Page 2

Nova

A month later...

“Seriously?!” I yell as the sound of the cell being locked breaks the silence.

That’s great. Exactly what I needed. As if my week hasn’t been a shitshow already.

I was just doing my job; it’s not my fault this dude thought he could grab my ass.

It wasn’t my fault that I punched him either; I did give him three seconds to take his stupid hand off my ass.

He didn’t. So I broke his nose. It’s the fair thing to do in a situation like this.

As if working minimum wage in a filthy cafe isn’t enough, those guys think they can grope you and you would just smile and say thank you.

I guess some girls would, but not me. I prefer testing the durability of my nails by punching a guy while praying I don’t lose one.

“Hey, pinkie.” Someone calls from behind, and I usually wouldn’t turn, but I do have pink hair, and I am a nosy bitch.

Something I deeply regret the moment I turn my head and see the guy with the green hair who won my boyfriend’s car a month ago.

Ex boyfriend. I remind myself, that I still need to do something about him and the blonde skunk he cheated on me with.

So little time, so many people to torture.

“Hello handsome.” I greet him back with a flirty smile, maybe he would be the perfect way to get my revenge from the bastard that cheated on me.

He is good-looking in an unusual kind of way.

He chuckles. “How did you get yourself locked up, girl?” That’s a good question, buddy; I will give you that.

Bad luck, probably a curse. Who knows? “I punched a dude.” I say casually while inspecting my long stiletto nails.

At least I didn’t break any of them, which is kind of an improvement from the last time.

My nail tech would have bitten my head off if she had to fix my nails one more time because they got attached to someone’s face.

“Dangerous and pretty, I like you.” He says with a dark laugh before he takes the cigarette he has tucked behind his ear and brings it to his lips.

I was right; he is different. He has this aura around him, as if he is too good for normalcy.

Like the world moves around him but not with him.

It's as if he owns this world and we are just guests here. “Calm down, lover boy.” He winks at me while he searches for something; then it seems like he has found what he was looking for. He takes the green lighter that matches his hair, with some artwork carved into the metal that I can’t exactly tell apart but looks interesting.

He flips it open, bringing the flame to his cigarette.

He drags the smoke into his lungs and closes his eyes as if it’s the best feeling in the world.

Which, depending on how long he has been in the next cell, it might be.

“I think they are not big fans of smoking here.” I casually mention, trying my best to not show how much I enjoy this little interaction.

It seems like getting locked up this morning isn’t the worst thing that could happen to me.

“Relax, pinkie. Rules are meant to be broken.” He seems different from the guys I am used to.

Definitely more dangerous from the look of him, but still different in a way that I can’t exactly figure out. I like that.

“Of course you think that. You are locked in a cell, after all.” I point out, and that statement earns me a laugh.

He combs his hair with his fingers and ties it with a black hair tie in a messy bun on the top of his head.

He has long hair, but the undersides seem to be shaved.

The pattern of what seems like flames is carved into the shaved parts of his hair, revealing patches of skin through the black hair.

The rest of his hair is a lime green color, almost neon.

It has a heavy yellow undertone that I will admit I like.

He is tall and seems fit enough but not muscular.

Bright colors of ink are decorating his skin.

His arms, torso, and neck are all covered, and from the way the ink disappears behind his tight jeans, I would say he is covered all over.

That’s one way to start your morning, being locked up in a cell, drooling over the guy at the nearby one.

What level of obsession is considered weird for someone you have only seen once before?

Just asking, with no particular reason. I am definitely not obsessing over this dude. I would never.

His white t-shirt is tucked into the pocket of his jeans, the fabric clearly stained with blood.

I notice his knuckles that also wear traces of blood and ripped skin around the beautiful colorful designs he has tattooed on them.

He got into a fight recently. My eyes drift to his face, the busted lip highlighting my suspicion.

This guy definitely got into a fight recently.

Why on earth would I find this little piece of information so damn hot?

Good job, Nova, be attracted to the bad boy.

Like this has worked so damn well for you in the past. “Why are you here?” I ask when he catches me staring at him.

“I tried selling a car to the wrong guy.”

He admits, so that’s what he does with the cars.

Craig, my boyfriend, had said the night of the race that this guy had won a few other cars before, but he always shows up without one of his own.

He uses another dude’s car, and he never returns with the car he won.

That’s a good scam he runs. Everything is legit, but yet it isn’t.

“You don’t say.” I tease. “He wanted to leave without paying; it’s not my fault his face collided with my fist when I was trying to explain that it’s not how I do business.

” He smirks. “A simple misunderstanding, pinkie. I swear.” That silly nickname is starting to grow on me.

“And where is he now?” I ask, truly curious at this point if the guy got to drive away with his brand-new car without paying.

It’s kind of ironic to steal a car from someone who steals cars on a regular basis.

“Hey, Chad. Come say hi to the lady, you stupid bastard.” Chad appears from behind the locked door of jail cell number three. They caught both of them.

“Hey.” Chad greets me while the other guy shoots him a warning look.

“That’s enough, Chad; go back to whatever you are doing in there.

” He says, without leaving room for questions.

Chad shrugs and moves to the back of his cell again.

The other guy smirks and turns to look at me, wiggling his eyebrows as if he is proud of how domesticated Chad is being right now.

If we're being fair, though, Chad seems to be in a worse state than the other guy. The realization that I don’t know his name hits me, so I ignore the Chad subject and turn my attention back to the green-haired god instead.

“So what’s your name, lover boy?” I say with a little smirk of my own as he takes a minute to process my question.

It’s like I am the first person who has ever asked for his name ever because the question has shocked him more than it should.

