Page 8 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

Seriously, what the heck is going on here?

“But you know who it is?”

He hesitantly nods. “I do. But legally, I can’t tell you.”

I stand in the doorway, stunned, with my jaw basically bitch-smacking the concrete. Who the hell would pay for my bail? I don’t even know anyone who could afford to.

“Don’t overthink it,” he tells me with a smile. “Just make the most of it, okay?”

I assess him. “Did you pay my bail?”

He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “Nah, I don’t have that kind of money. But I do know that when life hands you a good thing, you should be thankful and pay it forward, even if it is by doing something good with your own life.”

I assess him again then grin. “You really are a regular afterschool special, aren’t you, Officer James?”

He laughs as we make our way toward the exit.

As we pass by the men’s holding cell, I note the royals are gone. I’m not surprised. They were probably bailed out hours ago because they can afford it.

“Nah, I just like to try to remain positive. Life’s too short to let the dark shit eat you up, you know?” Officer James types in a passcode on the security box beside the thick exit door that leads to my sweet, blissful freedom. “I do hope I don’t see you again. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” I reply as the door beeps open. The chatter from the other side is like sweet music to my ears. “Because I feel the same way.” Then I step through the door, feeling lighter, which is weird considering I’m walking out of jail. But I’ve never had something like this happen to me, where I’m handed a freebie with no strings attached. And, while most of me is dubious that a catch is hidden in this gift, a tiny part of me wonders if I’m finally getting a break.

That positive outlook on life goes straight into the canal when I return home. My mom is MIA, and the house is quiet and a mess, like someone ransacked through everything. What they were looking for is beyond me since we own nothing but a holey sofa, a cracked kitchen table, and a few lamps. The only valuable item is my money, and it’s gone—all of it. My mom cleaned me out. She even stole all my change.

“Dammit.” I kick my wood-panel bedroom wall then slump to the floor. Between work and getting ready for school, cleaning up hasn’t been a priority, so clothes, makeup, shoes, and some food wrappers are scattered across the carpet.

I need to shower and clean the place up, but my mood and energy level are at zero. And not only over the money. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, so sleep deprivation is kicking in. I need to get some rest, but it’s not an option. Neither is cleaning. What I need is take a quick shower and come up with a starting point to begin my search for my mother dearest. Because, while there is a chance she may have spent all of my cash by now, if she hasn’t, I need to get it back. If I don’t, I can kiss going to college goodbye.

I grab a pair of clean, cut-off shorts, a tank top, a pair of underwear, and a bra before hurrying into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

The small space is also a mess, with toiletries and towels thrown everywhere, and a handful of pills have been dumped across the yellow-stained linoleum floor. The place looks like when my father would run out of drugs and desperately begin to rip the house apart in his strung-out state, convinced that he somehow accidentally forgot where he hid his stash. While I was the one who had to clean up afterward, I’d let him go on for as long as he wanted to since, once he gave up, he’d invest all of that restless energy into screaming and hitting me.

“Where’d you hide them?” he once screamed in my face. “I know you took them, Maddison! They don’t just disappear.”

I was eight years old and cowering in the corner of the living room by the floor lamp that he had just broken, hugging my knees to my chest, as if balling myself up would protect me. It didn’t. Nothing ever did. And a moment later, he smacked me across the face so hard my ears rang.

My chest ached, and my eyes burned, but I didn’t cry. In fact, I didn’t make a sound, not wanting to escalate the situation further.

He let out a scream with his hands balled to the side. “I hate this place, and I hate this family so much!” Then he reeled around and stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him with so much force a glass on the table fell onto the floor and shattered into pieces.

“What the hell did you do?” my mother asked, rushing into the living room. Her eyes were swollen, she had a welt on her cheek, and she curled her hands into fists as she assessed me and the broken glass. “Why do you have to bother him when he’s upset?” she shrieked, her face bright red, her eyes bloodshot. “Goddammit, Maddison, I told you to stay away from him.”

“He found me,” I pointed out, my tone hollow and familiar.

“Well, you should’ve hidden better.” She shook her head then looked at me with disgust. “Clean up the glass.” With that, she spun around and stormed into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Then I was alone. And while it was lonely, peace wrapped around me, like my lungs could thrive again.

Tearing myself from the memory, I climb into the shower and scrub my body down then wash my face and hair. I break record time and am hopping out less than five minutes later.

I hurriedly get dressed, not bothering to dry my hair or put makeup on. Then I collect my house keys and wallet with the plan to go to the bar that I believe my mother was at when I called her. If she’s not there, I’ll ask around and see if anyone saw her or heard her say anything that would offer me a clue as to where she went. As I slip my shoes on, though, someone knocks on the door.

Strange. People rarely stop by since my dad has been in jail.

I slowly get up from the sofa and go to the living room window, where the dusty curtain is drawn shut. Carefully, I pull it back and peek outside.

Standing near the front door of my apartment is a taller guy wearing a hoodie with the hood drawn over his head. While shadows mostly conceal his face, it’s clear the monstrosity of a figure has to be Drew.

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