Cellblock Heat
One, tall and sharp-eyed with a long scar across his cheek, leaned in when I finally stepped forward.
“Quincy Laurent, yeah? The hedge fund guy,” he said, grinning. His denticles, brown. Disappointing. “Damn, you’re famous here. Or infamous, depending who you ask.” He finished off, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes mocked me, the corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze swept over my skin. Alas, the famous or infamous guy—as he'd put it—would be placed behind bars, where he would be under predatorial scrutiny.
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