BEING EDITED
~†~
Local neighborhood orphan, Brooklyn Persson, has only ever wanted one thing:
Freedom.
Not family, not food, just pure unrestricted independence -although she can't deny that money would be a nice addition too.
However, just three m...
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BROOKLYN
"You're here to steal, aren't you?"
Crown Prince or not, I did not like this kid. Or his nerve.
I'd seen his type before. House number nine —a frivolous socialite couple who just couldn't stop rubbing their fucking wealth in the faces of other people. Always talking about 'my money did this', 'my money did that', 'I made you who are today' and all that bs.
I was sure as fucking hell that these people —this boy— were no different.
"Aren't you going to answer me?"
I popped my gum in response, an unimpressed and disapproving look on my face as I raked him over once more.
Freckles as well as acne dotted his face, some more visible than the others. He had his hands in his pockets and his mouth moved as though he were chewing. His light brown hair was cut to give him quite the serious appearance I only ever saw on high class people (especially bankers) and his eyes, cold and calculating, were hazel with little specks of gold and fear that one could only see on closer observation.
The fear I could —and would— use to my advantage. Soon.
But other than the dark circles under his eyes, there was nothing out of the ordinary with him. He was just another arrogant, snobby ass, average looking jerk who thought he was fucking better than everyone else because of his status as Crown Prince.
Bullshit.
All he needed to reset his stupid mentality was a day in the fucking streets of Sweden. That plus an extreme beatdown —one I would happily give.
Maybe then he'd learn.
He exhaled, glancing at the floor briefly before settling on me again. He opened his mouth to speak, voice rising, "Listen, I don't know who you are or where the hell you came from but here, people answer when they're being spoken to."
"And people don't fucking go around calling someone they just met a thief," I retorted, no matter how on point he might have been. "I mean, who does that? Just who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I'm the Crown Prince, this is my home," he stressed, "You're nothing but a stranger who, for some reason, hasn't left!"
I was so right.
"Well, newsflash big guy, this is now my home as well and–"
"What's going on here?" I heard a voice ask in Swedish.
