Pocket Pickers #projectwomanup

Don't Get Caught

C H A P T E R  3

My eyes froze on his face as my mind took in what was happening around me. 

I tried to steal from a rich man. Rich man caught me. Rich man will probably report me if I don't run.

"I'm sorry," I said nervously, "but I think you got the wrong person-" As quickly as I could manage, I ducked under his arm and ran from his pulverizing glare.

"Hey!" I heard him call from behind me, "Stop!"

I weaved in between clueless citizens, heart pounding, eyes darting, body sweating. Don't get caught, don't get caught, don't you dare get caught.

Something clung on to my hand and pulled me back.

You got caught.

For the second time in a minute, I stumbled back and landed a foot behind the man with an unladylike, oof.

"I don't know a lot of people who try to steal from me, and then have the guts to run away after."

"Well, that's great," I hissed, "Because you don't know me." I tried getting up but yelped as a sharp pain erupted from my ankle.

"What the actual fuck!" I whisper-screeched, trying not to draw attention to myself. He caught up to me at Renaissance Avenue, which wasn't very congregated in the afternoon. Thank god. I glared at the once handsome man, but the only thing I saw then were devil horns and red eyes.

"Oops, are you hurt?"

I didn't know if it was the smirk or the mocking tone but whatever led me to do what I did probably was probably highly unreasonable, in my defense.

With a satisfying smack, my hand collided with his cheek. I winced from the aching throb in my ankle, especially with the fast stand-up, but the look of pure shock on this man's face was worth it.

"Well, you little-"

The man suddenly frowned his phone screen, finally remembering that he wasn't the only one listening to this conversation. Slowly, I tried inching away, but the man's hand shot out and grabbed my bicep roughly. His cheek was still pink, and even though I could see a jail cell in my near future, I couldn't help but smile.

"But father, you don't understand! She-"

He stopped to glare at the screen. Then his eyes widened.

"What? But-"

I frowned to myself. What were they talking about?

Serves him right, whatever it is.

Without noticing Mr. Handsome turned the phone towards me. I couldn't see the screen from the sunlight, and before I could even try to decipher what was on it he turned his phone around and continued whining about a problem I didn't know.

"No! Dad, she tried to... She is not pretty!"

I gave him a pulverizing glare. I knew I wasn't pretty, he didn't need to throw it out in the air. Uncomfortable, I shifted the weight between both my ankles, relishing the flood of relief coming from my hurt muscle.

"I can't believe you want me to-"

With a frustrated growl, the man sneered at the screen. "Fine." He disconnected the call angrily.

Cocking my head to the side, I positioned myself so I could try to run away.

"Don't you dare run away."

Or not.

Frowning, I looked at him. "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you? So you can steal from my bank account instead?"

"You have one?"

He sighed.

"Pierre. Pierre Turner," Pierre said reluctantly, giving me a scowl that dazzled my ovaries right out of my system. I think I've heard of him before... 

I cleared my throat, and my head. Who names their child Pierre anyways?

"What do you want from me?"

He grimaced. "What I want is to see you in a jail cell. Unfortunatley, that won't be happening. You're coming with me."

In a way, I was relieved. I wasn't going to jail! But also, I was terrified. Why in the namely world would I follow a man I had just tried to steal from?

Before I could make a mad dash, Pierre's warm hand snaked around mine, and started to pull me with him.

"Hey! Ow!" I winced as my hurt foot roughly hit the pavement.

"Be quiet. There's someone who would like to meet you."

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Wow... this chapter...

Has not been edited yet.

Well I hoped you like it!

Neha♡♡♡♡