i. MISAPPROPRIATED VEHICLES

ONE.

MISAPPROPRIATED VEHICLES

( 17 YEARS LATER )

Bex Alden was so fucking screwed.

She drummed her fingers against the freezing metal of the table she was handcuffed to, humming under her breath softly. She leaned back in her chair, meeting the gaze of the man sitting across from her evenly. He saw a delinquent staring back at him, chin high and eyes filled with amusement. What he didn't see was her hands shaking beneath the table, nails digging into her palm to slow her pounding heartbeat. Still, Bex had too much pride to let him know she was terrified.

"John. Always lovely to see you. I've missed these visits. It's been a while, hasn't it?" said Bex with a half-smile.

He sighed, shuffling a few of the papers in front of him and rubbing his forehead. "No, actually it hasn't. You were in here last month for trespassing and destruction of property, remember?"

"Not really," she shrugged. "I love what you've done with the place though. It's really cozy."

She craned her neck, looking around the small metal room. "Especially that harsh fluorescent lighting. It just goes perfectly with those nice steel prison bars. You ever consider a career in interior design?"

John stared back at her, unamused. "I would, but I just love my job here," he said bitterly. "Dealing with underage felons is quite honestly the highlight of my day."

"John that's so sweet. You should write greeting for Hallmark cards. You'd be fantastic at it."

"Why do I always get the sarcastic ones?" he muttered to himself.

John coughed and straightened his ill-fitting tweed coat. He looked tired every time Bex saw him, which was far too often, with deep frown lines and sunken shadows under his eyes. He practically lived off coffee and Advil, which might explain the way his right eye always twitched. Or maybe it was because he was always annoyed with her. But she liked John, as grouchy as he could be. He put up with her shit, and he had managed to keep her out of prison. Until now.

"Miss Alden," he sighed. "I'm afraid you're going to jail."

You're going to jail.

Those words seemed to steal the air out of her lungs, making her chest tight. Bex gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her expression neutral. She took a deep breath, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"Listen, I'm sorry. Really. I can shorten your sentence, if you'll just tell me-"

"No," said Bex firmly.

"Miss Alden, it's the only deal I can offer you," said John, rubbing his temples. "The names of your accomplices in exchange for reduced time in prison. Otherwise, those handcuffs are staying on."

"Come on, John," said Bex. "You and I both know I'm not taking them down with me."

"Who was in the vehicle with you at the time of the crime?" he tried one last time.

Bex lifted her shoulders. "Sorry, John. Guess I'll be needing that one phone call."

"Yeah," said John, sliding a clunky, gray phone across the table. "Make it count. And, er- best of luck to you."

"Why, John, you almost sound sentimental when you talk like that," she grinned.

"Don't get any ideas," he said gruffly, grabbing the contract that lay untouched between them and crumpling it slightly between his fingers. He hesitated, then nodded once in her direction before grabbing his battered briefcase and leaving the tiny holding room.

"Orange is a terrible color on me. I'll look awful in those jumpsuits! This one's one you!" she called after him.

There was no response, but Bex could've sworn she heard a chuckle each through the hall. As soon as he was gone, her shoulders slumped and her head dropped into her hands. There was no false bravado now, only her, alone in that tiny metal room.

"Shit," she swore.

She squeezed her eyes shut, dragging a hand across her face. She never had a plan for her life, but she knew it didn't involve eighteen months of prison. Bex didn't have much of a future, but now what little hope she had had been extinguished and all it had taken was one stupid petty crime. She rubbed her eyes wearily, trying to ignore the way the walls of the room seemed to be moving forward, closing in, shrinking. Bex wasn't good with small spaces. She knew claustrophia was a stupid, irrational, fear, but it still made her heart pound and her palms sweat.

She groaned, pressing her palms into her face. Her elbows rested on the table, the cold seeping through the thin material of her jacket as she tried to figure out a way to tell her mother that she was going to jail. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood as she reached for the phone hesitantly.

