Page 51 of Twisted Elites

I hurried out of the room, and he didn’t say anything to stop me. Leopold wasn’t outside in the hallway, and I assumed one of the police officers had told him to leave.

Further down, a pair of police officers led a bowed figure out in handcuffs. From his glossy, black hair, dark olive skin, and broad shoulders, it could only be one person.

“Prakash?”

He turned around, face tinged with sorrow.

“What are you doing?” I jogged up to the officers. “He was with me all night long.”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s gaze flickered up and down my body. “How old are you, then?”

My nostrils flared. If he thought he could add underage sex to the list of accusations against Prakash, he could stick his truncheon up his ass. “Nearly eighteen.”

“Good for you.”

“Where are you taking him?” I asked. “He’s got an alibi.”

“Please call Mr. Pinkerton.” Prakash’s voice was hoarse. “They’re arresting me for the murder of Corrine Gibbons.”

Chapter 13

I didn’t have Mr. Pinkerton’s number, and seeing the police use what happened to Bianca as an excuse to arrest Prakash made fury simmer in my blood. My heart pounded the steady beat of a war drum, and I marched after the police, clenching and unclenching my fists.

“Leave him alone!” I shouted. “This has nothing to do with Corrine Gibbons.”

The officers ignored me and walked Prakash out of the double doors, and down the entrance steps, where a squad car waited in the courtyard. Morning sunlight seeped through the clouds, casting its light on the vehicle’s blue-and-fluorescent-yellow-striped exterior.

One of them opened the door, lowered Prakash’s head to help him scoot into the back seat, and then secured a seatbelt around him.

Tremors shook my insides. I don’t know whether these officers had explicitly come to arrest Prakash, or they had just taken advantage of the opportunity to grab him. Still, I stared through the squad car’s tinted window into his terror-stricken eyes and gave him a sharp nod. It was time to call the lawyer.

I spun on my heel to find Sebastian. He was the only one of us who could instruct Mr. Pinkerton. The doors blurred as I whizzed through the hallway, and I sprinted up the stairs three at a time. I checked Sebastian’s room. Checked Leopold’s room. Checked the sixth-form common room, but he wasn’t there.

The phone in my pocket buzzed. I slapped myself upside the head, pulled it out, and sent a text, telling Sebastian that Prakash had been arrested for murdering Corrine.

There was no reply.

On the off-chance that he hadn’t heard any of the commotion, I rushed down to the dining room, cast my gaze over the sparsely occupied tables, but he wasn’t in his usual place. A quick dash around the campus told me he also wasn’t in the lecture theater where most of our year sat through an English lesson, or in the gym block.

A jeep sped down the driveway and turned into Sebastian’s usual spot.

Relief surged through my heart. I ran across the courtyard, crunching gravel underfoot. Sebastian fiddled with the dials of his car stereo, seemingly oblivious to the disasters that had struck Brittas Academy. I knocked on the driver’s side window until he lowered it.

“Where have you been?” my voice was shrill.

Sebastian smirked. “Did you miss—” His face dropped. “What happened?”

The story came out in a rush, and Sebastian stepped out of the car, wrapped me in his arms, and murmured into my hair. “I went to the hideout last night and drank too much whiskey to drive home, so I stayed over.”

Resting my head on his broad shoulder, I slid my arms under his jacket and wrapped them around his muscled torso. Sebastian smelled of cigars and whiskey. “You were there on your own?”

“Leo wanted an early night. Something about needing to do some Economics prep for the afternoon class.”

I drew back and stared into his concerned, green eyes. “Can you tell Mr. Pinkerton?”

He nodded and pulled out his phone. I leaned on the side of his jeep, pinching the bridge of my nose. What was with the police victimizing Prakash? They seemed to hold him responsible for nearly every act of malice committed against a female student, even though he was clearly innocent.

Heavy footsteps crunched on the gravel, and I raised my gaze to find Leopold jogging toward us. “Thank fuck you’re here. Did Wills—”