// Best YA Romance in the Romance Fiction Awards 2021//
Thrill Hawthorne, keeping up to his name, lives his life on the edge. Or so people think.
Ignatius Rookwood is the darling son and the sole male heir to a gigantic business corporation. Or so...
The story is unedited, so holler if you see any errors!
Oof, I'm very excited, heh. *facepalm* Please spam me with comments, they give me life + motivation. *facepalm*
~~~~~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Contrary to popular belief, Thrill Hawthorne did not live life on the edge... well, technically, he did, but not for the "thrill" of it, okay? No, it just happened to be his ill-luck and a shitty legal system.
Half an hour ago, Thrill was getting a really good blowjob, and now he was sitting in a dinghy cell, smelling of alcohol, sweat and weed. Who in their right mind would choose such a course of action? No, it was his ill-luck and a shitty legal system.
"Dude, calm down," Thrill told the boy pacing the length of the holding cell in front of him.
The tall boy in skinny jeans and a sheer shirt shot him a glare. "We're in jail!" he hissed.
"I know, Dash, I'm not that drunk." Thrill chuckled. He rested his head on the dirty, grey wall behind him and made himself comfortable on the uncomfortable bench. He suddenly wondered how many criminals had sat at that exact place and rested their heads at the exact same spot where he was. 'Criminal', Thrill mouthed the word to himself, tasting it in his tongue.
"We're so fucked," Dash muttered, running a hand through his curly blonde-dyed hair and continuing his pacing.
"Don't worry, I'll get you out." Thrill looked past Dash, out the iron bars, at the deserted, sad-looking police station. Two middle-aged men, in wrinkled, sweaty uniforms, sat at the desks, one scrolling through the computer, the other playing some game on his phone.
"This is bad. This is really, really bad. Do you know we can get imprisoned for life?!"
Thrill felt a headache coming. "Stop freaking out."
"I – I can't be in prison. Do you know what they do to people like us in prison! We're so–" Dash broke off when a stranger walked into the police station, catching everyone's attention.
Thrill felt something clench around his heart.
A boy, probably in his late teens, walked in with his jaw set and eyes sharp. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black suit and everything about him screamed wealth and power.
"You here for them?" the policeman who was playing on his phone asked.
The boy dipped his head in a curt nod, and then, wordlessly, he placed a stack of money on the policeman's desk. The man picked it up, counted the notes and turned to his partner.
The second policeman walked up to the holding cell. "You're free to go, Mr. Hawthorne."
Dash's eyes widened and his head snapped towards Thrill. "Hawthorne?"