Bex had punched in the first three digits of her mother's phone number when the fluorescent light glinted off the golden ring on her middle finger. It had been a gift as a child, and she had worn ever since she could remember. When she was little, it was her good luck charm. Bex would rub the delicate 'K' emblazoned on the center, and hope that her mother wouldn't come home stumbling over her own feet and smelling like liquor. There was a series of numbers stamped on the inside, which her mother had once told her was a number to call if she was ever in trouble. Bex didn't trust her mother much these days, but she was definitely in trouble right now.

Squinting at the tiny symbols, she punched them into the phone. It rang three times before there was a click and a cool, pleasant woman's voice flooded through the receiver.

"Hello, this is customer service for Kingsman Tailor Shop. How may I help you today?"

Bex's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Er, my name is Bex Alden. Sorry, Rebecca Alden. I was told to call this number if I ever needed help and-"

"I'm sorry m'am. I believe you may have the wrong number," the woman's voice cut her off.

Bex jerked forward. "No! Wait, wait! I, uh...Oxfords, not brogues?" she tried in a panicked voice.

"Your complaint has been duly noted. We hope we have not lost you as a loyal customer. Thank you and have a pleasant day."

Then there was a click and Bex was left in silence. She stared down at the phone in disbelief, her heart dropping. That had been her last chance, and now it was gone. It had been wasted on a fucking tailor shop. A tailor shop. She didn't even wear suits. She should have known better than to trust her mother.

Bex leaned back in the chair with a sigh, swallowing hard. She let her head fall back, ignoring the headache slowly building in her temples. Bex might as well get comfortable. She would be spending the next eighteen months here.

☂

( 4 HOURS EARLIER )

Bex got out of bed at eight a.m. exactly.

Well, fell out of bed.

She landed on the floor with a thump, wrapped tightly in her comforter. She lay there for a moment, curled up, cursing the spawn of Satan who had invented alarm clocks. Then she unwillingly hauled herself off the ground with a groan, rubbing her eyes wearily. Bex got up slowly, glancing at her reflection in the dingy mirror opposite her bed. Her hair was matted to the side of her head and there was mascara smeared under her eyes, but her face still stared back, the same day after day. Her brown eyes, so dark they were nearly black, stood out against her olive skin. She must've looked like her dad, because her dark features looked nothing like her mother's icy blue eyes and bleached blonde hair. Not that she knew what he looked like anyway. Bex couldn't remember much of her father except for a blur of smiling brown eyes and the murmur of a deep voice.

She pulled on her usual uniform of jeans and battered converse, throwing a thin cotton hoodie over her tank top. People who wore heels everyday obviously enjoyed torture, and were therefore not worth her time. Bex liked to describe her own look as "homeless chic, with a dash of no fucks given."

As she pulled a denim jacket over her hoodie she could hear the sound of a bottle clinking outside her door. Her stomach dropped as she thought about the amber liquid that was no doubt in her mother's hand already. When Patricia had first started drinking, Bex had been too little to stop it. She was only old enough to understand that a bottle meant a night of her mother screaming and Bex crying. Eleven year later, it was too late. Alcohol had become a part of Patricia, and not having the numbing feeling became the same as not breathing for her.

Bex opened her door quietly, placing her palm on it and praying it wouldn't creak too loudly. She crept out, barely breathing, feet moving silently across the stained carpet. Patricia was sprawled across the couch, staring at a crack in the wall and surrounded in a hazy, blue cloud of smoke. Bex had nearly made to the front door without being noticed, when Patricia's voice rang out. Bex flinched and pulled her shoulders in, as if she could make herself less visible.

"Oi! Where'd you think you're going?" she called, her voice raspy from the cigarette in her hand.

"I'm going out with friends, Mum. Remember, I told you yesterday? You said it was alright if I went," Bex replied in a soft voice.

She crossed her fingers her mother was having a good day, where she was much more lenient and kind. Sometimes it was almost as if she was a real mother, the kind that stroked your hair and baked brownies that didn't have pot in them. Sometimes Patricia was forgiving. And sometimes she was an alcohol-fueled flurry of rage, destroying anything in her way with sharp words.

