Page 182 of Brutal Prince

Briar

Istand in a rush, pressing a fist against my mouth until the urge to puke dissipates some. All this time, I was convinced I was a rapist.

The worst part is, I was kinda okay with that. Thinking about it brought the occasional fit of guilt and rage, but at the same time I felt numb to everything. Like it was all happening to someone else.

Because it did.

Because I never raped anyone. I never told Marcus to get rid of Jessica. He did it by himself. To protect himself, in case Jessica’s memory came back.

And the idiot kept proof. Fine, he didn’t exactly keep it laying around the house, but it didn’t take that long for me to find it. Did he honest to God think this video would never be discovered? And the drawing? He sure loves his trophies.

Fucking psycho.

I glance to the side, and avert my eyes when they touch on that perverted drawing. But then I do a double take. At the angle I’m sitting, the person depicted in the picture looks even more like Indi than before.

Thought she was lying about the murder. About the fire. Just like she thought I was lying, I guess. Meanwhile, I was bumping fists and buying drinks and playing X-Box with the person who raped and tortured her fucking mother.

I bow my head and rub my fingers over my lids.

Is that what he’s doing right now? Does he have Indi at his mercy, while I sit here with my fucking thumb up my ass? I alerted the police, but what the fuck else can I do?

I thump the desk hard. Then again. Again. Welcoming the pain, drawing it deep inside to douse the guilt and shame drowning me.

I can show the cops everything — the video, the drawing, the hoody — but what would that help? It might as well just be Indi in that drawing, because I know deep down that’s exactly what he’d do with her if he got the chance.

Bound.

Gagged.

Nak—

Marcus’s bedroom door bursts open. I jerk and twist around in the chair.

Brandon Baker is standing in the doorway.

“The fuck you doing in my house?” the man belts out in a hoarse voice.

Christ, he’s drunk. I move to the window, but slowly like I’m backing away from a wild animal.

I guess Marcus got his build from his mother, not his father. Brandon Baker is wide and tall as an ox with a thick neck and a broad nose. Marcus’s features are more delicate, almost fox-like in comparison.

This is only the second time I’ve met Brandon. The first was more than five years ago, when Marcus and I were still teens. He’d been in better shape back then, but still a hulk of a man. Alcohol abuse has webbed red veins over his nose and cheeks, and turned his eyes a shade too yellow for a healthy person’s.

“Thought Marcus was home,” I say, trying to inject casualness into my tone. “But I see he’s not, so I’ll leave.”

Brandon’s bloodshot eyes fix on the laptop before coming back to me. “You looking at his stuff?”

“No, course not.” It’s probably an idiotic thing for me to do, but there’s still a bit of space between us — and Marcus’s bed — so I do it anyway. “You maybe know where he is?”

Brandon’s laugh turns into a phlegmy cough before he’s done. “Prolly sticking it in some cunt or other.” His eyes narrow. “Or an asshole, all I know.” He gives me another long look, as if trying to determine if that might have been my asshole before.

I lift my hands. “Fair enough. I’ll just be on my way.” Those stilted words are barely out of my mouth before Brandon takes a few lumbering steps closer to me.

From what I remember Marcus telling me, he started out working as a bouncer at a night club. That was before he started his own security company, of course. Which is how he met my dad. A security company that obviously does well for itself, if this house and its location in Lavish is anything to go by.

But Marcus also said his father was into some dodgy shit. That would better explain their finances than a security company in a town where there isn’t an electric fence in sight. Not unless installing a safe at some rich guys house made him enough…

Client lists.

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