as a person. She’s certainly never shown any interest in me – just in trying to take me out – so I doubt she’s genuine. I also can’t work out why she’s a teacher, because she seems to hate kids. Thinking about it, I realise that actually, I can’t stand the woman.
I sigh and check my watch. She’s twenty minutes late. I’ll give her another ten, then I’m out of here. May as well enjoy another beer first though, it’s not often I get into the local village for a drink, especially on a school night.
I’ve just ordered and got my pint, raising it to my lips ready to enjoy Tom the barman’s best local brew, when I hear the door bang. I turn to scowl at Jessica, ready to give her hell for being late, when my eyes widen in shock. It’s not Jessica who just walked in.
This girl is beautiful. And it’s like Sam Hunt's song playing in the background really is her theme song because her body is a back road. She’s wearing tight black jeans with rips, and a low-cut form-fitting black top that’s exposing a generous cleavage. She doesn’t look slutty or desperate though, just confident and comfortable with her body. I appreciate her style, and the view. Her hair is loose, in long dark curls that spiral far down her back, and her makeup accentuates her full pouty kissable lips. But even without the clothes, and the hair, and the makeup, she’d still look gorgeous. There’s a natural beauty underneath and a vulnerability despite the tough glint in her eyes. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on me, she smiles softly.
“Hey.” She saunters up to me with bags of confidence, but it’s attractive, not cocky.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I offer. It doesn’t look like Jessica’s coming. But if she does turn up and sees me with this girl, she might finally get the message and clear off once and for all.
“Sure.” She grins at me. She has a really nice smile. There’s an...innocence to her under the confidence. I like that too.
“Can I see some ID please, miss?” the bartender asks. I mean, I’m all for the whole Challenge 25 initiative, but there’s no way this girl is under the legal drinking age of 18, so that’s just absurd.
I watch, amused, as she slides her ID over the counter towards the barman, who checks it, nods, and hands it back.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a bourbon,” she tells him, and my amusement grows. “What?” she demands playfully.
“I didn’t think you were the type to order a pink fizzy drink, but bourbon?”
“Make assumptions much, do you?” She stares at me then quips, “Pink and fizzy goes with my other outfit.”
I chuckle and then point to a booth in the far corner. It’s dark and cosy.
“Shall we grab a seat?”
I point for her to lead the way so that I can follow and watch her ass as she goes. As my cock stirs, I think maybe that wasn’t such a great idea.
“So, are you local? I’ve not seen you in here before,” I ask her.
“New to town. You?” she replies.
“I’m originally from out of town, but I work at the school.”
“At the local high school?” She frowns.
“No. Besides, we call it secondary school here. No, I work at the private school. Knox Academy,” I tell her.
“Oh. I’ve not heard of it.”
“Not many people have,” I tell her gently.
“How did you come to work there, then?”
“I actually used to go there as a student.”
“So you had an affluent upbringing?” she asks, and I laugh.
“No, not at all. It’s not that kind of private school. It’s more of a... reform place. For troubled teens.”
“Oh! That explains why I haven't heard of it then.” She giggles.
“Quite,” I reply. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but I don’t often meet people that I have to spill my past to. I guess I don’t have to tell this girl my story, but something has me wanting to. “What’s your name? I’m Sawyer by the way.”
“Amelie,” she replies. “So, teaching…” she prompts.
“Well, let’s just say the school worked wonders on me. I fully reformed and I was so grateful to those who helped me change, that I decided I wanted to do the same. I got my teaching certificate and came straight back to try to help others.”