It’s a normal thing that everyone who meets you for the first time would ask, but still, lover boy seems to be considering his options.

As if he has more than one, it’s not like eventually a cop will call his name and I will hear it.

“Ash.” He simply says after a while, and I smile.

“Nice to meet you, Ash. I am Nova.” He smiles in return, and it’s the most intoxicating smile I have ever seen.

Fuck me. This guy is, without a doubt, one of the most handsome guys I have ever met.

The fact that he is clearly a criminal also makes him my type.

“Nova Lopez.” The cop yells as he walks to my cell and opens the door. “Your bail has been paid.”

Great. Now I probably owe money I don’t have to whoever paid it.

I exit the cell and walk behind the cop as he guides me to the front desk.

My sister is waiting there, looking like she doesn’t belong.

Which would be the truth, as my sister is a housewife with a rich asshole for a husband and would never have any need to set foot in this police station.

If it weren’t for her kid sister, I mean.

She got out of any family drama, upgrading her life in the process.

If you ask me, that was a smart move, but I am sure no one would ask me.

I don’t even see her anymore, other than the occasional interaction at a family dinner on Christmas, which I have been purposely avoiding.

“Nova!” She calls, and I smile. “Hey, Isabelle, I am sorry you had to come here.” I truly am sorry.

There was a reason I didn’t call her myself, but I guess I never actually took her off my emergency contact list, and someone here thought they were doing me a favor.

When you're a woman in your twenties and you still look like I do, people seem to assume that you need to be rescued.

They are eager to help you as if you were their personal project.

“It’s okay. That’s what family is for.”

She speaks in a low tone, as if she's trying to keep this personal.

Shame flashes in her eyes. My sister has always been the most soft-spoken person I know.

I've never once seen her lose her temper and yell at anyone. It’s clear that she's ashamed of me , the black dot in her perfect little picture of a life.

It seems she has decided that the conversation is over and is now moving quickly to exit this building.

It's as if she's afraid of turning into me if she stays one more minute here. “Isabelle, wait.” I call for her as she heads for the door. She can’t wait to leave this place, and it is clear. Don’t get me wrong; I understand, but I have one more thing to do.

I turn to the cop behind the front desk.

“Hey, would it be possible to tell me the bail amount for Ash…” I pause, realizing I don’t actually know his last name.

“I am sorry; I don’t know his last name.

It’s the guy with the green hair.” The lady in uniform behind the desk smiles at me and nods.

Her fingers press on the keyboard as she searches for the name in the database, then turns to me again.

“His name is Asher Miller.” The officer informs me with a smile and turns the screen to show me the total of his bail.

That’s everything I have in my bank account.

I know I will have to pay my sister back for my bail as well.

Meeting Ash has me already negative two thousand dollars in my bank account.

Leave it to me to find the guy who will drain my bank account on day one.

I turn to see my sister; she smiles, knowing our little gathering has come to an end.

No words need to be spoken for her to know that she is no longer needed here.

We haven’t been on good terms our whole lives, and usually that’s how every time we meet ends.

Awkwardly and quickly. “Don’t worry about it, Nova.

Do you have enough money to get home?” She asks, likely knowing that the last of my money went to bail out the handsome guy I met in a cell.

Until he gets bored and moves on to the first girl who opens her legs for him.

“Yes, I will ask my friend to give me a ride.” I manage to respond right as Ash appears from behind me.

“Don’t worry, Miss." He says with a charming smile. “I will take Nova home.” He extends a hand, smiling. “Asher Miller. Nice to meet you.” Isabelle returns the favor and shakes his hand before she offers her name. “Isabelle Lopez.” Her stubbornness to keep our last name when her husband’s name could open so many doors for her is ridiculous, but I also understand why she wants to retain a sense of self in that marriage.

In every other way, he owns her, but that name seems to be the one thing she owns herself.

“Alright then, it was lovely to meet you, Asher. Nova, please come to dinner on Sunday. Jared would love to see you.” Yeah, I bet he would.

Jared, her husband, has tried to hit on me more than once, which is basically why I won’t be attending Sunday dinner.

“I will try.” I begin to lie, but Ash cuts me off.

The stranger with the green hair, who has only seen me twice, seems to have a better understanding of my feelings than my own sister.

He hooks a hand around my waist, pulling me close to him as he lays the excuse for her, getting me out of the mandatory Sunday dinner with ease.

“Babe, you are forgetting that Sunday we have this thing.” He tells me before turning to face my sister.

“I am sorry, Isabelle, but we will have to get back to you to reschedule dinner some other time.” Isabelle smiles back at the charming guy with the green hair.

Even with his alternative appearance, he seems to radiate an aura of stability and inferiority.

I bet if he asked her, she would trust him with her firstborn.

No questions asked. “That’s okay; I understand.

Please feel free to come over whenever you like.

” She responds with that submissive tone and politeness she has when talking to strangers.

Maintaining appearances is important to her husband, and my sister has perfected her act down to the smallest detail.

She is the perfect specimen of a wife. Trained to be flawless.

A true trophy, existing solely to serve one purpose.

To make her husband look good. She fixates her eyes on me, and her look changes from submission to a warning that I alone perceive .

“Both of you.” She says with a melancholic tone and turns on her heels, walking out of the police station.

Just like that. She simply leaves, like she always does, leaving me with the random stranger who still has his hand around my waist while he smiles at my sister, waving her goodbye.

As if we are a happy couple that accidentally ended up in a jail cell.

Even if an hour ago we didn’t even know each other’s names.

Situations like this make me feel as if my life is a plot in one of my dark romance books.