"Who're you going out with?"

"J-just Lily and Evans. You've met them."

"Oh, right," she, curling her lip in disgust. "That Evans boy gives me the creeps. It's all that hair, probably. And god, Lily, she's insufferable. I dunno why you've got such shit taste in friends."

"I know, Mum. But is it alright if I go with them? Just for a little bit. I'll be home in time to make supper."

Patricia didn't say anything, the silence hanging in the air. Her fingers tightened around her cigarette and Bex's muscles tensed. Then she leaned over and turned on the television, and Bex let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

"Fine," Patricia said simply. "But be home before supper, you hear me?"

"Yes, mum," Bex replied, nodding as she stepped out the door as quickly as she could and shut the door behind her quietly. As soon as the lock clicked, she slumped against it slightly.

She let out a deep breath as soon as she was out of the dingy, smoky flat. Now, she could finally breathe. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she felt the chilly air sting her cheeks. It was a beautiful day, the kind where anything seemed possible, and the constant tightness in her chest she always felt eased up a bit.

Bex stuck her hands in her pockets, climbing down the stairs of their dirty apartment complex. She walked until she reached the empty lot, her sneakers flattening the yellowing weeds that poked out of the cracked pavement. Bex grabbed the chain link fence, swinging her legs over and dropping to the ground smoothly. She crossed the lot, the quickest shortcut to where she was going. She walked quickly to the corner, where she could already see Lily and Evans standing.

Lily's flaming red locks and petite frame couldn't have been farther off from Evans's own gangly stature and ebony hair. She was bright and bubbly, while Evans usually slouched and hid behind his hair. No one even knew his first name, but it didn't really matter. They might have been complete opposites, but they were still best friends. Bex greeted them with a grin.

"Yo, Bex, how's it throwin' down?" said Evans in a horrible impression of an American accent.

"Oh, you poor thing Evans. And I thought your glandular condition was stable." Bex shook her head with false pity. "Such a shame to see a grown man reduced to speaking like a primate."

Evans gave her a hurt look.

"No biting sarcasm before lunchtime, please," Lily interjected. "Although that was truly awful, Evans. Not even Americans speak like that."

"How was I supposed to know? America is a strange place," Evans shrugged.

"I won't argue with you on that one." Lily fake coughed. "Walmart."

"Now, Lily," Bex chided. "Remember to be respectful of other cultures. Even if those cultures are completely uncultured."

"They did throw our tea into the sea," said Evans.

Bex nodded wisely. "It was a terrible act of brutali-tea."

Evans stopped walking and turned to her. "Bex. Tell me you did not just say brutali-tea."

Bex just winked. He reached out to punch her in the shoulder, but she neatly sidestepped it, grinning from ear to ear. Evans swore, looking aggravated. "Oh, Evans, it's okay. You chai-d."

"Bex, I cannot believe you-" She cackled, ducking behind Lily as Evans reached for her. Lily squealed, backing up.

"Come on, Evans! Hit me with your best pot!"

Bex dodged him, jogging backwards. "Make one more pun and our friendship is terminated!" shouted Evans.

"Okay, okay! I'll stop tea-sing you!"

She was laughing at her own joke and the stormy expression on Evans's face when something hard and solid slammed into her shoulder. She cried out, whipping her head around to see who had run into her. A police officer stood in front of his cruiser, glaring at her.

"Watch where you're going, will you?" he said harshly, trying to edge past her. Bex's gaze flickered down momentarily to his belt where his keys dangled before she smiled at him sweetly.

"Oh, I'm awfully sorry," apologized Bex, patting him on the shoulder with one hand. As he glared down at her, the other hand slipped down, deftly working the keys from the ring they were on. Bex closed her hand in a fist, feeling the cold metal press against her palm as a smirk tugged on the edge of her lips.

Then she took her hand off his shoulder, turning to walk back to her friends as the police officer rushed off again, a cross expression on his face. Lily was watching him go. "What an arsehole. Are you alright, Bex?"

Bex grinned mischievously. "Never better."

