2. Maddison

Maddison

A ll jails smell the same, like urine and body odor, but with an over-masking scent of pungent lemon air freshener. Someone is usually coughing, too, either because they’re sick or they smoke too much—it could be either or.

My dad used to get arrested frequently, for all sorts of various things, like public intoxication, assault, and drug possession. My mother would bail him out, and he rarely got much jail time. However, three months ago, when he was arrested, he apparently had enough drugs on him that police were able to give him a trafficking charge. My father insisted he was being set up, and my mother wasted what little money we had on a lawyer for him. It didn’t work, and the only thing he could do to not spend a long time in jail was narc.

“What’re you in here for? Wait, let me guess, you stayed out past curfew,” a woman with overly bleached hair and wearing a tight, neon pink dress mocks me as she scoots closer to me on the metal bench I’ve been sitting on for the last several hours, waiting to get my one phone call.

“Nah, it was for killing a hooker.” I scoot away from her because she smells like my house, and that’s not a good thing.

She stares at me with her bloodshot eyes, confused at first, but then she laughs. “You’re funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mumble, putting more distance between us.

Her eyes narrow at me as her lips part. “You really don’t want to start something with me, little girl. I got people out there that can make ya disappear.”

“They’ll have to get in line.” With that, I drag my ass off the bench and wander over toward the bars at the front of the cell.

An instant later, a younger officer with short brown hair approaches the area. “Maddison Averly?”

I perk up at that. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He reaches for the keys that are clipped to the waistband of his belt. “You get one phone call.”

“It’s about damn time,” I grumble, eliciting a scowl from him. “Sorry.” I offer him a smile, to which seems to relax him a smidgeon.

“I’m Officer James,” he tells me as he opens the door, the hinges creaking. “I’m going to take you to the phone so you can go call your mom or dad or whoever. While talking to them, make sure to have them come bail you out. It should only take a couple of hours to get everything done.”

“Thanks.” I pretend it’ll be that easy, when it won’t. At all. Not only because my mother will likely be drunk, so she’ll have to sober up first, but she’s probably broke. I have some money, but that means letting her know where I keep my stash of cash, and that could lead to a whole other set of problems.

After the officer shuts the door, he steers me past other barred cells, heading toward the front of the prison.

As I’m going over what I should say to my mother in my head, something in one of the cells captures my attention. Or, well, not something, but two guys to be exact.

They look close to my age and are absolutely gorgeous, but that’s not what has me staring at them. No, it’s the fact that every single detail about them screams that they’re royals, which is what everyone in the city calls people from the southside.

I’ve lived on the poor side of the city for so many years that I rarely catch a glimpse of any royals. It’s not even that that has me gawking at them. It’s seeing two guys dressed in designer clothes, sitting next to men who are covered in grime and dirt, and one even has blood all over his shirt.

The two of them are night and day; one with hair paler than sunlight and the other has hair like the midnight sky. Where one is dressed in a button-down shirt, dress pants, and stylish sneakers, the other is sporting a black shirt, dark jeans, boots to die for, and a leather jacket that probably costs more than my mother’s, father’s, and everyone else’s cars whom I know. They’re also both wearing watches that sparkle even against the shitty lighting of the cell, and while the blond guy is smiling, the other has a grimace set so deeply into his expression I doubt it ever leaves his face.

However, despite their difference, their facial features bear resemblance, particularly the full lips and thick, dark eyelashes, so they are probably related. Not that I care. I’m merely fascinated, like when looking at panda bears in a zoo. Well, if panda bears could make intense eye contact, which the one with the dark hair suddenly does while the blond one keeps yammering away at him.

“I still can’t believe we’re in jail.” Blondie laughs while shaking his head. “This is so wild. I mean, no one at school will believe us when we tell them. It’ll make a hell of a story.”

The dark-haired guy looks bored as hell—or annoyed. It’s hard to tell. “We don’t need to tell anyone.” He keeps staring at me with his smoky-gray eyes. “And the only reason we’re in here is because, like usual, you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

I feel like he’s daring me to look away, which is why I don’t.

“Wait right here, and when he’s done, make your call. You’ll have five minutes, and then it’ll cut you off,” Officer James suddenly says as he comes to a stop.

