Page 169 of Brutal Prince

Briar

Idon’t have Indi’s number. Why the fuck don’t I have her number?

I call Dylan again, but he still doesn’t pick up. I leave a voice mail, but I have no idea if he’ll ever listen to it after last night. Zak’s phone is off.

All I have is her address.

And so does Marcus.

Because I fucking told it to him. I handed her to him on a silver platter. And why? So he could clean up my mess.

Again.

I couldn’t let her call the police on me. I couldn’t let her show them the shoes I’d left behind. That would incriminate me, and I refuse to be charged as a criminal. I refuse…despite everything I’ve done.

* * *

I emergefrom the shadows of Briar Woods breathing too hard, my vision swimming with stars. I ran as fast as I could, but I already know it’s too late. I’m too late. The monster’s been loosed. Wolf has already devoured Red Riding Hood.

But I still have time to cut him open, right? Isn’t that how the story goes? The hunter cuts open the wolf, and Indi and her grandmother come out unharmed?

I sprint over the lawn, scanning Indi’s house for signs of life.

It’s just gone one in the afternoon. There are no lights to indicate whether or not someone’s at home. Oh, how I fucking wish she wasn’t here, but life has never been that cute, that perfect, that wonderful.

The back door is ajar, and that almost makes me stop in my tracks. Luckily — luckily — I have enough momentum to keep me going when my mind flags.

I dart into the kitchen. A white-haired woman spins to face me. I see her resemblance to Indi in the way she scowls at me, as if daring me to take another step.

“Where is she?” I barely manage through a wheeze.

“In her room, studying.” The old woman lifts an imperious eyebrow at me. “And you are?”

I growl in response, and run for the stairs. My mind’s begging me to slow down, to take stock. To stop being such a fucking fool.

But I can’t.

I can sense him.

He was here.

Marcus was here!

“Excuse me!” Indi’s grandmother calls from downstairs. “Indi is grounded. She will not be receiving guests.”

All the doors on the landing are closed. I throw open the second one, the one I escaped through the other night. I instinctively knew back then that it was Indi’s room, even though it could have belonged in a hotel’s guest room, because she’d somehow left her mark on it.

Even now, standing at the threshold, I know this is her space.

And I know it was violated.

A second later, once my eyes have swept the room, they fix on a spot on the floor.

A splash of blood. Incongruous against the beige carpet. Unmistakable.

“Young man, just what the hell do you think—?”

“She’s gone,” I say, turning to the old woman working her way up the stairs. “He’s taken her.”

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