No?
How about some day-old cop coffee?
Or some freaking tap water?
Do you not have water pipes in this stupid place?
Or anything?
No?
Fuck you, good cop.
And the rest of them.
Just fuck you.
I sigh and slump in my seat, a hard plastic chair that is totally unforgiving after five hours of slouching in it.
At least they uncuffed me.
I don’t look dangerous.
If they only knew.
Idiots.
If I was anyone else, I would want more than anything right now to go home and be done with this bad dream that is my life. But I’m not anyone else.
I’m me, Mary Angerman.
I don’t have a home.
All I want to do is get the F out of here.
You know how I told you at the beginning that “they” say you can’t run away from your problems?
Welp, guess what?
“They” are wrong.
Running away is the only thing you can do.
As soon as I have a chance, I’m running the F out of here. I swear to all that is holy, the next time a deputy or a detective opens the interrogation room door, I am running past whoever it is and never looking back. If they try to grab me, I will start biting hands and kicking man balls and/or lady balls (thank you for teaching me that trick, Emily Calhoun and your reptile friends) until whoever it is lets go. Then I will run out of this damn building and into the darkness. Screw the infrared cameras on their stupid helicopters. I am out, no matter what they try and do.
Bye, bitches!
Am I blustering?
You bet your ass I am.
It’s all I have left.
Next stop, women’s prison.
I’ll—
((((pitch black))))
((((pain))))
((((it hurts!))))
((((please not again!))))
—deal.
Loud muffled sounds from outside the door startle me. They soundproof these rooms so I can’t hear anything clearly, but it’s people talking. No, shouting. The shouting continues for almost five minutes until someone rips the interrogation room door open an inch.
I gasp.
Something slams the door closed from outside before I see who it is.
I gasp again.
More shouting and now bumping.
The door opens again.
“I don’t give a fuck what you think, Sheriff Clemmons!” Prince Lancaster shouts. “I am taking her with me! You and your deputies can go fuck yourselves!”
“I can’t let you go in there, Mr. Lancaster!” someone says from the hallway.
“Talk to my fucking lawyers!” Prince roars before barging through the interrogation room door.
Behind him, I see who I assume is Sheriff Clemmons surrounded by an intimidating army of lawyers wearing power suits and looking eminently badass and fully equipped to fight the greatest legal battle of all time. Standing amongst them are Duke and Chase, both of them pushing toward the door to my interrogation room. As for any deputies, I don’t see a single one. There isn’t room in the crowded hallway.
Still wearing his winter formal tuxedo, Prince forces his way inside the interrogation room first. When he sees me, relief calms his furious and slightly frightened face. “Mary! I thought I’d lost you!” He strides over to me, arms open.
I jump up from my chair and rush into his hug.
He hugs back hard, whispering in my ear and kissing my cheek repeatedly, desperately, “This is all my fault, Mary. I never should’ve lied to you. I am such an idiot. You don’t deserve this. If I hadn’t been such a self-centered fucking asshole, you wouldn’t be here right now. I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Yes, Prince! Yes!”
When we kiss, it’s heaven.
No, it’s home.
<(—)>
Twenty minutes later, I am a free woman.
That’s right, woman.
I’m only sixteen, I know, but they were going to try me as an effing adult. That makes me a woman in my book, and this is my effing book, so screw anyone who disagrees.
<(—)>
My three kings walk me out the front doors of the sheriff’s office into the parking lot. The sun has just crested the eastern hills, coating everything in a golden glow. Behind us, the army of lawyers start to filter out after us and head for their cars. Mercedes and BMWs that weren’t here when I arrived. I also see a white limousine. It’s Prince’s. Not a valiant white stallion, but close enough.
“I told you I got this,” Duke chuckles beside me.
“No, we got this,” Chase emphasizes with a sly smile.
“We did, didn’t we?” Prince grins, his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close.
“You did,” I giggle, smiling so hard it hurts.
It’s a good hurt.
I sniff back tears and snort a happy laugh, “You guys, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, Mary,” Prince soothes, kissing the top of my head affectionately. “You’ve had a long night. Now it’s time for you to go home and sleep.”
“Home?” I say hopefully. “Which home?”
Prince John grins, “Castle Hill Academy. Where else?”
I cringe.
No.
No, no, no, no!
Why does that sound so wrong?
Why do I suddenly feel like I’m his prisoner?
Because I am!
I am Prince’s fucking prisoner!
He leads me to his waiting white limousine and opens the back door for me.
My hands are shaking insanely as I reach for the doorframe.
I’m about to shatter, I’m so afraid of what comes next.
What have I gotten myself into?
This is messed up!
I should run!
Run, Mary!