I blink my eyes away from the gray ones and realize we’ve reached the payphone that’s against the concrete wall, across from the cell the rich guys are in. A middle-aged, bald man, who looks like an accountant, is currently using it.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he’s saying, “but I can’t call Nadine, because she told me if I did it again, she’d file for a divorce.” He starts to cry as he turns his back to me. “I don’t ever mean to do it. I just can’t help it … I’m so messed up. She was just so beautiful, and I …” He starts crying even louder. “I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

Great, he’s a cheater, and he’s on something.

God, this is so awkward, but the officer appears content about leaving me standing here as he wanders over to another officer, who I think was here the last time I got arrested, and starts chatting about the upcoming football season.

I slant against the wall and pretend like I can’t feel gray eyes staring at me, watching me for whatever reason.

“I know, but I …” The middle-aged man starts sobbing with his head lowered. “Please, Mommy Bear.”

I side-eye him and pull a face. Mommy Bear? What the hell is this guy’s damage?

As he keeps babbling and crying, I sneak a glance in gray eyes’ direction and, yep, sure enough, he’s still looking at me. And his brother is still talking.

Dude’s a total Chatty Kathy.

“Come on, River; you have got to quit sulking about this shit, or this year will suck.” He slumps back against the wall and loosens the red tie around his neck. “I know you’re still upset about everything that went down, but this emo shit-funk you’ve been in is starting to be a real downer.” Something Blondie says triggers gray eyes—who Blondie called River—and his nostrils flare. He starts to look away from me when his brother asks, “And what the hell are you even looking at back there?” He twists around and glances over. His eyes are bright blue, and he has a small scar underneath his eye that seems oddly out of place with the flawless appearance of the rest of him. When he spots me, a smile touches his lips. “Aw, the staring makes sense now.”

Great, I’ve drawn way more attention than I prefer.

I could look away, but that’s not how I roll. No, if I look away, this guy will think I’m intimidated by him. So, I carry his gaze and cross my arms.

He smirks, and then the dickhead winks at me.

I roll my eyes then pull a face, which causes his forehead to crease and a shocked sort of laugh to escape his lips. Then he gets up, makes his way over to me, and wraps his fingers around the bars as he smiles at me.

He’s tall, but I am, too, so that’s saying a lot. If I had to guess, I’d assume he was almost six inches taller than me, putting him at around six-foot-four.

“You know, I think that might be the first time anyone has returned my charming smile with a dirty look,” Blondie says, appearing more pleased by this than he should.

“Well, since you’re so clueless about the look, I’ll let you in on the interpretation. It wasn’t an open invitation for you to talk to me,” I reply, propping my boot up against the wall. “It was the opposite.”

He drags his teeth along his bottom lip. “I’m betting that mouth of yours got you in here.”

“Better my mouth than what’s between my legs,” I say sweetly, recalling how River said something about them being in here because Blondie couldn’t keep it in his pants.

His brows rise toward his hairline, his lips parting in shock. Then he hastily composes himself and opens his mouth to say who the hell knows what—I never find out because River speaks first.

“Finn, sit your ass back down,” he demands from the bench as he slants back and stares up at the ceiling. He isn’t even looking in our direction, but irritation is flowing off of him. “Before you end up getting us into more trouble.”

Finn arches a brow at me, that haughty grin still present. “I think that’s my brother’s way of saying you look like trouble.”

“Your brother’s smart,” I inform him. “Because I am a huge pain in the ass and a load of trouble.”

He eyes me over, and the smirk broadens. “Maybe, but you look like the fun kind of trouble.”

“I’m not,” I assure him. I’m also well aware that this guy is flirting with me. I’ve been hit on more than my fair share of times, but having a royal flirt with me is definitely new. “I’m the more boring kind of trouble.” I trace my finger across my chest in an X pattern. “Cross my heart.”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

I internally sigh. I’m trying to get him to be annoyed with me, yet I’m somehow doing the exact opposite.

“Why did you get put in here, for reals?” he wonders, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“For castrating a royal.” I smirk when he visibly winces.

“I think you’re lying.”

“Then why did you wince?”

“Because you said the word castration,” he replies in all seriousness. “All guys have a physical reaction to that word. Even castrated ones.”