"Er- Bex? Why're you smiling?" asked Evans, eying her warily. "You just got body slammed by some git in a uniform."

"Well, Evans he may be a git, but he is now-" She held up the keys, jingling them in his face. "A git without car keys."

Lily's jaw dropped and her eyes lit up as Evans laughed in disbelief. "You nicked his car keys?"

"Temporarily misappropriated," Bex corrected.

Evans shook his head in amazement, a crooked grin on his face. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's take this thing for a spin!"

"Shotgun!" Lily called out, giggling.

Bex bit her lip and grinned, unlocking the door hurriedly as she glanced around. The three piled into the police cruiser, laughing and tumbling over one another. She slid into the driver's seat, turning the key in the engine and listening to it roar to life. Bex could feel her blood fizzing beneath her skin as the adrenaline pounded in her ears. The familiar rush in her stomach she felt whenever she broke the law, which was probably too often, surfaced. This was why people did bad things, she thought.

Because bad things were endlessly thrilling. She pressed her foot to the accelerator and they sped off, leaving behind a screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber.

Bex weaved in between the cars, grinning as they honked in protest. Her hands were shaking with the the sparks that flowed through her blood and she let out a whoop as they skidded around a corner. Lily stuck her head out the window, the wind turning her red hair into a flaming blur. Bex was lightheaded, drunk off the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Getting away with something you knew was wrong was a special kind of high.

Suddenly, there was a flash of red and blue light in the rearview mirror. It got closer, solidifying into a siren. Then came the piercing wail that let Bex know that she was well and truly fucked. Another police cruiser was weaving through traffic behind them, steadily gaining speed. "Oh, bollocks," she muttered.

Bex gripped the steering wheel with determination. "Buckle up," she said grimly, pressing her foot to the accelerator. She rounded a corner so sharply Lily let out a small scream, accompanied by Evans's colorful cursing. She ran a red light, gritting her teeth as she heard the tires squeal in protest. She looked over at Lily, who was clutching the passenger seat, the blood draining from her face. Bex made a decision then. If she was going, down she was going down alone.

She yanked the steering wheel to the left, feeling her head jerk to the side as the cruiser turned into an alleyway, the tires sliding over the pavement. She pushed open the door. Lily looked from her to the door, eyes wide and face frozen. "Get out! Both of you!" she urged.

"Bex, no we can't leave you here-" Lily protested.

"You know me," Bex smiled. "I'll be fine."

The sound of sirens got louder.

"Now go," Bex insisted.

Lily clambered out, Evans grabbing her arm and helping her out quickly. They stared at her, eyes wide. Bex shifted the car into reverse, slamming the gas pedal and shooting backwards. The police cruiser was even closer, the sound of sirens ringing in her ears. Bex drove as fast as she dared, taking turn after turn in an attempt to shake the car tailing her. Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, this time for a very different reason.

"Oh, bloody hell," she swore.

She glanced back at the cops behind her when suddenly someone darted in front of her. A small boy ran across the street, chasing a red ball as it rolled away. Bex let out a small scream, turning the steering wheel to the right with all her might. The back wheels spun out, and she was thrown to the side of the cruiser as the car whirled in a circle. There was the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass, and she lurched forward, her seatbelt cutting into her chest. The car had crashed into a lamp post.

Steam hissed from the crumpled hood of the car. Bex blinked blearily, wincing as she pressed her fingers to her forehead where it had slammed against the steering wheel. Two police cars pulled up beside her, their sirens still wailing. A stern looking man walked over to Bex's window and crouched down with a stormy look. She slowly rolled down the window, flinching at the crunching sound the broken glass made.

"Hello, officer. What can I do for you today?" she smiled weakly.

All she got was a glare and a pair of handcuffs slapped on her wrists.

Well, shit.

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a quick note:

introducing the new and (slightly) improved chapter one! honestly, the only thing i really changed was adding john. i love john. he is grouchy and bitter and everything i strive to be. also, i love colin firth and i want him to adopt me. colin, if you're reading this please take me away from my finals to drink tea and live in england.