Page 172 of Brutal Prince

But I don’t touch a box of cigarettes. My fingers brush against the flash drive in my pocket.

Maybe not entirely useless.

I take out the drive, and swallow hard when it brings back a too-vivid memory of what Marcus had drawn on that piece of paper. He’s no artist, but it was blatant how much time he’d spent on the sketch. The faint lines where he’d erased his pencil marks again and again to make sure every curve was just right.

I drum my fingers on the table as I wait for the computer to log me in and pick up the flash drive plugged into its USB port.

Squeezing my thumb and forefinger against my eyes, I do my best to rid myself of that image, but it’s impossible.

Obviously, he lied to me. But I could never have imagined the extent of his depravity.

He killed the cat.

I let out a soft, bitter laugh, and open the flash drive’s folder. Videos. Fourteen videos, all different file sizes. Porn, from the titles.

kayceegang.mp4

Castingcouch_HD.mp4

Bendingbecky.mp4

I scan the list, and my eyes immediately fix on the seventh, eighth, and ninth one.

Jess.mov

Jess (1).mov

Jess (5).mp4

Jess (6).mp4

I open the first one, chewing on a fingernail as I wait for it to load. It’s the shortest one, so it doesn’t take long.

A blur of yellow.

The camera focuses reluctantly.

“What are you doing?”

My heart clenches at the sound of Jessica’s voice. Marcus laughs and suddenly the camera’s on him. “What’s up?” he says, giving a peace sign.

I remember this video. I inhale deep as Marcus focuses the camera back on Jessica. He was using his phone — a new one he’d just bought with a something ridiculous megapixel camera he couldn’t stop talking about.

Jessica’s wearing a bikini. I see myself in the background playing volleyball with a few guys in our team. This video is more than a year old, but the time stamp was from a few months ago.

And then I see why.

It’s been edited.

The original video — the one Marcus had posted all over social media to show off his video skills — had been of him panning the beach, giving Jessica a fake interview about UV indexes and where she bought her designer bikini from, and then some macro shots of sand crystals and a lone starfish.

Only the interview was left.

When I’d watched the video on my phone’s Facebook app, I hadn’t realized just how close Marcus had been sitting to Jessica.

How uncomfortable she looked.

How tiny her fucking bikini was.

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