I almost laugh and, holy shit, I don’t like that at all. I do not need to be laughing at some rich guy, even if he’s funny, and gorgeous, and charming. But that’s the thing. The charm is fake. I’ve heard stories about royal men slipping into the shadows of the northside and wining and dining women from there, only to ditch them once they’ve used them up. I’ve even heard stories about them knocking women up then disowning the baby. My aunt Ellie told me that happened to her friend and said it destroyed her. She had to give the baby up for adoption and everything because she couldn’t afford to take care of her and had no support system.

I try to come up with some snotty response that hopefully gets him to leave me alone, but come up empty.

Fortunately, the middle-aged man hangs up the phone. He faces me with tears streaming down his face and snot running out of his nose. “I think my marriage is over.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll have your Mommy Bear.” I push away from the wall.

I don’t feel bad for being rude. My dad has cheated on my mom more times than I can count, and it’s turned her into a shell of a human being. I used to wish she’d leave him—and I still do—but I’m trying to disconnect with the situation because I’ve spent way too many years and energy trying to convince her to, and it’s gotten me nowhere.

Tears bubble in his eyes that are bloodshot and shadowed, and he reeks of booze and smoke. Everything about him screams strung out, and I hate the familiarity of his presence.

“You’re a bitch. You know that?” he spits, stepping toward me.

I keep my feet planted on the floor. “So I’ve been told.”

He balls his hands into fists—to hit me, perhaps—but I never get to find out since Officer James returns.

“Gary,” he says to the middle-aged man, “your time’s up. Let’s get you put back in the cell.”

“But I don’t wanna go in there,” he whines while tugging at the bottom of his shirt, like a toddler about to have a tantrum. “It smells bad.”

“You smell just like it,” Officer James assures him, causing me to snort a laugh.

When Officer James glances at me, I offer him an apologetic look, like I did before. It wins him over again, and he tries not to smile before urging the middle-aged guy—aka Gary—toward the barred door to the cell the royals are in.

Lucky them.

Tearing my attention off the cell, I pick up the phone and, with a deep breath, dial my mom’s cell.

“Please pick up. Please pick up,” I mumble, crossing my fingers.

If she doesn’t, I’m so screwed since it’s Friday night and all my friends will more than likely be too wasted to come down. My aunt Ellie lives outside the country and is unreachable, and I don’t know my other relatives. And Kelsie, who I consider my best friend, took off a handful of weeks ago with this guy who has a warrant out for his arrest. She says he’s the love of her life, but she’s flakey when it comes to guys. I know she’ll be back eventually?—

“Hey … who is this?” my mom answers the phone, and I immediately sense she’s been drinking.

“This is Maddy, Mom.” I pause. “Are you drunk?” I lower my head against the wall. The concrete is cold against my skin and is likely covered in all sorts of gross substances, but it fits the moment.

“Nah, I’ve just had a few beers. That’s all,” she insists.

“Well, you sound drunk,” I mumble, noting the music playing in the background. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the bar,” she replies. “But I’ve only been here for like an hour. I promise I’m not that drunk.”

“Okay.” I’m not sure if I believe her, but I need to get bailed out, and she doesn’t sound completely drunk, so she’s probably my best bet. “I need a favor from you, and it needs to be done quickly.”

“What’s wrong?” she instantly asks. “You didn’t run into that gang, did you? The one that’s upset with your father because they think he got their boss in trouble.”

The way she says “they think” makes my lips twitch. She’s always so delusional when it comes to my father, but now’s not the time to get into this with her.

“I did, actually,” I tell her. “They didn’t hurt me or anything, but I got arrested.”

“Shit, did you hit someone again?”

“Only because they were holding me against my will.”

“Dammit, Mads, why do you have to keep doing this?” She has the audacity to scold me. “I thought you learned the first time that you can’t get into fights. You have to be more careful.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Go to your state of Zen.

Think of running. And fresh air. And open space.

“Can you come bail me out?” I ask.

She hesitates. “I don’t have the money, hon. You might have to wait this out.”

“I can’t wait it out, Mom. I have work tomorrow and school stuff to deal with.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

She says this all the time, even though she’s never given me a dime. Even when I was a child, she’d often send me to the corner of the street to beg for money. When things got really bad, I’d turn to stealing, something I’m not proud of. The moment I turned fifteen, though, and was of legal age to become employed, I got a job, and it was a relief.

