Page 161 of Brutal Prince

Briar

As soon as I’m in my Mustang, I take out my phone. My hands are trembling so bad, it takes three attempts before I can call Marcus. I put the car into gear and peel out of Addy’s driveaway, one hand on the wheel and the other holding my phone to my ear.

“Pick up, pick up.” I push the words through gritted teeth.

He answers on the next ring. “Yeah?”

“You at home?”

“The fuck else would I be?”

He’s pissed off, but I can’t blame him. “Listen, I need you to do something for me.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. It could have gone so many ways — he could have laughed in my ear and put down the phone. He could have cursed me to the nth generation.

But Marcus was, and always will be, my closest friend.

“Tell me what you need, bro.”

* * *

As I’m waitingfor the golf estate’s boom to rise, I re-read the message my father sent last night. Judging from the time stamp, and if I remember correctly, I was probably on my third game of pool and my sixth beer. No wonder I didn’t hear it come through.

We need to talk.

11:45am

Angel Falls Cemetery

Don’t be late.

I lock my phone and toss it on the passenger seat. My eyes slide to the clock on my dash. I thought I would have more time, but I woke up late, and it took me a while to get my head straight.

I push down harder on the gas, opening up the Mustang’s engine. It tears down the freeway as my heart starts a slow th-thump in my chest.

We need to talk?Well that suits me just fine, because I have some questions for him.

* * *

Angel Falls Cemetery,poetically, is set in the small valley of Devil’s Creek. At the entrance to the cemetery, you can see a few yards of the wispy waterfall that gives this area its name. However, the craggy creek it plummets into is hidden — accessible only by hiking down a steep ravine lined in pitch black rock.

Massive oak trees litter the cemetery, throwing dappled shade over the paved road my Mustang skims over as I head deeper inside.

I only come here once a year with Dad, and nothing much has changed since the last time. The leaves have only just started changing color, and it’s a mess of green and orange out here.

And gray, of course.

Row upon row of concrete slabs and sad, pouting angels.

I park behind my father’s pearl-white Mercedes and take a second to drag myself together before climbing out.

“You’re late,” he says, as soon as I’m in earshot, but with his back still facing me.

“Was busy.”

I expect a reprimand, but he says nothing. He’s wearing a black-on-black suit, his hair slicked back, hands clasped behind his back. This could have been a replay from last year’s visit, until he turns to face me.

His blue eyes pierce through me like a spear, rooting me to the spot.

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