Pretty Rich Boys

part iii.

The East Hampton Police Department was a quaint little building. The cell was cozy...if you take away the metal bars, cold cement floors and brick walls. Sure, so cozy. 

I pull my knees up to my chest and hug them, the heels of my sandals resting on the edge of the bench. I stare through the bars of the cell at the near empty police department. I mean, it was only fitting since it was almost midnight. 

There were only me and four other boys in the cell—the only ones stupid enough to get arrested at a party which most of Briarwood Prep attended. 

It was also just my luck that all four boys had hit the genetic jackpot and were literal, walking, breathing gods. But I was fine—totally fine—I wasn't freaking out about anything—I can totally deal with their superior looks—what's there to freak about about—I'm totally fine—

I start mentally screaming point five of a second later. 

My gaze drifts across the small cell and locks with a pair of golden green eyes. Golden green eyes that looked like they would find great enjoyment in killing me and sending my remains back to my father in a cute little gift wrapped box. 

He sat in the direct opposite corner to me, arms folded across his chest as he leans back against the wall. His clenched jaw moves and I could hear the crack of his teeth as he grits them. I think I flinched. I mean, I'm not even sure if I was breathing anymore I was that scared. 

"You're scaring her, Scott." The blonde boy seated a good two metres from him laughs as my gaze flickers to him. I remember him from the party, he was the one who I asked about the bathroom. He was also the one that sent me to my doom. 

I will never get the image of what happened in that study out of my head. Never. 

I swallow and straighten my hunched shoulders, "I'm not scared."

"Don't worry, he's just throwing himself a little pity-party because he got arrested." Mr Blondie continues as he flashes me a smile that I bet would drop panties in a hundred-mile radius. Not mine though, the blue dinosaurs are too embarrassing. "It's not like it hasn't happened before. Right Scotty?" 

"Getting arrested wasn't on my schedule for tonight." The dude, Scott I'm assuming, grumbles as he stares down at his lap. 

Wait—Scott. Now that name rings a bell. It couldn't be the same 'Scott' Violet was talking about right? My good ol' pal Karma wouldn't do that to me right? 

Oh what the hell, of course she would. 

"Is it ever on anyone's schedule?" A new voice scoffs and I glance at the guy seated at the end of my bench. He was reclined back against the wall, his eyes closed and dark, ashy hair fell over his forehead. 

"Shut the fuck up, Quinn." Scott grumbles again and I frown slightly. Does this dude only know how to grumble? Is it impossible for him to speak clearer and with a little more pep. Jeez, it wouldn't kill anyone.