Page 6 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

“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.

Maddison

My mom screwed me over.

It took about two hours of me sitting in the cell to realize this, but I tried to deny it for another hour. At the stroke of midnight, however, my carriage of denial melted into infuriating reality.

This is only confirmed when Officer James walks by my cell, and I ask him if my mother has shown up at all. He tells me he’ll check, and when he returns, the look on his face says it all.

“She hasn’t yet.” He stands in front of the cell with pity in his eyes, which is the second time I’ve seen that look tonight. “Maybe she went to the wrong station. It happens sometimes.”

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