Run!
Loud sounds at the end of the parking lot startle me.
Four black motorcycles roll to a stop on the main road.
Four black-clad men straddle them.
They wear black helmets, visors down.
Their blank-faced helmets are looking at me.
I can feel their eyes prying into my heart.
Rob and his not so merry men.
I swear I feel them seething.
Their engines rev angrily and they roar into the morning.
<(—)>
Is that it?!?!
Is that the effing cliffy ending we’re left with, Devon?!
Don’t worry, I’m already writing Book 2. :-)
Anywho, thank you so much for reading Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys, the Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy. It means the world to me. While you’re still here, can I ask you to leave a review on Amazon? Every review matters, but yours means the most. :-) Here’s the link:
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys on Amazon
If you’re dying to find out when the next book is out, make sure you go to Devon’s author page on Amazon and click the yellow “Follow” button under his smugly smirking mug here:
Follow Devon Hartford on Amazon
If you want to chit chat with Devon about what’s next for Mary, or rail on him about how he left you hanging on the edge of a mile-high cliff over a pool of hungry alligators who want to chomp on your heart like Devon so ruthlessly did with the ending of this book, join his Facebook group here and tell him what’s what:
Devon Hartford’s Heartbreakers
Lastly, if you’d like an email telling you when Book 2 of The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy drops (that’s hip lingo for “is available for purchase”), sign up for Devon’s newsletter here:
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Devon Hartford Newsletter
Warning: Fearless contains adult sexual situations that are consensual. All characters are age 18 or over.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Devon Hartford spent most of his life in Southern California. Devon also paints. His background in the arts was the inspiration for his #1 bestselling romantic comedy series The Story of Samantha Smith.
OTHER BOOKS BY DEVON HARTFORD:
COLLEGE ROMANTIC COMEDY
Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1)
Reckless (The Story of Samantha Smith #2)
Painless (The Story of Samantha Smith #3)
NEW ADULT ROMANTIC COMEDY
Cover Model
Stealing Chastity
HIGH SCHOOL ROMANTIC COMEDY
Stepbrother Obsessed
ADULT ROMANTIC COMEDY
Taking Back Beautiful
Broken Lion
SLIGHTLY PARANORMAL ROMANCE
If I Were Beautiful (If I Were… #1)
BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE
ONE YEAR LOVE - Part One
ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Two
ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Three
ONE YEAR LOVE - Part Four
ONE YEAR LOVE - Collected Edition (Parts 1-4)
ROCKER ROMANCE
Victory RUN 1 (The Story of Victory Payne)
Victory RUN 2 (The Story of Victory Payne)
Victory RUN 3 (The Story of Victory Payne)
Victory RUN 1-2-3 (The Story of Victory Payne - Collecting Parts 1-2-3)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A HUGE thanks to:
Jackie Barnett for her usual genius
Jessie Duchannes for all things Sailor Moon.
Bethanie “The Typo Hammer” Melander for killing those typos
Her Highness Samantha Sheeley, Queen of All Typos and Ouster of Oopsies!
Michele McKenzie for equally all-star eagle-eyed typo-snyping.
For last minute typo-snyping of the highest order and in the face of great personal danger, I award a Typo Heart to the recently promoted Brigadier General Melanie Starr, the one and only Comma Bomber, who saved this mission from certain disaster at the 11th hour, but not without significant personal sacrifice on her part. General, I salute you!
The HUGEST thanks to all my passionate and fantastic sneaky peeking readers: Hayley Picknell, Maria Combee, Sarah Patton, Sarah Lintott, Natasha Slater, Tamara, Muriel Garcia, Elizabeth P., Lynn Walters, Megan Christmas, Mandy Jamerson, Clare Harrison, Dr. Ooooh!!!!, Kimber, Sandy England, Nicki HH, Sarah Frost, Ashley Hall, Julez, Mandy Karsa, Anna Lamonica, Michelle Crane, Paula DeBoer, Jessica Janis, Esther Blair, Ellie, Lori L Roberson, Deanna Dodge, Lisa Venn Sims, Jessica Laws, The REAL Julie England, Genice Cassidy, Mylinda Powell, Erika Jackson, Kim Byrd, Brandi Morrone, Rosanne Triegaardt, Tina Lewis, Meghean Alejandro, STEFFINI R WALKER (she’s not shouting but I am), Meledy Blumberg, Lori JoRay, Sade, Melissa Seay, Cyndi Dieter, Lynn Walters, and The Ever Special Mel Bushell for invaluable feedback and encouragement! You guys rock the typo sauce!
Last but most of all, a thousand GINORMOUS thank-yous to everybody else who helped make this book a reality!
Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103 Page 43