Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Shit just got real. Actually, shit was already real before, but now it was even realer than that, the rawest real.
He thought he knew the risks, double read the fine print he was signing his soul on—swindling shit, stealing bling—the worst he thought was just a brief detour to the police station, jingling the bars until they made bail. Maybe a radicalized scandal on social media that'd surely dwindle in a few days and after a ten-minute apology video.
But this… this was even worse, alright.
The dead of night, deserted snowy streets, and three sussy-looking peeps surrounding him and Amelia like a pack of arctic wolves he saw that one time on the Discovery Channel. A cell and a criminal record was not something he'd like looming over him, that being said, being dressed in the black and whites was a hell of a lot better than being covered head to toe in the black and blues.