Page 37 of Brutal Prince

“Amen, brother.”

* * *

Indi

I’m supposedto be catching up on a week’s worth of school work, but instead I can’t stop thinking about Briar. What he did to me in the woods last night. How it felt when he had me on my knees in front of him in homeroom.

I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as enigmatic as him. There’s danger in his eyes, but instead of running, I’m drawn closer.

My mother made a point of keeping me away from boys. She wasn’t expecting me to lose my virginity on my wedding night or anything, but she impressed upon me how important it was to wait for ‘Mr. Right’, like she’d done with Dad.

But I haven’t met my Mr. Right yet. Not even a Mr. Maybe. I’m starting to wonder why the hell I listened to her.

It’s disrespectful. Downright rude. But as much as I loved her, as big a role as she played in my life…She’s not here anymore.

I have to make my own decisions now. I have to decide who Mr. Right is, or if I even want to keep waiting around for him.

I slide that thin silver chain through my fingertips, a sad smile pasted on my mouth. I’m staring out my bedroom window while the smell of whatever Marigold’s cooking downstairs wafts up to me.

Mom had lots of jewelry, but Dad commissioned this necklace from someone right here in Lavish for their 45th wedding anniversary…which he knew they’d never get to celebrate when he was diagnosed with stage four terminal cancer. Blue was Mom’s favorite color, and he’d known the day he married her that he would get her a sapphire.

I would love to wear this necklace all the time, a way to carry her with me, but if all else fails…I might have to sell it to escape this place. It’s worth seven hundred thousand, this stone.

I’m a hundred percent sure this is what they were looking for that night.

I got home at two in the morning that night. My phone had been ringing, but I didn’t recognize the numbers. I’d had so much to drink, I didn’t even think anything of it at the time. Multiple calls from random numbers? A mere glitch in the Matrix. Nothing for me to concern myself over. Especially when a hot guy from my school brought me three drinks, and seemed fascinated by everything I said. I thought we’d be making out by the end of the night, perhaps even screwing.

We never did.

By two, I could barely stand unaided. I’m convinced there was a guardian angel with me that night. A really trendy angel — one that knew I’d be better off getting pissed than staying at home with Mom. Because that guy could have done anything to me that night, but instead he called me a cab.

I argued with the cab driver for a minute when he wanted to drop me off. I kept telling him he had the wrong house.

They’d extinguished the blaze about an hour before I got there. Smoke hung thick in the sky, and wreathed what was left of the upper levels of my home. My front lawn was littered with police, paramedics, and firefighters.

And then there was the crowd.

When I finally decided to get out the car and try to find a cab driver who actually knew Lakeview and could get me home, my next-door neighbor hurried over and threw her arms over me.

“My—God—Indi.”

Then, finally, reality consumed me like molten lava.

I remember trying to run into the house. Men grabbing at me, dragging me back. And then I don’t remember much at all, because they fucking sedated me. My friend at the time, Sara, arrived a few minutes later. Her parents ushered me into their station wagon and drove me away.

The shit they gave me was so strong, I fell asleep in the back seat and only woke up later the next day.

Mom had been dead for almost a day before I heard the news.

I lift the chain and run the delicate links over my lips.

According to the police, it was a botched robbery. The thief — they could only find evidence of a single person on the scene — must have burned down the house to hide his tracks. He tried to make it look like a gas leak, but despite how badly burned my mother’s corpse was when they recovered it, her autopsy revealed signs of a struggle and aggravated rape.

Mom was petite, like me. Father used to say she was his doll. He wasn’t a large man, but she only reached his collarbones. It wouldn’t have taken a strong man to subdue her, to force her—

A sob hitches in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and force away every last shred of emotion from my mind.

I’m just glad my father wasn’t alive when it happened. It would have broken his heart. Just like he broke my heart and Mom’s heart when he died from cancer. That was over five years ago. Sometimes I wonder which was better — Mom’s abrupt, brutal murder, or my father’s year-long struggle where we’d known weeks before that he would be leaving.

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