Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
I stumbled to my phone and texted Elis again.
Devlynn: I know what happened. Please talk to me.
I sat on my bed, staring at my phone, willing a message to pop up, but nothing. I crawled into a fetal position, cradling my cell phone. I didn’t want to miss Elis if he tried to contact me. I tried to sleep. I closed my eyes and willed it. But my whole world was crumbling around me, and the only person I wanted to see was avoiding me.
At three in the morning, I finally heard a ping. My fingers fumbled with the phone, and I dropped it several times before I studied it in my hand.
Elis: I can’t do this. It’s over.
Chapter 15
Elis
“Hands up, you little fucker!” They drew their weapons at the same time I heard the words.
Two police officers with handguns and their eyes on me.
I broke into a sprint, tossing the near-empty can of paint into the nearest trash can, and bolted down a slim alleyway. I slipped between two buildings, leaped on top of a garbage dumpster, and prepared to launch myself across the fence when a baton landed on my ankle. The sound of crushing bones filled my ears.
Fuck. This is it.
“Little fucking punk. You the guy we been lookin’ for?”
I didn’t say a word, training my eyes on the ground as they handcuffed me and ducked me into the back of a cop car. My eyes were fixed on the water-streaked windows outside, and my heart sank when the cops started the engine and turned toward uptown.
I’d been tagging walls obsessively for the last few nights around the park, but off Fifth too. I’d spent some time in the East Village and Washington Square, but tonight was my riskiest move. Tonight, I’d tackled Wall Street.
Wall Street…my dad… All the excess it’d come to represent had culminated in my attempt to tag a window of the New York Stock Exchange—an amateur move.
By the time we reached the station, and I was tagged and booked and offered my first call, I did the only thing I could think to do. I called the woman who’d been there for me through everything.
Mom.
But she didn’t answer, and the officer cackled when I passed the phone back through the window. Then, I waited, annoyed at myself most of all. I curled up with the thin wool blanket, my head on the painted concrete bench, and planned my next move.
A cold voice rattled me from my sleep. “Brooks.”
“Yeah?” I shot up, instantly on alert, when I realized I was still behind bars. From Park Avenue prince to criminal.
“Someone made bail. You’re out for tonight. Don’t miss your hearing tomorrow morning, or your ass will be right back with me tomorrow night.”
I huffed, nailing him with a glare when the door swung wide, and he swept his fat arm to his side to gesture me out.
“Nothing but a rich little punk,” he gritted as I passed him.
“I’m not rich,” I seethed, my fist twitching with the need to show him how wrong he was. I pushed open the bulletproof doors and found myself at the front of the station.
“Elis?” I heard her voice before I saw her.
“Devlynn?” My eyes cast around until I found her. Drops of rain soaked her hair and made it cling to her shoulders like a drowned rat. She held her wet coat in her arms, her lips pressed together as she watched me with a concerned gaze.
“Are you okay?” She launched herself at me, and I had no choice but to hold her in my arms.
“I’m fine. Why are you here?”
“Your mom called me—she saw the caller ID when you called after booking and knew you were at the 5th Precinct. She said she couldn’t leave work. She apologized for interrupting my night but said I was the only one who could help you. I must admit, it was a little jarring when she called, but I’m glad she did.”
“Well, she was wrong.” I held her a little tighter. She was warmer than any blanket inside that concrete cell. “I don’t need anyone, but I’m glad you’re here.”
She held my face in her palms and shook her head as tears hovered in her eyes. “I couldn’t stop thinking there’d been some kind of accident or something horrible, but now I’m here”—she assessed my dirty clothes—“I can smell you from a mile away.”
I looped our fingers, bringing the underside of her wrist to my lips and breathing. “Caught red-handed.”
“It was bound to happen.” A small smile twitched on her lips before the receptionist thrust a stack of paperwork at me, along with my time to appear before the court tomorrow morning. “You should have a lawyer with you tomorrow.”
“Not worried about it,” I answered honestly.
I pushed the door of the police station open wide, and rain doused us in sheets before we lucked out and caught an empty cab passing by. We slipped inside the leathery cracked seat and huddled together for warmth.