Page 171 of Brutal Prince

I don’t know what’s more terrifying — his expressionless face, or the way his dark eyes burrow into my skull.

He beckons me with a flick of his fingers, and I take a careful step toward him, hands raised.

Marcus grabs a fistful of my hair and uses that ferocious grip to steer me down the stairs. I bite back curses and tears, clinging desperately to the only thing I have left.

And it’s Briar.

I’m too fucked in the head to understand why, or how, but he’s all I’ve got right now.

* * *

Briar

Marcus’s carisn’t in his driveway, but he could have fetched it from Dylan’s house earlier today, drove it through to Indi’s house. More than enough time, what with me disappearing to the cemetery.

I’ve always been one step behind you, haven’t I, bro?

I don’t know why I believe I’ll find answers at his house, but honest to God, I don’t have anywhere else to go. I mean, where the hell do you take someone you’ve just fucking kidnapped?

I climb through Marcus’s window and take a second to scan the room.

Has he always been this messy, or does his cleaning lady not work weekends? The bed’s unmade, sheets twisted like he hosted a wrestling match on them. There are empty bottles of beer, coke and rum everywhere. Cigarettes and joint roaches clog up the air with stale fumes.

Was his father in here? Did he rough up Marcus enough to have caused this mess? Or did Marcus bring Indi back here—?

I cut off that last thought with ruthlessness and squeeze my eyes shut as I take a moment to gather myself.

Must have been Marcus’s father. Shit’s been moved around, tossed to the floor, but nothing’s broken.

My gaze lands on the laptop sticking out of Marcus’s backpack. Was he going to study and decided against it, or was he in too much of a hurry to push it down all the way?

I’m all too aware of how much time is slipping past while I stand here motionless.

If Marcus used his car, then his GPS might be logged to an online app like my father’s Merc. Fuck knows how that shit works — Dad mentioned it in passing during one of his visits a few months ago, and it sounded like pretty cool technology. Said he would know exactly where they were if anyone ever stole his car.

I grab the laptop and flip it open. Setting it down on the desk, I stare at the empty password field under a photo of Marcus smirking into the camera wearing sunglasses, a joint sticking out of his mouth.

Fuck.

I try a few random phrases, each more desperate than the last.

password

Pasword123

Marcus

Marcus123

I hesitate, then type:

Briar

Jessica

Nothing. My eyes slide to the default avatar of the guest profile next to Marcus’s. I’m not exactly a computer boffin, but I know you can’t access stuff on one profile from another, not unless you’re the admin. Browser history, all that shit is profile dependent. It would be absolutely useless—

My fingers go hunting for a packet of smokes, an absent gesture as my mind grinds its gears.

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