“I know that, but you’re always able to come up with money to bail Dad out,” I remind her. “Can’t you just use your car title to get a bail bond?”

“Oh, I took a loan out on that a few weeks ago, so I can’t.”

I feel like banging my head against the wall. “For what?”

“Just for stuff,” she replies as someone says something to her. She laughs, and it’s like nails on a chalkboard. “Look, I’m really sorry you’re in jail, but I can’t bail you out, so …”

I shut my eyes and breathe in and out. “Look, I have some money stashed away, and I’ll tell you where it is, but you have to swear that you’ll only take the amount to bail me out because the rest of it is for my school expenses. If you take any extra, I swear I’ll disown you and never talk to you or help you again.”

“Jesus, Mads, what kind of mother do you think I am?” She sounds appalled, as if she’s conveniently forgotten the multiple times she’s screwed me over.

“I’m serious, Mom,” I warn. “Don’t take anything extra than five hundred, which should be enough to bail me out.”

I’m unsure of what I’ll do after I get out, seeing as how I might face assault charges. Maybe I can talk to Drew and see if I can get him to drop the charges. It’s a long shot, but I do have some dirt on him that could help me, like how he steals some of the money from dealing. And if his boss finds out … well, Drew could end up in the canal with the trash. I wouldn’t tell his boss—I don’t want blood on my hands—but I could threaten to do so.

“I promise I won’t,” my mother reassures me, and I loathe the doubt plaguing my mind.

“The money is taped to the upper part of my top drawer,” I tell her, hoping I’m not making a mistake. I used to keep my cash in a checking account, but then my debit card got stolen while I was at school—twice—so I decided to hide my money and only carry a low amount on me. That way, if I ever get robbed, I won’t lose that much money. “It’s in a leather pouch. Take five hundred, and then put the rest back, okay?”

“Okay,” she tells me as the sounds in the background switches.

“And leave right now to do it,” I add.

“I’m taking off right now, hon. See you in a bit.” She hangs up.

And I’m left with this twisting sensation in my stomach that I’ve felt way too many times, but I do my best to disregard it, hang up the phone, and turn around to tell Officer James I’m ready to go back to the cell.

Finn has retaken his seat, but his attention is still on me, and a hint of pity is in his eyes, meaning he probably overheard that sad conversation that is my life. Whatever. Like I give a shit that some rich dude I’ll never see again heard me arguing with my mother about not robbing me.

River, however, has his head resting against the cement wall, and his eyes are shut. Is he seriously asleep right now? I mean … how? It smells, and it’s loud, and I think a guy inside his cell is peeing in the corner.

“You good?” Officer James appears in my line of vision.

I nod and force a smile onto my face. “Yeah, my mom’s heading down to get me.”

“Good.” He nods for me to follow him as he heads back toward the cell I was in. “Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”

I warily eye him over as I follow him. “Eighteen … Why?”

He holds up his hand. “I promise I’m not being a pervert. It’s just that you look like you’re around the age you should be going to college, but you’re in here, and I’m wondering why.”

“You act like there aren’t a lot of eighteen-year-olds that come in here,” I point out. “This is northside—over half the people my age have probably been in here, if not more.”

“I know, but you don’t have that same roughness to you that a lot of others have.” He stops in front of the cell door. “My partner back there says you’ve been arrested before, but that he doesn’t think you’re a bad kid. That you’ve just been dealt a bad hand.”

“Mmm … A bad hand? Is that what this nightmare of a life is?”

He sympathetically looks at me as he reaches for his keys. “Look, I’ve been there. I grew up in northside, too, but just because you were born into a shitty life, doesn’t mean you need to keep living it.” He pulls the door open.

This might be the first time I’ve ever liked a police officer.

“Thanks for the advice, Officer James.” I step into the cell. “Just so you know, I’m trying to not live this shitty life anymore. I’m going to college in just a few days, then I’m out of this city.”

His lips tug into a smile. “Good for you, kid. I hope everything works out for you.”

Me, too, James; me, too.

Right now, though, I’m just hoping my mother doesn’t screw me over.