Page 11 of Brutal Prince

“Marcus?” I can barely recognize his voice.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” He sounds short of breath, exhausted. “Can you…could you—?”

“Be there in five.” I put down the phone without bothering to hear his response. Then I’m sprinting, my encounter with Angel already forgotten.

Marcus needs me.

* * *

Indi

I stopoutside Marigold’s house to hack up all the spit that’s gone thick in my mouth. I stay bent over for a few panting breaths, and then straighten and haul icy air into my lungs.

Run, Angel.

And boy, did I obey.

On the plus side, I not only survived being murdered, but also the run back here. That must be some kind of miracle, right?

I push back my shoulders and stride toward the house. I have to give myself a mental shove before I can get myself to open the door.

Who’d have thought I’d be more reluctant to go inside this house than wait out here, in the dark, where a monster roams?

Marigold is nowhere to be seen when I let myself back inside her house. In fact, the house is so dark and quiet, I think she may have gone to bed already.

Crap, what time is it?

My legs quiver like jelly as I sneak upstairs, taking those unfamiliar steps one at a time because I have no idea which of them creak.

Turns out, all of them do. I give up on sneaking three-quarters of the way up, turn into the hall, and yell out when my gran materializes in front of me like the Mayflower looming from a fog bank.

“Holy crap, you scared me,” I say, laying a hand over my thumping heart.

Marigold stares at me, nonplussed. “You do know you start school tomorrow?”

My throat tightens a little. “Of course.”

“You should be in bed, not roaming around in the woods.”

“But I wasn’t—”

Marigold’s hand lashes out. I instinctively close my eyes, expecting a slap. But all she does is tug gently on my hair. I open one eye, and then the other. Then my shoulders drop.

She’s holding a pine needle between her fingers. “While you live under my roof, you will do as I say, young lady.” Her eyes bore into me, merciless.

My stomach twists. “I’m sorry, Gran—”

“Marigold,” she snaps. “Now get to your room. We’ll talk about your lack of respect in the morning.”

She strides down the hallway, bristling.

Uh, gran, I was assaulted and damn near murdered in the woods? No? Not interested?

I slink into my room and press the door closed behind me. Eyes shut, I lean my forehead against the smooth wood. For a moment, hot tears press against my lids, but I will them back as I head for my bed.

All of this shit, I brought it on myself. I deserve nothing less. I should just have let that guy do whatever the fuck he wanted with me out there in the woods.

If I’d been at home last Saturday and not out partying, then Mom would still be alive. Or we’d both be dead. Either way, my life would have been so much better than the pig-shit swamp I’m wading through right now.

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