Page 29 of Kings of Westbrook High

Chapter 11

Callie

Motherfucking pricks.

Leaning up on my hands, I watch with narrowed eyes when Damon's Lamborghini disappears into blackness while the old mansion burns to ashes and dust behind me.

Nice knowin’ you, punk.

Just then, the blue flashing lights appear on my right and I groan, tipping my head back to look at the stars a moment.

At least juvy's better than foster care.

The single cop car skids to a halt a few feet away from me and I roll my eyes, lifting my hands when two uniformed men jump out and raise their guns in my direction. Knowing I'm better off complying, I don't resist or run my mouth when the biggest of the two approaches me and tells me to keep my hands where he can see them and lie on my front. I do it and lock my jaw when he roughly handcuffs my hands behind my back. The other one slowly shines his torch over my form and stops at my feet when he eyes the Louis Vuitton wallet on the ground. It's not fucking mine but I don't bother telling him that. He leans over to grab it and his entire face lights up like a damn Christmas tree when he gets a look at the contents inside.

“Anonymous tip was right.” He grins, eyeing me over the driver’s license in his hand. “Callie Kingston. Seventeen. Lives in that big old penthouse of our very own Kingston Palace.”

My head pulls back.

Callie Kingston?

The fuck?

The two of them laugh and haul me up off the floor to drag me over to their car, pushing my head down to shove me inside the back seat. I remain silent on the twenty minute ride, pulling my brows in while I struggle to make sense of this unfortunate situation I've found myself in.

“What are you doing?” I ask the clearly corrupt officers, frowning when they pull up outside Kingston Palace.

The smaller one in the passenger seat turns to look at me, grinning with clear dollar signs in his eyes. “Taking you home, Miss Kingston.”

I glare at the idiot and slide my eyes to the front entrance, watching the large group of photographers gathered on the front steps.

The fucking press.

The cops step out to round the car and open my door for me, forcing serious expressions on their faces while they take one restrained arm each and drag me out. I squint a little when the flashes from the cameras blind my vision and a hundred questions are fired at me all at once.

“Is it true you're Callie Kingston?”

“Miss Kingston, can you confirm Katherine Kingston abandoned you at birth and left you in the care of your suicidal father?”

“Is it true you started a fire at the old Westbrook Mental Institution tonight to gain your stepfather's attention?”

So many fucking cameras and microphones are pointed my way that I don't know what to do or where to look, so I keep my eyes forward and keep walking through the crowd. Just then, two huge guys dressed in black suits and ties burst through the doors and come rushing down towards me. I immediately recognize the one on the left as Elijah's head of security. I've seen him around a couple times but I don't know his name. The two men form a solid wall to block me from the cameras and clear my path to the entrance. As soon as we're through the revolving doors, the vultures outside press their faces up against the windows but they make no move to follow.

“Don't look at them.” The head of security orders, clearly displeased with me.

I lock my jaw and face forward, pissed the fuck off and even more confused than before.It's clear the Kingston brothers called this in anonymously, notified the press and set this whole thing up to get rid of me for good, but why bother with all the dramatics and risk their own families' reputation when there are a hundred other ways they could have done it?

What's your game, boys?

“How mad is she?” I ask the other security guy who's just as huge but less mean looking.

“Very mad, Miss O'Conner.” He tells me, using his key card to open the elevator. “Mr Kingston's working to clean your mess as we speak. Your mother's upstairs waiting for you.”

“Lovely.” I deadpan, growling when the officers roughly shove me inside. “Watch it.”

They ignore me and the three of us ride up in silence, leaving the huge guys downstairs to report back to their boss, I'm guessing. As soon as the doors slide open, we're greeted by a furious Katherine Kingston standing just outside the elevator, waiting for me. She scowls, angrily tapping her foot on the marble with her arms folded over her chest.

“You caught her?” She asks the smallest officer on my right.

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