"Just please stand back, everyone," the brunette warned, waving a manicured hand to shoo a teenager away from the front bumper. "The custom paint job alone costs more than your houses, and my man will throw a massive fit if anyone leaves fingerprints on the carbon fiber."
Rick stood near the back of the crowd, listening to the two broke girls spin their pathetic web of lies, finding the sheer audacity of their delusion hilarious.
They had just spent the morning trying to trade sexual favors to escape a fifty-thousand-dollar yacht repair bill, yet here they were, standing in front of a hypercar they could not even afford to look at, acting like aristocratic heirs.
Rick cracked his knuckles, deciding it was time to teach these ignorant frogs a brutal lesson in reality.
He took slow, heavy steps forward, parting the crowd of onlookers, radiating a cold, oppressive aura that made people instinctively step aside.
